#also there are a lot of lines that i like in magic shop but that is my favourite imagery to literally no one's surprise

[bubblewrapsnek]

Phantomarine Live reread: Prologue

I'm anticipating the reread before the chapter finishes cause I want to read it now again, altho I wanted to wait the chapter to be over to have a cleaner finish line for mental order and to avoid posing questions to things that would be maybe have more ground to speculate on or outright be answered in a few days This is my first time rereading Phantomarine, so if anyone is actually goint to read these posts expect me to come to realizations about stuff that everyone knew ages ago probably, also it's my first time liveblogging something since a friend suggested it could be appreciated, I am not convinced there would be interested but it can't hurt I guess. That said I hate the idea of clogging with posts and like keeping stuff a bit more tidy, so I'll post one post per chapter with my thoughts, silly ramblings and whatever comes to my mind that I feel like sharing while trying to put my thoughts in order

So uhh if you exist and are reading, have fun and feel free to interact!

First thing I'll not here with a few examples and try to not say everytime, but I can't help seeing how the royal family brands EVERYTHING with the Manta, I swear you could fill a where's waldo book by searching the mantas in Phantomarine's pages at this A manta hat, manta drawer, manta desk, and a manta polo in just the first pages, I swear they have a disney park-esque gift shop outside the palace

A manta hat, manta drawer, manta desk, and a manta polo in just the first pages, I swear they have a disney park-esque gift shop outside the palace

Bonus neat things, the candle has the same pattern as Cheline's dress and there is what I guess is a samoyede on Irving's shirt

Next thing is something I hadn't noticed before but I've seen already people point out in the comments now, Irving having very clearly pink eyes, at first I thought it might have been lighting but in the pages where he is alive they are very clearly pink, and even when in shock the characters get drawn with pinprick irises, while the others get black dots he has pink and is even more blatant in the shot with the Fata morgana stabbing them where he is eye to eye with a Fata with the same eyes

Bonus: alive Lani is very cute

I pointed the next thing in another post but I love how Cheline wanted to be sure to scapegoat the Fata Morgana so much she painted the arrows and bow too with Cheth's name bands(confirmed to be painted on by the transcript too altho it was the only possible reason they had those bad with what we know now), also I love that the cyan outline was faintly on the Fata Morgana's eye from the beginning

I am also getting suspicious about the ghosts being blue and the veins(referred as such in the transcript) that spread from the bite being purple, tho I don't have a concrete or sound thought about this

Also, something I love a lot in comics is paneling so some of this won't be thoughts but just panels that are really pretty or fun or creative here I love how the action flows very well, having many details making what happens readable such as the "magic" squares making phae's body on the bottom edge of the silouhette in the middle also appear on the heart, showing the wound being "repaired"

Love the veins snaking behind her

Something I had completely glossed over was Phae's middle name being Augusta, and I do find it possible to have a reading on it, as Augustus was the name and title that Octavian took as the first emperor of rome, the member of a what can be considered a royal lineage establishing the name for himself and becoming a key turning point in the history of an empire, just as I can see Phae become the turning point for the history of her reign, a change of the guard and of the status quo of the kingdom she watches over

End in the end, to finish the prologue of this reread, a funny typo Cheth appears, tipping his fedora: "M'Phaedra"

[lolacouldnotcareless]

♪ ♪ ♪

On voulait Molène en mer d'Iroise, les ancres rouillées, Les baleines, la mer turquoise, les coffres oubliés, Les sirènes, les bêtes sournoises, les grands voiliers Mais la vie nous promène en Seine-et-Oise dans sa Simca rouillée

We wanted Molène in the Iroise sea*, rusty anchors, Whales, the turquoise sea, forgotten chests, Sirens, sly creatures, big sailing ships But life leads us in Seine-et-Oise** in its rusty Simca***

*Molène is both an island and an archipelago in the Iroise sea which follows some borders of Brittany ** Seine-et-Oise is the name of an old french department which surrounded Paris *** Simca is a french-italian brand of cars which doesn't exist anymore

Monsieur le président, je suis un déserteur De ton armée de glands, de ton troupeau d'branleurs Ils auront pas ma peau, toucheront pas à mes cheveux J'saluerai pas l'drapeau, j'marcherai pas comme les bœufs

Mister the president, I am a deserter From your army of nuts, from your herd of slackers They won't have my skin, won't touch my hair I won't salute the flag, I won't walk like oxen for reference, this is a more vulgar and "actualised" rewriting of boris vian's own "le déserteur." the original song had to get the last verse edited bc apparently saying the president can send his men after him and he'll wait for them with a gun (and he knows how to shoot) would not pass well on the radio. wonder why. (it got turned into "if you pursue me / warn your policemen / that i won't have any firearms / and that they can shoot") the song was forbidden to play on the radio anyway for its antimilitarist message nearly each time that france got itself in a war. it was written in 1954 during the first indochina war. i would strongly encourage you to listen to the original song, even with the edited last verse

듣고 싶어 너의 멜로디 너의 은하수의 별들은 너의 하늘을 과연 어떻게 수놓을지

I want to listen to your melody, How the stars of your galaxy Will embroider your sky tr. credits

[astronicht]

Okay I'm almost done with Fellowship, here's an incomplete list of shit I noticed and thought was buck fucking wild on my first ever read-thru: medieval edition.

In literally the second line of the book, Tolkien implies that Bilbo Baggins wrote a story which was preserved alongside the in-universe version of the Mabinogion (aka the best-known collection of Welsh myths; I promise this is batshit). This is because The Hobbit has been preserved, in Tolkien's AU version of our world, in a "selection of the Red Book of Westmarch" (Prologue, Concerning Hobbits). If you're a medievalist and you see something called "The Red Book of" or "The Black Book of" etc it's a Thing. In this case, a cheeky reference to the Red Book of Hergest (Llyfr Coch Hergest). There are a few Red Books, but only Hergest has stories).

not a medieval thing but i did not expect one common theory among hobbits for the death of Frodo's parents to be A RUMORED MURDER-SUICIDE.

At the beginning of the book a few hobbits report seeing a moving elm tree up on the moors, heading west (thru or past the Shire). I mentioned this in another post, but another rule: if you see an elm tree, that's a Girl Tree. In Norse creation myth, the first people were carved from driftwood by the gods. Their names were Askr (Ash, as in the tree), the first man, and Embla (debated, but likely elm tree), the first woman. A lot of ppl have I think guessed that that was an ent-wife, but like. Literally that was a GIRL. TREE.

Medieval thing: I used to read the runes on the covers of The Hobbit and LOTR for fun when I worked in a bookshop. There's a mix of Old Norse (viking) and Old English runes in use, but all the ones I've noticed so far are real and readable if you know runes.

Tom Bombadil makes perfect sense if you once spent months of your life researching the early medieval art of galdor, which was the use of poems or songs to do a form of word-magic, often incorporating gibberish. If you think maybe Tolkien did not base the entirety of Fellowship so far around learning and using galdor and thus the power of words and stories, that is fine I cannot force you. He did personally translate "galdor" in Beowulf as "spell" (spell, amusingly, used to mean "story"). And also he named an elf Galdor. Like he very much did name an elf Galdor.

Tom Bombadil in fact does galdor from the moment we meet him. He arrives and fights the evil galdor (song) of the willow tree ("old gray willow-man, he's a mighty singer"), which is singing the hobbits to sleep and possibly eating them, with a galdor (song) of his own. Then he wanders off still singing, incorporating gibberish. I think it was at this point that I started clawing my face.

THEN Tom Bombadil makes perfect sense if you've read the description of the scop's songs in Beowulf (Beowulf again, but hey, Tolkien did famously a. translate it b. write a fanfiction about it called Sellic Spell where he gave Beowulf an arguably homoerotic Best Friend). The scop (pronounched shop) is a poet who sings about deeds on earth, but also by profession must know how to sing the song or tell the story of how the cosmos itself came to be. The wise-singer who knows the deep lore of the early universe is a standard trope in Old English literature, not just Beowulf! Anyway Tom Bombadil takes everyone home and tells them THE ENTIRE STORY OF ALL THE AGES OF THE EARTH BACKWARDS UNTIL JUST BEFORE THE MOMENT OF CREATION, THE BIG BANG ITSELF and then Frodo Baggins falls asleep.

Tom Bombadil knows about plate tectonics

This is sort of a lie, Tom Bombadil describes the oceans of old being in a different place, which works as a standard visual of Old English creation, which being Christian followed vaguely Genesis lines, and vaguely Christian Genesis involves a lot of water. TOLKIEN knew about plate tectonics though.

Actually I just checked whether Tolkien knew about plate tectonics because I know the advent of plate tectonics theory took forever bc people HATED it and Alfred Wegener suffered for like 50 years. So! actually while Tolkien was writing LOTR, the scientific community was literally still not sure plate tectonics existed. Tom Bombadil knew tho.

Remember that next time you (a geologist) are forced to look at the Middle Earth map.

I'm not even done with Tom Bombadil but I'm stopping here tonight. Plate tectonics got me. There's a great early (but almost high!) medieval treatise on cosmology and also volcanoes and i wonder if tolkien read it. oh my god. i'm going to bed.

edit: part II

[awearywritersworld]

i have for the first time found what i can truly love—i have found you

sukuna x reader summary: you and sukuna go out for a late night meal. gojo finds out about your... relationship. sukuna is forced to take care of you when you come home drunk. w/c: 2.85k tags/warnings: enemies to lovers. fluff. lots of banter. cursing. jealous/protective!sukuna. gojo being a flirt. aged up!yuuji. features a teeny bit of yuuji x reader. drinking and drunk!reader. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n. no manga spoilers. a/n: i think i like how this turned out! also, the first two sections could def be read as a fluffy lil stand alone. idc whats happening in the canonverse, sukunas just a tsundere who adores us very much<3 series masterlist // masterlist

"maybe if you stare long enough, food will magically appear," sukuna calls to you from the kitchen table.

"this is no joking matter," you scold from your place in front of the fridge. "i'm starving."

"well, here's an absurd idea— let's go eat."

you turn toward him, finally closing the fridge, and tilt your head to the side. "you eat?"

"of course." he leans back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. "i typically prefer babies, but hell, i'd even go for an old man right now. i'm famished."

your eyes widen and your mouth falls open. he lets the panic simmer on your face for a few more cruel moments. "i'm kidding, idiot. i eat food, same as you."

"i knew that," you assert. the way your shoulders sag in relief tells him otherwise.

"right," he smirks. after standing up, he grabs your purse and tosses it in your direction. "where to? you're buying."

with only so many places open at midnight, you begin your journey to a 24 hour ramen shop.

you've hardly interacted with sukuna outside of your apartment, so this is certainly an experience you didn't anticipate. and in fact, you're shocked at how normal it feels— almost as if it's a date.

as you walk down the street, people eye him suspiciously because of the dark lines they assume are tattoos. it doesn't bother you though, nor does the lateness of the hour. you know that you're safe because you're with him.

your hands keep brushing against one another's, and you're hoping that he'll eventually take a hint and reach for yours. he doesn't (i mean come on, do you even know who you're dealing with?).

he does at least pick up on your pouty expression with impressive ease. "what now?"

"nothing," you huff.

"don't be a brat."

you sigh dramatically. "you're supposed to hold my hand."

"sure princess," he says condescendingly, lacing his fingers through yours. "maybe use your words next time like a big girl."

he doesn't fail to notice the ensuing skip in your step, and he kicks himself for regarding it as cute.

when you arrive at the ramen shop, sukuna orders no less than three bowls, which earns him a glare once the waitress walks away.

"when i agreed to pay, i didn't know what a glutton you are."

"oh yeah? cause i'm just the picture of temperance any other time?"

you scoff. "well you've got me there."

a sly smirk settles onto his face before he speaks again. "maybe one day you'll learn how greedy i am when it comes to the things i've deemed pleasurable."

you choke on the water you'd just brought to your lips, your face heating up as if it'd been bathed by fire.

wiping at your mouth, you try your best to recover quickly. "whatever, you hellion. as long as that doesn't involve a fourth bowl of ramen."

you're no more than 10 steps away from the shop when you hold out your hand to him. "ahem."

he grabs it roughly and not without rolling his eyes.

"what?" you ask innocently. "that was a word."

"hardly," he jeers. "for as much as you read, i'd expect you to be more fluent than a child."

"and at 1000 years old, i'd expect you to be more charming than a teenage boy, but i guess we're both making concessions."

"see, this is the part that puzzles me. you never seem to have trouble with your words when you're being insolent."

"maybe it's a sign," you begin whimsically. "the universe decided you need to be taken down a peg."

"ah, yes. you as the executor of the universe's will. i don't know why i couldn't see it before."

you giggle, rather delighted that he's elected to play along with your quips. there's something that feels so warm and pleasant about it.

as you wonder if he feels it too, your hand tightens around his.

you're not quite ready to head back to your apartment just yet, because you're scared you'll lose the atmosphere surrounding the two of you. in truth, it's a bit intoxicating.

the perfect opportunity arises when you spot a small park up ahead. lights are strung around the trees, all of which are situated around a small fountain.

"we should stop at that park!" you hardly finish speaking before you take off in that direction, tugging him along behind you.

after you plop down on the fountain's ledge, sukuna takes his place beside you.

"let's sit here for a little while."

he doesn't respond and you take his silence as agreement. he's not really one to stifle his grievances.

as the minutes pass, the rush of the fountain is the only noise that fills the air, while you gaze at the trees with a serene expression.

sukuna, however, is looking at you. the only care he has for the trees is the way their lights reflect in your eyes. otherwise, he's fully occupied by the curve of your nose and the fullness of your lips.

"isn't this pretty?" you finally ask.

"it's pretty," he agrees, even when such a soft word feels foreign on his tongue.

his eyes still haven't left you, and you seem to be oblivious to this fact until he reaches up to stroke your cheek with the back of fingers.

when your gaze lands on him, the fondness written all over his face catches you off guard and you realize how close the both of you are. without really thinking about it, you lean into his touch.

"very pretty," he repeats lowly, as if he's talking to himself.

your heart lurches once in your chest, then hammers away at your ribcage without respite. he leans toward you a fraction of an inch, his eyes flicking down to your lips for a brief second.

truthfully, sukuna has never felt the way he does in this moment. it's a sincere sort of desire. he doesn't want the mindless devotion he once thirsted for from his followers. and he doesn't want the sex he used to crave from his concubines.

no. he just wants you— in whatever capacity you're willing to have him.

the way he's looking at you is just too much. there's a dull thudding in your ears and you swear your thoughts are moving at a million miles a minute.

so naturally, you blurt out the first thing you can manage. "we should take a selfie!"

his face shifts from whatever that expression was to one of confusion. "take a selfie?"

some twisted mix of relief and disappointment crashes through you.

"yeah, a selfie. a picture together. ya know, since the park is so pretty," you ramble.

he pulls away from you. not all the way, but enough that it gives you space to finally breath. he chuckles and it doesn't sound lofty like it so often does. in fact, he seems genuinely amused by you.

"a selfie," he deliberates. "that sounds great, but to the best of my knowledge, hell hasn't frozen over."

and just like that, your dynamic feels like it did during your walk from the ramen shop to the park— comfortable and fun.

"well i guess you would be one of the first to know."

ignoring his protests, you take out your phone and hold it far enough away that the camera captures both of your faces. you can see on the screen that he's put on an expression of complete boredom.

"c'mon," you nudge him with your elbow. "you look like you hate me."

the corner of his mouth curves upward. "that's because i do."

you think back on the way he was gazing at you just moments ago and laugh. "you're so full of shit."

then, without warning, you press a kiss to his cheek and click the button.

you decide that his vague look of contented surprise will just have to do.

when you and yuuji walk into the bar, you immediately spot one of the people you're there to meet. he's sitting at a hightop by himself, his snow white hair pretty hard to miss.

you tap his shoulder and his face breaks out into a grin. he slides out of the barstool. "if it isn't my favorite civilian!"

as he pulls you into a hug, you wonder if he's ever going to get tired of that joke. "if it isn't my favorite old man."

"35 is not old," he argues, moving to greet yuuji. "i'm still in the summer of my life, thank you very much!"

"gojo you're 36," the pink haired man remarks.

"gah! such betrayal, yuuji!" he presses his hand to his forehead and takes a deep breath. "now i'm going to need another round."

"i'll go and get drinks for all of us," you offer. "you two stay here so no one takes the table."

before either of them can respond, you turn and begin making your way through the crowd. you don't hear gojo when he calls out, "but darling! i should go with you!"

he takes a step in your direction, but stops when sukuna's mouth appears on yuuji's cheek. "you certainly should not, you insufferable half wit."

"relax, dude. he flirts with literally everyone," yuuji informs him.

gojo scoffs. "i am right here—"

"as if that makes it better?" sukuna barks. "she isn't some toy to be played with."

"of course she isn't! you can't honestly think i'd believe otherwise."

gojo is left forgotten for a moment as the other two bicker, so he interjects once there's a lull in the conversation. "do either of you care to explain what the hell is going on?"

yuuji turns toward him, trying and failing to hide the embarrassment on his face once he realizes that gojo is, in fact, still standing there.

his eyebrows are raised above his sunglasses and it's clear he is inappropriately amused by the situation (what else is new?). he moves to sit across from the younger man, looking at him expectantly.

having no way to talk himself out of this, yuuji relays the recent events regarding you and sukuna, sparing some of the finer details. gojo's face doesn't really betray much emotion throughout the story, though he does look thoughtful by the end of it.

leaning forward, he crosses his arms on top of the table. "maybe your feelings for her are influencing his own, forcing a sort of bond between them?"

"i don't think so," yuuji contends honestly. "other than her, you're the person i admire and respect the most, but he thinks—"

"that you are perhaps the most imbecilic rampallion i've ever had the displeasure of coming across."

gojo jerks back, as if the insult had hit him squarely in the jaw. the look of giddiness from yuuji's compliment, followed by the shift to indignation at sukuna's insult is almost comical.

he stretches his neck forward, cupping his hand around one side of his mouth as if it'd keep sukuna from hearing. "what'd he just call me?"

yuuji shrugs. "beats me, but i don't think he was singing your praises."

"i see your point." gojo pauses, glancing over his shoulder. you're approaching the table, so he turns back to yuuji and quickly adds, "we'll talk more about this another time, but for now, keep this between us."

a few moments later, you appear in front of them and exclaim, "look who i found!"

megumi and inumaki situate themselves around the table too, offering their greetings. you slide yuuji and gojo their drinks, both of which are filled to the brim of the glass. "now then gentlemen, shall we?"

when gojo teleports you and yuuji back to your apartment that night, it takes everything in you to keep from yakking all over your carpet.

"ta ta, hooligans!"

you turn to request that he never do that again, but he's already gone. taking one step forward, you promptly fall on your ass in the entryway with an unforgiving thud. yuuji staggers toward the couch, making it there just in time to face plant into the cushions.

looking down toward your shoes, you're dismayed to find that each one appears to have two sets of laces. you're fumbling with them determinedly when someone crouches down in front of you, their elbows resting on their thighs.

he doesn't say a word. brushing your hands away, he unties your shoes and carefully pulls them off your feet. you're lifted from the floor before you can register the arm that's looped under your knees or the other that's securely around your back.

"careful," you hiccup, your head falling into the crook of his neck. "'m gunna p-puke."

"i'd rather you didn't."

you groan. "s'not like i 'ave a choice in the matter."

he hums. "how much did you drink?"

"dunno. sss'much. nobara—" you hiccup again. "nobara n' maki made me."

he chuckles, placing you down on what you figure is your bed. "right, i'm sure you had no choice in the matter."

"tha's correct, yes."

unbuttoning your jeans, he tugs upward on your belt loops. "lift."

you do as he says, lifting your hips from the bed so he can slide your jeans off your legs. he knows you won't remember this— hell, your eyes are already closed— but he looks away as he does it anyway.

pulling your phone from your pocket and putting it on the charger, your pants are discarded off to the side. he only turns his head back in your direction once he's pulled the blankets up over your body.

"tuck me in?" you request.

sitting down on the bed beside you, he does so without protest.

he stares at you for a little while, worried about how poorly you're probably going to feel in the morning. he presses a kiss to your forehead, intending to get up and grab a water bottle for your nightstand.

instead, his body freezes when he hears you mumble, "i love you s'much."

his heart clenches so painfully, he honestly considers ripping it from his chest— it would probably be less agonizing.

but a thought that makes him feel like a fool occurs to him. of course it's not him that you love. "i'm not yuuji."

"well, duuuhhh. you're s'kuna." you're peering up at him through tired, hazy eyes. it's the first time you've ever seen him look bewildered, so a small giggle erupts from your throat. "s'okay. you don't 'ave t'say it back."

your eyes flutter shut and your breathing evens out before he even thinks to respond. all at once, it's as if his head is empty and as if it's about to explode.

love?

what does he know about love? it's a sentiment he's cursed for so long, but sitting here beside you, he can't quite seem to remember why. one thing he is sure of, however, is that there's never been a thing in the world he's loved.

suddenly, he's struck with remembrance of a quote from jane eyre you had emphasized with messy underlines:

"after a youth and manhood passed half in unutterable misery and half in dreary solitude, i have for the first time found what i can truly love—i have found you. you are my sympathy—my better self—my good angel. i am bound to you with a strong attachment. i think you good, gifted, lovely: a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my centre and spring of life, wraps my existence about you, and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one."

rochester says it as he begs jane to stay at thornfield with him, an act sukuna had previously regarded as ridiculous, but is that still the case?

were you to ever scorn him, would he fall to his knees and plead with you to change your mind? or if you were in danger of dying, would he drag himself to a shrine and pray to the gods he doesn't believe in?

is that what love is?

could he stand to be apart from you? are you special to him? does anything else in the world compare to you? does he seek out your company? is he consumed by you? can he know himself without knowing you?

does the definition of love lie in those questions?

sukuna hopes not, because he's terrified of the answers. being in love is not his way, nor is it in his nature.

he buries his face in his hands as realization settles into his bones. it feels as if they're splintering beneath the pressure, trying resentfully to stave it off.

he transcends any imaginable scale of power. he's bled entire villages dry, he's commandeered death, he's the king of curses.

so why now? and why you? is it divine retribution? a sick sort of joke that even he couldn't have dreamed up?

gods, you were right. the universe has sent you to carry out its will and he's completely powerless to stop it.

the worst part of it all? he doesn't want to.

taglist: @96jnie @ay0nha @sad-darksoul @bbysatoruuu @luciiferian @thepup356 @risuola *users in bold could not be tagged

[vidavalor]

Hey, so...

Have you all noticed *how* Crowley and Aziraphale are drinking in 1941? And by this I mean... that they barely are? <wink>

Crowley has been drinking for millennia by this point. He gets drunk as Bildad the Shuite in 2500 B.C.. Aziraphale has been drinking since sometime prior to the scene in Rome, which is also when we see them drink together for the first time. *This* scene is 1941 so countless years and meet ups between Crowley and Aziraphale have taken place since and considering how these two drink together in other situations-- like how completely wasted they were in the "eleven years ago" scene in S1-- this one here in 1941 is *interesting.* Why?

Because friends, that is *one bottle of wine* on the table beside Aziraphale and I can still see wine in it above the label, which means what's currently in their glasses is less than the first half of the bottle... which means the glasses they are sharing now that Aziraphale just poured are their first drinks of the evening... and neither of them are really drinking much of it. That signals an intent not to drink very much at all-- the open bottle probably being plenty for the two of them. They're going slowly, without an intention to get drunk, but not really just to savor together a particularly interesting vintage. They don't seem to be noticing or tasting the wine at all. Aziraphale poured them both a good amount but not overkill but both of them so far in this scene just take cautious, *small* sips of the wine... and they don't need to conserve it, ok?

It's not the war. It's canon that Aziraphale has a case of Chateauneuf-de-Pape that he picked up in the 1920s sitting in the back of this shop at this very minute that he doesn't bust open until "Eleven Years Ago" in the future of S1 and Crowley is a bootlegger in this moment in history lol and also they're both literally magic. They could miracle wine from halfway around the world if they wanted to. There's wine to drink if they want to get drunk...

...and they both have silently agreed that they don't want to.

It is the *only* time that they drink together in a scene that we've seen where they have a mutual agreement to not drink that much. Even when Aziraphale *didn't drink*, he still got *food* drunk while Crowley was drinking in the Job minisode.

But when they're having a drink together in 1941, both of them are very clearly, by a kind of unspoken agreement from the vibes in the room, *not really drinking.* Just a little. A few sips that will lead to a glass or two a piece total, at most-- that bottle split between them would be a lot from the air of and the pace of them in this scene.

And I mean... forgetting for a moment that Aziraphale will get drunk without issue in other scenes, we all know Crowley, right? This Crowley...

In S1, part of *God's narration* lol includes that Crowley and Aziraphale had been drinking for six straight hours in the bookshop together in "Eleven Years Ago." Rome is one thing because they had just had just met up so we don't know how sloshed they got over oysters at Petronius' new restaurant (and would seem likely that they did) but in every other scene when they drink together, basically, they drink quite a bit and both of them usually wind up drunk, especially Crowley.

So why is 1941 different?

Because they're drinking like people who both want to mess around, that's why.

Yeah, people mess around while drunk and I'm sure the same can be said for any of the few Effort-curious angels and demons outside of these two but Crowley and Aziraphale are not a casual hookup to one another-- they're in love, they're best friends, and they haven't been together before after literal millennia of pining and yearning for it. It's not something that's happening while they're drunk. They want to be sober and for it to be special and the evening here in 1941 has really got everything lining up for a perfectly romantic night, if they want it to be. All the rescuing one another and little glances and now Aziraphale's asked Crowley back to the bookshop for a late night drink and they're both drinking like they want it to be tonight.

They're both silently telling one another they want something to happen by the fact that they're drinking with no intention to get drunk. They want to be present. They want to remember. They want each other's explicit consent so they're barely drinking the wine so that it's evident that if things get intimate, it's not because either or both of them are drunk, and no one has to stop over concern over that.

Aziraphale is looking at Crowley looking all dashing, unusually quiet for him, maybe a bit nervous and still hiding a little behind his glasses-- Hell's biggest lush taking the world's smallest, barely-there sip of that wine lol-- and is like how many more tiny sips do we need to take before I can crawl onto his lap...?

Aziraphale's like omg, the sex is going to be amazing... thank God I don't yet know in this moment that something-- like some Zombie Nazis, probably-- will stop us and we'll still be on trying to kiss one another 80 years from now...

[sassy-cass-16]

Oh god I promised myself no bell’s hells meta until c3 ends but my brain is turning the “can she be trusted?” line over and over like chicken at the shawarma shop. because there are layers to that.

more under the cut because i let this run away from me:

so first off, there's the obvious: dorian initially seems to start to address the whole group, everyone who's left in the inn room, but turns and just locks eyes with orym when he asks. orym, who of everyone has the most reason to be biased against laudna right now. orym, who just got into a fight with laudna over the sword that killed both of them and orym's husband and father-in-law. that's who dorian thinks to ask, because he trusts orym not to let his judgment be clouded.

dorian first saw orym again after months of being separated, like, three days ago, and despite how much orym has visibly changed in those months, dorian doesn't hesitate to believe that orym will still be objective. he trusts that orym will be the one to look at this situation and tell him the truth.

because dorian has experience with orym telling him the truth. dorian knows firsthand how willing orym is to shuck his personal feelings in favour of what's true. dorian just saw what he could have become, had orym not stepped in to stop him taking the circlet of barbed vision. he owes the fact that he's alive and beholden to no gods to orym's willingness to be rational and objective in a situation involving a powerful magical item. by his own admission, "i wouldn't be here without you."

so of course dorian trusts him right now.

and there's something to the exclusion of the others, with that. dorian doesn't look to fearne and orym, although that would make sense because he's known the two of them the longest. he doesn't look to chetney, who's proven to be able to get a handle on this with the scream needle compromise. he doesn't look to ashton, who's been extremely levelheaded through this whole mess. he looks at orym, exclusively. he is asking orym, exclusively. not the group, although everyone decides to jump in to answer and then imogen comes through the window to complicate the matter. just orym.

dorian is the kind of person with a lot of potential for darkness in him. he hides it well because he's also deeply kind and friendly, but it's always been there. he's just been through something massively traumatic, and that was after the original circlet conflict back in exu prime. he had his alignment forcibly changed from good to neutral. but even after all he's gone though, orym's alignment is still good.

as much as orym doesn't want to be a leader and prefers to be a protector and follower, he does very well in situations where he takes on an amount of responsibility. when he's in some level of control over a situation, he takes to it naturally. he's a very good babysitter to his gaggle of weirdos. the "can she be trusted?" might have been an attempt on dorian's part to give orym a bit more control here. to reassure him that regardless of anyone else's feelings—regardless of how laudna's reaction might have affected him—orym deserves to be trusted, and he can make a decision that dorian will trust.

back in exu and all the way into early c3, dorian and orym slotted into a sort of parental position in their groups. watching over the crownkeepers' clothes when they went skinny dipping in exu. orym repeatedly steering everybody away from bad ideas. matt even described dorian leaving dariax in zephrah in 4sd as "dad just going out to get cigarettes." there's always been that underlying sense of "we are two of a pair" with dorian and orym. not to say that either of them don't see the others as adults, but they do have that rapport of being the babysitters in the gaggle of weirdos.

that kind of bond is just part of their dynamic. but especially in light of what's been happening while they were separated, and then what happened between them earlier that evening, "can she be trusted?" is a reminder of that bond. orym's been lonely, by his own admission, and one of the secrets he divulged at nana morri's was "i really miss dorian." he broke down crying during his last message through the sending stone, and then again on the bench not a few hours before this whole incident went down.

dorian came to comfort him. he flat-out said to orym's face "i'm here now." he reminded orym that he needs to rely on other people, that he can't always be the one saving everybody else. he gave orym the room to not be the strong one, and told him he has that room because dorian's there to support him. they can be two of a pair again.

he knows orym's been feeling like he can't do anything, like he had to resort to what he stopped dorian from doing with the circlet. and so dorian both gives him a choice to make, something to do, and shows him that he still trusts him unconditionally. "can she be trusted?" also means "i trust you" and "i'm here with you" and "this is how we've always been."

we know from liam in 4sd that orym has feelings for dorian that he's not sure are reciprocated. but even regardless of the romantic element here, dorian and orym have always had a partnership. they have always been two of a pair. the sequence of events leading to "can she be trusted?" is a perfect microcosm of he relationship between the two of them. it's just incredible.

[haosweater]

perhaps i loved you.

content: idol! jeonghan x gn! reader, angst, fluff, past life au, coffee shop au, royalty au (just read, you’ll get it), unrequited love.

summary: a unique cafe down fifth avenue opens a whole new door of surprises for jeonghan.

word count: 1.4k

note: based this off the short exert i wrote at the end lol. totally not inspired by real life events haha… also i’m writing this at almost two in the morning please forgive any grammar or spelling mistakes.

it was cloudy. the sun peeked through the smallest crevices it could find as the wind gently brushed against jeonghan’s skin.

he shivered, pulling his green cardigan on tighter. he reached up, grabbing his white bucket hat to make sure it didn’t fly away. god knew the wind was ruthless these past few days. jeonghan felt like the world seemed to be against him.

he hummed along to his music, walking down the street in solace. the cherry blossoms bloomed magnificently, its pink petals falling to spread its beauty. he looked up, admiring the trees with a gentle smile.

there weren’t a lot of people out this time of the day and jeonghan liked that. he liked the comfort of not being recognised, being able to go about his day peacefully. the solitude was exactly what he needed.

inhaling a deep breath, he turned and continued down the street. the shops down this road were vintage. unique little thrift stores, record stores, quaint coffee shops that sold overpriced coffee— wait.

jeonghan paused, staring into the shop. olive green bookshelves lined the beige walls of the shop. behind, there was a counter with coffee machines and cake displays. at the very front of the store, there was a table. it had two chairs with a typewriter sitting on it.

a cafe? no, bookstore? or was it a vintage thrift store? confused, jeonghan looked up at the sign.

‘caffeinated literature’.

‘how peculiar,‘ jeonghan thought. glancing around, he peeked into the cafe again, noticing no one was inside. he wondered if it was closed, a slight pang of disappointment filling his chest.

however, the ‘open’ sign on the door proved him wrong. his eyes moved down, and noticed the poster on the door, prompting him to move closer and read it.

enjoy a cup of coffee,

and let me write you poetry.

welcome to caffeinated literature.

it didn’t take jeonghan another second to push the glass door open, the soft chime of the bell ringing in the air. “hello?” he called out softly.

there was a muffled crash followed by a yelp, shocking him. “hello! just give me a moment! please, take a seat!”

jeonghan sat down apprehensively, fluffing the cushion beside him. the interior was cozy, minimalistic and welcoming. swinging his feet, he continued to observe his surroundings, not realising you had emerged from behind the counter.

“hello, so sorry about that! what can i get for you today?” you panted, handing him the menu.

jeonghan looked at you in awe. your voice sounded like sweet, smooth honey that dripped slowly into a cup of warm tea. there was a sense of familiarity to you, but he couldn’t figure out what it was.

“uh, sorry,” he mumbles, snapping out of his thoughts. “i’ll just get an iced cappuccino and a poem, please.”

you grin. “great choice. i’ll be right back with your coffee, so just take a seat in tbe front,” you gesture to the table with the typewriter. he nods, getting up as you disappear behind the counter.

jeonghan feels light-headed from staring at you. something about you was so enchanting, so magical and so familiar. he sighed, annoyed that he was unable to figure out what it was.

the aroma of his coffee drifted in the air as you brought it over. he thanked you as you sat across him, smiling as he sipped on it slowly.

“oh, wow, this is really good,” he remarked, licking his lips. “thank you.”

“it’s no problem,” you say, smiling. “now, for the poem,” you gently slot the paper into the typewriter. turning around, you turn the speaker on, calm jazz music filling the cafe.

“i know this sounds rather far-fetched, but i usually hold people’s hands to get a better feel of their aura before i write their poem. do you mind if i do that with you?”

jeonghan shakes his head almost instantly. “no, not at all,” he says, extending his hands.

you smile, nodding in acknowledgement as you take his hands into yours, slowly shutting your eyes.

jeonghan shivered, and suddenly, he wasn’t in the cafe anymore.

he was now clad in formal wear, standing at the entrance to a balcony. you stood at the edge, back facing him. the moon was bright and the stars shone in the sky.

“i didn’t expect you to come,” your voice wavered. jeonghan couldn’t speak– he could not control what he did.

“i’m here now, aren’t i?” he chuckles, swirling the glass of wine in his hand. “what bothers you, my dear, on the night we are to celebrate?”

when you turn around, tears rolling down your cheeks, he freezes. you stare at him, sniffing softly. even when you’re crying, you look breath-taking to him.

averting your gaze, you sigh. “i can’t lie to you anymore, han,” you whisper. “tonight i watched you get married to the love of your life, confessing your love to each other in front of the whole kingdom,” you look up at him again.

“and now, i will confess my love to you, in front of the moon and stars.”

jeonghan is in shock. he doesn’t know how to comprehend this situation. it is all too fast, too quick– was this his past life?

“i have loved you ever since we were kids, han. my heart has held onto you tightly, refusing to let go. i’ve seen the best and the worst of you. i’ve seen all your flaws and imperfections and yet still i love you. i have been your friend, but never once did i love you like one. i loved you more than that. i would sacrifice the moon and the stars just to gaze at your beauty. i would burn the kingdom down if you wanted me to. my heart aches and yearns for your touch, your love, your heart and i know i will never get it, but i had to tell you.”

by the time you’re done, you’re panting, out of breath. jeonghan wants to rush forward and hold you, but his body stops him. there is no control.

“b-but y/n, i’m a prince and you’re a—”

“knight, i know,” you sob. “i prayed to the gods every day that my heart would let go of you because i knew i could never be yours, nor you, mine.”

jeonghan simply stood there, heart aching at the sight of you. “i am sorry, y/n. i am sorry i cannot love you the way you want me to,” he whispers, taking a step forward.

“it’s okay, han,” you say softly, tears staining your once rosy cheeks. wiping them away, you look at him with a sad smile. “it was never meant to be anyways.”

with a loud gasp, jeonghan finds himself back in cafe. he’s panting, eyes darting around vigorously before landing on you.

you were crying.

and so was he.

“sorry,” you let out an awkward laugh, wiping your tears away. “i don’t know why i’m crying,” you whisper, trying to stop yourself from crying, but the tears keep coming.

“it’s okay,” jeonghan stutters, quickly wiping his own tears. he wants to comfort you more, but he couldn’t find the words to. he felt like he didn’t deserve to.

sniffing, your fingers suddenly start to gly across the typewriter, the clicks ringing in the air. jeonghan observes you intensely, watching you throw draft after draft away. you were clearly frustrated.

finally, after his ice had melted, his coffee finished, you were done.

“sorry,” you say, removing the paper. “i had a hard time finding the right words,” you confessed as he smiled.

he looked down, reading the poem as you fidgeted with your fingers. his eyes drift across each word, heart clenching as he reached the last line.

“this is beautiful,” he says breathlessly. “thank you. i love it.”

you return the smile. “thank you for coming. i hope to see you again.”

jeonghan’s heart flutters at your words momentarily. “thank you for the coffee and poem. and who knows? perhaps i will see you again,” he chuckles before waving goodbye, pushing the glass door open as the bell chimed.

the breeze was stronger now, and jeonghan had to grab onto his hat again. with a loud sigh, he began to walk down the street, thoughts flooding his mind. it was racing, restless and utterly confused.

as he reached the end, he stopped at a traffic light, waiting for it to turn green. pulling out the piece of paper, he reread what you had written, tears forming in the corner of his eyes once again.

‘who are you,

stranger?

you look rather familiar.

perhaps i have loved you.

in another life.’

[atzfilm]

— 『 𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋; 𝐨𝐭8 』 [3] (M)

— 𝚠𝚘𝚗 • 𝚍𝚎𝚛 • 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕, adjective. having someone who serves as a pillar in your life, who offers a sturdy place to lean in times of trouble. somebody you find yourself thinking about constantly and are completely infatuated with.

❝humans were such strange creatures. wretched in their mere existence. none of the eight were ever truly interested in them until they found you. they just find it strange that despite their status and rank, you'd rather spend time with your lover. that isn't much of a problem, though. one they can fix with ease.❞

〘ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ, ᴍʏᴛʜ, ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ꜰᴀᴇʀɪᴇꜱ〙(m.list)

— pairing: ot8 x reader, mxm (this chapter); yunho x reader; 10.9k

— note: this is a yandere fic. sensitive topics such as manipulation, gaslighting, murder, and other topics involved with the genre. please heed the warnings and read this work of fiction while keeping this in mind. also note: these chapters are very much introductory of each character & their roles, so smut is further down the line ♡.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: murder, manipulation, blood, torture references, dark magic, kidnapping, emotional turmoil, injuries, descriptions of gore, needles

Chapter 3:

The days seem to drag on. Rarely do you run into anyone else in the home. Awake at early hours of the morning, grab something from the kitchen, stay in your designated room throughout the day. It's a routine you've made for yourself; none of the Unseelie bother you. They leave you alone to your thoughts, even Wooyoung, surprisingly. So here you are, peeling off the skin of an orange as you sit on the balcony. Tossing it to the ground below, taking slow bites. Do the townspeople worry? Now that you're gone, do they wonder what happened? Has anyone seen the aftermath of your shop – back door ripped from its hinges, bookshelves broken, piled on top of one another? Do they care?

Has Soobin come back yet?

Your eyes move to the loud steps on the porch to the left of you. Yunho stands there with someone. You're not too sure, you've never seen this faerie before. Height matches Yunho's, arms crossed as he speaks. You can't hear what they're arguing about, their eyes flicking up to you. You pause in your eating. Yunho nods, a small smile on his lips. The other doesn't say anything, giving you his back. He leaves the house behind, ignoring the yells of Yunho. Your teeth almost puncture your bottom lip at the sight. You expected him to walk through the barrier they've created, but his clothing shreds in an instant, body disappearing from view. The pieces slowly float to the dirt.

There's no reason for you to be shocked at all since they are Unseelies, but seeing someone dissipate, just like that?

What have you gotten yourself into?

"He's having a moment, no need to be alarmed," Wooyoung says. You jump at the sound of his voice, looking to the side of you. He sits on the railing, leg swinging. "Mingi doesn't like to be put in a situation he can't take control of. Yunho just told him about you staying. He isn't exactly happy about it."

"I didn't choose this," you murmur.

Wooyoung shrugs, "And that's what makes him more angry. You didn't choose to stay so he can't be angry with you. He trusts us, our opinions. So when his own thoughts conflict with ours, it's a lot for him. He then turns into that raven and leaves for a while."

"Hm."

Wooyoung turns to you. His clothing is loose, a brown, sheer robe draping over his lean frame. The shoes are long gone, tan skin shown. You can see the outline of his chest, the transparent material not leaving much to the imagination. If you squint, you're sure there's tattoos decorating his skin. But you look away after the brief silence, not wanting to let your eyes linger on him longer than they have to.

"We're having a harvest celebration soon," he begins. "Other faeries and Unseelies will be joining."

A party at a time like this? And while you're out and about in the hallways? Unseelie aren't tolerant of humans from what you can see. This occasion will only lead to terrible things.

"When?"

"Tonight," he smiles. "Right in our dining hall and parlor. It'll be fun. Happens once a year. You should join, pretty."

"A human celebrating with faeries? Sounds like a recipe for a disaster."

His grin widens, "Even better, no? Everyone in our spark will be there. You'll get to see all of us at once. Instead of avoiding us at every chance you get like you've been doing for the past couple of days. We've all noticed by the way."

"I'm here for Seonghwa’s tests and nothing more. I don't have a reason to go to that party."

"But you do, solaris." The nickname slips off his tongue with ease, as if you didn't yell at him days prior for it. Again, another silly mistake on your part to think he'd ever stop. "Trust me when I say it'll be advantageous to not try to avoid this one. Luck won't be on your side." He waves, sliding off the banister. You look down to see if he landed but he vanished from sight completely. Another thing you haven't exactly gotten used to. Knowing they're Unseelies is one thing, but seeing the magic first hand is another. You stand up from your spot, stomach growling.

This time of day is what you dislike the most – the Unseelie are roaming, doors opening and closing, laughter echoing through the hallways. Instead of it being comforting it only causes you anxiety. Their promises of not hurting you fall on deaf ears. You don’t doubt that whenever they are finished with their experimentation, they will end your life. It is mindless for you to even stick around here.

“Not like I have much of a choice,” you murmur, glancing at your bedroom door. A soft knock startles you, but you walk to it anyway, swinging it open. Seonghwa stands there, eyes flicking over your attire before meeting your eyes. The Unseelie provided you with sleepwear – which you vehemently refused. So you soaked your own clothing in soapy water last night and let it hang dry until early dawn. It’s more than wrinkled, still a little damp from the lack of sunlight in the forest.

“You didn’t take the clothing.” he states. It’s not a question, so you don’t bother answering. His eyes narrow. “You look unkempt.”

“You would say that even if I wore what you gave me.”

“Being stubborn will only get you so far, human. Here,” he holds out a small container, filled with breakfast food. Why it bothers you that he did not deny your words is beyond your own comprehension. “I need you to eat before I pull more samples. Having you faint is not ideal.”

You hesitate. The rules you’ve written down play over and over in your head. The first one on the list that you have no choice but to break. Do not eat what they offer. You take it from him, thanking him quickly. He merely shrugs, turning on his heel.

“Follow me. Close, please. The others are around all late morning into the afternoon and I’d rather not have any distractions pulling you away.”

You take his word for it, sliding an apple slice between your lips as you follow. A loud crash echoes around the hallway and Seonghwa glances to the side for a moment. His brow quirks in irritation, looking back at you. “Ignore him, he’s starting trouble again.”

“I’m not,” Wooyoung’s loud tone echoes through the hallways and you definitely take the advice of Seonghwa, stepping a bit closer to him. Seonghwa enters his lab, holding the door open for you. You step inside and he takes the key from the lock immediately, slipping it into his pocket as he closes the door. He sees the questions in your eyes, and nods.

“If I didn’t we’d have another surprise guest. Yunho will be back soon, so while we wait we should continue with testing. Please take a seat across from that table,” he points further into the room. Just like his library, the lab is neatly organized, books of equal height shelved next to each other, binders of what you can assume is research, labeled and placed in height order. Vials line the wall as you sit, Seonghwa’s steps silent as he sinks in the seat across from you. Between the door and you sitting he somehow changed his clothing, a lab coat covering his attire, sleeves lifted and gloves stretched over his fingers. He holds out his hand, palm up. You place your hand in his, and he thanks you, reaching for the syringe.

“I didn’t think I’d need more blood from you,” he starts, pulling off a tab. He curses to himself, placing it on the table and reaching for a small alcohol pad, wiping off your skin. “But one of my spark took some blood off my shelf, mistakenly with your sample as well.”

You’re not too sure how to feel about your blood being stolen.

He senses your perturbation as well, continuing. “We prefer not to conjure blood curses unless absolutely necessary. Despite us being Unseelie, the process to perform creates a heavy burden on our bodies. As to your blood and well, human blood overall, we use it to aid in potions and other things. Nothing with much substance. San used it to assist with something he was practicing with Yeosang.”

“Your explanation only makes me worry more.” And you haven't the slightest idea on who these people are that he's mentioning.

“No need to, we can’t truly bind you to anything if your mind and soul are not willing,” he lifts a tub, inserting another into the holder. His hand holds your arm, eyes glancing at your upper arm. You cannot see it, but something wraps tightly around it, lifting your skin. He presses his finger against your vein again, before slowly sliding the needle beneath the surface. The pressure is gone as you watch him fill the vials.

“Wooyoung told me you were displeased with the nickname he uses for you,” he glances at you, placing another tube in the holder. “You should be thankful. It’s rare that he cares for something enough to create one.”

“Is it necessary? My name is y/n, nothing more,” you say. “My partner didn’t even call me anything other than my name.”

"He never used nicknames with you." He states matter-of-factly.

"He always thought they were a bit silly," you murmur. You notice Seonghwa gaze lingering on you in the silence. "What? Is that so strange?"

Seonghwa furrows his brows. "Not quite. But I've seen how humans interact. How they create nicknames for ones they are fond of. It seems strange that your partner of several years wouldn't make up something endearing."

His observation makes your thoughts muddle. Soobin cared for you in ways you can’t quite describe. Did it ever bother you that he only called you by your name? Not at all. But the more you dwell on it, the more your stomach turns. You decide to change the conversation. "Are you saying you are fond of me, Seonghwa?"

“I’ve never used a nickname for you.”

You widen your eyes, “Did an Unseelie just lie?”

He scowls. "I’m not lying. Why would I call you anything else?"

“You call me human almost every time you see me. Is that not a nickname?”

Deadpanned, he continues, “Calling you what you are isn’t exactly what I’d consider a nickname, y/n. As I have said before, you are just an experiment.”

"And if I weren't?" you tease, leaning forward. "What's the first thing you think of when you see me? An annoyance? Irritating?" It's only a way to poke his buttons, but he just stares at you, thinking. Quite hard. The silence is long enough that you lean back, clearing your throat. "I was kidding."

"I wouldn't be able to call you anything other than beautiful, y/n, if I were so fond of you. You are kind and merciful, proud and resilient. Human words cannot describe it. I can see why your former partner adored you; it's hard not to."

You're not sure what else to say, his words more than shocking. He cannot lie. He believes everything he just said. And that scares you.

"You're afraid," He says simply.

"Yes."

"Of?"

What a hard question. "This. What you just said."

"I can't see why. Beauty comes in many forms," he explains, sliding out the needle. He grabs a small square of gauze, pressing it lightly into your arm. "It would be foolish of me not to see it in you. Have you forgotten that before all of this that us two were friends? Even if it was manufactured by me at the time, it shouldn't be surprising that I feel this way. I've seen how you've interacted with other humans. You are kind, patient, soft spoken. You fear what you cannot predict, but you don't let it stop you from continuing. Even now, you are worried about a bookstore that is not even yours. I am not lying when I say that I find your existence beautiful in itself. Humans are often selfish. But you, you seem the opposite."

He places a bandaid over the hole, "Done for now."

You nod slowly, holding your arm close. Seonghwa pushes the food closer to you, standing up and taking the vials. Not often are you left speechless. From what you know, what you've read, Unseelie do not love the same way as humans. He probably doesn't understand how words like that could affect you. Yes, that's right. It's an objective look, an affirming statement. Nothing more than observations.

Seonghwa moves to the door, opening it. Yunho enters, resting his jacket on the coat rack. His eyes relax when they meet yours, waving. "There you are, pretty girl. Sorry for my late arrival. Our meeting lasted longer than deemed necessary. Quite annoying," he glances at Seonghwa. "The tests are what we talked about, correct?"

Oh.

The two of them talk to each other, but your mind is stuck. Glued even. How could he let those two words just slide from his lips? Pretty. Girl. No. Your mind is playing tricks on you, you decide. Yunho is kind, sweet even. But that? That.

You can't even begin to fathom the reason.

"y/n?"

You're pulled out of the depth that is your thoughts, Seonghwa waiting. "Do you feel faint? Should we wait until you've eaten more? You look as if you've seen a specter."

You shake your head. "No. I'm good. Perfect even." The grin you plaster on your cheeks must be horrendous, Seonghwa’s lips forming a scowl.

"We'll continue, then. You would think that a human being able to lie meant that they could perform it with ease. That doesn't seem to be your case, though."

This time you frown. "Thanks for that, Seonghwa."

He shrugs. "Truth hurts. Yunho will perform his tests now with you. I'm not needed for this, so I'll be in my library. Hesitate to bother me, please." He exits, tossing the key to Yunho. Said man locks the door, turning to you.

"Is he always this grumpy?" You ask.

"Unfortunately yes. Shall we begin?"

-

The test is simple.

Yunho holds out his hand, you take his. His eyes rest on yours as he tries to listen to your thoughts. It's easy enough, not much that you need to do. The others have said it failed previously, so it's very likely that it may fail again this time around. The likelihood of it does not settle your heart though. It still thumps against your chest as it always does when any of them are around. A defense mechanism, sure. No way for you to control it. Your palms aren't free from the nerves either, clammy. You wipe them on your pants for the nth time.

"If I can listen it'll prove enough. My perception abilities only go so far. I'm not as majikly inclined compared to San or Mingi. Rarely do I ever use it, I won't linger longer than I need to."

"Do you promise?" It may be an empty one, but you must be sure. It'll help your heart stop hammering against your chest.

"Of course. A test now and nothing more," he assures you, palm resting on the table, waiting for your hand. The moment is slow, your palm dropping onto his. He lets his long fingers curl into yours. "Look at me, pretty girl."

"...Can I talk?" You ask, and he nods.

You meet his gaze. The brown of his eyes and hair begin to slowly change. Brown darkening into a deep burgundy, lighting up the more you look at him. The situation is strange in itself, but his eyes are still kind.

"Why do you call me that?" You ask.

His lips quirk, "Pretty girl?"

Your fingers tighten slightly in his hold, before nodding. "Yes. That."

"I overheard the conversation between you and Seonghwa. How your former partner never called you anything special. I thought it was… weird, I suppose. Since I first saw you, I thought you were pretty. And," he glances away from you for a moment. Your mind must be playing games – pink begins to dust his cheek. No way. He wouldn't be blushing, would he? No. Just a trick of the eye. Probably because of his red hair. "It's the first thing that came to mind when I saw you sitting here waiting for me. I couldn't help it. I do find you pretty, y/n. It shouldn't be that strange to you."

You use your free hand to rub the frown lines on your face. "Ah. No. I'm just surprised, that's all."

"Why?"

"I mean, Yunho…" It's hard to explain when he's looking at you like that.

Guilt begins to rise. You shouldn't be this way. But the more you listen to him, the more wrong you feel. It's only been a few months without Soobin. Entertaining someone, especially a faerie, an Unseelie… you can't. Not when you really haven't moved past your ex-boyfriend. You still think of him daily. No matter how warm someone else looks at you, you just can't. Not now.

"I hope you keep that nickname to yourself," you say. "I don't think I want to hear it from you."

"Oh," you don't notice the change in his expression. It's subtle. Brows slightly arching, an irritated twitch of his lips. It disappears when you look at him. "I never wish to make you uncomfortable."

"You don't make me uncomfortable," you state this plainly, sure to keep your tone neutral. "But I'm just not used to things like that. I hope you understand."

"I do," he nods. "But if there comes a time when you're not so hesitant, please tell me. I wouldn't mind calling you that instead of your name, y/n."

It's no surprise his simple words make your heart skip a beat.

"Okay. Thank you for listening to me," you say. His head tilts, eyes still on yours.

"No need. Still can't read those thoughts of yours," Finally looking away, he sighs. His fingers slip from yours, the warmth gone. "I guess we'll have to try something else. Or just wait and see what Seonghwa has found."

Just like that. You pull your hand back into your lap and enclasp your fingers. Hoping that same warm feeling will come back somehow.

Silly.

"What will you do when you find out?" You ask.

He thinks. "Figure out a way to stop humans from having your trait, ability, whatever it may be. Your existence is one thing. If you're one in a billion, a slip in the evolution process, then that's fine to us. We just can't have it happen over and over again, you see. But I'm sure you know the reason why. You're not a selfish one."

He stands, adjusting his shirt. "You didn't eat much. May I…?"

You look at the assortment of fruit Seonghwa gave you, most just picked at. You nod, expecting him to grab the ones you haven't really touched. Instead, he takes one of the apple slices you've bitten already, sliding it between his lips.

"Tasty," he grins. "You taste good."

You can't control your blinks, confusion etched into your features. No, you couldn't have heard that right. No. So many thoughts cross your mind, many not too appropriate for the situation you're in at this very moment. Yunho grabs another fruit you bit into, humming. "Sweet."

Your eyes widen.

"Something wrong?" He asks, darkened eyes staring unrelentingly. The air in the room feels denser, thickened with his mere look. You can't look away even if you want to, fingers digging into your pants.

"I put the samples away," Seonghwa enters the room. Yunho breaks eye contact with you and you let out a long breath, chest throbbing from how hard your heart was racing. Yunho's expression is back to how it usually is, soft eyes following Seonghwa’s walk. As if he did not just freeze you into this very spot. If Seonghwa notices anything he doesn't say a word, grabbing his fleece off a chair and sliding his arms inside.

"Hongjoong wants to see you." He looks to you, gaze roaming over your clothing. "I would prefer if you wore something more appropriate when meeting him. Dressing as you are now is a bad look."

"He wouldn't care if she wore nothing, Seonghwa," Yunho shrugs. "You know that. And there's nothing wrong with her attire now. You cannot expect her to scroll around with those horrid faerie clothing you've given her. None of it fits properly."

"I said that I would prefer it. Hongjoong is a different character," Seonghwa rolls his eyes. "But it doesn't matter. He wants to see you now, so there's no use in trying to change. Come, human. Yunho, San needs you to help with the decor. Jongho is having another fit."

Yunho's jolly expression breaks for a second, an irritated twitch in his brow. "Has he broken the lighting again?" He nods, a groan escaping him. "Perfect." He bows his head at you before leaving.

"Come," Seonghwa turns to you. "Or would you rather help with the mess?"

"I'd rather not be here at all."

Seonghwa cracks a smile, "Don't we all?"

You stand from your spot. Just as you're about to leave, Seonghwa hesitates. You cannot utter a word because he starts first.

"Take his words with caution. Hongjoong is a character to say the least. Though most of us are straightforward with our words, Hongjoong likes to play a lot with it. You cannot be sure of what's next to come out."

"What are you telling me this for? To run?"

He turns around. The solemn expression makes your own mask slip. "If needed, yes. I will not be far unless someone pulls me away. But on the off chance that I'm not around, don't waste time to leave. The barrier is gone right now. You'd have a better time escaping the woods than staying with him."

"He's your leader, no?"

Seonghwa nods, "And this is why I'm telling you what I am. Be careful, y/n. You are a mere rabbit in his eyes. Nothing more than that."

—

Seonghwa’s words repeat over and over in your head. A mere rabbit. Prey. You're not foolish to know that your stay here is temporary. Hiding your anxiety at the situation is what you've done, what you've been doing. But having to pretend in front of the leader, holding back your fear? You don't even know what he looks like.

Why did Soobin make you go to that stupid festival?

He is just on the other side of that door. All you have to do is knock. That's all. Your hand hovers over the wood.

The door swings open. You expect to see someone standing there but instead, there's no one. You slowly enter, glancing back. Seonghwa left you alone to deal, unfortunately. Just as you move out of the door's proximity, it closes itself, locking. You can help but let out a low laugh. Mythical creatures being real is something you'd never wrap your head around. The hallway is dark, luminescence peeking from underneath a door further away. You take another long breath, before opening it yourself. Immediately, your eyes move to him.

He is Unlike the others, that you can see. When you first learned of him, you thought he would be stern, rigid. Instead, you stand at the doorway to his spell room – a clap echoing as he stares at the table filled with vast ingredients.

"Finally," he breathes. "Took three hellish hours. Ah," He pauses.

He turns to you, wholly black gaze blinking away into a softer brown. The sight isn't terrifying in itself – it just scares you that you cannot distinguish him from another human, aside from his quiet beauty. He hides his potions away, leaning against the tabletop. You do not say a word in fear of upsetting him. He seems to notice this, head tilting as he stares at you.

"Oh, so you are the dear, pitiful human that has gotten my spark all ruffled up? What to do with you?" He smiles.

It is all but friendly.

His stature is on the shorter side compared to the rest of the Unseelie you've met thus far, about Wooyoung's height. His black hair is wild, strands scattered about, some tucked behind his ears. A seemingly permanent sly smile coating his lips. You can see why he's their leader. Charisma oozes from him despite having said no more than two sentences. Two sentences that have left you utterly speechless. Choosing your words carefully, you finally speak.

"I've heard some things about you," you say. A sleek brow of his lifts at your words, daring you to continue. You take the challenge. "Hongjoong, leader of your spark."

His grin is slow, eyes flicking between yours as it widens. His tongue drags across his lips, playing with the piercing hooked into the bottom one. A quick glance and you see several – studs lining his ears, fingers covered with golden jewels. A small amulet resting on where his pulse beats on. "In the flesh. Humans haven't seen me in centuries. You should be proud to even grace my presence, my pretty star." He glances behind you. "Everyone else seems interested in you as well. It took many of months to finally see you for myself. I have to admit, I do see the unwavering appeal. Ordinary looking, but there's something," his eyes roam over your outfit. "Your aura, maybe. What do you think, Mingi?"

"I think we should get ready, Hongjoong."

You tense up at the deep voice, looking back. Well, looking up. Mingi stands not a breath away from you, barely giving you a glance as you stare up at him. His golden clothing is as wispy as Wooyoung's, sheer against his chest and darkening as it flows down. You take a step to the side to bring some distance between the two of you, heart racing. You're only startled every time one of them pops up. And from the disappearance act you witnessed earlier, Mingi can make himself do it with ease. You would expect someone of his size to at least make a bit of noise when he enters a room. His blonde hair is neatly slicked down, mossy green markings starting at the curve of his jaw, covering the rest of his body. Mingi clears his throat and you look away from him.

The tales didn't mention that Unseelie were all unnaturally beautiful. Though it does make sense. You can't see how humans will follow them to their deaths otherwise. Even you, knowing what you do, are already falling without trying.

Falling for their traps, you correct yourself. Nothing more than that.

"Ah, and I assume that she will be joining us?" Hongjoong glances at you. "It'll be a very interesting gathering."

"Chaotic to say the least," Mingi sighs softly. "We should just lock her in her room until sunrise. The others will smell her, but there will be spells and other spoils to deter them. I'd hate to have to care for the human all night."

"I'm not a child," you frown.

Mingi does not bother looking in your direction nor acknowledge your response, "Wooyoung should watch her, not I."

"Neither of you are watching her. Yunho will be by her side most of the night."

Mingi's eyes widen briefly, "Hongjoong, is that the best choice at this time–"

"Take her back to her room to get ready," Hongjoong turns to you. "We've prepared a few outfits for you to try. It'll help you blend in more with the rest of us. If any are unsatisfactory, I'll have Yeosang conjure up another. Until you are satisfied with your choice."

You shake your head, "Not needed–"

"I want my star to shine bright tonight, y/n. You will not be dull when everyone else is watching. I bid you adieu–" He giggles. "I've always wanted to say that." He looks back at Mingi. “We’ll talk after you drop her off and get ready yourself, there’s much to do to prepare."

"Hongjoong…" He sighs. The leader does not bother saying anything else, turning back to his assortment of potions. Mingi finally looks at you. "Please follow me."

"I know where my room is," Your words are neither heard nor acknowledged, Mingi disappearing back into the dim hallway. You follow after swiftly, his pace much faster than yours.

You stumble after him through the hallways, passing by your designated room. "Hey, Min…"

He stops. His steps are quick, barely a breath away from you. You step back as he steps forward, your back hitting the wall. Anger resides in his eyes as he stares down at you. "You do not utter my name. You do not acknowledge me outside of forced interactions by one of the others. We do not speak to each other unless absolutely necessary. Do you understand?"

Your fear is a good enough answer for him. He moves back, gesturing to the door behind you. "Yeosang prepared your outfit in a different room since the others are lurking around yours right now. Get dressed, Yunho will be here promptly to explain how to act properly in front of the other faeries." He leaves you, dissipating right in front of your eyes. You can feel how your heart beats against your chest. You blink, hand reaching for the knob and turning it open. You close it behind you, back against the wood.

It's too much. All of this is just. too. much.

—

"What is your goal?"

"I am just trying to have a successful gathering. Is that too much to ask for, Mingi?" Hongjoong stares at the potions on the table, deep in thought. "She will be here for quite a while anyway. It's better to show them that we have everything in order rather than attempting to hide her."

"You told Seonghwa you did not care for her and wanted her gone. And now you're compromising Yunho's sanity because you want to get back at us, is that it?"

Hongjoong’s brow twitches at Mingi's words. "You know I would never put you in danger. Any of you."

"Then why are you now?"

Hongjoong finally looks away from his table, eyes flicking up to Mingi's. "You question me?"

He sighs, rubbing his face, "I just want to know your reasoning. You know well what he means to me."

"I am beginning to wonder," Hongjoong steps closer to Mingi. He lets his hand rest on his cheek, thumb rubbing the skin slowly. Mingi's eyelids flutter at his touch, leaning into it. "If any of you truly trust me. Yunho has been so misguided, removed from modern society. We all know how he tore that Seelie apart. It wouldn't have happened if he had the chance to leave, to experience things like us. We isolated him to the point of inner destruction. Him keeping by the human’s side is a test, yes. One of self control. I need to see how he will fair when he is beside someone he desires and yet cannot have. I have to test his temperament before I decide what to do next, Mingi. This is for him."

Mingi covers Hongjoong’s hand with his, "I trust you. I just have one more question."

"Speak it."

"What is your plan? With the human?"

Hongjoong bares a sliver of his teeth, black irises only deepening. "Everyone is enthralled with her. It's my chance to have my own fun."

—

You stare in the mirror at yourself.

Right as you pulled the slacks over your finger, it adjusted itself to your body. The Unseelie you've met have only worn sheer clothing around you and this is no different. It would make you uncomfortable if you didn't see how it clearly hides sensitive parts of your body, leaving it to the imagination. Still, it is unlike you. You're used to something different. Your pile of clothes next to the bathroom door is all the more alluring as you gaze at yourself. Heavy bags beneath your eyes from lack of sleep, hands that are endlessly shaky. You look tired.

Exhausted.

A light knock on your door pulls you away from those pesky thoughts that were soon to move to your Soobin. You clear your throat, giving yourself a look once more before rushing to the door after a second knock.

You open it to Yunho. He looks cleaned up, hair neatly tossed, a small curl resting on his forehead. He wears an outfit very similar to yours but much more sheer and revealing, your face glued on his. His flicks over yours briefly. You think you see a light blush coating his cheeks.

"Faerie clothing suits you," he says softly. "I will respect your wishes and not say anything more."

You let out a breath, "You think? I feel like it looks silly."

True shock coats his face, "No. You look fine. You," He struggles with his wording and you can only smile at him. He sighs, rubbing his cheeks. "You are … breathtaking."

“You’re flattering me,” you look away from him, quickly coming up with something else to pull him away from those thoughts. “When is the party?”

“It started an hour or so ago,” Yunho says simply, taking in your shocked expression. “They are all awaiting your arrival, y/n. It should be quite fun.”

If your heart could sink any further, it would. “Waiting? I’m not a special guest, I just found out about this tonight. I –” You barely ate breakfast, but it feels as if your insides are about to come out. It only makes sense that Hongjoong would catch you off guard like this. It makes complete sense, but why would he? Does he expect you to fail this test, or whatever it is?

“You’re letting your thoughts run from you,” Yunho says. “Don’t leave yourself behind.”

“I don’t want to do this,” you admit. “At all.”

“Neither do I,” he sighs simply, glancing behind him. “But it’s out of my control. This Gathering of ours has been planned for months on end. Hongjoong loves masquerade balls to discuss important matters with other Unseelie and Faeries. In fact, pardon me – ” Yunho steps inside the room, closing the door behind him. “Wouldn’t want unsavory ears to listen to my words.”

You notice the masks in his hands now, “Masquerade?”

“Yes, a lot of faeries are shy without it, believe it or not,” he glances between your eyes. “Do you mind if I place yours?”

You shake your head, and he smiles. He takes his time, making sure it fits comfortably over your eyes before tying it in the back. “Too tight?” he asks softly. His lips barely hover over your ears as he asks. With a quick swallow, you shake your head. “Perfect.” He ties it with ease, moving back. Somehow between that time he’s put his over his eyes, looking over you once.

“Unrecognizable?” You tease.

“I’d recognize you in any room. As Mingi told you, I'll explain briefly what will happen. Since you are the only human that will be there, eyes will follow you. I won't be leaving your side all night in the event one of them tries something unsavory. And though I will be watching, please don't hesitate to tell me if you feel that something is wrong."

"Is this dangerous, me being around them?"

"Our spark isn't dangerous, but many others are. We all use humans in many ways, y/n. We as a species aren't the kindest to yours."

You're glad he's explaining it all to you. But it doesn't lessen your fear at all. "You won't leave me alone?"

"I won't. Be yourself, y/n. It'll go well. Shall we go?” he holds out his arm. You slip yours beneath his with ease, fingers lightly touching his sleeve. His outfit isn’t transparent like the rest you’ve seen, a solid satin blue. Still it leaves nothing to the imagination, securely fit to his body. Your nerves catch up to you as you walk through the hallways to the opposite side of the house you haven’t been to yet. All doors are ajar, many attendees you have yet to set your eyes on. Most shift their gaze to watch Yunho escort you to the main hall. All of this is too much too soon, your nails sinking into his arm without you noticing. Running is not an option. No matter how much you want it to be.

No matter how close he stands to you, how much they speak to you, you are alone.

“Hey,” Yunho stops walking. You look up at him. “You’re holding on a bit tight there, y/n.”

You look at your grip, noticing that it’s tight enough to break skin. Just as you begin to pull back he covers your hand with his free one, shaking his head. “Hold on to me if you need to. It doesn’t hurt.”

“I’m sorry–”

“I just want to make sure you’re okay, that’s all. Hold on to me, y/n. I’m here.” You feel the stares, feel them glued to your back as you look up at him. “Hear me?”

“…Yes,” you whisper. You close your eyes for a moment. “Okay. We can go.”

He squeezes your hand before letting go, moving forward. The gazes are still burning into him and yourself, but you pretend not to notice. Ignore how much it bothers you. How silly it is – trusting an Unseelie, a man you barely know. How much you’re relying on his arm to steady yourself, his words to keep you calm. How with just a few months, you’ve let someone else other than Soobin help you.

You enter the grandeur hall.

It’s massive; chandeliers hang from the high ceiling, jewels and cold everywhere you look. Tables filled with faeries speaking amongst one another, laughter throughout the area. Yunho pulls you forward through the crowds. He seems to command a presence here – faeries without prompt giving him a pathway. They continue to talk but you hear whispers in languages you cannot understand. The word human sticks out. Still he pulls you along to the front of the room. There a banquet table sits, nine seats lined side by side. Hongjoong sits in the middle of the table, literally. He rests himself on top of the table, legs cross as he speaks to an unfamiliar faerie in front of him. You barely get a chance to look at the rest sitting there, one at the far end startling you. He stares at you with such disgust, a scowl seemingly permanently carved into his face.

“You’ve made it,” Hongjoong says, tilting his head around the faerie to look at you. “And how lovely you are.”

“I would say the same, but it will only boost your ego.”

The faerie in front of him widens their eyes. Hongjoong smile slips, waving them away. They leave without a second thought. He stands, brown eyes dissipating within an instant. The black stares at you as he moves closer. You shift your body towards Yunho, his head slightly shifting to the movement.

“You will hold your tongue in front of me,” Hongjoong says. “Do you understand me, human?”

“Yes.” You say, looking away. Not missing a beat, his smile slides back.

“Perfect, I hope you enjoy the rest of the party. It will be more than entertaining. I must leave now to tend to the other guests. Please let the others introduce themselves to you – we all will be seeing a lot of you for quite a while.” He bows to Yunho. Yunho bows, stepping to the side to let Hongjoong mingle.

“You could draw blood from that fearsome gaze of yours,” Yunho whispers, nudging your shoulder. “Even I am petrified.”

“I, sorry,” you say again, sucking in a breath. “Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing for your expressions y/n. Hongjoong was just…” he thinks for a moment. “You know of his status, no?”

“He is the leader of your spark.”

“Yes, but he is not only the leader of the eight of us. He is the head of Unseelie, y/n. There is not one faerie within this room who would defy him. So those words in front of another faerie, challenging his status at an event,” he quirks his brow.

Oh how you wish you could crawl out of your skin. You turn back, watching as all the masked party guests bow as he passes, his laughter echoing around the room. Charisma oozes from him, yes, but so does pure unrivaled power. A passerby gives him a glass and he takes it within a breath. You look at Yunho.

“He’s going to kill me.”

Yunho snickers, shaking his head, “He will entertain himself with the others. Worry not.”

“Solaris!” An irritating familiar voice echoes through the hall. Without a second to beat he throws his body into yours, wrapping his arms around you. His giggles echo around you, squeezing quite tight before letting go. He pulls back, the same grin still on his face. Wooyoung steps back for a moment, eyes flicking over your attire. “As always you are a beautiful sunset.”

“You cannot calm yourself even at a party?” Yunho frowns. He feels the emptiness of your arm since you’ve let go to steady yourself from Wooyoung’s attack. The absence of your warmth is not comforting. Only annoying him further. You seem not to notice at all though. Between your exasperation at him slamming himself into you, Yunho can see the tension in your shoulders ease. He just wishes that he were the one to do it, not him.

“My pretty solaris is shining, Yunho,” Wooyoung sticks his tongue out at him. “I cannot believe that Hongjoong made him your bodyguard when I am here!” He sighs, sitting in the spot Hongjoong once was. His mask rests on the top of his head. He holds out a drink for you and you take it, eyeing it.

“Is it alcohol?”

“Faeries do not really enjoy it since we don’t get intoxicated like humans. And it tastes disgusting,” Wooyoung murmurs. “This is a tonic of concentrated fruits. Sweet, but does nothing to humans.” He encourages you.

You trust his words only because you know he cannot lie, taking a sip. It’s sweet, but not off-putting. “Tasty,” you point out. Yunho takes the other resting on the table, sitting next to Wooyoung. He widens his eyes, digging in his pocket.

Yunho smiles at you, “I almost forgot. Hand.”

"Hand?" You shoot him a quizzical look. He holds out his to you, waiting. You're sure he'd wait forever until you place yours upon his so you do so, his large hand covers yours entirely. At first, you feel a soothing feeling across your skin. The warmth rises in temperature, just enough to the point where it's bearable, but sweaty. He stares at your enclosed hands. With a small whistle, they begin to illuminate in the dark, swirling around your skin before disappearing into the air. His eyes flick to yours, a sunset staring back at you.

"Pretty, no?" He grins, squeezing your hand once. "It took me a bit since I'm not an expert at majik like the others. Yeosang helped me with the spell, and San helped me cast."

Their names mean close to nothing to you now. You're very sure they will in the future, though. Close future, from the gazes around you.

"What's it for?"

His grin widens, then. "To impress a pretty human. And it will help me keep an eye on you if you ever leave my sight tonight. I will take it away once this gathering ends."

You tuck it in your front pocket.

“You’ve made it,” Wooyoung says, looking behind you. You don’t exactly need to guess who it is, the quiet movement enough for you to pinpoint. His conversation, well, threat, from earlier is enough for you not to acknowledge him at all. Instead, you move a bit closer to Yunho’s side. “You said you hate parties.”

“I do,” his deep voice murmurs. You take a quick glance at Mingi. He avoids your gaze entirely, hands tucked in his pockets. “But Hongjoong insisted. No matter how much I tell him my presence here will only put the others on edge.”

You look behind him. Still the eyes are on yours, but you see others observing Mingi. Many look away quickly. How much fear does the Unseelie resonate?

“They would be on edge anyway since they are in our residence,” Yunho shrugs. “y/n’s presence along with ours brings more questions than answers. None are brave enough to speak about it though. Secures our status.”

You speak, “Even if they asked, I have nothing to say.”

Yunho smiles, “I can pick one thing you’d be able to shock them with.”

Ah, right. Resistant to faeries. Your eyes flick over to one Unseelie who sits at the table. He’s beautiful, to say the least. Black hair in wisps, resting at the bottom of his neck, silver jewelry wrapped around strands. A peak of what looks like a birthmark on the side of one of his eyes, stretching to his temple. His brown eyes are not looking at yours at all, focused on your lower face. As you stare, it looks like he’s watching your lips. You look away.

His head rests on his hands as he watches you speak to Wooyoung. Your words are quick, annoyance drawn on your face when he twists your words, often vulgar. He only laughs at the expression, continuing his rant. Yeosang himself and the others are used to his antics, his quick words and joking tone. He quite honestly thought you'd be deterred by it, but you match his wit in an instant, sometimes causing Wooyoung to falter, skip words. Yeosang can't help but grin, eyes steady on yours. You look to the side, meeting his interested gaze.

"Yeosang doesn't speak much," Wooyoung starts. "Especially when I'm talking."

"Maybe because you can never stop," Yunho hums from behind him.

"Nice to meet you, Yeosang," you hold out your hand. Yeosang's brows furrow at the gesture. Humans are often disgusted with faeries, especially one of the Unseelies. You extend out your hand with such ease, well, it makes him confused. The time must have passed long enough for it to be uncomfortable, your hand sliding back away.

He reaches out before you place it back on your side, his fingers gripping yours softly in a quick shake.

Your skin is quite soft, he thinks.

“You are not afraid of me,” he states, his hand dropping from yours. “Why?”

“Should I be?” you question. It lingers in the air, eyes briefly moving to Yunho’s for assistance. He merely shrugs, your gaze moving back to Yeosang’s. “I’m not immediately afraid of an Unseelie. Not anymore.”

“That’s delightful! It’s all me, by the way,” Wooyoung grins, interrupting. Mingi meets his eyes for a moment, gesturing to the side. He sighs, hopping off the table. “I would love to mingle more, but Hongjoong needs me. I’ll see you all soon enough. Yeosang, he needs you as well.”

“Just a moment,” Yeosang waves him off. He pats his pocket, putting out a small map. “Can you read this?” he holds it out to you. He seems insistent on it, gaze sharp. “Humans are able to, not Unseelies.”

“Oh…?” You take it from him. You can read it easily, some words more advanced than you’re used to, but it’s all legible.

“Now is not the time, Yeosang,” Mingi murmurs, rubbing his eyes beneath the mask. “Not at a party.”

“It is just for a moment. If she knows, then she’ll be able to assist me. So, human?” Yeosang asks, turning back to you. “Can you understand the writing?”

–

A threat.

That's his first thought as he stares at you across from the room. The reason why the others are on edge, wary. A human with a strange allure. He would have eradicated you immediately if it weren't for their affinity towards you. His frown only seems to deepen when he sees Yeosang's lip quirk at something you've said. His eyes widened at the look, silent shock. His friend isn't one to attempt to grow closer to anyone. In fact, he's even more surprised that Yeosang is here in the first place. The Unseelie hides in his room often, rarely interacting unless necessary. The smile on his lips confuses him.

His fingers dig into his forearms. Despite how exhausting it is to be around you, he can't help it. The looks you send the others, the shaking of your hands as you point to the map. The smile that is barely there.

Why is he aching to touch you?

“Sulking in the corner is not a good look,” Jongho appears next to him, arms crossed. “You know that she can see you. You’re not so far away to go unnoticed.”

“She’s infuriating,” San frowns, watching as Mingi pulls Yeosang away from the rest of them, into the direction of Hongjoong. “Why bring her around all of these faeries? Some are bound to realize that she is not like any other human. I don’t doubt that they might already know. What is the endgame, the solution? Why is he doing this?”

“Hongjoong has a strange way of thinking,” Jongho says, watching you with the others. “But he is wise above many. It took me a while to determine exactly why he would introduce a human to this world of ours. And I’ve finally figured it out.”

“Don’t keep it to yourself.”

“Not even a small guess?” Jongho frowns.

“Jongho…”

“Fine,” he sighs. “He wants to show them that our position will not be challenged nor should ever be. If we have a human captured that is not affected by any of us and still fears us, yet joins us on these events. They will see where we stand. They will start to question if we know of more, if she is a halfling. So many inquiries and yet all are too afraid to speak up. It will keep them subdued for now. Delay their anger for the incident from the other night. Distract them enough to keep it calm.”

"Is there any news on the Seelie?" San asks.

"Much. Yeosang and Wooyoung are on their way to take care of it. They will be gone for quite a bit until it's solved."

San watches Yeosang leave the room after Wooyoung. The Unseelie seems to sense his gaze, turning around to meet it. Neither of them say anything, but Jongho sees San's expression shift. Worry. Yeosang merely nods at the look, disappearing from view. It is what he has always done to calm him down. But San's worry just continues to pile on as it continuously has.

"We should have gone with them too," San murmurs, looking back at you. "A trio at least. If one of them were injured the other one wouldn't be able to leave."

"Hongjoong made the call. It will be fine."

"As fine as a human resistant to our charms waltzing around faeries that want to consume her, fine? Something will happen tonight."

Jongho grows serious at his words. "Have you seen it?"

"No. That's the issue Jongho. I can feel everyone else's in this room. But with her, there is nothing. Not even a hint. That only happens for me if the person is destined to die suddenly. If that doesn't worry you, I don't know what will. It makes me think of that movie, the one with the blood sucking faeries. How the main character couldn’t penetrate her mind because she had a shield."

Jongho deadpans, "You really need to stop consuming human media. It's making you lose your mind and credibility."

San sends him a toothy grin. "You're just upset you don't understand my references."

"Oh I do, a little too well unfortunately. There's only so much of it that you say that won't stick. I'm still upset you made me watch that movie. What was it, Dracula?"

San looks away, momentarily distracted. "Yes! We should watch it again."

"And this is why Hongjoong didn't tell you to go with them," he murmurs, easily maneuvering out of San’s shove. "In all seriousness, I am worried. You cannot witness the future because she is in it. I don't like the odds." Jongho looks to the side, eyes narrowing. "So much for the delay of anger, especially since some uninvited guests arrived."

—

"Stay close and don’t say a word," Yunho stands up from the table, shifting you behind him. Mingi turns around, relaxed expression tightening. You can’t quite see over their shoulders, most of the crowd hiding your view from what’s exactly going on. Mingi's hand slips to his side. You notice the handle of what you can only guess is a sword, his fingers wrapped around it as he stares forward. The crowd is hushed now, bated breaths. What exactly are they facing, and why is everyone on edge?

The familiar smooth voice of Hongjoong breaks the silence, “You show yourself here?”

“We were not invited, we presumed it was just a mistake.” The person responds slowly, deliberately. Yunho’s arm wraps around your shoulder, pressing you tightly to his side. “We heard that you have a human within this area.”

“Is that any of your business?” MIngi hisses. Your gaze shifts to the side, seeing the angry Unseelie that was standing in the corner appear next to Mingi. “You were not invited for a reason, Seelie.”

“Is that the way to speak to your brother?” The voice laughs. Hongjoong appears in front of you in a blink, standing next to Mingi. He does not acknowledge you behind him, but your eyes flick down. His hand waves slightly, as if gesturing for you to leave. Yunho stands still, a slight shake to his head. “You protect it from my sight?”

“Yeonjun, you know your kind is not allowed at these events, why appear? Everyone in this room is disgusted by you,” Hongjoong says simply, a small smile on his lips. “Uppity faeries who believe they are above us all. You stink up the place.”

The air feels tender, your heart beating quicker. No matter how much you try to control it it just hammers on and on. There is little doubt that the Seelie cannot hear you. The Unseelie around you seem to know it as well, all of their hands shifting to weapons that rest on their sides.

“Let me see the human.”

“No,” Hongjoong raises his brow. “You have no presence nor authority here.”

“Is it wise to hide it from me after you have butchered my people? Wooyoung was his name, yes? And Yunho is lucky that I am being so kind despite the massacre that he created.”

Yunho’s hand around you loosens slightly at his name being uttered.

“Seelie attacked the human unwarranted and without notifying us. They were in our territory. It was our right,” Mingi states simply. “He did what needed to be done.”

“Did he? We visited the location shortly after, Mingi. It was utterly drenched and soiled.”

“Enough,” Hongjoong holds up his hand, “What is it that you desire? To see the human? Is that all?”

“That is all,” the Seelie states.

“Fine. Mingi, move. Yunho, let her go.”

Questions rise in Yunho’s eyes. With great hesitance, he lets his hand drop from your arm. Hongjoong slides his hand into yours, stepping forward. Your momentary shock at him touching you all vanishes when you meet the eyes of the Seelie in front of you. You expected the grotesque figure like before, but he is anything but. Matching the height of Mingi, he stands. His hair neon green, slicked back. Small strands brush his cheek as he looks down at you, white eyes alarming. Despite that, he is beautiful. Ethereally so. He holds your gaze, a smirk forming.

“You are the human they have started a war for?”

“It has not come to that, Yeonjun,” Mingi starts, hushed immediately by Hongjoong.

“Oh but it has, Mingi. Unless you provide me with a small favor.”

“No,” Yunho says between his teeth, standing by your side. “I will not allow you to take her away.”

“Why? What is so special about the human? Why are you risking your people for its existence? Does it have something I cannot see with my eyes? Or does it have to deal with her being resistant to our charms?”

Hongjoong shrugs, “Whatever do you mean?”

Yeonjun’s smile drops. “I have coerced her to let go of your hand several times but she looks at me as if I’m a ghost.”

“How unfortunate that not every being will drop to their knees for you. You must truly be disappointed.”

Yeonjun merely rolls his eyes, hands tucked in his suit jacket pockets. He glazes over the crowd, stepping forward. The crowd backs up from his movement until they can no longer. He stands in front of a small child, bending down to stare at them. “I can read between the lines, Unseelie leader. I can see how you avoid my inquiries. So if you will not allow me to take the human, perhaps I will take one of these other things for my use.” Just as he is about to touch the child, you move forward slightly. Hongjoong’s grip on your hand tightens tenfold, a bruise imminent.

“Let the child go,” you say.

Yeonjun turns around, grin widening. “Oh, she speaks. It is all too bad, though, you did not speak up quickly enough.” He raises his hand. All of your gazes turn. An adult faerie rises in the air. Before any of the Unseelie next to you can move, Yeonjun snaps his fingers. You look away from the sight, a cry falling from your lips at the mere sound. Flesh splatters across the walls and guests, their cries much louder than yours.

“Yunho, go!” Hongjoong says above the shouts of the crowd. “Take her out of here,” he lets go of your hand, throwing your body into the trembling Yunho’s. You look at him, eyes glossed over. His eyes flick up to yours, shaking his head.

“I can’t.”

You barely get the chance to convince him to go, Yunho grabbed by a Seelie in the crowd. This one as horrid as the others you’ve witnessed. You look around for an escape, the ajar door too far away for you to go. So instead, you turn to the side, shoes sliding against the hardwood as you navigate around everyone running every which way. The sound of bodies exploding fills your ears, tears running down your cheeks. It is all too much to take in now, but your body does. It barely holds itself together as you push through the people. Someone grabs the back of your shirt, dragging you to the floor. Your head slams against it, eyes losing focus.

“This is your fault,” The Seelie spits, stepping harshly on your hand. It grabs your face, pulling you up from the floor. “My people have died for such a silly little human. You have started a war, don’t you know this?” You look down, leaves slowly rising from the floor. The moist leaves begin to rise, wrapping around your wrists.

“I didn’t.”

It drops you to the floor, turning around. It’s too late, another Unseelie appearing. He grips its neck, slamming it against the wall. "Beg."

His grip on its neck is tight as he holds it up against the wall, other hand stationary on his side. His eyes narrow as they stare into the Seelie's. You can only stare, hands still entangled in the tightened seaweed. His lip curls, a glint in his eyes. The Seelie makes no attempt to utter a sound. He hums, fingers digging into its neck.

"Look away, y/n," his voice is softer as he acknowledges you, eyes flicking to the side. "Unless you want to see its death." A crack echoes in the air just as you close your eyes. The body makes a loud thump, hitting the concrete. He steps to you, pulling the leaves off your wrists with ease. He wraps his arms around you, lifting you off the ground. You hiss at your wound pressing into him slightly.

"You can open your eyes now," he says. "Sorry about that. Didn't expect any of them to be hanging around you when there’s a lot more chaos to be dealt with. Thought we killed them all off, to be honest," he glances behind him.

His gaze moves to yours. Blood covers your cheeks, scrapes and scabs already forming. His expression hardens, until you look into his eyes. He should be angry right now. furious that your presence has led to this. But perhaps Mingi was right.

There's just something so strange about you.

You flinch when he tries to touch you. He pulls his hands back promptly, holding them up in defense. “Hey hey, I’m not a Seelie. You saw me earlier, didn’t you? I was talking to San, the guy that was shooting daggers across the room. I’m with Hongjoong, y/n. My name is Jongho.”

His name sounds vaguely familiar. You nod, and he helps you up. The screams have died down now. You keep your gaze on the floor, the smell already rising. You wouldn’t have guessed how familiar that scent of death would be. Jongho pulls you along, navigating you around the bodies and blood, and out the door.

“Yunho…?” You murmur, thinking back to how he was grabbed by a Seelie. “Is he okay?”

“Fine. Poor guy who grabbed him though, he’s shredded to Hell,” Jongho snickers, turning down a hallway. “Seonghwa isn’t in the lab, but one of us will be around soon. Stay there for a bit while we deal with this, okay?” Jongho stops in front of the door. It’s already open. You still haven’t looked up from the floor, too overwhelmed with what you’ve just witnessed. “Hey y/n, you okay there?”

“This is all my fault, isn’t it?”

Jongho does not answer. He pats your shoulder once, "We will solve this. Stay quiet." He closes the door, leaving you alone.

-

“Is Yunho alright?” Jongho enters the room, glancing to the side. His nose wrinkles at the devastation surrounding the area. Tables flipped over, masks scattered about. Dead faeries in pieces. No one answers him. Hongjoong stands in the middle of the room, staring down at a body. Jongho begins to look around and spots Yunho in the corner. He’s still, gazing down at his trembling blood drenched hands. Mingi is near him, crouched in front of him as he whispers. Jongho isn’t particularly interested in hearing anything he has to say, moving closer to his leader.

“We looked weak in front of them all,” Hongjoong says. “Pathetic.”

“It was the best choice at the time-”

“Was it?” He looks at him, brows furrowed. “Was it a good choice to allow a massacre to happen because they wanted a human? Our people saw me defend it over everyone else. They will remember this day.”

“They know the stakes well enough. They understand that you had a reason for it. Anyone with eyes could see that she is different. That’s why Yeonjun himself wanted her so badly-”

“You should have given her up,” San grunts, lifting a table back into its place. “Now we have to deal with Seelies following us wherever we go. It will be a hindrance.”

“I already have Yeosang and Wooyoung dealing with that,” Hongjoong waves him off. “But I have lost favor. It will take a while to gain it back.”

“We are all faeries, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa’s hand hovers over a body. It slowly dissipates, his gaze shifting up to look at his leader. “We took the risk in keeping her because we know of the influence she has. Despite what I have been saying, I do think it is best to keep her around. At least until we find the cause of her resistance. Once we do, that information would be more valuable than anything that has happened tonight.”

Jongho frowns. “Life is less valuable?”

Seonghwa shrugs simply, “They will be remade. It is nothing.”

“You’re beginning to sound like the Seelie,” Jongho murmurs, his spark’s gazes shifting to him. “We are to be better.”

“We are Unseelie, Jongho. We are nothing better. But speaking of the human,” Seonghwa stands, wiping his hands on his pants. “Where is she?”

“In your lab.”

Seonghwa’s eyes seem to widen comically, pushing past Jongho.

"What's wrong?"

Mingi looks at Jongho from his spot, “None of us looked around to see if it was clear, Jongho. You may have just killed the human. All of this bloodshed for nothing.”

Several of the others follow behind Seonghwa, Jongho running after them. He arrives at the lab just as Seonghwa slams open his door. The sight startling to behold. Seelie blood coats the walls, tables destroyed and medical supplies scattered about. But it is almost the least surprising thing in the room.

In the middle of the carnage sits you, fingers wrapped around the handle of a dagger Seonghwa stored on the wall for decoration. Wounds cover your body, leg twisted at an odd angle. But your eyes are away from them. Glued to the pieces of Seelie below you.

“y/n?” Jongho whispers.

You hand trembles at the sound of his voice, dagger dropping from between your fingers. You look up, passed Hongjoong and Seonghwa. Directly at him.

“I didn’t mean to.”

[m-ayo-o]

coffee snob

18+ smutty // character 21+ wc 700 selfshiptember; 1

Coffee, you like it sweet and milky, hot or cold, depending on the weather. And there’s this one shop round the corner from your office that makes it just right.

In addition to your requested extra pumps of vanilla flavouring, your usual barista is asking if you’d like whipped cream today.

You nod excitedly and watch him squirt it on top of your drink, carefully adding a fine layer of powdered chocolate.

It looks pretty. Too pretty to drink.

He slides a long spoon through the cream and sets it on a saucer with a small napkin.

Ever the perfectionist.

But this time when his delicate hands push your drink over the counter he decides to strike up a conversation.

“Does it taste nice like that?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows at your sugary drink.

“Mm hmm” you hum and take the mug.

“Well,” he sighs and studies the drink in your hands, “as long as you like it.”

“You made it, so…” you trail off, taking the spoon and licking the cream off the end.

He gulps, his dark eyes following your movements.

“Well, thank you,” you chirp, pulling him out of his gaze as he waves you off, heading to your favourite corner of the café.

⋆⁺ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆★

“So, how do you like your coffee?” You question the dark haired barista the following week. He always looks so dissatisfied when he serves your drinks, almost as if it pains him to make them.

“Black” he replies simply, finishing off another syrupy concoction for you.

Despite his clear aversion to your taste in coffee, he always serves it beautifully. You love watching him work.

“Hm, isn’t it too bitter like that?” Now you’re asking.

He slides your drink over and looks at you from under those long, dark lashes.

“There are many different flavours in coffee. I can show you,” he replies. Seeing the café is fairly quiet he decides to take a break, leaving the few customers for his colleague to take care of.

And so begins the first of many lessons with your favourite barista.

⋆⁺ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆★

You learn a lot from him, especially after closing time in the small store cupboard in the back.

He lured you back there under the pretence of selecting some coffee beans for you to try. 

But you soon see his plan unfolding as he’s tugging up your skirt and pushing your panties to the side, not only educating you on the fine coffee that lines the shelves, but you also receive a humbling lesson on just how quickly he can make you cum.

It’s his fingers. You think he must have some hidden magic power in them from how they get your head spinning.

“Again?” he lets out a breathy chuckle, watching you eagerly grind onto him, riding out another high.

“N-need more” you whine shamelessly.

“I know, pretty girl. Just wait a minute,” his fingers curl and dip into you some more, “love seeing you like this.”

But soon your little whimpers wear him down. He rips off his apron, unbuckles his belt, black jeans pushed down and he groans when his tip slides over your wet entrance.

It was in the heat of the moment, you swear. You were just pushed up so close together in the tiny cupboard, feeling his body brush against yours. You just bent over to pick up a bag on the floor, feeling his hand on your ass.

And now you’ve got yourself all filled up with your sexy barista’s cock. Just like his coffee making, his love making is passionate, attentive, just perfect.

You find yourself gushing over him more times than you can count, his gruff moans going straight to the tight heat in your core where his cockhead is pushing.

And after the first time you tasted his cum, getting pulled off his cock and swivelled round to take his load in your mouth, you’ve become addicted.

Despite his numerous attempts to enlighten you, your tastes in coffee have remained unchanged. Your taste in men, however, has become very specific indeed.

Namely the tall, handsome barista, with an attitude nearly as spiky as his dark hair, Megumi Fushiguro.

selfshiptember!!

megumi m.list

likes, comments + reblogs appreciated! <3

[dwindlinghaze]

a flight to paris

(remus lupin x reader)

summary: you and remus have been in an established relationship for years but one day you received an unexpected break up call from him.

contents: she/her pronouns, modern!au, angst (?), break up, inspired by a barbie movie, my horrible english, i wrote this out of boredom, oh and this is a multipart :)

　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

on most days you enjoy your summer holiday. you have a part time job in which you worked for a magazine, having your own personal workspace in the office headquarters and all.

your days are mostly surrounded by the latest style, magazine covers, hollywood gossip, and beautiful photoshoots of women. it was fun, really. that is if mr. wellins wasn't your boss.

he's a walking patriarchal figure. hate is not enough to describe your feelings towards that man.

"i don't think that's a good idea to put in there," you spoke during one of the meetings.

"what do you mean? it's a good one, everybody will be intrigued!" he scoffed.

you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, glancing at the others but they just gave you a warning look. no one dared to go against mr. wellins. "it just doesn't feel right y'know- to put that in there considering it's just an allegation and not confirmed?"

"but we focus on marketing here! who will pay your wage if it weren't for these nosy people who read and buy our magazines? we have to find a way to get our sales higher!" he said sternly, glaring at you with cold eyes.

"look here, if you put that article, surely our reputation will be stained. you don't want that to happen do you? we just need to find something else- something more positive and harmless but still eye catching. like the new box office movie that everyone has been talking about lately. it doesn't harm anyone, in fact it's supporting them. what do you think?"

every one of your co-workers nodded in agreement, waiting for the boss to reply.

he looked bored. "you know that flapping thing you just did with your mouth?"

"you mean- expressing my opinion on what's better for the sake of your company?"

"yeah that," he rolled his eyes. "stop doing that."

"i think y/n's right, makes me wish she were the boss," one of your co-workers mumbled under her breath.

he looked sharply at the girl, "i can easily fire you."

"oh no no, i feel like we just- need to discuss about this more you know?" you defended.

"oh get off this place. end of discussion!"

"we can talk like in the coffee shop, or the commissary-"

"not me getting off, you getting off. get out you're fired!" he slammed his fist.

"wha- what? fired?" you said breathlessly, eyes widen in shock.

you got to your car, speeding to get home and just curl up in the arms of your boyfriend- remus lupin. you needed him. his constant whispering of sweet nothings, his warm embrace, his smile that can rip away all negativity.

just like magic, your phone started ringing with remus in the other line. screen lighting up, his pretty face on the screen. you smiled, so big and decided to stop at one of the parking lots nearby.

"hello?" you heard the sweet voice of remus lupin.

"oh rem! i'm so glad you called!" you exclaimed, heart warming at his comforting voice.

"things aren't right with us and you know it. they haven't been for a while," he said. his ever-lovely voice that makes you feel safe was nowhere to be heard. your heart dropped, chest hurting all of a sudden.

"what?" you choked on the verge of sobbing. "remus come on."

"i'm breaking up with you... right now." he said it like you don't matter to him at all. you clenched your phone, eyes already hurting from the incoming tears.

"you're not... are you serious? what are you saying?" you thought your day couldn't get worse, but the universe said otherwise.

"it's over. and if you're smart, you'll forget i exist."

and just like that, the line disconnected. you couldn't stop the tears from falling out of your eyes. not only have you lost your job, you also have lost your remus.

you never thought he would ever break up with you. especially since you both were in a strong relationship of four years. no matter what problems appeared on the surface, they always got resolved.

wiping your tears away, you tried to drive safely to lily's house. your best friend. you needed someone to talk to. someone to pour your heart out.

"i lost my job and he broke up with me," you said in shame when she opened the door to see you with red rimmed eyes.

"he broke up with you because you lost your job?" lily gasped.

"no... separately," you sobbed. then you told her the whole story of how you've had lost your job and how he broke up with you on the phone in your car just then.

"what kind of guy does that!" lily said in disbelief. it's so not remus to break up with you like that. knowing how much he loves you since forever ago. you two are perfect for each other. nothing could ever compare to the bond you both had.

"i guess a guy with no real emotions," you huffed, reaching for lily's tissue.

lily suggested for you to call remus again, 'cause no way is someone like him said something like that to you. there was no response though, he's not answering.

"maybe you misunderstood. what did he actually say?" lily asked once more.

"he said that it was over, and if i were smart i'd forget he ever existed," his words ringing in your ears.

"does he speak another language where it means 'i love you'," lily tried, you shook your head.

"that's it," she picked up your phone. "i'm blocking him from your cell, e-mail, everything! you do not break up with anyone like that! when i'm done, we're gonna go somewhere that you love. a place where you feel happy and good about yourself."

"i wanna go far away," you mumbled.

"that's right, you should go far away and clear your head! forget about them. men are getting harder to like these days," lily agreed, snapping her fingers.

"i'll go far away... like aunt milicent's!" you said.

"aunt millicents?" lily asked.

"yeah she's a designer in paris. has a fashion house and everything. i always loved being there. tons of people, energy, fabrics, and dresses... and my aunt in the middle of it all! oh how i want to be like her when i grow up. that's it i'm going there!"

"super fun!" lily exclaimed, truly happy for you. "when are you going?"

"right now! i can spend the last weeks of summer vacation with her," you managed to crack a smile, "i don't need remus. what i need is to book a flight to paris."

"remmy, you can't help me with our summer project if you're on the phone all the time," jessica said, snatching remus' phone out of his hand.

"i just don't get it, i can't get through y/n at all!" remus said in exasperation, brows furrowing in confusion and worry clouding up his head.

"i'm sure she's fine," jessica said, fluttering her lashes.

remus was unconvinced, he couldn't focus the whole time. "it has been since yesterday."

"y/n is a busy person. she'll call when she gets the chance... in the meantime...," she jerked her head towards the script.

"do we have to tape that again... i'm not an actor, i probably sounded stupid," remus scoffed.

"you sounded beautiful," she said, smiling flirtatiously at him.

remus was too fogged up on the thought of you to notice her behaviour. you never ignore him like this. no matter how busy your lives were, you two always made time for each other.

"lils look!" marlene gasped, pointing at remus and jessica sitting together on the table across the room.

"oh no. don't tell me that boy dumped y/n for jessica," lily said in annoyance and disbelief.

the two of them walked over, crossing their arms. "are you kidding?" lily said coldly, shooting daggers at remus.

"lily, marlene! where's y/n?" remus asked, sitting up from his chair. he didn't know why they looked upset.

"why do you want to know?" marlene questioned.

"i can't reach her! i've called, i've texted, i've emailed. nothing worked. is she okay?" remus said desperately.

"y/n's fine. she wants nothing to do with the twat who dumped her over the phone!" lily scolded.

"wha- huh- dumped her?" remus asked in shock. he would never dump you. you're everything to him. "i would never do that, c'mon you guys know how much she means to me!"

"you know what uhh i actually need to run, see you," jessica said, slipping away from the table. nobody paid attention to her though.

"don't play dumb! she told us what you said 'it's over and if you're smart you'll forget i exist'."

"wait what?" remus exclaimed, eyes travelling towards jessica who was chuckling guiltily. "that line... a part of the script i read yesterday. don't say you recorded it and play it back to y/n," he said, eyes closing painfully.

"i'd be happy to tell you that," jessica said, batting her lashes. oh what a nerve. "it was a joke. i never thought she'd actually believed it. she must have serious doubts about the relationship."

remus ignored her, turning towards lily and marlene. "where's y/n? i need to see her now," he said, heart racing at the thought of you.

"uh- she's kind of..." lily slowly replied, eyeing marlene, urging her to finish the sentence.

"in paris."

"paris? paris, france? since when was she going to paris?" remus was panicking. he knew he messed up and he's willing to make it right again.

"uh a long story..."

"what should i do? i need to talk to her as soon as possible," he scrunched his hair, brows knitting.

"y/n went through a lot yesterday... you know what you can do to make her feel better? a grand romantic gesture! don't just call her. go book yourself a flight to paris, show up to her aunt milicent's doorstep, and prove how much you love her!" lily said.

"she'll love it!" marlene agreed.

"i'm on it," he opened his phone to search for a plane ticket. "i'll book the next flight out of london."

[roosterforme]

Right Girl, Wrong Time Part 8 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: You fulfill your promise to visit both schools. You can't deny that Miami is beautiful and offers a lot of things you want. But San Diego has Bradley, and it's time for you to figure out where your priorities lie. During your trip to California, you reach out to a new friend to discuss your decision. 

Warnings: Fluff, swears, and angst

Length: 4500 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (former fuckboy college student Bradley)

This is a sequel to accompany my story Old Habits Die Hard (you'll want to read that one first)!

Check my profile for my masterlist

Your flight touched down in Miami on a Monday morning in late July, and you couldn't get over how disgusting the weather was. Once you had your luggage, you made your way outside to get in line for a taxi, and you thought you were going to melt. Your lungs felt uncomfortable from the humidity, and it was blazing hot for so early in the day. 

You were completely stuck to the seat, and your taxi driver was weaving in and out of traffic. "How much further?" you asked him cautiously, but he was already making a turn toward an absolutely beautiful campus. You peeled yourself off of the seat and braced yourself as you opened the door to the wall of humidity once again. 

When you made your way to meet the dean of students with your suitcase and sweaty clothing, you wished you had decided to visit during the winter. And now you had to sit through several meetings thinking about the fact that you hated this weather, perhaps even more than the Chicago winters. 

If you were too cold, you could always snuggle up to Bradley. 

And then there he was. Again. Right at the front of your mind. You promised him you'd take him out of the equation of which job was the right one for you, but you just didn't know if you could do it. 

"Is that correct?" The dean of students was talking to you, and you had no idea what she was saying. She would literally be your supervisor's boss if you took the job here, and you were busy daydreaming about Bradley.

You pushed some of your sweaty hair out of your face. "Uh, could you repeat that, please?"

When you finally got the conversation back on track, you left with a schedule for the next three days. You'd be meeting dozens of people, sitting in on a calculus lecture, looking at curriculum, and taking tours.

You learned pretty quickly that the best time to go out was late at night. You also learned that the Cuban food trucks made some of the most delicious things you had ever tasted. You went out to dinner with some of the deans, and you toured what could become your future office. 

It was all very nice, and luckily heavily air conditioned. There was nothing wrong with any of it. But you weren't convinced it was actually right. Until you took yourself on a tour of the library and found the study rooms. They were sterile, with harsh fluorescent lighting. And the doors had windows and didn't lock. You laughed and took a few pictures, including a selfie of you frowning. You'd send them to Bradley when he got back. 

On your last day in Miami, you stopped at a coffee shop before doing some sightseeing. You opted for an iced coffee to try to fight away some of the heat, but even in a sundress, it felt horrible outside. You were just pulling the fabric away from your tattoos when you bumped into the person behind you.

"I'm so sorry," you told him, holding your hands up in surrender. "I'm not used to the heat."

He smiled at you. "You're not from Miami."

You shook your head. "No. And I actually think my blood got too thick after living in Chicago? Is that a thing?  Are you from Miami?" You eyed him up and down. He was handsome, and his clothes looked pristine, like he was somehow magically avoiding sweating to death. 

"Born and raised. And never left," he confirmed. Even his smile was charming. "You're up," he nodded with his chin, letting you know it was your turn to order. 

"Oh, thanks," you mumbled, reaching for your wallet as you ordered an iced coffee. But he insisted on paying for your drink along with his, leaning slightly against your shoulder as he handed his credit card to the barista.

You turned to thank him once again, and his face was close to yours. As you opened your mouth, his eyes darted down to your lips. 

"Do you want to get dinner with me tonight?" he asked, leaving you just staring at him for a beat. 

"Wow," you laughed, startled that he was already asking you out. "Thank you, but no," you said, shaking your head, thoughts of Bradley filling you up and making you warm.

He just nodded once. "You're not wearing a ring. Are you seeing someone?"

You took your iced coffee from the barista and said, "Something like that."

"Well, you don't sound so sure," he replied, grabbing his drink and following you to the door. "We could just go out as friends."

"Friends?" you asked with a laugh. "You don't even know my name."

"You could tell me," he said, his tone hopeful now. 

But you just shook your head and told him, "I have an early flight tomorrow. But thanks anyway." You made your way outside as he called after you, but you didn't look back.

The next morning you flew back to Virginia for a few days, before continuing on to San Diego. 

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

Bradley could only spend so many hours per day working out. And when he wasn't flying a mission or eating a meal, he was usually looking at pictures of you on his phone. 

He had texted you almost nonstop when he first boarded the aircraft carrier in the port in San Diego, finally calling you to hear your voice one more time before he was out of range of phone service. He kept replaying the way you said 'I love you, Beer Boy. Be safe.' before you ended the call. 

You had texted him a few newer photos of yourself. Nothing crazy, but he still felt his entire body stir every time he looked at them. Which was frequently. 

And when he had to take matters into his own hands, he thought about that UVA study room, and how fucking happy you made him feel. He thought about your tiny office and your bedroom. He thought about how it felt to have you wash his hair. 

He could not stop thinking about you. He tried, but it didn't work. The fact that he hadn't imagined that perfect weekend with you was almost too much to bear. Now that he'd had you in his life again, he couldn't go without.

Bradley assumed you had visited both schools by now, and he was almost hoping he didn't get another chance to have a facetime call. Because he would try to use it on you. And he was terrified you were going to break his heart again, something he could better brace himself to handle from the comfort of his own home. He would call you then.

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

San Diego had a lot of things going for it, primarily the weather. You seemed to be able to go outside in the middle of the day in August without nearly passing out here. Miami definitely lost points for that one. 

You also liked the beaches better. They were a little more rustic and not as crowded. Everything moved at a bit of a slower pace, and you thought you could get used to that. 

But your office space would be smaller, and the labs were not as updated. The salary was also a bit lower. You had called Veronica a few times, trying to sort through all of your feelings and expectations. 

And you honestly tried your best to remove Bradley from the equation, just like he had asked you to. But when you did that, it was almost an even split. Neither school seemed to be able to pull through and clench the top spot. 

As you paced up and down the windswept San Diego beach at sunset, you just felt like crying. You were afraid of disappointing yourself, but you were even more afraid of making the wrong decision where Bradley was concerned. 

You knew what you wanted to do, but you didn't know how well he was going to take the news when he was back on land again. But you swiped away your tears and checked the time on your phone. You needed to go meet up with someone very important. 

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

Bradley was up and pacing in his khaki uniform, and it wasn't even light outside yet. He thought he could barely see land in the distance from the observation lounge, but maybe that was just his mind playing tricks on him. He wanted to get back, needed to be able to talk to you.

It had been six weeks. And it had felt almost as painful to him as the previous ten years without you. Because all of his memories were fresher now, a little more crisp around the edges. Your voice had faded in his mind, but was never quite forgotten. But now he could hear everything so clearly. 

He wondered if you were still in Virginia. Maybe you would let him come see you again for a weekend, prolong the pain and suffering if necessary. It would be worth it to be with you again, even if you left him after that to go to Miami.

"Come on," he muttered, checking his phone to see if he had service yet. He needed to make sure Nat remembered to pick him up, but then he would plan the rest of his day around whenever you were available to talk to him.

There was no way his eyes were playing tricks now. He shielded the sun from his face with his hand and squinted, and he could definitely see land. He'd be on the dock in an hour tops, and now he was starting to feel very anxious. So he jogged out onto the walkway to get some fresh air, but even that barely helped. 

Suddenly his phone started vibrating with dozens of messages and alerts, letting him know he finally had phone reception. So he called Nat with a pounding heart. 

"Rooster!" she greeted when she answered after one ring. "Are you docked already? I haven't left my house yet."

"No," he said, his voice a little shaky. "Getting there, but not quite yet. Less than an hour."

"Okay, I'll leave soon. And before you ask, yes I started your dumb Bronco for you once a week."

That got him to laugh. "Thanks."

But he could always count on Nat to know exactly what was going on with him. "Are you going to call her soon and see what she's doing?"

He cleared his throat a few times. "You know, I thought I could wait until I got home and got settled. But I think I need to call her now, Nat. I'm a mess."

"I know," she replied softly. "I understand that you need to know what's going on. Just give her the benefit of the doubt, okay? Hear her out and don't judge her decision?"

Bradley raked his fingers through his hair. "I could never judge her, Nat. I just can't stop thinking about her."

"You thought about her the whole time?"

He sighed and turned away from the early morning sunlight. "The whole time."

"Oh, Bradley. Those ten years did nothing, did they?"

"No. Nothing."

Nat hummed through the phone before saying, "I'll see you soon."

Bradley paced the length of the carrier, grasping his phone in his hand. It would be late morning in Virgina. He could call you now. But if you crushed him on the spot, he would definitely prefer to be at home while he cried and drank himself into a state of forgetfulness. 

If you told him you were going to Miami, but you still wanted him, he would somehow make it work. But if you told him you were going to Miami and that he wasn't going to fit in your life, he was going to have to do all of the things he really didn't want to do. Delete all the photos of you. Delete your phone number. Try to move on for good.

Because it felt like a blessing that he ran into you again last month, but he knew there would never be a third chance for him. 

"Fuck," he grunted, unable to wait another minute. He pulled up your contact in his phone and looked at the recent picture of you before tapping the screen

One ring. Two. Three. Four.

"Bradley?"

"Sugar," he gasped, feeling lightheaded and dizzy. 

"Hi! Are you back in San Diego now?" you asked, your voice impossibly soothing even though he knew it could break him.

"Almost," he replied, wishing he didn't have to talk over the sound of your soft breaths instead of just listening. "I can see the dock now."

"You're still on the aircraft carrier?" you asked.

"Yeah, Sugar. I couldn't wait another minute to call you." He took a deep breath. "Did you visit both schools?"

You paused for a beat. "Of course I did. I promised you I would."

He squeezed his eyes shut and asked, "How did you like Miami?"

"It was great," you told him, and his heart sank. "The offer is incredible. They have the most state of the art lab facilities I have seen since Chicago. And the offices are huge."

Bradley was cradling his forehead in his hand, thinking about getting dumped by you in his fraternity house. Thinking about how that didn't hurt as much as this potentially could.

He forced out the words. "And if you pick Miami, where does that leave us, Sugar?"

"Bradley? I'm actually meeting up with someone shortly here. Can I call you back later?"

His heart was pounding, and he let out a little laugh, because he knew he'd let you get away with this kind of shit forever. Which was why he would have to stop himself. "Yeah."

"Great, I'll talk to you soon. And Bradley?"

"Yeah, Sugar?"

"I love you."

You ended the call before he could respond. He didn't know what to think as he slowly made his way back to his bunk to gather his things together. He waited in line to deboard the carrier, and once he was on the dock, he heard Nat yelling his name.

"God, you're loud," Bradley told her, scooping her up into a tight hug. "I could hear you a mile away." He felt a little bit better now as she rubbed his back and let him hug her. 

"In spite of all of your flaws, I missed you," she told Bradley with a smile, leading the way toward her car. Bradley grumbled a bit, shifting around trash and food wrappers before he could even climb in.

"This is disgusting," he said, nearly gagging as something sticky met his arm. But the terror that was the interior of his best friend's car took his mind off of you for a moment. 

"That's just because you're a neat freak."

"I always have been," he agreed, "but this is next level, Nat. So gross."

As she pulled out into traffic, Bradley turned the radio on and listened to Nat tell him about work. 

"What else did you get up to while I was gone?" he asked, rubbing his hands along his face. 

"Oh, well I met up with a new friend I made on Instagram."

"Instagram?" he asked. "Really?"

"Yeah, she's new to the area," Nat said, giving him side eye. "I actually really think you guys would get along. I could introduce you?"

He turned to face her as she waited at a traffic light. "Nat. Come on. You know I'm waiting on Sugar." Saying the words out loud brought back his bout of nerves, and he kicked some trash out of the way so he could stretch his legs out.

"I know. It was just an idea," she said, zipping down the street once again. 

"I called her," he admitted. "But we didn't talk much. She said she'd call me back."

"Really?" Nat asked, looking alarmed. "Do you know where she was?"

"Not sure. Probably Virginia, unless she already moved to Miami."

"Maybe she's out looking at apartments?" Nat asked, turning onto Bradley's street.

He didn't even want to fucking think about that. He pictured some soulless highrise in Miami, and he couldn't even imagine you there. Not after your cute little cottage with the crumbling front step. "Maybe," he mumbled, suddenly anxious to get inside his house and be alone. 

Nat pulled her car in his driveway behind the Bronco; he loved that thing, and it couldn't even bring a smile to his face right now. "Thanks for the ride, Nat. I'd invite you in for some coffee, but I'm just not feeling up to it."

"No problem," she said, rubbing his shoulder with her small hand. "Why don't you call me later when you feel like it? Maybe we can get dinner or go to the Hard Deck?"

He sighed, popping the passenger door open. "Maybe." 

When he started to climb out, Nat said, "Oh, Bradley. Almost forgot. I left something sweet inside for you. I hope you don't mind."

He just gave her a thumbs up, because if she went grocery shopping for him or left him something to eat, that was more than okay with him. He closed the door and waved to her, digging his house key out of the side pocket of his duffle as he walked up to his porch.

But then he froze. There was a bright yellow post-it note stuck to the middle of his pristine, white front door. He had even painted his door white for a reason, and he never wanted anything marring it. Except maybe for this. 

He climbed the steps, tossing his duffle aside, and reached for the note.

BEER BOY

I love you

With shaky fingers, Bradley shoved his key into the lock and wrenched the door open.

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

You had been immensely enjoying your dinner with Natasha. Once the two of you had connected on Instagram while Bradley was away, you made plans to meet her in person while you were looking at San Diego State. And now you fully understood why she was Bradley's best friend.

"I feel like I already knew you!" Nat said with a bright smile over drinks and dessert. "Is that weird? That this doesn't feel like I'm meeting a stranger?"

"No, it's not weird," you agreed with a laugh. 

"Bradley has told me so much about you over the last decade. I know more about you than I do any of his other more recent girlfriends, and I'd actually met them in person," she indulged over a glass of wine and some cheesecake. "Maybe I shouldn't be telling you that." She winced at you.

You took a deep breath. "Here, I'll make us even. I got a tattoo in honor of Bradley after I moved to Chicago."

Nat just rolled her eyes. "I already knew that. He told me over facetime like three weeks ago."

You buried your face in your hands as she chuckled. Then you groaned. "I know which school I want to pick. But I think Bradley is going to have a hard time coming to terms with it."

Nat's eyes went wide. "What does that mean?"

"Well...." you began, pausing to collect your thoughts. "If I tell him I picked the University of Miami, I'm afraid I'll break his heart, and mine. Again. But, if I tell him I picked San Diego State, he's going to act all high and mighty, and tell me I shouldn't be making this decision for him."

Nat set her empty wine glass down a little hard. "You know, you're absolutely right! But he's just going to have to get the fuck over it! I know he loves you, and he would be so happy to be with you. So if you want to move to San Diego, don't let him try to stop you."

You both looked at each other before bursting into laughter. "He's making this a lot more complicated than it needs to be!" you groaned.

"He's the worst," she said, nodding in agreement. "But also the best."

"Yeah, he really is," you agreed with a small smile, really missing him right now. "Well, this was so much fun, but it's getting late." You noticed it looked like your waiter was hoping you'd vacate the table soon so he could leave.

"I hope you do pick San Diego. We could hang out," Nat said, setting down some cash on the table. 

"Oh, didn't I make it clear? I'm definitely picking San Diego."

Nat actually squealed and ran around the small table to hug you. You let yourself relax into her embrace. "I'm so happy for Bradley," she muttered, releasing you with a huge smile.

"When he's being a noble pain in my ass about it, I'm calling you for help. But for now, I'm going to head back to my hotel room."

Nat grinned at that. "Why don't you just stay at his house? I have a spare key."

Your eyes went a little wide. "Without him there? You don't think he would mind?"

"No. I think he would love that." 

And so you ended up staying at Bradley's house for three nights. It was just as surreal as running into him at the bar had been! His house was spotless, just like you expected it to be. But when Nat gave you a little tour, you were shocked to see so many familiar things. The spare bedroom had a framed Grateful Dead concert poster that you remember from his bedroom at the Beta house. And his office was complete with a solid wood desk and his dad's Navy desk lamp.

But after Nat left you on your own, it became increasingly difficult not to be nosy. On the morning he was due to arrive back home, you were running your fingers along his bookshelves, and you came in contact with something familiar. You pulled down your old, purple notebook from your differential equations class. 

"Oh my goodness," you gasped, flipping through the pages. Because along with your old math notes, you saw little doodles and messages in the margins that matched Bradley's handwriting. You closed your eyes, and you could perfectly picture the way you used to sit on his lap in the study room while he messed around with your notes. He had written your name surrounded by a bunch of little hearts. You saw where he had written Beer Boy and Sugar with some cute little stick figures, and you laughed. 

He had been moving around all over the world, and bringing this notebook with him everywhere. Your eyes filled with tears, and the desire to be with him was so strong. 

And then he was calling you. You were so nervous to see him, and you didn't want to get into your decision over the phone, so you tried to throw him off. 

"Bradley? I'm actually meeting up with someone shortly here. Can I call you back later?"

He sounded so dejected, so you made sure you told him you loved him before ending the call. Then you made his bed and quickly tried to tidy up his house. You fixed your hair and makeup, but he still wasn't back yet. Nat had sent you a quick text as soon as she saw him on the dock, but that had been quite a while ago. 

You were pacing the length of his living room now, terrified that he would be annoyed that you'd spent a few days here. Then you heard a car in the driveway and peeked out through the window to see Nat's dirty car. 

"Oh god," you whispered, finally getting to see Bradley after six weeks. He looked so handsome, and you had missed him so much. You scrambled back to the middle of the room when you saw him walk up the porch steps, a look of shock on his face.

The sound of the key in the lock and the way he swung the white door open wide had you chewing on your lip. 

"Sugar?" he asked, standing in his entryway and gaping at you. 

"Hi, Beer Boy," was all you could manage to say as your heart pounded in your ears. But he looked so stunned, you felt yourself start to smile. 

He took a few steps closer to you. "What are you doing here, baby?"

You felt like you could melt inside. Just the sight of him in his uniform had you aching. He was gorgeous, and you loved him so much. You took a step closer as well. 

"I was actually wondering if it was okay if I had my boxes shipped here? I don't have an office for another week or so, and I'm still looking at apartments."

He was running one hand through his hair, making it stand on end, and his mouth was open, but no words were coming out. 

"Unless...you don't want me to?" you whispered, watching him slowly close the distance between the two of you until he was standing barely a foot away.

"Please, Sugar. Please tell me what that means."

You swallowed hard, looking up at him. You gently ran your hands up to rest on his chest. "I'm picking San Diego. I'm picking you. I'm picking us. If that's still what you want, too?"

A strangled sound escaped his lips, and then his mouth was on yours and you were in his arms. He kissed you deeply as your arms gripped his shoulders, and he held you tight. 

"You mean that?" he asked between kisses, nibbling at your lips, barely giving you a chance to answer as he deepened the kiss. Just as you were relaxing into his embrace, he pulled his lips from yours. "You really mean it, Sugar?"

"I really mean it, Beer Boy."

He closed his eyes and ran one hand over his face, sighing deeply. But he still held you snug against him. Then he opened his eyes and gazed down at you. 

"I've been dreaming about this for ten years," he whispered, brown eyes soft. "I love you."

"I love you, too," you replied with a smile.

He nodded, and you ran your fingers along his mustache, making him smile. "You can send all your stuff here, Sugar." He kissed your fingers. "You should move in with me. Don't leave or look at more apartments. Stay here."

It felt right. You knew it did. Just like San Diego State felt like the place for you. "Okay. I'll stay."

He licked his lips and kissed your forehead twice, pulling you impossibly closer to him. "And be my girlfriend again?" he whispered against your hair.

You smiled and buried your face against the collar of his uniform shirt. "You were the best boyfriend I ever had. You can have the title again."

"I love you," he whispered, over and over until his lips found yours again. 

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

It feels soooo good! But, only two more parts to this story! Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 9

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

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[here2bbtstrash]

real magic (explicit)

genre: smut, fluff, bangin’ your boss, m attempts kidfic - part of a hyung holiday collab !

pairing: namjoon x reader

summary: the holiday season has never meant anything to you beyond suffering long hours for minimum wage and awaiting the collapse of capitalism— but this year, you’d be willing to add making out with your dilf coffee shop boss to the list.

word count: 16.7k 😩

contains: ~*~explicit sexual content (after kind of a slow burn sorry lol)~*~ the "moving back to your hometown" hallmark trope, a nick jonas poster (yes that's a warning), some taekook slander in the beginning because i thought it was funny, namjoon is so buff and so dumb but so wise and so hot, moni is a little shit, namjoon is a dad!, namjoon's kid uses they/them pronouns but it's not like A Focus of the story it's just flavor, reader thinks joon has a dead wife for like one second 💀 mentions of teenage pregnancy and co-parenting, one incredibly stupid asshole customer lmao, mint choco slander (it's what namjoon would want 😌), obviously there is an employee/boss power dynamic but they talk about it and figure it out because this is namjoon and he overthinks everything, namjoon driving (he's a dad i have to assume he would get his license if he had a literal child!!!!!!!!) and a lotta sentimental holiday and life talk. here are ur sex specific warnings: making out/going to second base in a car in a parking lot (what is it with my namjoons and cars in parking lots yo), fingering, semi-drunk sex, and fuckin' rawwwww with a smidge of size and breeding kink lmao (but she's on the pill!!! no more kids!!!!!!)

A/N: hello hello hi merry crisis this damn fic is finally here lmao~ as i have been babbling on about for days i really really (REALLY) love how this namjoon turned out he's just hesjkrgdhtgk such a fucking himbo but a good dad and wise and did i mention hot aaaaaa 🫠 all the love in my gay little heart to @goodsoop for their barista wisdom and real life experiences that went into this one (the cookie story will never not make me laugh) ! and to @sailoryooons for beta reading this 50 million times and encouraging me when i was convinced it sucked ass, and also for making all the gorgeous banners for this collab 😭

which btw - be sure to go check out @gimmethatagustd & @sailoryooons & @nabiolive 's fics tooooo !!! i've loved collabing with them so very much even when we were all hashtag Going Through It, we got the whole damn hyung line you hear meeeeee 🎁🎁🎁🎁

read on AO3!

Rudely awoken by the incessant beep of your alarm, you open your eyes to find Nick Jonas staring back at you, and you sit up with a scream.

Realization washes over your sleep-addled brain in waves: first, that you aren’t actually staring at a real person. He’s just smizing on a hot pink poster, held up by some remarkably durable masking tape you stuck to the wall fifteen years ago. Second, it comes back to you that you are staring at said poster because you’ve woken up in your childhood bedroom. It’s been left untouched since you were a teenager, like a weird time capsule of all your high school obsessions.

After reaching for your phone to silence the alarm, you kick your way out from under the blankets, trying not to make eye contact with Nick, or Justin, or Zayn as you stumble to the bathroom. The circumstances of your grand return to living in your goddamn parents’ house linger like a bad taste in your mouth, one that all the tongue brushing in the world can’t remove.

It still doesn’t feel real. Taehyung, your best friend in the world since freshman year of college, kicked you out. Sure, it may have been phrased more like a gentle request, but as far as your ego is concerned, it still feels like exile. Banishment, even. The person you thought you could never be parted from made his choice, and he chose his fucking boyfriend over you.

Jungkook. You think the name with all the venom your cold, dead heart can manage as you spit toothpaste into the sink.

Jungkook, the weird, bug-eyed kid who put his toe-socked feet on your couch, drank his banana milk out of your favorite mug, and ate up all of your Samyang ramyeon because he ‘thought it was communal’. 

Jungkook, who ruined your sleep schedule nightly, either by fucking Taehyung senseless on the other side of your paper-thin apartment wall, or by blasting the same four Ariana Grande songs over and over on his bluetooth speaker and singing along in an annoyingly good voice. Either activity would go on well into the early hours of the morning, until you had to bang on the wall so hard you nearly put your fist through it.

Jungkook, whose dog once took a shit right on the floor in the middle of the kitchen.

Bam was cute enough to forgive, of course. But you can never forgive Taehyung for his betrayal. Especially when he knew you’d just been fired from your shitty coffee shop job for the stupidest reason ever, and he didn’t let that derail or even delay him. He still went ahead and delivered the killing blow.

Et tu, Taehyung? you think angrily to yourself as you stand in front of the suitcase containing as much of your closet as you could possibly fit. You still need to go back for your bigger furniture, and little things like your plates and your mugs and your silverware, which Jungkook is probably putting his grimy little fingers all over at this very moment. But until you’ve checked out of your indefinite vacation at the Nightmare Parental Hotel, there doesn’t really seem a point.

If you were less upset, you might take consolation in the fact that your parents aren’t actually here, that they’ve jaunted off to their timeshare until the new year, but you’re busy being too swallowed whole by your misery to find an ounce of joy in any piece of your current reality.

You dig through the pile of clothes until you manage to pull out something halfway decent. The first order of business now that you’ve moved back in is simple: acquire another stupid coffee shop job. You have no plans to stick around long, you just need something seasonal that will give you some meager income while you start looking for a real gig, one that is ideally not in your hometown.

Watching yourself in the mirror as you pull on a simple black blouse and your least-stained pair of jeans, you attempt to mentally dust off your interview skills. You conjure up your best fake smile and customer service voice, both of which are second-nature at this point.

Why do you want this job? “I’m just so passionate about coming home sticky and verbally abused by caffeine-addicted assholes every night.”

What’s your biggest weakness? “Clearly it’s the fact that I’m a ray of fucking sunshine.”

Why were you terminated from your last job? “Oh, well, I attempted to get my previous employer to improve their standards of worker treatment. You see, I selfishly requested that they raise the bar a single notch above hell. Certainly won’t happen again!”

This should go well, you tell yourself, and your reflection grimaces back.

With several hours to kill before your job interview and a growing desire to avoid the weird nostalgia of your childhood that seems to lurk in every corner of your parents’ house, you decide to take a walk.

The sky is bright blue and cloudless, and though the air is brisk, it isn’t terribly windy. You tuck in your earbuds as you shut the front door behind you and pick a direction, aimless, letting your mind wander to the soundtrack of your “seasonal depression” playlist.

A whole new crop of families must have moved into your parents’ neighborhood in the years since you moved out, because the streets are more alive with kids than you can ever remember them being, even when you were a kid yourself. Bikes and scooters lay abandoned on the sidewalks between homes, and you can hear the repeated echo of a basketball dribbling on a driveway, punctuated by distant, playful screaming.

Even in the daytime, you can tell these families have spared no expense when it comes to Christmas decor: some homes have every eave outlined in string lights, some have candy cane stakes dug into the perimeter of their perfectly manicured lawns, and some have been seemingly invaded by small armies of inflatable reindeer and snowmen. You can’t help but giggle a little at the inflatable decorations that have been set to turn off during the day, the way the airless material lays limp in the grass, giving the impression of a yard strewn with dead bodies.

But you remember what it looked like when you drove in last night, everything lit up and brought to life.

Your parents definitely didn’t have inflatable lawn decorations when you were a kid, but you’d get so excited every year when your dad would drag the ladder out and spend the day stringing up the simple rainbow lights you did have. You still remember the little spark of joy you’d feel in your chest when the colors would click on after dark, the way you would run outside every night just to see them twinkle, your breath puffing steam clouds in the air, your bare feet freezing on the ice-cold driveway.

It felt like magic then. But somewhere along the way you grew up. And now that feeling’s gone. Even at night, the lights just look like… lights.

Distracted as you are by the music in your ears and thoughts of your childhood that have brought you to a standstill on the sidewalk, you don’t notice what’s happening until it’s too late. 

A blur of red and white is suddenly circling around and between your legs, and you feel something twining over your ankles, then tugging with a force that threatens to knock you off balance. As you lean forward in an attempt to right yourself, the chaos in question slows enough for you to realize it’s a fluffy white dog in a red sweater, who has excitedly tangled you up in his leash.

You manage to find the looped end of the leash and slowly get yourself unwrapped while the dog continues to pant and jump and occasionally yap at you. With your legs freed, you squat down for a proper greeting, laughing to yourself as he lifts up on his hind legs, balancing his paws on your knee to lick an enthusiastic greeting across your cheek.

“Hi, puppy,” you murmur, trying to get him to hold still long enough to read the name on his tag. A voice beats you to it.

“Moni!”

When you glance up to find Moni’s owner jogging up the sidewalk, you have to make a conscious effort to keep your own tongue in your mouth, because good lord, he is fine.

He’s tall, towering over you even once you bring yourself back up to standing, and the black workout tank and athletic shorts he’s wearing do absolutely nothing to hide the thick, well-defined muscles of his arms, chest, and thighs.

Despite his lack of clothing in the cool winter air, you can see his face and neck are slick with sweat, his white-blonde hair damp with it too. There’s even a dark patch that’s soaked his shirt at his sternum, making the firm swell of his pecs that much more apparent. It takes you an extra second to break eye contact with them, but when you do finally manage to drag your gaze up to meet his, you realize his face is just as nice of a view: honey-tan skin, full lips, and cute dimples that pop as he gives a sheepish, appreciative laugh.

“Thank you,” he says, a little breathless; his voice is deep and slightly husky in a way that makes your face grow hot. You blink stupidly at him for a few moments, your mind reeling, and then it occurs to you that you still have his dog’s leash in your hand.

“No problem,” you manage, handing the looped end back over and double-checking to make sure your ankles are still free from their entanglement. Though now that this man is holding the leash, you kind of wish they weren’t.

“Moni’s usually good about not taking off when I stop to do a circuit,” he explains, like you’re the dog owner police. It makes you wonder what kind of Karens must have moved into this neighborhood since you left it. “I don’t know why he ran, maybe he saw a squirrel or something.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him with a smile, admiring Moni as he stretches and settles into a polite seated pose. “I like his sweater.”

“Thanks,” he laughs again. “C’mon Mon.”

You can’t help focusing on how big this guy’s hands are as he slips his fingers through the end of Moni’s leash, tugging slightly as if to encourage the dog back in the direction he came from.

Moni blinks and stays right where he is.

“You little shit,” his owner huffs under his breath, and you have to bite down on your bottom lip to keep from laughing. You distantly realize you should probably leave them to it and continue on your walk, but this is too entertaining to turn away from now. Your hot neighbor tries one more futile attempt to get Moni to move, then seems to give up entirely.

He stoops down with a low grunt of effort that makes your core flutter as he grabs the fluffy dog and hoists him up in his arms. You try to force yourself to stop noticing the way his biceps flex, the fact that the muscles of his arms are nearly bigger than your head.

“Thanks again,” he says with a final grateful smile, and your only response is to swallow hard and stand there like an idiot as he turns and carries his spoiled dog back home.

When you arrive for your interview, you’re delighted to discover that Indigo Coffee is nothing like your last job. It’s warm and bright, with large picture windows that flood the space in sunlight, and there’s a cozy personal touch to it, the likes of which you’d certainly never see in your former corporate shell of a workplace. The sitting area is dotted with live edge wood tables and mismatched chairs. There are an array of framed paintings on the walls that look handmade in a good way, simple yet bold brush-stroke lines in a deep blue color scheme. And, you realize as your eyes linger, the shop is absolutely overflowing with plants: in simple clay pots lined up along the windows, free-standing between tables, and tucked into bookshelves placed artfully throughout the space. 

You step closer to inspect one as you wait on your interviewer and are pleased to see that it’s real, that they all are— no waxy fake leaves jammed into a thick block of cement, but real greenery sprouted in real dirt, deep brown soil gone soft from what must have been a recent watering. These are plants someone cares for, coaxed and kept alive by someone’s time and patience and love. The thought makes you smile a little despite yourself.

There’s still fucking Christmas music playing, but you figure that’s inescapable this time of year.

“Are you here for the interview?” someone asks over your shoulder. As you turn away from the plant, you wonder if you’re imagining that the voice in question sounds slightly familiar, and then you find yourself once again staring up at a fine-ass man with white-blonde hair and a sweet pair of dimples.

He’s clearly showered since your last encounter, and is now slightly more covered up in a pair of faded jeans and a gray-green flannel thrown over a black shirt emblazoned with bold white lettering: Protect Trans Kids.

“Oh.” Moni’s owner blinks back at you, and the shock on his face is so apparent that a giggle escapes your lips before you can stop it. “Uh, hi again.”

“Hi,” you echo, equally flustered, before realizing you failed to answer his initial question. “Oh, yeah. Yes. I am. The interview. I’m— that’s me.” So well-spoken, you mentally kick yourself.

One dimple deepens slightly as he extends a hand. “Kim Namjoon. Owner of Indigo Coffee. And the world’s least obedient dog, as you saw earlier.”

You offer your best handshake in return and a smile that you surprisingly don’t have to force as you give Namjoon your name. He gestures to a table in the corner, and you each pull back a chair to have a seat. You try to banish any potential horny thoughts from your brain, but shifting into interview mode proves difficult as he rests his large hands on the table in front of him, drumming idly along to the horribly cheery music.

You manage to tear your gaze away from Namjoon’s fingers when he speaks again. “If it’s cool with you, we can just chat a little? I’m not so good at conducting formal interviews. Too inauthentic.”

It’s like you can feel some of the tension release from your shoulders. “I— yeah. That sounds great.”

“Cool,” he nods, and you try to ignore the rush of heat up your neck at the intensity of his stare. Professional, be professional. “So I saw on your resume that it looks like your last few jobs were out of town. Did you just move here?”

“Moved back,” you say quickly. “Yeah. I grew up here, actually.”

Namjoon’s eyes widen a little in clear interest. “Really? What brings you back?”

You purse your lips as you consider how to phrase it. “My life… kind of fell apart. So. I moved in with my parents for a bit. Like a winner.” His dimples pop when he smiles at your joke, and you drop your gaze to the table. “Just trying to figure out what’s next, and find something seasonal in the meantime.”

“Well, we could certainly use the help,” Namjoon admits. When you chance a glance up, there’s a look on his face like he’s choosing his next words carefully. “I saw in your application that you were terminated from your last position.” He leans in, lowering his voice slightly as he continues. “I’m gonna be honest, I hate that we even ask that question. But can you tell me a bit about what happened?”

You keep your stare fixed on the wood grain in front of you as you try to stay calm. “Well, if I can be honest too...” Squeezing your eyes shut, you tell yourself to just say it. “I was fired for trying to unionize.”

“Oh.” Namjoon sounds surprised, but you can’t manage to look at him. “Really?” You nod slowly, biting down on your bottom lip. “That’s— fucking illegal.”

That makes your gaze snap back up to meet his. His brow is furrowed slightly, a muscle in his jaw pulled tight.

“Yeah,” you say belatedly. “Yeah, I know. They made up a bunch of fake excuses as to why I was fired, but I knew what it really was. It was because I wanted them to actually pay us what we were worth, and hire more workers so we weren’t being scheduled to death. And I was getting everyone else riled up too, and I guess it scared them.”

Namjoon sits back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. “Huh. Man. Well, I’m sorry that happened to you.”

It takes you a second to process what you’re hearing. Union has always been a scary word for any person in upper management you’ve previously encountered. You hadn’t expected this to be so… easy. For him to understand, or sympathize. “I— yeah. I am too.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Namjoon continues quickly, “I think it’s great, what you tried to do. I’m very pro-union.” He pauses for a moment, his face twisting slightly in thought. “I mean, admittedly, we don’t have one here. Granted, there are only five of us. I should probably ask, though, if they want one.”

You can’t quite hide your smile. “I’m gonna take a guess that you probably treat your employees pretty well as-is.”

“I try,” he says with a shake of his head. His eyes meet yours again. “So, here’s the deal. You have a ton of experience, and with holiday time off and a few people out sick, I’m super understaffed right now. You seem like you have a good head on your shoulders, and hopefully you feel like you can come to me if you have any issues, without fearing retaliation.”

You blink slowly, and he must be able to read the disbelief on your face. “What I’m saying is I’m offering you the seasonal position,” he clarifies. “Is that— do you, uh, accept?”

“Yes.” The word is chased by a dazed laugh, and Namjoon’s dimples resurface around a small smile.

“Cool. I told you I’m bad at interviews,” he huffs, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck. You try to ignore the swell of his bicep, clearly visible even beneath his bulky flannel. “I know this is a lot to ask, but. Is there any chance you can start, like, right now? Because Jimin’s shift ends in…” He tilts a little, fishing his phone from the front pocket of his jeans, and his mouth drops open in surprise when he gets a glimpse at the time.

“Oh, shit,” Namjoon murmurs, and then he raises his voice to call across the mostly empty store. “Jimin-ah! I’m so sorry!”

You turn around, your gaze landing on the barista leaned up against the counter next to the register. His dyed-gray hair dusts over his eyes, which pull into crescent moons as he laughs. “It’s cool. I knew you were almost done. But I’m gonna clock out now, if she’s good?”

“Yeah,” you answer, turning back to Namjoon. “Yeah, I can start now.”

The two of you move behind the counter, and you sweep your hair up out of your face while Namjoon starts to go through a basic run-down of where everything is located. The overhead bell tinkles as Jimin shoulders the front door open, and he lifts a hand over his head in parting.

“See you after the holidays!”

“Alright,” Namjoon says as he waves to Jimin, a little breathless from having rambled on for the better part of several minutes. “That was a lot. Do you want to just start on register? I feel like that should be easy enough, and I can train you on everything as people come in, since it’s pretty dead right now.”

You shrug. “Works for me.”

Within half an hour, there’s a line out the door, and Namjoon has managed to spill espresso grounds all over his shoes for a second time.

“Ah, shit,” he groans, taking a step back. “Sorry. Been a minute since I’ve had to be back here.”

“It’s okay,” you try to reassure him, but you can see from the faces of the customers who have been waiting on their drinks for several minutes— including one who’s had hers remade three times, all of them incorrect— that it is very much not okay. You certainly lack the people skills to smooth over any of Namjoon’s mistakes, and you can feel a stress-induced eye twitch starting to flare up, brought on by Kelly Clarkson’s incessant yuletide belting.

You give your boss five more minutes, wherein he scalds his hand on the milk steamer, forgets about a cookie in the warmer until it’s burnt entirely black, and nearly turns the blender on with the lid off, before you finally intervene.

“Hey, Namjoon?” You do your best to keep your expression pleasant when he glances over at you, wiping at his brow with the back of his hand. “Maybe we should switch?”

“A-are you sure?” he stammers, apparently torn between wanting to be a good boss and a clear desire to just take the L. “I feel bad, this is literally your first shift.”

“I think I can handle it,” you reassure him, lowering your voice a little. “Let me take care of the drinks, and you can do your… endearing golden retriever thing. Keep the people entertained.”

Color blooms in the apples of his cheeks as his dimples make a brief appearance. “Oh, okay. Can do. Just let me know if you need help.”

You can’t imagine a universe where his clumsiness could in any way be considered helpful, but you keep that thought to yourself as you smile at him. At least he’s cute.

Things improve dramatically once your roles are reversed: as you expected, Namjoon is far more charismatic than he is coordinated, and he chats endlessly with the people waiting on their drinks, hardly pausing long enough to take a breath, while you scramble around trying to get your bearings in a new environment. The steady stream of customers doesn’t let up for the rest of the evening, until the last few finally trickle out of the store a few minutes after close, and you waste no time locking the door behind them with a sigh of relief.

You spin around, letting your back thud against the door for a moment as you watch Namjoon fight with a broom and dustpan in a futile attempt to get espresso dust out of the grout between the tiles. There’s a dull ache starting to thud in your skull, and it’s only deepened by the shrill opening notes of another fucking a cappella song.

“Namjoon?” you ask as you cross toward the counter, and his head instantly snaps up. “Do you think we could maybe turn off the Christmas music?”

“Oh, sure.” He’s already fumbling to grab his phone, and he taps a few buttons until the music suddenly switches, a soft voice starting to croon over an old school beat.

“Thanks,” you say, and you can’t help the pity smile that pulls up your mouth when he returns to his useless task. “I think the grout might be a lost cause, but I can go ahead and mop whenever you’re ready.”

He rights himself with a defeated sigh, nodding his head to the storage closet in the back. You follow his lead to retrieve the mop, then set about filling up the bucket with water and cleaning solution. Namjoon’s voice floats in from the front of the shop as he busies himself with his own closing tasks.

“Imagine smokin’ weed in the street without cops harassin’ / Imagine goin’ to court with no trial / Lifestyle cruisin’ blue Bahama waters / No welfare supporters, more conscious of the way we raise our daughters...”

You’re laughing a little as you roll the bucket out, starting at the door to work your way back. “Is this… Nas?”

He glances up, like he’s just remembered other people exist in the world. “Yeah, sorry. I can turn it off.”

“No, no,” you say quickly when he starts to reach for his phone again. “This is good. Much better than Pentatonix. I’m just… you really know every word.”

Namjoon shrugs, clearly embarrassed. “He’s my favorite.”

The revelation surprises you, and you pause to think as you pull the mop back and forth over the tile floor. It didn’t even occur to you that Namjoon would have a favorite kind of music, apart from the soft elevator muzak you imagine must play on a steady loop in his brain, given the way he fumbles through life.

“I actually wanted to be a rapper,” his voice comes back, and you look up again, your interest piqued. “When I was younger. But you know. Life had other plans.”

“Ah yes, the rapper to coffee shop owner pipeline,” you muse, and he barks a laugh that you wish you didn’t find so hot. Shaking your head, you force yourself to look back down at the espresso-studded tile, doing your best to shove your attraction aside and not think about it. He’s your boss, dumbass.

Still, it’s hard to ignore, particularly as he continues to rap along to each song that comes on, his voice deeper and huskier than you’ve heard it thus far in casual conversation. He doesn’t miss a word, and you can’t deny that it’s impressive. And sexy. Fuck.

Once the floor has been successfully mopped and everything else is put back together, you hop up onto the counter to wait for the tile to dry, and your gaze lingers over Namjoon’s large hands as he cashes out the register. He flips through the bills in time to the music, still humming under his breath as he goes, and you do your best to hold in your laugh when he inevitably loses count and has to start over from the beginning. Thankfully the second attempt sticks, and he smiles proudly to himself as he zips everything up into the deposit bag.

“First shift down,” he announces, as if you might have forgotten, and then his eyes find yours and you swear your breath gets stuck in your throat. “How do you feel?”

It only occurs to you now how close he’s standing to you, and with the way your legs are casually dangling over the edge of the counter, it wouldn’t take much for him to step between them. And god, he’s so damn tall, you’re practically eye-to-eye.

“Uh,” you manage, your mouth suddenly gone dry. “Good. I feel good.”

“That’s good,” he answers, his voice dipping into that throaty tone again. You find yourself wondering absentmindedly if maybe Namjoon has a customer service voice, too, and then for the briefest flash of a moment, his gaze flits from your eyes to your lips and back again. It’s so quick, you can’t be sure it even really happened.

You tell yourself it’s just your exhausted post-shift brain seeing things that aren’t there, wanting this fine-ass man to be into you, too.

A sudden bang on the front door makes you flinch so hard, you come dangerously close to kneeing Namjoon in the crotch. He takes a large step back as you whip around to look over your shoulder, only to see a kid’s face pressed to the glass, framed by two small hands. You’ve never been great at telling the age of children on sight, but this one looks like… maybe a middle schooler?

“Whose fucking kid is that?” you say automatically, blinking, dumbfounded. Namjoon’s laugh is a low rumble behind you.

“That would be mine.”

It takes several days for the shock to wear off. Your boss has a kid. Kim “could’ve burnt the building down with a single cookie” Namjoon is at least partially responsible for keeping another human being alive. Which means you have a crush… on a father.

A father who also happens to be your boss.

You try not to think about any of it.

There’d been brief introductions when you left the shop that first night, but all you’d really managed to glean was the kid’s name, Sol, and their pronouns. As someone who is historically terrible with children, you’d excused yourself the minute Namjoon locked the front door, after what felt like an eternity spent watching him pat each of his pockets twice before he finally managed to find his keys.

“I hope it wasn’t weird,” your boss says out of nowhere in the middle of your next shift, during a much-needed moment of peace after the morning rush. “For you to meet Sol like that. It’s just been hard, since their mom, uh…”

Namjoon trails off, leaving the sentence unfinished. You glance up, eyes widening as you put the pieces together.

“Oh my god,” you breathe. “I’m so sorry.”

His gaze meets yours, and it’s like you can see the wheels in his head turning before he catches up. “No, no,” he says quickly, and then he starts to laugh. “Wow, I really did not start that sentence well. She’s not dead. She just got married, and she’s on her honeymoon for most of December. The logistics have been hard, is what I meant.”

An embarrassed heat creeps up your neck, and your elbows thud against the countertop as you press your face into your hands, attempting to muffle your own laughter. “In my defense,” you groan, “you really made it sound like you had a dead wife.”

“Not dead! She’s fine!” Namjoon’s dimples are as prominent as you’ve ever seen them when you peek up at him from your full-body cringe. “Very much alive, very much not my wife.” The muscles in his arms flex as he crosses them over his chest, leaning up against the counter next to the register. “Never was, actually.”

“Really?” you answer automatically, your damned curiosity getting the better of you.

He nods, his voice a little more serious when he continues, rambling on in the way that you’ve already started to suspect is his default setting, talking as if to fill empty space. “We were seventeen when we got pregnant. I knew we were young then, but I don’t think I really realized. Now that I’m almost thirty, I know: seventeen is fucking young.”

The line of his jaw tightens, thoughtful, as his gaze sweeps over the floor. “I thought I wanted to marry her, or at least felt obligated to. Like it was the right thing to do, but. We didn’t have any money, and then it all got so hectic after Sol was born. Didn’t even take a year for us to realize it wasn’t gonna work, not for us.”

You blink, trying to take in all the new information. “That sounds really hard.”

“It was,” Namjoon admits. “But we were both on the same page about it. That no matter what, Sol had to come first.” He glances up with a shrug. “It’s all good now. She’s a great co-parent, and her new husband is really good for her. And… well, I have Indigo.”

The tinkling of the bell at the front door snaps you out of a daze, makes you realize you’ve been staring at him, dumbfounded. You do your best to shoot Namjoon a soft smile, and to ignore the pang in your chest as he turns to greet the customer that’s just wandered in, already starting to babble on about the weather.

You find yourself more grateful for Namjoon’s presence with each passing shift, in a way that you try to convince yourself is thoroughly platonic. Between fairly steady work and his very steady chatter, your time spent in the warm, sunny space of Indigo turns out to be a good distraction from your own miserable excuse for a life. The repetitive motions of making drink after drink are oddly comforting, and you have to admit, Namjoon really is good with the customers.

“Peppermint mocha to go.”

You do your best to follow up the sentence with a polite smile as you set a drink down for the customer who has done nothing but scowl at you the whole time you were making it. The silent prayer you’ve sent out to the universe that he’ll take whatever personal problem he has elsewhere and leave you alone has clearly gone unanswered.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he snaps, and you can feel your shoulders creep up towards your ears in anticipation of nothing good. Here we fucking go.

You blink twice, trying to keep your service persona engaged. “I’m sorry, is that not what you ordered?” It is, you know it is, you heard him say it.

“No, that’s mine,” the man quickly responds, reaching out to snatch the cup in a motion that makes you flinch. “But do you hear this fucking song?”

The honest answer is no: at this point the ever-present Christmas music might as well be white noise, so you have to make a conscious effort to tune back in and listen. It’s a few seconds, and then you pick up on the melody. “…Last Christmas?”

“Uh, yeah,” he continues, explaining like you’re stupid. “The original. Last Christmas by Wham!” When it’s clear you still aren’t putting the pieces together, he scoffs in pure frustration. “You just made me lose Whamageddon! I’ve won every year for the last five years, I can’t believe you would even put this on your fucking playlist!”

Your face pulls into an incredulous grimace before you can think to control it. “Uh, I’m sorry, but I didn’t make the—”

He cuts you off. “First off, I don’t need the fucking attitude. And surely you’re at least capable of checking what songs are on there, right? That’s not too advanced for you to handle?”

You didn’t even hear Namjoon walk up from the back office, but he’s suddenly stepping in front of you, and you’re more than glad to move back and let him handle this dude before you end up in jail. “Woah, woah, alright,” Namjoon interjects, his voice loud enough to carry. “What’s going on?”

The man beats you to it. “I’m trying to file a legitimate complaint and she’s rolling her fucking eyes and getting an attitude with me!”

“It’s the song,” you explain briefly, trying to keep everything about your expression neutral. “He’s mad that we’re… playing Wham.”

Namjoon’s face twists in an expression that you would find funny if you weren’t so fucking livid, one that you’re pretty sure is the mirror image of your own reaction minutes earlier. “The song? Seriously?”

You can see the guy scrambling, clearly starting to get embarrassed at his own dramatics. “Alright, I don’t have time for this. I guess I just need to take my business elsewhere, because this is ridiculous. What ever happened to the customer is always right?”

Namjoon goes silent for a minute, and you try to ignore the way the look on his face makes your pulse quicken, thudding brightly in the hollow of your neck. His voice is deadly serious when he speaks again. “I appreciate that you’re upset, but if you’re going to look my employee in the face, after she just performed a service for you, and disrespect her like that? Over a fucking song? Nah, I’m not gonna tolerate it. Maybe the next time you want someone to make you a toothpaste drink, you should take your ass to Starbucks.”

It takes every ounce of strength you have to keep the reaction off your face until the asshole has stormed out the front door, nasty drink in hand. As the bell finally tinkles to signal his departure, you collapse forward, just barely catching yourself on the counter so you don’t crumple straight down to the floor.

“Oh my god.” Your laugh of disbelief comes out more like a groan, at the ridiculous complaint and your boss’ insanely attractive comeback alike. “I fucking hate this time of year.”

“Hey.” The word is punctuated by Namjoon’s shoulder bumping into yours, and you look back up at him, still laughing a little at your own misery. His eyes search yours, sincere. “Assholes are assholes no matter what season it is. I’m sure that guy finds plenty of things to complain about the other eleven months of the year, too. Don’t let him ruin it for you.”

You can’t help rolling your eyes, if only because you can do it freely now, without a man standing over you and yelling about your ‘bad attitude’. “I guess,” you huff. “And thank you.”

Namjoon shakes his head, like it’s nothing. “Chin up, okay?”

The two of you breeze through closing that night, familiar enough to fall into a steady routine now. You’re wiping everything down behind the counter and humming along to Tupac when Namjoon’s voice drags you back out of your thoughts in a way you’ve already grown accustomed to.

“You know…”

You glance up, only to realize that he’s started to flip chairs on top of tables to clear the floor, and is grabbing them two at a time, one in each hand. The image makes you a little dizzy, and you tell yourself to focus on his words, not his biceps.

“I think we make a pretty good team,” he concludes.

“Yeah,” you breathe, trying to keep your composure at the unexpected compliment. “I was thinking the same thing. And thanks again for, you know. Handling that guy.”

Namjoon shrugs, like it’s nothing. “Hey, you’re doing me a favor, taking this seasonal job. I’m not about to let anyone fuck with you.”

You bite down on a smile as you head towards the back to grab the mop, and then you hear a loud bang on the front door— it’s another sound you’ve gotten used to in your brief time at Indigo. There’s the click of the deadbolt, chased by the tinkling overhead bell and Namjoon’s chiding voice. “Homie, if you break my door I’m gonna make you get a job to pay me back for it.”

“You think I don’t know about child labor laws?” you hear Sol retort, clearly not intimidated, and the attitude in their voice has you biting back a laugh.

Wheeling the mop bucket out of the storage closet, you glance up to see Namjoon jut his chin toward the large front window, indicating Sol to take a seat on the ledge. “Feet off the floor, she’s tryna clean.”

Sol complies, plopping down in the window with their eyes glued to their phone as Namjoon disappears back toward the office to grab his things. You watch as Sol pulls their knees into their chest so their chunky black boots clear the tile, and you can’t help noticing that said boots are adorned with oversized silver bat-shaped buckles, reflecting the amber streetlight gleam that leaks through the window.

“I like your boots,” you say, more to yourself than Sol, half expecting them to be so engrossed in TikTok that they don’t even hear you.

But to your surprise, Sol looks up.

“Thanks,” they say, glancing at their feet. “I just got them. I’m in my post-hardcore era right now.”

The statement is delivered without a trace of irony, and you do your best to hold in another amused giggle as you respond. “Wow, you are… so much cooler than I was when I was your age.”

Sol seems to consider this for a moment, then shrugs. “I mean, you didn’t have the internet back then, right?”

The question hits you like a train, and you have to pause and press a hand over your heart at the impact. “Okay, ouch, I’m not that old.” They grimace apologetically, and you lean up against the mop handle in thought. “But the internet definitely wasn’t like it is now. The only social media that really existed was Myspace, and my parents wouldn’t let me make one. I mostly just used the internet to, like, play RuneScape.”

“Oh shit,” Sol remarks, sounding remarkably like Namjoon in the process. “You played old school?!”

It’s like you can feel your bones crumbling to dust inside your body, and you wince as you resume dragging the mop over the tile. “Hey, back then it was the only kind of RuneScape we had. But yes, you can consider me a… founding father of that game.”

“That’s cool!” they exclaim, sounding so genuine it makes your head spin. When did RuneScape become cool again? “My friends and I play old school all the time. It’s the best, for real.”

You shake your head in disbelief as you continue to mop, and a long pause settles between you, with Sol’s interest clearly returning to their phone.

Fuck, you think to yourself, what else do kids even talk about? Marvel movies? It’s like your mind has gone totally blank, unable to conjure up a single topic of conversation, and you practically huff out an audible sigh of relief when their voice breaks the silence again.

“I think my dad has been happier since you started working here.”

The mop nearly slips out of your hands entirely, and you glance up, eyes wide. “I— really?”

Sol nods, playing absentmindedly with the strings of their black hoodie, then bringing the end of one up to their mouth to gently chew on. “It’s a theory I have. A game theory. I plan to ask additional follow-up questions tonight.”

At this, you can’t help but laugh. “Well, I’m sure your investigation will be very thorough.”

There’s a flash of a dimple in Sol’s cheek, like the mirror image of their dad. “I can tell you what he says, if you want.”

You wonder how telling your own smile is. “I mean… I can’t say I’m not curious.” You’re distantly aware of the sound of the office door closing, chased by Joon whistling to himself, and you lower your voice conspiratorially as you drop the mop back into the bucket. “I look forward to hearing what you find out.”

Monday morning, when you wake up to the omnipresent smize of Nick Jonas, you can’t help smiling back. 

You made it through your first week of work, and it wasn’t even that torturous. And best of all, Namjoon reminded you the night before that Indigo is closed on Mondays, which gives you an entire day to spend as you please. A real day off, which was truly unheard of at your last job, where you’d spend your non-scheduled days still anticipating an incoming emergency text asking you to cover a shift last-minute. More often than not, you’d end up working after all.

“But not today,” you announce to Nick.

A grand plan has already started to form in your head, one that involves a party size bag of Hot Cheetos and all eight episodes of The Fabulous, and yet. There’s a lingering urge at the back of your brain that you can’t quite ignore. With all the day-off energy you can muster, you drag yourself out of bed and tug on a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt, then shuffle into the bathroom to at least make yourself halfway decent.

You’re just going for a quick walk around the block to get some fresh air, you tell yourself. That’s all. Certainly no other reason.

It’s only a few minutes after you step out your front door that a fluffy white blur nearly collides with your shins, and when you stoop down to lift Moni into your arms, you once again can’t keep the smile off your face. Huh, who could’ve seen this coming?

But when you glance up, there’s no hot buff man jogging up the sidewalk after his dog. In fact, you realize as you look back at the ball of fluff in your arms, he isn’t wearing a leash or harness at all, just another cute sweater.

“Are you even supposed to be out here?” you ask Moni. His only answer is to drag his tongue up the side of your face.

You shift him a little in your arms so you can fumble for the tag attached to his collar, and thankfully, there’s an address listed. It takes you a second to get your bearings in the neighborhood, having not lived here for close to a decade, but it eventually comes back to you where the listed street is, and you start to walk. Moni is already blinking sleepily in your arms, clearly enjoying his preferred mode of transportation.

A laugh bubbles up in your chest as you approach the house in question— even if you hadn’t had Moni’s tag to guide you, finding his home would’ve been easy enough as soon as you passed this street, because you can hear old school hip-hop bumping through a speaker despite still being several houses down the block. You suppose Namjoon can get away with it during the day, when all the neighborhood kids are still in school.

As you make your way up the driveway, you realize the music is actually coming from behind the house, and when you follow the path that leads around back, you spot the culprit: a simple wooden-slat fence surrounds the yard, and the gate has been left wide open.

Before you can even make it over the threshold, a familiar voice reaches your ears, sounding much closer than the music. “Ah, shit.”

Namjoon comes barreling through the open gate so fast he practically runs you over, and Moni yaps, like he’s annoyed at being jostled as you quickly try to stumble out of his owner’s path.

“Oh. Uh, hi.”

You wonder if you’ll ever be able to take in how shock looks on Namjoon’s features without giggling a little. Today is certainly not that day. It’s just so endearing, the way his eyes widen and his mouth pulls into a perfect o-shape.

“Hi,” you breathe out around your laughter, trying to ignore the heat that flushes into your face when his dimples appear in return. “I think I found something that belongs to you.”

With a wave of his hand and several profuse thank yous, you follow Namjoon back through the gate, and wait until he firmly shuts it behind you before letting Moni down to trot off across the yard. It’s only now that you take Namjoon in properly: he’s in a gray hoodie under a pair of denim overalls, both of which are splattered artfully with paint in a variety of colors.

“I was just in my studio,” he explains, tipping his head toward the small shed in the yard, which you quickly realize is also the source of the music that led you here. “Doin’ some art. Do you, uh… wanna see?”

“Yeah, okay,” you answer with a nod.

“Fair warning, I’m really bad at it,” he calls over his shoulder as he leads you in the open studio door, raising his voice to be heard over the music. He reaches for his phone, propped up in the windowsill, to turn the volume down a few notches.

There’s an easel up against the far wall holding what must be his current project, a half-finished scene that you realize upon closer inspection is thousands of tiny dots of color, painstakingly blotted onto the canvas to form a mountain landscape at a distance. A few more pieces that he’s already completed have been leaned up against another wall to dry, one featuring an abstract array of featherlight brushstrokes, and another where the paint’s been globbed on in thick layers.

Namjoon is talking a mile a minute as you inspect the canvases. “I thought maybe I’d do cyanotypes today, but it’s not sunny enough, and I’ve made that mistake before. I’m really into texture right now, so I’m trying out some different techniques with paint. I want to get better at pointillism, but it’s a lot harder than you’d think it would be. ‘Cause it’s just dots, right? But you have to be able to see the forest for the trees, too.”

“These are amazing,” you finally manage to murmur, and to your surprise, the compliment actually renders him silent. When you turn back over your shoulder to look at him, he’s glancing down, almost like he’s embarrassed.

“Thanks. But I just do it for fun. ‘Cause I love art.”

“I can tell,” you say, and when he looks up, you offer him a smile you hope reads as encouraging. “Did you make the art at work, too?”

He nods, still sheepish, and that answer also surprises you. You recall thinking on your first day that the paintings hung on the walls looked handmade, but it never crossed your mind that they might have been made by Namjoon’s hands. Maybe because you’ve grown so accustomed to seeing him drop and break things, you haven’t ever considered him as also capable of… creation.

And yet, here he is. Proving you wrong.

“Sorry,” Namjoon’s voice makes you refocus on him, and your brow furrows in confusion at the unexpected apology. “This is literally your one day away from me and here I am, taking up your time. Thanks again for bringing Moni back.”

“It’s okay.” You shrug. “Don’t have much going on today, honestly. I never really know what to do with myself when I’m not working. Which I’m aware is very sad.”

“Well, uh,” Namjoon starts, and when he takes a single step closer, you swear you feel something flutter in your stomach— or maybe lower. “Sol’s got a half-day today, since it’s the last day before break, so I’m picking them up in a bit. And we were gonna go on a hike, probably take Moni too. You’re welcome to join us, if you’d like?”

Your eyes widen at the invitation. “Oh. That sounds great. I mean, if you’re sure I wouldn’t be intruding?”

He shakes his head, the corner of his mouth pulling up just so. “Nah. I actually think Sol really likes you. At least, they wouldn’t stop asking questions about you at dinner last night.”

“Is that right?” You do your best to keep your expression neutral.

Namjoon drives far enough north that there’s actually snow on the ground when you climb out of his front seat. You shove your hands into the pockets of your jacket as you follow him across the gravel parking lot towards the trailhead, a few paces behind Sol and Moni.

Sol shoots an expression of pure mischief at you over their shoulder, and then immediately starts to sprint up the marked path through the woods, Moni easily keeping up.

“Bye, nerds!” you hear them call before they disappear between the trees.

“Stay on the trail!” Namjoon shouts back, sounding as dad-like as you’ve ever heard him, and you can’t help but laugh. The two of you quicken your steps slightly to not fall too far behind, tracking the set of boot and paw-prints they’ve left to mark their trail.

For a moment, it’s silent between you, save the crunching of snow underfoot. It’s nice, being out in nature like this, time spent with Namjoon where you aren’t suffering through Christmas music and ungrateful customers. Where you can just… breathe. It makes you feel a little less sorry for yourself, a little less fixated on your own miserable life.

You glance over at him as that strange seasonal melancholy starts to settle into your bones again. “Are the holidays… better? With a kid?”

Namjoon makes a face, like he’s surprised by the question. “I mean, they’re definitely different. Then again, it’s been a long time since I did the holidays without a kid— not since I was a kid myself. What do you mean by better?”

Self-consciousness washes over you, your gaze drifting down to the path beneath your feet. “I don’t know, there’s just… I can’t shake this weird feeling now that I’m back home. This time of year used to be so exciting for me when I was Sol’s age. Everything felt special. Magical. But now I’m back here, and nothing’s really changed, except me. But I just keep feeling like the magic is gone. It’s… sad.”

He nods, taking a moment before he responds, and he’s chuckling softly to himself when he finally does. “You know, it’s kinda funny. When Sol was younger I actually felt a lot of stress this time of year. I couldn’t really enjoy it, because I was too busy trying to make sure that they had the best holiday I could possibly give them. That they didn’t feel like they were getting any less, since, you know. Their mom and I aren’t together. It’s funny that you bring up the magic, because I put a lot of pressure on myself to make that magic happen. But now that they’re a little older, I don’t know, it’s different.”

“Different how?” you prompt.

A dimple deepens as he hesitates. “It’s gonna sound corny. But really, I realized that the holidays aren’t about the gifts, or the decorations, or every little thing going perfect. You can make yourself sick over that shit, and I did, but kids don’t really care about it.” He pauses, and for a second you think that might be it, but then he keeps going, eyes fixed on the towering pine trees ahead of you.

“The year I opened Indigo, I had sank so much fucking money into it that I was broke. Broke broke. I couldn’t afford a single gift, a tree, not even a turkey. Sol and I sat on the floor of my shitty apartment and ate Chapagetti and watched Friends. And I felt like the biggest fucking failure imaginable. And then you know what happened?”

“What?”

“Sol turned to me, and they said, ‘This is the best Christmas ever, because we get to hang out, just the two of us.’” He blinks a few times, like he’s trying to ward off tears, and his voice comes back slightly less steady than before. “I still don’t know if they said that because they really meant it, or if they could just tell that I needed to hear it. But either way, I thought to myself: how fucking lucky am I, to have such a great kid? Like what did I ever do to deserve them? I still feel that way.”

Namjoon shrugs, as if to shake off the emotion. “I don’t know. Maybe that’s not helpful to you, but. I just see it differently now. It’s not about the what, or the how. It’s about the who. Spending this time of year with the people you care about, and making sure they know you do. That’s the real magic.”

You realize the trail has carried you up the sloping hillside, and is now flattening out at the edge of a clearing, where you can see Moni chasing Sol through the snow, can hear their high-pitched laughter ringing out in the wide-open air.

When you turn back to Namjoon, he’s already looking at you.

“I’m sorry you don’t feel the magic right now. I didn’t either, for a long time. But it does come back, I believe that. It’ll come back for you, too.”

You blink up at him, overwhelmed by his willingness to be so honest, and by the wisdom of his words. “I— thank you,” you finally manage to say.

Namjoon doesn’t answer, just glances up to where Sol and Moni are still playing, and your gaze follows his out over the snow-covered field. Sol is dusting off a sizable stick, and they call out for Moni to fetch before launching it into a dramatic arc, high up in the air.

Moni watches it go, entirely disinterested, then settles onto his haunches in the snow with a yawn.

“You’re so bad at being a dog!” Sol shouts, and that’s enough to make you and Namjoon both dissolve into laughter. They look up at the sound, hands-on-hips, before yelling again, this time in your direction. “My dad said he has a crush on you!”

Your jaw drops open, and Namjoon’s eyes are wide as you’ve ever seen them when you look up at him.

“Damn, dude, you said you were gonna be chill about it!” he exclaims, and you press a hand to your mouth as a fresh wave of giggles overtakes you. Given how long Namjoon’s legs are, it only takes him a few strides to catch up to Sol. You stay a tentative distance behind him, but still close enough to be able to make out their conversation.

“Uncle Hobi says you need to be bolder with women,” Sol chides, matter-of-fact.

“Uncle Hobi says a lot of shit,” Namjoon mutters under his breath.

“He painted my nails,” Sol raises their voice, clearly talking more to you than to their dad, and holds up a hand for you to see, waggling their fingers proudly.

“They look great,” you call out in response.

Namjoon turns back to you as you step in closer, then juts his chin to a bench at the other side of the clearing. “Sit with me for a sec?”

With a nod, you follow him over, and he wipes the metal surface free of snow with his sleeve before gesturing for you to have a seat. For a moment, the two of you sit silently and watch Sol, who is already busying themself with building a snowperson while Moni slow-blinks encouragingly from a distance.

Namjoon’s words chase a heavy sigh. “I’m gonna be real with you, despite the fact that my child just stole my thunder. I like you a lot.”

Your heart swells in your chest, threatening to burst. “I-I like you too,” you stammer back immediately. “Have definitely been harboring my own crush… basically since I started working at Indigo.”

When you turn to look at him, it surprises you a little that he isn’t smiling. You can see a muscle working in his jaw, like he’s nervous.

“That’s the thing,” he finally relents. “Work. I don’t— I hadn’t really planned to tell you how I was feeling, or act on it. Because I’m your boss, and that means, you know. There’s a power dynamic there. And it would be… unethical of me to blur the lines like that, by getting involved with my employee. I wanted you to come out with us today because it was a chance for you and I to be equals, outside of work, but it’s not like that dynamic just goes away, you know? And I feel a little guilty about it now. Because I really like being around you so much, but I just. We can’t. It wouldn’t be right. Not while you’re working for me.”

You stare down at the snow under your boots as you take in his words, and you can’t help it. Try as you might to sit there and take his worries seriously, laughter flutters out of you before you can hold it in.

“What?” Namjoon asks, and you shake your head, trying to compose yourself.

“I really, really appreciate that you gave it so much thought,” you say, willing your voice to stay even. “I mean it.”

“It’s weighed really heavy on me, if I’m honest,” he says solemnly, and you glance over to see him staring into the middle distance, like he’s deep in contemplation.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching out to where his hand rests on the bench between you and covering it with your own.

“Namjoon?” you ask softly, and it seems to snap him out of his trance enough to look back at you.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way,” you preface. “But if I have to choose between you and my stupid seasonal coffee shop job?” The smile starts to flicker over your face again. “Then I quit. I quit right now.”

“Oh thank god,” Namjoon breathes, and you can only make a soft noise of surprise when all at once, he takes your face in his hands and kisses you. You need a split second for the shock to wear off, and then you’re moving your mouth against his, one hand fisting tight in the fabric of his jacket. His lips are full and warm, and it feels like far too soon that he’s pulling back again, his cheeks flushed with color.

“Will you, uh—” he pauses, like he’s remembering how to form a sentence. “Will you still work tomorrow though? Jimin’s back after Christmas, but I really don’t think I can survive a shift on my own.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, still a little breathless from his kiss. “Yeah, I think you’d burn the place down.”

Unable to deny the claim, he laughs brightly as you untangle from each other, then gets to his feet before offering a hand to help you up. “We should head out, it’s gonna get dark soon.”

It’s true: across the wide clearing you can already see the sun threatening to sink back down between the trees, casting a golden-pink light that gleams off the snow and paints the world in warmth.

Sol leads the way back through the woods to the car, tugging Moni along by their leash, while you and Namjoon bring up the rear. You glance over at him a few times to catch him staring, and you scrape your teeth across your bottom lip, unable to keep the smile off your face, unable to stop yourself from mentally replaying the moment when he kissed you, over and over.

Just as you step under the shadow of a large tree, snow-covered branches stretching up toward the clear sky above you, Namjoon stops in the path. It’s so abrupt that you continue a few more paces before you even realize, and then you stop, too, glancing back towards him.

“Hey Sol,” Namjoon calls. “Think you and Moni can make it all the way back to the car in ten seconds?”

“I know what you’re doing,” comes Sol’s cheeky reply, but when Namjoon starts counting backwards from ten, you can hear the crunch of their boots taking off down the path.

“Eight, seven, six…” You watch as Namjoon cranes his neck until he deems Sol far enough out of sight, taking a step toward you as his counting trails off, and you find yourself pulled into him like a magnet. “Come here,” he murmurs, and then his hands are slipping up your waist and guiding you backwards until your back hits the trunk of the tree.

In true Namjoon fashion, he uses way more strength than is necessary for the task, and though your winter jacket cushions you from the impact, you’re smacked against the bark so hard that it knocks a dusting of snow off the branches above you, covering you both in flakes that stick to your hair and eyelashes. The sudden rush of cold makes you gasp into Namjoon’s mouth, but then he’s rolling his tongue over yours and you can’t think about anything else. A heavy pulse has started to thud between your legs at the heat of his breath in your mouth, the way his hips have you pinned to the tree, his body big enough to cover yours entirely.

“Joon,” you find the air to breathe as his lips trail hungrily down the slope of your neck. You rake a hand through his hair, white-blonde strands studded with snow, to try and pull his attention back, despite very much not wanting him to stop. “Joon, we should go. Before someone steals your kid.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs against your skin, and then his mouth is on yours again for one more kiss, like he can’t get enough. “Okay,” he finally grunts as he pulls away, sounding as begrudgingly responsible as you feel. Your head is still spinning; you want nothing more than to stay here and let him kiss you dizzy.

“Let’s go.”

He takes a step back so you can right yourself, reaching out to dust some snow off your jacket, and then the two of you resume walking up the path, sharing a breathless laugh like confidantes. You assume it’s just his standard clumsiness when Namjoon’s hand knocks into yours, but then his fingers are twining through yours purposefully, until you’re pressed palm to palm.

The rush of heat that blooms in your chest at his touch keeps you warm the rest of the way to the car.

Your last shift at Indigo somehow manages to feel exactly like every shift that’s come before it and completely new at the same time.

The work is the same, the steady stream of customers unchanged, the Christmas music still an aggravating soundtrack. But you no longer feel like you have to ignore the butterflies that flutter in your stomach when Namjoon asks you a question, or meets your gaze across the shop.

The only urges you have to suppress are indecent ones, made worse by Namjoon seemingly taking advantage of every opportunity to touch you: hip-checking you when you’re both standing at the front counter, pressing a hand to the small of your back whenever he has to squeeze behind you, leaning in a little closer than necessary to be heard over the noise of the milk steamer. It’s enough to make your breath hitch each time, and you can’t help but wonder if he feels the same relief at not having to hold back anymore.

Towards the end of the night, it surprises you when the typically consistent flow of customers starts to slow down, until it seems to have ceased entirely. You still have two hours to go, but you find yourself staring at the walls, every table empty, having done all the side work you can think of to distract yourself from boredom.

The sound of the front door’s lock clicking shut makes you glance up, only to see Namjoon flipping the open sign over.

“What are you doing?” you ask, blinking dumbfounded, and he looks over his shoulder at you with a shrug.

“It’s Christmas Eve Eve, and I’m the owner, so. We’re closing early. Effective immediately.” The decree makes you laugh a little, and his dimples wink back. “Let’s finish cleaning, I wanna show you something.”

In record time, you find yourself standing outside the front door of Indigo as Namjoon locks up, only tonight your hands are kept warm by the hot chocolates he’d made for the two of you as you closed. He takes his cup back once his hands are free, and you try a tentative sip from yours, now cool enough to drink without burning your mouth. Given what you witnessed of his barista abilities on your first day, you brace yourself for the worst, but your eyes widen in pleasant surprise when the liquid hits your tongue.

“Being a dad means getting really good at a few specific things,” he says by way of explanation as he unlocks his car doors, and you smile as you slip into the passenger seat.

It occurs to you as Namjoon starts to drive that you don’t actually know where he’s taking you, but when you open your mouth to ask at the next red light, he leans over you to fumble open the glovebox and you lose your train of thought. He fishes inside for a few seconds before retrieving a CD case, then makes quick work of prying it open and sliding the disc into the slot on the dash. You attempt to hide your giggle behind the rim of your cup.

“No wonder you like ‘90s music so much. You’re still living there,” you say, nodding to his antiquated stereo, and he smirks as he turns up the volume. 

“This is A Tribe Called Quest,” he remarks, quirking an eyebrow when he looks back at you. “You better show some respect.”

“Yes, sir,” you tease in response, and you don’t miss the color that flushes his cheeks.

The light turns green and he accelerates through the intersection, one hand on the steering wheel, the other reaching across the center console to grip playfully at your leg, a few inches above your knee. You can see his tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek, like he’s considering saying something, but when he finally opens his mouth, it’s just to rap along to the music.

It’s only a few songs later that he’s turning off the main road and following a barely-lit gravel path up to a large grassy parking lot, where he pulls into a space and kills the engine. You squint through the windshield, tucking your now-empty drink into the cupholder, but you can’t make out much except dusk and some vague lights over a hill in the distance.

“Was this crush thing just a ploy to murder me?” you quip, and Namjoon looks a little nervous when you glance over, like he took the question to heart. “I’m kidding,” you clarify quickly.

His voice comes out surprisingly soft. “This is one of my favorite things to do during the holidays. Thought it might help with, you know. The magic.”

Something cracks open inside you as you look back at him. “That’s… really sweet.”

“Ah,” he says, as if to dismiss the compliment. “You haven’t seen it yet. Maybe you’ll hate it. Come on.”

The two of you climb out of his car to start your trek to whatever he has in store, heading in the direction of the lights, and Namjoon’s hand slips into yours, like it’s already second nature. Easy and sweet. You grip tight to him, the night air colder now than it was when you left work, but then you finally crest over the hill, and the temperature is suddenly the furthest thing from your mind.

It takes you a moment to even understand what you’re looking at. The place is clearly some kind of arboretum, as the path ahead of you snakes through a perfectly manicured garden of various plants, but the only thing you can focus on are the lights. Every tree, bush, shrub, and other kind of greenery that lines the walkway has been intricately strung up with lights, each one boasting a different hue. The end result is nothing short of dazzling— a veritable rainbow of light and life and color, glittering diamond-bright against the deep-set night around you.

“Namjoon,” you breathe. “This is beautiful.”

There’s a dimple flickering at the corner of his mouth when you look up at him. “Thought you might like it.”

“I can’t believe I never knew this was here,” you remark, your eyes wide and blinking as you try to take it all in.

“Hey,” he answers with a shrug. “Maybe your hometown still has a few good surprises left in it.” You exhale a laugh as you lean into his side and he squeezes your joined hands; you can’t help feeling like you’ve already found the greatest surprise of them all.

After an hour spent wandering through the displays, each one more breathtaking than the last, Namjoon diverts you toward a small food stand. He comes away from the counter with a paper carton filled to the brim with long ropes of twisted, fried dough, warm enough to release steam into the air when you tear one apart to share, and dusted with cinnamon sugar that sticks to your fingertips.

The two of you take a few steps back down the path until you’re under an archway of glowing golden lights, then eventually come to a standstill, too hungry to do anything except devour your food.

Namjoon speaks first, mid-chew. “Can I ask you a question?”

“What’s up?” you answer as you reach for another piece.

He swallows, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth before he continues. “At your interview, you said your life fell apart. What happened?”

“Oh.” You smirk as you rip the braided dough in two, then in two again, before popping it into your mouth. “It seems a little silly now, but. I got fired from that last job, like I told you. And the same day, my roommate pretty much kicked me out of the apartment, because he wanted his boyfriend to move in. He was also my best friend, so. It stung a little. A lot. Moving back in with your parents at this age is humbling, to say the least. Feels a lot like starting over.”

Namjoon hums, like he understands. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

“Eh,” you respond noncommittally. “I should probably be happy for him. The timing just… wasn’t amazing.”

“You know,” he murmurs, thoughtful. “I thought my life was over when my ex and I got pregnant. Not even eighteen and about to be a dad. I really felt like… I don’t know, like that was it for me.” You nod slowly, unable to even fathom what that must’ve been like.

“But, here I am. Still alive.” Namjoon flashes you a grin, and you find yourself smiling back. “Still figuring it out. I actually feel like I’ve learned a lot from watching Sol grow up. They’re like—” He shakes his head, as if at a momentary loss for words. “They’re like a different person every month, I swear. What they’re into, how they dress. Who they wanna be. It makes me feel, I don’t know. Like it’s okay. Like I can change too.” He shrugs. “That’s the thing about life. It’s long. And even when you feel like it’s ended… it keeps going anyway.”

His words wash over you, and you’re so in awe that you can’t help but laugh.

“Ah, sorry.” He grimaces, suddenly self-conscious. “I know that was corny.”

“No, no,” you interject, trying to keep your composure. “I just think you are like, literally the wisest person I’ve ever met.”

The lights glimmering overhead aren’t enough to hide the way Namjoon blushes at the compliment, and then he pauses, as if recalling something. “Didn’t I nearly run the blender with the lid off on your first day?”

You double-over at the memory, and he’s laughing now, too. “Okay, okay. Fair point.” 

The thought keeps circling around in your brain as you dust cinnamon sugar from each other’s jackets and continue your way around the rest of the gardens, occasionally pausing to trade sticky-sweet kisses in the twinkling glow: you don’t want the night to end. You keep glancing over at Namjoon, wondering if he’s feeling the same way as he drives you back into town, the heat in his car on full blast, the CD player still underscoring your conversation.

“So, what do your Christmas plans look like?” he asks, eyes flitting briefly from the road to meet your gaze.

You fiddle with a button on your coat, wishing you had a less depressing answer. “I was just gonna spend it by myself. My parents already had a vacation in Hawaii planned, so I’m gonna do what I always do: hole up with booze and snacks and wait for it all to be over.”

He chuckles, tapping his fingertips absentmindedly against the steering wheel. “Well, I have about a hundred presents to wrap tomorrow night while Sol’s at their mom’s. Why don’t you come over and help? I can even provide the booze.” There’s a pause, and his voice comes back softer before you can respond. “You shouldn’t be alone.”

The corner of your mouth tugs up at his sincerity, the way he gently cares for you, has since day one. “Yeah, okay. I mean, you had me at free alcohol.”

Just like that, Namjoon is already turning back into the Indigo parking lot, where your car sits waiting for you. The two of you shrug off your seatbelts once he’s pulled into a space and parked, and he reaches to turn down the music before shifting in his seat to get a better look at you.

“So,” he starts, clearing his throat a little. “You are officially no longer my employee.”

“And you are no longer my boss,” you answer back, and a thrill buzzes in your chest at the statement.

“Which means,” he continues, doing his best to lean over the center console, “I can do this.” He barely finishes getting the words out before his mouth is on yours, your eyes fluttering closed, his kisses far less chaste than the ones you shared earlier. They’re open-mouthed and urgent this time, with Namjoon slipping his tongue into the heat of your mouth like he’s been waiting all night for it.

“Uh-huh,” you murmur between kisses, and then he dips his head lower, until his lips find the join of your neck and shoulder.

“And this,” he purrs before kissing you just as hungrily there, tongue-first. You can’t hold back the soft noise his mouth pulls out of you.

“Fuck,” you breathe as he sucks gently over the same spot, with just enough pressure to make you writhe in your seat. A shiver rolls up your spine when he hums against your skin, clearly pleased at your reaction.

“And, uh…” You slowly blink your eyes open when you feel the warmth of his breath dissipate, and he’s looking at you with his brow furrowed, as if attempting some difficult mental math. “Actually—” He reaches down for the lever to adjust his seat, and it drops all the way back with a graceless thud that makes a laugh flutter out of you. “Maybe you could take your jacket off and come over here?”

You don’t need him to ask you twice, and you’re moving quickly as you peel out of the thick material and scramble across the console to straddle him. You both groan a little when you duck down to press your mouth to his again, all of this suddenly feeling much more real now that you’re basically horizontal. His hands alight on your hips, tentative, like he isn’t quite sure what to do with them, and you smile against his lips.

“Touch me, Joon,” you instruct, and he does as he’s told.

His hands are warm as he slips them beneath the hem of your shirt, trailing over your skin until he reaches the band of your bra. When you hum encouragingly into his mouth, he keeps going, pushing the fabric up your chest so your tits spill free from their confinement. He cups one in each hand, and though you might’ve expected him to be clumsy or rough, given everything you’ve seen of him thus far, you’re surprised to instead find that he’s gentle, thumbs circling your nipples with just the right amount of pressure to tighten them into stiff peaks.

Unable to bite back your whimper at the heat that blossoms through you at his touch, at how much more of him you need, you pull away just enough to break your kiss, glancing up through the back window of his car to confirm the parking lot is still empty.

Namjoon groans low in his throat when you reach down to tug up the hem of your shirt, shifting a little on top of him to give him better access. He doesn’t hesitate, thumb still working at one nipple while he takes the other into his mouth, and your sigh of relief comes edged with a soft moan when he swirls his tongue over the bud of your breast.

“Shit,” you gasp. “Feels so fucking good.”

He pulls off with a wet pop to switch sides, and the slick heat of his mouth sends bolt after bolt of arousal through you until there’s a dull ache of need thudding between your legs. As you roll your hips in desperate search of friction, you can feel him beneath you, straining hard against the fabric of his jeans.

Namjoon pulls his mouth off your breast, letting out a hoarse laugh when you shift to drop your forehead against his collarbone with a groan, horny enough to practically be delirious. “I hate that I’m even saying this,” he rasps, “but I really can’t have sex in a car. I’m too—”

“Big?” you offer, and there’s a smile on his lips as he presses a kiss to your temple.

“I was going to say old.”

You can’t help giggling as you lean up to find his mouth with yours again. Namjoon kisses you a little while longer, lazily, his hands still kneading gently at your tits, until he finally tips his head back, heaving a sigh up to the roof of his car. “Okay, okay. You should go.” His tone is reluctant, like it’s the last thing he wants. “It’s late. And my jeans fucking hurt.”

There’s a self-satisfied smirk toying at your mouth as you sit up, tugging your bra and shirt back into place and not missing the bulge in Namjoon’s pants where your hips meet his. “I will take the blame for that one.”

He folds his hands behind his head, biceps and dimples on full display. “Damn straight.”

You lean down for one more kiss, letting it linger before you make your way back over the center console to retrieve your jacket. “Have a good night, Joon,” you murmur as you reach for the door handle, and when you glance back, his eyes are fixed on you, still heavy-lidded with lust.

“Get home safe. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I have booze, as promised.” Namjoon’s voice echoes in from the kitchen as you kick off your boots and hang your coat up at his front door come Christmas Eve. The aroma hits your nose as your socked feet pad down the hall to follow him: the spice of cinnamon and clove, paired with a hint of citrus. It smells like the holidays, like home.

“Mulled wine?” you wager a guess, and he nods, turning away from the stove to retrieve two mugs from a cabinet.

“I halved the recipe, since it’s just us,” he explains, mouth pulling down at the corners as he starts to ladle out servings from the pot full of deep red liquid. “Still made a lot, though.”

Your eyes drift across the kitchen until they land on the two empty bottles of red sitting next to the sink, and that makes you pause for a moment to consider. “So the original recipe called for four bottles?”

Namjoon’s brow is furrowed when he glances up, and then he follows your gaze, and a look of delayed understanding washes over him. “Oh, fuck.”

Your elbows dig into the kitchen island as you press your hands to your mouth, as if to physically hold in your laughter. “Did you… halve everything in the recipe except the wine?”

His eyes drop closed as he nods, his answer a resigned sigh. “Yeah. Yes, I did.”

You can’t help yourself: all at once, you’re circling around to join Namjoon behind the stove, so you can take his face in your hands and pull his mouth down to yours. He makes a soft noise of surprise, but then his lips fall into rhythm, kissing you hard enough to knock the air out of your lungs. Even through the fabric of your shirt, his large hands are warm when they slide over the small of your back, and then they keep going, until you finally break the kiss with another laugh when he reaches his final target and outright grabs your ass.

“Not the reaction I anticipated,” Namjoon admits, paired with a teasing squeeze. “But I’ll take it.”

You look up at him through your lashes, pressing your palms flat to the firm plane of his chest. “A very wise friend of mine once told me that the holidays aren’t about every little thing going perfect. I thought maybe you needed a reminder.”

His dimples deepen as his eyes search yours, and his voice is lower in his throat when he responds. “I think that fool was just sayin’ words because a pretty girl asked him a question.”

Heat flushes your face as you smile back. “Well, they were very good words.” You drop your gaze to the pot on the stove. “Come on, I bet we can salvage this.”

Determined to save Christmas, you throw in another handful of spices, chased with a few glugs from a bottle of orange juice Namjoon heroically digs out of the back of the fridge. After a few more minutes of simmering, you take a tentative sip of the mixture to find it perfectly adequate.

“I guess we just have to drink twice as much now,” Namjoon quips, filling up two fresh mugs with the remedied wine. You raise an eyebrow back at him, as if to accept the challenge, while you tap your drinks together in a cheers.

By the time you realize that a double-batch of mulled wine and gift-wrapping don’t exactly go together, it’s already too late. The booze makes Namjoon’s big hands go even clumsier, the few presents he attempts an absolute disaster, and you can’t stop laughing long enough to be of any help. At one point he reaches up to cup your jaw for a kiss, but completely misjudges the distance, deftly knocking into his half-drunk mug and spilling the contents all over a tube of wrapping paper and the crotch of your jeans.

You dissolve into giggles until you can scarcely breathe, scooting your chair a few inches back from the table as he jumps up to grab something to soak up the mess. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” you manage to gasp when he returns, immediately focused on cleaning you up first. You wave him away as you get to your feet. “Seriously, it’s not that bad, it’s mostly the table.”

“Jesus,” Namjoon groans as he drops the kitchen towels in his hands onto the wooden surface, doing his best to soak up the puddle, though there’s no saving the ruined gift-wrap.

“It’s not a big deal,” you murmur as he turns back, once again examining the extent of the damage done to your clothes. A shiver rolls through you as his thumb brushes over the waistband of your jeans, and he grimaces a little.

“This is probably gonna stain.”

“I mean…” Your pulse starts to quicken as his fingertips linger where they are, and Namjoon’s gaze flits up to meet yours when you speak, clearly hearing a shift in your tone of voice. “I could just… take them off.”

A smile teases at the corner of your mouth when his eyes widen. “Yeah,” he breathes, then seems to self-correct. “I mean, uh. If-if that’s something you would feel comfortable doing.”

You’re already reaching to undo the button, and then Namjoon takes over to tug open the zipper and push the fabric down your legs, and your nipples tighten beneath your bra at the reminder of how gentle his large hands can be. His lips find yours again and you don’t hesitate to lick into his mouth, jostling slightly as you try to make out with him and kick your pants the rest of the way off at the same time. It’s graceless, but you manage to make it work, and then he pulls away from you to glance back down.

“It looks like a little got on your shirt, too.”

He’s right, you realize: there are faint purple marks splattered just above the hem of your long-sleeve, and you smirk as you look up at him.

“If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you did this on purpose,” you tease, and then in one swift move you pull your shirt over your head, letting it drop to the kitchen floor next to your discarded jeans.

Namjoon’s hands are instantly on your bare skin, trailing heat as they trace the curve from your hip to your waist, and your breath hitches as he ducks down to brush his lips over your collarbone. The low tone of his voice reverberates through you when he speaks against your skin. “I like to think I could’ve gotten you naked tonight even without being an accident-prone idiot.”

You run a hand along the line of his jaw, tipping his head up to seek a kiss, before leaning back to murmur, “I guess we’ll never know.”

He kisses you again, and the two of you stumble across the threshold into the living room, pausing along the way to peel off his sweater and then his jeans, laughing into each other’s mouths, just drunk enough to lack any semblance of coordination you might have otherwise had.

When you drop down to lay back on his sofa, you’re both stripped to your underwear, and you can feel the thick bulge of him, pressing firm-heavy heat into your thigh as he settles his hips between your spread legs.

Namjoon’s eyes roam over your body beneath him, and then he’s tugging the lace of your panties to the side to slip a finger into your drenched center, beckoning it up to rub you just right. Your mouth drops open as he traces slow circles against your front wall, and when he adds a second digit, you can’t help but whimper softly at the stretch. It thrums through you like your lingering red wine buzz, hot and thick and good enough to get lost in, your head dropping back on the couch cushions as your hips rock up into his touch.

“Goddamn,” Namjoon groans, and your eyes flutter open again to take him in, his gaze heavy-lidded as he watches his fingers disappear up into you, coaxing slick sounds out with each pump of his hand. “I had a whole plan,” he rasps. “To take my time. But, fuck, I really want to fuck you.”

“It’s okay, Joon,” you breathe, not sure how much longer you could stand the torturous feeling of his clothed cock grinding into your thigh, so close to where you want him. An ache throbs in your cunt, needy, plugged up with two fingers but still begging for more. “Just fuck me.”

Realization flashes over his face, and then he suddenly heaves a sigh, looking defeated. You have to bite back a noise at the loss as he withdraws his fingers. “I— there’s an obvious joke here, but. I don’t have any condoms. Or if I do, they’re definitely expired.”

It takes you a second to process the revelation, and then you reach up to pull him down to you, smiling when he hums surprise into your mouth at the unexpected response. Your lips linger on his, and then you tip your head to press a kiss to the slope of his neck, not quite able to maintain eye contact as you murmur, “I mean. I’m on the pill, and I’m clean. So.”

“Yeah?” he replies, and your nose bumps against his shoulder as you nod. “Me too. Well, I-I’m clean, I mean. I’m not on the pill.”

You can’t help the giggle that slips out as you look up at him. “Right, no, I get it.”

“Sorry,” Namjoon huffs a laugh in return, his face flushing a little. “I talk a lot, when I’m nervous.”

“I just thought it was an all-the-time thing,” you admit, and the color in his cheeks deepens.

“I’m just always nervous around you.”

Your mouth seeks his out for a kiss sweeter than the last, slower for his shy honesty and the hummingbird thrum of your heartbeat behind your ribs. The heat of his breath ghosts over your lips when you tip back to answer, “You don’t have to be.”

“So, you’re okay?” he asks, almost reverent with his question. “If we—if I don’t—”

“Please,” you insist, and it’s all the encouragement he needs.

With remarkably little fumbling, he drags the lace of your panties down your legs, letting you kick them the rest of the way off while he moves up to unclasp your bra. You slip the straps off your shoulders and drop it over the edge of the couch, then watch as he shifts to strip out of his boxers, freeing his cock with enough force that it smacks against his abdomen with a hefty thud.

You swallow hard as you take him in: long and thick, flushed dark. Big, and fuck, you want all of him; you can feel how drenched you already are between your legs at the thought of all that cock filling you up.

When you tear your gaze away to meet his, Namjoon is staring at you just as hungrily, and he brings a hand to pump himself a few times, to coat his shaft in the wetness that’s started to drool from the head of his dick.

“Come here,” he grunts, his voice rough-edged, and you waste no time straddling yourself over his hips.

Given his considerable size, you figured it might take you a second to adjust, but you want him so bad, the feeling of his cock stretching you open is all white-hot pleasure. Your fingertips dig into his shoulders as you slowly lower yourself down on him, inch by overwhelming inch, until your ass is flush with thighs.

Namjoon’s head drops back against the couch as you slowly grind your hips into him, his hands gripping at your waist to guide the movement. You can’t help the soft sound that flutters out of you: he just looks so good like this, white-blonde hair swept off his forehead, beads of sweat trailing down his temples and glistening at his collarbones, his parted lips full and kiss-bitten.

“Baby,” he groans as you start to move a little more intentionally. “Fuck, I’m not gonna last long. Tell me what to do.”

“Touch me,” you breathe, and you close a hand over one of his, guiding him down to your clit. 

Just like the night before in his car, his touch is so gentle when he begins to trace circles into the sensitive nub with his thumb. You can feel the slow-hum build of an orgasm in your core, drawn up by the steady rub of his hand, and you lean back to allow him better access, bracing yourself on his thighs as you rock along his length.

A moan rips through you as the new angle drags the head of his dick just right against your front wall, and it’s good enough to make your eyes roll back. Chasing the feeling, you shove your hips down harder, driving his cock into that spot over and over until your thighs have started to tremble.

“That’s it,” Namjoon grunts encouragingly, his voice husky. “Use me, baby. Look so good when you bounce on my cock like that.”

The words set every last one of your nerve endings alight, and you dig your nails into his skin as your spine arches from the pleasure. His thumb is still working steadily at your clit, and the heavy stretch of his cock has you so wet, you can feel arousal starting to leak down your thighs. Your pussy clings to him like a vice, a throbbing-tight heat, taking him to the hilt every time.

“Oh my god, Joon,” you groan, “I’m gonna come.”

His touch doesn’t let up, and you can feel yourself teetering right on the precipice of it, only able to manage little gasps as you drop yourself down onto his cock again and again and again, with enough force that there’s an audible sound of your skin slapping against his.

Your legs are outright shaking from the effort now, from how close you are, and then Namjoon ducks his head, using his free hand to guide your tit into his mouth. The swirl of his tongue laved across the tight bud of your nipple is just what you need to push you over the edge.

With a moan that’s more like a sob, you drop forward against Namjoon’s chest, sinking all the way down to bury him in your pulsing cunt as you come. He continues to rub you through the waves of your orgasm, breathing ragged in your ear while your pussy gushes around him, until you grab his wrist with a soft whimper of overstimulation, and he relents.

Too gone to get any words out, all you can do is take his face in your hands and kiss him. He rolls his tongue over yours, decadent, as his palms slip down to cup your ass. You groan a little into his mouth when he begins to shift you, your cunt still fluttering-sensitive at every little motion, but he manages to maneuver you onto your back while still keeping himself sheathed in you.

His hands move to your thighs, encouraging your legs to hook over his hips, and his mouth trails kisses down the valley between your breasts before he breathes against your skin, “Can I keep going?”

“Please,” you murmur, and it’s chased with a moan when he starts to rock his hips into you. You feel so full, so swollen from your climax that it’s like your walls were molded to take him, the crown of his cock stroking deep-deep over the place that lights you up inside, shooting sparks of pleasure all the way down to your toes.

Namjoon’s breath stutters on a laugh. “Shit, I’m already close.”

You tilt up to brush your lips against his, humming encouragingly into his mouth, and then he pulls back again, one dimple teasing at the corner of his smile. “God, I— wanna hear you say it.”

Somehow, you know exactly what he means. “Come in me, Joon,” you beg, fucked so good that you’re shameless for it, and you gasp when he bottoms out in you with his next thrust. “Fill me up. Fuck me full of your cum, baby, please.”

It’s like the words send him into overdrive, and he practically growls as he starts to fuck his cock into you forcefully, hard enough to make your tits bounce. Each snap of his hips punches a heady groan from your lungs, and you reach up to drag your nails across the skin of his back as he chases his own end.

“Gonna fucking— give it to you,” he hisses, rolling his hips one, two, three more times, and then you feel his cock twitching, shoved in as deep as you can take him. He heaves a final strangled groan as he comes, rope after rope of his release pumping into you to paint your walls, until you can feel it beginning to spill back down your thighs.

You kiss through the comedown, inhaling shaky breaths into each other’s mouths, your bodies still fitted together like puzzle pieces, sweat starting to cool in the places where skin is pressed to skin. Namjoon finally moves first, giving a grunt of effort as he rolls off the couch, and you throw an arm over your face while the world slowly settles into focus around you.

When he returns, it’s with a towel in hand, and you can’t help smiling as he cleans you up, trailing soft kisses along your collarbone in tandem.

His voice is soft, too, when he finally speaks. “Will you stay here tonight?”

You prop yourself up on your forearms to look at him, and a little glimmer of something lights up in your chest that you can’t ignore. The first spark of an ember, just enough to reignite a flame you’d long since believed to be entirely extinguished. But now he’s shown you: it doesn’t have to be. You don’t have to be alone.

“Of course. We still have presents to wrap,” you say simply, and he huffs a laugh as he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Joon?” you murmur into the crook of his neck, unable to keep your voice entirely steady.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” you breathe. “For the magic.”

[gilbirda]

The Wonderous Beauty of the Statuesque Scarlet

Jazz knew she was tall. It wasn't like it affected her life or anything (sarcasm). It wasn't like she didn't end dates early because the dude asked her if it was really necessary for her to wear heels. Yes, she was tall. And strong. On top of that, she had duties as Ghost Princess, so finding a partner was not easy for her. Or so she thought until a guy just her type bumps into her and completely bluescreens.

[Read on AO3][Read on FF]

----

Jazz knew she was tall.

Even when she was in the waiting line of, let’s say, the bank and an old lady commented “wow you are tall!”; even when a date ended early because the guy kept asking why she had to wear heels if she was already tall; even when Danny threatened to kick her shins complaining about her inheriting their dad’s genes.

Yes. She was well aware she was very tall.

Thank you very much for pointing it out.

She was happy with her height, now — she had accepted that kids would look at her in awe and comment on her height, and that some would ask if she was an Amazon. And you know what? She embraced it now. Yes, she was tall, and big, and her biceps were noticeable — but that wasn’t because she was an Amazon, but because of all the training and the fighting that being the older sister of the King of the Ghosts entailed.

Not that she could say that out loud.

The thing is she was used to people stopping and staring at her, craning their necks and lifting an eyebrow, looking back down to check if suddenly the flat shoes she was wearing had magically turned into impossible high heels that explained her height.

What she wasn’t used to, though, was making a man completely bluescreen.

“Oops, sorry.” She quickly rushed to grab the dude’s arm when he stumbled after colliding with her.

“Uh…”

“I should have seen where I was going, sorry.”

He just kept looking up at her, eyes wide, body frozen in place. There wasn’t a single coherent thought behind those blue eyes. She would know, she was a psychologist.

“Are you alright?”

“Huh?”

She bit her lip, wondering what to do. This had never happened to her before.

“I… uh, I’m fine.” He finally blinked and came back to his body. She didn’t miss his eyes roaming towards her naked arms, and the bracelets on her wrists, official Wonder Woman merchandise.

“Ok. Then I should just—”

“Do you like coffee?”

She blinked. He blinked, slowly realizing what he said. His cheeks tinted a bit red in embarrassment.

“I’m more of a tea gal.” Jazz giggled, enjoying this maybe way too much. He was cute all flustered. It was a nice change from all the bullshit she got from men all the time.

“Do you want to— uh, I mean.” He breathed in, breathed out, gathering his thoughts. “What I want to say is, do you want to go for coffee — or tea! — with me?”

“Like, right now?”

She looked around. They were right in front of a coffee shop. He had been on his way in when she accidentally body slammed him.

“No! No. Not right now.” He looked away back at one of the tables set up on the street. Jazz turned to look as well, trying to see what he was looking at. “Maybe some other time?”

It felt nice being hit on like this. Refreshing.

Also, it helped that he was cute, and handsome in a bad boy way, with a leather jacket and combat boots. She wasn’t scared to admit to herself that she had a type and he checked a lot of boxes in her list.

“I would love to!”

She quickly searched in her purse for some paper — an old restaurant ticket — and a pen and wrote her number and her name, with a little smiley face.

“Here,” she grabbed his hand and put the paper with her number in it, closing his fingers around the ticket, just in case. Her hands were usually cold, a side effect of her liminality, but she hoped he assumed it was because of the weather. “I have to go, but text me soon!”

He smiled back at her, and Jazz knew she was a goner. He had this boyish crooked smile with a hint of a dimple.

She hoped he texted her back, once the awe of her height had passed.

***

“So…”

“Shut up.”

“I mean—”

“I said shut up, Dickhead.”

“She’s cute.”

Jason growled, his hands fiddling with the piece of paper with a phone number in it. He had to text her. Soon. If he waited then she would get the wrong idea that he wasn’t interested and he was very interested—

“She’s tall, huh?” His brother kept going, unprompted. “Did you see those muscles? I bet she could snap me in half. Hell, she could snap you in half.”

Yes. He had seen those arms. He had imagined them around him already.

“What are you waiting for? Text her!”

“We have a case to look over, though.” He tried to put the paper with the phone number in his jacket, but Dick was quicker and stole it from his hands.

“Jasmine. It’s a pretty name.” He hummed, considering. “Jasmine and Jason. It has a nice ring to it. Also both names start with J, funny coincidence, don’t you— Jay? What’s wrong?”

Jason had stopped listening, his mind going back to the conversation with her. He had been ridiculous and messed up everything; but did he really mess up something so simple?

“I forgot to tell her my name.”

Dick’s eyebrows went to his hairline, his lips stretching in a big smile. “That bad, huh?”

“Shut your mouth, Grayson.”

His reaction only made his brother’s smile get bigger, if that was physically possible. He placed his elbows on the table and rested his head on his open palms.

“Could this be love at first sight?”

“You know that doesn’t exist—”

“You are now living in a Hallmark movie, Jay.” Dick sighed dramatically. “So romantic.”

Jason breathed slowly, controlling his thoughts. If he got riled up by the teasing, he would only get even more teased and then the conversation would go nowhere useful. They had to compare notes for a case, it was kind of the whole point of meeting up with his brother, and both had things to do after this.

Jason thought the whole thing could have been an email; but again, if Dick hadn’t insisted on meeting at the coffee place because it was nice outside, he wouldn’t have gotten the phone number of the prettiest girl he had the pleasure of stumbling into.

“I’m living vicariously through you, just so you know.”

“Fuck off, Dickhead,” Jason snatched back the paper with the number and checked that it was still in one piece and the numbers hadn’t been smudged by his brother. It was fine. Even the cute smiley face drawing next to “Jasmine” was intact. “Let’s get to work.”

“I would, but someone forgot to get me my coffee~”

Oh shit.

Really?

Did he really forget to order their drinks? The one thing he had walked away from the table for?

Jason let his head fall onto the table, ignoring the laughs and giggles coming from his brother.

***

>>Hey.

>>Um

>>I'm Jason, the guy from the coffee shop?

>>Sorry for taking so long to text, I had stuff to do

>>Anyway, what do you think about next friday around 5?

>>You name the place

Jazz couldn’t help but smile down at her phone, reading back on the conversation with Jason.

She appreciated that he let her choose the meeting place, which was a good sign. After suggesting a nice coffee place that worked as a library as well, he commented he loved that place too and asked her if she had taken a book from there.

Turns out he loved books too, and didn’t shy away from any genre of literature — from classics to modern trashy romance.

His favorite author was Jane Austen. He tried not to geek too much, but after sending her a photo of his first edition Pride & Prejudice, that had a lot of sticky notes and his own annotations, she knew he was a big Austen nerd.

The contrast was more shocking when he turned up with a biker leather jacket, a white shirt, jeans and the same combat boots. He was combing back his flattened curls, complaining about parking in Gotham and that he hoped he didn’t make her wait too long.

She had to wait, but only because she arrived fifteen minutes earlier than the meeting time.

Not that she would tell him.

Jazz felt her mind become fuzzy as she watched him smile that crooked smile again, complimenting her carefully put together outfit — shut up Danny, she wasn’t trying to impress anybody — and the braid she spent so long trying to get right, undoing and redoing it.

“I have a sister that likes braiding her hair, and a friend of the family that usually comes over as well. They always complain when I don’t do it right.”

“Did they teach you how to braid?”

He chuckled, taking a sip of his latte. “Actually, funny enough, my little brother taught all of us. His mother let him do her hair and made him practice until he got it right.”

Jazz had a pinch in her chest like every time loving mothers were mentioned. “That’s nice,” her voice betrayed nothing as she looked down at her hands cupping her tea. “I tried to teach my little brother, but he didn’t have much interest.”

“Too girly for him?” He lifted an eyebrow, leaning in with a tiny smile so she knew he was joking.

She appreciated the change in topic, and she liked the opportunity to talk about Danny. “Nah. I mean, he had a ‘ugh, girls suck’ phase and stuff, but fortunately it didn’t last long.” Because then he had to become a superhero, but she couldn’t exactly say that.

Both laughed a little before a comfortable silence settled in their table. A few times their eyes met over the lids of their cups, making Jazz blush and look away.

“So… have you read anything interesting lately?”

From then on the conversation barely stopped. Jazz had never talked that much before, at least not about her favorite books and why she liked them. Jason listened, actually listened to what she said and added his own comments and corrections, no matter what she threw at him, showing he was also interested in the same things.

He talked as well, mentioning his own first edition collection and how his father let him have a private library with all the books he wanted. He talked around some topics, like his childhood or stuff about his father, but she didn’t want to pry. It didn’t feel shady, more like… it felt familiar, not wanting to bring up painful memories. She could understand that.

They asked for more coffee and more tea, and those chocolate chip cookies that looked delicious, talking and debating about the pros and cons of reading on a kindle or paperback.

The sun was low by the time they finished their drinks and the cookies, and neither really wanted to go home just yet. Jazz’s stomach grumbled. She was so hungry and the cookies only helped to awaken her stomach.

“Wanna… go have dinner?”

She looked up at him, blushing a little. “A coffee and a dinner date? You really are the full package.”

His cheeks tinted a bit red, but he didn’t look away. “Would hate to cut the night short when I’m enjoying my conversation with a beautiful lady.”

Jazz felt her cheeks catch fire. Jason had been cute and kind the whole time, but this was the first actual “move” he pulled on her.

And it was working.

She wanted to continue.

At her approval, they paid the bill — split in half, and he didn’t make a fuss about it. Good — and walked back out to the cold night in Gotham.

Jazz shivered a little. Maybe a flowery summer dress wasn’t the best for the night, but she didn’t expect being out so late. Time really flies when you are having fun, huh?

“Not used to Gotham's micro climate?” He commented.

She looked back at him, stopping her hands rubbing her naked arms. She had noticed he liked her arms so maybe the dress didn’t have sleeves. So what.

“How did you know I’m not from around here?”

“It’s obvious you’ve been in the city for a while, but your midwestern accent still stands out.” So he was observant, and had been analyzing her as much as she did him. “Do you want my jacket?”

It was so cliché that she just giggled. “Sure, if you don’t mind.”

Jason took off his jacket and extended it to her. It fit her frankly well! He was a bit shorter than her but he was more built and had wider shoulders, so the jacket sat comfortably on her body and gave her enough room around her arms and, thank the Ancients, around her chest. Maybe she should look around the men's section of the clothing store instead of getting frustrated with women’s clothing that never fit correctly.

“Thank you,” she said with a smile, which he acknowledged with a nod.

Now that he didn’t have the jacket, she could admire how the white shirt he wore left little to the imagination. It wasn’t too tight, but it creased in the right places and it let his muscular arms really shine.

He hit the gym regularly, that was obvious, but he wasn’t obsessed about it. He carried himself with the confidence of someone that knew what they had and didn’t need to make a show to get attention. Still, he carried himself with certain deliberateness — relaxed shoulders, quiet steps, head slightly down.

Jazz was used to Danny employing the same techniques to separate himself from his Phantom persona, to not be noticed just in case someone looked too close.

She was willing to set aside the thought. After all, Jason had been a delight the whole time and she had noticed many green flags in the time they talked. If he wanted to hurt her or if he was involved in shady stuff, she would have known already.

Also, it wasn’t like he could overpower her. She was strong. Stronger than a human, even with his size and probable training.

And Danny always said she needed to live a little. Maybe that meant dating around a bit, get to know new people, sleep with a cute guy—

Wow. That came out of nowhere.

She blushed, realizing she did like this guy. Enough to consider letting her hair loose a little. They were consenting adults, right? If he was interested and she was interested, then why not?

“Where do you want to eat dinner?” He asked as they arrived at his parked bike. And what a bike! She wasn’t an expert in these things, but it looked expensive and well maintained — well loved.

“I chose the coffee place, you choose the dinner place?” She shrugged, and the movement sent a puff of his scent to her nose. He smelled like gunpowder and engine oil.

Jason nodded and opened a side trunk to withdraw the helmets, giving her one. It was crimson red, matching the bike. “Alright, I know a place.”

***

Jazz was beautiful.

From the moment he arrived — finding her sitting at the table, looking at her phone — he understood why so many writers and poets could go on about the beauty of their partners. It would sound cliché, but his mind started comparing her soft looking skin to flower petals, and the pink of her lips—

Stop, Jason.

He knew she was smart and shared some interests with him, but he got the impression she was the shy kind over text and preferred meeting in person. He’d hoped that this date gave him a better insight into her character.

So they talked. For hours.

Honestly he didn’t have ulterior motives for this meeting. If it went well, he was interested in knowing her more, that’s for sure. It had been a while since he just hung out with someone for non-work related issues, and dating wasn’t really one of his priorities; but if this Amazon goddess liked his company as much as he had liked hers so far, he was willing to try.

The restaurant he took her to was cozy and not that well known, but the food was great. When they got there he couldn’t help but notice how she attracted everyone’s gaze, how her height and her beauty were such a beacon of light for the people around her.

She didn’t seem to care, though — her eyes were either fixed on her hands fiddling with the hem of the sleeves of his jacket or on him as she talked about the latest movie she had seen.

They sat down in a relatively secluded corner of the restaurant, the soft light hanging on the wall giving it all a romantic touch that was just perfect for the occasion.

Jazz took off his jacket now that they were indoors, and he lamented not taking a picture of her flowery dress and biker jacket combo. Maybe she would want to wear it again. He hoped so.

Silver lining, now she had her arms uncovered again, letting him — subtly — admire her biceps and her bracelets. She confirmed it was a Wonder Woman official jewelry line, and that she bought it to be funny but now was too committed to the bit.

Dinner was nice as well. After warming up at the café and talking about anything and everything, dinner felt a bit more personal, a bit of a deep insight of themselves.

She talked about her brother a lot. About her passion to become a great psychologist and the steps she had been taking towards her dream. About her parents — albeit she tried not to “be a bummer” and “get all depressed on such a nice date”.

She had a past she wasn’t ready to share, and he respected that, so he only kept his questions about her passion, her work and more stories with her brother.

It was around dessert that the conversation ramped down into more and more silence — not because they didn’t have things to say, but because, at least for him, the way the fairy lights illuminated her face was very distracting.

They shared a chocolate cake slice for dessert. She had a bit of chocolate on the corner of her lips, but she didn’t notice.

He didn’t think about his next move, he just leaned in over the tiny table and kissed the chocolate away. It helped that they had unconsciously gotten closer as they talked.

Her face was flushed when he sat back down on his chair, licking his lips. The cake was good, but her red cheeks looked tastier.

He wanted more.

“Um—”

Maybe she didn’t want more?

Jazz looked a bit lost for a second, her mouth open as she thought of what to say.

“Yeah?” He lifted an eyebrow.

She scrunched her nose, apparently having decided, and this time she leaned over the table, grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him into a proper kiss.

Her kiss was timid, like she didn’t want to scare him away or expected him to push her away any moment. When seconds passed and instead of rejecting her, he placed his hand on the base of her head to angle her better, she got braver and bolder, pressing her lips against his with a little more intensity than before.

She wanted him.

“Ahem!” A throat was cleared next to them, breaking the moment.

Jazz jumped back to her seat, her face completely red, looking down at the table like she had done something wrong.

Jason smiled up at the waiter, who was smiling politely but completely insincere. He knew this waiter, they weren’t friends, but Jason knew he had a little brother and that he was a student at Gotham University.

“Is the food to your liking?”

“Very.” He wasn’t talking about the food. The waiter’s eyebrow twitched, but his smile stayed in place. “Can we please get the check?”

“Right away, sir.”

Jason didn’t even look at how much everything was, his eyes glancing back at Jazz’s face and her lips — the way she was biting them, the way her eyes were eating him whole.

The walk back to the bike was quieter, with many stops to kiss and many burning side glances and handholding. He couldn’t get enough of her giggles every time he pulled her down for a quick kiss, or the feel of her hands on his shoulders, her strong arms around him.

Finally they reached the bike, safely parked on a quiet alley. It was late and no one was around, so he pulled her into the shadows for a more proper kiss, letting himself get lost in the taste of chocolate on her tongue.

Jazz was biting her lip when they parted for air, mischief in her eyes, which should have warned him of what she would do next. The world spun for a second as she grabbed him by the shoulders, switching their positions and slamming him against the wall with maybe a bit more strength than was necessary.

A traitorous moan escaped his throat.

“Oh?” She smiled. Of course she heard him.

“Don’t say a word.”

Her smile got wider. “Okay.”

In the heat of the moment she got bolder. She kissed him without any ounce of the shyness she had during their date — she was ravenous, eating him completely, holding him firmly against the brick wall.

He was warm, too warm, and the cold wind was starting to get uncomfortable.

“Do you… wanna continue?”

Jazz nodded, panting. “Your place or mine?”

***

The sun was shining right on her face, and since she was an early riser, no matter her activities last night, she was now wide awake.

That didn’t mean she had to get up from bed just yet. Because she didn’t want to.

Jason was also awake in her arms as they enjoyed the quiet lazy morning, hearing each other breathe, feeling each other’s warmth.

It was quiet in the apartment, a big contrast to the night they spent together. Jazz blushed and nuzzled her face against Jason’s curls in an attempt to hide from the world. She really got carried away, but there was something about him that made it impossible to resist — they only had one date, for Ancients’ sake.

He was so sweet and caring and cute and handsome and very irresistible. She just couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop, and more than once she had to catch herself before she hurt him or did anything that was obviously inhuman. If she slipped, she hoped he forgot about it, too buried under the pleasure and the distracting activities from last night.

Jazz was positive that she had left some scratches and bites on him, and a quick look confirmed that his back and shoulders were—

Wait.

These looked at least a day old, almost completely healed. She knew wounds, she knew how long it took for a human to heal from what she did to him, and this was closer to what she expected from Danny’s partners’ healing factor.

She tried to not freak out, but he noticed her tense up.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

He turned around, eyes searching to see what was wrong, clearly not buying her shaky voice.

She saw the moment he noticed something was wrong about her, his eyes going down her face and staying on her neck, one hand reaching to touch the skin on her left shoulder. She could still feel the ghost of the bite in that area, a bite that probably had already healed by the morning.

By the way Jason’s eyes went wide, she knew he noticed the inconsistency.

Uh oh.

“What—?”

“I can explain.” He should, too, since he wasn’t normal either. Maybe he wasn’t human?

Not that it would make her less interested, but she was curious.

“Are you a metahuman?”

Jazz made a face. “Technically, no.”

He narrowed his eyes and shuffled away from her, his body tense. “What are you?”

“Something else.” She didn’t want to keep it vague, but she didn’t know who he was or who he could be working for. “And you?”

Jason’s eyes narrowed further at the accusatory tone. Jazz didn’t like how the quiet morning had turned to this, but if her security — and Danny’s — had been compromised, she had to push her feelings for Jason to the side. Danny was more important.

“You targeted me?” He now had a knife. Where did that come from? “Was the whole ‘date’ thing a set up?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

His eyes flashed green for a second. If she blinked, she would have missed it. “Don’t lie—”

“Wait.”

“What?”

Jazz lunged in, ignoring the very real and very sharp knife Jason had in his hands. If he stabbed her it would heal in a minute.

She placed her hands on his face, focusing, trying to see in the blue if the green would manifest again. She ignored him as he started to protest — vaguely registering that he put the knife away — humming in thought. Just to test, she let her core send a ping, a small wave of energy, only meant to say ‘hello’ to nearby ectoentities.

Jason somehow answered back, his eyes becoming green for a second.

“— the actual fuck is going on?”

Jazz blinked and came back to the situation, finally noticing she was almost straddling the man, her hands gently but firmly cradling his head. And she was still naked.

“You died.”

Jason’s cheeks had been slightly tinted pink, but now he was white as a sheet.

“How—”

“We’re the same,” Jazz made a face, “technically. I haven’t died, yet, but I do have one foot in the grave so to speak.”

“And you think we’re the same because…” He wasn’t believing her fully, but just enough to not pick up the knife again.

“Your eyes, they do this.”

She let her power flow freely, not needing to hide her inhumanity anymore. She saw the moment he understood, because his tense body relaxed and basked in her presence, her emotions projecting the calm and slight joy at finding someone like her.

His eyes swirled green in response to hers.

“I… I don’t—” he tried to speak through the stupor, “I’ve never—”

“You didn’t know?” About liminality, about ghosts, about people like her.

He licked his lips, blinking to refocus. “What are you?”

He really didn’t know. Someone would pay for letting him wander alone without guidance.

“I am Jasmine Nightingale, a liminal human.” His eyebrows went to his hairline. “I was born human but events led to me becoming deeply acquainted with the dead and everything in between. Like you.”

Maybe it was the influence of her aura still filling the room, or her serene voice, but he believed her.

“So you approached me—”

She hated that he looked hurt at the thought.

“I didn’t target you. I didn’t know you were like me until just now — I usually seal my liminality when I’m in the living world.” One of her hands moved to grab the white streak that now looked so obviously inhuman. “I should have known,” she chuckled, “the only good guy I manage to have a decent date with is not completely human.”

He frowned at her comment, making her freeze. Jazz quickly recoiled and withdrew her power, watching as he noticed the change.

There were a few moments of silence where she let go of him and waited as Jason pondered the new information.

His eyes were blue when he looked back up. “You’re not quite human,” she nodded. One of his hands lifted to touch her face, as if he was trying to make sure she was still the same person. “And I’m like you.”

“Kinda.”

He hummed. Birds chirped outside, reminding her that this was supposed to be a quiet morning in bed with the cute date she somehow scored. Nothing can be simple with her, huh. Figures.

“You really didn’t know about me?”

It was something in his eyes when he said it — a guarded sadness. She had seen that look a few times on their date, usually when he obviously changed the topic of conversation. He had been hurt before, and he lived life waiting for the moment someone else would hurt him again.

“I swear on my life, Jason. I only said yes to the date because I thought you were cute. Nothing else.”

His mouth twisted. “I’m not cute.”

“Yes you are.”

He rolled his eyes, letting go of her face and slumping back to rest on the pillow. “Am not.”

She leaned in, her long hair sliding over her shoulder and making a barrier that shielded them from the sunlight coming from the window. She felt his eyes roam through her face and down her body, reminding her that she was as naked. And so was he.

When he looked back up, his gaze was burning with reignited desire.

“Should I spend this fine morning convincing you?”

His breath hitched, the muscles of his stomach tensing in anticipation. “Nothing you can do will change my mind.”

Jazz’s smile widened when she caught the playful tone in his voice. He wanted this. He wanted to continue. And maybe a repeat of last night.

Alright then.

This time she didn’t need to hold back.

She let her hands rest on his shoulders, pinning him down to the mattress. She used a bit more strength than what was necessary, but not enough to hurt; just enough to make the point that if she wanted, she could do so much more.

By his sudden blush going all the way up to his ears, he got the message.

Jazz licked her lips, ready to devour that cute smile and every sound she could force out of it.

***

“Are you sure about this?”

“Positive.”

Jazz looked down at their entwined hands, squeezing Jason’s fingers, trying to ground herself.

It was silly being this nervous — it wasn’t like they were teenagers. If her boyfriend’s family didn’t approve of her they couldn’t actually do anything. Not that they would disapprove. Jason was sure they would love her, he told her so too many times on different occasions.

But it was… an experience. Knowing that your boyfriend of a few months was part of the Waynes. She usually forgot because Jason didn’t frequent the Manor and had a life outside of the glitz and glamor, so it had never affected their relationship.

That was until they learned about her existence — Jason didn’t hide her, but he wasn’t going to share every bit of his personal life — and asked if she wanted to come over to dinner one day.

Jazz didn’t mind, so she said yes. After all, Jason already knew Danny and had “passed the vibe check”, Danny’s words, so she took it as a sign that it was fine if they became official-official.

Still, she was very nervous. This relationship had been the longest she ever had and she knew how important family approval was and it didn’t matter that Jason was a bit estranged from the family, it did matter for her anyway and—

“I can hear you panic from here.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No. You don’t.” She rolled her eyes. “Are we doing this or not?”

Jason narrowed his eyes at her, not believing her at all, but let it slide. There was no point in arguing at the door.

“It will be fine.” He leaned so he could whisper. “They can be a lot but they’re harmless. Also I’ll protect you.”

She looked at him funny. Both knew she was the stronger one between them, a fact he very much enjoyed, so he didn’t mean it as in physical protection.

Jazz breathed slowly, taking in the offering of support. Jason would be there, he wouldn’t let them be mean to her.

Why the hell would they be mean to her? Silly Jasmine. They were just a family. Stupid rich, famous celebrities and very public faces in Gotham — but Jason’s family nonetheless.

She got this.

At her nod, Jason rang the bell and immediately it was opened by the butler. Alfred, if she remembered correctly. Was he on the side of the door, waiting?

“Welcome home, master Jason,” he nodded at them, “and Miss Jasmine.”

“Jazz is fine.”

The butler smiled, clearly not having any intention of using the nickname. Jason had warned her that Alfred could be a “petty motherfucker”, but that it was to the people he liked. She took it as a good sign.

“Please, come in.”

Jazz took another deep breath and walked into the gigantic Manor and straight into the fray. Maybe literally.

Inside there were so many people just looking at her, analyzing her, with various curious expressions.

“Told you she was real.” She heard what was supposed to be a quiet whisper, and a blonde girl elbowed a black haired guy next to her. Stephanie and Tim, going by Jason’s descriptions; which while colorful and varied in expletives depending on how mad he was at them, were actually very accurate. “Pay up, bitch.”

The guy grumbled but placed a few bills in her awaiting hand.

Jazz had to chuckle. That was weird, but funny. It made her relax a little.

“Ah, Jasmine, right?”

The voice made her look away from the people watching her like she was some kind of exotic animal (truly, what the hell was so interesting about her?) to find—

No.

It couldn’t be.

Could it?

Her liminal boyfriend’s adoptive father couldn’t be the actual Batman.

But the aura was the same, the same height and build, the same slight touch of death. Her eyes were sharp enough to catch the almost invisible and well healed scars on the man’s chin and the ones peeking from the black turtleneck.

He carried himself differently too, more relaxed, and if she wasn’t already onto him she would have been fooled.

Jazz smiled and shook the hand he offered, making a conscious effort to not squeeze his hand and reveal herself too quickly just to be petty. That was Danny’s thing. For now she would observe and behave like the perfect girlfriend.

They did make it hard, though. The whole Wayne clan was not what you’d expect from Gotham’s high society and acted more like a bunch of misbehaving kids in an unsupervised classroom.

It made sense now how Jason was so… so different than what you’d expect from the son of a socialite. At first he acted a bit guarded and checked that she didn’t take all the prodding and roughing between siblings and family friends badly; but once she laughed at the insanity he relaxed and let himself be part of the bickering like he belonged there.

She watched them interact, noticing the details that made it obvious now that the whole flock was a bat or bird — the question is who was who.

As she tried to play Guess Who with the Gotham heroes, it slowly dawned on her that Jason was another hero too. All the canceled dates and dodged questions about what he did in his free time. All his secrets and poorly disguised attempts at being subtle fit together in a single picture.

The Red Hood.

Danny was going to flip. If Jason hadn’t “passed the vibe check” already he definitely would have now.

Which she was more than fine with, if Jason was Red Hood. It actually made it easier for her to introduce him to the remaining secrets she was keeping from him until Danny gave the okay. After that night’s dinner, something told her that he would be fine with revealing herself to Jason.

Maybe Batman would stop being so difficult in the League meetings. The man had a thousand questions and didn’t trust anything they said, always asking for a second and third opinion. It didn’t become an open animosity because it was obvious it came from a place of caution and not hatred, but made the meetings drag for hours and Jazz’s royal armor was very uncomfortable to wear for so long.

Bruce didn’t seem to make the connection yet. If he did he was a great liar, because he did a one eighty from the dark vigilante and League member that drilled her and her brother with questions. He was more like… a hopeful puppy. Glancing between Jason and her, watching every touch and casual caress like a hawk.

Jason had mentioned that his relationship with his father had been very bad for a long time, but that they were working on it. Maybe he hoped that being nice to her got him cookie points in his son’s mind.

Whatever the case, she was going to have fun with this. As a treat.

***

Jasmine was… very tall.

Bruce’s mind was still repeating the moment she entered the Manor.Even at his six foot two he had to look up to smile at the guest. Not that he disliked tall women or thought that it was a bad thing, it was just an observation — maybe she was secretly an Amazon? Jason said he had looked into her enough to know that wasn’t the case; and had threatened with blowing up the Batcave if he dared investigate his girlfriend, so Bruce just observed. For now.

But she was too soft to be an Amazon, Bruce decided as the evening progressed. She smiled easily and didn’t have that constant battle-ready stance the Amazons he knew had. So he relaxed with the idea that Jason genuinely liked this civilian woman, she honestly liked him back, and she could be a good thing for his son.

If only he could shake the nagging thought that she felt familiar. Had they met before? He would remember meeting such a woman with striking red hair. She was definitely not a hero or Jason would have introduced her as such; nor she was a person that frequented the social circles Brucie Wayne did, given her humble origins and honest, hardworking job as a therapist.

It was something in her eyes, he considered by the time dinner was served. They were a shade of blue he had never seen before, and with the right light he could almost glimpse green highlights, but from this distance he couldn’t be sure.

In any case, Bruce decided she was good. Family oriented, unafraid to say what she was thinking, and with a dark sense of humor that Jason was completely smitten with. Bruce knew that look, his son was a goner whether he knew it or not.

She fit perfectly in their family, he decided as well, watching her bicker with Stephanie about some celebrity drama that Bruce didn’t know about, taking the knife Jason was waving in Tim’s direction without even looking at her hands. She flowed with ease in the chaos and had an answer for any question without revealing anything about herself she wasn’t willing to say. Among a family of detectives, that took some skill.

Bruce was curious about her, about where she came from, but for his son’s sake he was ready to set his paranoia aside and trust that she wasn’t secretly a villain.

He did such a good job once he made the decision, up until they were saying their goodbyes. Bruce was pleasantly surprised when Jasmine– when Jazz hugged him instead of doing a handshake. Her arms were firm around him and her height let her comfortably rest her head against his, a soft gesture far removed from Diana’s strong hugs against her muscled chest.

Jazz took a breath and said: “See you on Monday, B.”

This puzzled him. Monday? Why would he see her on Monday? Bruce was not needed anywhere on that day; in fact, Batman was supposed to be in Watchtower duty on Monday. And the follow up meeting with the King of the Ghosts.

When they parted, surrounded by the noise of the others messing around and bickering with Jason, it dawned on him as he saw her eyes from this close.

Green.

They glowed slightly green, unnaturally green, if you saw them this close. Her skin was pale, with freckles that reflected stars under the house’s lights.

He knew someone else that fit all of these characteristics, someone in his life as Batman.

Jasmine smiled widely, watching him put it together with mischievous glee. She patted his shoulder a little bit too hard for what was considered normal, and walked away to join her boyfriend out of the Manor.

Paralyzed, Bruce watched them go.

***

Jazz giggled against her hand, trying not to be too obvious.

“What’s so funny?”

“You’ll find out soon.”

Jason looked at her weird but still continued walking to the bike, slightly swinging their joined hands, an extra spring to his step. This visit had been important, she knew, but hadn’t realized exactly how important it was for him. For all the trash talk and exasperation, Jason was a family man and valued the opinion and approval of the others.

And she had passed the test, if she had read their reactions well.

Well, let’s hope that the thing with Batman goes well too, since she needed his approval as well as Bruce Wayne’s. Funny enough Jazz was way calmer than before going to meet the family — Batman was just a man, and it simply wasn’t the same as meeting your boyfriend’s father. She didn’t have any reservations about fighting Batman if it came to it, he had been rude to her and her brother, and had lost all respect she had before they started the process of establishing a relationship between the Realms and the Living World.

But before she even considered what she would do the next Monday, Jazz knew she needed to have a conversation with Jason. If her suspicions were true and he was the Red Hood, whatever was going to go down with Batman was of his interest. Also, if they were going serious, he deserved to know about the Princess thing as well.

She waited until they were at his apartment to open her mouth about it. She let them both settle in, Jason shedding the jacket before going to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Jazz watched him, quietly standing at the door.

“Jason.”

He looked at her over the rim of the glass, eyebrows raised in question.

“We need to talk.”

He choked on the water.

***

“I don’t think we can mansplain, manipulate, manwhore our way out of this one, Little Wing.”

At his side, Jason sighed and took off his helmet so he could comb back his hair as he gathered his thoughts.

They were trapped, and even if they could probably get out of the gang base in one piece, then they would lose this chance to finally bust the drug operation Jason had been working on for the last few months. The gang would be out of Gotham by sunrise and the drug would be distributed elsewhere anyway.

Dick didn’t blame his brother for jumping into the gang base like this — it had been a last minute decision and he didn’t expect this much resistance. At first he had been annoyed that he had to coordinate with Nightwing since it was supposed to be a simple thing; but as they finally infiltrated the base they realized it had been a trap. Jason’s informant had sold them out and they were waiting for the vigilantes.

Calling for backup from the other bats was not an option. They were either busy with their civilian lives and couldn’t help until it was too late, or were away on a superhero mission.

Jason was thinking something along those lines, because he was growling and grabbing on his hair, cursing under his breath.

They were hiding in an empty room in the abandoned office building the gang was using as a base. It was small and only had one window, and the door couldn’t be locked but they pushed a heavy desk in front of it just in case.

It was safe, but they couldn’t move. Inside the building there were too many armed gang members looking for them, and some of them had night vision gear. Outside, there were snipers posted on the roof and hidden in nearby buildings, and they didn’t know where exactly they were.

They needed help. But nobody could arrive in time. If only—

An idea!

“But we could malewife.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Dick turned to fully face his brother, the light pollution of the city coming from the window enough to illuminate Jason’s confused frown.

“Call Jazz.”

“What?”

“Yeah! She’s free right now, right?”

“Yeah because I stood her up!” He growled. “We were supposed to be on a movie date two hours ago!”

“So she’s free.”

“I don’t think you are focusing on the important part here.”

“She won’t be mad at you, she knows about the vigilante thing.”

Jason huffed. “That she knows doesn’t mean she won’t be mad.”

“You won’t know until you call~” Dick hoped his smile was reassuring. “I bet this is not the first time something is canceled because of your night activities.”

“It... It isn’t.”

“Was she mad, then?”

His brother looked at his feet, thinking for a moment. Finally, he said with a small voice. “No.” After another moment, he added: “She was very supportive, actually.”

Dick contained the instinct to squeal in joy. They were just so cute, the most adorable couple, and they fit so well with each other. Jason was the happiest he had ever seen him, ever; and when they were together his laughs were easy and his smiles were constant.

It didn’t hurt to know she accepted his brother in all aspects, guns and vigilantism included. Or that she herself was a protector of sorts.

The Princess of the Infinite Realms.

Not an Amazon as they suspected, but she sure was something else.

(It didn’t save Jason from being teased for dating a Princess, though.)

So it meant she was a hero too, or could potentially help them out of the situation.

“Good!” Jason looked at him, confused. “So call her and ask her if she can come and get us out of here.”

“I won’t force this life on her—”

“You kinda did the moment you guys came clean about secrets and went steady, Jaybird.” He patted his brother’s shoulder. “If she wasn’t willing to be a part of your life, all of it, she wouldn’t have said yes.”

Jason processed his words for a few seconds. With a defeated sigh, he put on the helmet again and connected the call.

“Hey.” Dick couldn’t hear Jazz’s voice clear enough to understand the words, but the tone was loud. “I know… I’m sorry.” Jason sighed. “Got caught up at work.”

Dick snorted as more loud words came from the helmet.

“I’m sorry, I thought it wouldn’t take this long— yeah, he’s here… really? Ugh.” He looked up at him. “Jazz says hi.”

“Hello~!”

“Dick says hi back. Hm… yeah. Yes. Can you? If you can’t— What, really?” Jazz was calmer as she spoke now. Jason’s body relaxed, so Dick took it as a good sign. “We are in a meeting room at the southwest corner of the empty office building close to the Elliot Memorial. The one with an antenna— Ok? Ok.”

“Tell her about the snipers.”

“Yes. There are snipers everywhere. Please, darling, be careful— Shut up.” He grumbled. “That’s not funny. No, I won’t say it— Okay,” he grumbled again and groaned loudly, one hand sliding down the face of his helmet, “you are right. Happy?” He hummed, ignoring Dick’s snickering. “See ya. Love you. Bye.”

With a sigh, he took the helmet off again.

“You guys are so cute.”

It was a testament of how long they’ve been dating, because Jason didn’t even blush at the comment, he just glared at him.

“She said she’ll be here in five minutes.”

Dick hummed. “Excited to see her in action?”

Now he blushed. “No.”

“Yes, you are.” And before his brother could continue bullshitting, he added: “I get you completely, though. There is something about strong women kicking ass— I’m not a coward, I’m man enough to admit that watching Starfire fight was a major turn on back when we dated.”

Jason scoffed and ignored him, not wanting to continue the conversation.

“There is nothing wrong with wanting to get railed by a strong, tall woman, Jay.”

“Is this really the time and place for such conversation?”

No. It really wasn’t, since they were hiding in a shitty meeting room as hundreds of people were searching for them to kill them. But Jason’s face was getting more and more red and it was totally worth it.

“I just don’t want you to deny yourself—”

“My sex life is none of your business, Dickhead.”

There was a brief pause as Jason glared at him, the effect lost in his red cheeks.

“But do you?”

“Do I what.”

“Wish for her to pick you up and manhandle you as she wishes?”

Bingo. He looked away. “None of your business.” He repeated a bit more weakly. Dick bit back a smile, waiting for his brother to crack. It wasn’t long before he sighed and said: “She’s very into trying anything and has the strength to back it up. We had… talked. About things.”

“She has a strap, then?”

“That’s it. Conversation over.” Jason crossed his arms, huffing.

Dick raised his hands in defeat, still smiling. “Okay, I’m sorry. I won’t pry.”

His brother didn’t quite believe him, but let him be, turning to glare at the window as if he could make Jazz suddenly materialize with the power of his mind.

Fool.

As if they hadn’t already seen the bites and hickeys she left on him. Was he even trying to hide them? Tim’s theory is that he wanted everyone to know who he belonged to like some kind of kink going on. Not that anybody was judging! Everyone has their kinks and gods know that each of them has seen and knows too much about the others’ sexual lives — word traveled fast down the hero grapevine and the walls in the Manor weren’t as thick as you would think.

So far Jason had managed to stay safe from it since he was very private and the thing with Roy had been very lowkey — Dick still couldn’t forgive that he found out a year into their relationship, and neither had told him — but Jazz was now a regular at the Manor, between the whole Infinite Realms talk and Alfred taking it upon himself to teach her how to cook edible food, so the couple was around the family plenty of time.

“‘I wouldn’t mind dying if it’s between those thighs’, right?”

“What?”

“You. That thought must have crossed your mind, yes?” He shrugged. “It surely did cross mine more than one back when Kori—”

The window was slammed open, the long body of Jason’s girlfriend swiftly sliding inside in one smooth movement. She was tall, but she knew how to move.

“Hello, boys.” She breathed once she was inside, one hand pushing back stray locks that escaped her braid. “Sorry for the wait.”

She was not an Amazon, but Dick could almost believe she was at that moment. The casual stance she usually had, as if she weren’t sure where to put her long limbs, was now gone. In its place, Jasmine was secure in her skin, strong, wearing a teal bodysuit that shimmered under the light coming from the window, betraying it was not simple spandex. Over the suit she had pieces of black armor on vulnerable places — kinda like how Diana suited up, but without the signature colors of Wonder Woman and with pulsing, glowing runes engraved in the edges instead.

They knew she was a warrior, that the title of Princess of the Infinite Realms didn’t only mean ballgowns and pretty jewelry; but seeing was very different from knowing.

“Hello, darling.”

She zeroed on Jason as he stood up from the floor, dusting his pants. Jazz got to his position with a few long steps and picked him up, narrowing her eyes as if she were trying to decipher something difficult.

“Not hurt?”

“Uh-huh.” His brother shook his head. “Have a little more faith in me.”

Still, she quickly checked him for non-visible injuries, smirking when Jason winced as she squeezed his shoulder. Instead of chastising him for lying, she leaned in to kiss his helmet on the cheek, patting the other cheek twice.

“Not a word.”

“Uh-huh.” She said in the same tone Jason had used to dismiss her worries.

They were adorable.

“Not that I don’t enjoy watching you two, but we need to make a plan.” Dick had to say, even if he liked seeing his brother relax just by the presence of his girlfriend.

“Right,” Jazz stood back up to her whole height, back straight, looking out of the window. “I took care of the snipers on this roof and the ones I detected around here, but I didn’t stay to check if there were more.”

Dick would have done a full sweep before jumping in, but Jazz was not a Bat. He wouldn’t judge her as such. Also, they had time to thoroughly train her.

“They took our gear.” Jason sighed, probably missing his guns. And his jacket. “So we’ll need to parkour down the old school way.”

“Or I could carry you.”

The smile that stretched Dick’s lips was like the one he had when Jason face planted right after trying to do a dramatic exit.

“I’m in!” He quickly approached her, completely ready to be carried like when Superman or Wally did it. He jumped into her arms without waiting for her to say anything, chuckling when she caught him anyway.

“Jay?”

Resigned, Jason sighed and walked to the pair. “I’ll wait here-”

Jazz could move fast, it turns out. Dick felt weightless as he was moved under one of her arms, watching with glee as she circled the now free arm around her boyfriend’s waist to lift him up with ease.

“This is exciting.”

“Shut up, Dickhead.”

“I feel like a little kid.”

“You behave like one.”

Jazz chuckled at their banter, walking towards the window. “Keep your arms in at all times during the ride and remember to have fun.”

She didn’t hesitate when she jumped out, the powerful leap rippling through her body, muscles tensing as they soared through the air towards the closest rooftop. Even if she said the thing about not moving, Dick decided to stretch his arms with a soft “wiii~” as he watched the street pass by far below them.

The landing was rougher than what the Bats were used to, but Jazz took the impact without flinching. Right. Inhuman durability. Undead Princesses didn’t have to worry about fucking up their knees.

She let them go, eyes already sweeping their surroundings even if she landed on a relatively secluded part behind some water tanks.

“We need to get back in.”

She turned towards Jason, expression unreadable. Dick saw her eyes run over his brother’s body, worry shining in her eyes, one eyebrow twitching slightly as the only sign of her actual emotions. She was trying hard to not show her thoughts, which was weird since she was usually very forthcoming as a civilian.

Princess. Jasmine was really a Princess. Dick understood the need to show a strong front when in a position of responsibility, he knew he also changed when he was acting as his team’s lead; but as everything about her other life, seeing was different from knowing.

Was this how people felt when they learned about them? When Brucie Wayne turned out to be The Dark Knight? Dick’s head was struggling to merge the picture of the warm presence of Jason’s cute girlfriend and this warrior princess.

“What do you need me to do?”

It was subtle, but Jason’s shoulders dropped with relief. He expected her to fight his decision.

His face was soft as he took off the helmet to look her in the eyes. “First we need our gear and they’ll probably have it still in the room they took us to.”

Jazz nodded. “Want me to get in and fetch it for you?” She said as if she were asking him what he wanted from the grocery store. He nodded, one hand extended to brush stray hairs behind her left ear. “Give me five minutes then.”

The air was charged when their eyes met, and Dick couldn’t look away. It was magical, in a way, how her blue eyes started to glow like some kind of bioluminescence, the shine low enough to barely illuminate Jason’s face as he got closer to her.

“Meet you here in eight minutes. We’ll do a sweep in the meantime,” Jason’s voice got low to match the sudden moment they were having.

“Ok.”

Their lips met and Nightwing finally looked away. He couldn’t even find the energy to make a comment or coo at them. It was soft, it was real, and, most of all, it was private.

He wouldn't be surprised if those two announced they were getting married within the year.

He looked back just as Jason’s boots were again on the roof, Jazz’s arms retracting from where she had circled them around his waist to lift him closer to her lips.

Cute.

But they had to get moving.

Dick cleared his throat, making them jump.

“Right. Um, I’ll get to it. See you guys in a bit!”

Without further comment, she jumped over the roof and landed without making a sound on the base’s brick wall, quickly crawling towards the same window they had jumped out from. Her movements looked weightless, like she was strong enough to move her body with fine precision. Or maybe it was a ghost thing, since Jazz’s brother apparently could fly.

The rooftop was quiet until they lost sight of her.

“I want to be the Best Man.” He turned to look at his younger brother. “I already have ideas for my speech.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “What the fuck are you talking about.”

In response, Nightwing started humming the Wedding March as he flipped away, just in time to hear gunshots and destruction happening inside the building, probably following the spitfire of a girlfriend that literally crashed into Jason’s life.

---

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[amorhedera6]

the bad kids as pixie hollow fairies

psa: i’ve only seen the movies and i haven’t read the books, so if you’re a book person pls bear with me.

gorgug thistlespring - tinker fairy

tinker fairies are known for ingenuity and creation. they make all kinds of tools and contraptions to help their friends lives easier. they mend things, create things, and their signature color is green. it just makes sense.

kristen applebees - light fairy

also fairly obvious. with kristen’s connection to the sun through her family and the moon through tracker, this one was bound to be. light fairies can bend sun or moonlight, keep pixie hollow aglow, and are known to make rainbows. the mechanics of species don’t exactly line up, but i could see a young kristen being a sunlight fairy, devoted to keeping the sun filtering in the direction it was meant to and keeping everything a light. a growing kristen would work instead with the moonlight, training fireflies, and keeping a lantern of moonlight that keeps darkness from being threatening.

fabian seacaster - water fairy

he lives in a boat, people. what else was there? water fairies and manipulate water, shape it, control it, and also are often found seeking boats in the waters. they can create fountains and communicate with water-animals, often assisting fish and tadpoles in learning how to swim. imagine the hangman as a fish. come on.

fig faeth - animal fairy

animal fairies are known to interact with and feel the emotions of any animals in pixie hollow. they are also known to be the most emotional fairy type, as they are feeling others emotions. they help animals reach the mainland and are skilled trackers. fig’s constantly summoning animals (sexy rat, the daymare), comparing herself with animals (the “german shepherd” mode), connecting with animals (giving a dog a bardic at the black pit, the pet oyster that she supposedly carried around for weeks in freshman year) or pretending to be an animal (orangutan at loam farm), and i think that the mask gorgug gifts her for moonar yulenear is an extension of that. fig’s very very caring for all her friends, and i think that would easily extend over to animals.

riz gukgak - fast flying fairy

fast flying fairies have control over winds, can create breezes, go up to triple the speed of a normal fairy. they also carry bigger wings, which might, in turn, make them look smaller. such speed would be incredibly helpful for stealth, when trying to get away from someplace and hide quickly. i think riz would fit will here as someone who’s constantly running around searching clues, not sleeping, doing the most that he can. he needs extra speed to keep up.

adaine abernant - frost fairy

i think adaine being a winter fairy makes a lot of sense, with her family being ambassadors from fallinel. maybe the winter fairies are just british. a forst fairy can create frost from their fingertips, or if they are particularly skilled they can conjure it from anywhere. they can freeze plant life, make icicles, and need to keep cold in order to live. with adaine pulling a wand of frost out of her jacket in freshman year, her personal connection to basrar’s ice cream shop, and her most prominent color being blue (the school uniform of hudol, her denim jacket, her eyes, her sword, her character art even has her magic depicted as blue), i think she makes a perfect frost fairy.

i have no idea what kind of story this would make, but i love it. like a small flock of fairies accidentally getting lost, leaving pixie hollow, and having to find their way back from neverland while accidentally fighting a dragon? idk i just love them thanks

[thisisdefinetlyaname]

I have a lot of head cannons for Rouxls but the one that I would defend in court would have to be glowy Roulxs (the idea the Rouxls has some sort of bioluminescent AKA he glows)

Because I think there’s some genuine evidence that could point to it (and it’s a fun idea)

Look at him

No really look at him more specifically his colour pallet he’s only 2 colours, blue and white the white also being his outline

When we look at the other characters none of them have white outlines or outlines lighter then the color they are outlining except for darker areas that need lighter outlines so they don’t dissaper completely against a black background (mostly on Ralsei)

This style of having a lighter color outline a darker color is used in other parts of the game though the best example I can find is this

A glowing neon sign

Another odd thing out his outline is the fact there kinda a double outline on some parts of him

Like here for instance, he has his regular white outline and then an extra layer of the blue slapped on the outside of it, from a doyalist perspective this is probably to make sure he doesn’t look weird on a white background but from a watsonian perspective

the pattern of a white line surrounded by a darker color reminds me of something glowing like in this image I found on google that conveniently mimicked Rouxls colours

And that’s just everything about his sprite!

The sparkles that appear around him in his shop sprite, sparkles that would be used to represent something shining or stunning

taken on its own this could just be Rouxls charm sparkles can be used on non glowing characters all the time but combined will all the other evidence I don’t think it can be ignored

Also the fact all his powers so far involve glowing beams of light and other glowy magic

THE GAG ABOUT HIM BEING A LAMP

THE EVIDENCE IS TOO GREAT TO BE IGNORED

Now Im not that attached to it being cannon I honestly feel like it could be proven or disproven in the future

The way the game handles lighting makes it difficult to prove this either way but I think it’s a fun theory and something I’m surprised no one else has talked about

If you have anything to add or any counter arguments feel free to mention it!

[writingquestionsanswered]

I’ve been reading some craft books and online posts about the world building because my story is an urban fantasy set in present day US, in a fictional town, and theres not a secondary world where the fantasy happens, it’s all in the real world, except the magic is a secret that only certain people know about, but all of the resources I find about world building only talk about fantastical worlds that exist by themselves and not the kind of more subtle world building that I’d have to do. Do you have any tips?

Guide: Creating a Fictional Town in the Real World

Step 1 - Choose Your Location - There are two ways to go about choosing a location for your fictional town. One is to go the "Springfield U.S.A." route, ala The Simpsons, and be vague about the specific location (borough, parish, district, county, region, state, or province) and instead give a broader geographic region... "the East Coast," "the Pacific Northwest," "Central Canada," Northern Scotland," etc. The other option is to go ahead and put your fictional town in a specific location. Just figure out where (for example, somewhere outside of Des Moines, Iowa) and go to Google Maps, click on satellite view, then start zooming in on big empty areas. Choose a place big enough to fit a town. Yes, in reality it's probably farm fields, pasture, or someone's property, but that doesn't matter. You don't have to actually show it on a map. It's just a plausible spot to build your town. Now you can measure how far it is to other places, you know what highways to take to get to it. You can even do street view to get the lay of the land, see what the landscape looks like and try to envision the buildings there. You can also use what's there to create parks, popular recreational areas, and anything else your town needs.

Step 2 - Choose Your Inspiration - Even when you're creating a fictional town, it's still a good idea to use a real town (or two, or three) from that general area as inspiration for your town. For a fictional town in Des Moines, I would zoom in on the map to find a nearby town of similar size... like Elkhart, then I can take a look around to see what it's like. Just looking at the map, I can see they have a couple of churches, a couple baseball fields, a very small main street/downtown area with a couple shops and restaurants, a post office, a few different neighborhoods, and a cemetery. This would be a great model for a small fictional town outside of Des Moines. And, as I said, you could look at a couple other sand combine them. Once you have your inspiration town/s, you can walk around on Google Maps street view, go to the town's web site, watch a tour on YouTube (if one exists), or look up pictures in Google Image search.

Step 3 - Start Planning - This is the really fun part! First, you might want to draw a basic map of your fictional town using your inspiration town/s as a guide. This doesn't have to be a pretty map... just a basic line drawing to help you envision where everything is. Think about some of the basic things this town might have, like the ones I listed in step two, and any other things you might want your town to have, like maybe a library, a hospital, a city hall, school, and maybe a movie theater. It might even be helpful and fun to put together a collage of pictures to represent your town so you've got something in mind as you write about it. You can even choose representatives for specific locations in your story, like your MC's house, school, and their favorite hangout.

Step 4 - Naming Your Town - Start by looking at the kinds of town names that surround your town. Look for common naming conventions... suffixes like -ton, -ville, -dale, -burg, -wood, -field, etc. Words in a particular language, like a lot of French-inspired town names, or towns with geographical terms (lake, hill, valley, river, canyon, gap, etc.) My guide to Naming Locations has additional tips.

Step 5 - Populate Your Town and Give it a History - Last but not least, make up a little history for your town, again, using surrounding towns as inspiration. Who founded it? When was it founded? What's the town's main industry? What are the people like in this town? What jobs do they have? What do they do for fun?

Here are some other posts that might help:

Five Things to Help You Describe Fictional Locations Setting Your Story in an Unfamiliar Place WQA’s Guide to Internet Research Happy writing!

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