#and I mentioned the gallery scene

[houseswife]

house’s cane is grotesquely underutilised sexual style in fanfics considering that 1) it’s a long phallic object that he is constantly handling and 2) he straight up joked about fucking wilson with it that one time

[imflyingfish]

working in an art gallery and talking to a lot of full time artists has given me CRAZY imposter syndrome btw lmao

[sysig]

One better (Patreon)

[bonus-links]

DIRECTORS COMMENTARY PLEASE I LOVE HEARING YOUR THOUGHTS AND PROCESS <3!!!!!!!!

YEAHHH lots to say for this update

there's a scene I didn't so much as cut from the beginning of this update as significantly shorten: Wolf, Loft, Wake, and Slate are changing into their lighter outfits. Loft says the same line as having the party, Wake begs them for this one day with his Gran Gran, and they all agree they can wait. I've been trying to get better about like, not putting a ton of work into unnecessary connecting scenes, which is why I cut it down. Wake sounding more cavalier also works better for the overall chapter. But i was sad to leave this joke out lol:

may I present to you, Slate's picture gallery! he was mostly on task documenting flora and fauna but he gets a little sidetracked sometimes

I love the idea that he's just, like, kind of terrible at photography. he documents stuff for Zelda and it's always weirdly cropped and kind of out of focus, but she appreciates it anyway.

Slate is also picking flowers for the party! so he is still helping out on that front lol

idk if i've mentioned this before, but beetle does still have pincers! they're just. idk what the right word is. retractable maybe? yeah. like the ancient weapon blades

the filling of the half moon pies is pineapple :-) i was. so worried about it looking like an egg HAHA.

I thought way too hard about how they were going to cook these pies. I was originally going to draw a clay oven or some other setup, but ultimately I thought the Zelda tradition of only having pots over fires to cook was a funnier nod lol. So, they're frying the pies

believe it or not, I wrote this scene before reading dungeon meshi HAHA but it certainly served as good reference for how to set up shots for it

Aryll did in fact eavesdrop on Wake telling Tetra The Situation

That's Champion's little sister in the memory! I like the headcanon that her name was also Aryll.

Champion and his sister are making meat pies instead of pineapple ones.

One again, made a bunch of layout mistakes I ended up having to fix, except this time I didn't catch them until I had already gotten to rendering :-( if you're a patron, you probably saw these versions in the WIP:

problems here: Wolf is walking the wrong away. I was sad we'd be losing his expression but alas. And for the panels with Champion's sister, the angle is too low to be an actual POV shot. I could've left it and said he's just sitting or something probably but it was really bothering me lol so I redrew everything. and then recolored all of it. woof.

as a general rule, if he has scars, that's Slate. No scars is The Other Guy

I understand the complaint about this in BOTW, but I actually kind of like that weird moment that occurs after you finish a memory cutscene, and it just abruptly goes back to Link looking blank-faced like nothing happened. It implies this kind of....distance from the memories that I find interesting. Slate has complicated feelings abt the memories of Champion's life he gets, but like. there's pies to make

shout out to peony she's a real one

[lovelyhan]

— favorite poison ⟢

pairing: wonwoo x reader

summary: no strings attached sex is easy. catching feelings for a person you supposedly hate is hard. it's in times like this when wonwoo wishes he can set the dial to his life on easy mode forever, but everyone knows he's nothing if not stubbornly competitive.

word count: 15.5k words

tags: fuck buddies, not quite enemies to lovers, streamer!wonwoo, streamer!reader, attempt at humor, in denial!wonwoo, angst, smut

warnings: mentions of twitter porn, brief discussions of past trauma, slut shaming, mild violence (wonwoo punches someone in the face), graphic sexual content (minors dni!!)

notes: this is the sequel to underlying pretense! thank you so much for waiting so so patiently for this second part! big thank you to @playmetheclassics for proofreading this monster sequel for me >< i wouldn't have done this without you, indi UEUEUE

this is part of the game over series!

smut tags: implied semi-public sex, game chair sex? jealousy, clothed sex, use of handcuffs, brief spanking, car sex, unprotected sex, oral (m and f receiving), fingering, degradation, dirty talk, daddy kink, hard and soft dom wonwoo, creampie, cum eating, aftercare

svt taglist: @wonderfulshinee - @misssugarlips - @yourfavoritefreakyhan - @jeanjacketjesus - @just-here-to-read-01 - @hanihans - @venusrae - @taestrwbrry - @minnie-mouser22 - @dreamhannies - @thvhannie - @kkooongie - @gae-uls - @lenireads - @gaebestie - @ryusha-rose - @enhacolor - @ilyvern - @woo8hao - @tommolex

wonwoo taglist: @renjunphile - @acgyu - @potatofrieswithketchup - @pluviophile-xxx - @pretty-trustme

fic taglist: @appachicken - @bekah931215

part one - part two - part three - part four

“So when are you introducing me?” 

The buzz of visitors inside the convention hall is already grating enough as it is, but when Mingyu walks over to Wonwoo’s designated booth, all it does is irritate him further.

He doesn’t exactly have to do anything aside from receive gifts from the viewers coming to pay him a visit and take a few photos with them, but Wonwoo is yet to accustom himself to being the center of attraction in front of so many people. So listening to his roommate-slash-best friend asking him stupid questions isn’t helping his case.

“To who? My family?” Wonwoo scoffs. 

Mingyu rolls his eyes. “No. Your girlfriend, genius.”

“What the hell are you even talking about?”

His best friend pouts, and Wonwoo is having a really tough time taking him seriously because Mingyu is wearing one of those hats with bunny ears that flop around if you press the buttons dangling from the front. “You’re always scampering off with some girl from time to time. The others haven’t noticed, but I’m your roommate, hyung.”

Roughly three months have passed since Wonwoo bit the bullet and agreed to be your…fuck buddy? Not-so-friend with benefits? Whatever this arrangement is called, he’s satisfied with getting to let off steam every once in a while, and you don’t seem to have any complaints as long as he fucked you stupid and helped you make filthy content for all the world to see. 

Honest to god, it’s a miracle how shit hasn’t hit the fan yet. But then again, you and Wonwoo were both careful and extremely selective about what gets posted on your secret Twitter porn account and what stays tucked away in the hidden galleries in your phones. That sort of cautiousness is rewarded with having to get away with everything you’re both daring enough to pull off behind the scenes.

Still, it doesn’t change the fact that, outside his sexual relations with you, Twitch streamers everyone_woo and Koyahngi pretty much hate each other’s guts. Even if yours is the best fucking pussy he’s ever had (something you’ll never catch him dead admitting aloud), he’s not about to do a complete one-eighty and treat you any differently in front of his friends and followers. You don’t seem to have any plans on doing that either.

Wonwoo hasn’t once brought you to their shared apartment, so he’s certain that Mingyu is basing all his hunches on pure intuition alone. And just because that intuition turns out to be somewhat right (PSA: you’re not his girlfriend) doesn’t mean Wonwoo has to come clean about his goings-on.

Besides, they’re at a fucking convention. Why is Mingyu trying to hotseat him now? 

“What gave you the impression that I’m ‘scampering off’ with just one girl?” Wonwoo smirks, shaking his head. 

“Whatever you say, elusive gamer who hasn’t felt the touch of a woman that isn’t his mom.”

“Fuck you. You know that’s not true.”

“Well, obviously, you’re smitten with someone, and once I find out who it is, I’m throwing the biggest party in Seoul,” Mingyu says with a huff of indignance coloring his words. He says it like it’s a threat, and Wonwoo makes a face at him. 

“Why?” he asks with a scowl.

“Because I love you, that’s why.” Mingyu then takes off the stupid hat and places it on top of Wonwoo’s head—even putting the work into making sure it fits and everything. “Anyway, I’m heading to Koyahngi’s booth to say hi. You wanna come with, or do you still have a stick up your ass when it comes to hanging out with her?”

Wonwoo has to keep himself from blurting out how he’s not the one with anything up his ass when it comes to you but realizes that if he wants to get Mingyu off his back, he probably shouldn’t make traumatizing allusions to his sex life. 

“I can’t exactly leave my spot until the main program starts. The same goes for you, idiot,” Wonwoo points out. “Who knows how many of your subscribers are looking for you at your booth? Go away and tend to them first.”

Mingyu pouts again, but since his best friend is a guy that’s literally a six-foot wall of muscle, Wonwoo doesn’t feel even an ounce of sympathy for him. “I haven’t even been gone for ten minutes! I just wanted to see how my friends are doing.”

“Then you shouldn’t have set up a booth at all, Gyu.” 

“Hmph. You’re always so stingy, hyung.” Mingyu crosses his arms before turning on his heel. “Anyway, I’m heading over to Koyahngi’s. I heard she’s cosplaying Sage today. Not that you care, though.”

He sounds so genuinely sulky that Wonwoo would’ve laughed a little as Mingyu stomps away to head to your booth. But the mention of you dressing up as a Valorant agent that Wonwoo has started to despise since meeting you makes a couple of memories from earlier this week resurface in his mind. 

Aside from the catgirl gimmick, your cosplays are but another selling point for your streams. You dubbed it the catgirlification of every playable character I like right after Wonwoo railed you two days ago in that same Sage cosplay that Mingyu just mentioned. 

What a fucking weirdo, Wonwoo mused for a second before blowing your back out again, not five minutes later.

About an hour later, the program on the main stage was in full swing, and Wonwoo had just finished doing a little segment with Soonyoung that one of the fans who won a raffle requested for them to do. It was a Pocky Game that got a little too intense because Soonyoung wouldn’t stop fucking squirming, and they nearly kissed in front of the entire audience. Wonwoo doesn’t entirely mind because PR is PR, after all.

The thing he does end up minding, though, comes a little later—after the convention hall settles into a more relaxed atmosphere and everyone is back to booth-hopping. 

Despite what he told Mingyu earlier, Wonwoo took it upon himself to do some wandering around. It’s kind of nice to see other streamers and content creators he’s only ever got to interact with on Discord or their respective streams.

But while he’s munching on a cherry-shaped cookie that Seungcheol is handing out to his visitors, the bane of his existence swoops down on him just when he thought he could finish this entire event in peace.

“Hey, daddy,” you giggle into his ear before swiping the cookie out of his hands, tossing it into your mouth without a second thought. “Didn’t think I’d get to see you today.”

Wonwoo clicks his tongue before shrugging off the arm you draped around his shoulder. “What do you want?”

“Nothing in particular,” you hum before swallowing the food you just stole from him. “But now that I got a taste of Cheol’s cherry cookies, I kinda want some more. Do you know where he is?” 

“I think I saw him flirting with a bunch of cosplayers near the stage.”

Wonwoo startles at the sound of a third party’s voice intruding in your conversation, and from the looks of it, you’re just as startled as he is. Turning around, though, his apprehension ebbs away when he recognizes who it is.

“Johnny,” he says with a small surprised smile before offering his hand for a casual shake. “It’s been a while.”

The famous streamer returns Wonwoo’s gesture gingerly, but he realizes that Johnny’s gaze isn’t trained on him at all. 

“It has been,” he chuckles before turning to you. “I didn’t know you were friends with Wonwoo, doll. How you got someone as cold as he is to warm up to you is beyond me, but at least you’re expanding your network.”

Wonwoo would’ve rolled his eyes. Johnny is just as frank as he remembers. But before Wonwoo can point out that: 1.) you and him are not friends, and 2.) he is not a cold person and therefore has absolutely no need to warm up to anyone, he quickly picks up on the sudden shift in the air. And it’s not his or Johnny’s discomfort he’s sensing right now. 

“Nah, you’ve got the wrong idea,” you respond to Johnny casually, but Wonwoo doesn’t miss how your fists are clenched at your sides. “Wonwoo would rather get banned from Twitch than call me his friend. I just like pissing him off every now and again, is all~ That, and his friends are pretty cool, so I need to tolerate him.”

Johnny laughs before reaching down to ruffle your carefully styled wig. To others, it would’ve looked like a display of casual affection between friends, but Wonwoo is keen enough to notice how you momentarily flinched from the older streamer’s touch. His brows knit together as he attempts to figure out what was going on.

Actually, how do you even know Johnny in the first place?

“Anyway, I’ll be going now,” he laughs before letting one eye drop into a wink. “It’s good to see both of you. Enjoy the rest of the convention, yeah?”

As Johnny exits, you’re a little too quick to fill in the silence he left.

“You’ve gotta take me to Cheol before he runs out of cookies,” you whine, tugging on his arm with a persistent look on his face—not even breathing a word about Johnny, as if it hasn’t been two minutes since he left. “I’m pretty sure I saw him wearing a Pikachu onesie, so he should be easy to—”

Wonwoo immediately cuts you off with a quick yank of your wrist. As he leads you to one of the unoccupied restrooms near the convention hall, your voice drones in annoyingly repetitive succession in his ears while you struggle to free yourself from his grip, but Wonwoo just won’t budge.

Not when he can’t get the sight of you with genuine fear in your gaze when you first laid your eyes on Johnny out of his head.

“Shit,” you whisper hoarsely the moment Wonwoo slams you against the door—a shit-eating grin resting haughtily on your lips as he nudges your thighs apart. “I knew you were possessive, but not this much. Johnny just gave me a few head pats, daddy. It doesn’t mean a thing.”

Yeah. Wonwoo is totally doing this out of some pathetic, alpha male need to stake his claim after another man got his grubby hands on you. Not because he was bothered by that look on your face and can’t think of any other way to help get your mind off it aside from fucking you senseless in a public bathroom.

“Shut up,” he murmurs before forcing your cheek against the cold door. “Now, take off your leggings before I tear a hole in them myself. Can’t mess up your perfect fucking Sage cosplay now, can we?”

You let out a noise caught between a sigh and a whimper as you do as you're told. From three months ago to now, your general opinion on Jeon Wonwoo as a dom has yet to change. Even if he was about to rail you with a fluffy bunny beanie still resting on top of his head.

He’s fucking perfect.

Right after that unplanned quickie, Wonwoo is at least keen enough to observe his surroundings as both of you discreetly part ways and sneak back into the convention. Since the main events were taking place on the other side of the venue, not a lot of people were milling around, and he thankfully manages to blend into the crowd without rousing everyone’s suspicion. 

Well, almost everyone.

“You’re a pretty shitty actor; you know that?”

Wonwoo doesn’t have to turn around to recognize the smugness in Seungcheol’s tone. The moment he lays his eyes on one of his closest friends—still wearing that silly Pikachu onesie and giving out his cherry cookies—he knows he can’t weasel himself out of this conversation so easily. 

“What do you mean?” Wonwoo says, deciding to play along to gauge what Seungcheol does and doesn’t know.

The older man scoffs. “Come on, Wonwoo-yah. You weren’t being very discreet when you pulled our very good cat girl friend into the restroom. Doesn’t help that you both came out looking dishevelled as fuck. So much for hating each other, huh?” 

Okay. He has nothing left to hide then. Great.

“Were we that obvious?” Wonwoo lowers his voice into a whisper, and the only reason he’s genuinely asking is because Seungcheol isn’t the type to joke around about these kinds of things.

“Only to the eyes of someone who personally knows the both of you,” he snickers. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”

Wonwoo’s brows knit together, perplexed, but offers no more smart retorts. His heart is still pounding in his chest at the thought of having been seen with you. Fuck. He isn’t usually this careless. Then and there, he makes a mental note to not let his emotions pull the reins on his decisions next time.

“Thanks, hyung,” is all he tells Seungcheol in return. “I’m heading back. Uh, she was looking for you, by the way. Something about wanting more of your cookies.”

Seungcheol visibly perks up at the news, and Wonwoo has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. What is it with his friends and having some weird soft spot for you? 

As Wonwoo quietly slips back into his booth—greeting a bunch of his fans but not in a sociable mood—he recalls the prickle of heat in his chest when he saw how uncomfortable you were during that short conversation with Johnny. The memory makes his curiosity spike again, and he considers asking you about it the next time you invite him over.

But then he reminds himself that he does not have a soft spot for you unlike his friends. None at all. He’s just being a decent human being for having a modicum of concern because of how you reacted towards someone Wonwoo knows to be completely harmless. 

Aside  from the occasional NSFW spam on Twitter, Johnny’s pretty harmless, right?

“Hyung! Group pic, c’mon!” 

Wonwoo hears Mingyu call out to him several booths over and sighs. He probably shouldn’t put too much thought into something he won’t be able to figure out in the next five minutes anyway.

The next time Wonwoo comes over to your apartment is to try out some new heart-shaped handcuffs you bought online. You wouldn’t stop gushing about it to him over text, and he has half the mind to just cuff you to the bed and leave because of how annoying you’re being.

But for some reason, the handcuffs lay forgotten on your unmade bed as Wonwoo sits right in front of your set-up—begrudgingly listening to your instructions as he attempts to solve an overworld puzzle in that stupid game you and Soonyoung kept pestering him to play. Genshin Impact, yeah, that’s the one. 

“You have to hit the purple towers with Electro attacks, idiot,” you sigh. “Dendro is for green towers. Hydro is for blue towers. Did you happen to skip kindergarten or something?”

“I thought elemental reactions applied to these, too,” he grumbles. “You’re the one who said that Dendro and Hydro are good with Electro.” 

“Yeah, yeah, keep making excuses, color dunce.”

Normally, Wonwoo wouldn’t have taken the insult lying down, but he stubbornly chooses to solve the puzzle until he’s finally unlocked the hidden desert area you claimed to be ‘too lazy to figure out right away’. A hint of smugness crosses his features as he flashes you a triumphant grin. Wonwoo half-expects you to just roll your eyes and blame his progress on dumb luck or something, but to his surprise, you clap your hands gleefully before placing a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

“Who’s my smart little gamer, huh?”

“Fuck off.”

It’s perfectly normal for him to hear you challenge his authority outside the bedroom. After all, you’ve made it your life’s mission to push all of Wonwoo’s buttons until he cracks and manhandles you in a way that leaves no room for your brattiness to slip out. Sometimes he likes to think that you rile him up on purpose because the so-called consequences end up rewarding you sexually tenfold instead. Which, Wonwoo thinks, is fucking sick, but from how much he lets you get away with it anyway, he figures that he’s got a few screws loose himself.

“Anyway, how about we check if you’ve got shit luck on gacha games or not,” you announce before nudging your customized gaming chair with your foot—the same one Wonwoo’s currently sitting on—so you can have better access to your mouse and keyboard. “Soonyoung’s luck is abysmal as hell. The only reason he’s got such a spiffy account is because of all those sponsors.”

Wonwoo scoffs. “Are you saying yours is any better?”

“Hey, I’ve got decent luck, mind you,” you huff before clicking a few times, and a new window pulls up on-screen, which Wonwoo recognizes as the wishing page. Soonyoung has shown it to him and the other guys enough times to remember what it looks like.

“Go on, just click the times ten button,” you urge him before tugging your gaming chair back to its original position. “It’s gonna let you wish for a character ten times, basically.”

“I know how gacha games work,” Wonwoo bites back.

“Of course you do,” you coo as he finally does a full summons.

He swears he’s going to edge you until you’re begging and crying later. It’s the least you could do for being such a pain in—

His vengeful thoughts are interrupted when you gasp out loud—eyes glued to the monitor as the shooting star glows like iridescent gold. Wonwoo doesn’t know shit about Genshin, but he’s pretty sure he just pulled a really rare character.

“I just pulled a five-star yesterday.” You scowl, staring at him disbelievingly. “How on earth—”

To your dismay, Wonwoo accidentally clicks on your mouse—ending the entire animation sequence a bit too early. But just when you’re about to berate him for being impatient, your jaw practically falls to the floor when you see all ten of your (technically Wonwoo’s) wish results.

He managed to bring home the featured five-star character five times. Five fucking times. Holy shit?

As you visibly freak out in your seat, bemoaning the fact that this legendary pull happened off-stream, Wonwoo stares at you bizarrely like he always does. You immediately take a screenshot, explaining that the probability of what just happened was several times less likely than you letting him fuck you while you’re livestreaming, but Wonwoo’s mind wanders a little right after that.

So…you would let him fuck you on stream, then? 

Not that it’s something he’s thought about before. Wonwoo likes the privacy your set-up affords him with, and he’s not about to jeopardize that with by committing such an inexplicable act of exhibitionism. But the mere picture it paints in his head is enough to make him swallow thickly. 

One of your stupidly short skirts bunched up to your waist. His hands kneading your breasts as he snaps his hips from behind you. All those pretty noises you make only for him now being heard by your incel-ridden fanbase. He bets they’d even like seeing their beloved Koyahngi get railed on-cam, but the thought of anyone else seeing you in ways only Wonwoo has had the privilege to makes his blood boil.

“Hm? You’ve gone quiet. What’s up?”

His eyes flicker over to your form—knees pressed against your chest underneath the oversized tee you’re wearing. You like to dress comfortably when you’re off-stream, which is understandable because even if you’re just sitting in front of a computer screen, doing so in full cosplay can be a huge hassle. He’s always wondered how you have it in you to put in all that effort for your viewers.

Curiosity lingers in your gaze when he prolongs the silence, but Wonwoo can’t bring himself to answer—mind too preoccupied with a whirlwind of thoughts to articulate any sort of reply. 

He can excuse those horny assholes on Twitter—your main target audience for the filthier content you make on the side. They have no idea who it is they’re really jacking off to anyway. But if some lesser man deigns to even think he deserves to look at you—the real you—while you’re writhing in the throes of pleasure…

You let out an undignified yelp when Wonwoo abruptly pulls you onto his lap, awkwardly straddling him as he stares at you intensely through the lens of his glasses. He can vaguely hear you muttering something about impatient men under your breath, but Wonwoo knows your irritation with him holds little to no weight with how you fold your legs on either side of his hips so his large hands can have better access to your ass.

“This is what you invited me for, isn’t it?” he murmurs, giving your backside a squeeze that has you mewling in response. 

Wonwoo smirks. What a needy little thing.

You gulp. “Y-Yeah, but—”

“Strip.”

“Wonwoo, I’ve gotta post about the wish results!”

He stares at you, unimpressed, and lets his hands fall onto the arm rests of your gaming chair, making you whimper at the loss of his touch. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

The effect of his authoritative tone manifests all too quickly. You bite your lower lip as you tug on the hem of your shirt, lifting it up just to tease a sliver of skin underneath. Wonwoo narrows his eyes, fully cognizant of what you’re trying to do, but it seems that you know better than to piss him off even further. 

Your shirt falls to the floor and Wonwoo has to keep himself from groaning at the sight before him. It’s one thing for you to forego a bra, but panties, too?

“Do you like it, daddy?” 

Knowing you, the question is meant to taunt than anything else, but Wonwoo lets it pass anyway.

It always drives him mad, how subtle you are whenever you want to get a rise out of him. The way you roll your hips into Wonwoo’s has a tantalizing feel to it and he has to grit his teeth to keep himself from snapping. He’ll play your games and drag this on for as long as he has to. Because he’s been with you long enough to know how much you love it when Wonwoo lets you have an illusion of authority for a sliver of a second, only to bully you into submission right after. 

“Fuck,” you whisper the moment the outline of his erection grazes your bare pussy. “Missed your cock so much… It’s been a while since I’ve had you inside me.”

Wonwoo scoffs. “And whose fault is that?”

“How was I supposed to know these conventions were scheduled one after the other?” You pout before grinding deliciously against his cock once again. He can practically feel how wet you are through his sweats and it doesn’t help that each forward motion brings your perky breasts closer to his face.

Wonwoo lets out another sigh as he wraps an arm around your waist before leaning down to latch his lips onto one of your nipples. You quickly jolt in response—not expecting him to indulge you with pleasure so quickly—but his actions spur you on. As his tongue expertly flicks across your sensitive bud, you quickly haul his aching cock out of the confines of his sweats, grinding your slit across his thick girth. 

You’re convinced that this is enough to get you off. Though you’ve memorized how the bulging veins on Wonwoo’s cock feels like inside you, having each ridge graze across your clit prickles the back of your head with newfound pleasure. A growl reverberates in his chest as you expertly slide your pussy along his dick, and you brace your hands on his broad shoulders to anchor yourself.

“Daddy,” you whine. “Can I? Please? Want it so bad.”

The words are punctuated with a pained moan when Wonwoo’s mouth trails higher before biting down on the junction between your neck and shoulders. He doesn’t miss the way your cunt momentarily pulses from his aggression, and he gladly guides your hips as you rub yourself all over his cock.

“My good little whore, always asking permission first,” he chuckles. “Go ahead. Fuck yourself on my cock.”

Wonwoo lifts you off his lap for a moment, earning himself a whine in protest, but when you realize he’s going to take off his sweats, you practically salivate once his strong thighs ease back onto your gaming chair. You don’t bother catching his gaze for an implicit confirmation. You simply sink down on his cock like you’ve been craving for days. 

A choked out moan gets caught in the back of your throat when he fills you to the brim—making your brain go blank for a moment before you remember to start doing as he asked. Wonwoo watches you through an intense, hooded gaze. The only indication that he’s even feeling remotely good is the way his fingers grip the arm rests tighter whenever your walls clench around him every now and again.

Despite the pure, unadulterated bliss that surges through you every time you’re mounted on Wonwoo’s length, it pisses you off how put-together he typically looks like when you’re on top.

You want to see him just as depraved as you are—panting and thrusting into you like he’ll die if he doesn’t fuck you deep enough. But you can never get Wonwoo to handle you the way you want to be handled when you’re riding him like this. As much as you like seeing those sharp eyes watching your every move, the only way he’ll truly fuck you like you deserve is…

Wonwoo’s brows are quick to furrow once you promptly lift yourself off his lap—length slipping out of your pussy as you make your way towards the bed. However, when you spread yourself out on the mattress face down, ass up, it definitely sparks his interest.

And like a cherry on top, you place those heart-shaped handcuffs of yours on the swell of your ass, almost like you’re inviting him to play with you.

The next thing he knows, the worn out threads of his self-control have snapped. He’s behind you not a moment later—hissing through his teeth as he throws his shirt somewhere on the floor. 

You moan when Wonwoo continues grinding his cock against your ass while he yanks both of your wrists behind you. The cold bite of the handcuffs alerts you to what you’ve allowed him to do, and when the lock clicks in place, you stifle a shuddering sigh into the sheets.

Suddenly, his breath is right next to your ear. “Where’s the key for this thing?” 

You feel Wonwoo tug against the fake metal to test for sturdiness, and you feel your chest warm at his discretion. Though he’s, by no means, soft with you, he always takes the time to check if you’re comfortable with what you’re about to do together—no matter how subtle.

“On the nightstand,” you tell him all while pushing your ass back to meet his shallow thrusts. “You can go wild with the cuffs, daddy. They’re high quality for a reason.”

A low, devilish laugh escapes him. 

“Be careful what you wish for, slut.”

He’s merciless with the way he slides his length back into your sopping hole, one hand pushing the back of your head further into the mattress as the other yanks at the chain link of the handcuffs. Each powerful stroke sends you forward on the bed, and his name tumbles in broken syllables from your mouth as he fucks the shape of his cock into you.

“That’s not what you’re supposed to call me,” he growls before snapping his hips with a particularly punishing thrust. “We’ve barely even started and I’ve already fucked you stupid? Are you so hungry for cock that you’ve already forgotten who I am?” 

“I-I’m sorry, daddy!” you whimper as he pounds into you relentlessly. “Just feels s-so fucking good. Love your cock so much!” 

“Yeah?” Wonwoo lets out a patronizing laugh before tugging on the handcuffs again—putting a delicious strain on your arms that amplifies your pleasure in some twisted way. “When you were out there dolling yourself up for conventions, did you think about my cock? Did you want me to fill you with my cum in the restroom again? You really fucking liked it when I did that to your Sage cosplay, didn’t you?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you babble as tears start to cascade down your cheeks. “Want to get split open on your cock forever, daddy! Want your cum dripping down my thighs when there’s tons of people around—ah!” 

The sharp sound of one of Wonwoo’s palms colliding with the meat of your ass rings in your ears, and it leaves a pleasurable sting sizzling across your flesh. You can’t help the surge of pride that fills you as Wonwoo moans out loud the moment your pussy clenched around him in surprise.

“Dirty fucking cockslut,” he rasps. “You just love it when you’re being filthy for everyone to see.”

For a moment, you’re liberated from the steady burn your arms have been sustaining in such a complex position. Wonwoo surrenders his grip on the handcuffs—letting your bound wrists fall uselessly atop the small of your back. His cock doesn’t quite slip out of you, but you feel him move around from behind. You crane your neck to see what he’s up to, but when you see him angling his phone in a shot that would definitely make for good content to post later, you feel your arousal spark tenfold.

“Now be a good fucking girl for daddy, and let him show everyone how filthy you are.”

The moment the telltale sound of the record button being pressed hits your ears, Wonwoo reclaims his grip on your dainty handcuffs before resuming his ministrations. You let out a long-winded moan as you meet his powerful thrusts, hands instinctively straining against your restraints out of the need to rub your throbbing clit for faster release, but you know it’s a futile effort.

Behind you, Wonwoo is practically losing his mind over the sight of your creamy essence coating his cock with each slide of his hips. You’re extra responsive with the handcuffs as expected. You’ve always had a thing for switching things up in the bedroom, but you’re clenching around him even tighter than usual. 

He tells himself to just film a few seconds of you getting railed with your heart-shaped handcuffs adding more spice into the mix. Then he can truly have his way with you. 

When he’s satisfied, Wonwoo quickly discards his phone on your bed—eyes darting towards your nightstand before he spots what he’s looking for. Another needy whine reverberates in the air when his cock slips out of you so he can walk over to retrieve it. 

Like the good whore you are, you don’t even move an inch. You patiently wait for Wonwoo to return and fill you up again even if the fact that he’s making you wait in the first place makes you want to be a brat. But when you feel the handcuffs fall away from your wrists after he unlocks them, you whip your head around to flash him a startled look. 

Wonwoo tosses your newest toy away with little concern for their well-being before grabbing your face—crushing your lips together in an open-mouthed kiss.

“Mine,” he growls before manhandling you so that you’re laying on your back. “This slutty fucking pussy belongs to me, got that?”

You nod, moaning as he presses his tongue deep into your mouth. You would say yours in return, but you’re blindsided by the way Wonwoo throws your legs over his shoulders—plunging his fat dick back into the velvet heat of your cunt.

As he whispers the filthiest things into your ear, you figure that Wonwoo must have been just as pent up as you are. The consistency of his thrusts is starting to falter—sharp, calculated thrusts turning erratic and sloppy as his orgasm starts to catch up to him. 

With your hands free, you’re able to reach between your thighs in a feeble attempt at finding your clit. However, when Wonwoo catches wind of what you’re trying to do, he slaps your hand away—eyes boring into you with so much angry disappointment, you would’ve cried and begged for his forgiveness right then and there.

“Come on my cock or don’t come at all, whore,” he warns. “I’m already generous enough to have you writhing on my dick, and you can’t even be grateful about that?”

“I am, daddy!” You insist, tears threatening to spill again as you lace your arms around his neck. “You’re hitting me so deep. I’m g-gonna come soon, please—”

“Does my pretty cockslut want me to come inside her?” Wonwoo whispers before pressing your knees against your breasts. “Does she want me to fill her slutty pussy with my cum?”

“I want it, daddy. Want you to fill me up,” you beg as you desperately tug him down for a kiss. 

Normally, Wonwoo would’ve denied you simply because he can, and you wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it. But for some reason, he lets himself fall into you—lips latching onto yours like he’s done hundreds of times before. 

It seems like the kiss is what catalyzes your release, and Wonwoo groans into your mouth when he feels your walls clamp down on his cock—desperately milking him for his cum. He isn’t too far behind. All it takes is a few more pistons of his hips before he stills inside you. 

The sensation of being filled with his hot cum makes you pull away from his lips as another long-winded moan sings in his ears. Wonwoo’s shudders from the aftermath of his release, all while slowly fucking his emission deeper into your cunt. From the satisfied purr that escapes you, he thinks you like it just as much as he does.

Wonwoo really didn’t plan on staying over. Really, he didn’t. But the way you tug him back down on the mattress right after he’s finished cleaning you up makes him a bit too hyper-aware of his own aching muscles—both from this morning’s weight training and the several rounds he just shared with you. So he lets you snuggle closer to his clothed chest, the warmth from both of your bodies permeating into each other. He’s never felt more toasty beneath a comforter than he does now.

“This is nice,” you tell him quietly. “I wonder if people will like it if I posted videos of us just cuddling.”

Wonwoo laughs, thumbs absentmindedly caressing the red marks left by your handcuffs. “Doubt it.”

Your silly lo-fi music still plays from your computer's speakers , but neither of you could be assed to get up and turn it off. Wonwoo wouldn’t call himself a professional cuddler—you two have only cuddled a total of three times since you started fucking around, and you often complained about how stiff he always is—but from how comfortably your limbs slot into his, he supposes that he’s doing an okay job.

There’s a hint of intimacy charging the air, one that’s leagues different from the carnal lust that clouds his brain every time he fucks you. His chest twists with each passing moment, and Wonwoo makes the mistake of flickering his eyes on your half-asleep form pressed against him. 

It’s been months since you and him started fooling around, but he knows perfectly well that he isn’t the first to have seen you so vulnerable . While he usually doesn’t give a shit about that, and Wonwoo knows the topic is quite sensitive from the little tells he could pick up on for the past few months…

“Can I ask about your old dom?”

Wonwoo can practically feel you stiffen against his touch, which is one of the main reasons why he hasn’t once tried to broach the topic in the past. Even if you could be a nuisance ninety percent of the time, he isn’t a fan of making people uncomfortable on purpose. He’s about to follow his inquiry up with the reassurance that it isn’t a big deal, and you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but—

You squirm away from his embrace, and Wonwoo lets you, albeit hesitantly. His shoulders relax when he realizes you’re just repositioning yourself so that you can face him directly, chewing the inside of your cheek like you don’t have the words just yet. 

“He was…mean,” you whisper, forcing Wonwoo to wrap his arms around you once again. “Even meaner than you are. You’re at least a semi-decent person outside the domspace, but that guy? Piece of shit for real.”

Wonwoo nods. “But you don’t really care about that, do you?”

“Yeah. I can look past him being the meanest dom on the face of the earth. As long as he could satisfy me sexually, then we’re all good.”

“So…what made you part ways?”

Your gaze drifts to Wonwoo for a moment. He looks a lot different when his face isn’t bathed in the deep red of your mood lights. His hair is tousled, eyes squinting a little even if you aren’t that far away from him. And the earnest tone in his voice as he posits the question is something you could get used to hearing every now and again.

“Well, I don’t really do relationships, you know that right?” you say and Wonwoo nods. “My old dom didn’t get that though. He was really possessive of me even outside of our sessions together. It got to a point where he would get really…physical with me just to get the point across.”

Silence dips between the both of you—white noise ringing so loud in Wonwoo’s head, he can barely hear your shitty lo-fi playlist anymore. He’s always had a thing for making you cry during sex, but that’s all it is—some dacryphilia play to scratch both of your kinks. No matter how infuriating you are, he can’t imagine himself ever hurting you outside a pleasurable, sexual context.

Then he remembers the first time you invited him over to film some clips. How you stared at him as he cleaned you up like you aren’t used to the aftercare. Like you aren’t used to being treated delicately.

Is that because of your old shitty dom?

“He’s a fucking asshole,” Wonwoo grumbles before pressing your body closer to his. 

You chuckle. “He is. I’m glad I got out of that before things got even uglier.”

“How’d you even get rid of him?”

“Eh, it’s nothing a little blackmail won’t fix.”

Wonwoo’s brow arches at your response. You’re such an evil little minx, it’s actually admirable.

A little later, the conversation about your previous sexual partners fades away, and you’re back to tracing weird shapes on Wonwoo’s chest for him to guess. He spends half the time convincing you to just shut up and go to sleep, but he finds himself indulging you in your silly whims regardless. 

“Wonwoo, you’re a pretty great fuck buddy, you know that?”

He hums. “Why is that?”

“‘Cause you never go overboard with the stuff you do to me,” you say, eyes drifting away from his as you list off the reasons off your fingers. “You always let me annoy the shit out of you without getting pissed for real. You’re good at keeping secrets, too. Oh, and I never have to worry about you looking for anything more than this since you’re a pretty laid back guy. Def not the commitment type, which is exactly my type.”

Wonwoo scoffs. “If I become someone that isn’t your type, would that get you off my back?”

“I doubt that would ever happen,” you giggle.

For some reason, part of him wishes for the same thing.

But you don’t have to know about that.

On the morning of Soonyoung’s birthday, Wonwoo wakes up irritated.

He had a dream about you—one where you stopped being fuck buddies with him because you wanted to try things out again with your old dom. Someone that Wonwoo doesn’t even know, not even by name. Yet the rage that dream-Wonwoo felt upon seeing you hand-in-hand with some faceless punk as you both left him in the dust is almost too lifelike to ignore. 

So, he does something stupid.

He pulls up his phone—ignoring every message asking if he’s going to show up for Soonyoung’s party later—and pulls up his Twitter app. He doesn’t spend much time there, even if he is co-managing your super secret porn account. In fact, he eventually muted the notifs for that too, when the appeal of having your illicit acts shared to the unknowing public finally fizzled out. 

But he doesn’t log in to check the notifications you’ve amassed, as well as the pathetic DMs asking where your location was so they could fly in to fuck you themselves. No, Wonwoo scrolls past all the content you’ve made with him to unearth things best left in the past.

Like the videos he films with his own camera, the ones you made with your old dom are more than discreet—despite the hyper-possessive tendencies you’ve mentioned. There’s absolutely nothing to be gleaned about his identity, and Wonwoo is left wondering how stupid he’s being for wanting to know who it was that made you feel good before he came into the picture.

Why does it matter anyway, right? 

Even if you did hypothetically leave him to fuck around with your old shitty dom—or anyone else for the matter—why would it matter to Wonwoo? The two of you aren’t even friends. And if you had some other person to bother, that would mean less shit for him to deal with.

But why does the thought of letting someone else have you fill him with so much vitriol that Wonwoo nearly melts his cereal bowl with his glare alone when he comes out for breakfast?

“Hyung,” Mingyu calls out from the seat adjacent to his, rightfully concerned. “You okay? I can always grab a new brand if you hate this one so much.”

The taut muscles on his face soften at the sulking tone to Mingyu’s voice. “Oh, uh. Sorry. It’s not that. I was just thinking.”

“Of your girlfriend?”

“...Of how I’m going to break your PS5 if you don’t cut it out with that girlfriend shit.”

Mingyu whines. “Wonwoo-hyung, I paid good money for that! But fine, I won’t pester you anymore if you’re so intent on keeping her a secret from the world.”

A secret… That’s right. 

What you and Wonwoo have is something that not even his best friend is completely aware of. Sure, Mingyu’s roommate-senses have been tingling for weeks, but Wonwoo knows that he will never really know the full story unless either you or Wonwoo let him in on the secret. 

Which will probably never happen if the two of you want to keep your careers, of course.

“Anyway, the rest of the guys are asking if you’re coming to Soonyoung’s party,” Mingyu says in an attempt to divert the conversation, thank god. “Everyone else has already replied except for you.”

“Who else is invited again?”

“Uh, our usual group, Koyahngi, and I dunno, a bunch of other streamers we know. I think some of Soonyoung’s high school friends are gonna show up as a surprise, though, but that’s just what Jihoon told me.”

Wonwoo considers the information at hand for a moment. 

He doesn’t mind mingling with fellow streamers and probably some of Soonyoung’s other friends, but the last time he’s seen you specifically is the day he bit the bullet and asked about your old dom. A conversation which ended on a pretty agreeable note despite the obvious unease on your face when Wonwoo opened the topic.

The fact that you haven’t texted him since is a little worrisome, too. It’s been about two weeks since that happened, and Wonwoo is beginning to wonder if he unknowingly hit a nerve and this is your way of sending him a message. 

He would’ve taken the initiative and checked up on you during your first week of radio silence, but when he catches you doing pretty fine on your latest streams and when he gets roped into some partnership talks with an entertainment agency that wants to recruit him, Wonwoo decides to put it off for later. 

Besides, the two of you are grown adults—so are the rest of your thirsty audience on Twitter. They can survive two weeks without content.

“Yeah, I’ll come,” he tells Mingyu about five minutes later when he’s already putting away the dishes. “What time are we leaving?”

“Uh, the party starts at seven. Do we go early or fashionably late?”

“Early.”

“Of course. Gotta put the senior citizen to bed early.”

“Mingyu?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

🐈‍⬛: Are you coming to Soonyoung’s party tonight?

🐈‍: yea, i just need to sort some stuff out

🐈‍⬛: Wow

🐈‍: ?

🐈‍⬛: I just didn’t think you’d reply

🐈‍: is daddy gonna punish me for ignoring him for so long &lt;3

🐈‍⬛: I’m being serious

🐈‍: well, so am i

🐈‍: anyway, tell soonie i’ll be there soon

🐈‍: i’m just talking to someone

🐈‍⬛: Okay

Wonwoo has been hanging out with his friends long enough to know that only a select few can really handle their liquor. It doesn’t help that today’s celebrant is the worst lightweight of them all. It’s barely thirty minutes past eight, and Soonyoung is already screaming profanities on one of the tables—using an unopened bottle of absinthe that Seungcheol gifted him with as a makeshift microphone as he belts out trashy lyrics from songs Wonwoo vaguely recognizes.

Mingyu films the entire thing on his phone, stifling his laughter while sipping on his own drink. Wonwoo can only roll his eyes at his best friend’s tolerant behavior.

At around nine, Jeonghan and Joshua arrive at the scene with a tiger-themed cake in tow, and half the friend group has to physically restrain Soonyoung just so the birthday boy could blow out his fucking candles properly. After criticizing the baker’s work (“The eyes are uneven! Tiger eyes are perfectly symmetrical!), Jeonghan rounds up the other guests to sing a loud Happy Birthday just to get Soonyoung to finally shut up. When the song comes to a close, though, Seokmin giggles a little too conspiratorially before dunking Soonyoung’s face into the cake.

It’s gatherings like this—no matter how rowdy and unacceptably loud—that make Wonwoo stick around. He might not look the part, but he loves it when he sees his friends be themselves outside of their streamer personas. It’s like high school and college all over again. 

But when the clock on his phone reads ten-thirty, and he realizes you’re still not at the venue, Wonwoo considers shooting you another text asking where you were. It’s an idea he quickly shoots down the next second because first of all, you’re not even friends. It’d be weird if he just asked out of nowhere. 

He supposes he could use wanting a quick fuck as an excuse to get some intel on your whereabouts. But the thought of lying to you doesn’t sit right with Wonwoo for some goddamn reason. 

When Mingyu offers him a drink, he half-considers taking it just to get his mind off you. He’s pretty sure his roommate has picked up on his distracted behavior, and is only attempting to soothe him somewhat with some beer. But Wonwoo reminds him that he’s one of tonight’s designated drivers and decides to pass.

Everyone in attendance is in the middle of a game of truth or dare when Wonwoo’s phone buzzes in his jacket pocket. He’s quick to excuse himself when he sees who it’s from and what message was left for him to read.

🐈‍: help me. please.

Thankfully, you had the foresight to send him your location after shooting him that cryptic text, and Wonwoo is glad to find that you’re just a few blocks away. Still, he decides to take his car since the weather decided to be a bitch, sending in an unexpected downpour in the middle of summer.

He pulls over in front of a closed bookshop once he’s sure you’re in the area—looking around for any signs of you. The streets are deserted, and Wonwoo is trying to figure out what could have possibly brought you to this place at this hour. Why didn’t you just head straight to Soonyoung’s party? 

And why did you call him for help?

Through the rain and the poor lighting, he finally spots you—standing underneath the canopy of a waiting shed next to a man whose back is turned to Wonwoo.

He doesn’t think twice. He just gets out of his car and runs in the rain—chest warming at the sight of your downcast face perking up at the sight of him. Wonwoo would’ve let himself be glad that you're safe and sound, if only your current company didn’t turn around and reveal his identity.

From the looks of it, you seemed to be having a pretty heated conversation before his arrival. Johnny was obviously annoyed when he turned to look at him, but the expression fell away when he realized the newcomer was Wonwoo. 

However, a sinister smile takes its place not a few seconds later.

“Huh, no wonder you were so quick to replace me, doll,” Johnny laughs insincerely, sharp eyes trained on Wonwoo as he stares the younger streamer up and down. “It’s him, huh?”

“This has nothing to fucking do with you, Johnny,” you grit out, but Wonwoo doesn’t miss the way your voice nearly cracks. “Can you just leave me alone? You don’t need me when you’ve got a bunch of other girls who want to suck your dick, right?”

Wonwoo observes the exchange with a stoic face that doesn’t betray his surprise. It doesn’t take a lot to realize at that moment that Johnny is most definitely the asshole dom whose face he wanted to pummel into the ground when he found out what he did to you. But the things he does know about Johnny and the things he’s just now finding out makes a storm brew inside of his head—unable to separate what’s fact from fiction.

Johnny’s a nice guy. Wonwoo knows this very well. But then again, he’s also the same person who blatantly likes Twitter porn on his official account, so where does that leave him?

“I guess you’re right, but your pussy’s a perfect fit,” Johnny chuckles. “Can’t help but want to hit that again and again, right Wonwoo?”

He stares down at him hard. “Don’t talk about her like she’s just some thing you can play with.”

“Oh? No wonder those new vids of yours have been extra livelier. Your new boytoy is a big old softie, huh?” Another mirthless laugh echoes in the empty streets, and Wonwoo feels his own body heat up with rage amidst the cold rain. “I never would’ve imagined it was Wonwoo, of all people, though. That really is a magic pussy you’ve got there, doll. I wouldn’t be surprised if I found out you’re fucking his twelve other friends, too. Fucking whore—”

Before Johnny could get another word out, Wonwoo’s fist had already collided with the side of his face—knocking the older man to the ground with a disgruntled sound. He can vaguely hear you calling his name in shock, pulling him back with your little hands as Wonwoo stares down at a person he used to look up to.

“Call her that one more fucking time,” he rasps—eyes alight with anger, “and I’ll make sure it’s not just a busted eye you’re leaving with tonight.”

“Wonwoo,” you plead, tugging on his arm. “Please. He’s not worth it. Let’s just go.” 

Johnny still has it in him to bark out another laugh, spitting out some blood from his mouth and onto the pavement. “Running away again, princess? That’s what you’ve always been good at anyway.”

When Wonwoo moves to lunge at him again, you lace your fingers with his. For some reason, it makes him falter. Wonwoo stares at where your hands are adjoined, then looks into your eyes—glistening with tears as you beg him to stop.

Sending Johnny one last threatening glare, Wonwoo tightens his grip on your delicate fingers before leading you back to his car.

Wonwoo doesn’t return to the party.

Instead, he shoots Mingyu a quick ‘something came up’ text, and that he won’t be able to play designated driver for the night. His best friend responds in kind, saying he should have fun with his girlfriend and just take a cab home. On normal days, he would’ve given Mingyu another unsolicited threat, but tonight, he’s focused on something else.

You’ve been quiet the entire time Wonwoo has been driving, hands placed on top of your lap as you gazed at the lights flashing by in a blur of colors and raindrops pouring down the window. He doesn’t have a particular destination in mind, but he figures that it’ll do you some good to have some time to mull over everything that happened. 

But when the silence gets too overbearing even for him, Wonwoo asks:

“What do you usually do when you’re upset?”

You turn your head slowly, red eyes shining even in the dark. Wiping the tears away, you say, “Buy a tub of ice cream and stargaze at the rooftop of my apartment building. That’s kinda impossible right now, though, since…”

Yeah. It was still raining. Fuck.

“Well,” Wonwoo starts, “we can still get some ice cream if you’re up for it. I know a supermarket that’s open twenty four-seven.” 

You don’t reply, simply letting your gaze drift back to the window, and Wonwoo takes that as an affirmative. 

The two of you sit in the silence so deafening, it unsettles even Wonwoo the silence connoisseur himself. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do in this kind of situation. Should he offer you some verbal comfort? Should he promise to deal with Johnny if he comes after you again?

In the end, Wonwoo chooses to preserve the quiet—thinking it’s what you need most right now.

He pulls into the supermarket’s parking lot in ten minutes. He’s about to tell you that he won’t take long—glancing around at the backseat to check if Mingyu left his umbrella there. But before he can even get a word out, you’ve already leaned across the center console, grabbing Wonwoo’s face with both hands before smashing your lips together. 

Wonwoo grunts, grabbing your shoulders as he gently pries you off him. “Hey—”

You don’t listen. Instead, you climb on top of his lap despite the limited space. He knows that the steering wheel digging into your back can’t be comfortable at all, so despite himself, Wonwoo pushes the driver’s seat all the way back. But then you choose to do something he doesn’t expect at all.

With the newfound legroom, you sink to the floor—puffy eyes looking up at him as you work on the buckle of his belt. Wonwoo gives you a stare that’s two parts disapproving and one part curious. In the end, he does nothing about it when you undo his jeans and take his cock in the warmth of your hand.

When it comes to you, it doesn’t take a lot to get him hard. The need to please shines in your eyes as you give him possibly one of the best handjobs in his life. You’re not even uttering a single sound, but your titillating gaze sends all the blood in his system straight to his dick.

Your mouth is on him the next thing he knows—giving his fat head some experimental kitten licks that make him want to shove your head down to the base of his cock. But he won’t. Wonwoo isn’t Johnny. He wouldn’t dare to be rough with you after what just happened, despite your apparent eagerness to give him head right here, of all places. 

The mere reminder of that asshole has him buzzing with rage again, but whatever frustration is left over gets quickly replaced with toe-curling pleasure when you take his heavy length in the heat of your mouth. Your tongue lathers the underside of his shaft as every inch bypasses your plump lips. What your mouth can’t reach, you compensate with your fingers—fondling both his balls and the base of his cock with tender yet salacious touches.

He has to tell you to knock it off. This probably isn’t how you’re supposed to deal with…whatever shit you have going on with Johnny. But your mouth feels like fucking heaven, and Wonwoo isn’t a good enough person to deny himself the pleasure.

The rain continues to pour outside, but the sound of it is eclipsed by the wet noise of you bobbing up and down his engorged cock. As Wonwoo’s orgasm slowly builds itself from the ground up, his large hand gathers your hair in a single clump—tugging hard enough to have you moaning around his length.

“Good, good girl,” he rasps before thrusting his hips into your mouth. 

 When he finally comes, you swallow every drop he pours down your throat. Even when your eyes start to sting with tears, you take it all while Wonwoo holds your head in place. 

As his high starts to ebb away, Wonwoo realizes this is probably the most breathless he’s been rendered since he started fucking around with you. He could probably blame that on the shitty car ventilation, but there’s just something so fucking enticing about seeing you wedged beneath him on the floor—face streaked with tears with remnants of his release still sticking on your lips.

Wordlessly, you peel yourself away as you scramble back to the passenger seat, making a nonchalant comment about how much you’ve imagined sucking him off in his car, but Wonwoo doesn’t quite process it all.

When he notices that the glass of his car windows have all but fogged up, he leans forward—one hand raised as he starts drawing shapes into the moisture. You stare at him with a bewildered look, wondering what on earth he was up to. But the moment you realize what he’s drawing, your expression twists from confusion to disbelief.

Stars. Wonwoo was drawing stars on his fucking windshield with his entire dick still out and everything. He doesn’t even look fazed while he’s doing it.

“You can’t be serious,” you say.

He shrugs and grabs some tissues from the glove compartment to clean up before putting himself away—handing it to you right after. 

He’s so fucking thoughtful; it still gives you whiplash.

“You said you wanted to see the stars, right?” Wonwoo shrugs. “This is the best I can give you right now, so.”

You stare at him for a couple of seconds longer—like you can’t believe a man like Jeon Wonwoo really exists on this earth. Then, you laugh. It’s one of those obnoxious ones that typically have Wonwoo rolling his eyes at you, but it sounds like music to his ears after seeing you cry your eyes out .

Wonwoo does manage to get enough ice cream for the two of you to feast on back in your apartment as you both watch this food show that Mingyu keeps recommending to him. The tricky part is trying to get your hands off him the entire time. 

For someone who went through something pretty traumatic earlier in the evening, you’re fucking insatiable. But Wonwoo’s resolve can no longer be shaken, and the dirtiest thing that you end up doing in your bedroom is giving him a kiss on the cheek before bidding him good night.

It’s only when you’re dozing softly against his chest—having trusted him enough to fall asleep in his company—that Wonwoo realizes something that might change the trajectory of your set-up for good.

He’s in love. 

The next morning, Mingyu greets Wonwoo at the apartment like a mother would her troublemaking son who got caught sneaking home in the middle of the night.

“It’s Koyahngi, isn’t it?” he says point-blank. 

Wonwoo doesn’t exactly have the energy to play some mental gymnastics with Mingyu right now. The moment it dawned on him how he actually felt about you, he couldn’t get a wink of sleep. Thoughts about what he should do have kept him up all night. Should he come clean about it? Should he just leave it be?

But when he remembers what you said about him during that one visit of his…

I never have to worry about you looking for anything more than this since you’re a pretty laid back guy. Def not the commitment type.

That pretty much leaves him with one option, which is the one he’s been meaning to take all along. The idea of having to confess his love for you like some sort of prepubescent high schooler honestly makes him want to vomit. But at the same time, resorting to…concealing his feelings from plain sight doesn’t sit well with him either.

But no matter what he feels about either option, Wonwoo knows that keeping his mouth shut about it is the best option. Especially when you’re still emotionally high-strung from that encounter with Johnny. 

“So what if it is?” Wonwoo grumbles, plopping himself onto the couch right next to Mingyu.

“For what it’s worth, I’ve always thought the two of you were a good match,” his roommate offers, and Wonwoo appreciates his pep-talk. Really, he does. But he’s pep-talking him for the wrong fucking outcome. “You should totally go for it if you haven’t already.”

You don’t do relationships, and neither does Wonwoo. He knows if he uses this line of reasoning as a rebuttal to Mingyu’s words, his best friend will stubbornly insist that he get the girl anyways. He’s always been the one-track-mind type that gives it his all once he’s finally set on something. 

But Wonwoo is nothing like his enthusiastic roommate. He’s cold, and sharp-tongued, and everything you probably wouldn’t want in a boyfriend. All he’s good for is a quick fuck every now and again, and he’s not about to start deluding himself that he can be anything more to you.

(Yet part of him still hopes anyway.) 

🐈‍: are u free today

🐈‍⬛: Be there in thirty

🐈‍: whoa i haven’t even told you what i had planned

🐈‍: what if i actually wanted to take you on a date to the park huh

🐈‍⬛: Did you?

🐈‍: no, my new raiden shogun cosplay set just arrived

🐈‍: and we kinda have this unspoken tradition 

🐈‍: if you know what i mean

🐈‍⬛: You want me to fuck you in it?

🐈‍: always <3

There’s something off when Wonwoo shows up at your doorstep.

He knows you easily pick up on it from the way your eyes narrow slightly when you scrutinize him. From what he can tell, he’s acting as aloof as he always does, yet you still ask him, “You okay?” as if he’s doing something different.

“Yeah,” he mumbles before quietly closing the door behind him.

As you lead him to your room, you tell him that you haven’t put on your cosplay yet because the stockings that came with your order were itchy as fuck, and how you’re thinking of having them replaced one of these days. Wonwoo hums in reply, eyes trained on the takeout packaging that litters your kitchen counter. He has half the mind to tell you to start eating healthily, but reminds himself that’s the sort of thing boyfriends do—not fuck buddies.

Your dainty lo-fi playlist is streaming in your room like always, and when you see the assorted fabrics of your cosplay crumpled on your desk, you heave a tired sigh.

“I’m too lazy to put it on now,” you whine. “Can you just fuck me normally?”

He doesn’t give you a verbal response. Instead, Wonwoo pulls you by the hip, pressing you impossibly close to him as he rests his forehead on top of yours. You startle a little at his abruptness, but your body language betrays no sign of resistance. If anything, you lean more into his touch as the seconds tick past.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you whisper like you’re afraid of shattering something delicate. “You seem out of it.”

“I’m fine,” he insists, and before you can say anything else in response, he slots your mouths together in a slow, sensual kiss. 

Wonwoo likes to get things done hard and fast. He’s a man who sticks to his schedules for the day if he can help it, so he typically treats these sessions with you as timed encounters. More often than not, he’ll be out of your door in two hours or less so he can dedicate his time to working out or planning for new content.

Now, it’s a little different. He takes his sweet time with you—mouths moving in voluptuous unison as if he’s finally dedicating each second to truly memorize the curve of your lips against his. You moan into the kiss, fingers threading through his dark hair before he pulls away from you with a breathless sigh. 

Wonwoo stares at you like you’re the center of the universe. He can only hope you see the same thing when you stare back.

You know when Wonwoo takes his glasses off, he means business. One moment he’s placing them on top of your nightstand, and the next, you’re suddenly pinned beneath him on your bed—getting your lips devoured by the insatiable man on top of you. 

There’s something so innately alluring to his kisses that you haven’t felt during the last time you fucked Wonwoo in this same room. Those were less kisses and more of a clash of teeth and tongue. Now, he stokes a kind of desire that almost scares you to have. You’re afraid if you indulge yourself too much in this version of him, you’ll get addicted. 

The two of you are supposed to be filming today. Yet you seem to have forgotten all about your plans as you lose yourselves in the heat of each other’s bodies. But despite the mellow pace that Wonwoo has established, the desperation still lingers in his touch. 

He flips the both of you over so that you’re sitting right on top of him, gasping out loud as you steady yourself across his hips. Wonwoo smiles lazily, drawing circles along the curve of your thigh before teasing the waistband of your shorts with a single finger. You whimper as you grind down against his hardening length, still confused about how soft he’s being with you today, but no complaints are going to be filed.

“You want my cock that badly?” he asks, and you nod a bit too enthusiastically. “Then work for it.”

You bite your lip, not bothering to remove either of your clothes when you haul out Wonwoo’s length from the fabric of his sweats. Just a few pumps from your small fingers has him hot and heavy in your hand—making your mouth water with anticipation. You don’t think you’ll ever get tired of taking him inside your tight little pussy.

Nudging the hem of both your shorts and panties to the side, you quietly sink down on his engorged cock with a strained whimper. The lack of prep definitely isn’t doing you any favors, but the raw stretch of him so deep inside your walls sends a rush of pleasure straight to your skull. In no time, you’re bouncing on top of his lap like a bitch in heat—mind hazy with the feeling of Wonwoo hitting you even deeper than usual. 

You sort of expected him to amp up the dirty talk. You don’t always get to ride him like this, yet Wonwoo stays perfectly quiet as he watches you thrash and moan above him. His hands rest comfortably at the curve of your waist, guiding your movements, all while offering up a few thrusts of his own.

It feels so fucking good whenever he hits that perfect spot inside you, but the pleasure pulls the wool over your eyes because you’re completely oblivious to the way Wonwoo is looking at you right now.

He was a fool to think that if he just had his way with you like he usually does, those delusions of his would go away naturally. That it would serve as an anchor to the reality of your relationship with him. But when Wonwoo has you chasing your high right before him—so devastatingly beautiful in the lowlights of your bedroom—he realizes he’s fucked.

All this does is make him fall even deeper in love with you. 

“S-So close,” you whimper, grinding down on his cock with each downward thrust. “Wonwoo, please, please. Fuck—!” 

He quickly shoots up from his initial position, lying down, fingers tangled in your hair as he forces your head close to meld your lips together once again. Wonwoo fucks up into you relentlessly, his breathing erratic against your mouth, all while he tries his best to keep all of his secrets from coming out of his own lips. 

You’re the most infuriating person he knows, but he can’t help but look after you anyways. He claims to hate you, but the way he’s rolling his hips into yours would tell a different story. You drive him insane each waking day, yet you have no clue of the extent of it.

He would never admit it—not in a million, billion years—but you’re Wonwoo’s favorite poison, and he’d rather watch himself burn from the inside out than find an antidote. 

He hates having to hide you away from the world like this. Hates treating you like some sort of dirty little secret. He’s allowed to share you with the world through anonymous pornography, but not as a bonafide lover, and it drives him up a fucking wall every time he thinks about it. 

But the thing about Wonwoo and sex is that once he finally gets to fuck the frustration out of his system, his clarity of mind is a bit too quick to settle. As he helps clean you up in the bathroom, he tells himself that it’s simply impossible for someone like you to want anything more with someone like him. After all, you said it yourself.

You don’t do relationships. 

Who the hell is Wonwoo to change your mind about that anyway?

“Wonwoo?”

He looks up at you just when he just finished wiping a cool, wet towel across your leg. “What?”

Your eyes shy away from his. “Um, you might call me a sap or something, but I…kinda liked it.”

“Liked what?”

“That,” you say while making some vague hand gestures at him. “When you were all gentle with me and stuff. I wouldn’t mind having soft Wonwoo again next time.”

Next time.

The words echo in Wonwoo’s mind far more than what he expected, and he finds himself frowning at the notion. Can he still keep up this charade, now that he’s aware of his feelings for you? How long can he continue the act until he inevitably slips up, and you find out?

How long does he have left before you drop him because he’s starting to want more from you?

“Wonwoo, where are you…?”

He doesn’t hear the rest of what you have to say because he’s already padding out of the bathroom—heart beating a little too loudly in his chest. Wonwoo fishes his glasses from the nightstand and the keys to his car. He’s more than intent on getting out of here as soon as possible, but it seems you have other plans.

“Hey,” you call out before tugging at his arm. Wonwoo forces himself not to meet your eyes, but he feels the intensity of your stare regardless. “You’re acting really fucking weird today. Is there something wrong? Did I do something you didn’t like?”

“No,” he mumbles, wanting to add, I’m the one who’s done something you won’t like, but opting to keep his silence instead. 

“Then…why are you acting like this?” 

The pleading look in your eyes almost makes him cave in and pour out everything that’s been flooding his heart for the past few days. It’s so easy to just rip the band-aid off and be honest. To risk everything for the abysmal chance of you reciprocating his feelings.

But Wonwoo knows that life isn’t a fucking gacha game, and he’s not about to throw away what he has with you now, especially when he knows what he wants doesn’t coincide with what you want. 

“Just having a shitty day,” he reasons, and the lie tastes like acid on his tongue. “I’ll text you later. Bye.”

Before Wonwoo steps out of your door, he makes another mistake of looking back. Now, he isn’t sure if he’ll ever get the image of you on the verge of tears as you stood all alone in your bedroom for reasons he’ll never know

Wonwoo runs into Saerom in the supermarket one fateful afternoon.

Mingyu is usually the one who does the grocery runs for both of them—being the person who knows which brands are best for both food and apartment maintenance and all. But his best friend happened to land himself a modeling gig recently, and they rescheduled the shoot today on short notice. Wonwoo insisted that they could live another day without eating rice, but Mingyu was having none of it, and gave his roommate a full list of groceries he expects him to buy no later than today.

So here he is in the canned goods aisle, expression mirroring Saerom’s when she recognizes him as well. It’s not often that Wonwoo bumps into a familiar face in this part of town, so he’s rightfully surprised.

When she asks him if he’s free to have lunch with her at a nearby bistro, he sees no reason to decline. Saerom has always been his good friend, and it’s only natural for him to want to catch up. That, and he’s curious about what she’s doing here in the first place.

“I just moved into the neighborhood actually,” she explains once the waiter is done taking their orders. “Anyway, how are you? I haven’t spoken to you since that time I hijacked your stream.”

Wonwoo clearly remembers the day she asked him to look out for you all those months ago. Saerom is quite literally an angel, extending her concern even to the people who probably don’t need nor deserve it. He gulps down his water thickly, wondering if he should tell her the truth. 

But with how his brain seems to be all over the place these days, he ends up coming clean about it anyway.

When the food arrives, Wonwoo tells Saerom about the truth behind the porn videos implicating you in the past—how you’re actually the one being filmed in all of them. He also tells her about how Wonwoo takes part in the creation process of said videos (deciding to leave Johnny out of the story because that’s going to be another can of worms to deal with). Then, he ends the tall tale with the begrudging fact that he may or may not have caught feelings for someone he isn’t supposed to.

Saerom listens intently to each word—chewing on her salad with a contemplative look. She never betrays any sort of expression that would suggest her true opinions on the matter, which makes Wonwoo all too thankful that she’s the one he entrusted this with.

“I see,” she sighs once she’s finished the rest of her food. “I knew something was a bit off about her situation, but I’m glad that she’s safe, at least. Although about that budding romance of yours… Don’t you think it’ll be easier if you just discussed it with her directly? An outsider like me can only offer you so much advice, Wonwoo.”

He sighs, stabbing his food with his fork. “I know, but…what if she doesn’t want anything to do with me when she finds out how I really feel?”

Saerom lets out a wistful sigh—staring directly at Wonwoo like she intends for him to remember her next words for a long time.

“Then that’s your sign to find someone else who can accept the love you’re more than willing to give. If she turns you down, that’s more of her loss than yours, you know.”

Wonwoo wants to tell her she’s giving him too much credit. It almost sounds like Saerom is insisting that he’d actually make a good boyfriend. He half-wonders if he should ask her if she accidentally mistook him for Mingyu, but then Saerom’s phone rings in the middle of their conversation. 

It’s a short call, and Wonwoo doesn’t bother listening in to give her some privacy. When it ends, though, she bows her head in apology, letting him know that her boyfriend’s waiting for her at the parking lot.

“It’s nice meeting you again, Wonwoo.” She smiles before pulling him into a hug. “I hope your girl problems are already sorted out the next time I see you.”

Wonwoo lets out an uneasy laugh as he returns her embrace. 

He really hopes so, too. 

One month.

It takes Wonwoo one entire month to reach out again, right after he left you without a word in your apartment last time. Part of him feels like he should be guilty for ghosting you so suddenly like that, but he swears he didn’t ghost you. 

He’s just…giving both of you some time and space away from each other. God knows his judgment gets clouded whenever he’s near you. 

Still, he doesn’t really expect you to forgive him for it right away. Much like Mingyu, you’re the sulky type. But while he usually deals with Mingyu’s sulking by leaving him alone for a few hours, that solution is counterproductive when it comes to you because…he’s already left you alone for a month. Wonwoo has a feeling that if he prolongs it any further, you might not talk to him ever again.

You were already wrapping up this evening’s stream when he left his own apartment, and he figures you’re getting ready for bed when he gets to yours.

His knuckles rap against the door once, twice, and he waits. 

Not that Wonwoo is counting, but it takes you five minutes to answer the door—already in your comfortable pajamas and your kitten skincare headband resting on top of your head. It seems that you weren’t expecting any late-night visitors when your eyes nearly bug out at the sight of him. 

“Won—” You shake your head as if you can’t even bear to say his name. “What are you doing here?”

He hesitates.

Wonwoo doesn’t have an answer for you. He gave you space for one month, and he still doesn’t know what to say when he finally deigned to show you his face. 

Your posture is rightfully apprehensive. Wonwoo can almost imagine how you’ve branded him as a raging ghoster in your head for the past few weeks. For a moment, he fears that you’ll throw him out of your apartment before he can even set foot in it, but you simply wait for him to respond—affording him some patience he definitely doesn’t deserve.

“I…” Wonwoo starts but his voice falters, forcing him to clear his throat awkwardly. “You’re getting better at using Chamber.”

You scowl at him, and if Mingyu was here, Wonwoo thinks he would’ve face-palmed because of how pathetic he’s being right now. 

Seriously? Bringing up the latest Valorant agent she’s playing when you’re supposed to say you’re in love with her? Wonwoo can practically hear his roommate in his head, along with an added, You’re so fucking mid, hyung. 

“Okay,” you say, still visibly wary of his presence. “Anything else? I’d rather get everything out of the way so you can continue ghosting me in peace.” 

Fuck. He knew it.

“I’m—” 

Sorry. I didn’t mean it. I was too scared of how I felt about you to deal with it like a normal person.

“—starting to think that you’re fine without me after all.”

At this point, Mingyu would’ve pummeled him to the ground.

Jeon Wonwoo, you have the emotional intelligence of a rock, imagination-Mingyu points out, and he couldn’t agree more.

“Well, thanks for pointing out the obvious. I am fine without you, asshole,” you bite back snarkily, making the motions to shut the door in his face, but Wonwoo wedges his foot in between. 

“Wait—fuck. I’m sorry,” he insists, swallowing thickly. “Can I come in? Please?”

The desperation in his tone makes you arch an eyebrow. Wonwoo never says please. It’s almost always the other way around, whether in a sexual context or not. So even if you know you should just leave him there like how he left you a month ago, you breathe out a sigh in defeat before opening the door wider for him.

“Fine.”

You’ve never sat at your dining table with Wonwoo. You never had to. Whenever he comes over, it’s either to have sex or let you teach him about a game he can’t be assed to play on his own. He doesn’t stay long enough to warrant asking him if he wants some takeout or leftovers from the fridge, so seeing him nursing a glass of water across from you still feels surreal. 

“So are you going to explain why you suddenly just ditched me, or are we going to stew in the silence all night?” you ask. 

Wonwoo’s gaze flickers over to you irritably, and you hate to admit that the sight of that expression makes a pang of…something ripple in your chest. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him, much less spoken to him, so even if you should be fucking mad, you can’t help but miss him. 

God fucking damn it.

He doesn’t answer right away. Like he’s carefully choosing which words he’ll allow you to hear and which would be better off unsaid. But if there’s something you’ve come to know about Wonwoo after all these months, it’s that he doesn’t have good intuition when it comes to other people’s emotions. 

Even if it seems like he’s being particularly careful about his words, that doesn’t guarantee that what’s going to come out of his mouth won’t be stupid.  

“I just had to clear my head for a while,” he says, providing no context whatsoever, and that makes you frown even more. 

“Clear your head?” you echo as you cross your legs. “From what?”

Wonwoo’s usually aloof look shifts for a moment. An unreadable expression flits across his face, but it’s gone before you can even make sense of it.

“It’s nothing you should worry about.”

“Nothing I should… Wonwoo, you were already acting strange the last time you were here. Then you went ahead and ignored me for an entire month!” You slam your hands on the table, the Wonwoo’s glass rattling in the process.

“How am I not supposed to worry when all this time, you made me think I was the reason you suddenly just flaked on me like that?”

He narrows his eyes at you, as if he doesn’t quite get why you’re pissed. “Why does it even matter? I’m just your fuck buddy, right? Why should you care if I just come and go whenever I feel like it?”

The apathetic tone that accompanies his words lances straight through your chest. Were you an idiot for believing that the look he wore earlier in front of your apartment was genuine? That he was actually apologetic for leaving you alone with your thoughts as you wondered what you could’ve possibly done to drive him away without a word?

Your fists shake from where you’re pressing them into the polished wood of your dining table. Wonwoo’s indifferent stare doesn’t let up, and as the white noise rings in your ears, it makes you wonder…

“Why’d I have to fall in love with someone like you?”

The words come out so softly, so quietly that you doubt Wonwoo would’ve heard you. But as your vision gets blurry with tears, you don’t see how  surprise begins to eclipse his aloofness.

Wonwoo felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach when his ears caught what you just said. He couldn’t have heard wrong. It was too quiet in your apartment to mistake what you said for anything else.

You’re…in love with him?

“You know what?” You breathe in deeply, eyes darting up to the ceiling as you wipe off the evidence of your vulnerability. “Just…leave, Wonwoo. I can’t talk to you right now. Please.”

“Say it again.”

When your gaze drifts back to him, it’s accompanied with an expression twisted into disbelief.

“What?”

Before you can even think about what he could even mean by that, Wonwoo gets up from his seat, striding over to your side of the table. You flash him another apprehensive stare, but all of a sudden, he cups your face in both of his hands—delicately, like he’s afraid of breaking something precious.

“Tell me you’re in love with me.”

You immediately bristle at his request. “Are you fucking insane? I know you’re a sadist but—”

Wonwoo presses forward without warning—capturing your lips in an unsolicited kiss that catches you off guard but angers you at the same time. No matter how badly you missed having him pressed up against you in more ways than one, you’re not going to let him trample on your feelings again. 

“I hate you,” you rasp, salty tears breaking their tension across your lashes as they slide down your cheeks in glistening streaks. “I fucking hate you, Jeon Wonwoo.”

Your words carry little weight to them, and Wonwoo is completely aware of this. Almost like he’s trying to placate you, he wipes your tears away with the pads of his thumbs—that hard-eyed gaze weathering into something softer, more sincere with each passing second. 

You abhor how handsome he looks like this.

“Is that your way of telling someone you love them?” he chuckles breathlessly, lips rising to the crown of your head as he presses a soft kiss on top. “If that’s the case, then…”

“I fucking hate you, too.”

Wonwoo isn’t sure how long the two of you have been going at it, but by your fourth orgasm, your newfound lover is yet to be sated.

“Again,” he growls, tugging your limp body closer to his. “Say it again.”

One of the things Wonwoo particularly likes about exploring all sorts of sexual escapades with you is that you teach him things about himself that he never even knew about. 

First was that stupid daddy kink, and now…

“I love you,” you whimper, mindlessly grinding against his still hard cock despite being worn and spent. “I love you, Wonwoo.”

Despite the fact that your honesty drives him to near-insanity, Wonwoo can’t help the relieved sigh that fills his veins every time you utter the words. At first, you stubbornly kept up the act of hating him as he railed you into the mattress, but with every mind-numbing orgasm, your hate slowly bled into love, and Wonwoo finds it fucking cathartic. 

You beat him to what he came over to tell you himself. It was a little embarrassing on his part, he has to admit, but there’s some sort of relief that comes with knowing the same person he’s been vying for also feels the same way.

He’ll tell you the words properly someday.

Maybe not today or tomorrow, but Wonwoo promises that he’ll let you hear how much he adores you soon enough.

For now, he’ll give you one last release.

He’s certain that he can still go one more round, but he can’t really say the same for you. If Wonwoo makes you cream on his cock one more time, he’s afraid you’ll actually pass out from exhaustion. 

So instead, he lays you down on your plush pillows—crawling lower down your body until he finds himself between your legs. He chuckles when you crane your neck weakly to see what he’s trying to do, but Wonwoo is already hooking your thighs over his shoulders before you can say a word.

Your body twitches from oversensitivity as his tongue laves at your ruined cunt—not caring that his own spend has mixed with yours from where the creamy liquid seeps from your hole. Wonwoo groans into your cunt when your thighs squeeze around his head as if meaning to suffocate him with your pussy.

Honestly? If that’s the way he’s gonna go, he’ll accept it with open arms.

“Daddy,” you mewl, fingers tangling in his tousled hair. “I c-can’t anymore…”

Wonwoo suckles at your clit in response, earning himself a high-pitched whine as you roll your hips into his face. For someone who claims she can’t come anymore, you’re awfully eager for him to pinpoint your orgasm again.

“You can, baby,” he insists, peppering your inner thighs with kisses. “You can ‘cause you’re my good girl, aren’t you?” 

He feels your inner muscles clenching at his words, and Wonwoo makes a mental note to praise you more often. You might just like that more than his run-of-the-mill dirty talk after all.

“‘m your good girl,” you babble. “Always daddy’s good girl.”

Fuck. You’re going to be the death of him.

When you’ve recovered from the crest of your final orgasm, Wonwoo carries you to the bathroom and carries you into a bath he’d drawn himself. You complain about how he didn’t set the temperature in the tub right, and Wonwoo promises to do better next time. 

As the two of you soak in the semi-warm water, Wonwoo rests his head against the tiled wall—the fatigue starting to seep into his bones. He doesn’t let himself complain, though, because if he’s feeling spent, he can only imagine how sore you must be feeling. He wonders if he should order some food for the both of you or just let you sleep right away.

“Wonwoo?”

He raises an eyebrow at your meek voice calling out to him. “Yeah?”

You shift a little on his lap, turning around as droopy eyes bore into his. Wonwoo is about to call you out for being weird, but the words evaporate on his tongue when you lean forward to peck his lips. 

“Can I borrow your phone?”

He tilts his head to the side, wondering why you’re asking for his phone. You couldn’t possibly be asking him to film some content here in the tub…right?

Wonwoo watches in complete silence as you open his Twitter app—further feeding into his curiosity. But he doesn’t comment on whatever it is you’re about to do, patiently watching as you maneuver around the accounts logged onto his phone. 

However, when you pull up on the Settings tab of that porn account the two of you have been running for months, scrolling all the way down—

“What are you doing?” he asks as your finger hovers over the ‘Deactivate account’ button.

You glance at him, confused. “I’m getting rid of this account. What else does it look like?”

“Why?”

“What do you mean why? I can’t share my sex tapes with the rest of the world now that I have a boyfriend.”

The bathroom falls silent for about three heartbeats before Wonwoo wraps his arms around you in a tight embrace. You yelp in surprise, struggling against his iron-tight grip in a way that has water splashing all around you. Wonwoo couldn’t care less, though.

“I love you,” he murmurs into the naked skin of your shoulder. 

You don’t respond for a while, like you’re surprised by his easy admission. But the tension in Wonwoo’s spine unravels when you rest your head across his shoulder, chuckling as you caress his face tenderly.

“Don’t you dare think I’ll let you off the hook though,” you chide. “You’ve got several months of dates to make up for. Just because you took the express lane into being my boyfriend, doesn’t mean you get to skip out on the effort that normally comes with it.”

Wonwoo shakes his head, turning your face so his eyes can meet yours. 

He can’t believe he was stupid enough to run away from his own feelings for an entire month. If only he’d been more honest with both you and himself the last time he was here, he could’ve spent all the weeks after with you cradled in his embrace.

But then again, it’s the choices you both made so far that led you to where you are now.

And for now, he’s perfectly content with that.

“Challenge accepted.”

part one - part two - part three - part four

q: is there going to be a third part? a: yes! however, part 3 is literally just in its early stages of creation. i don't even have a serious doc for it, just a few vague plot bunnies gathering dust in my head SJDFHDFG BUT since i'm feeling generous, attached below is a little sneak peek of what you can expect!

This is, by far, the worst day of Mingyu’s life. Okay, maybe he’s exaggerating, but he likes to think that he’s a man of routine. If he doesn’t get to do his morning rituals right before his streams, it feels like the world has been tilted a few degrees off its proper axis. And that’s exactly what’s happening now, when Mingyu realizes that his favorite Twitter porn account is nowhere to be found.  How the hell is he supposed to get his daily dose of relief now?

aaaaaand that's all i have for now! thank you so much for waiting patiently for this installment! it took me an entire month since i posted the teaser, but here it is hehe :3c i hope you all liked it! do stay tuned for that third part, whenever the hell i can get around to writing it T T

this is part of the game over series!

[l4long-winded]

i really wanna see carmy groveling 🤭 might be fun, after a fight or something

how cruel... i like the way you think! i tried to write him as close to his character here while still adding in that groveling element. i hope i've done it justice!

o.s. a guilty heart's plea(s)

summary: carmen's said some unforgivable things to you. and yet here he is at your doorstep, pleading for you to forgive him (carmen berzatto x afab!reader)

reflection: as much as i pride myself in my ability to write scenes and descriptions, i still struggle a lot with making dialogue sound good while flowing with my writing. i think this has been good practice for me to really get inside this character's head and see what he could possibly say with a prompt as heavy as this. this took me about a week to write so i really hope i gave it the time and energy it deserves. thank you all for reading and feedback is always welcomed, appreciated, and encouraged!

warnings: cursing, angst, established relationship, implied smut, reminiscing, they're on a break, inner monologue, carmen's pov, rambling, self-loathing, carmen pleading, inability to express feelings, apologies, missed calls, insecurities, acts of service, sydney sweeney mention, smoking, somewhat happy ending (please let me know if there are other warnings i need to add)

word count: 2,132

( this work has been cross-posted to ao3 )

Carmen knocks on the screen door ahead of him. It’s his seventh time doing so, the clattering and aggravating sound of metal reverberating against the second door behind that one. Dust coats his knuckles because it transferred from the opaque metal, a small spot shinier than the rest of the door because he continued to rap at the same area. Maybe he should clean it for you later if you actually decide to speak to him again. His hands fidget at his sides, clenching and releasing, staring blankly as he thinks of all the times he’s come over. For his first initial visit, you unlocked the door, gave him a cautious glance over your shoulder, and then led him inside. During the second time, you held his hand as you stepped past the threshold, squeezing it in reassurance.

On Valentine’s Day, when he surprised you with an assortment of flowers from the farmer’s market, you greeted him with a deep kiss, tugging the collar of his shirt to pull him inside of your house. He didn’t show any resistance, blindly following your lead, dropping off the flowers onto your couch as your hands lifted his shirt, and your mouths departed from one another for a smidgen of a second before they found each other again, more impassioned and desperate.

“Open the door, come on, I’m sorry,” he says, more so to himself than your screen door. He’s been close to shouting at it this entire time, making his pleas, encouraging you to open it for him so he can have a discussion with you face-to-face.

He’s called you plenty of times. Each one has either rang for as long as the line allowed or went straight to voicemail. Two weeks have passed without seeing each other. Two long weeks of unanswered text messages he’s sent day by day and missed calls clogging up your phone’s notifications. You’re ignoring him and he knows he deserves it, guilty as the hand in the cookie jar, but he still can’t shake this overwhelming feeling inside of him to see you again. The albums dedicated to you in his gallery are not enough to satisfy this. His fingers twitch every time he swipes at an image and relives the sensation of running them along your skin. That’s when his nose begins to miss the scent that clings to your neck. That’s when his ears long to hear the lilt of your laughter and that particular way you say his name. That’s when his tongue rejects the nicotine and implores him for a taste of your chapstick, or the bubblegum flavor lingering in your mouth greeting him after a shift at work, or the giggles you fall into as he chases the subtle pecks you graciously feed him.

The door behind the one he’s attending to opens. There you are. He can’t see you since the sun is positioned right behind him, warming his back as it sets into the background. At most, he makes out the silhouette of your frame, recognizable to his eyes as he’s acquainted himself with every curve and slope of you, but he’s aware you fully see him on the other side. He wonders if you’re able to tell how little he’s slept since a look in the mirror this morning painted the picture of an exhausted man through dark rings under his eyes and a slackened jaw.

“What do you want, Carmen?” You ask. Not Carmy. Not Bear. Not any of that cheesy shit Richie pokes fun at him for. Carmen. He’s not sure whether he’s relieved to hear the sound of your voice or offended he’s lost every sweet moniker you’ve bestowed upon him.

“To talk,” he explains quickly, “I just want to talk. If you want me to fuck off, then,” he inhales sharply. It would kill him if you told him to fuck off, but he’s also not about to make you uncomfortable for an issue he caused. “Then I’ll fuck off.”

Unlike Carmen, you’re not rapidly firing away sentences in response to him. You’re quiet for a beat and it’s rather agonizing for him because even though there’s only a door separating the two of you, you’re still so far out of his reach. He’s tempted to cup his hands over his eyes and look past the individual holes of the door to check if you’re still there.

“Go ahead,” you say, interrupting his thoughts and refuting his fear you’ve stalked back inside your living room.

“Talk.”

He gulps. He was hoping to at least do this without a barrier in the way, but he’s not about to fumble the one opportunity and chance you’ve given him after two weeks of nothing. He’d be a fool to.

“Fuck… I…” Well, this is off to a great start. He tries to think about the texts he’s sent. He had time to sit down and write out apologies and yet none of them are splurging onto his tongue to save him the awkward discomfort currently stirring in his stomach.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I said,” Can you let me figure this shit out without breathing down my fucking neck ringing in his ears, haunting him like a phantom stuck on his shadow because it’s one of the last things he said to you before you took off and rightfully gave him the cold shoulder.

“I was stressed and frustrated and, and I wasn’t thinking. Those aren’t excuses for being shitty,” he shakes his head so hard that his hair untucks from his hat and grazes his eyelashes, “If anything, they make me more shitty because only assholes do that and that’s what I am. I’m a fucking asshole and and and and…” He’s rambling, losing the point of this. He’s got a talent for berating himself. He falls into it naturally if he’s not careful.

“And I fucked up. I really, really fucked up. I didn’t mean any of it. I never wanted to hurt you.” But you did. “I don’t know why I do that. I don’t know why I ruin shit, I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me, but something is and you, you, you always… you’re always there and and and then you weren’t and…”

This is hard. He’s never been good at articulating his feelings. He wants nothing more than to just tell you how he’s fucked up and you’re one of the only people who doesn’t think he is, but after his true colors have splintered out of him and sliced at you as they have other people in his life he cares for, your perception’s possibly changed from that. He believes he’s confirmed every horrible thing he’s ever thought and said about himself and usually, he can handle that self-loathing and dissonance on his own, but consternation bubbles in his ribcage and sparks embers licking at the lining of his stomach at the very idea of you becoming desensitized to the version of himself you’ve fallen for. He wants to shove the curtains back into place, pretend you never stumbled upon the man behind them, and continue walking hand in hand with you in the reverie he knew wouldn’t last. But damn it. He wants it to last longer than this. It wasn’t enough time. He craves more of it, grasping for the seconds in his hands despite how much they’re attempting to evade him as the clock ticks and ticks. 

“Fucking fuck,” he bellows, “Man, fuck me, fucking fuck me.” Vulnerability is so fucking repulsive. Who the hell invented it? He can’t finish a keynote to save his life.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he settles on.

“I can’t fucking sleep, I can’t fucking eat, Richie keeps calling me a dumb shit like I’m not already thinking that. I-I-I need you. I’m sorry for making you feel like I don’t, but I do. I don’t blame you for leaving and I don’t blame you for ghosting me, but please, I can’t fucking do this anymore. I know I’m being a selfish fuck, but I can’t shake what you make me feel and I won’t leave until you talk to me.”

He stares hard at the door. The sun’s lower in the sky, making it more difficult to see if you’re still standing there listening to what he has to say, as jumbled of a mess that it is. His hands leave his sides, anxiously pressing palms first into the metal like it’ll ground him. An urge presents itself to rip it off its hinges and see it for himself rather than wait for verification, but he manages to remain steady where he stands. It’s about the same experience he’s had over the past two weeks of texting and calling to no avail. You’re not saying anything. You’re not denying his insecurities, you’re not soothing his temper, you’re not reflecting it, and you’re not engaging like he’s envisioned time and time again. You’re eluding him. You’re slipping past his fingers like liquid as he desperately grasps.

“Please, please, please say something.” His forehead leans into the surface, eyes shutting tight. “Tell me I’m not shit, tell me you never want to see me again, please talk to me.”

Please forgive me, he swallows. Please forgive me and take me back.

“Just… please… I… I want to fix this. I want to make it up to you. I’ll do anything to make it up to you. Please don’t shut me out. I’ll make you something? Yeah? Your favorite? What about that place you wanted to go off Lake Shore? Or, or that movie you wanted to see with, uh, that Sweeney girl? What the fuck was it?” Carmen’s eyebrows knit together as he tries to remember the name. “We can go see it… we can go to dinner… I can make dinner. I can take time off work and we can travel somewhere, we can take a trip like you wanted, whatever—I want what you want. Please…? Hello?”

Carmen speaks your name a few times among his pleading. His forehead slowly detaches from the door, indents of the mesh left behind on his skin. He goes quiet to listen for any movement, but he can’t even hear your breathing like this. He can’t hear anything besides the wind picking up, blowing cold over the tips of his ears sticking out from his hat. He steps away from the door, a lump in his throat alongside all the affection he doesn’t know how to let out that he swallows with great difficulty. Instead of walking away from your house, he sits on the cement step leading up to the walkway. He meant it when he said he wouldn’t leave until you talked to him.

He camps outside your house. One hand fishes for his carton of Sapphires, plucking a cigarette from the box. He’s got about two left since he’s been chain-smoking to fill the void. Carmen greatly considers trying to make his plea again on his knees in front of the door if that’s what it’ll take as he lights the end away from his mouth. The pressure of the cement will be a motherfucker, but he’s concocting another game plan to gain your attention since he’s already here and the walk back to his apartment is too long for him to jump at it. If that doesn’t work, then he can leave and come back in the morning before work. He can afford to be slightly late as his normal is showing up early and Sydney and Tina know the prep work that needs to be done.

All his thoughts fade as he hears the door behind him creak. He glances back suddenly, catching it as it slowly swings open. He’s in the midst of standing to his feet and flicking his cigarette into a patch of dirt when you come into view. Your hair’s messy, a white tank top on your torso, and a pair of fleece pajama pants he knows are new. His hands yearn to become acquainted with them as he has your other bottoms. Carmen stares at how you’re hugging yourself, presumably because the cold air is filtering into your warm house. The goosebumps littered over your biceps and forearms confirm his theory.

He’s on you in an instant. His arms wrap firmly around your frame, sighing out as his stress undergoes the mitigation of your own arms embracing him back. Your hand finds his hair, incidentally causing his hat to fall off to the floor, but he doesn’t care. He’s far too busy stamping your temples, cheeks, jawline, and lips with kisses he has weeks of time to make up for.

“M’sorry,” he mumbles into your hairline, “so, so, so sorry. Missed you.”

[goldenroutledge]

champagne problems

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

word count: 3.2k

summary: you catch lando’s eye at an art auction in monaco, so he challenges you to a friendly competition for one of the paintings. little does he know, you’d stop at nothing to get it. inspired by this request.

warnings: swearing, alcohol, illegal things vaguely mentioned, gossip girl au

a/n: thank you to @monzaaasharl for letting me use the request! based on events from gossip girl s6 ep6 but can be read without seeing the show! it is mentioned the reader is chuck’s stepsister, à la serena van der woodsen 🥂

lando norris masterlist

The reception was glamorous. Everything you would expect at an event like this, in a place of this caliber. Monaco was one of a kind that way; tuxedos were tailored to perfection and designer gowns flooded the room. The people adorning them certainly had the bank accounts to match.

For you, these scenes and crowds weren’t out of the ordinary. You’d been a part of them for many years at home in New York City. Sometimes alongside your mother at parties where her husband, and one of the city’s richest businessmen, commanded everyone’s attention.

The name Bart Bass spoke for itself, for better and for worse. You could only be so lucky that you were a teenager when your mother married him years ago.

Your step brother Chuck was not as lucky, being the one and only son of Bart’s. Under the weight of the Bass name, he could only hope to change the legacy that had been left for him. One that wasn’t tainted by duplicity and deceit.

If you could help him change that even a little bit, you would. It wasn’t a lonely effort either. Your entire friend group seemed to stick together in defining moments like these. When Chuck discovered a trail that would lead to the exposure of his father’s illegal business practices, there was no hesitation in your offer to help.

Bart often got away with any and everything, always facing little to no consequences for his wrongdoings. Paying off associates or officials using tens of millions in hush money was hardly a dent in the bank to someone like him.

Tonight, all of that could change. The justice you were looking for was right here in Monaco; a thin piece of microfilm enclosed in the back of a 1998 Richard Phillips painting being auctioned off tonight. Titled— The Spectrum.

On the film were numbers, nearly too small to see with the naked eye, that directly incriminate Bart in an illegal business deal. With a favorable social status and a hefty trust fund in your name, your logic tells you that it’s crazy to get wrapped up in all this knowing that if Bart finds out, he would likely turn your mother against you.

But your conscience reminds you just how many lies and just how much loss your family has endured at the hands of Bart Bass.

The soft touch of Nate’s hand on your shoulder interrupts your daydreamy stare into a flute of champagne. He’s out of breath and looks slightly panicked.

“Bart knows we’re here for the painting.”

“What?!”

“But Chuck’s following Bart’s guys, he won’t let them get near it.”

“The bidding starts in 10 minutes!”

“He won’t get here in time, it’s up to us. Think you can handle it?”

You give your best friend a knowing smirk, one that he returns.

“I know I can. These people may be rich as hell but Chuck would give his right arm for that microfilm. I won’t back down to anyone who bids on it.”

Your eyes flicker over to the painting, before they lock with a pair of blue ones across the gallery. He offers a subtle smile before turning his attention back to the painting. Whoever he was, he seemed to be a little too interested in the piece for your liking.

In a room full of deep pockets you knew you wouldn’t win a bidding war without a fight, but the challenge made it all the more entertaining. You turned to Nate, whose phone started ringing with a call from Chuck.

His eyes searched yours for reassurance and promise that you’d execute the plan.

You smiled at him, embracing your inner confidence mixed with a little liquid courage. “Answer him, I’ll take care of this.”

He nods, chuckling slightly as he follows your line of sight to the man admiring the painting. “Good luck.”

-

Lando fixated on the beautiful hues of The Spectrum. Though he can admit that the art doesn’t hold a candle to the woman that caught his eye across the room. He couldn’t tell if he was blinded by her smile or the sparkle of her dress, catching subtle glimpses of her throughout the evening.

His trance was broken by the soft clicks of stilettos inching closer and closer towards him, though the sounds were muffled over chattering guests and classical music.

“Beautiful, isn’t it? No wonder you’ve had your eyes on it all night.”

Lando’s head turned towards the woman’s voice, cheeks warming as he recognized you instantly. He wondered if you had been noticing him too, or at least knew who he was. Lando smirks and takes a subtle step closer to you.

If you weren’t about to psych him out of bidding on the painting, you’d be enamored by the scent of his cologne.

“Can’t help it, I’m naturally drawn to beautiful things.”

“Well, I guess you’re in the right place because this room is full of them.”

“That it is.” He teases, holding your eye contact while taking a sip of his drink.

“It’s almost impossible to find something I like best, but I think this one will blend in perfectly with the rest of my collection. Do you collect?”

“Art? No, I don’t collect art.”

“Then what is it you collect…?” Your sentence fizzles, realizing you hadn’t exchanged names.

“Lando.”

“Okay Lando, what is it you collect?”

He raises his eyebrows, almost surprised at the question, but chooses to be coy.

“Cars.”

“So then what brings you to an art auction?”

He shrugs in response. “Is it my turn to ask questions…?”

“Y/n.”

“Y/n, what brings you to this auction?”

“I already said, my collection.” You smile, matching his coyness. If he wanted to be short and sweet, two could play at that game.

“Which is…?”

“In my apartment. In New York.”

“Wow, long way from home. You wouldn’t happen to be in need of someone to show you around, would you?”

“Not really, I’m just here for the painting.”

“Maybe you came for the painting, but I could give you a reason to stay.”

You roll your eyes at his flirty attempts, ultimately brushing him off. “And what reason would that be? A private tour of your car collection?”

“You’d be surprised. What happens if I decide to take home the Richard Phillips myself?”

“You mean if you’re able to outbid me for it?”

“Trust me, I’ll be fine.” Lando assures. “I promise I’ll let you come over and see it.”

“No need. The painting is what brought me here, remember? There’s no way I’m leaving without it.”

Maybe it was the competitor in him, (it probably was), but seeing you get more and more eager about the work of art fueled something inside of him. Sure, the gentlemanly thing to do would be to step aside and let you have it. But where was the fun in that?

“You mean the painting that you only noticed about 5 minutes ago? If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were using it as a cover to come over and talk to me.”

“Forgive me for sounding rude but… who are you?”

“I don’t just collect cars, Y/n. I‘m a Formula One driver.”

Your unimpressed stare makes him feel like an idiot, once he quickly realizes that maybe you really don’t have an ulterior motive.

“In any case, The Spectrum will look much better decorating the halls of my apartment than it will look collecting dust in your bachelor pad. It’s not like you’ll even be at home to enjoy it.”

“We’ll see about that-” Lando continues, before the bid caller starts introducing the pieces of art, the Richard Phillips being the crown jewel of them all.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if we’re ready to begin, I’d like to start the bidding for the Richard Phillips at $500,000.”

Lando raises his bidding paddle immediately, quick reflexes and all. “500.”

“I hear $500,000, going once..”

“520!” You respond, before lowering your voice so only Lando can hear your next statement. “You may be an athlete but I promise this is a race you won’t be winning.”

“Lucky for you, I’m up for the challenge.” He teases, raising his bidding paddle once more. “540!”

“560!” You announce with confidence, eyes shooting daggers at the man beside you.

Another guest made a bid for 570, prompting Lando to bid 580.

“580!” The announcer calls. “Do I have 600?”

“$750,000!” You shout, turning heads.

Oddly enough, your bid inspires others to chime in also. There had to be something about what they wanted to prove to everyone else in the room— there was always someone richer in Monaco.

Lando certainly looks at you in disbelief, wondering how far you’ll take this. “Oh, now you’re just showing off. You only want the damn thing because I do anyway!”

“Oh please, don’t flatter yourself. This doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

“Then why do you want it so bad?”

“It would be a nice treat for my family and I, that’s all.” Your eyes flicker around the room to the other bidding paddles, the number climbing quickly. “What’s it to you? Why do you want it so bad?”

Lando shrugs, raising his paddle to bid $920,000. “It’s for a good cause.”

“920… Going once, going twice…”

“1 million dollars!” You shout, looking around the room, daring anyone to exceed your bid.

Lando’s mouth hangs open and for a second he almost wants to challenge it.

But then he imagines the heart attack it would likely give his business manager to see a surprise million-dollar charge to his account.

“What?” You question him insincerely. “It’s for a good cause.”

“1 million dollars! Going once, going twice…. Sold to the lady in silver!”

You smile graciously at the applause from the crowd. After all, this was a victory for the charity of the evening. Little did they know you just secured a victory of your own.

Lando sighs. “Well, congratulations. I’m sure your husband will be thrilled.”

“Husband? What are you talking about?”

“That man you’ve been whispering with all night. You said the painting was for your family?”

“Who, Nate?” Your face scrunches up in perplexity, following Lando’s line of sight towards the back of the room where Nate is standing with Chuck, clapping and beaming with pride that everything went according to plan, the painting is yours now.

“Yeah, whatever his name is.”

“We’ve been friends since we were kids. And if you must know, I’m not married.”

Lando chuckles, part amused and part embarrassed that he jumped to conclusions. He reminds himself that he needs to stop doing that.

“And he didn’t send you over here to flirt with me in hopes that I wouldn’t outbid you?”

“He didn’t put me up to anything, I am way above those childish antics! And I’d hardly call any of that flirting.”

“Whatever it was, I guess it worked, didn’t it?”

You smile at him, contemplating your answer. “I suppose. If it makes you feel any better, I promise I have only good intentions.”

“Well either way, I still have to find my mum a new birthday present.” He grumbles, taking a swig of his drink.

Your smile falters and you give his arm a nudge, taken aback by his confession. “The painting was for your mother? Why didn’t you say that?!”

“I’m not sure if anyone’s ever told you this, Y/n, but you’re not that easy to negotiate with.”

“I’ve been told. But for the record, neither are you.”

“If it were me, I wouldn’t have given up the painting. So I don’t hold it against you.” Lando concedes, but starts eyeing you suspiciously. “Although… I still don’t know your motive. I mean all of that drama simply for your art collection which is 4,000 miles across the Atlantic? I don’t believe it. So tell me, Y/n, what’s your motive?”

Lando chuckles at the stone cold stare you give him in return. “It’s only fair, Y/n, I told you mine.”

“Are we in first grade or something?”

By the look he’s giving you, it’s obvious that he’s actually dead serious.

At which you sigh, surrendering to the man’s relentless attempts to get a real answer out of you. Moments prior you did the same to him, except it’s not as fun when the tables are turned.

“The Richard Phillips painting, it belongs to my mother.”

Lando’s eyes widen in disbelief, like a deer in headlights. “You bid a million dollars on a painting you might as well already own?! Fucking hell, why on Earth woul-”

Abruptly, you take him by the arm and escort him away from the main crowd, an action that shocks you both.

But the last thing you needed was for him to blabber out all of your secrets, draw attention to you both and blow your cover in this crowded room.

“Long story short, my stepfather has been involved in some…not exactly legal business practices. And I’m not talking about some common white collar crimes, he makes Madoff look like a fucking Saint. He’s been hiding his proof in the back of that Richard Phillips painting, sort of in plain sight to throw the scent off. My mom’s had that painting in the apartment as long as I’ve been alive. By the time I found out the evidence was in there she had already sold it. My stepbrother tracked it down, and here I am.”

Lando looks like he doesn’t know what to say, equal parts confused and concerned for what kind of danger you might be in or just how deep this all goes.

“There’s not enough time in the world to explain everything but just know that he’s hurt a lot of people, not only my family and I. He deserves what’s coming to him and it starts with what’s hidden behind that painting.”

His heart softens at the look of purpose and conviction in your eyes, understanding that whatever this is, it’s bigger than you and him.

“Well if he’s facing your wrath, I should probably be wishing him the best of luck. Whatever the consequences to his actions, the U.S. government is no match for you.”

At that you let out a laugh, one that’s genuine and full of heart. You can’t even remember the last time someone made you laugh like that, and it was refreshing.

“That’s very sweet, Lando, even if you didn’t intend it that way. I just hope I’m not going to all of this trouble for nothing. I don’t want it to be in vain.”

“It won’t be, you’ll see.”

“How could you be so sure?”

“Just a hunch.” He muses sarcastically, feigning uncertainty.

For the first time tonight you feel appreciative towards him, to the kindness and listening ear he’s giving you, a total stranger until about 20 minutes ago.

The irony wasn’t lost on you that while he was bidding on the art for a gift to his mother, you were bidding on it to repossess evidence that would send your stepfather to prison for the rest of his life, likely devastating your own mother in the process.

“Let me help with your mother’s birthday gift. Please?”

He raises his eyebrows at your sudden offer, wondering how or why you would be interested.

“You don’t need to do that. Aren’t you a little busy with your own family?”

“Somewhat. That doesn’t mean I can’t make it up to you.”

“You won the painting fair and square, Y/n.”

“Please?” You nearly begged, widening your eyes.

Lando sighs jokingly as a way of admitting defeat. “We really are in first grade.”

“See, I knew you’d come around! Art Basel will be in Miami soon, I’ll stay for the whole week if I have to. Surely I can find some amazing pieces for your mother there, I might even find another Richard Phillips painting!”

“I don’t dare underestimate you again.” He quips, raising his glass to you. “I have no doubt that we will find something.”

“We?”

“I’m a Formula One driver, remember? We’ve been racing in Miami for a couple years now, I hope you’re prepared to stay there for the weekend.”

You roll your eyes at his bargain, of course he already has plans laid out for you. “You’re as persuasive as you are slick, Lando.”

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s not a no.”

“You’re as sharp as you are stubborn, Y/n.”

“You haven’t seen the worst of me yet.”

He laughs, impressed at how you manage to stay one step ahead of his banter. “Just promise me one thing?”

You humor him with an unsure look, knowing you would accept his terms anyway. “What’s that?”

“Don’t get into anymore bidding wars with handsome strangers.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because it’s our thing.”

“Okay, Lando. I think I can agree to that.” You muse, holding out your pinky for him, the two of you subconsciously moving closer into each other’s space. “From here on out, bidding wars will be our thing.”

Lando accepts, but decides to challenge you further. “I’m no lawyer, but I don’t think pinky promises are binding, Y/n.”

You nod slowly in acknowledgement, realizing just how close the two of you are standing now, and how intensely he seems to be focusing on the beautiful features of yours he’s had yet to see up close.

Now that you think of it, you haven’t had a chance to take a good look at him either. His eyes are as captivating as his smart aleck wit that’s been keeping you on your toes from the moment you two spoke.

And in a split second, you forget all that was stopping you from noticing what drew you in to Lando to begin with. Your lips collide with his, the stress and tension you’ve been carrying melting away into the kiss, and he’s certainly eager enough to take it on for you.

Mesmerized by each other, you then forget how the hell you both ended up here, tucked away in a dark room from the art you were just competing for.

Until you do remember that you are still proving a point after all, breaking away from the kiss just a moment too soon and smirking in his face.

“How’s that for binding, Lando?”

He appears amazed, out of breath and slightly shocked that you went there. You, however, were carrying on with ease, your thumb brushing over his lips at the faint stain of your lipstick on him.

“Close enough.” Lando coaxes, this time bringing his thumb to brush against your cheek delicately.

His fingertips may as well have been on fire by the way his touch made you feel red hot, and yours to him. Instead of backing away from the burn, Lando leaned in, giving into temptation and meeting your lips once again.

💌: this is my first time writing for lando! likes, reblogs, comments & feedback is greatly appreciated! thanks for reading <3

[scarletlizzard]

Part 4: Cat and Mouse

Sessions Series

Parings: dark Wanda x female reader

Tags Minors DNI: smut, mentions of gun/knife, choking, strap on usage (R receiving), major manipulation, toxic, stalker

Masterlist

A/N: Thank you, everyone, for reading my first series! It's been so fun to write. If you have any questions, let me know! I'm thinking of writing an epilogue for it if yall are interested? To show where they are now. Let me know what y'all think 🩷

Early Spring 2016

Wanda tilts her head to the side, a smile on her face as she looks at the painting on the wall.

It's a Renaissance-style painting. A woman draped in elegant attire is depicted running gracefully across a grandiose landscape. Her flowing garments billow behind her as she glances over her shoulder with a mix of fear and excitement in her wide eyes.

Behind her, a single shadow looms ominously, its form elongated and exaggerated. The scene is bathed in soft, golden light, casting long shadows and creating a sense of darkness.

The woman's delicate features and intricate clothing are painted with meticulous detail, while the surrounding scenery showcases the artist's mastery of perspective and depth. The painting seems to capture the eternal struggle between light and darkness.

Wanda felt drawn to it. Something about it was pulling her in. This was her fourth time coming to see it, the gallery being just down the block from her office.

"Haunting, isn't it?" A voice, possibly the most alluring voice she had ever heard, speaks from next to her.

"It's breathtaking," Wanda mutters. Her eyes focus on the woman in the painting, then to the dark shadow behind her.

"The shadow, it never stops chasing her. She's constantly looking back over her shoulder, wondering.." The voice speaks again.

"Wondering what?" Wanda asks.

"Wondering when she'll be caught. It's all a game, see?" A finger points to the small plaque underneath the painting. The title of it read:

Cat and Mouse

***

Current Winter 2018

You felt a sense of deja vu as you ran throughout the house. A sense of unexpected excitement flows through you as your feet carry you to the front door - locked.

As you run down the hallway, your breathing picks up. You hear Wandas loud steps stalking behind you at an even pace. The back door - locked.

Down another hall, door after door - locked.

Running up the stairs you take in Wandas words,

"When I find you, I will fuck you."

You couldn't ignore the ache between your legs or the partial truth to her reasoning.

Had you gone and sought out for a stalker? No, but once your shadow appeared, your life became more interesting. You felt a spark inside of you, and you felt it last night, too.

You find an open door and shut it behind you, quickly locking it. With your back against the hard wood, you take a second to catch your breath. When you hear footsteps from the end of the hall, you also hear Wandas voice.

"Don't forget what I said, darling.." A door opens and closes, the footsteps draw nearer.

A small smile plays on your lips.

You were just as fucked up as she was.

***

Early Spring 2016

Wanda turns to the woman next to her, taking in her bewitching appearance.

"Did you paint this?" Wanda asks. You nod, smiling as you stare at your art.

"I did. I still can't believe it's here," you chuckle to yourself. She watches curiously as you tap your leg 4 times with your finger.

"It's amazing. You are truly talented.." Wanda continues to stare at you.

"Thank you, it's... it's very personal," you say with a nod, turning to the stranger. "She needs the shadow to keep pushing forward, but she'll never admit it to herself."

Before either of you can say anything else, your phone rings. "Excuse me for a moment," you say with a smile, answering the call.

"Hey mom, is everything okay?" Wanda hears you ask as you walk away from her.

She looks at the painting, then to you standing on the other side of the room. A smile slid into a crooked grin on her face, and Wanda knew it was fate.

***

Current Winter 2018

You look around the room you entered, some sort of a guest bedroom. You needed a way out.. Right?

Yes, you needed to get out.

You move around the room, looking for some type of makeshift weapon, but find no such thing. Wandas footsteps stop outside the door, you stand still near the neatly made bed.

"I know you're in there, pretty girl.." The door knob wiggles as she tries to open it, finding it locked. Wanda chuckles darkly.

"Dear Shadow," her voice carries through the door, your eyes widen. There was no way she knew the next words.

"You scare me.. You frighten me.."

"Stop it!" You scream, putting your hands over your ears.

"You scare me because I'm afraid I'll never be able to live a normal life. You frighten me because I like being chased.." Wanda quotes the note you left, the one you thought was locked away in a box underneath a pile of clothes in your closet. The door handle wiggles again.

"You make me feel something, something I know isn't right. I won't play your game.." She finishes talking. And you feel your hands shaking.

"H-How did you get that note?" You ask, fists balled up at your sides. You think back to a session where Wanda even asked you about the note. A note she apparently had, for how long you weren't sure.

"Do you really think I've only been inside of your house the once? You're smarter than that little mouse."

Your stomach dropped again, a sick feeling in your gut at the realization of her words. Wanda had been more a part of your life than you had even realized.

***

Late Summer 2016

Wanda watches from across the street, hidden in the shadows as you unpack boxes in your new home. It had been two months since your mother's funeral, 4 months since she began watching you. She dropped the cigarette she was smoking onto the ground, kicking it out with her foot. She watches as a red-headed woman helps you hang up a painting on the wall. Wanda smiles. It was almost time to begin the game.

***

Fall 2016

"Natasha? Hey!" Wanda says with a perfect smile, a hand runs through her hair.

"Oh my god, hey! We just keep running into each other." Natasha smiles warmly.

Happenstance, right ... Wanda thinks to herself as the red head reaches out her hand. She shakes Natashas' hand with a friendly grip.

"I know it's so crazy! Hey, do you want to grab a coffee sometime? Might as well if we're going to keep seeing each other around," Wanda laughs and looks around the grocery store she's never shopped at before.

"That would be so great, I know a great cafe just down the block.."

***

Winter 2016

Wanda stands outside in the shadows. The same red wine is poured into a glass as you stir a pot on the stove. She watches as you look through the window, squinting your eyes. You shake your head and gulp the rest of the wine down, not knowing you were staring right at her.

A vibrate from her pocket pulls her attention, and she looks at the text she received:

Natasha- Hey Wanda! Throwing a Christmas party next Saturday. You in?

Wanda- I'll be there.

You saw in the corner of the room a woman, standing alone. Her eyes watch over the room as she sips out of a red solo cup. She looks.. familiar, you can't quite place it. With the confidence of Rum on your tongue, you walk over to the angelic looking woman. She has a crooked smile on her face as you approach her.

"Wanda," she says after you introduce yourself. It wasn't long after that you were screaming the name for hours in your bedroom.

***

Current Winter 2018

"Now open the door, darling.." Wanda says. You hear 4 taps on the door, not from her hand. You can only assume it was by the knife you saw her unsheathe downstairs.

"And then what? What's the endgame, Wanda?" You ignore her command, standing in front of the door as you question her. She's silent for a while, so quiet you began to wonder if she had disappeared.

"Tell me you don't like the chase. Tell me you hate the way I make you feel. Tell me you want me to stop," she speaks calmly, voice unwavering. You can practically hear the smile on her face as she says, "Tell me all of those things, pretty girl. And if you say it, if you mean it.. I will leave you alone. You can go back to your regular, boring life. The same routine every day. No one chasing after you, pushing you forward. No more shadows."

You swallow hard at her words, mouth open to speak, but no words come out. Wanda will leave you alone, just tell her you're done. Back to reality. Back to...

Wanda stands outside the door, waiting for too long. She reaches into her pocket and takes out a key, unlocking the door. When she opens it all the way, she feels a cool air blowing strands of her hair back. Wanda looks around once. You were nowhere to be found. She laughs and shakes her head, walking to the open window where the breeze flows into the room. Snow floating in gently.

You couldn't say those words to her and mean it. Wanda had run into your life and caused chaos, but you wouldn't be truthful if you said it was already fucked up. With Wanda you felt alive. You felt important. You couldn't live without the dangerous chase.

With windswept hair and an exhilarated look on your face, you dash through a pristine blanket of snow, your bare feet leaving delicate imprints behind you. With each step, a mix of excitement and trepidation dances across your features, your heart racing with the thrill of the moment. The feeling of the snow sticking to your hair and the flakes underneath you heightens the sense of vulnerability and adrenaline coursing through your veins.

It didn't take long for you to hear the familiar pace of Wandas stride coming from behind you.

You make for the trees.

***

Summer 2017

Wanda unscrews another bolt, wiping the sweat that dripped down to her brow. She stands from the AC unit on the side of your house, the mechanical noise coming to a halt. The birds in the trees above her chirped loudly, signaling the sun rising from a distance. She walks away, with each step assuring her imminent return.

****

Current Winter 2018

You find solace behind a tree. Gasping for air, your chest heaving with each breath. As you glance around, all you see are dark trees speckled white with snow. The treetops covered the forest that stood behind Wandas house, the sun peaking through its leaves and branches to light a golden path on the mossy ground.

A branch breaks from behind you. Your hands move to cover your mouth as you hear the steps of your shadow.

****

Summer 2017

"Such a pretty little mouse..."

Wanda sat on top of you, relishing in how easy it was to sneak in. How your body barely fought her off.

"Leave me alone!" You whimper, shaking your head to remove her hand off of your lip.

"Why? We've only just begun pretty girl," her voice makes your chest tighten. You watch with careful eyes as she reaches behind her back, pulling out a gun.

Wanda slides the barrel against your cheek, watching the fear in your eyes. The gun slides down your rapidly moving chest...

And then she sets it down on the floor beside your head.

"You can use it any time you like.. but I know you won't, little mouse," she husks down at you. "You want me here.. you like the idea of a shadow watching over you every day. The feeling I can just walk in at any time.." Wanda chuckles darkly.

Before you can say anything or wonder where her hands are going, you feel a sharp needle prick your neck. You immediately feel your eyes become heavy, your vision blurring as your shadow removes her mask. Features blurry enough that you can't make her out.

"Sweet dreams, Y/N.."

You awake the next morning on the couch with a start, gasping as you look around the room with wide eyes. The pounding in your head and the nauseous feeling in your stomach convinced you that you must have had too much to drink. It was just a bad dream.

But then your eyes catch sight, on the coffee table in front of you, a small black gun.

One that you would wave down the street looking for your shadow, screaming to no one that if they didn't come out, you would kill yourself.

One that you would lie to the police about, saying you bought it off a junkie at the docks to protect your shadow.

The shadow was yours, after all, to deal with.

****

Current Winter 2018

As you stand still like prey avoiding your predator, you hear a subtle sound of a bell ringing. A bell you knew to be followed by a blow of a deep horn as a boat leaves the dock. You wait a second... two... three...

A deep horn sounds from in the direction straight ahead of you.

Excitement sparks in your chest as you mentally prepare yourself to do what you do best, run.

You don't look back once, but you know Wanda is following. Your ears twitch as you hear her pace quicken behind you, branches and twigs snapping around the two of you as you make for the dock. The trees begin to clear, and you spot the water, a dock spanning so far you can't see the end of it, along the shore. You run towards a wooden boathouse attached to the dock that didn't look too far, hoping you could make it before Wanda emerges from the trees.

You sit low on the ground of the wood surface, and water splashes below you. A small boat floated inside, covered with a tarp, along with random tables and boxes filled with fishing supplies. As you look out the window, you see Wanda at the edge of the woods, her eyes searching the many places you could be. You duck down, not willing to risk being spotted.

***

Late Summer 2017

"I really fucked up, Wanda.." Pietro sighs into the phone.

Wanda shakes her head, watching from afar as you pace the living room.

"Shit, Pietro," she sighs loudly and walks away, around the corner. "I'll book a flight in the morning."

****

Spring 2018

"I'm so happy you're back.." Natasha smiles at her friend, sipping the coffee she held in her hands, the smiling not quite reaching her eyes.

"What's wrong, Nat?" Wanda says, resting her hand on top of Natasha.

"It's my friend, Y/N. I've told you about her," she says, Wanda nods thoughtfully. "She really needs some help, I just don't know what to do.."

Wanda reaches in her pocket and takes a business card out, sliding it across the table. "Give her this. I know a lot of people that could help her, but I also know you really care about her... I could take care of her. She would be brand new by the time we finished our Sessions."

Natasha takes the card wearily. "I don't know if I can just suggest this right now to her.. I'll think about it. Wait a little bit, and see if she gets better on her own." She smiles at Wanda gratefully.

"Of course.. maybe she'll get better," Wanda says, smiling at the thought of her spot in the shadows just outside your house.

****

Current Winter 2018

"Little mouse.." Her voice sounds from outside the window. You move quietly and quickly underneath a table that is in the corner covered by a tarp.

Wanda steps inside, the floor creaking underneath her weight, the door shutting with a snap. You listen to her footsteps as she walks around the small boathouse, rustling around in boxes. Your fingers twitch, absendmidetly tapping your leg 4 times.

Your shadow loomed over you.

It was quick, the pulling of the tarp, the exasperated scream as Wanda grabbed you from the back of your neck, pressing the blade to the front of your throat. She pulls you close to her, knowing you were going nowhere in her strong grip. The knife she held to your neck presses harder, drawing the smallest bit of blood as you attempt to scratch at her arms.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk..." Wanda sighs into your ear, pressing her lips to the sensitive skin just below. "Looks like I've caught you, pretty girl. What now, hm?" She chuckles darkly and continues to kiss your neck.

The ache between your legs grows as she presses her hips into you, feeling the strap beneath her jeans. "I told you if you ran, I would punish you.." Wanda removes one hand, keeping the knife to your throat. You don't have time to wonder before you hear the sound of her unbuckling her belt.

Cool metal is replaced with warm leather as she ties the belt around your neck, pushing you down roughly face first onto the table in front of you. "Wanda.." You whimper out. She tugs on the end of the belt, your whimpering cut short by lack of air. With the sharp blade, she cuts the shirt that clung to your body right down the middle, exposing your back.

"I told you, Y/N. I warned you what would happen when I found you." Her free hand slides down the shorts you wore. You blush, knowing she was about to find out how wet you were for her. Wanda frees the strap from her pants, sliding the tip along your ass. Your hips move back towards her as she teases you, causing Wanda to smirk.

She knew how badly you wanted her. Wanda would show you, over time, how you belonged to her and only her. And that she, belonged to you, only you.

She slides in easily, wasting no time in fucking herself into you. The table moves with every thrust, scratching the wooden dock below. Wanda holds in one strong grip, the belt, the other one holding your hip to meet hers. The knife had dropped to the ground. You both knew it wasn't needed.

"Fuck pretty girl, I'm going to fuck you every chance I get.." She moans loudly, pulling the belt. Your hands grip onto the leather as she pounds into you mercilessly, moaning at the thought of her having her way with you whenever she felt like it. Her powerful thrust sending shocks into your body. A hard smack across your ass makes you yelp. You feel a singing sensation. Another. More stinging. And another. Surely a bruise.

"Tell me, Y/N.." Wanda grunts in between thrusts. You knew what she wanted to hear. You had no problem telling her the truth.

"I need you!" You rasp out, her grip on the belt loosens.

"That's right, baby. I won't let you forget it," she pulls the belt to pull you up, your back flush against her. Wanda kisses your cheek, surprisingly softly. "Fuck you feel so good." Wanda groans, her breathing becoming ragged. She gropes your breasts as the cut shirt slips off of your body, pinching your nipples hard between her fingers.

The pleasure was overstimulating, your body still sore and tired from the night before. You feel your legs tremble under your weight, but Wanda easily holds you up.

"Are you gonna cum, little mouse? Hm?" Wanda groans against your skin, you nod quickly. "You better beg for it then.." She chuckles, making you whine.

"Wanda.." Your word barely comes out, unable to think and physically trapped by the belt. "Baby.." You try, feeling her body tense behind you.

"Please let me cum, please I'm begging you!"

"I need you to let me cum!"

"Baby please!"

"Cum for me, pretty girl.." She finally gives in.

Before you know it, you were coming, your orgasm crashing over your body in sync with the waves crashing below. Wanda continues to fuck you through your orgasm, letting herself enjoy the sight of you falling apart in her arms.

You hear her moan loudly, thrusts slowing as she releases with you. Wanda holds onto you tightly, the grip on her belt gone as you stand breathing heavily, your hearts beating together as you catch your breath. She gives you a minute before sliding out of you carefully and sitting you on the table.

You can barely sit up, freezing, and now even more sore than you already were. You watch with half lidded eyes as Wanda does her pants up, buckling her belt. She takes the knife and puts it behind her before taking off her hoodie. You could see a red shirt on her.

The hoodie is warm and smells like her as she slides it over your head, putting your arms in the holes. She pulls up the shorts and puts the hood over your head, tucking your hair behind your ears. You close your eyes as she lifts you up bridal style, carrying you out of the wooden structure.

You remember resting your head against her neck, thinking you had never felt softer skin before. You remember the warm sun shining through the trees as she carried you through the woods to her house. You remember the sound of hot water running. The feeling of her hands scrubbing your body clean. The sound of a match flicking. The smell of Wanda as warm clothes were put on your body.

Wanda slides in front of you in the bed, holding you tightly in her embrace. You grab onto her. She pulls the blanket over you both. 4 kisses on your head. The feeling of sleep taking over. The thought that nothing was going to be the same.

Your shadow whispering in your ear,

"Sweet dreams, little mouse.."

[peachsukii]

𝓲𝓷𝓴 & 𝓻𝓱𝔂𝓽𝓱𝓶 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽 『 band au | strangers to lovers | slow burn 』

pairing // artist!reader x drummer!bakugo status // in progress rating // explicit (18+ themes) #✩.ink&rhythm + crossposted to AO3

✩ summary // Distortion is the hottest band in town, making waves in the underground scene with their unique sound. Led by your college best friend and music prodigy, Kyoka Jiro, alongside her misfit group of friends, they've been playing shows every weekend for the last few months and have gathered a decent following. You're whisked into the whirlwind of their rockstar lives when Jiro commissions you to design a band logo for their merch, reconnecting with her and meeting the members of the band. Your eyes immediately gravitate to their powerful drummer, Katsuki Bakugo. Fresh out of a nasty three year on/off relationship, he's not looking for anything or anyone while shutting out the world around him. He's focused on the one thing that keeps him sane; music. You're six months free of a breakup as well, looking to repaint your world with new colors and experiences, but turns out it's more tumultuous than anticipated. Explosive fights, newfound fame, clashing egos, dive bars, stolen kisses, black out dreams, messy exes and hard lessons; but somehow, love finds a way to bloom like a flower in the desert - deep in the hottest, driest wasteland of two broken hearts.

✩ tags & warnings // rock/punk/alt band au, slow burn, meet cute, strangers to lovers, various smut, smoking/drugs/alcohol consumption, talks of emotional & physical abuse from past partners, angst with a happy ending, emotional hurt/comfort, mild violence, mentions of cheating from past partners, miscommunications, jealousy, long distance, stalking, attempted sexual assault (not from bakugo or the bakusquad!), bakugo & reader suffer from relationship traumas (Camie & dabi are nasty exes), bakusquad are in a band, friend breakups & makeups

꒰ track list ꒱ ✩ Prelude: Holding onto Hope is a Different Kind of Pain ✩ Track One: Shine a Light into the Wreckage ✩ Track Two: Flowers Filled with Vitriol ✩ Track Three: Boulevard of (Broken?) Dreams ✩ Track Four: You Can Throw Me in the Deep End ✩ Track Five: Every Canvas that I Paint is a Masterpiece (of My Mistakes) ✩ Track Six: Band-Aids Don't Fix Bullet Holes ✩ Track Seven: Good Girls Stay Alive ✩ Track Eight: The End of Me, The End of Me ✩ Track Nine: If It Means A Lot To You ✩ Track Ten: Hand on the Throttle ✩ Bonus Track: We Are Distortion, 1-2-3-go!!

꒰ info ꒱ ✩ all characters are 24/25 years old ✩ reader co-owns an art gallery and has a BFA ✩ reader's artist alias is "glxtch" (glitch) ✩ bakugo drives a custom built orange & black Kawasaki Ninja ZX-6R ✩ relationships: momojiro, kirimina, ex-bakucamie, ex-dabi/reader

✩ band name: Distortion ✧ Kyoka Jiro | lead singer, electric guitar (Barista - Degree in Music Production) ✧ Denki Kaminari | electric guitar, backup vocals (Waiter) ✧ Eijiro Kirishima | bass, backup vocals (Bartender) ✧ Katsuki Bakugo | drummer, backup vocals (Bike Mechanic) ✧ Mina Ashido | keyboard, backup vocals (Makeup artist) ✧ Momo Yaoyorozu | band manager (Marketing assistant)

✩ vocal inspirations ✧ Kyoka Jiro ⇢  addie amick (halocene) ✧ Denki Kaminari ⇢  rory rodriguez (dayseeker) ✧ Eijiro Kirishima ⇢  tim mcilrath (rise against) ✧ Katsuki Bakugo ⇢  eric vanlerberghe & acoustic (i prevail - harsh vocals) ✧ Mina Ashido ⇢  maggie lindemann

꒰ mood board ꒱

✩ pinterest board ✩

꒰ playlist ꒱

⇢  tag list ; @/bells-28 @/simp-plague @/nemisimp @/hotttamalee @/mymysenpai @/ttulipwritezz @/bakunianadecorazon @/yoyolovesdaiki @/eeeeeevesstuff @/alloueate @/dollukisposts @/Rikakhai @/blazedbakugou @/lillizxzz ♡ last updated // 08.09.24 dividers, banners & moodboard by taurus-magicka

[satoruwiki]

Aah!! As the strange anon who requested Naoya. I gotta say I totally agree with these headcanons! You got him perfect lol basically a d**k..unless your super hot, don't speak and magically anticipate exactly what he wants when he wants it...in which case he's slightly less of a d**k. Ooh please do gojo headcanons now I'm addicted haha

lmfao strange anon 😭😭 but fr you’re right tho, naoya would usually be the type to say “you look prettier with your mouth shut, keep it that way”.

♡.°₊Satoru is the type of man to…ˎˊ˗

content: jjk headcanons; half sfw/half nsfw; afab!reader; i love my cutie patootie boo boo bear pookie blue eyed king gojo >.<!!

n/a: i love this man sm, I already kinda did hcs of him before, but they were mostly nsfw, so i really scratched my head to not repeat them as best as i could.

these are my hcs! feel free to agree or disagree :b any request/interaction supporting this post is very much appreciated <3

sfw ver! ୨ৎ

Satoru is the type of man to… have gifting as his love language. Aside from being extra clingy, he’s the type to gift you stuff at least twice a week. They’re mostly things that reminds him of you or that he thinks you’d like (even though he might fail sometimes when it comes to treats, since he has a sweet tooth it may or may not be too sweet for you).

Satoru is the type of man to… act sassy/petty when jealous. Satoru isn’t the type to make a scene (at least not directed to you) or generally be ill-tempered/insecure. However, whenever he sees someone who looks at you in a different way than the others or tries to engage in a conversation with you that seems too intimate to be friendly, Satoru is the type of man to walk up to you and hug you from behind, giving you neck kisses. While you may think him being overly cuddly with you is normal due to his clingy character, Satoru is doing all that on purpose to let whoever is ‘bothering’ you that you already have someone else, with a damn smug smile plastered on his face (and maintaining direct eye contact with the stranger).

giggled and kicked my feet while writing this.

Satoru is the type of man to… try new things for you. So it is more than obvious that Satoru is old money rich. Like this dude was RICH RICH and spoiled rotten since he was child, not to mention that he’s a special grade sorcerer (he basically gets bank as a salary), therefore he’s accustomed to getting the finest things, either for you or for himself. What may seem expensive to you is probably normal for him. That doesn’t mean he’s some type of snob or is condescending about middle and working class. Satoru would be the type of be slightly skeptical when you take him to a ‘not so high-end’ restaurant, but since it was a “spot you knew”, it must be good, right? Satoru would be surprised to know that the food in the less wealthy places is sometimes even better than his common luxurious michelin-starred restaurant.

sounds like a cute trope imo

Satoru is the type of man to… taking pictures of you without you realizing it. It’s a hidden hobby of his, he thinks you look prettier when you’re distracted. Satoru has certain photo albums in his phone gallery that require a password, that is because you’d probably be embarrassed if you ever found out, but he really likes them, in the least creepy way.

Satoru is the type of man to… pretend not to know certain things as long as he has something to approach you with. Despite being good at pretty much everything, Satoru will lie and pretend to be terrible at something you are specifically passionate about so that you can teach him because he loves to see you get excited about sharing your hobbies and likes with others. His subtle way of knowing about you and collecting information he needs for when he wants to ask you out.

nsfw ver! ୨ৎ

Satoru is the type of man to… have public sex. Whether it’s at home or at some expensive restaurant’s washroom, nothing will stop him from pounding his cock balls deep inside you, though the thought of getting caught being freaky in public always gets his adrenaline rushing and his cock throbbing.

Satoru is the type of man to… have you modeling the lingerie he buys for you. He loves to see how excited you are to show him the little lingerie you bought with his card. But he loves it more when you thank him bouncing on his dick.

Satoru is the type of man to… have phone sex with you when he’s away. Due to his work, he has to sometimes to fly across Japan and this can take a few days before he comes back home. Satoru will call you late at night to ask how your day was then ask you to play with yourself, maybe even do a video call so he can see your pretty ‘o’ face.

Satoru is the type of man to… cover you in hickeys. He takes pride in letting everyone know he fucked you real good last night as well as to mark you as his. It also helps to keep other men from you, so he does this pretty often.

Satoru is the type of man to… fuck you in front of a mirror. Satoru likes to fuck you in doggy as well as to see your fucked out face, so he came up with the solution of placing a mirror in front of his bed so he can plunge his cock deep inside your walls just the way he likes and get to see you roll your eyes to the back of your head as he rearranges your guts. He also gets to look at himself and brag a little. (a little narcissistic from him if you ask me lmao)

[hwaightme]

Impressionism

(masterlist) (taglist)

🩸 pairing: vampire!gallerist/collector!seonghwa x art historian!gn!reader 🩸 genre: fluff, noir, soulmates, supernatural, strangers(?) to lovers, art nerding 🩸 summary: a post-graduate student specialising in impressionism, you were a regular visitor to the many art galleries in the city. who knew that among the paintings you would encounter your favourite, timeless work of art? 🩸 wordcount: 12.3k 🩸 warnings/tags: questionable editing, mention of blood, fangs, wounds, suggestive, many pet names (love, darling etc), art theory/history ponderings, time skips, mention of rituals, philosophy, hwa is centuries-old, yearning hwa 🩸 taglist: at the bottom of the fic 🩸 a/n: happy birthday to @starrysvn!! lheo, ilysm, and i hope you enjoy this little rambling <3 hugs to everyone, all reblogs, notes and comments appreciated! 🩸 playlist: nfwmb - hozier, who is she? - i monster, keep on loving you - cas, la vie en rose - edith piaf, a l'ombre de nous - pierre barouh, les feuilles mortes / sous le ciel de paris - yves montand, moon over bourbon street / until - sting

‘Love and Pain’ - an enigmatic masterpiece that was painted by Edvard Munch, the famous Norwegian artist, in 1895. In vibrant oil paints a dramatic scene interpreted by millions as something more sensual, darker, revealing was immortalised. Perhaps quite literally. You leaned back on one hand, feeling the coolness of the bench located in the middle of the gallery hall, careful to not let the notebook in your hands slip from your lap. ‘Vampire’ - first, it was a label for the woman with the alluring, long red locks that was leaning over her supposed lover, then it turned into a second name for the work. It was comical how Munch himself had initially stated the piece depicted nothing more than a woman kissing the neck of a man, and yet, the tale had told itself. What followed were six versions of this same subject, with a woodcut titled “Vampyr II”, followed by paintings titled ‘Vampire’ and ‘Vampire in the Forest’, and then through common acceptance that this indeed was the ‘submission of a man to the bite of a vampire’, if you were to paraphrase a critic who had been in an astoundingly similar position as you, except without the decades upon decades of other material to refer to. They had been the firstcomers, the initial perceivers to set the tone for society’s consumption of the artwork, the louder of the many voices in the artwork who often had the final say. In some senses, they were your long lost colleagues - they were there to create history, and you were there to study it.

While it was not exactly a part of the movement you had decided to specialise in, you nonetheless would never reject the opportunity to learn more about the stunning world of visual arts, trying to guess how the artist had felt in the moment, what did they see beyond what they presented to the world, how did they translate the heart into brushstrokes. You were taken by all forms of art since you were little - having grown up surrounded by items that were far removed from what you called your air, you were intrigued by anything that was external to your version of ordinary. In your case, it just so happened to be the little private gallery that you had spent almost all of your monthly allowance to visit when you were a school kid - you had been so dedicated, in fact, that the elderly guard who had often also acted as a guide to the visitors had become your first friend in the art world, something of a grandparent figure, and on multiple occasions - when the lack of eyes would allow, simply let you through with a grin and glance out of the entrance doors.

And so here you were, many years later, many hard decisions and conversations behind you, regarding artworks with an unprecedented soulful closeness that you had initially thought was unattainable. Had you believed all those who remained outside of the walls of your personal paradise, you would have been immersed in the same cycle that had been drilled into the majority of your family members, except maybe a handful who you had never met for the exact reason that they had chosen something for themselves. But you regarded your dream as the thorned path - undoubtedly more challenging, not immediately fruitful, but in the long run leading to the heaven of your design. What more could you ask for?

It was enjoyable to be alone with the paintings surrounding you, portals to new realms that any visitor could have the pleasure of exploring. And what was even more inspiring, was that in the eye of every beholder was a different universe, and no matter who one would speak to, their version of the painting would be different, even if just slightly. You huffed, amused. When was the last time you had visited a gallery with anyone else? You could not quite recall - it was likely that you had never seeked company from another because you were more than satisfied with the company of the legendary works that were regarding you from the many walls. It was possible to compose oneself, spend limitless time on every piece, study the details, and drift into one’s own musings when there was no one to ground them. This was when you dared to say you got your best work done. Even though you, of course, conducted research within university and ventured out to galleries, museums, collectors or auctions only within professional bounds, the bulk of the thinking process was carried out in times such as this. When it was just you, your notebook and pen, and a new point of focus. However, this time, you could not say you were fully attentive to the painting that you had decided to focus on, as a certain someone was appearing to share your level of interest in ‘Love and Pain’ too. 

A gentleman who could not be much older or younger than you, at most a couple of years, stood off to the right of the bench, unmoving, gaze fixated on the painting. Dressed in a pinstripe navy suit, light blue dress shirt, lacquered dress shoes and a matching navy tie, he was nothing short of being a moving work of art. Hints of a glimmer from his thin framed, elegant silver spectacles gave the man a scholarly aura, while the slicked back dark hair - evidently a lot longer than the styling would suggest, added notes of business, entrepreneurship, perhaps leadership. Nothing was out of place, not a crease, not an exposed thread in sight. Needless to say, your curiosity had been sparked.

Much like you found joy in exploring creations in the realm of the visual arts, you were fond of crafting stories about the people who were strangers in passing. You could not help it; perhaps this affinity for creative internal ramblings had come as a package with studying the degree you had selected, or perhaps this was a naturally occurring guilty pleasure that you simply had not had the chance to entertain before you cut yourself off from expectations and predetermined patterns of thought. But now, you had the full pleasure of wondering, letting your mind travel to lands far away as you took the real life masterpiece in, and pondered why the man could be here, what he could be thinking as he studied Munch’s work, and what resonated with him, and only him. 

There was a melancholia with the weight of centuries resting upon his shoulders, that much you could decipher in the stranger’s stance. Even then, there was a gentle burning flame within his heart judging by just how dedicated he was to inspecting the artwork. Like he was seeing an old friend for the first time in years, and was attempting to memorise them anew and recognise each change, bit by bit. You suppressed a chuckle, entertaining the possibility of this man finding a kinship with the painting, but chose to set the idea aside for the time being, instead focusing on sketching his emotional landscape. Was the stranger remorseful? Lonely? Perplexed? You could not quite pinpoint the answer, at least not before you noticed the man’s head starting to turn, and soon enough, his eyes were peering into your own.

They were two pools of deep chocolate, an all-consuming shade that, due to the ever so slightly dimmer lights than in the general halls of the gallery, appeared to be approaching a captivating onyx. The gaze that originated from behind the glasses, and glided across the room that was suddenly too small for two struck you, and you could feel heat starting to rise on your face, blush threatening to reveal the effect of the man’s spontaneous act of confidence. Lowering your head, you gave the stranger a sheepish grin, and pretended to make a random note, pen erratically scribbling over a filled page. He continued to regard you with that same unwavering expression, and only when you looked up again did he seem to catch himself and give you a closed-mouth smile, equally as bashful as yours, and crossed his arms. One step, another, and he was right by the painting, though careful to not obstruct your view - instead, he took his time to read the brief paragraph on the information plaque that had been stuck to the wall off to the side of ‘Love and Pain’. With the same familiarity that is common among those grieving, or in a state of existential sorrow. A bittersweetness prevailed in his aura, one that reminded you of autumn - the falling leaves in red and gold, twirling to join a magnificent carpet, but nonetheless, making a departure, albeit a nearly unnoticeable one. Had he seen many fallen leaves? Was he himself approaching the season? You gasped, but even though the sound was barely audible, you caught the stranger making a minuscule turn in response. 

His footsteps were louder than your thoughts, his departure an irrevocably impactful act that left you breathless. You did not know him, and yet you felt as though you had gotten a glimpse at multiple lifetimes, and were part of a moment that was greater than yourself. In the wordless exchange, question after question had found its root, and something told you that you should not dare attempt to craft him a backstory, and choosing to believe in anything but what would be declared by him would be a gross misinterpretation, much like one that was carried out by those who did not wish to reflect on art and look beyond a first impression. For the first time since you had made your initial discovery of the arts, you felt like you were not alone in the gallery, the other visitor’s presence remained so intense that he could be sat right next to you, scrutinising the same painting, entertaining the same thought. Was the woman with the bright tresses indeed what she had been declared to be over the many years she had been introduced to many venues, many variations of public, and finally finding a home on this wall? Did she settle with her lover, or perhaps a carefully selected victim? Would the man have an answer?

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ . It was unlike you to retrace your steps a mere few days after a visit and return to the same gallery, amble down the same halls, and seek for a new source of investigative inspiration among the same selection. This obviously did not mean that you would never return, definitely not, that would be almost criminal of you to possess such intentions, but you tended to try to cleanse your palate with alternative movements, contemporary takes and avant garde interpretations between searches which were more directly related to your studies. And yet, for the first time in a while, nothing was stopping you from your return. It felt only natural, and so right. Moreover, you felt no unease when you headed straight towards the section that housed the impressionists. An individual with an unspoken, mysterious mission, you were on the hunt for the creative streak, something that would help you ponder the next section of your hefty dissertation, and you could sense that it had to be somewhere here. And, like always, you were right.

‘Bazille’s Studio’, one of the most famous works painted by the so-called ‘tragic artist’ of the impressionists, Frédéric Bazille in 1870. In fact, it had been a collaboration between him and Édouard Manet, another gifted artist, though more renowned as a figure leading modernism, and depicted a scene of discussion and creative collaboration in the studio that Bazille had shared for a certain period of time with other spectacular figures of the visual arts, Claude Monet, Pierre-Auguste Renoir, who could also be found in this painting. On the walls were works rejected by the Salon, which at the time had been the one of the most influential, famous art exhibitions in the Western World, administered by the Académie des Beaux-Arts in Paris. Interestingly, above the piano on the right hung a painting which Bazille had purchased from Monet, potentially hinting at the material ties between them, and the importance the young artist had because of his familial wealth. In a sense, Bazille expressed his support, as well as showed an intimate, platonic scene of the art world where there was a moment of calm, of mutual appreciation, despite the financial troubles and tensions due to character that had been experienced in those walls.

You stepped closer to the painting, trying to detect the transition from Bazille’s to Manet’s hand, the latter of whom painted in the former to take ‘centre stage’, palette in hand. Truly seamless work, though what else could it be? This painting had been a new addition to the permanent collection, and after strenuous, detailed restoration work to give the oil paints their original vibrancy and for impeccable strokes to forget the burden of time, you had the pleasure of seeing it in person. You were an arm’s length away from yet another work essential to history, culture and the arts as a societal colossus.

While it was easy enough to appreciate the technical detail, you found yourself halting to remember the names of all those depicted in the painting, failing to finalise the list in your head. Starting from Bazille, you had determined for yourself the presence of Monet and Manet in his vicinity quickly enough, however where Renoir was, or what were the names of the two other gentlemen in the scene, slipped your mind. You rocked to the side to lean closer to the plaque that was meant to provide you with the information, however you only found the name of the painting, the artist and the medium, much to your misfortune. Clicking your tongue, you returned to studying the faces of each individual, and furrowed your brows in agitated concentration. It was simple to take out your phone and search for the answer, though you knew that just as neutral that action would be, so would be your reaction unless you were to remember, or somebody were to-

A presence to your side caught you off-guard, and you felt a shiver run up your spine. One glance was enough to determine that it was the same man from yesterday, only the outfit revealing a change. Other than that, he had the same impeccable posture and stance, as well as a thoughtful look towards the painting in front of you both. His arms were crossed, though not in a defensive manner; instead they offered an interpretation of philosophy, as though this man was carrying centuries of wisdom with him, history having pummelled down on him and yet needing to support it like Atlas; the titan carrying the world.

Today, he was dressed in a mahogany coloured suit, with a white top underneath and some black boots with thick white rubber soles - quite the transition from last time, when he had been a manifestation of a sleek and pristine office gentleman. Hair, now let down and wavy, neatly framed his face, accentuating the regalness of his features. It was astounding how you were still sure that it would be more likely to find a man of this fashion in a painting, rather than standing beside you. You kept quiet, not wanting to interfere with his musings. Perhaps it was just a silly coincidence that the two of you were at the same place and at the same time again - how else? You did not know him, and you hoped that he did not know you. Though, you truly did not mind his company, and maybe it could serve as your motivation to figure out the rest of the characters in the painting. Once again, your attention returned to the task at hand, but before you could even begin to list off prominent figures of the art world during the era of Impressionism, a deep, honey-like whisper halted you and made you hold your breath. 

“Auguste Renoir is the one seated, Emile Zola, the writer, is on the stairs, Monet, Manet and Bazille are, as you likely know in the centre, and that,” he paused to raise his hand, gesturing in the general direction of the far right of the piece, “is Edmond Maitre. Pianist, art collector, and Bazille’s closest friend.”

“I- uh- thank you. How did you know I was trying to recall? Pardon me, I must look so clueless-” you trailed off, eyes finding the floor, an action which seemed to be your automatic response to being under inspection of the man, though this time, he captured your gaze quickly by stepping closer towards you. Looking up, you found concern and apology in his eyes.

“No! Not at all, I… sorry if I misunderstood and I am sorry for forcing you into such erroneous conclusions,” he gave you an ever so slightly crooked smile, charming, very disarming and so suiting this beautiful stranger, that you were instantly prompted by your instincts to return it, dismissing doubt. 

“You saved me,” you joked, though the phrase contained within itself an unlikely compassion. Two people, alone in the same gallery, sharing a precious dialogue was something to cherish, and with all your might you wanted to make it last.

“Just as you made me regard the painting in a new light, for which I thank you, greatly,” he bowed his head, the smile not leaving his face for a moment. There was a recognition in his gaze, as well as an inexplicable admiration. What did he discover?

“I guess it might be true that no matter how many times you see a painting, every viewing brings something new,”

“Well said. Are you an artist? A critic, perhaps?” He inquired, moving closer to stand level with you, head turned slightly in your direction to spare the occasional glance. You shook your head slowly, wondering if in a retelling of your destiny you could have pursued either of the careers he had mentioned.

“I am in the arts, though rather than looking at the present I remain in the past. Art historian, well, a postgraduate. Nothing too fancy.”

“Oh? But that is marvellous, and what are you focusing on?”

“I like to call it the painting in plenair during the turn of the century. I focus mainly on impressionism, though do sometimes stray into its interplay with post-impressionism, modernism and expressionism.”

“Ah, no wonder I have been seeing you here often. Enjoying the new collection?” he asked, eager to hear your opinion. There was excitement in his voice as though you were a renowned expert and were about to bestow upon him a priceless evaluation. And this was without considering the technicality of you having only half-met. Just crossing paths twice in one week.

"Yes, of course… The collection is unlike any other I have seen. I keep wanting to return and stay here for ages." You explained, glancing at the stranger while he nodded along.

"Incredibly happy to hear it. I swear I have seen you around quite often during the past month that the exhibition has been open? Am I correct?" evidently, your rapid blinking was interpreted rather quickly as perplexion, for the man gasped ever so lightly, as if to catch his own speeding thoughts.

“I- how do you know? I do believe this is our… second time meeting?” you uttered, one eyebrow raised in suspicion, which, to your disbelief, revealed something akin to fear in the beautiful stranger’s features. Nervously, he adjusted a strand of hair that was threatening to cover his right eye.

“Not quite… you were present at the opening event, right?” he quizzed.

“Indeed, my depar- wait. But how? Respectfully, I am starting to think you know me.” you enunciated with newfound caution, while the man pursed his lips. One second, another passed in near total silence, until a chuckle escaped him and he shook his head. It appeared as though he was mentally scolding himself - his eyes held no malice, instead glinting with hope, that melancholic wisdom, and something unidentifiable, ethereal, supernatural.

“I think it is high time I introduce myself before this gets out of hand. See, in some sense I work here, and most of my days are spent in the gallery or labouring for it-”

“Ah, I see-”

“Park Seonghwa, a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” with one arm folded behind his back and the other on his chest, he bowed to you like how you imagined princes in the numerous portraits you had studied would bow. And the most enthralling part was how the gesture flowed, and was so befitting. Quickly, you bowed in return, but while raising your head, you froze. It hit you why he would know. And know a lot. And would remember you, and likely anyone and everyone who visited. In a low whisper, you asked:

“Am I… correct in assuming that you are ‘the’ Park Seonghwa?” quickly enough, you realised that it was a mistake to find his eyes again - clearly, you were not ready for the intensity, nor for the intrigue that was contained within them, nor for the fact that he moved another step closer to you, the rubber of his boots dampening any sound produced.

“I never knew that there was a ‘the’ attached to my name. I simply love art.”

“Well that love translated into the creation of what is possibly the greatest gallery in the nation, if not worldwide,”

“Oh you flatter me too much, ah, your name-”

“L/N Y/N, and I, too, love art.”

“Elated to hear it,” he gleamed, and you swore the room exploded with the illumination of a thousand stars.

Stunning, awe-inspiring, ever so elegant. He was a walking dream. In that smile was concealed a certain something that had been taboo, a well-kept secret until a couple of decades ago, when those like Seonghwa had started to be fully integrated into society, and no longer had to hide, changing identity from one century to another. With that came Seonghwa’s success - you had read in an article that advertised the permanent exhibition a short blurb of his story, and how for many turbulent decades, the man single-handedly collected masterpieces, crafted a meticulous network and introduced genius artists to the world, and the world to the artists. The gallery was a magnum opus for Seonghwa - a presentation of what he had achieved as a collector, as a patron of the arts, and a celebration of his personal culture. 

You could not help but hone in on the fangs, and recall the original reason why it was even possible for Seonghwa to obtain such legendary works and have as much influence as he presently did. It was not spontaneous; submerged in turmoil, he had personally approached artists who, previously abandoned by critics and other prospective buyers, had never considered a future beyond a mysterious tomorrow. Hiding his own true nature, he crafted the tale of a ‘Park’ dynasty, and rose again and again to continue his work. Perhaps, now, some might argue that once he had revealed himself as a vampire the velocity of Seonghwa’s developments had fallen, but you would passionately argue the opposite. It was challenging to believe that any move by this stunning artistic mastermind was not strategic - the announcement had given the gallery more partnerships, more donations, and in turn, an even greater prominence in the community both among professionals and enjoyers. 

“Thank you,” the phrase spilled from your lips inadvertently. It seemed to be the only thing that was reasonable to say in that given moment. You pondered the pains that must have been suffered to make the world that you were consumed by come together, and the painting in front of you, aside from what was contained within the frame,now shined in a new light externally too, possessing its own story, resembling a search for a kindred spirit, a true home. 

Seonghwa remained quiet, the words of gratitude echoing in his heart. It was endearing, encouraging to hear such warmth from you. So, you did know him, at least the parts he had shown to the public - as was expected from someone so deeply ingrained in visual arts and history, but he could not help but identify it as something much greater than mere awareness. The openness with which you had welcomed conversation with him, the kind charm that radiated from you as you engaged in the careful verbal waltz reminded the vampire of times long, long ago when all that existed for him was drive, enamourment and art. Oh, how your eyes glimmered. His heart clenched into near unbearable agony as he read your expressions, and wondered how much you have seen, what have you yet to see, who you were in this temporary life. If only he could ask fate to tell him how much you remembered of who you had been before. 

“No, thank you, for giving this,” he gestured to the gallery around him, graceful hand unfurling as though revealing a delicate flower, “meaning, and reason to exist.”

“I highly doubt I am of much significance, Mister Park,” you responded, a soft smile on your face.

“Would anything hold the same meaning if there was no one to behold it?” he responded. You chose not to answer, catching onto the rhetoricism, “and please, call me Seonghwa. I’d like to say we are to be good friends.”

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ .

Sitting across from Seonghwa in the cafe that was located on the top floor, above the main halls of the gallery made you feel strangely serene. Today he had foregone the straighter hair styles that you had begun to get used to, surprising you with a head of tousled, almost curled locks that embodied the world’s softness, though remained to be quite the contrast to the more formal and highly fashionable attire that adorned his stature. A suit, tastefully oversized with a buttoned double breasted jacket that was simultaneously serving as a shirt, the plunging v-shaped neckline revealing perfectly smooth skin, and what you noted to be a solitary freckle right in the centre of his collarbone. The trousers, at least from the glimpse that you had allowed yourself when you had met at the entrance to the cafe were of a loose fit, defining his waist at the top and falling to form an almost skirt-like silhouette should he stand how he usually stood: the echoes of what would be called the ‘third position’ in ballet, more relaxed, but still retaining an elegance that only he could carry. The biggest shock to you, however, was Seonghwa’s choice of shoes - a refreshing point to the visual, he had selected to contrast the formalwear with a pair of limited edition, geometrically intriguing Converses. You could catch a glimpse of one of them from over the edge of the table whenever his slightly shaking leg, positioned over the other, would rock forwards just that tiny bit stronger. 

While the setting was meant to be casual, the circumstances in which you found yourself were nothing short of miraculous. Never in a million years would you have imagined for it to be possible to be sat across the table from, quite possibly, one of the most legendary contributors to art restoration, collection and exhibition. On top of that, Seonghwa was a figure who actively bridged the gap between disparate communities, finding a common language, and using the arts as a salvation. You were in awe, and could not hold back on regarding the handsome vampire as he quietly reported your and his orders to the waiter who had floated to your table.

“Are you sure you do not want anything else?”

“Yes, I am sure. I do not wish to exploit your kindness-”

“-Not at all. I hope you do not mind that I… must make a rather unconventional order,” he smiled sheepishly, clearing his throat so as to attempt to hide his doubts, though you were uncertain as to how much of such emotions could possibly be left after what had to have been centuries. 

“An unconventional order is pouring a sugary energy drink into a triple shot espresso and calling it dinner,” you answered, eyes travelling from Seonghwa’s face to the mural on the wall a few tables away that wrapped behind him and to your left, disrupted only by the occasional floor length window that provided city vistas - rather gloomy, compared to the optimistic illumination of the restaurant. Perhaps out of pity, or out of genuine entertainment, Seonghwa chuckled.

“That does sound like an acquired taste, indeed. Thank you,”

“No need. Thank you for inviting me,” you turned back, nodding a polite bow as he softly waved your gesture off.

A silence settled across the table as you waited for your respective drinks. Your hand, had you not consciously restrained yourself, would have probably reached for the phone that you stored in your purse, but now was fiddling with the sleeve of your shirt, finding the buttons to stress test the threads that had them sewn tight to the fabric. You were not bored, in fact, far from it. You needed a barrier. The grandeur of this man’s presence was almost overwhelming. He was not a mere individual in a room, he consumed it. Had you just walked in, you were certain that your gaze would still settle on his form. Just like the concrete outside was grey, and the pause retained a divine ambiguity, Seonghwa was unforgettable. In an attempt to calm your clouded thoughts, you studied the mural once more.

“May I inquire into your thoughts on the decor?”

“The choice of ‘A Sunday on La Grande Jatte’ is wise. I am guessing you were the one to make the decision?” you heard an exhale, and once more your attention was captured.

“Alas, I cannot take full accolades for this. This stemmed from a discussion that a good friend of mine and I had one late night. Seurat just so happened to make an appearance amidst the chatter, and so… this was born,” he gestured at the surroundings. Clearly, the interior was picked carefully to fit the theme of the legendary painting. 

From the colours to the textures and the greenery that had been intricately set up across the restaurant, every detail had a meaning and a place, and did not take away from the spaciousness of the hall. It was breathable, while still giving the illusion that you were stepping into a whimsical impressionist paradise. Perhaps that was another reason why you could not quite contain your disbelief firstly in your encounter, secondly in its progression, and thirdly in your interlocutor’s warmth. 

“Spectacular, truly. I have heard you have an eye for detail, however this surpasses all expectations.”

“Oh? There is more you have heard?” he interjected, leaning closer to you and placing an elbow on the table, simply to rest his head on his hand. While this could potentially be seen as slightly unceremonious, it hinted at well-kept confidence, ownership, control. A healthy undercurrent of motivation that came with indirect praise.

“I-oh y-yeah of course,” you did not mean to stutter, but some part of you was grateful you did, for the smirk that had threatened to burst on Seonghwa’s lips was enough for you to feel ignited to elaborate, “if my memory is not failing me, you were the one to distinguish a reproduction of a piece some time ago, no?”

“Ah- yes. That was a Degas reproduction. I must say, the attempt was sincere, however when I saw the-, hm, you will not be startled, will you?”

“Please,” you urged him to continue, intrigued by the story. 

“When I saw the original, as it was being made and when it had been finalised, it would be shameful of me to not spot a fake,” he fell back into his chair, just in time for the drinks to be served. 

A coffee for you, and a non-descript beverage concealed by a semi-opaque, tall glass for him. Though, you did not need to be a detective to guess what it was that Seonghwa was bringing to his lips, and what he took a tentative sip of. The only mystery that was remaining for you was what ‘type’ he had picked - was it O+? B-? Whatever else? You joined him in the tasting, lifting the mug and indulging in the wonderful aroma of your americano. It did not strike you as necessary to opt for something fancier and lie to yourself - so you settled for your regular order, much to your joy. Familiar taste and the reliability of the caffeine hitting your system painted the scene in more comforting colours, and gradually, you found yourself easing into the dialogue more and more, until life stories, musings and a surprisingly large common ground came pouring. 

You discovered that Seonghwa possessed a unique sensitivity and attunement to those around him. Focused on the emotional experiences, he felt through time and could recount emotions like the memory was from a mere few days, rather than decades ago. He was well-spoken, eloquent, intelligent, polite in every right as he navigated through the linguistic landscape and guided you like a partner in a dance. You were spiralling oh so quickly, intrigue catching up to you and prompting you to sacrifice all of your senses to the man and the pleasantly intoxicating atmosphere he captured you in. He was enchanting, and it was far too easy to give in. 

“May I reveal something?” in a hushed tone, he inquired, a finger absent-mindedly tracing the rim of his glass. 

“Oh, a little secret?” you raised your eyebrows in jest, lightening the initial seriousness with which Seonghwa uttered the question.

“Perhaps, perhaps not. Depends on how you take it. A confession might be more accurate,” he waited for you to take the final sip of your coffee before continuing, unphased by your unwavering focus, “if I were to be honest, I have been meaning to approach you.”

“Pardon?”

“As you know we have a… common awareness of each other thanks to what is housed under this roof, but ever since we first unknowingly crossed paths… I wanted to speak to you.”

Confused, you did not speak, though the words contained an unparalleled affection within them. What could he possibly mean? You chose to refrain from commenting, your hesitation prompting the vampire to continue.

“Do you remember the most recent opening night? Of the exhibition? I believe you were with someone…” he trailed off, hoping you would continue for him.

“Ah, yes, a friend of mine from university. So?”

“This might sound strange but, I distinctly remember you mentioning a name. An artist from the same era, dubbed as L/N Y/N?”

“Goodness, you overheard that? I am so sorry, it is just that said artist has intrigued me for some time, and I was half-hoping to encounter their work. Maybe it is because our names are the same but still….”

“Elusive, aren’t they?”

“To put it softly, yes. I only vaguely recall seeing… maybe one piece in my lifetime, when I was little, and then… nothing. And there is barely any information on the artist online, let alone libraries and archives.”

“Hm, indeed. I guess that makes two of us…”

“Two of us who are searching?”

“That’s right. It brought me happiness to know that I am not alone in this endeavour.”

“Then we can keep searching together.”

While you were positive that you could not conceal your interest, Seonghwa’s did not go unnoticed either. It was of course possible that he was simply well-versed in political correctness, but the burning depth of his pupils told you otherwise. Enthrallment, the discovery of a kindred spirit, recognition, the rekindling of a bond that had existed at some point long ago - all fantasies that played out in your mind as you returned that look with subtle fervour. You wondered how many people he graced with those charms. How many had succumbed to his influence, becoming a marker on his infinite life path, a fleeting second? How many had his lips known, how many had turned into a decadent treat for a genius man with natural peculiarities? While the researcher part of you was perplexed and aching for answers, the you that was caught in the moment simply let it go on, and the feeling of Seonghwa’s leg brushing against yours, and the pride blooming in your chest as he praised the few articles and papers you had published upon having claimed that he ‘knew some things about you too’ preoccupied you in the most magnificent way.

Naturally, you agreed to meet Seonghwa again. On your journey home, in the privacy of the anonymous metro, immersed in the cacophony of deafening rails and the millions travelling to anywhere, you pressed your phone to your racing heart as the vampire, the man, the beguiling Park Seonghwa sent you a message confirming so. Who knew a simple selection of words could be so captivating?

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ .

Under the comforting thrum of raindrops on the large umbrella, you walked down the streets of the grey-coloured city, your hand lightly holding onto Seonghwa’s arm while he ensured that both of you were protected from the elements. Despite the dull light and bitterness of the cooling season, Seonghwa appeared radiant, truly timeless with every gesture and stride. The elegant angles of his face that you could tirelessly study stood out against the monotone buildings and overcast skies. His voice drowned out the sound of droplets racing one another to the ground. A miraculous gentleman who appeared in your life much like a portrait, or a landscape - a masterpiece you wanted to explore in every spare moment, and better yet, this masterpiece was equally as open to you as you were to him. 

“...essentially, yes. It is like another nationality. A marker of species isn’t too far isn’t it? Just another line on a stack of documents. Nothing more,” Seonghwa concluded his explanation, pursing his lips for a moment before letting an exhale turned dragon’s breath escape into the afternoon.

“Makes sense. So would that mean there are separate medical papers and treatment too?”

“Well… when regeneration fails us or when a given case is severe enough… yes. Though it is handled by private clinics run by other vampires.”

“There are private clinics?”

“Of course. Often they are connected to donation points too, and that is how we remain on the right side of the law and stay alive,” he nodded to himself, giving you a bittersweet smile when he noticed confusion overtake your gaze. “Blood,” he stated as-a-matter-of-factly, “I mean blood.”

In a nervous stupor, you cleared your throat and focused on a droplet that was hanging onto the edge of the umbrella, right in front of you, all the way until the gentle motion of Seonghwa’s amble provoked its abrupt descent onto the stone under your feet. 

“Ah, yes, I see-”

“If you find this disturbing, we can forget the conversation ever-”

“-I want to know you better, Seonghwa, truly-”

“Careful-”

“Sorry wha-” 

With an extraordinary swiftness, you were tugged abruptly by the arm. Not registering your surroundings, you merely went with the inertia, caught off-guard by the proximity of your face to the vampire’s as he held you against him with the arm that you had previously been resting your own on. A hand that you raised on instinct went limp and landed on Seonghwa’s chest, feeling the thick felted wool of his coat. The ringing of a bell, going farther away from you by the second, incessant but at least waking you up from the blur, was enough for you to put two and two together - a cyclist who thought they owned every part of the street, like always. You sighed.

“Reckless… my apologies I did not mean to-” Seonghwa tried to detangle himself, refusing to remain in your personal space for longer than necessary no matter how much he did want to, but his efforts were reduced to nothing when your hand moved to a hold on his upper arm - reassuring, comfortable, accepting.

“Thank you,” you interrupted, “that bike would have definitely run into me…”

“It’s nothing,” a low chuckle echoed in your ears as Seonghwa peered into your pupils, confidence that had previously wavered out of habitual caution now restored, growing into a pride as you continued to hold onto him, “the man was slow enough for there to be no risk of harm. I hope you are not too startled though.”

“Oh? You have super powers too? Do elaborate,” you jested, resuming your walk.

“I would call it more like… being a finely tuned machine. Can’t say I have bad reaction speed. Though I must say, it was a little challenging pulling you out of the way,” there was an evident intent behind the words. However, you were too curious to pay it any mind, instead preferring to find out their meaning live.

“How so?”

“I think this,” dropping his arm, Seonghwa’s hand reached for yours, and without a moment of hesitation, his fingers were intertwining with yours, his palm pressed against yours, “would be better. You know, for safety.” As if you could ever reject him. This was a fact you had established for yourself with an unprecedented certainty. His gallant disposition, attentiveness all confirmed a care for you that was impossible to ignore. 

There was something picturesque about the present after meeting this wonderful, infinite pool of art and humanity. You found yourself leafing through articles, art books and biographies with a more wistful and sentimental perspective, imagining what it would be like if it were you who was immortalised in the thousands of brushstrokes, or if you were on the other side of the canvas, how would you go about depicting the scenes unfolding before your very eyes. Timelessness - a quality shared between the art you so adored, and the man you had encountered and over the weeks, let your intrigue be transformed into a shy flame of infatuation. Perhaps it was the underlying reason why you did not reject his advances, nor cower in fear of his true nature with which he was upfront. The other, of course, was the search for the mysterious artist, an adventure that fuelled many of your dialogues, and prompted you to spend more time in the library and the archives of your university than you had ever done before - to the point where Seonghwa himself had encouraged you to take a break from your intellectual expeditions and step into the world as a casual observer. So, you let yourself drift; it finally hit you, what scenes your once again tranquil stroll reminded you of, and you smiled to yourself as you recalled the intricacies of the not quite commonly discussed representation of the Impressionist movement. 

‘Rue de Paris, temps de pluie’, painted by Gustave Caillebotte; his most famous work. Not quite as widely discussed, despite still technically being created in the Impressionist era, perhaps due to the meandering through form, realism and reliance on stronger lines rather than broad brushstrokes and the study of light. You did find it fascinating how Caillebotte’s passion for photography had seeped into this piece, however. Much like how, in recent days, you could easily find a way to mention Seonghwa in conversation, be it related to the arts or not. From the subjects in the foreground being slightly out of focus while the middle ground was crystal clear, to how the shapes of some passersby were cropped were all characteristic of photos, rather than paintings, making this particular work all the more dear to you. It was a reflection of life, of behaviour and of what had been daily back in the late nineteenth century.

Was it any different from now, aside from those grand, global topics that historians dedicated their lives to studying? If one were to whittle down to the intricacies, the miniatures that ornamented the span of a human existence, was it so terribly far away from what you were born into, and Seonghwa saw develop and had adopted? How people shielded themselves from the rain with umbrellas, and then used them as a tool to isolate themselves from other urbanites who were in a rush to take a day-long route out of their homes… and back again. The latest silhouettes of dress and accessory; the same rush to be with the times as now.

You felt your companion’s arm move, prompting you to let go and leave your hand hovering as though you were awaiting some kind of change. You bit back an unprecedented sliver of disappointment, only to be caught by surprise once again as you felt the hand settle on the small of your back. Cautious, like you were going to melt from any more pressure than the brush of a feather. A quick glance was enough to determine that you were being studied intently for any sign of discomfort - Seonghwa was ready to pull away at any moment, any sigh, and most definitely at any word. A meek smile settled on your lips, and you shyly used an oncoming stranger as an opportunity to affirm the gesture, stepping towards the vampire, and sensing the confidence of his protective measure be solidified. With glee he followed your every tilt and turn, angling away from the passing form that neither of you could focus on. The touch was electric, somehow monumental despite being so common and barely present. Your mind was on fire, pondering what it would be like to put your head on the elegant man’s shoulder, and let yourself be carried away into a terrific fairy tale.

“This really is a rainy day,”

“Seems quite sunny to me,” you respond with sarcasm, realising only after the fact that your phrase still did retain an element of truth within it. 

Sunshine did not have to be literal. It was easy to see, you just needed to return Seonghwa’s gaze, and watch as another spring flower blossomed in the soul of one you had initially assumed to be so cold, so distant. In the darkest winter was a safe haven that you could not help but lean into, and regardless of what you had initially thought, with him, you felt more human, more safe and alive than ever. He listened without fail to your ramblings, and could easily pick up the ball and balance it with his own musings that you could listen to for many lifetimes.

Lifetimes; immortality, the one concept you couldn’t quite wrap your head around. Well, the latter was technically not true, as Seonghwa had elaborated some few days ago: vampires did age, albeit at such a slow pace that to the run of the mill human being, it was impossible to notice, and if they did, it would be someone very close, and only over a matter of decades. Maybe it was this exact inability that made you want to stay and learn all there could be about the gallerist - you thought that would make you feel like you have been living forever. His wisdom was beautiful. The kindness with which he treated you, akin to that of how a spouse treats their long-time sweetheart with a mellow and comfortable affection, was not something you asked for nor expected, but something which he introduced himself with through every action, progressively more amiable when you allowed him to advance.

“Mm, no wonder I can’t quite look at you,” he mused out loud, dramatically looking off into the distance. You raised an eyebrow, curious about what was going to come after his theatrical pause, “your brightness is unparalleled,” Seonghwa chuckled, satisfied with your sigh and the way in which you pretended to be annoyed, only to dissolve in a mute giggle. “So, I do suggest we get out of the rain for a moment and stop by that book shop over there, shall we?”

Following his hand, you spotted an antique bookshop a few doors down, marked by an iron sign and ornate shop window decorations that glistened with each hit of the dancing droplets. A warm golden light emanated from the inside, the hue comparable to a summer’s day. An odd feeling of deja vu washed over you, as though you had been in this store before, even though this was quite the distance away from your home, not on any of your usual commutes and in a part of town you barely visited aside from the occasional brisk walk. It had been established over a century ago, sporting a historical plaque and detailing original to the era the date on the sign suggested. Suppressing your internal monologue, you simply nodded, fond of Seonghwa’s excitement as he pushed lightly against your back and walked on ahead. If you were any more of a romantic, you would have assumed that the shop was a representation of his heart, but you couldn’t allow yourself to think that way, at least not when you felt heat rise to your cheeks as he whispered your name, openly planning what you could look for amidst the rare editions together. You and him turned into a ‘we’ so naturally, you barely had time to blink. A new brushstroke on a canvas, brave, bold and bright. Impressionist.

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ .

The hypnotising improvisation on a semi-acoustic guitar, followed by a launch back into the theme of a well-known jazz song had you tapping on the counter, unknowingly following every drum beat. The bar turned cosy music venue that Seonghwa had invited you out to was proving to be every bit a wonder of the world, and paradise inside of the otherwise gloomy city which had been plagued with miserable weather and lack of daylight for atrociously long. The classy establishment was a well known favourite among the vampires residing in the city, especially those aligned with a more bohemian and art-focused lifestyle. Critics, painters, collectors, musicians, poets alike all gathered to share ideas and energy, and reminisce days long gone, while the band - one that had not changed since the bar’s establishment, revived legendary pieces one after another. 

With ease, Seonghwa had ordered your favourite drink, having memorised it after your many outings that had smoothly transitioned into dates and shared nights. He remembered every detail about you, holding each one tenderness. Your lover gazed at you as he ended a conversation with a fellow collector who had recently come to town for a few days, stretching out his hand until it just touched yours, guiding it to lie flat on the counter. Seonghwa’s palm, still retaining a pleasant coolness despite him having had a couple of drinks of his own, was another reassurance that in the buzz of the venue, you still had your person by your side. Feeling his digits tap and then proceed to brush the back of your hand, you hummed in contentment, and let your eyes travel over the beautiful vampire, who leaned back, tempting you just for fun, knowing full well that you were wholly his, and even when you turned to look elsewhere, it was his face you saw in the crowd, it was his voice that rang in your ears, it was his touch that ghosted over your skin. 

The bustier from Alexander McQueen, the gorgeous flowy shirt with ruffles and cuts so tastefully sewn and executed, the statement necklace that was worthy of being displayed at a gallery and must be the envy of many, the high heeled boots that were concealed by elegant trousers - Seonghwa was your favourite work of art, and you could never deny it. Each one of his gestures was worthy of marvel, and the care with which he approached everything - even the tending to the items which he painstakingly selected and matched for tonight made your heart skip a beat. It was boggling how each garment and accessory was either an original, or a one of a kind piece. But at the same time, you did not expect anything less of Seonghwa.

He must be impossible to depict in paintings, you concluded, shamelessly staring at your lover’s face, from the shape of his nose, to the plushness of his lips, to the waviness of his night-like inky locks. You bet many had tried, but judging by the lacking evidence in the art world, they must have failed, miserably, to create something more immortal and invincible than the model and muse. You understood them, and Seonghwa gave no signs of being perturbed. 

“So, was that the intent behind our spontaneous trip to this bar tonight?” you gestured at your surroundings, taking another sip from your ornate glass. A sharp exhale accompanied a contrasting soft answer:

“Not at all,I had the business sorted a couple of days ago, and tonight was a lucky crossing of paths to secure the deal,” cryptic as ever, Seonghwa only alluded to the matter at hand.

The matter, or how he had referred to it as ‘business’ was a particular artwork that he had been hunting, by the elusive artist you had been investigating, first in your lonesome, and then joining forces with Seonghwa. Apparently, one of the pieces, by some stroke of unimaginable luck, had been kept safe in the private collection of a ‘Mister Kim’, at least that was how he had been initially introduced to you. Until you put two and two together, and when the very well dressed and styled character had entered the bar and made a beeline towards your partner in artistic musings and romance, recognised the man as a world-famous designer and fashion icon, Kim Hongjoong. And of course, another vampire and kind soul in one. 

Their conversation had happened outside of your earshot; whether it was on purpose or just so happened to unfold that way was for your ruminations to determine, but you did overhear enough to figure out that this was a portrait, a never seen work, and was completed by the artist who as it had turned out had been closer with Seonghwa than you had initially thought. 

“Seems to be very important, and not just in a ‘collector’ sense…” you trailed off, watching as the ice in your drink cracked, “is this why you were interested, you know, back then?”

“If I were to be honest, darling, I was, and still am, a lot more interested in you. The artist was something of an excuse to get a conversation going. And I do hope,” Seonghwa turned and sauntered towards you, “this conversation does not end.” 

Even though you were sitting on one of the bar stools, the heels and stance still left him some room to look downwards, and his sultry expression, orbs glinting at you through dark lashes left you transfixed. In moments such as this, you hated to be mortal. There were so many things that you could not possibly know, and no matter how hard you would try to comprehend the vastness of the angelic man’s mind, you would always remain theoretical, and accept the grand majority of intricacies as axiom.

“I hope so too,” your voice barely rose above a whisper as his gloved hand landed on your neck, gliding upwards to caress your jawline.

“I’m so glad I found you,” his thoughts were elsewhere, you were sure of it, and yet, his gaze remained unwavering, “my eternal love”. Lips stained with bittersweet worship, the words stumbled from them to strike you repeatedly in the heart, forcing it to lose its rhythm. He was regarding you like he had stumbled upon a priceless treasure, a divinity, a paradise. Something far from you and from this planet, but by Seonghwa’s careful selection, etched in your features.

Were you the embodiment of something greater for him? You would not consider yourself to be a model example of a human being, neither were you a pretty statue to display in an exhibition. You were you, but Seonghwa kept on convincing you that it was exactly this that had captivated him and showed him a new beginning. Did you wish to believe that? Of course. But a vampire who was hundreds of years old could keep a grand variety of secrets beyond your understanding, even if he were to exclaim them right in front of you and sketch them out. His eternal love - your version of eternity, or his? A life the duration of a butterfly’s abstract dance to the heavens.

“Love?” he called out to you, eyebrows knitted in concern due to your prolonged silence. You had set your drink down, and were staring at the shine of the glossy chrome silver and pearl on Seonghwa’s necklace. “Talk to me, say anything.”

“I- hm. I think I am just tired. Yeah, that must be it. Tired so I am overthinking, no worries. I’ll just be right here and-”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” you tilted your head, noting how Seonghwa immediately straightened out, and instead of attempting to tower over you stepped over to the side to set a protective hand over yours.

“This is a majority vampire bar, full of unfamiliar individuals, this whole deal with the artwork is up in the air and-”

“First of all, I don’t care. Second, you are here with me. And third, I want to trust in the fact that you would not do anything foolish nor harmful. Am I right in my evaluation?” you uttered, still not quite able to look into Seonghwa’s infinite pools of brilliant sienna and dark brown.

“I- I am honoured, but that still does not detract from the fact that we can go get some air and come back. Shall we?”

“You don’t have to-”

“I want to. Hell, need to. Let us have a quick wander?”

“...I’d like that.”

In no time, the winter air hit your cheeks and you were wrapping yourself as tightly as you could in your oversized coat. In your ears the pleasant sound of the vampire’s heels rang out, echoed by the stunning road onto which you were spat out by the heavy black front door of the bar. Warm-toned streetlights liberally decorated the sidewalks and painted the night in honey, gold and copper accents. Reflections of an artificial summer in the puddles and winter chill. Downright magical. Seonghwa seeked out your hand, holding it tight and guiding it into the pocket of his own coat, smirking when you raised an eyebrow. 

“What?”

“Nothing at all.”

You were certain that you were walking through a landscape painting, every element captured by your vision falling into its rightful place, harmonising with the rest. The mumbling and music was long gone, only to be replaced by conversation of other late city explorers and the occasional rumbling of a car lazily rolling past. 

“Pissarro.”

“Hm?” Seonghwa kept looking ahead, but squeezed your hand to ask for you to continue.

“Boulevard Montmartre at Night. Painted in 1897, no?” you pointed at the surroundings with a tilt of the chin.

“Ah, indeed! Your perceptiveness never ceases to amaze me.”

“Well, thanks to you I got to see the original, so how could I not make the visual analogy?” you nudged his shoulder, earning a chuckle.

The painting was the only example of a landscape at night from the artist Camille Pissarro, making it all the more special despite it being part of a series of 14 views of the same location. Snow, rain, fog, morning, varying seasons, but only one glimmering night. It was one of the works that Seonghwa had managed to provide for your studies, resulting in a more than impressive academic outcome. Like Pissarro kept on painting the vista, your lover kept on giving, never asking for anything more than for you to share your hours with him, something you did not need to be prompted to do anyways.

“...I’m sorry I cannot reveal more than I do, at least not just yet,” he apologised, as though what he was committing was the greatest crime known to humanity and the supernatural.

As you looked up at the starry night sky, you swore you had heard these words before, uttered by the same voice, the same fingers interlocked with yours. A stabbing sensation in your cranium made you gasp, but you regained your composure quickly enough to not make it a priority for either of you. At the same time, Seonghwa’s expression altered to a semblance of… hope? Longing? You could not pinpoint it, but one of the many glowing dots above you clearly landed in his shining orbs, and he eagerly waited.

Waited for longer than you could realise in your present state.

On their own accord, your lips moved, forcing out a subconscious acknowledgement, previously suppressed. You swore the phrase belonged to another being, but it was as refreshing as the breeze tousling Seonghwa’s locks.

“I know. I can wait too.”

“Soon, my love.”

“I-I know.”

“I miss you.”

“I-” vision growing hazy, you reached to the vampire for support, which he readily provided, “I- too.”

One blink - oil paints decorated your hands, and those alluring eyes were staring back at you from a canvas. Another blink - Seonghwa was repeating your name, pressing his cheek against yours as he shielded you from falling into darkness with his strong arms.

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ .

Your office was inviting and offered a secure haven: a collection of neutral and wooden tones, with dashes of greenery to relax the eyes. From a potted ivy plant settled on the top of a large wall-length shelving unit to an indoor palm tree enjoying the rays in its designated corner, the room was a miniature paradise. You ran your hands over the thick birch desk, cautiously avoiding the stack of documents you had arranged for yourself to go through this day. Artwork restoration reports, contracts, exhibition plans for years to come… everything you thought you would never see, and yet it was right here in your palms.

Time moved slower, or at least that was how you began to perceive it now that it was in abundance. A fountain that did not cease to bestow gifts upon you - again, something you would have never imagined prior to the curious series of events that were your previous life unfolding the way they did. One fateful meeting, and you were a changed person, staring into the horizon and labelling it as a continuation rather than as a termination of all you could achieve. The world was your oyster, and loving dedication was the price. But when the price was so sweet, and so easy, who were you to say no? If you had to pick a concern, it would be the bandages and binding on your right arm; friction from the sleeve of the turtleneck and blazer you had worn today applying uncomfortable pressure to the delicate wound concealed within. 

You stood up from the leatherbound office chair, adjusting your clothes and stepping to the window behind you to look out at the garden belonging to the gallery - a recent expansion. Grand, regal, and as the papers had emphasised, now returned to its rightful owner. You wondered just how much of the city had belonged to vampires at least for a portion of time, and you had no doubt that you would be making more discoveries soon, but for the time being, you were happy with the re-acquisition, or as Seonghwa had called it: your ‘turning’ gift. A particularly strong shift of the arm made you wince, and your other hand shot to nurse your sore arm.

“I’m so sorry darling, does it still hurt?” Unbeknownst to you, Seonghwa had slipped into the office, and immediately rushed towards you, concern painting his beautiful face through furrowed brows and a tiny scowl.

“N-no, barely. The sweater is silly-”

“Let’s not disregard ailments, shall we?” your partner gingerly lifted your arm, and after gaining permission through a few lethargic nods, pushed the sleeve upwards to reveal the bandages, “I- really, we need to apply the ointment again, that must be it-”

“Seonghwa-”

“Work can wait, I just need to-”

“My love-” Seonghwa paused his ramblings to stare back at you, puzzled, “it’s okay. Don’t worry about it. Literally just a bite, isn’t it?” you smiled, the action instantly being mirrored, albeit with a tinge of remaining worry.

“Mm, perhaps I am overreacting, I can’t help it,” your thoughts were numbed by the silken touch of his lips on the back of your hand, wool against cotton as he pulled you into an embrace, “it should heal well once you get used to your new form, I am sure of it,” his tresses tickled your nose, but you ignored it, instead letting your head fall against him.

You stood almost completely still aside from the rocking side to side that was habitual for you both. A lulling motion, one that either of you revealed only to each other. A secret reserved for intimate, loving moments such as this. You shook your head in amusement and buried your nose in Seonghwa’s sweater, inhaling the aroma of his sweet perfume, recalling ‘Love and Pain’ - the painting that had marked the tightening of the invisible string tying you together. Or was it? Coincidentally, on the wall behind your lover was the real inception of your union, one that you had forgotten from one lifetime to the next. A portrait. The one that Seonghwa had been chasing, and what had been his decades-long mission came to an end.

Signed with your own hand, were initials of your name and the year of completion of the painting. None other than the beloved collector and muse, Park Seonghwa, who had posed for you, or rather a version of you, and ever since then, you were the only one on his mind. You had been the master both of the arts and of his fate.

“Please, I am embarrassed…” your partner mumbled, settling for futile attempts to position you in such a way that you would be looking out at the garden, but to no avail. Poking him playfully at the side, you induce a halt, and question him:

“What is there to be embarrassed about? That’s you. Painted by me.”

“Exactly. And you have it in your office, of all places.”

“Well I can’t exactly have you, in the flesh, on display all the time and I would like a work of art around here-”

“Shh-”

“Don’t shush me, Park. Be grateful I don’t keep the sketches out too.”

In all honesty, He would not mind if you did. You could do anything, and the vampire would adore and honour it. Whether it was in your blood or in his nature, he had never regretted almost losing himself in your favour. In your last life, he had gone against all rules set up by vampires, playing against what he swore was the devil in order to have the sliver of a chance to start again and, this time not lose you. Had his plan not succeeded, it was highly probable that he would have been erased from this planet too. But he would rather call himself a masochist than be law-abiding when it came to you.

“Next, you’ll be threatening me with a showcase of just my face-”

“What if I do?” you quipped, pulling back to boop his nose with yours, “I think it would look very pretty. Besides, now that I remember my apparent mastery of the visual arts, can’t I be a tiny bit proud, hm?”

“I would be terribly disappointed if you weren’t. Now, may I put that ointment on you?”

As if you could refuse those sparkling eyes. Promptly following him to the loveseat, which unfortunately for Seonghwa was situated right under the portrait, you sat down and waited. Your partner rushed to the medical cupboard - another new addition installed exclusively to support you as you were getting used to the vampiric nuances in your day to day. With well-practised motions, the required kit was in his hands, and in a blink, set down on the plush cushioning of the miniature sofa. You held back a chuckle as you saw the pout you so loved appear as he focused on unwinding the bandage with utmost care. Before you could feel any hurt, Seonghwa would already let go, or alter the angle at which he was tugging on the material. As soon as the plaster was peeled, you were met with the reason for your eternity and reawakening.

Two deep punctures, still a little irritated, not quite healed, but nevertheless a marking of your future and something you regarded with fondness. Wounds did not hurt when they were merely physical, especially not when you had someone who had bound their immortality to yours to tend to them. Seonghwa bit his lower lip, discontented with the ache as though he could feel it too, and took numerous pauses while cleaning up the wound to glance at you. 

“I’ll be applying the ointment now, tell me if it stings, okay?”

“Okay,” you knew it wouldn’t. You had never heard a man be so adamant on checking ingredients at an apothecary before following Seonghwa after your first appointment as a vampire. But just to appease him, you followed this small spoken routine. 

“You know… I was scared,” his voice was barely audible, and he could not look at you.

“What were you scared of?”

“Losing you again.”

“Well, I am here, aren’t I?”

Even before you were aware of Seonghwa, let alone the truth behind the portrait, all the roads still led to the same resolution. The arts, art history. Virtually synonymous, for without creation, there would not be the past, and without the study of the past, there would not be the celebration and respect of creation. Finally, you understood the beauty of evolution that Seonghwa had undergone all while remaining the same vulnerable yet legendary figure, dedicated to his vision of the arts, having recollected your own. 

“So many things could have gone wrong,” Seonghwa’s mind was reeling from the sheer terror of possibility. He had taken advantage of his high social standing as an aristocrat and pulled rank to avoid waiting for any ritual guides to step in - it was not the first time, but still only the second. And both cases were related to you. 

The first time might have been a foolish decision in retrospect, but considering the dire circumstances the extreme solution was the only one. With one foot crossing to the afterlife he was combatting the reapers, and was not going to let go of you even if it meant being pulled in. This time, when you had approached him a number of nights ago with your final agreement to his tentative proposal and kissed his ruminations away, he was ready. Years of study were not going to waste, after all. And yet when he studied the same irises as those from a time long gone, when he held the same hands, his blood ran even colder. What a gambling man he had been back then. The procedure to regift life to you had been risky, and Seonghwa, having never practised those elements of the dark arts bestowed upon his kind, had been taking shot after shot in the dark. How dare he play with your being like that? How dare he hold your existence on a sinful scale?

“But they didn’t.”

No they did not. Your confidence in him had aided considerably, he had to admit. The positioning of his fangs was perfect, and he had memorised all incantations down to the inflections. Second time a charm, but much more anxiety-inducing. Turning was not the same as revival, either. He could not stop himself from imagining the many scenarios of where he would have gone wrong, and cemented your identity only as a name on manuscripts, dissertation, paintings and reports. 

“Even the ritual, what if you did not remember-”

“I would love you just the same. Whether I had all my memories or not. That much I can assure you of. That is why I trusted you in the first place, Seonghwa.”

You did not need to be a mind reader to know what he was thinking. All you could do was suggest a brighter palette, and be by his side no matter what colour scheme he were to decide on. It was an artist’s duty to know when to set the tools aside and consider a painting finished. The luxury of a collector was to live through many paintings, unify the souls contained in each and sustain a chronology of expression. The keepers, the scholars, made to observe change rather than induce it directly. This was why you were all the more grateful for Seonghwa daring to change your mortal fate not once but twice, risking himself and his image in your favour.

When your partner was satisfied with his medical care, he hummed to notify you and began to clear up, at least until you placed a weak hand on his leather-clad thigh to gain his full attention. He searched for a hint in your features, eyes darting across your face at lightning speed. Relief came when you grinned brightly, whispering sincere gratitude.

Impressionism - the movement and path made by legends. A rejection of traditional practice, a new vision and interpretation of the outside world in the hues of the soul. Light, reality, immediate action. A breath that reset the arts, magnificent and radical for the time, and now, much adored. From its conception to its establishment, you were there to witness and fall in love, and now could look back at the beauty that had bloomed. His irises, your favourite colour. The speckles of various shades, your favourite details. You stared into Seonghwa’s eyes and did not dare blink. Your favourite impression.

🩸 perma-taglist: @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @byuntrash101 @shakalakaboomboo @starillusion13 @uwuheeseungie @cheollipop @frankenstein852 @charreddonuts @miriamxsworld @mingigoo @michel-angelhoe @innsomniacshinestar @foxinnie8 @preciouswoozi @wooyoungjpg @nebulousbookshelf @wowie-hockey @hongjoongs-patience @jaehunnyy @kitten4sannie @maddkitt @lightinyreads @ren-junwrld @pyeonghongrie-main @marsstarxhwa @pocketjoong-reads @alyszaen @yeooclock @yeonjunnie @asjkdk @lucky-cat-cafe @northerngalxy

[artbyblastweave]

So I want to draw out some of the grousings I put in the tags of @phaeton-flier's recent post on Waller's characterization in My Adventures with Superman.

I think the problem you're gonna run into with adapting Waller in 2024 is that they basically nailed her completely twenty years ago in the DCAU Justice League continuity, they already captured the perfect balance of good intentions and ruthless utilitarian amorality. In the DCAU, Waller's arrival on the scene was contextualized by more than a decade of superheroic precedent- she lives in a world where Superman specifically got brainwashed into attacking earth, she lives in a world where Kryptonian war criminals took a shot at Earth, she lives in a world where an alternate-universe totalitarian Superman crossed dimensional boundaries to take a shot at earth. She lives in a world where Superman helped disarm the world's nuclear arsenal at the behest of a guy who turned out to be the fifth column for an extraterrestrial invasion. She lives in a world where the Justice League formed specifically to stop something similar happening again and then tripped over their own dicks when one of their founding members turned out to be a partisan mole for an extraterrestrial empire. She lives in a world where these city-leveling clowns have consolidated sixty or seventy other city-leveling clowns in an orbiting circus that's armed with a city-leveling orbital laser canon. This is just the stuff that would have made the in-universe news, there's even more I'm not mentioning here. In other words, she lives in a world where it's completely reasonable not to trust the superheroes and to want to have contingencies against them.

She does horrible things in pursuit of those contingencies, but they're targeted, goal oriented horrible things. Aside from her usual suicide squad routine she clones and basically enslaves dozens of super-soldiers, which is of course terrible on the face of it, but comparatively easy to justify from the realpolitik cold-equation way in which she approaches things. When her bullshit generates externalities for civilians, it's not because she sics those super soldiers on them. She doesn't declare martial law. That's not what she's after! She just keeps losing control of the bastards, and then she shrugs, and she signs off on additional bastards from scientists and magicians who've proven time and time again that they do not have their shit buttoned down- but what else is she going to do? Roll over? Let the capes treat the world like their playground?

Crucially, the DCAU version is also capable of realizing when she's prioritized the wrong threat- she's capable of re-evaluating and de-escalating. She's got a foil on that show, a guy who starts from the same place of concern as her but isn't capable of course-correcting because he's too much of a belligerent paranoid maniac. That guy is General Wade Eiling. And in a version of MAWS that doesn't need to set Sam Lane up for a redemption arc, I would have Waller as the one in Sam's position, as the well-meaning extremist who loses control of the monster she created and gets frozen out in favor of a significantly less principled hardliner in the form of Eiling. Alas.

The fundamental thing about Waller, at least to me, is that she's uninteresting as a ground-floor antagonist. While I've yet to get around to the original Suicide Squad run where Waller originated, I'm confident in my understanding that it was a postmodern project from the word go, exploiting years of ossified genre convention and rogue's gallery bloat to make the points that it was trying to make. This is part of why I think the first Suicide Squad film went over like a lead balloon- it tried to wish that built-up continuity into existence out of nowhere, whereas the second movie was simply a lot more naturalistic about faking that larger context. This show feels like it's doing something similar on a meta-level- exploiting decades of audience familiarity with Waller and how plots involving her tend to go, in a way that papers over how weirdly early in the progression of this continuity they've brought her into the fray. She usually isn't the joyless jackboot on the frontline trying to snuff out the incipient heroic age- she's the beleaguered repairmen brought in years after the novelty has worn off, after the superheroes have had their goddamn chance, with all the ups and downs and near-misses that entails, so that she can make entirely novel mistakes in reaction to that context. As it stands, she's kind of 0 to 100 in this, and something about it feels off.

[vanishedinvain]

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒'𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈 𝐃𝐈𝐄

—𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞: 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥-𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader (but she doesn't show up yet, sorry lol)

summary: benedict's last moment of contentment before the storm that marooned his dreams.

warnings: very very brief mention of a gun, baby's first fic (it's me, i'm baby)

wc: 1.6k

next chapter // series masterlist

The Wiminet Art House sits just outside the limits of Mayfair, owned by the Dowager Baroness Lyra Wiminet. It is only half the size of a wing at Somerset House, and most of the artists are either anonymous or so unknown, they are as good as anonymous. It crams in an overwhelming number of pieces, barely a centimeter between each frame. It features a myriad of styles: soft landscapes, portraits, absurd finger-paintings, violent war scenes. 

When it first opened, every London newspaper dismissed it as the eccentricity of a widow, mad without a man to guide her. There was no cohesion, they said. Downright tasteless. Where was the class? The refinement? It was a laughingstock for all of two days before the ton moved on as they always did.

It was also Benedict Bridgerton’s most frequented gallery. And Eloise had no idea why.

“You have been here at least twenty times in the past year, and they have only changed a single painting,” Eloise pointed out on one of these trips. Though she did not prefer to visit the same blasted gallery with the same blasted paintings, it was more merciful than watching Daphne and their mother flit about the house searching for the perfect dress to secure a proposal from the Prussian prince.

Plus her brother promised to buy her an apricot ice afterwards.

“What could possibly be left to see?” she asked.

They were standing in front of a rather large seascape, one that spanned a quarter of the wall. Benedict turned away to look at Eloise, a grimace upon her face as she tried to see what her brother saw. It was a quality Benedict most appreciated in her; she was stubborn and quick to snark, but she never wrote off his interests as frivolous. She was attempting to understand, even if she was staring at the painting like it personally offended her.  

“Do you remember when you were eleven and Colin brought home that mystery novel for all of us? The one where an opera singer was killed in the middle of a show.”

“An Aria Most Deadly,” she recalled, smiling, “I couldn’t put it down. Col was scolded for bringing home such a—how did Mama word it?—terribly gruesome and improper book.”

He chuckled, remembering their mother’s scandalized face. As Colin was being scolded, she had set the book down on the settee. Eloise, ever nimble, snatched it and ran up to her room with nary a scuff across the floor.

“You re-read it over and over, looking for the clues, even after you’d finished it days prior. A snide comment from the stagehand that was once humorous turned dark. The author’s insistence on describing the location of the candelabra suddenly became obvious.”

“The details were so much clearer in hindsight,” she remarked.

“That is usually the privilege of hindsight.” He gestured back to the painting in front of them. “What do you see?”

She stared for a moment, tilting her head to one side to see if a change in angle would help. It was a turbulent scene, violent even, with outbursts of red and orange screaming amongst the cerulean and imposing slate clouds as the ship went down.

“A shipwreck?” Eloise answered with a shrug. “An unfortunately timed storm?”

Benedict stepped back, and grabbed Eloise by the shoulders, shifting her to the right so that she could stand in his place. “Do you see that spot of red on the ship?”

She squinted slightly. “Clearly, a fire broke out on the ship. Likely from the gunpowder catching on the wood. I mean, it says it in the title, Ship on Fire in Water,” she said, reading off the plaque underneath.

“But look closer at this spot of red at the front of the ship. Or that one by the captain’s quarters. Compare it to how the artist paints the flames,” Benedict insisted, gesturing to each area of interest. “He or she blends out the flames with orange and a bit of yellow usually. But these particular spots aren’t. They’re blended with brown. Maybe even a bit of black. That’s not fire, is it?”

Her eyebrows raised as the realization dawned on her. “It’s blood! Someone was killed. The captain, maybe?” She turned back to look at him in unbridled excitement at the newly-uncovered narrative.

Benedict smiled widely, crinkles forming around his eyes, watching his little sister finally get it, get him. “Possibly.”

“What do you think was the motive? Was it a mutiny?”

He shrugged. “That I am unsure of, dear sister. Every time I come back, I see something new. So, perhaps we need to look at it longer. Or make our rounds and come back with fresh eyes.”

Eloise had bounded off before he even finished.

They spent another two hours in the gallery, making little comments on each one, attempting to decipher a story from it. They even requested a step-ladder for the ones that had been skied because Benedict, having met Lady Wiminet, knew that there was no rhyme or reason as to the placement of each painting.

There was a most brilliant park scene about half a meter down from the ceiling. The artist did not draw a realistic, soft sunset, but a heightened one with punchy plums and a bright tangerine shade to blend. It was a bold choice that Benedict would’ve never thought of. The scene itself was of a promenade, much to Eloise’s displeasure, but she found amusement in mapping out the interpersonal relationships of the swans in the lake.

They made their way back to the bloodied, fiery ship shipwreck, standing in amicable silence before Eloise spoke.

“I understand it now. Why you've been here twenty times. Why you sketch until your fingers shake at dinner, but then use your drawings as fire kindle at night. You’re chasing greatness.”

“I want to get one of mine on these walls one day, El,” he said quietly, as if they weren’t the only people in the room. It was the first time he had admitted that ambition out loud.

“You will,” she replied, equally quiet back.

He sighed in relief. He wasn’t worried about Eloise’s reaction, though her vote of confidence was cherished. He was worried about being so unworthy that the words would refuse to roll off his tongue, lodging in his throat as a croak. But the idea was out there now, and a mirthful giddiness sprouted forth in the soil where his insecurities were rooted.

“I’d be anonymous, though,” he added after a pause.

She frowned, but neither of them made further comments on the subject. He already understood what she didn't verbalize. She dreaded living and dying in anonymity without a university degree or prolific novel attached to her name, something to outlast her that wasn’t a dullard husband or terrifying child. She could not stand the thought that the world might feel zero impact from her existence. 

Benedict, however, was far less eager to sign his name on a canvas. He could be displayed in any gallery in England if he simply asked, regardless of whether he was even good enough. Who would dare criticize a Bridgerton painting, with nine generations of viscounts breathing down their necks? If he were to ever put his name on any of his work, he wanted—needed—to be so good that everyone would be too awestruck by what was in front of them to check whose name was etched onto the little copper plaque beneath the frame.

This was one of the only points of incongruence between the second eldest Bridgerton brother and sister that couldn’t be remedied by a simple anecdote or shift to the right. Though, perhaps there was no need for one; a painter would never ask a writer to adjust her palette and a writer would never tell a painter his meter was off-tempo.

It was an afternoon well spent away from the ornery obligations of the social season, coming home with their appetites spoiled from the promised apricot ices. Benedict grabbed An Aria Most Deadly from the library, and read the first few chapters before retiring for the night. He’d finished the novel after he pried it away from Eloise years ago, so he knew it was the conductor who had killed the opera singer. This knowledge only pulled the deftly placed clues into crisp focus upon this second reading; even the first chapter was littered with hints.

Perhaps that is why when he sits in the viscount’s study, the one that was never supposed to go to him, he often thinks about the night of Granville’s party. That night began with him feeling so alive, more alive than he could ever fathom. Yet, it ended with a sinking stone of dread taking up a months-long residence in the pit of his stomach.

Were there clues he should’ve seen?

If he’d been less drunk off the wine or the women or both, he’d have noticed Daphne wasn’t wearing the necklace gifted to her by the prince, even though he clocked the ostentatious clunk of jewelry when she left for the Trowbridge Ball. Or that the hem of her dress was muddy and her face was pinched, on the verge of tears.

If he wasn’t so preoccupied with how to take advantage of his freedoms as the spare of the family, he’d have noticed the blooming violet bruises on Anthony’s knuckles as he yanked Benedict into the study with considerable force.

It wasn’t until he was rolling his shoulder, about to complain that his arm could've been popped out of its socket, when the gun box was placed on the desk with a resounding thud. 

Things only clicked into place as Anthony began frantically talking about estates and dowries and an appointment with the duke at dawn, but there were signs from the moment he walked in the door.

The details were always so much clearer in hindsight.

next chapter // series masterlist

a/n: they dropped new abc pictures last month, and i decided to make it everyone else's problem by starting this fic. now it’s bridgerton eve!!! rejoice!!!

[werewolfsmile]

The Eliot Spencer Details Masterpost

I have been recording details about our beloved Eliot Spencer on my latest watch through. And now, it's finally time to reveal the details!! If I have gotten any details INCORRECT, I beg of you to correct me, at which time, this post will be updated and credit given. (Note: S1 was aired out of chronological order. I am going by chronological episode numbers - aka the correct order - and providing the episode titles as well to minimise confusion.) !! This post contains details from Leverage: Redemption! Read the episode references carefully if you are wanting to avoid certain spoilers !!

Shirtless Moments

S1 E7 The Two-Horse Job: The flashback scene when Aimee asks Eliot what his excuse was for not coming back to her, we see him being dragged/tortured, shirtless. "Tell us what you did with the monkey!"

S2 E2 The Tap-Out Job: Eliot is shirtless for the fight match.

S4 E9 The Cross My Heart Job: Ehh he's not completely shirtless here but whatever. At about 16 mins in, Eliot and Parker are getting changed together, Eliot strips to a singlet then throws his shirt at me the camera. (I didn't include other scenes of Eliot in a singlet here because in this scene he's actively undressing, whereas in others he's not.)

Necklaces

The earliest sighting of his guitar pick necklace is S1 E2 The Homecoming Job. It continues to pop up frequently in episodes, though noticeably less in S1. I thought about recording every occurrence of it here but ... lmao it's in legit waaayyyy too many episodes for me to bother.

S2 E10 The Runway Job: Honourable mention of the necklaces Eliot wears with his fashion week outfit. The longer one is kinda dogtag-esque, the shorter one is ... I think it's a fleur de lis? He also wears a range of chain necklaces later in this episode.

S4 E18 The Last Dam Job: Bird pendant (possibly kingfisher) visible at 34 mins 39 seconds. Full credits to @wolves-in-the-world for this one including the time stamp! You can check out their reblog of this post with more details here!

Dammit Hardison

S1 E13 The Second David Job: The FIRST INSTANCE of dammit Hardison in the entire show! Said upon discovering each other in the gallery, around 4 mins 15 seconds.

S2 E1 The Beantown Bailout Job: Said around 22 mins 30 seconds, immediately following, "What are the odds that Eliot's crotch will actually explode?" Iconic.

S2 E6 The Top Hat Job: When setting up for the magic show and discovering the rabbit missing, roughly 19 mins 45 seconds.

S3 E3 The Inside Job: Running from security, around 31 mins 30 seconds.

S3 E4 The Scheherazade Job: Trying to enter McRory's at the same time, around 1 min 30 seconds.

S3 E5 The Double Blind Job: This is an honourable mention because this time NATE is the one to say dammit Hardison! 9 mins 15 seconds.

S3 E6 The Studio Job: Upon discovering the master tape isn't in the case, roughly 32 mins.

S3 E7 The Gone Fishin' Job: Eliot and Hardison running in the woods for their lives, arguing as always. This one is a bonus 'dammit' because Hardison says it straight back to Eliot after Eliot yells it at him! Around 21 mins.

S3 E12 The King George Job: Discussing Hardison's forgery work, followed by Eliot regretting touching anything. Around 23 mins 55 seconds.

S3 E13 The Morning After Job: Pretending to be cops and accidentally ending up with a prisoner to take back to jail, around 16 mins 20 seconds.

S3 E14 The Ho Ho Ho Job: Honourable mention of Chaos mocking Eliot by saying dammit Hardison. Roughly 21 mins 15 seconds.

(phew, S3 was rough on Hardison! given what Eliot was going through with the whole Moreau thing.... ooh that's delicious angst)

S4 E5 The Hot Potato Job: Honourable mention for Sophie saying it this time! While playing the role that was meant for Eliot, around 24 mins.

S4 E6 The Carnival Job: Mixing chemicals for a distraction, roughly 25 mins 30 seconds.

S4 E17 The Radio Job: Hardison running away from being thrown off a high floor, around 5 mins.

S4 E18 The Last Dam Job: Sneaking around at the Bellington Dam, roughly 13 mins 35 seconds.

S5 E1 The (Very) Big Bird Job: 'Accidentally' putting a brew pub menu in front of Eliot, around 10 mins 20 seconds.

S5 E15 The Long Goodbye Job: Emotional scene that we do not speak about, around 12 mins 40 seconds.

RS1 E1 The Too Many Rembrandts Job: After knocking Harry out and asking Hardison to help carry Harry, and Hardison refuses. 11 mins 40 seconds.

RS1 E2 The Panamanian Monkey Job: Upon discovering that security is headed to the vault where Parker is, and the only way down there is through the vents. Around 34 mins 10 seconds.

RS2 E1 The Debutante Job: We get 3! In this whole episode! Probably to make up for Hardison being gone for most of Redemption. Anyway! First one when Eliot and Hardison are in Ralphie Roy's place and Hardison has no idea who Ralphie is, around 23 mins 15 seconds. Second is when they're breaking into the elevator and Hardison won't help fight or move the unconscious guards, roughly 37 mins 40 seconds. And third, after the job when Parker says that Hardison was the one who took out all the guards. Around 45 mins 10 seconds.

RS2 E3 The Tournament Job: Right at the start after Eliot says gaming isn't a sport and Parker texts Hardison, so Hardison starts blowing up Eliot's phone. Lmao. Around 4 mins 20 seconds.

RS2 E4 The Date Night Job: After realising Breanna stole his truck, Eliot says dammit, then aims it at a grinning Hardison, since Breanna is already running away. Around 46 mins 50 seconds.

Dammit Parker

S1 E4 The Snow Job: Parker jumps out of a second floor window, Eliot catches her. 15 mins. (Parker gets a dammit from Eliot before Hardison does!!)

S3 E8 The Boost Job: Parker driving erratically, Eliot thrown around in back seat. (Technically there's a pause between dammit and Parker but I'm still including it) 35 min 35 seconds.

S5 E12 The White Rabbit Job: Searching the mark's house, Parker wants to steal a shirt. Again, this isn't technically a proper dammit Parker, as Eliot instead says, "Put it back! Dammit." But I'm still including it because it was aimed at her. 21 mins 20 seconds.

RS1 E9 The Bucket Job: Parker is pretending to be a hacker heavily modelled off Hardison. Not a proper dammit Parker as, again, Eliot only mutters "dammit" under his breath, but still counts to me. Just after 18 mins.

RS1 E10 The Unwellness Job: At end of episode, after Parker admits that she didn't even learn Eliot's name till after the team broke up the first time. 44 mins 30 seconds.

RS1 E13 The Hurricane Job: After washing up on shore and entering the Beacon Inn, Parker and Eliot are bickering about Maria. He doesn't strictly say dammit Parker but there's absolutely no doubt who he's directing the dammits towards. 3 mins 30 seconds.

RS2 E6 The Fractured Job: When farewelling Billy and Parker says next time she'll finish telling him about the robot bodies. Again, it's just dammit not dammit Parker but it's close enough. 41 mins.

RS2 E8 The Turkish Prisoner Job: Another standalone dammit that is most definitely aimed at Parker! When breaking Romero out, Parker says she's a firefighter (with far too much glee), around 14 mins 30 seconds.

RS2 E10 The Work Study Job: A full dammit Parker this time! When Parker reveals that it's super easy to steal from a university and produces a whole bunch of stuff, roughly 22 mins 40 seconds.

Very Distinctive Moments

S1 E2 The Homecoming Job: Eliot ID's the weapon from the gunshots, around 8 mins. Later, he ID's a guy off his knife fighting style, around 18 mins 50 seconds.

S2 E6 The Top Hat Job: ID's a CIA guy from his stance, roughly 7 mins 45 seconds.

S3 E11 The Rashomon Job: ID's the smell of peppermint on Hardison's breath, around 21 mins.

S3 E12 The King George Job: ID's former British paratroopers by their haircuts, 30 mins 10 seconds.

S4 E1 The Long Way Down Job: ID's a former spetsnaz guy by his footprint, 13 mins 45 seconds.

S4 E5 The Hot Potato Job: Honourable mention of Eliot ID'ing ex-military personnel by their stances, he just doesn't say very distinctive. 18 mins 50 seconds.

S4 E11 The Experimental Job: Honourable mention of Eliot ID'ing a helicopter by the whumpa-whumpa (there's 7 of them did you know). Around 7 mins.

S5 E3 The First Contact Job: ID's military satellite transmission by the static, 7 mins 20 seconds.

S5 E9 The Rundown Job: ID's a Navy Seal who enlisted between '90-'95 by his watch, around 16 mins.

RS1 E2 The Panamanian Monkey Job: ID's a drone (Breanna's) from the sound. 11 mins 50 seconds.

RS1 E3 The Rollin' On The River Job: ID's Russian mob by the tattoos, 36 mins 30 seconds.

RS1 E7 The Double-Edged Sword Job: Honourable mention for Maria ID'ing the way Eliot disarmed her gun, 7 mins 50 seconds.

RS2 E4 The Date Night Job: Eliot ID's a guy as not having a distinctive anything - which is what is so distinctive. 20 mins 40 seconds.

RS2 E13 The Crowning Achievement Job: ID's MI6 off their search pattern, 6 mins 50 seconds.

Known Family

S1 E6 The Miracle Job: When discussing Bibletopia, Eliot says his nephew would like it. This is the ONLY mention of a nephew in the entire show, Redemption included; nor is there any direct mention of a sibling beyond this (which leads me to believe that this nephew is actually the son of a close friend/cousin/military buddy, rather than a direct family relation, but that's just my headcanon).

S2 E3 The Order 23 Job: When talking to the abused boy, Randy, Eliot says he has an uncle named Randy.

S5 E11 The Low Low Price Job: Eliot's dad owned a hardware store and he wanted Eliot to take over one day. But Eliot wanted to get out of that small town, so he joined the service. Fought with his dad the night before he left and hasn't been back since. He goes back at the end of this episode and knocks - but his dad never answers the door 😭

RS1 E9 The Bucket Job: While interrogating/torturing Eliot with Red Haze, Bligh says that Eliot's dad's friend from Vietnam has invited Eliot to join them for Christmas. At the end of the episode, Eliot goes to join them for dinner, only to get a message from 'J' that his dad was a no show. This 'J' is widely accepted as Eliot's unknown sibling but that is incorrect! 'J' is Eliot's dad's buddy from Vietnam!

RS2 E6 The Fractured Job: The ultimate Eliot family backstory episode!! (if you haven't seen it yet and don't want spoilers, skip this one!) Eliot was adopted by a black couple, Billy and an unnamed woman, after being abandoned/surrendered at a hospital as a baby. His father was a war hero who got none of the glory and sustained a wound, ruining his civilian career path, so Billy never wanted Eliot to follow in his footsteps. Eliot loved the stories of his dad in the military so joined up to be like him. His mother died while Eliot was on an op and he couldn't get leave to come back for the funeral, deepening the rift between him and Billy. Ultimately, they reconcile, (Eliot says his dad was always a hero to him, Billy say's he's proud of Eliot, they hug), and I cry every time 😭❤️ [Edit: Eliot being a baby at the time of being found at the hospital and consequently brought home by his adopted mother is unconfirmed and my presumption. We have no clear info on his age at adoption. Thanks to @nival-kenival for picking that up!]

Phrases: Ain't

S1 E4 The Snow Job: Said to Nate, right before Nate tells him to go skip some rope.

S1 E9 The Stork Job: Says it twice while conning Irina.

S1 E10 The Juror #6 Job: Upon being told to go help Parker instead of watching a sports game, Eliot takes his beer back.

S2 E2 The Tap-Out Job: Discussing the fights the mark runs, says they ain't the UFC.

S2 E3 The Order 23 Job: Said right before threatening to throw Randy's abusive father over the railing of a stairwell.

S2 E4 The Fairy Godparents Job: Upon spotting a hitman sent to kill McSweeten and Taggart.

S2 E8 The Ice Man Job: After hearing Hardison call himself the Ice Man, says he won't bail him out when things go wrong.

S2 E9 The Lost Heir Job: While trying to get Parker to the court room and end up cut off by the police.

S2 E11 The Bottle Job: When Hardison wants help to clean up Nate's apartment and Eliot refuses.

S2 E14 The Three Strikes Job: When Nate says to meet outside the ballpark but Eliot refuses because now he's sucked into the sport.

S3 E3 The Inside Job: Twice while arguing with Hardison about how to rescue Parker, once when Parker offers him a lift down the stairwell with her on her harness rig and he refuses. This is the most he says ain't in a single episode!

S3 E7 The Gone Fishin' Job: Once when the militia try to make him kneel, later when the militia kid catches him and Hardison near the train tracks.

S3 E11 The Rashomon Job: When Sophie changes her story to mock Eliot's accent and mannerisms.

S3 E15 The Big Bang Job: When confronting Moreau with Hardison.

S4 E1 The Long Way Down Job: Upon arriving at the base camp and complaining to Nate.

S4 E7 The Grave Danger Job: When looking for a buried Hardison and hearing the sprinklers.

S4 E10 The Queen's Gambit Job: At the end, swearing revenge on Sterling.

S4 E12 The Office Job: Arguing with Hardison about Eliot's sandwich while searching the warehouse.

S4 E13 The Girls' Night Out Job: When trying to convince Nate to socialise at the very start.

S4 E14 The Boys' Night Out Job: Exactly the same as the previous episode, so this one barely counts.

S4 E17 The Radio Job: In the patent office, when trying to figure out who lured Nate into this situation. The same scene is used later as a flashback.

S4 E18 The Last Dam Job: Warning Nate of the consequences of taking a life with your own hands.

S5 E2 The Blue Line Job: When ambushed by Marko when leaving the ice rink.

S5 E9 The Rundown Job: Once when going to wring information on the hit out of Riley, once when Hardison steps on the trigger plate of the claymore.

S5 E13 The Corkscrew Job: First time talking to Betty about how Leonard's a jerk.

RS1 E1 The Too Many Rembrandts Job: Twice when ambushed by RIZ thugs in the warehouse.

RS1 E2 The Panamanian Monkey Job: Once when discussing Ryan Corbett at the start, once when refusing to let Hardison have a turn with the diamond-tipped drill.

RS1 E3 The Rollin' On The River Job: When warning Breanna to be certain of her calculations for how to get him and Parker out of the casino's vault.

RS1 E8 The Mastermind Job: Once when discussing hiring people to overthrow a government, once when discussing how they're going to do like 6 things at once, including saving Harry.

RS1 E9 The Bucket Job: Said twice while talking with Blanche, after Blanche helped rescue Eliot from RIZ.

RS1 E14 The Great Train Job: While digging through the tainted soil with Harry.

RS2 E1 The Debutante Job: When trying to get to Volkov's plane with Parker and seeing that two guards are in the way.

RS2 E5 The Walk In The Woods Job: Talking to Paul after rescuing Harry, who was pretending to be Eliot.

Fun fact: for every ain't that Eliot says, Hardison says at least two more. And that's too many for me to bother recording!

Phrases: Y'all

Never. Not even once.

Hardison, on the other hand, says y'all all the damn time - every season, multiple times, sometimes even multiple times in the same episode.

Honourable mention for Chaos saying y'all as an incorrect mockery of Eliot's accent in S3 E14 The Ho Ho Ho Job.

... Okay, okay! So Eliot says it a few times in Redemption! But only in ONE episode!

RS1 E1 The Too Many Rembrandts Job: Said 4 times when playing a character and convincing people to clear out of the auction house.

That's it.

Aliases

These are all the names that Eliot's gone by or used on cons that I could find, not just full blown aliases.

S1 E1 The Nigerian Job: Detective Lieutenant Carden (the scene with this alias was cut from a lot of versions of this episode)

S1 E4 The Snow Job: Vince Fetkey, Hans Von Schwesterkrank

S1 E7 The Two-Horse Job: Brad Mackie

S1 E9 The Stork Job: Dale

S1 E12 The First David Job: Professor Sinclair

S1 E13 The Second David Job: Professor/Dr Adam Sinclair

S2 E2 The Tap-Out Job: Kid Jones (on the fight match poster)

S2 E4 The Fairy Godparents Job: Coach Brewer

S2 E5 The Three Days Of The Hunter Job: Earl

S2 E9 The Lost Heir Job: Officer Hilts

S2 E10 The Runway Job: Julian

S2 E14 The Three Strikes Job: Roy Chappell

S3 E1 The Jailhouse Job: Dr Abernathy

S3 E2 The Reunion Job: Lloyd Hickey

S3 E4 The Scheherazade Job: Guy Hamilton

S3 E5 The Double Blind Job: Phil

S3 E6 The Studio Job: Kenneth Crane

S3 E7 The Gone Fishin' Job: Agent Quint

S3 E8 The Boost Job: Skeeter

S3 E9 The Three-Card Monte Job: Detective Moffat

S3 E10 The Underground Job: Eric

S3 E11 The Rashomon Job: Dr Wes Abernathy

S3 E16 The San Lorenzo Job: Ray Laroque

S4 E2 The Ten Li'l Grifters Job: Charlie Siringo

S4 E4 The Van Gogh Job: Lieutenant (only granting him this one because CK played him in the flashback)

S4 E5 The Hot Potato Job: Tom Boonen

S4 E12 The Office Job: Mr Dennis

S4 E14 The Boys' Night Out Job: Luigi

S4 E15 The Lonely Hearts Job: Jackson Cooper

S4 E16 The Gold Job: Tobias Bowden

S4 E17 The Radio Job: Cowboy (*cough* John McClane *cough*)

S5 E2 The Blue Line Job: Jacques "Jack" Labert

S5 E3 The First Contact Job: Willie Riker

S5 E5 The Gimme A K Street Job: Steven Turner

S5 E6 The DB Cooper Job: DB Cooper/Young Steve Reynolds (again, technically not an alias but whatever it's here anyway)

S5 E7 The Real Fake Car Job: Barry McElroy

S5 E11 The Low Low Price Job: Archer

S5 E14 The Toy Job: Carl

Honourable mentions of Eliot being called: "Rambo" by Hardison in S1 E2 The Homecoming Job [thanks @independent-fics for this!]; "Emeril" by Parker in S1 E3 The Wedding Job [thanks @aardvaark for this one!]; "Sparky" by Parker in S1 E10 The Juror #6 Job and by Tara in S2 E15 The Maltese Falcon Job; and "Skippy" by Hardison in S3 E7 The Gone Fishin' Job.

RS1 E1 The Too Many Rembrandts Job: Will Gallagher

RS1 E6 The Card Game Job: Glenn the Savage

RS1 E7 The Double-Edged Sword: Emmett Milbarge

RS1 E8 The Mastermind Job: Frank Farmer

RS1 E10 The Unwellness Job: Hank

RS1 E12 The Golf Job: Reed Wilkins

RS1 E13 The Hurricane Job: Calvin

RS1 E15 The Muddy Waters Job: Armus Vagra

RS2 E7 The Big Rig Job: Kris

RS2 E8 The Turkish Prisoner Job: Nick O'Brien

RS2 E10 The Work Study Job: New Blood, Caterpillar

Honourable mention of Eliot being called "Skipper" by Hardison in RS1 E16 The Harry Wilson Job.

Known Associates

This is in direct reference to hitters/people from the criminal world that Eliot knew or was aware of prior to the Leverage Team. Quinn is not included in this list due to that distinction (sorry Quinn).

S1 E3 The Wedding Job: The Butcher of Kiev

S2 E7 The Two Live Crew Job: Mikel Dayan

S3 E11 The Rashomon Job: Gutman

S3 E15 The Big Bang Job: Chapman, Damien Moreau

S3 E16 The San Lorenzo Job: Damien Moreau

S4 E4 The Van Gogh Job: Frank, Randall

S4 E6 The Carnival Job: Roper

S5 E4 The French Connection: Rampone

S5 E9 The Rundown Job: Riley

Trivia

S2 E6 The Top Hat Job: Eliot claims he only sleeps 90 minutes a day, and that he cured his claustrophobia as a kid by locking himself in the woodshed behind his house for a couple nights.

S3 E6 The Studio Job: Eliot is nervous to perform in front of an audience, to the point that Parker startles him and she's surprised that she did. Interesting to note that he seems to have no issue playing sport in front of crowds.

S3 E7 The Gone Fishin' Job: Eliot says he hates beets.

S4 E5 The Hot Potato Job: Eliot chews gum. He does this throughout a LOT of episodes across the seasons but I've only noted down this one episode for it.... thanks, past me 🙄 [Edit: thanks @nival-kenival for more info! Another confirmed episode is S1 E2 The Homecoming Job, and S3 E13 The Morning After Job!]

S4 E9 The Cross My Heart Job: Eliot says he fought a guy with a Nerf sword in Damascus, 2002.

S5 E11 The Low Low Price Job: Eliot drives an F-150 to his dad's house in Oklahoma. This is a THIRD vehicle that apparently belongs to Eliot, in addition to the Chevrolet Silverado and Dodge Challenger we see in other episodes. The F-150 is not seen again.

S5 E12 The White Rabbit Job: Eliot has 'special sedatives' aka a little psychotropic he picked up outside of Bogota.

Eliot mostly walks at the back of the group, presumably to be the rear guard and make sure no one falls behind. See ... just about every damn episode for evidence.

RS1 E3 The Rollin' On The River Job: Parker says that Eliot has cut his way out of an ice cave, escaped a gorilla enclosure, and catered a wedding for the mob.

Eliot is seen wearing glasses throughout various episodes. A flashback in S1 E1 The Nigerian Job shows him wearing presumably his own glasses. All other instances of him wearing glasses (that I can think of) are when he takes someone's glasses for a con. It is unconfirmed if Eliot actually needs glasses to correct his eyesight or not, but is a fandom headcanon. In S3 E1 The Jailhouse Job there is an interaction where Nate ribs Eliot for taking so long in a fight, and Eliot says it's because of new glasses. An argument could be made that this means Eliot does require glasses. [Thanks @independent-fics for picking this up - for pretty much all the details pertaining to Eliot's glasses!]

And there you have it! All the details that I've spent the last 3 months collecting!! Now it's time for me to take a good, long break because my brain is fried! 😂

Once again, let me know if you find any errors so I can update the post. Data from Redemption S2 is where I've most likely missed things, since I don't have it on DVD and it's sooo much harder to scrub through streaming footage to find things. When will they release RS2 on DVD I need itttt.

If you've made it this far, thanks for reading! I hope this post can be a helpful reference for you!

[storiesofsvu]

Forced Hand

Casey Novak x reader warnings: language, regular SVU case details talked about/mentioned, anxiety attack. it's a hurt/comfort besties. A combination of requests that were relatively along the same lines so I put it together into one. Welcome back to the blog Ms Novak, we've missed you! If you don't want to miss a thing, sign up for the taglist here! If you like what you read, don't forget to reblog/comment and always feel free to send in your own requests! They're always open!

You worked homicide, you weren’t supposed to be in a courtroom like this, and you certainly weren’t supposed be on the losing side. Your squad had picked up a case that later appeared to be linked to a string of open cases over at SVU and your captains insisted on working together. A few extra sets of eyes were always a good thing, a fresh perspective on the situation, they said.

What they hadn’t been able to prep you for was the viciousness of the case, and the fact that three of the victims were still alive. The crime scenes had been brutal and you were honestly shocked that anyone had survived through it, you’d been rattled to your core to discover your victims were all girls under the age of twelve. Girls who you had to watch be treated for shock on top of their injuries before retraumatizing them all over again with questioning to get their full stories, children who you then had to spend hours prepping for the brutality of a trial like this.

You were typically good with kids; Casey knew that which was one of the reasons she’d chosen you along with Benson to help her prep everyone. She watched with pride as you were able to break things down from confusing legal terms to something the girls could understand, how soft you were with them, how cautious you were how well you worked with Olivia in reminding them how strong and brave they were for doing this, and that the bad guy couldn’t hurt them anymore.

She also watched how that strong, encouraging façade would drop the moment you stepped into your shared apartment, weariness and exhaustion taking over your features and you turned down dinner and attempted to wash the day away in a too hot shower. You’d eventually reappear a couple of hours later in a pair of sweats and her worn Harvard tee, silently cuddling up to her side on the couch and she’d pass off her glass of scotch for you to finish. She’d put her work away, wrapping it up neatly so you wouldn’t have to see any of the crime scene photos again, urging you to lean into her embrace, pressing soft kisses to your skin and the top of your head until your stomach would let out a growl you’d finally submit to ordering some take out. You never said a word about it, and Casey never once pried or poked around until you said something, she let you go about your day, happy when she would catch you smiling or laughing with someone and she would always make sure she was ready and available for extra cuddles and wordless encouragement. She knew you were struggling, but that you were also handling it, and doing so in your own way, the case was close enough to over that you’d be able to breathe freely again in a matter of days.

However things were looking bleaker and bleaker as the trial strung along. The girls were strong on the stand for Casey, answering properly, detailing what they needed to, not matter how hard it was. When Casey turned around to take her seat again she caught your eye in the gallery and felt her heart tug at the tears shimmering in your eyes and the pain written across your face. What she missed was that pain turning into absolute outrage as the defence attorney started their cross and tore into all three of the victims like he was the devil. He twisted things around, barked out questions too quickly, stepped too close to the witness box, doing everything he could to get at least one person on the jury to side with him. And every motion he made broke down those poor little girls and their families even more. And you right along with them.

Casey lost you at lunch, no clue where you had ran off to when you weren’t in her office when she got there. Still, she knew you’d be there for the verdict, so she grabbed an extra coffee on her way back, deciding to go in the side door to avoid the press. She jumped a puddle as she crossed the street, cursing that she’d left her umbrella in her office, thinking the rain was done for the day. Dodging rain drops she finally rounded the bend to the side door and found you leaning up against the wall, staring down at your feet until you heard her voice.

“It’s raining, you should be inside.” She commented.

“I’m fine.” You replied, and her eyes caught the movement of your hand, hiding it behind your back and she realized you’d snuck out for a smoke.

“Okay.” She stepped up to you, kissing your cheek softly, “don’t get too cold.” She passed off the coffee and you took it from her with a small smile.

“Thanks.”

Her finger curled under your chin so she could catch your eye, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You mustered up a small smile, letting her kiss you softly before she disappeared inside.

Finishing your smoke, you stubbed it out with your toe and took a heavy breath, the last thing in the world you wanted to do right now was go back into that courtroom. You didn’t want to know the outcome, wanted to walk away from this forever and pretend it never happened. But you knew that those families were depending on you and your squads to help get them through it, to be the backbone when the verdict was read and help them figure out what their next steps were. There was a reason you preferred homicide.

The surefire grin on the perp’s face was the first tell, how casually he was talking with his lawyer, the nearly awkward, slightly guilty look on the faces of half the jury was the second, the way Casey’s hand tightened around her pen as she chewed on her lip, her jaw tightening was the last. You felt the burning in your stomach start to creep up your throat, your hands shoved into your pockets so no one would see them shaking as the verdict was read.

“Not guilty on all counts.”

Your ears were ringing, you couldn’t hear yourself think much less the commotion in the courtroom, the scared and confused questions coming from the girls as their parents scrambled to try and figure out any kind of an answer. Your vision was nearly blurring and this time it wasn’t from the tears, everything about this was wrong, it was more than wrong and it was disgusting. Someone grabbed your hand and it was as if you had been clapped on the ears and you could suddenly hear the cries of the girl beside you, the terror written across her tiny features as she looked up at you for an answer. You barely heard yourself when you spoke,

“I’m so, so sorry.”

Your chest was suddenly tight, squeezing all the air out of your lungs as pictures from the case began to invade your brain, memories collaborating with imagination, making everything even worse. You weren’t entirely sure what was happening but you knew you couldn’t let it happen in this courtroom.

When Casey heard the door heavily drop shut she instantly knew it was you leaving and her heart dropped into her stomach. A glance over her shoulder confirmed her theories, catching Liv’s gaze with an incredibly apologetic look in her eyes, the brunette nodded, her way of saying ‘I know you did everything you could’ before her head tilted in the direction of the door. ‘I’ve got this, go get your girl.’ Casey didn’t even bother to give the defence the privilege of a glance as she packed up her things and slipped from the courtroom. Unsure on whether you would still be in the building or not she headed toward the side exit, knowing there was a fairly unused bathroom over there that was still close enough to the part you’d been in. She heard the flush of the toilet through the door, the sound of the tap running as she pushed it open, catching you rinsing out your mouth, splashing cold water over your face as you struggled to catch your breath.

You barely even noticed someone else in the bathroom with you, your vision still tunnelling and filled with gruesome, bloody images and the faces of those poor girls while they told their horrible stories. Wiping the water off your face you took a heaving breath, it still felt like there was a cinder block resting on your chest and as much as throwing up had helped, there was stomach acid creeping up your throat, making it burn even worse. Your brain started to race, remembering all the things you’d said alongside Olivia to the girls, encouraging them that it would all be okay, that you’d caught the bad guy, now you were going to put him away. That their nightmares would eventually stop, they wouldn’t have to be scared anymore because he would be in prison, the promises you’d made them, every single one of them turning out to be empty.

“Oh god….” It came out as a half choked sob and you turned toward the window, bracing your hands on the sill as the heavy cries started to spill from deep within you, tears beginning to stream down your cheeks.

“Hey…” Casey’s soft voice didn’t manage to break through your conscious, but you felt the welcomed coolness of her hand between your shoulder blades and you shuddered, “it’s not your fault.” Her hand began to rub slow circles, “you worked your ass off and did everything you could.”

You tried to form even a single word but you couldn’t find your voice, another choked sob escaping your lips as you started to hyperventilate, completely unable to get enough air into your lungs, feeling even more like you were drowning.

“Whoa, whoa…” Casey’s arms cautiously wrapped around you, “c’mere.” She pulled you flush to her, frowning at the feeling of your heart pounding against your ribs and just how hot your skin was to her touch.

You didn’t struggle, but you protested a little bit, your hands pushing against her arms until she grabbed your wrists in one of her hands, restraining you as she leant forward, pushing open the window as far as she could. You let out a cry, not wanting to be forced to be still but the sudden woosh of cold air was a refuge to your burning lungs and your breath shuddered as you finally collapsed against Casey. Your eyes finally cracked open, tears continuing to trail over your cheeks as the cool breeze ghosted over your skin. You could feel Casey’s heart strumming against your back, slow and steady, a stark difference to yours pounding in your chest, her breath was cool on the side of your neck, breathing calm and even. Her chest rising and lowering slowly, and you were able to slowly match her breathing, calming yourself down and you felt like you could finally breathe again, sniffling as you relaxed in her arms.

“I’m sorry…” you finally whimpered.

“You have nothing to be sorry about.” She murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your head, “you did your job.”

“I’m not strong enough.” You admitted with another soft cry, finally letting yourself turn around when Casey stepped away to grab a tissue. You took it from her but dropped against the wall, staring down at your shoes. “I can’t do this. I’m not good enough for it, I disappointed so many people today. I’m a complete failure.”

Casey’s hand found your cheek, wiping away your tears as she stepped back toward you, “you’ve been completely out of your comfort zone for almost a month, there’s nothing wrong with that, but you are not a failure.”

You dared a glance up at her, unsurprised at the complete empathetic expression on her face, “how do you do this every day?”

“You wouldn’t believe the amount of times I’ve cried in my office.”

“Case…” Your voice softened as the tears finally came to a stop.

“I know how incredibly hard sex crimes is, I didn’t want to be bringing that home to you every day.” She leant in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, “you see enough brutalization over at homicide, I don’t need you getting SVU’s baggage too.”

“I am never going to forget the look on that girl’s face….” You were almost talking to yourself, staring off into the distance and Casey’s thumb and forefinger curled around your chin, redirecting your gaze to her face.

“You will.” She assured, “and it is because you are strong, and you are strong enough. Do you know how I know why?” You shook your head, “because I see the cases that you bring home, the trials you’ve sat through, the amount of times you’ve taken down a perp, dismantled a defence attorney during a cross. You’re not used to living victims, and that is completely okay. Days like today will absolutely rip you to shreds and make you think that you aren’t cut out for it, but you’re going to wipe these tears, keep that pretty little chin up and come out even stronger on the other side. Okay?”

You nodded meekly, trying to hold back any remaining tears as Casey wrapped her arms tightly around you, tucking you into the crook of her shoulder as you finally relaxed into the embrace. She held you for as long as you needed, leaving tender kisses on the top of your hair and your temple, hands soothingly rubbing up and down your back.

“You’re incredible baby, don’t even forget that.” She murmured, “you were forced to try your hand at a new thing and now we know it’s not for you. You’re still an incredible rockstar when it comes to homicide and come Monday that’s what you get to go back to doing. Promise me you won’t let this drag you down too long?”

She pulled away from the hug, her hand brushing a piece of your mussed up hair behind your ear before caressing down the side of your cheek and she left a kiss on the tip of your nose, waiting for a response. You took a breath, finally feeling calmed down enough to feel human again when you finally looked up at her.

“Only if you promise to not keep everything bottled up and to yourself anymore.” You offered and her brow furrowed, “I know you Casey, you wear your heart on your sleeve, someone like you, doing something like this every day? That can’t be easy, I don’t need to know all the details but I don’t want you doing it alone. You shouldn’t have to cry alone in your office when you can come home and cry over a pint of ice cream with some extra cuddles.”

“Okay.” Casey let out a tiny laugh, her lips curving up into a grin, a warmth soothing through her at the sight of smile finally on your cheeks. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” Her arm wound around your shoulders, “now how about we get out of here? A pint of ice cream sounds pretty fucking good right now.”

“And pizza?” You asked, looking up at her with a pout and puppy dog eyes and she chuckled again, kissing the tip of your nose.

“The perfect combo. But that doesn’t answer what Disney movie we’re going to watch to forget about today.”

“Mmm…” you tugged your lip into your mouth as you thought, “Emperors New Groove?”

“That… sounds amazing.” She smiled at you, “you ready to go home?”

“Yeah.” You replied with a soft sigh, leaning into her side for a moment before her hand trailed down your arm, linking your fingers with her own and you were finally ready to leave the bathroom. “Casey?”

“Yeah baby?” She glanced back at you, nothing but adoration pouring from her eyes.

“Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you to the moon and back.”

____________

@bisexualcrowley @red1culous @imlike-so-gaydude @wannabe-fic-reader @altsvu @disneyfan624 @svulife-rl @svushots @mysticfalls01 @bumblebear30 @solemnnova @infernumlilith @australiancarisi @cerberus-spectre @emskisworld @thestarrynightslover @lawandorderuswnt @ex-uallyactive @hbkpop @samwithnoplan @multifandomlesbianic @narvaldetierra @dxtery @poisonedcrowns @a-little-bit-of-this-and-that @clarawatson @mickey-gomez @momlifebehard @yeeterthek33per @brooklynmhm @alexxavicry @daddy-heather-dunbar @7thavenger @augustvandyne @msvenablesbitch @happenstnces @valentinesfrog @geekyandgay98 @onmykneesformarvel @desperate-gay @riveramorylunar @irishavengersassemble @kmc1989 @holycrapraewth @noahrex @temp0rary-bliss @wittygutsy @chimnlex @nilaues @borinxnovak

[naomikozura]

Playing With Fire: Chapter 7

Jason Todd (Red Hood) x Fem!Reader (Criminal)

Trope: Enemies to Lovers, Forbidden Romance

Warnings: strong language, use of weapons, violence, transit of a criminal/bailing out a criminal, bombs/usage of bombs, explosions, mentions of torture, men not accepting no as an answer (nothing violent or intense, just a brief scene), gun use, arguing, fighting, angst, slight soft moments (if you squint really hard), mentions of troubled past, money from illegal jobs, mentions of stealing, (Lmk if I missed any!)

WC: 7.5K

Summary: Black Mask sends you to escort his VIP client safely back to Sionis Industries, ensuring you understand that his life is worth more than your own. But when an explosion is caused courtesy of Red Hood, you have to find another way to get him safely to Sionis Industries or die trying. Red Hood just can't seem to stay out of the way.... or out of your apartment.

Series Masterlist

Chapter 6 || Chapter 8

Flashback

You paced around the roof, letting yourself bask in your thoughts as you waited for Robin to arrive for the night. You needed his help, you felt yourself doubt everything you had going on at the moment and you needed him to help you. “Hey,”, you turned at the sound of his voice, taking in his outfit. He wore his signature sunglasses along with some sweats and an oversized hoodie. It wasn’t too chilly tonight, but you knew it would get colder since it was only getting later in the night. The temperature always cooled down a lot more at night.

“Hey.”, you felt a clog in your throat, trying to ignore the lump as you looked at him with a smile. “How are you?”

“Good. I mean, a little tired but overall, good.”, he smiled at you, a hand touching yours slightly. The warmth of his hand made you melt at his touch. You wondered how he always ran hot even when it was cold. “What about you?”

You raised your eyebrows slightly before turning back down to the openness of the city, watching the cars as they drove by at the late hours of the night.

“I’m okay, just… torn?”, you muttered.

“Torn between what?”, he raised an eyebrow at you, watching you and waiting patiently for your answer. 

“The family, they want me to decide on whether I should stay at Gotham Academy, which I do since it’s close to home or move me to a different school across the city that has better benefits for them business wise. The investors are part of their business, so it’ll look good for them. In the end, they want me to decide.”, you paused. “I don’t want to leave Gotham Academy. As much as the people suck, they have good resources for me to read, visit different galleries, libraries, and it’s not so bad.”

Robin looked at you intently, letting you get all your words out as he too tried to contemplate what decision you should make. 

“If I move to another school, it’ll be like starting completely over. I don't know anyone, it’s more of a school for students who want to go into taking over their family business, that type of thing. It’s not at the same caliber as Gotham Academy, but it’s a good prep school for those who choose to go to Ivy Leagues.”

Robin could hear in your voice the doubt you had, you didn’t want to leave the academy, and deep down he didn’t want you to either. It was selfish of him, but he needed to focus on what you wanted, not what he did. 

“I think you should do whichever will make you happy, Y/n.”, Robin’s voice was soft, his body relaxed as he looked out at the street with you. “If you like Gotham Academy, you should stay. You like that they give you resources to let you do different things you like, they also have a higher success rate than any other school in the city by far. If the family really wants to give up your happiness for their own selfish needs, then they need to reevaluate their priorities.”

You stared at him, his voice never faltering as he spoke. 

“You should never deny yourself of the things that make you happy.”

Your eyes softened at his words, letting them sink in as you tried to weigh the pros and cons of both situations. You felt a warmth at his words, making you feel seen in your conflict. He was right. If you wanted to be happy, you would do whatever you needed to do just that regardless of what the family expected of you. They needed to understand. 

You smiled at Robin, leaning into him as the both of you sat on the ledge, letting the silence fall over both of you as you enjoyed the quiet of the night and each other's company. 

You should never deny yourself of the things that make you happy. 

“I need you motherfuckers to focus! I am not spending hundreds of thousands of dollars in this for you all to fuck it up!”, Sionis yelled at his men while your glance remained neutral. He bored you with this tough guy act. Although he was a menace, he was nothing compared to the client you had tonight. 

You had read over the file, checked every possible way that could result in his capture, and ensured that tonight would go smoothly. This served as the perfect distraction from the past weekend's events. 

Your eyes looked up at Sionis as he towered over you, his eyes boring into your bored ones as he remained silent. He was better that way. Silent. But you could only dream. 

“You won’t let our VIP get in harm's way, right sweetheart?”, his voice dripped with his taunt, your body inwardly recoiling at his use of the pet name. There was only one person who could make calling you ‘sweetheart’ sound like fire in your veins and he was currently up to his own business elsewhere. "He comes back to me alive, even if it means you don't".

You narrowed your eyes, watching Sionis as he kept pacing the room, your thoughts moving from the mission to a certain green eyed man.

You hadn’t spoken to him in days, wondering why he’d gone radio silent and still hadn’t given you your half of the money. Irritation burned in your skin but for some reason you allowed him time. After your timeframe ended you’d personally seek him out and actually feed his teeth to him for making you waste your time. 

“Alright. You guys have two hours to get him and come back to Sionis Industries.”, Black Mask moved towards this desk, sitting and swiveling as his men filed out the doors you followed closely behind. The three black cars were parked outside, all decked in bulletproof tinted black glass, not allowing anyone to look inside. It was for everyone’s security, not just the VIP. 

You opened the back door to the middle car, sliding in as the men divided into the front and back vehicles. You were to ride with the VIP to ensure the greatest level of safety. You might be under constant scrutiny by Sionis but he couldn’t deny you were the best card Penguin had in his hand. 

You placed your chin in your hand, looking out the window as you watched the lights of the city pass by as you went into the outskirts to reach Arkham. You didn’t realize just how creepy the drive was until you actually went through the roads late at night. It was quiet, almost like a horror movie, just waiting for the climax to happen and something would jump out at you. You rolled your eyes at the thought. You’d see far worse things in the underground than a few jump scares. 

After 20 minutes, the gates to the entrance of the building opened, the road leading down a straight pathway that went further towards the massive building. It gave a very dark, gothic feel but still with some touch of modernity. 

You kept watch as the cars made their way towards the back of the building, almost like the front entrance was just a decoy for decoration. Once the cars had parked, they sat for a moment, no one moving to get out. The seconds ticked by eerily, leaving a cold sensation in the atmosphere as the night seemed to get darker. 

You perked up at the sight of four guards opening the front door, a Warden stepping out with a file, and two more men holding your VIP. 7 people just for one person, for anyone else it would’ve seemed extreme but this was a psychopath you were dealing with. You stepped out of the vehicle, walking up the steps as you made eye contact with the Warden, before shaking their hand. 

“Good… Night, Warden.”, you dragged out, but regained your composure shortly after. “Is this his file?”

“It has everything you need to know. Birth records, background checks, aliases, known contacts, extended known contacts, his network of allies and their allies, and finally”, he pulled out a massive file almost the size of a dictionary. “His criminal records and psychological evaluations”

You grabbed the two stacks he had handed out, carrying them for safe keeping. You were unsure why Penguin and Sionis wanted copies of his full record but you wondered if it was so they could have contacts with his ties. You knew it would just rot away in the back of a cabinet or something. 

“Your VIP”, your eyes watching as the men forced your guest forward, a slight series of giggles erupting from under the bath he wore over his head. You took note of the straight jacket and the cuffs on his feet, mentally preparing for finally meeting the man in person for the first time. 

“In the car. Middle one.”, you motioned as they opened the door and shoved him inside, the maniacal laughing filling the inside of the car as you watched two of your men hop in with him. “Thanks for the delivery.”

“And good luck to you. You’re going to need it with that maniac”, he muttered before he walked inside with the six guards following him. A chill ran down your spine as you walked back to the car, motioning for the front car to head back to Sionis Industries. 

Opening the car door and sliding it, you placed the stack of papers next to you, a sudden shaking of the car as you turned your head, your heart dropping in your chest. 

The fucking maniac was staring at you, his face only inches from yours. You kept your usual poker face but your heart rate was skyrocketing, his proximity and the cynical look in his face making you uneasy. 

“Aren’t you a pretty girl”, he muttered, a laugh escaping his red painting lips. “I wonder what you’d look like with a big smile”, his voice sent chills down your spine. 

You narrowed your eyes at him as he let out a maniacal laughter, letting himself fall back into his seat as he tried to wiggle his arms out of the straight jacket. 

“Oh you’re not fun. Loosen up, or you’ll make this entire game boring”, his voice rang out as the smile stayed etched on his face. 

“I’m not here to play games. I’m here as an escort.”, you replied flatly. “You know why there's so many of us here for you, so I suggest you stay still until we arrive at Sionis Industries.”

“Ah, yes. I am what you are calling your…. VIP”, he hinted at the use of finger quotes as he turned to look at one of the guards, Sionis’ men trained for any possible situation, even dealing with the maniac.

“We’re 20 minutes out.”, one of the men in the front called out before rolling the partition back up and continuing through the streets. You forced yourself to look away, not being able to stomach being so close to one of the worst criminals within the city. He was dangerous, psychotic, killed for fun, and had absolutely no sense of control. He was sadistic and plain narcissistic, it was blood chilling just how little remorse and empathy someone could have. You wondered if this was the closest you’d get to him before Sionis took him off your hands and you could go back to just continuing work with Penguin. 

A sudden heat surrounded you, the abrupt halt of the car throwing your body forward and the sound of an explosion ringing out as you watched the two men next to Joker sit up and pull out their guns. You rolled down the partition, moving forward to force the madman to the ground. 

“What the hell is going on?”, you yelled out. 

“The other car, it had a bomb in it!”, you heard the driver yell back, looking through the windshield and seeing the other car laying in flames on the road. Your eyes widened, someone was trying to make a hit on Joker. 

“You guys stay with him! I’ll go deal with whoever the hell this is.”, you pushed the door open, jumping onto the car and looking up at the buildings. You couldn’t see anything from down here, you needed to move up. You jumped off, running to the driver and telling him to keep going. “Take the back route if you need to, I’ll deal with this.”, you said as you ran towards the buildings and pulled yourself up through the ladder on the side of one of the buildings before reaching the roof. You skimmed the road below, running to jump between the buildings and keeping up with the car below. 

You felt the wind on your face, trying to keep up as you felt the oxygen burn in your lungs, suddenly hearing another explosion a few meters ahead of the car.

Bingo. 

You jumped between the buildings, seeing the figure running through the streets as you tried to catch them. They could not ruin this operation. It was no secret that news of Joker’s release had made waves in the underground, everyone ready to make their hits necessary to get rid of the mad clown. 

The gap between you and the figure closed, only a few buildings behind as you jumped over another ledge to reach them. Your eyes narrowed as they came to a sudden stop, looking to see that the buildings ended and created a huge gap between the street and the next building across the way. 

“Hey asshole”, you yelled, pulling out your gun and aiming it at the back of their head once you got close enough. You were hoping for an easy night, but anything having to do with Joker would never be easy. 

“Hey Sweetheart”, you felt your heart drop in your chest as they turned around. Fucking hell.. 

“Ja- Red.”, you bit out. “Why are you here?!”

You watched as he raised his hands, pressing a button on the side of his helmet and removing the red helmet. His dark hair was messy, sticking to his forehead slightly from the sweat and his eyes covered in a domino mask. Your eyes soaked him in, admitting he looked devastating in his suit now that you knew what his real face looked like.

“Nice to see you too, Y/n.”, he smirked, his body moving closer to yours. 

“Why are you here?”, you repeated, your eyes meeting him as you tried to keep your composure. You hadn’t seen him since the night of the Gala, since that night in your apartment, since he…

“You have something I want”, he motioned towards the black car. “So I’d thought I’d steal it from you”

You felt a slight irritation in your bones at why he was here. Was this the job he needed to complete that he always brought up? What business did he have with Joker? He couldn’t possibly have ties to the maniac. 

“You shouldn’t be here.”, you bit out, dropping your gun and placing it back in the holster. You watched as the sockets of his mask moved, most likely taking in the way you were dressed. It was a regular stealth suit, but he indulged in soaking you in any chance he could.

“As much as I would love to stay and spend more time with you, I have a job to finish.”, he walked over to the ledge, opening a hidden compartment and taking out his AK-47 and leaning it against his shoulder, the barrel pointed upwards as he walked towards you. 

“Red!”, you tried yelling at him, but your words died in your mouth as he grabbed your waist and slammed his lips on yours. Your eyes were wide as he kissed you in a deep, passionate way before quickly pulling away and smirking at you. 

“It was good seeing you tonight.”, he whispered before running off and jumping off the ledge. Your heart lurched in your chest, trying to run after him but felt a weight on your foot. The mother fucker put an adhesive pellet on your foot, forcing you to stay in one place. 

Dammit!

You pulled your foot from the adhesive with all your force, the substance settling in and making it harder to move. You grabbed your knife, cutting through the adhesive and pulling your foot one more time before it broke free. 

You ran through the streets, trying to find where Jason had run off to. Why did he have to show up tonight? You had one thing to do and now you would have to hear all the shit spew from Sionis if you couldn’t get Joker back in one piece. 

You quickly made your way towards where the tracker in the car had led you, showing you its movement as you cut through some of the buildings to get there sooner. If you couldn’t reach the car before it arrived at Sionis Industries, you hoped Jason might’ve been left behind somewhere. He probably was already close to getting another hit in before the car made it to its location but you needed to stay persistent. 

Reaching the car’s location, you jumped down, using the buildings to use your grappling hook to lower yourself safely before running towards the car as you watched it slow to a stopping position. Your eyes narrowed as you moved closer to it, never letting your guard down as you moved towards the car carefully. 

You watched the fire surround it as you approached carefully, taking in the rubble around the vehicle as you pulled the door open as your heart pounded in your chest. A soft grumble echoed from inside the car, your body on edge as you spotted the green color of hair, a subtly laugh ringing out. 

“Oh you came to save me! I love a good heroine story, it’s much more fun than those stupid knights in shining armor or whatever.”, you let out a sharp ‘tsk’ as you grabbed his arm, forcing him to his feet as you pulled him out of the car. 

“I don’t have time for your shit, clown face.”, you spit out, as you moved through the streets to find cover. “Let’s get to the alley by Gotham Square, I have a bike stashed there and I can get us to Sionis Industries.”

“This is fun.”, he laughed maniacally. 

You kept observing every inch of the street, trying to see if you could spot Jason within the buildings. You knew he wouldn’t make a hit at you, but if he really wanted to, he’d do anything necessary to take a hit at Joker. Any criminal in the underground would. A part of you couldn’t help but wonder if Jason had a deeper reason for getting at Joker or if it was solely to piss off Sionis. 

You moved through the streets quickly, keeping your guard up as you held Joker’s arm in one hand behind you and your pistol in the other. You were only three blocks away from where your motorcycle was stashed, you just needed to hurry before another explosive went off. You messed with your watch, taking note of the message you received from the third car holding the last of the men. They were on foot trying to get Red Hood stalled so that you could get Joker back safely. You had an opening and you needed to take it before he came back. 

The silence felt eerie, but you knew that would be the opening he needed to make an attack. Every second seemed to drag on, every step you made felt like an eternity as you navigated carefully through the streets. The city felt like it held its breath due to the silence, anticipating whoever made the next move to cause more chaos. 

You glanced back at Joker, his eyes full of humor and madness, the instability in him causing you a level of discomfort you couldn’t unpack right now. Not when your job was to get him back to Sionis in one piece and alive. You couldn’t lose focus on the objective, no matter how much Jason was making you on edge. He truly should have just stayed out of your business tonight. Just this once. 

A loud explosion rang out behind the both of you as you tugged Joker to his feet and threw him into a running pace so you could get the hell out of this shit show. You were a block away, running through and keeping your eyes peeled. Deep down you knew Jason wouldn’t make a hit but you knew he’d try and make it as believable as possible to make it look like you weren’t just partners with your enemy the week before. 

“C’mon, my bike is just right down that alley.”, you heard him laughing as you tried to tune him out. 

“Oh good, I was starting to get bored”

You ran down the dark walls of the alley, pulling the tarp off your bike as you grabbed the bullet proof vest and shoved it over his head, your helmet strapping around his chin as you turned the bike on and revved the engine as you kicked the stand us sped down the streets. The tires screeched as you gained momentum and turned sharp corners, staying focused on getting to Sionis Industries as quickly as possible. 

“You think the Hood is gonna come back?”

“Don’t worry about Red Hood.”, you bit out as the wind made your eyes slightly blurry as you blinked away the tears forced by the wind. “My objective is get you back to Sionis Industries alive, even if it means I don’t.”

What a cruel way to look at it but it was the truth of your situation. You’d have to give your life for some mad man clown who was like a roach: even if you burned them alive, they just won’t die. 

 The streets seemed quiet after leaving the center of the city, everything passed in a blur as you sped down the streets. Even Joker remained silent until you arrived and forced him off the bike. He might’ve been Sionis’ VIP but he wasn’t yours. 

You led him into the building, pressing the elevator button that went straight to Sionis’ office. You kept the bulletproof vest on him, especially knowing Jason would probably try and shoot him through the window. Although Sionis was careful and had bulletproof glasses on his vehicles and home, he didn’t have them on his building. A dumb okay on his part but it would always be an inside thought you’d keep to yourself. 

The doors rang open, the bulk of security at the main entrance as they opened the door. You forced Joker behind you as he stayed close, you could practically hear his smile and the laughs he held back as he skimmed around the room, making eye contact with one of the guards who kept a straight face. Joker was strange to say the least, more creepy and maniacal than anything, everyone knew him as the worst of Gotham’s criminals. Perhaps the most reputable in terms of causing psychological terror in the city. 

The silence filled the room, the guards waiting for the arrival of Sionis as they stood tall and quiet. You were annoyed. You wanted to go home and forget about this stupid mission. As the door clicked open, your head snapped up, your eyes narrowed as you watched the black masked mother fucker walk through the door. His eyes landed on you, taking in your annoyed appearance as he smirked. He kept you here waiting to mess with you and it made you want to shove your gun down his throat and pull the trigger. 

“Y/n, Joker.”, he passed his hands over his suit jacket as he made way to his seat behind his desk. “I’m glad you were able to make it in one piece. Hope there were no delays of any sort.”

“No delays. Just a  little rat trying to kill me.”, Joker mused. “He made quite the appearance but good little guard girl here made sure I was safe. Even gave me this nice little number”, he motioned towards the bullet proof vest. “So I wouldn’t die.” 

“Red Hood cause you some trouble, Y/n?”, Sionis narrowed his eyes. 

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”, you spit back through clenched teeth. 

“Yet I don’t see a body on my desk.”, Sionis ran a hand over his mouth, eyes focused on you. 

“Are we here to talk about Red Hood or move forward with the business you claim is so precious we had to bail Joker out of Arkham?”, your words were laced with hatred and annoyance. 

Sionis bit back his words, clenching his jaw before moving forward with his business. “Fortunately, the two correlate.”, he spoke out. 

“The reason I paid the bond for Joker was  to get at our Hood.”, your eyes narrowed slightly, the revelation a little more obvious than you expected. You knew he’d only pay such a high bond price if it meant it would save him money in the long run. It was all business and investments to Sionis. It’s what he built his empire on, the investment of the underground trades and illegal business. 

“Oh, this will be fun”, Joker smiled widely. “I’ll place a cat and mouse game, or maybe send him on a wild goose chase. Oh, I know. I could impersonate the Riddler and make him answer all these stupid questions.”, his laugh cracked through the silence of the room. 

Sionis had the ultimate card in his hand. A piece of you wanted to warn Jason, another part wondered if Sionis’ plan would even be a success. 

“Your job is to do anything necessary to get the Red Hood out of hiding. I don’t care if you have to blow up every building in Gotham or kill every man in connection with him, I want him out of his little hideout and dead on my desk.”, Sionis rose to his feet, walking over to you and pushing his face in front of yours. “Since it seems other methods have failed”, he bit out as you held his gaze, not breaking your confident posture and glare at him. 

“My men will show you the room you’ll stay in, don’t take it for granted or you won’t get payment.”, Sionis threatened as Joker rose to his feet and followed behind Sionis’ men. You began turning to leave, Sionis’ voice making you come to a halt. 

“Do I need to send someone to watch over your business or can you keep this under wraps?”, he called out. “This is our ultimate card. It would be a shame if this leaked and made its way to the son of a bitch’s lap.”

You turned your head slightly, not saying a word as he continued. 

“If I find out that this got to him, I have no choice but to maim the mole alive. Flay them perhaps.”, he bit out. “You are the only one besides my men and I that know of Joker’s whereabouts. Penguin knows just what he needs to. So my suspect list would be very easy to blow through in case I needed to kill anyone who is a mole.”

“I wouldn’t leak anything. My loyalty is to Penguin and you’re his business partner. It isn’t in my best interest to let this get out anywhere.”

“That’s a good girl.”, he smirked and you internally recoiled at the name. 

“Is that all?”, you questioned. 

“No”, he answered. “I have another question”

You raised an eyebrow at him before he stared at you intently. He rose to his feet, walking over to where you stood and met your gaze. “Why don't you leave Penguin and work for me?”

The audacity he had to ask you to abandon your place next to Penguin for him. It made you want to punch him in the mouth. 

“I’m fine where I am.”, you said blandly. 

“I’m not asking for you to be my little assistant. I’m asking for you to be mine”, his voice rang through your ear, the gross feeling you got made you pull back from him. “You could have all the power, the money, the control, the status, all of it would be yours.”

“I’m not in this for power or status.”, you spit out. “You keep getting my personal interests mixed with your own desires and that’s not what I'm in this life for.”

His hand reached behind your head, tightening in your hair as he forced you to look at him more intently. His grasp was rough, it hurt your scalp but you refused to let that pain show in anyway. 

“I could give you everything.”, his face leaned in, a lust deep in his eyes. If there was any man you would stay far away from it was definitely Sionis. “You just love to play hard to get.”

You pulled out your gun, placing it up to his temple and cocking it as his grip tightened. “Let. me. go.”, you spit out with venom dripping from your lips. The taunting in his eyes only getting deeper, his love for the game made it hard to threaten him but you did it anyway. 

You felt his grip release, stepping away from you before returning to his desk. You ignored whatever else he wanted to say, pushing your way out of the door to his office and leaving the building once the elevator brought you down to the lobby. 

Sionis really had gotten ballsy over the past few months, even more so now that he had a card that he could okay and cause all the chaos he wanted within the city. You swung your leg over your motorcycle, revving it as you sped off towards your apartment. 

It wasn’t often the crime in Gotham got so out of hand, maybe a raid here and there but you knew with Joker’s release the mayhem would slowly start to rise within the city. Sionis had little to no remorse for anything, he would do whatever necessary to get whatever he wanted and he was so close to getting Jason off the streets if he allowed for Joker to go head to head with him. The thought spiraled in your head as you approached your street, turning into the alley and turning off the engine. 

You opted for the window, climbing up the ladder as you reached for the window pane, noticing it was already opened. You scrunched your eyebrows, taking out your gun as you climbed through the opening. Once you were fully inside, you turned your head, meeting those dark green eyes that made your heart skip a beat. 

Jason was sitting on the couch, his head leaning back on the cushions and looking up at you. You felt a prickle of annoyance before it disappeared when he full on smiled at you. You mentally cursed yourself for letting him have this hold on you, damming him for being not only charming but handsome at the same time. Guess when you’re the son of Bruce Wayne, looks come with the package. 

“Hey, Sweetheart”, he smirked as he got up off the couch, his height making him end up looking down at you instead of you looking at him. 

“Red.”, you forced. You need to keep your distance, create some kind of boundary that helps you keep him at a distance. Not calling him by name created that distance. “What are you doing here?”

“Was in the neighborhood, thought I’d come drop off a present for you.”, he smirked. He was still wearing his gear, his helmet on the living room table. He really just showed up after trying to sabotage your job tonight. 

“Yeah, I can see that.”, you raised an eyebrow at him before watching him as he walked into the kitchen, two large duffel bags in his hands. You had to stop yourself from physically expressing your shock, watching as he plopped both bags on the dining table. 

“Is this…”, you slowly unzip the bag, letting the muted dark green color pop as you pick up a stack wrapped in a band that read 1,000 USD. 

“It’s your cut from the other night”, he shrugged. “$24 Million”

You felt your heart pound inside your chest. He brought you your cut of the cash, he actually brought you your half. You let his gaze, a shock in them as he smiled at you. That’s why he’d been MIA until tonight, he’d been getting everything worked out to bring you your half. 

“Red, I…”

“Thank you.”, he cut you off. 

“Why are you thanking me?”, your eyes brows furrowed. 

“For helping me. For not killing me. For a lot of things. Mostly for not killing me”, he laughed and it sounded like music to your ears. His deep voice gave him an edge, his laugh even more so. He walked up to you, his eyes never leaving yours as he lifted a hand to grab your face, his thumb softly stroking your skin. 

“Red..”, you whispered, breathing in his musk and trying to keep him at a distance. You forced yourself to believe you couldn’t be caught in such a compromising position and yet you didn’t move away from him or out of his touch. Your eyes melted into his, wanting to deny that he had a hold over you, yet you let him share that moment of familiarity with you. 

You felt his hand hover on your back slightly, almost like testing the waters, before letting it wrap around your waist and pulling you into him. What was it about him that just made all reason go out the window? What hold did he have that made everything you believed to be right, actually wrong? 

He leaned in, his mouth hovering just centimeters above yours, his musk drawing you deeper into him as you breathed him in. You kept telling yourself that it was wrong, he was wrong, this was wrong. He was the enemy, he was the one who ruined your work, the one making hits on Penguin’s operations, the one who made your loyalty completely shatter into doubt of what you were doing in this life. 

“Red.”, you warned, your voice holding absolutely no resolve in it as his lips met yours, deafening everything around you. You breathed him in, his hands burning your skin as they tightened on your waist. You felt his hands go lower, grabbing your thighs as he picked you up into his arms. Jason was built. He was a machine. He had the strength of a bull and carried you like it was nothing. 

Walking over to the couch, he laid you down, his lips never leaving yours and his hand gripping your thighs as he found his place in between them. Your legs wrapped around his waist, his muscles flexing as he broke your kiss moving his way to your neck causing you to hold back a moan. 

He nipped at the skin on your neck, your hands tightening on his arms as you held back your soft cries. He wasn’t letting up and you didn’t want him to. You want him to keep going, to keep making your body feel on fire just like he did a week ago. You wanted him to consume you in every way you knew existed, even in the ways you didn’t. His teeth nipped at your soft skin, his grunts filling your ear as he continued down your neck. 

“R-Red.”, you muttered, trying to push him back slightly, trying to gain some control over the situation. “Stop.”

He pulled back, his deep green eyes meeting yours in a delicate way, his jaw clenched as he tried to gain his composure. 

“Y/n..”

“We shouldn’t do this.”, you whispered against his lips, watching as his eyes filled with desire and held your gaze. “We can’t do this.”

“Why?”, his voice came out in a tone of slight desperation. 

“You know why. We both know why.”, you tried sitting up, his body moving with yours as you sat upwards, your hands still on his arms as you flexed your fingers slightly. 

“You want this.”, he muttered, leaning forward for his forehead to lean against yours, his breath touching your cheek in a soft manner. “What does it matter what they think?”

“Red.”, your eyes closed in frustration. Frustration at him, at yourself, at your selfish wants, at your situation. “That’s exactly why we can’t”

You pushed him off, standing as you walked over to the window, looking out as you let your mind run wild with a million different thoughts. You couldn’t fall into this, couldn’t fall into him. You were getting your jobs done, he’d given you your cut of the money from the Gala, you had more than enough to pack up tonight and leave. You should. You had to do it. If you didn’t leave, you would never get out of Gotham alive. 

“Why do you always deny yourself the things that’ll make you happy?”, a cold sinking feeling melted into your bones, turning to look at him with wide eyes. His own held a determination in them as he rose to his feet, wiping his thumb over his swollen lips as he stood over you. “You’re bailing.”

“No. I’m doing what I have always wanted. I’m leaving because I worked for it.”, you bit out. “I’m leaving Gotham because It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. There is nothing for me here.”

“You don’t know that.”, he retorted in a deep, calm tone. “You’re bailing before you even have the chance to figure it out. You’ve lived on the streets since you were a child, you came into this life when you were 16, you don’t know anything else.”

Your eyes filled with anger, his words fueling the fire inside of you and making you ready to snap at him with every ounce of fury inside of you. 

“If you stayed long enough to leave behind this life and try something else, maybe you’d think it was worthwhile. Maybe you wouldn’t be packing up and leaving the second shit got tough.”, you saw his jaw clench and his hands tighten into fists, almost like he was trying not to let the irritation eat him alive. “Like I said, you always deny yourself of the things that’ll make you happy.”

“I don’t need a lecture from anyone. Especially not you.”, you spit with the venom laced in each word. “You’re just a rich boy going around wreaking havoc because you're too bored to do anything else. You have all of daddy’s money. You don’t know what it’s like to live on the streets and fight for your life, fight for an ounce of power when you feel absolutely worthless, to just have any form of control. You’ve had power and control since you were born, so don’t go lecturing me like you fucking know me.”

“I know you don’t give yourself a chance to be happy. I know you’re working yourself to fucking death every week putting up with the fat bird’s pointless jobs and dealing with that motherfucker Black Mask. I know you’re better than the scraps they give you just so you feel important to them. Let me tell you right now Y/n, they don’t fucking care about you. They never will,”

“Oh and what?”, you gave a pathetic laugh, “You think you’re the one to care for me? You think you know what’s good for me? I have survived this fucking city, the low lives, the drug lords, the murderers, the foolish rich assholes, I have survived it all long enough without your fucking help. So, do us both a fucking favor and get the hell out of my apartment!”, you yelled at him, shoving him back when he tried getting closer to you. “Go back to fucking trying to kill me. You were far more tolerable when you had a gun pointed to my head.”

His eyes darkened, never leaving yours as you stood your ground and had your jaw clenched. His shoulders were tense, his hands were balled into fists, and his face remained neutral. After what felt like forever, he turned, picking his helmet off the table and placing it over his head, hiding his perfect features and those green eyes that made you weak. That was just it, you couldn’t be weak. Not because of him. In this life, weaknesses were not tolerated, especially not when he was the most wanted vigilante in Gotham. 

You stood in the middle of the living room, waiting for him to leave, watching as he climbed through the window and halted halfway before turning towards you. 

“Seems like escaping has been on your mind a lot more recently.”, he muttered, the distorter making his voice change completely. “Thought that would’ve changed by now.”

His words rang through the room as he left, leaving the window open, the money on the floor, and you sitting in your own anger. You felt a heaviness in your chest, an emptiness that you didn't realize would consume you until just now. 

I’ve been wanting to escape a lot less recently.

Your words echoed in your head from all those years ago, a hit to the gut at the memory of what kept you hopeful for the future. You couldn’t bring yourself to let go of the dreams you once had as a teenager and now that you were older you felt like you’d failed yourself. 

You’re bailing before you even have the chance to figure it out. 

If you stayed long enough to leave behind this life and try something else, maybe you’d think it was worthwhile. 

His words echoed in your head, almost like a broken record, just repeating until they felt like there was some hidden meaning behind them. You ran a hand over your mouth, letting yourself sit with the small realizations of what he could have possibly meant by his words. Was there something deeper behind his anger? Was there something hiding behind the disguise of frustration that you couldn’t quite place?

A shaky breath escaped your lips, moving towards the kitchen and grabbing one of the duffle bags, moving it into the closet before doing the same to the other. You sat on your bathroom floor, letting the silence of the apartment consume you before letting yourself sit with your calmed emotions. Everything replayed. You wondered, was he right?

Did you bail when things got hard? When did you become so stubborn? When did you stop hoping for more? Was it this life that robbed you of everything or was it your own self destruction? 

You moved through the world with a guarded heart, not letting anyone close enough to penetrate the armor you’d spent the majority of your life forging. You never wanted to be vulnerable, you never wanted to be seen as weak. You sit in the silence and wonder, was that the problem all along? Was it self-preservation that led you to this point, or did it slowly evolve into a self-imposed prison? When did you start to mistake isolation for strength and solitude for safety?

You used to dream of a different life, of leaving Gotham and turning your life around and now, it felt so far in the past. Everything had faded into nothing and a part of you feared leaving the city. You’d be alone again, you’d be forced into starting over, you’d be forced to forget everything that made the city worthwhile. You’d forget him. 

You stood, staring at your reflection in the mirror, a ghost staring back at you. A version of yourself that didn’t exist in this timeline, a version of yourself that felt familiar and foreign. A happier, perhaps more stable, version of yourself that likely lived a carefree life. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath, and let the silence wash over you once more. You turned, walking to your bed and laying on the mattress as you stared out at the empty sky, letting your tired body slowly sink into your sheets. 

If you stayed long enough to leave behind this life and try something else, maybe you’d think it was worthwhile. 

The words continued to echo. 

A constant loop. 

A replay of words as you slowly slipped into unconsciousness, the words blurring into a completely new meaning. 

If you stayed long enough to leave this life behind and experience what it's like to be happy, maybe you’d think it was worthwhile. 

Maybe you’d think I was worthwhile.

A/N: Hey guys! I'm sorry this chapter got delayed for posting, summer class finals have been consuming my time! BUT after the next two weeks, I will have all the free time to just write at my hearts content and get this series into the second half! I really loved all the reactions to the last chapter and it makes me feel so much more motivated seeing everyone's comments, reposts, and messages.

I have another set of one-shots that I plan on posting (some are 2 part stories) since I've had them in the vault for a minute, so they will likely get posted along with Playing with Fire. They are anime fanfictions (Jujutsu Kaisen mainly) so if you're also into those check them out!

I will be creating a Masterlist of all my works soon so everything is all in one place!

Look forward to next week and again thank you guys for all the love and support!