#i feel like a lot of my issues with posting art come back to that

[thirstkanaphan]

Thirst Gets Lore-Pilled (Part 2/?)

I decided to lock in and immerse myself in Ateez lore! Thank you to @loving-that-officey-feel for being my guide and curator (their quotes are in italics). With their permission, I'm posting some of our interactions as I go through the different eras.

(Part 1)

Today I began my journey into the Fever era, which I know contains a TON of lore and I am starting with the very important FEVER Part.1 'Diary Film' Official Video.

um...can I just say, THIS IS AMAZING!!! The production values, the sound design, the editing, the acting!!! This is an incredible video.

So the diary film shows us the backstories of our boys and what leads them to use the cromer (which Hala!Joong offers to Hongjoong). Each of them have personal tragedies that made them feel alienated and alone until they found each other and their special warehouse/clubhouse (before that too was taken away).

Yes, Fever 1 is basically all the backstory of how they met and why they found comfort/companionship/support as a team, when otherwise the world around them (or their personal issues) was Not Good.

It's clear that KQ took inspiration from their IRL backstories. It takes a lot of bravery to use your personal traumas for art. Seonghwa's storyline really stood out to me. In his memory, he watches a young woman dance alone outside a convenience store. This girl lacks the fear and shame that holds Seonghwa back from being his true self.

I find it very interesting the choice of gender used for the manifestation of Seonghwa's deepest desires. He does not want her, he wants to be her.

Seonghwa picks up what she dropped: a bracelet that tells him to BE FREE! 😭😭😭

Yeosang's story was also incredibly sad and moving, but I immediately noticed the imagery of the white bird in a cage. White birds are a recurring motif with Yeosang, such as in The Real mv, and also in his concert stage for It's You. Yeosang is the white bird being freed from his cage.

Finally, Mingi's story stabbed me in the gut. MY SAD BOY!! The way he shuts out the world and can't trust others, even after he's shown friendship and love from the other boys.

I commend them for their absolute BALLS for the fact that when they chose their little fictional pirate guy's issues... they just... more or less gave them their real-life traumas, just a couple fictional steps to the left: Hongjoong: abandonment issues, Seonghwa: rules and ristrictions and perfectionism and Cannots, Yeosang: parental disapproval like WOAH, San: connection and belonging, Mingi: depression/anxiety (and financial issues), Wooyoung: stage fright, Jongho: helplessness that comes with injury and the fear of losing a dream because of it.... Yunho's the only one I'm not sure where that fits in with his real life backstory. Since I'm pretty sure all his relatives are alive and well? But I could see Absurd Sense of Responsibility (+dash of Catholic guilt) and still roll with it

I wondered about Yunho! In his fictional backstory, he's dealing with the death of his brother. In real life, his brother is alive and well. I somewhat-jokingly speculated that KQ couldn't find any darkness in Yunho's backstory so they had to make something up...?

I absolutely must include @loving-that-officey-feel's response, because it made me want to fling myself from the roof: Yeah, I feel like Yunho didn't really have much trauma going in so they just had to make that one up. ......though, oddly, if you project a little bit. Like, when I first got into ATEEZ I watched a ton of random variety content as it popped up and it took me a reaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaally long time to get a read on Yunho as a guy. Because most the variety content I got recommended right at the beginning... was all filmed during Mingi's hiatus. And I don't know how to describe it, but Yunho is physically there and he's clearly trying hard... but it's like his personality was at like 30% of what it should've been so I just couldn't get a read on it. And then Mingi comes back and his personality dials right back up to 100% again because Mingi is back and he's going to be OK ....so two steps to the left of endlessly worrying yourself to pieces and wondering if you didn't Do Enough. Did You Fail Them??? about your best friend..... two steps to the left about a new fictional brother...... but that's entirely projection on my part

YUNGI!!! 😭 I'm going to be thinking about this for a long time!!!

By the end of the video, you start to see why they decided to take leap and travel into the unknown.

I have so much more left to explore with Fever: Part 1 but I wanted to post about this because I think it's a beautiful video and an absolute must-watch for any atiny who's interested in getting into the lore.

[hesbianyaoi]

I love you art style soooooo much genuinely I keep going back to look at your art and every time I’m like ohhhhh so lovely your shapes are incredible I’m obsessed

oh goodness this is so late but THANK YOU! unfortunately i haven't been able to post art in so long due to just about Every Situation Under The Sun happening to me but i really do hope i can post art more before the end of this year...

thank you for your kind messages and support, everyone has been very kind, it means the world to me

[koalemoslepus]

//Warning I have a tendency to accidentally hide my true vents in the tags by total accident

-----

I just saw an AI bot meant to give you the AI prompts to write AI image generations like at what point do we literally just get to revoke brain if you're not going to do it like literally we don't need you to copy and paste the machines could do that quite easily with a script and frankly I vote we pay them instead of you because shit maybe we could get some deflation in here if the money starts disappearing and it's not like you're fucking doing a damn thing for it also in my like in my warped verision of reality I cling to maybe?? If we let everyone go down this rabbit hole of the tech we have at present being sentient we could somehow crackpot loop our way back around them being regulated more than a worker maybe we'd help curb the cash incentives cause I know they'd get more protections / freedoms than a woman would in my lifetime FUCK anyway

[remxedmoon]

so all you need to do right now is disappear.

HHHHAPPY ISATVERSARY EVERYONE. here’s redraws for every single battle cg in the game. 36 drawings this time around, with 11 of those being custom (though admittedly a good portion of those are edits). combined with the portrait redraws i made back in september, i’ve made 114 redraws for this project! jesus christ! just like those redraws, these are completely free to use!! as long as i’m credited and it’s not for commercial purposes, go wild!! do whatever you want!!!

no i didn’t make these for isat’s 1 year anniversary this is just wildly good timing.

i genuinely can’t fit all of these cgs in one post even with the 30 image limit on browser, but i’ll still try to fit Most of them below the cut (without making this post horrifically long), along with some notes that might be important 👍

okay! once again, i labeled all of the custom art as such in the drive(UPDATE. NNOT TRUE ANYMORE. reformatted file names to be easier to mod in auau. apologies!), but if you want a full list, the customs are hatless siffrin jackpot, bonnie jackpot, bonnie special attack, bigfrin attack, and a bunch of alts which are definitely not related to any projects i’ve been thinking about don’t worry about it. and out of those customs, only like. 3 of them are actually completely from scratch.

while i did my absolute best to keep the aspect ratios completely the same as the originals, there’s 3 exceptions that i just couldn’t get to work.

isabeau’s hair in his special attack cg wouldn’t fit in frame if i kept things completely accurate to the og, so i moved his cg down a bit. it shouldn’t cause any issues with modding or anything, it’ll just appear slightly lower than it does in game. alas…

isabeau’s sleeve and mirabelle’s hair made their jackpot sprites a little larger than the originals? i’m hoping this doesn’t have too much of an effect (since the jackpot sprites have inconsistent sizes) but i can’t test this myself unfortunately. aaa feel free to let me know on discord if any problems arise!!

i managed to fix these, so they aren’t going to cause problems now, but my original drawings for mirabelle and siffrin in the final attack scene were a pain in the ass to fix. mirabelle’s sprite was slightly too talk to fit in frame and siffrin’s hat whacked bonnie in the face while i was editing everyone together. i’m only mentioning this because it took like an hour and a half to fix them and finish the scene.

all that aside, these were a fucking BLAST to work on. apparently this ended up taking 57 hours over exactly 10 days. which is a little worrying if you do the math on that but somehow i have not burnt myself out. i will be doing enemies at some point!!! but probably not for a little bit. i think my friends will actually kill me if i don’t take a break.

once again, happy birthday isat. you’ve ruined my life and i wouldn’t have it any other way (silly).

also, on an actual serious note, this little timeloop game has genuinely changed my life for the better? you guys are probably sick of hearing it at this point (or maybe not, i don’t talk about myself That Much. i hope), but i was practically a ghost for about 2 years before joining this fandom. it’s a little surreal to suddenly have friends (plural!!!) and people who Care about me, or even know i exist, honestly. it’s weird!! in a good way!!!

i don’t think i would’ve ever come back to social media if this community wasn’t so welcoming. i’ve met a lot of really great people through this game!!! so, uh, thank you isat, i guess. here’s to another year.

[is-this-fascism]

Please help me survive and escape homelessness.

GFM

KF

CA

I want to be safe by the winter of 2025.

I'm having a difficult time fundraising for my van. Repeated car troubles and various other unexpected issues have eaten into my savings multiple times, and while in a slump I wasn't making as many posts about my situation and I got significantly less donations over the last ~6 weeks on both my gofundme and my kofi/cashapp. While I've 'regained' a lot of what I lost, I've been spending about as much as is coming in. Aside from one instance, my emergency expenses were eaten by my fundraiser savings, which was then gained back about as quickly as I was spending it on my daily expenses. I still haven't reached the goal for the recent $1000 I had to spend on my car.

So far I've lost $2,200 of the $3,100 that's shown on the GFM. I'll be updating the fundraiser to reflect the loss.

I'm autistic and struggle just to meet my basic needs, and despite that I've been denied disability income multiple times. Failing to hold a job (and developing PTSD symptoms from my time being employed), and let down and abandoned by anyone who could support me, I'm left with few resources and few options. I try to make posts when I'm in a good mood, or keep people updated when I'm in a bad mood. I make videos on YouTube, hoping eventually I can show people what their money has gotten for me.

On a good month, I only spend about $600, leaving me some space to save the donations I was previously getting. With winter and the holidays coming, I'm not sure I'll be getting as much money as the warmer months, and I'll be spending more on keeping myself warm and fed over the winter. It will be more like $800/mo now. The only real solution is getting more money than I'm spending, as I'm already spending as little as I safely can.

I'll only take financial advice from someone who has lowered their expenses below mine, with the same disabilities and circumstances as me. What I need is more money, and I don't always have the energy to pay back with art and things like that. I don't even always have the energy to post my pleas for help. I don't have a sponsor to help me make these posts.

I'm in a low energy mode because what can I do with no money? In a state where I have to spend as little as possible, see such slow results, see most of it taken by things outside my control, and somehow keep up hope that this will work?

When I feel safe and have adequate shelter in a van, I'll be able to REST. And then start working harder and making more money one way or another. Whether you think I should suck it up and get a job or you want to see me become a content creator, I need money for any kind of opportunity and I'm just not getting enough.

So, thank you to everyone who's suppported me so far. Thank you to the repeat supports. I'm sorry I had to spend your money on other things. Thank you to the person who covered most of a huge expense I was stressing about a couple months ago. Thank you to the person who sent me $200 to get a hotel and told me to take care of my mental health before saving anything. Thank you to the blogs that have featured my fundraiser in your posts. Thank you to everyone who keeps boosting and cheering me on even though you can't support financially.

I don't know what else I can do to get more people like that to see me. There are so many options on the internet, but it's still a daunting task and as much as I can't really afford to rest, I have to sometimes. Often, in fact.

Please keep boosting this post until my goal is really met. Until I can spend more than $600 a month and actually earn your money rather than beg for it.

[bishovapls]

Our Little One - It Was Just Fate.

Relationships: Natasha Romanoff & Wanda Maximoff & Reader

Summary: This prologue/prequel to 'You Make Such Pretty Sounds When You’re Sorry' and 'I Think You Both Need Daddy, Hm?' dives into the reader’s introduction to kink, guided by a close friend. Their first attempt at exploring the culture takes an unexpected turn, but it sets the stage for their connection with Wanda and Natasha. As they navigate the complexities of their budding relationship, they face challenges that test them all. And of course, we need a bit of smut, so we see their first time together. Expect emotional struggles, discovery, and the messy beginnings of the 'Our Little One' universe.

Warnings: 18+, Mommy Kink, Daddy Kink, Age Gap (Older WandaNat/Younger Reader), BDSM, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Cunnilingus, Safe Words & Check-ins, Kink Negotiation, Self-Esteem Issues, Innocent Reader, Light Angst (but with a happy ending), Allusion to previous abuse.

A/N: Posting this on my birthday, so if you hate it, just remember, no mean comments allowed. I don't make the rules, I just live by them. I know this is long, probably way more than you bargained for, but hey, I cut it down a lot, so really, it could be worse. Also, thank you to @chansawrelier for the request!

Word Count: 21,299

NSFW below the cut, you can also read on AO3.

You’d moved across the country for college, leaving behind a home that had never really felt like one. It hadn’t been an easy decision, but it was a necessary one, something between escape and survival. You arrived early, more than a week before classes began, eager to settle into the dorms and put some distance between yourself and everything you were trying to forget. 

By some stroke of luck, your roommate had moved in early, too. Apparently, her loft on the other side of the city had burned down in a freak accident, and she flat-out refused to move back in with her mother.

Kate Bishop was everything you hadn’t even dared to hope for in a roommate: funny, grounded, genuinely kind. She made you feel like maybe you weren’t entirely alone in this strange, unfamiliar place. She’d grown up in New York, had an entire life here already, complete with a close-knit group of friends and a girlfriend named Yelena.

You’d only met Yelena a few times, but she made an impression, slightly older, striking, with a dry wit and a thick accent that made everything she said sound twice as cool. She’d already finished college, and now ran a chain of martial arts studios across the city. 

But one thing that had truly shocked you was their dynamic when they were alone. Coming from a small town with no clue about college etiquette, you hadn’t thought twice about the sock on the door handle of your dorm. Headphones in, music blasting, you’d returned late one night from your favourite café and pushed the door open with a casual, “Hey, Kate—”

And froze.

Yelena was strapped to Kate’s narrow bed, wrists and ankles bound to the corners, her body completely exposed and vulnerable. Kate was straddling her in a panic, trying hopelessly to shield her girlfriend’s nakedness with her own body. You froze in the doorway, eyes wide, breath caught, the scene burning itself into your mind before instinct took over. You spun around and ran, heart pounding, feet flying. 

It took two full days of pretending nothing had happened before it finally cracked. You hadn’t meant to say anything, you were determined not to. You’d buried it deep, shoved it behind textbooks and playlists and pointless walks to nowhere, trying to suffocate it under a hundred different distractions. 

But the memory kept clawing its way back. Not of them, not really. Not Kate or Yelena as people. It wasn’t about attraction. It was the feeling of what they were doing. The heat that pooled in your stomach when you remembered the way Yelena had looked beneath Kate, the weightless calm in her limbs, the glow behind her eyes, even though you’d barged in on them in such an intimate moment. 

You couldn't stop thinking about it. 

But tonight, Kate insisted (more like begged) that you go to the big pre-semester party. So you’d gone. You’d drunk more than you meant to. And now, hours later, the dorm room was gently swaying around you, the overhead light was off, and everything was bathed in the soft, amber spill of the desk lamp.

Kate looked like she’d been sculpted into relaxation. Her legs were tangled in a blanket, her flannel half-buttoned and slipping from one shoulder, and her phone was held loosely in her hand. But every few seconds, her gaze darted up. You didn’t have to see it to feel it. 

The tension curled in the air between you like smoke. Eventually, she let out a long, theatrical sigh that broke the quiet. Tossed her phone onto the bed and sat up, cracking her neck like she was about to start a fight.

“Okay, you’ve officially out-brooded me,” she said, tone somewhere between amused and exasperated. “And I once spent a whole summer listening to nothing but Lana Del Rey. So. Spill. What’s going on in that tragic little head of yours?”

You gave a hollow sort of laugh, too tight, too dry. “Nothing’s wrong. I'm fine.”

Kate raised one eyebrow slowly, unimpressed. “Right. Because the whole ‘I’m fine’ routine goes so well with the thousand-yard stare. C’mon, what’s actually going on?”

Your heart kicked like a trapped animal. You hated this pressure, this feeling like your body was shrinking in on itself. Your arms curled tighter around the blanket, your hands clenched hard enough that your knuckles ached. 

“Is it something I did?” she asked, and her voice changed. It was gentler, even coaxing. “Or said?”

“No. No, it’s not that,” you said quickly, the words falling out too fast. Your head snapped up, eyes wide, terrified she’d misunderstood. You needed her to know it wasn’t her.

She tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing with soft focus, studying you like you were a puzzle with one piece missing. “Then what is it?”

Your mouth opened. Nothing came. Your jaw clenched as your fingers dug deeper into the blanket. Her tone turned almost tender. “You’ve been weird since Tuesday.”

You flinched like the word itself slapped you. It landed with terrifying accuracy.

Kate’s eyes flickered, amusement already curling at her mouth before the full realisation even landed. “Ohhh,” she said, drawing the word out with a grin, her tone all too knowing. “This is about the sock on the door, isn’t it?”

Heat surged up your neck and into your cheeks, spreading fast. Your ears burned, your stomach turned. “Kate—”

She groaned, flopping back against her pillow with a theatrical sigh, even as her grin widened. “God, I told Yelena the sock was a shit idea! I literally said we needed a better system. I said we should’ve just gone back to hers.”

You buried your face in your hands, your voice muffled and miserable. “I didn’t mean to walk in. I didn’t know what it meant.”

“No, clearly not. You looked like you’d witnessed a murder. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone move so fast,” she said with a huff of laughter.

“I panicked,” you muttered, not lifting your head.

“You literally threw yourself into the corridor,” she corrected, another chuckle spilling out as she sat up again, trying to pull you into the warmth of the moment.

“I panicked,” you said again, but this time your voice cracked on the word. It came out too thin, too small. Your breath caught.

The laughter vanished from Kate’s face in an instant, her expression tightening with concern. “Hey. I’m messing with you, but if it really freaked you out…” Her voice came quieter now, steadier, threaded with something that sounded like guilt. “If you’re uncomfortable, I’ll talk to Yelena, and—”

“No.” The word shot out, too loud, too harsh. You winced immediately. “No, it’s not that. I just…”

You looked down. Your hands were trembling. Kate didn’t speak. She waited. You hadn’t known her long, but she already knew you, your silences, your defence mechanisms, the way you got brittle before you broke.

Finally, your voice emerged, hollow. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

She blinked. That wasn’t the answer she’d expected, clearly. You surged on before the fear could catch you.

“Not like that,” you said fast, too fast, your words tangling in each other. “I’m not…into you, or Yelena, or anything like that. I just…I keep seeing it. You and her. And it didn’t look scary, or weird. It looked…right. Like it made sense. Like that’s where you were supposed to be.”

Kate’s entire face shifted, something warm and open blooming across her features. She looked almost reverent, like the thought alone settled something deep inside her. “Yeah,” she said, slow and certain. “That’s kind of the whole point.”

You stared at her, overwhelmed. “That’s not normal, though, is it?” Your voice cracked at the edges, shame clinging to it like soot. 

“Who told you that?” she asked, voice flatter now, more guarded. 

You hesitated. “No one. I just feel like a freak. I can’t stop thinking about it. Something about it felt familiar. Like…like it scratched some itch I didn’t know I had.”

Kate’s smile was so gentle it barely reached her mouth. But her eyes were all compassion. “That doesn’t make you a freak. That makes you self-aware.”

You groaned and hid again behind your hands. “This is so embarrassing. I want to crawl into a hole and just die.”

“No dying allowed,” she said, easy and light. “Also, not embarrassing. I’ve had this kind of conversation, like, four times. One girl sobbed. One guy made a spreadsheet. You’re doing great.”

You huffed out a soft, stunned laugh. Still didn’t look at her. Your eyes locked on your knees. “How did you know? That you were into all of…that?”

Kate blinked once. Then she smiled, slow and steady. “All of what, exactly?” Her voice dipped teasingly. “You’re gonna have to be more specific, babe. I’m into a lot of stuff.”

You laughed nervously. “You know what I mean.” You swallowed. “I’ve never done anything like that. My past hookups were all really…vanilla. Very, very, missionary-with-the-lights-off vanilla.”

Kate wrinkled her nose in mock-disgust. “Yikes. That is bleak.”

“It was. But this…I don’t know. It’s been in my head since.” You faltered. The moment had gotten too big again. You shrank from it. “This is weird. Let’s just sleep?”

Kate studied you for a second longer, then spoke. It was quiet, but there was a sterness to it. “Hey. Look at me?”

Your head turned before you even thought about it. Eyes locking with hers like it was instinct. 

Kate didn’t say anything for a beat. But her face changed. Just a flicker. A quiet realisation before she eventually spoke. “Okay,” she said softly, mostly to herself.

Your heart leapt. “What?”

She shrugged, lips twitching, clearly holding back a grin. “Just answering my own question.”

You frowned. “What question?”

She grinned now, wicked and amused. “Which side you’re on.”

Your stomach plummeted, and your heart raced. “What does that even mean?”

She tilted her head, her voice low and playful. “I mean…me or Yelena. Domme or Sub. The one doing the tying or the one getting tied.” She paused, watching you closely. “You didn’t even think about it. You just looked at me. That’s kind of a giveaway.”

You groaned, mortified. “Don’t analyse me.”

She laughed, bright and delighted. “Too late. I already diagnosed you with chronic obedience.”

You covered your face again, but this time the trembling in your hands didn’t stop the laughter bubbling up.

Kate let the moment sit for a second. Then she leaned forward again, voice soft but sincere. “You don’t have to figure it all out tonight. You don’t even have to do anything with it. But if you ever want to talk about what it means, what it doesn’t, I’m here. No judgement.”

You looked up slowly. Cautious. But grateful. Kate met your gaze with a small nod. “I’ve got you.”

—

You and Kate had gone to bed not long after the conversation, nerves buzzing under your skin, alcohol humming through your blood, and a restless curiosity settling somewhere low in your stomach. 

By morning, the haze had lifted a little, but the curiosity remained. You barely had to ask before Kate was sitting cross-legged across from you, all easy confidence and unfiltered honesty, rattling off explanations like it was the most normal thing in the world. She walked you through the foundations of it all, kinks and limits, power dynamics, aftercare. 

She explained safe words, how communication was everything, and how trust wasn’t optional; it was the entire point. She even introduced you to the traffic light system, green for go, yellow for slow down, red for stop. 

And then, she gave you the most terrifying suggestion of all: a lesbian kink club.

She brought it up so casually, like it was just another bullet point on her list. You’d balked, of course, wide-eyed and uncertain, but Kate just shrugged and smiled, patient as ever. 

She promised it wasn’t what you were imagining, no horror stories, no unchecked chaos, no pressure. “This place is serious,” she said, “It’s safe. Everything’s built around consent and control, and no one will touch you without a hell of a lot of permission. You don’t even have to speak if you don’t want to. Just watch. That’s what most new people do.”

Still, when you asked if she’d come with you, she hesitated. “I can’t,” she said eventually, with a wry smile. “Yelena would lose her mind. And no domme would even come near you if you were with me. They know me, and they know I don’t share.”

You blinked at her, confused. “But you’re not—”

She held up a hand. “I know. But that’s not how it works there. People respect boundaries, so if I walked in with a pretty new sub, they’d assume I’d claimed you, like I did Yelena, and steer clear.”

Your face burned red at the idea of being claimed, along with the subtle ‘pretty’ she had thrown in there. You knew it wasn't flirty and was more of a joke, but the thought of being seen as pretty made your breath stutter a bit. 

But before you could think too much about that, she laughed a little sheepishly then. “Plus, I have been known to growl like a rabid dog when someone flirts with Yelena. Even without the rules, I'm pretty sure they'd stay away out of fear of grievous bodily harm.”

You laughed then, the tension easing slightly, but still, the idea of going without Kate made your chest tighten. 

But Kate had been insistent. “You don’t have to do anything. Just go. Watch. No one will touch you unless you say yes. And if it gets too much, you leave. Simple.”

She'd made it sound manageable. Even safe. She talked about safe, sane, consensual like it was gospel, and maybe, for her, it was. And the way she spoke about it made it hard not to believe her.

—

From the very first time you’d wandered into Wanda’s cafe, drawn by the aroma of fresh pastries and coffee, you’d known this place was going to be your refuge. The mismatched mugs, the wild greenery curling down from hanging pots and over windowsills, the gently worn furniture that seemed to have stories soaked into the wood, it all felt like a place you were allowed to exhale in. 

You’d started coming to the café nearly every time Kate was out with her friends, and you’d refused to join her, which, given how often that was, meant you were there a lot. 

Wanda, whose name you had learned on your second visit, wasn’t always there, but when she was, you noticed, and for some reason, it would make your sanctuary even better. There was a soft warmth in the way she’d glance at you from behind the counter. 

And when you’d been there for hours, nursing your fourth cup of coffee for the day, Wanda would always notice. “You need to eat something, darling,” she’d say gently, setting a pastry and a glass of water down in front of you with a soft smile. “It’s lovely seeing you in here so often, but that much coffee with no food or water? Not on my watch.” Her tone was teasing, but there was a kindness beneath it that made you feel cared for in a way you weren’t used to.

And every time that happened, your face would burn, heat spreading all the way to your ears, and you’d have to lower your gaze to hide the way your mouth betrayed you, unable to form a proper thank you. 

And that was how, on a slow Saturday afternoon, you once again found yourself curled into your usual corner booth, tucked safely behind your laptop and a growing stack of notes. You’d told yourself you were going to be productive, that today would be about distraction. And judging by the five colour-coded drafts of your class timetable and the frankly absurd amount of early required reading you’d powered through, you’d managed, for a while.

But eventually, your focus had begun to slip. No matter how hard you tried to drown it in academic preparation, your thoughts kept drifting, again and again, to tonight. To the club. 

You did want to go. You were curious, drawn to it in a way you didn’t fully understand. But you weren’t exactly the most social person on the best of days, and this wasn’t some casual night out with your new bestie Kate. You didn’t know what to expect. You barely knew the rules. And for someone who’d only just begun to glimpse that part of themselves, who still hesitated to name the things they wanted, the whole thing felt impossibly big.

You were still debating if you could handle it when the soft chime of the café door snapped you out of your spiral. Your fingers stilled on your cup, and something in your chest jumped, an involuntary reaction you’d become embarrassingly familiar with.

It was her again.

You didn’t know her name. You didn’t want to know her name. You weren’t looking. Not really. You just…noticed her. Every time.

You kept your eyes on your screen, or tried to, though it was hard not to notice the way she slipped behind the counter like she belonged there. And maybe she did, because even the very first time you saw her, you’d noticed how Wanda leaned into her, soft and familiar, how the redhead’s hand settled at the small of her back like it was second nature. You’d caught the way Wanda tilted her face down ever so slightly, unthinking, offering a kiss that was less a greeting and more a ritual. 

And still, you told yourself you weren’t watching. You didn’t mean to eavesdrop either. You just couldn’t help overhearing.

“Are we still going to that place your sister suggested tonight?” Wanda’s voice was casual, but bright. There was a hopefulness in it that made you glance up again without meaning to.

The redhead didn’t answer immediately. Her body shifted, spine straightening. Her expression didn’t change, not really, but the vibe of her turned cooler, more guarded.

“You sure we need this?” she asked finally, voice low, cautious. “You know what happened last time.”

You shouldn’t have been listening. You told yourself you weren’t. But your hand was still on your coffee cup, unmoving, your laptop screen long since forgotten.

“It’s different this time,” Wanda replied. Her hand came up to rest on Natasha’s shoulder, fingers brushing lightly against the fabric of her sleeve, a soft comfort you imagined. “You know that.”

Natasha didn’t answer, but she didn’t pull away either.

Then Wanda leaned closer, her voice dropping into something quieter, and even though you knew you shouldn’t, you tilted just slightly forward to hear. “We go,” she said, “we see what it’s like. And if it doesn’t work out…” she trailed off, then smiled, and there was something wicked and warm in it all at once. “I’ll let you ruin me as revenge. Deal?”

Natasha’s breath hitched. So did yours. You stared hard at the screen in front of you, suddenly too aware of your own skin, of the heat climbing up your neck and settling behind your ears. 

You took a long sip of coffee, letting the bitterness settle on your tongue, focusing on the heat of the cup cradled between your palms like it might tether you. It didn’t help, at least, not in the way you wanted. 

But thinking about them, about the quiet ease between them, the way Wanda’s eyes softened when the redhead leaned in close, or the way that touch lingered a little longer than necessary, was its own kind of distraction. 

A quiet ache bloomed, low in your chest. You’d never had anything like that, you might never, and you hated how easily that thought lodged itself inside you. Still, it was something to focus on. Better, at least, than the spiralling nerves about tonight.

—

You’d made it to the club, barely after spending hours spiralling over your outfit, changing again and again until you were out of time and excuses. But the moment you arrived, you couldn’t move. People flowed in around you like it was nothing. They moved as if they’d been born knowing how to exist in places like this.

Your heart pounded too fast, thudding against your ribs like it was trying to escape. Your fingers clenched tighter around the strap of your bag. Every part of you was begging to turn around, to run, before anyone noticed you didn’t belong.

“Hey. You,” you heard. You didn’t look up. It was New York, someone was always yelling, always calling out to someone who wasn’t you.

Except this time, it was. “Yeah, you,” the voice called again, laced with amusement. “Pretty skirt, face that screams ‘please get me the hell out of here’ , you planning to actually come inside, or just admire the door all night?”

Your head snapped up so fast it made your earrings shift.

The woman by the door was clearly amused, her arms folded as she leaned against the rope like she had all the time in the world. Her name tag read Rio, bold against the tight black security tee stretched across her chest. 

“C’mon,” she drawled, tilting her head toward the door, a dark curl falling across her brow as she looked you over. “You’ve been out here long enough to grow roots. What’s the hold up?”

You managed a breath that might’ve been a laugh, or a plea for help. Nothing coherent left your mouth, just a twitch of your lips that was closer to panic than a smile.

Rio grinned, like she’d seen it all before and still found it mildly entertaining. “Ah, first time?”

You nodded, small and tight, the motion barely there as your stomach flipped itself inside out.

She let that hang for a beat, then tipped her chin at you again, this time with a glint of something warmer behind the sharpness in her eyes. “Well, chill out. You look good. Real good. And no one’s gonna bite, unless you ask real nice.”

Her brow arched, deliberately suggestive, but the teasing was light, like a nudge rather than a push.

Then, without making a thing of it, she unhooked the velvet rope and stepped aside. Her posture stayed easy, but her voice shifted, just a little softer, just enough to catch you. “Go on, cutie. You’ve got this.”

And somehow, heart hammering and logic nowhere to be found, your feet started moving. You ducked past her, still not entirely sure how you’d managed it, but knowing her smirk was burning the back of your neck as you went.

—

As soon as you stepped inside, the air shifted, cool, smooth, and immediately heavy with the scent of expensive perfume mixed with something faintly sweaty. The lighting was soft, muted golden hues casting shadows that seemed to wrap around the room like a whisper. 

Everything was plush, refined, velvet drapes, dark mahogany wood floors that gleamed in the dim light, and sleek, modern furniture that looked both inviting and intimidating.

There were no wild strobe lights or neon signs; instead, the atmosphere was intimate in a way that made you feel like you were being gently observed, as if everyone here was comfortable with who they were and what they wanted. 

They seemed to float through the space, dressed in a refined mix of leather, silk, lace, and tailored suits, each one exuding a quiet confidence that you had yet to find in yourself.

Then your eyes caught on the stage across the room, where a strikingly pale woman with strawberry blonde hair stood in sleek black leather. Beside her was another woman, dark hair tumbling in soft waves, green eyes gleaming under the lights, dressed in a delicate lace bodice that clung to her like it had been stitched directly onto her skin.

The sub seemed at ease, almost meditative, as the flogger began to make contact with her in a rhythmic pattern. It wasn’t crude, wasn’t sexual in the way you expected. It was educational, like they were teaching the crowd about trust, boundaries, and the delicate balance of pain and pleasure.

It was…oddly beautiful, and you found yourself watching for longer than you’d intended. But the longer you stood there, the more overwhelmed you felt, the more your mind raced to catch up. This wasn’t the world you knew, nor a world you’d ever really imagined. It was intimidating, but still also oddly inviting.

Your feet moved before you even realised, carrying you to the bar without thinking. The low hum of the room, the muffled sound of the flogger against skin from the demonstration, the soft laughter of women chatting in hushed tones, all seemed to blur as you found yourself gripping the cool marble counter. 

The bartender, a woman with sharp eyes and an air of authority, glanced up at you as you approached, studying you for a moment before offering a small, knowing smile. “I think you might need something strong, hon?” she asked, her voice understanding, and you nodded, trying to calm the frantic thudding of your heart.

You could still hear the demonstration in the distance, the faint swish of the flogger and the calm voice explaining the technique, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look back. Instead, you focused on the glass being placed in front of you, the cool condensation from the drink briefly grounding you. You took a sip, the warmth of the alcohol mingling with the nervous tremor in your hands, your mind still racing.

—

When you arrived, you had promised yourself that you’d stay for at least two hours, give it a proper try, sit with the discomfort, and push through it. You weren’t going to bolt the second it got hard. 

Over the last hour and a half, three different women had approached you, spaced out just far enough to make it feel like a fresh humiliation each time. They’d come over with smiles, kind, confident, curious, trying to draw you into conversation, asking your name, what brought you here. 

And you’d tried, you really had, forcing your lips into a shape resembling a smile, giving them answers that barely skimmed the surface of coherent, until the pauses got longer, the polite smiles more strained, and eventually, they moved on.

You already struggled to believe you were enough in your everyday life. Add way too many drinks you definitely didn’t need, and an hour and a half of mounting self-consciousness, and the weight of it all started to press down on you. Every rejection, every silence, every glance that passed right over you, all congealed into something thick and sharp and awful in your chest.

And suddenly you were running.

When did you start running?

You didn’t even realise until your body collided with something solid, no… someone. Your body jolted to a stop, breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a sob. A warm, steady grip closed around your upper arm.

You blinked through the tears in your eyes, and that’s when you saw her. The redhead from the café. Just as striking in the low amber light, head half-tilted, a crease forming between her brows. And next to her, Wanda.

You wanted to say something, but your mouth refused. Your throat clenched tight around the words. So you did the only thing your body would allow, you ran.

Again.

You wrenched your arm free, heart lurching in your chest as you burst through the door and back into the cold, chasing air and distance like they might save you.

“Hey! Hey, you okay, newbie?” Rio’s voice followed you, half-laughing, half-sharp with worry. But you didn’t turn around. 

Your feet pounded the pavement, and your limbs shook as you ran. The wind tore at your hair, the cold sting of tears still fresh on your cheeks. Your mouth was dry, your lungs burning. You didn’t care where you were going, just that you needed to escape.

Down one street, then another. The world blurred around you, the hum of traffic, the lingering bass in your head, the tightness of your skirt, the sour taste of your drinks from earlier.

When your legs gave out, you stumbled into an alley, your back hitting the wall. The cold bricks bit through your tights, the wet chill sharpening every unbearable feeling. You slid to the ground, curling into yourself, unable to hold yourself up any longer.

Panic ripped through you, quiet and brutal, stealing your breath in shallow gasps as the world closed in.

You didn’t hear her coming. Not until her voice slipped through the haze, gentle, low, threaded with concern. “Hey, Sweetheart. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Wanda.

You knew it instantly, but you couldn’t lift your head. Even the soft warmth of her voice made your skin crawl with overstimulation. You stayed curled in on yourself, fingers digging into your sleeves, breath stuttering in shallow, uneven pulls.

“Look at me,” she urged, her voice firmer now. Her hands found your face, fingers gliding over your skin, coaxing your head up.

She saw the wet streaks down your face, the tremor in your lips, the glassy, unfocused eyes. Her expression shifted from shock to anger. “What happened? Did someone hurt you?”

A desperate shake of your head was all you could offer.

Beyond Wanda, the redhead stood in the alley’s mouth, arms crossed, watching in silence.

Wanda’s hands stayed on your face, grounding you. “Breathe with me,” she whispered. “In through the nose. Nice and slow.”

You wanted to say you knew what to do, that you’d been through this before. You knew all the things you were supposed to do: sit up straight, inhale for four, exhale for six, and ground yourself. But knowing didn’t mean doing. And right now, everything felt impossible.

Still, Wanda’s voice reached you. One breath. Then another. Your chest still trembled, but you followed. “That’s it,” she whispered, soothing. “You’re doing so well.”

She stayed until your hands stopped shaking, until your tears slowed. When your body finally gave in, she gently lifted your chin. Worry softened her gaze, her touch too kind.

“Talk to me,” she said. “You looked like you were running from something awful. Please tell me what it was.”

You tried. But all you managed was a broken exhale, your voice tangled up somewhere too deep to reach.

And Wanda didn’t wait. She just pulled you against her chest, one hand holding the back of your head, the other rubbing slow, soothing circles along your back. 

Eventually, Wanda’s voice broke the quiet, low and close to your ear. “You’re freezing, Honey.” Her arms tightened slightly, and you realised with a delayed shiver that the warmth you’d felt earlier wasn’t real, it had been panic, adrenaline, the flush of fear burning through your skin. Now that it had passed, all that was left was the cold.

“I’m okay,” you said, though the words came out hoarse and thin.

Her eyes didn’t move. “No,” she said quietly. “You’re not. And that’s okay. But let us walk you home?”

You shook your head slowly. “I’ll need to call an Uber, my dorm is on the other side of town. I’m fine. Really. Thank you, though…for everything.”

But the moment those words left your mouth, you saw something shift in her expression. Worry deepening into something more decisive, more stubborn. Like the idea of walking away from you now went against every instinct she had.

“No,” she said firmly. Then she paused, her eyes searching yours, her next words quieter, more careful. “Please, sweetheart. I don’t like the idea of you getting into a stranger’s car when you’re like this. It’s late. You’re not thinking clearly. You shouldn’t have to be. Let someone else take care of it. Of you. ”

“But I don’t want to ruin your night,” you whispered. “You were—” You didn’t finish the sentence. You didn’t need to.

Wanda blinked once, slowly. “You didn’t ruin anything,” she said. “We were going to leave anyway. That club wasn’t exactly our scene.”

You let out a short, breathless laugh. “It wasn't mine either.”

That earned you a smile, soft and crooked. “Figured that out when I saw you sprinting out of there like it was on fire.”

Your blush betrayed you before you could stop it, your face going hot in the cool night, the memory of the club still pressed against your skin. But it wasn’t just the awkwardness that flushed your cheeks. It was them. The realisation that if they weren't having fun tonight, Wanda had a promise to fulfil. 

Wanda tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing in playful suspicion. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

You shook your head violently, and your eyes darted anywhere but her face. Please, God, don’t make me explain.  

Thankfully, she didn’t push. She just gave you a look full of curiosity and affection, and let it go. “Come back with us. We’ve got a spare room. You can shut the door and go straight to bed if you want. I just…I’d feel better knowing you were safe.”

You hesitated. Your eyes flicked toward the redhead, still by the alley’s mouth, still watching. She’d had no say in any of this, and you didn’t want to be the reason her night ended differently than planned. Especially not if it meant she wouldn’t get to ‘ruin ’ Wanda, as Wanda had put it.

But Wanda caught the glance and laughed under her breath. “Don’t worry about her. She knows I’ve got a soft spot for you. She definitely expected this.”

You flushed, hard. But before you could figure out what to say, the other woman's voice came from the end of the alley, as if she could hear the conversation. “Wanda. It’s cold. If she’s not walking in the next two minutes, I’m carrying her.”

“She doesn’t seem very happy,” you whispered.

Wanda giggled, unabashed. “That’s just Nat. You get used to it. But she won’t be happy if we don’t get moving, come on.”

She stood, holding out her hand. You took it. Her arm stayed around your shoulders as she walked you to the alley’s edge, back into the chill of the open street. The redhead gave you a long look as you approached, her smile clipped but still there.

It didn’t take long to reach their place, maybe ten or fifteen minutes of quiet walking. You didn’t speak much, still raw, but Wanda stayed close, her arm a steady weight around your shoulders, while the redhead, Nat, you thought, that’s what Wanda had called her, walked by her side. 

Once inside, Wanda could tell you were exhausted. She guided you gently upstairs to a small but cosy guest room and handed you soft joggers and a loose T-shirt. The clothes were a little long in the leg and hung loose at the shoulders, but they were cosy, and they wrapped around you like safety. 

You curled into the blankets, Wanda’s shirt tucked close around your chin, and let yourself drift off. 

—

You felt it before you even opened your eyes. The heaviness behind them, dull and throbbing like something pressing in from the inside. A headache you recognised all too well, the post-panic kind, the one that settled in like bruises on your brain. 

Your limbs ached, like you’d run miles. And your stomach rolled with the nauseating mix of nerves and the ghost of alcohol, sitting thick and unwelcome in your gut.

And then came the worst part, remembering exactly where you were, and who you were with.

You were in their house. Wanda’s house. And hers, too, the redhead, Nat, whatever her full name was. Not your dorm. Not your tiny, safe, familiar space with its cluttered desk and cheap sheets. Theirs.

You groaned quietly, dragging the covers over your head, as if hiding from the world might somehow cancel the impending awkwardness. You’d have to go downstairs eventually, face them, thank them, apologise for…well, everything. Just the thought made your stomach churn harder. 

You’d barely managed to pull the covers tighter when a soft knock broke the quiet. You could ignore it. You could pretend you were still asleep. But instead, your voice came out small, almost reluctant. “Come in.”

The door eased open, and Wanda stepped inside, eyes scanning you with that same gentleness from the night before. You flushed with embarrassment. You must look like hell. Last night’s make-up was probably smudged to oblivion, your cheeks puffy, your hair a mess.

“I’m making breakfast,” she said, voice soft but careful, like she didn’t want to startle you. “Was wondering if you wanted to join us.”

You didn’t answer at first, brain still dragging behind, eyes squinting against the light slipping in through the doorway. And Wanda must’ve taken your silence as discomfort, because she rushed to fill it.

“I mean, you don’t have to. I can totally leave you alone if you’d rather sneak out, no pressure. Keep the clothes, obviously. I just…whatever makes you most comfortable.” 

She smiled, but her eyes said something different. They said she didn’t want you to go. 

You let out a dry, weak little laugh, more breath than sound, but Wanda’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “Breakfast sounds good,” you murmured. “Thank you.”

Wanda brightened instantly, her relief written all over her face. “Okay, perfect. No rush, just come down when you’re ready, Sweetheart.”

She lingered in the doorway for a second, like she wanted to say more, then closed the door gently behind her as she left.

---

You stayed upstairs longer than you probably should have, sitting on the edge of the unfamiliar bed. But eventually, you hauled yourself up, made it to the bathroom, and stared down the mirror. Puffy eyes. Smeared mascara. Lips chapped and raw from worry and crying. You cringed and did the best with what you could. 

When you made it downstairs, you hovered in the doorway for a moment. Wanda stood at the stove, hair swept up, swaying a little as she stirred. ‘Nat’ was lounging at the kitchen island with a mug half-raised, looking at you over the rim.

Wanda gave you a bright, welcoming smile. “Come sit by Natasha,” she said gently, nodding toward the empty stool.

Natasha. Huh. That was the name, then. Not just Nat . You hadn’t been sure if it was short for Natalie, Natalia, Natasha, or something else entirely.

Natasha gave a soft laugh, low and rough with sleep. “I promise I’m not that scary,” she said, one eyebrow lifting. “You can sit.”

You nearly choked on your own breath, cheeks going hot, and you shifted your eyes downwards. That slight rasp went straight to your spine. Still, you moved, wordless, and slid onto the stool beside her. 

Wanda passed you a mug before you could even ask, and it was perfect. The right amount of milk, the exact strength you liked. Of course she remembered your order from the cafe. 

“How’d you sleep?” Wanda asked after a beat, back still turned as she cooked.

“Fine. I think I passed out before my head hit the pillow,” you said with a soft laugh, trying to keep it casual.

Their chuckles came almost in sync. You could’ve clung to that sound, it made the kitchen feel less like enemy territory.

“Bet your head’s a disaster, though?” Natasha asked, glancing sideways with a knowing smirk.

You gave her a dramatic look. “I feel like I was trampled by at least four cows and then dragged through a blender. So, yeah. Little bit.”

That made her laugh, a real one, and you couldn’t help but smile. Something in your chest unclenched. Maybe she wasn’t that terrifying.

“Well, you’ve cleaned up pretty well,” she said, casually. “Considering you cried your lashes off in a public alley.”

You winced, cheeks burning, but there was no real cruelty in her voice, just observation. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmured after a pause, fingers curling around the coffee mug. “I didn’t mean to…make it your problem.”

Wanda finally turned to look at you, her expression open and earnest. “You don’t have to be sorry,” she said. “I’m just glad we were there, you clearly needed someone, hm?”

That little hum somehow echoed through you like a secret. Light and harmless on the surface, but it dropped straight through your chest and left slow-spreading ripples in its wake. 

You didn’t understand why it hit so low in your stomach, why it made your fingers twitch around the coffee mug, but it did. It settled there, warm and aching, and refused to move.

You didn’t trust your voice, so you said nothing, just took another sip, hoping the bitterness of the drink might ground you.

Luckily, the rest of breakfast had been fine. Wanda kept things light, her voice bright and full of easy cheer, weaving conversation like she’d done this a thousand times. She was the warmth in the room, balancing Natasha’s quiet, guarded presence with ease. 

And then Wanda went and ruined the fragile peace. “So,” she said, her tone casual, like she wasn’t about to drop a bomb, “what were you doing at the club?”

The blood drained from your face, replaced by a scorching heat that crept from your neck to your cheeks, blooming across your chest. You hadn’t expected that question, not now at least.

You tried to mask the panic with humour, the words spilling from your mouth like a reflex. “Clearly not the right thing.”

Both women chuckled, but Wanda’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. She paused, sensing the shift. “Seriously,” she said, voice more serious now, the edge of concern threading through. “Did something happen? If someone made you uncomfortable, they need to be reported. That place has rules for a reason.”

You could feel the pressure building in your chest, but you waved your hands, desperate to ease the tension. “No, no. Nothing like that. I wasn’t hurt or anything.” You exhaled a long breath, staring at the countertop, trying to steady yourself. “I just…I got overwhelmed. That’s all.”

Wanda’s expression shifted in an instant, the tension in her brow easing, her eyes full of quiet understanding. “It’s a lot to walk into.”

You nodded, feeling sheepish. “Yeah, well. I shouldn’t have let my roommate talk me into it.”

Wanda tilted her head, her brows furrowing with a mix of curiosity and concern. “Wait, if your roommate suggested it, why wasn't she with you?”

You shrugged, trying to keep things casual. “She has a sub of her own. She’s a regular there, and she said if she stayed with me, no one would approach me. They’d think I was hers.”

Wanda blinked, her features shifting slightly as she processed your words. Something flickered across her face, but you couldn’t quite place it. “So,” she said slowly, voice light but edged with something, “you wanted someone to approach you?”

You hesitated, your throat going tight. You weren’t sure how to answer that. “I…I don’t know. I guess? I thought maybe I’d get a better idea of what I wanted.”

“And did you?” Natasha asked, cutting in smoothly, as she casually flipped a page of her newspaper, like the conversation was no more important than the weather. 

You let out a breath, the laugh that followed edged with bitterness, sharper than you meant it to be. “No. Not even close. Anyone who tried talking to me was gone in seconds. I don’t know if it was me or my inexperience, but it never went well.” You shrugged, aiming for nonchalance, though the words sat sour on your tongue.

Wanda didn’t answer right away. Just took a slow sip of her coffee, her voice soft when it came. “Or maybe they didn’t wait long enough to see the real you.”

The words hung between you, deceptively light but heavy in their weight, sinking deep before you could stop them.

Your chest tightened. Breath caught halfway. It was like the ground tilted slightly, subtle but disorienting. You couldn’t place why it hit so hard, only that it did.

Wanda watched you quietly, her gaze steady but unreadable. Then, gently, “So…are you still interested in all of this?” Her voice stayed soft, careful, like she was laying the question down instead of pressing it.

You opened your mouth, then paused. The answer was there, somewhere, but it was knotted too tightly to pull free. Your throat burned with the effort.

“Sweetheart, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. Obviously, Nat and I were there too, right?” She smiled at you, warm and coaxing. “We’re also interested in that world.”

You nodded slowly, feeling the weight of her gaze, like she was waiting for something more from you. “I am. I think I’d like to try it. But I don’t think I could do a club again.” You swallowed hard, your heart thudding in your chest. “I’ll probably just drop it, at least for now.”

There was a long pause. You didn’t know if they were waiting for you to say more or if they were letting you have this moment to gather yourself. 

Natasha put her paper down then, her eyes never leaving you, and something unspoken passed between the three of you. 

Wanda inhaled deeply, her fingers twisting lightly around the coffee mug. “So, uhm, if this is weird, please tell me to shut up and I’ll never bring it up again,” she said, her voice quieter now, hesitant in a way that caught you completely off-guard. When you looked at her, really looked, her face was pale and uncertain. 

“But, Nat and I are looking for a sub,” she finished, the words tumbling out with a breath she clearly hadn’t meant to hold that long.

Your eyebrows flew up before you could stop them, practically launching off your face. “But…but I thought you were married?”

Wanda gave a small, sheepish laugh and pressed a hand to her forehead. “We are,” she said, then grimaced. “God, why is this so awkward?” She paused, visibly trying to steady herself again, and when she spoke, her voice was a little firmer, even if her cheeks were still flushed. 

“We’re married, yes. But we’re also both…dominant. I do enjoy submission sometimes, but what I really miss…what we both miss, is taking control. Together. Working with Nat to…” Her voice faltered, eyes flicking to yours, gauging your reaction. “To make someone fall apart.”

The image came unbidden, Wanda and Natasha, hands and mouths and eyes dark with hunger, breaking someone down with the precision of two people who knew exactly how to unravel a soul. It made your stomach swoop and your skin burn in places it had no business burning over breakfast.

“So you’ve had a sub before?” you asked quietly, your voice thinner than it had been a moment ago.

Wanda nodded slowly. Next to you, Natasha shifted, her entire posture went tense, her mouth a thin line. She wasn’t speaking, but her silence said a lot. And then it clicked.

You remembered what she’d said in the café. Something hadn’t gone well last time.

Wanda confirmed your thoughts. “We have. Once. But she wasn’t in it for the right reasons. We met her through an app. We were new to that kind of dynamic, still figuring things out, and she seemed genuine. We didn’t realise how wrong we were.”

Wanda’s eyes lowered to her mug. “In the end, she just used us for money,” Wanda finished, quiet now, “before letting her friends into our place while we were away to rob us blind. We never heard from her again.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, because it was the only thing you could think of. “For what it’s worth, that girl was incredibly stupid.”

That earned you a reaction. Wanda’s head lifted, the beginnings of a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. Natasha looked up at you again, her eyes cooler now, calculating, but not cold.

“Oh yeah?” Wanda asked, amusement creeping back into her voice. “Why’s that?”

You flushed again. You were starting to think it was just your natural state around them. “I…I just mean, you’re good people. You didn’t deserve that. She should’ve seen that.”

Wanda’s smirk didn’t falter, but her eyes lingered on you, watching you in a way that made it feel like she was looking past your words and into your very thoughts. Her head tilted just slightly, and you could feel the weight of her gaze.

When she finally spoke, her voice was calm, but it carried an edge of something almost vulnerable. “It is what it is, Sweetheart. That’s why we tried the club, but we couldn’t shake the feeling that starting over with someone we didn’t know, someone we didn’t trust, wouldn’t work for us. We’d always expect the worst.”

You nodded, the words settling heavily in the air between you. “I get that. Trust is everything, right? And without it, it’s just not gonna work.” You watched her closely, seeing the faintest nod, her eyes never leaving yours.

“You two are incredible from what I’ve seen,” you added, forcing a smile. “And I’m sure you’ll find someone worthy of you.”

Wanda turned to Natasha, then a brief glance was exchanged between them, their eyes locking in a silent conversation. Natasha gave the smallest nod, but you caught it.

Wanda’s gaze locked with yours, and she hesitated for a moment, her words slower, more deliberate this time. “Maybe I didn’t explain myself clearly earlier, with all my rambling,” she said, her lips curving into a shy, almost uncertain smile. There was an edge of vulnerability in her eyes, a shift in her usual confidence. “But, I was wondering, well, we were wondering if maybe…you’d be interested.”

Your heart stopped for a moment, and your mouth hung open, a hundred different thoughts rushing through your mind. You wanted this. God, you did. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that you weren’t good enough. “I…I’m flattered, really. But you two deserve better. Like way better.”

Wanda’s gaze was steady and filled with warmth. “You really need to work on your confidence,” she said, her tone rich with quiet affection. “You’re more than enough. You’re beautiful, funny, and though we haven’t known each other long, I trust you.”

Your face flushed, the weight of her words sinking in. “Even if that were the case, I’m just…too inexperienced,” you murmured, your voice faltering under the weight of your insecurity.

Wanda’s smile turned sly, her voice dropping just a touch, making you lean in instinctively. “What if I told you that inexperience is something I actually like?” she said, her tone playful but also filled with something deeper, more magnetic.

You blinked, struggling to process what she was suggesting. “W…Why would you like that?” you stammered, a shiver running through you as her words registered.

Wanda’s smirk grew, more confident now, as she leaned in a little closer. “Because…” she purred, her voice dropping lower, almost teasing, “You’re a clean slate. No bad habits. No expectations. We can shape you, guide you...turn you into ours. ”

Her words hung in the air like a promise, thick with implication. And suddenly, it felt like the ground beneath you shifted, the world outside the kitchen fading until it was just the three of you at the island, suspended in something too delicate to name.

“I…” you started, but the words disintegrated as quickly as they’d come. You blinked, lips parted, your gaze flickering between them, lost.

“It’s okay,” Wanda said gently, her voice coaxing, steady. “Take your time.”

You swallowed. “How would it…How would it work?”

Wanda sat up a little straighter, her fingers curling around her coffee mug again, like it helped with her nerves, maybe. “Well, we’d help where we could. An allowance, support with school, but that’s not the core of it.”

She glanced briefly at Natasha before turning her full attention back to you. “Natasha and I talked last night when we got back, and we agreed that if this conversation happened, we wouldn’t just be asking you to be our sub. You wouldn’t be someone we played with and sent home. We were hoping, if things felt right, that you’d join us. As a girlfriend.”

“Sorry, what?” The words tumbled out of you in a breathless laugh, surprised and disbelieving.

Natasha let out a low, amused laugh beside you, shaking her head. “Yeah, that’s about the reaction I expected.”

Wanda didn’t react to Natasha, she only looked at you. “I know it sounds fast. And I’m not trying to push. But I want to be honest about what we’re hoping for.”

You opened your mouth, closed it again. Shaking your head slightly like that might help settle your thoughts.

“I just…” You frowned, confused and overwhelmed. “I didn’t expect this. I didn’t even consider something like this. And I’m not looking for your money. That wouldn’t feel right.”

“That’s okay,” Wanda said quietly. “It’s not payment. It’s support. It’s…part of caring for someone.”

“Right, but you’re married. Why would you want a girlfriend?” you asked, your voice quiet and uncertain. 

Natasha answered before Wanda could. “Because she wants someone she can bend over and ruin in every way imaginable, and unfortunately for her, I don’t bend”.

Your brain stalled. Heat bloomed across your cheeks, your chest. Your thighs pressed together instinctively beneath the island as your mouth opened, then closed again without a single usable thought behind it.

Wanda’s cheeks flushed, but she shot her wife a flat look. “Natasha!”

Natasha held her hands up, unapologetic. “Just answering the question.”

Wanda gave you a sheepish look before reaching for your hand, her touch barely there, like she was testing the waters. “Yes, I want someone to dominate, someone who craves that kind of care and control. But it’s not just about that.” Her gaze held yours, searching for understanding. “I want someone I can truly connect with. Someone to nurture.” She paused, the weight of her words sinking in. “Someone who feels like the missing piece of us.”

You blinked slowly, trying to process it. The heat still lingered from Natasha’s remark, but now it was layered with something deeper, something heavier.

“That’s a lot of ‘I want,’” you mumbled, not accusing, but cautious. “Not much ‘we want.’” You glanced toward Natasha, your brow furrowed. “You don’t seem entirely comfortable.”

Natasha was quiet for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was even, but not without tension. “If I weren’t okay with this, this conversation wouldn’t be happening. Period.” But it wasn’t dismissive. It felt more protective and defensive.

“She’s just like that,” Wanda added gently, brushing her fingers along Natasha’s arm. “Hard to read. Scary, even when you don’t know her. But once she lets you in, once she trusts you, she’s a softie. Aren’t you, my love?”

Wanda smirked, deliberately teasing, and Natasha rolled her eyes with a dark chuckle.

“Don’t start,” Natasha warned, her tone low and dangerous in the way that made you shiver. “I can still bend you over this counter and spank you black and blue.”

Your breath hitched, a full-body reaction rippling through you. Wanda stiffened next to you, visibly flustered, and the silence that followed was electric.

“So…very soft,” you muttered, trying to lighten the tension, cheeks blazing. “Clearly.”

They both laughed, unable to resist your silly joke and playful teasing. And you loved it, hearing them laugh was something you wanted to experience over and over again.

“I know I come off cold,” Natasha said after a beat, her smile fading into something more thoughtful. “And I definitely don’t look as thrilled as Wanda, but last time hurt. Deeply.”

Your chest ached with the weight behind her words. “If we did this, I wouldn’t do that to you. I promise.”

She studied you carefully, “I know,” she said simply. “That’s why I agreed. I see something in you. I see why Wanda has been obsessed with you.”

“Wait, obsessed with me?” you asked, blinking. “Really?”

“Oh yeah,” Natasha laughed. “For the last week, it’s been nothing but the cute girl in the café. How she wanted to bring you home, feed you, wrap you up in soft things.”

Wanda groaned into her hands, face flushed.

“She didn’t know this would happen, of course,” Natasha continued, tone more serious now. “But even then, she wanted to take care of you. And after last night and today…I kind of get it.”

You looked between them, Wanda, cheeks glowing, eyes bright and so clearly excited she was practically vibrating; and Natasha, lounging in her seat with the same stillness she always carried, but her gaze was steady, direct, and for once not unreadable at all. She looked…open. Present. 

And for the first time, you let yourself imagine it. Not just the idea, but the reality, the weight of Wanda’s gaze on you every day, the brush of Natasha’s hand as she passed you your coffee, the sharp crackle of energy that sparked when they were both looking at you like this.

“So, say I was interested,” you said slowly, testing the words like they might burn. “What would happen now?”

Wanda lit up instantly, her smile spreading like sunlight. “Well,” she began, scooting an inch closer, “first things first, we’d have a long conversation. Kinks, limits, safe words, what you want, what you don’t, how you like to be spoken to, how you don’t.”

Your excitement faltered for just a second, replaced by the uncomfortable ache of uncertainty. “But I’m so new. I don’t know my limits, or much about my kinks.” You averted your eyes, suddenly self-conscious. 

Wanda’s grin turned wolfish, slow, and unmistakably pleased. “Oh, I can think of a few ways we could figure those out.” Then, catching herself, she tempered it with a gentler look, her voice dipping. “But seriously, it’s okay not to know. That’s why we talk. That’s why we go slow. You’ll learn what you like. What you need. But we do need to talk about hard limits. Safe words. Things that are never okay, even by accident. We take that seriously.”

You nodded, the fire in your stomach flaring again. You were out of your depth. Utterly. But you also didn’t want to run from it. The very idea of exploring that, with them, felt like a door you hadn’t realised you’d been waiting to open.

Natasha shifted beside you and stretched, her back arching until her shoulders cracked. “Alright,” she muttered, standing up. “If we are getting into negotiations, let’s move this to the sofa. My ass is going numb.”

Wanda chuckled, standing too. “Good idea, my love.” Then she turned to Natasha, her eyes holding a warmth in them that always seemed to take you by surprise. “Could you grab us some water?” she asked, her voice gentle, but there was an unmistakable tenderness in the way she looked at Natasha, as if the simple request held more than just practicality.

Natasha was already moving toward the fridge, but tossed a smirk over her shoulder. “Yeah, sure. Think she’s gonna need it.”

Your mouth dropped open at the implication, and Wanda laughed, swatting vaguely in Natasha’s direction.

“Don’t mind her,” she said with a wink. “She just likes watching people squirm.”

“Says you,” Natasha said with a cheeky grin, handing you a bottle of water with a wink as she walked past.

Wanda rolled her eyes and took your hand gently in hers. “Come on. Let’s get comfortable. No pressure, okay? Just…a conversation.”

—

You moved into the living area with quiet, hesitant steps, the plush carpet soft beneath your feet, almost muffling the way your breath hitched. You perched on the edge of the couch, turning sideways so your back could rest against the armrest, knees drawn protectively to your chest. 

The position felt safer, smaller. You wrapped your arms around your legs and fidgeted with the water bottle Natasha had handed you earlier, the condensation slipping over your fingers, grounding you just enough.

Wanda was beside you. Close enough that her warmth licked at your foot when she shifted. The contact was minimal, but it might as well have been a brand. 

Across from you, Natasha dropped into the single chair with deliberate ease, spreading her legs slightly as she settled in, one arm draped casually over the armrest. The posture looked relaxed, but everything about her screamed alertness. 

Wanda’s smile was the first thing to break the tension. It was gentle and warm, but there was something behind it, an intensity, an undercurrent of purpose. “There we go,” she murmured, glancing at Natasha briefly, something unspoken passing between them. “Much better.”

Natasha tilted her head, eyes still fixed on you, and offered a crooked smirk. “Time for the interrogation,” she said smoothly, voice teasing.

Wanda rolled her eyes, a quiet huff escaping her, but the fondness there was unmistakable. “Ignore her,” she said lightly, but her gaze sharpened as it returned to you. “Let’s start easy. Do you have a safe word?”

You blinked. The question landed like a stone in a still pond, sending ripples of nervous energy through you. Your eyes darted between them, unsure who to focus on. “I…I mean, no? I’ve never really needed one,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. Your grip tightened on the bottle. “But, uhm, my roommate, she told me about the traffic light system?”

Wanda’s entire face brightened with approval, her lips parting in a pleased little smile that somehow managed to be both reassuring and a little bit proud. “Perfect,” she said, her voice velvet-soft, a touch of something nurturing curling around the word. “We use that too. Simple, but effective.” She paused, head tilting thoughtfully. “Do you know how to communicate when you can’t speak? One tap or squeeze for green, two for yellow, three for red.” Her eyes didn’t leave yours. “It’s important that we can always understand you, no matter what.”

You nodded slowly, some of the fear easing from your shoulders. “Yeah. Yeah, we talked about this stuff,” you said quietly, your voice gaining strength. You looked down, a bit embarrassed. “Kind of a lot, actually.”

Across from you, Natasha let out a soft chuckle, a low, smoky sound that somehow made you feel both exposed and seen. “Well, that’s handy. Means we can get to the fun stuff much quicker.”

“Fun stuff?” you echoed, almost involuntarily. There was a nervous lilt in your voice, your eyes widening the moment the words slipped out.

Wanda’s lips curled, slow and deliberate, like she was tasting the tension in the room. “Fun stuff,” she echoed, her voice dipping into something darker, more intimate. “When we get to explore all those delicious, twisted things you want to explore.”

The room felt warmer, the air thick with unspoken tension. The words lingered, hanging in the space between you like a tangible weight, their promise settling low in your belly. Wanda let the silence stretch out, watching the way you shifted, just enough to make her smile to herself. Then, her tone shifted, gentle, like she was offering you a fragile reassurance. “But we’ll go slow. I promise.”

A flush crept up your neck, spreading like spilled ink. Your pulse thrummed in your ears. “I…I don’t really know what I like yet,” you murmured, the confession small, uncertain. “I mean, what I know, it’s mostly from my roommate. And, like…Tumblr. Who knew there were so many kinks?”

“Oh, yeah,” Natasha said, smirking again, “if it can be done, there’s a kink for it. All power to them, but there’s some stuff I don’t like, personally. Piss and shit, for example? That’s a hard limit for me.”

You grimaced instinctively, your whole body recoiling just a little. “Yeah…I don’t want that.” 

Wanda and Natasha exchanged a look, then turned identical smiles on you.“Good girl, setting limits already,” Wanda said, her voice dipped in approval.

Your breath hitched. The praise struck something raw and electric inside you, sending a sharp flutter through your chest. Heat pooled low in your belly once again, your fingers twitching and your body fidgeting.

Natasha saw. Wanda definitely saw.

“Oh, you liked that, huh?” Wanda teased, her smile sharpening into something wicked. “I guess we should note potential praise kink down?”

Your face burned, but you nodded, voice barely a whisper. “I think so…but I, uhm—” You chewed your lip, hesitating, the words stuck in your throat. 

Wanda’s hand brushed yours, her touch gentle but reassuring, her eyes soft with encouragement. “You can tell us, sweetheart. You’re doing great,” she murmured, her voice low and patient.

You swallowed hard, heart racing. “I think... I like the idea of being degraded, too,” you admitted, barely audible. Wanda’s lips parted slightly, her gaze sharpening with interest, but she didn’t rush you. She just stayed close, nodding, silently urging you to continue.

You forced the words out, feeling exposed. “And I want to try things that hurt. I—” You trailed off, eyes closing in embarrassment. Wanda’s hand tightened around yours, steadying you, her gaze warm but intense. She didn’t press, just waited for you to finish.

“I had some uhm, reactions when I was reading about them,” you mumbled, too shy to look at her.

Natasha let out a low hum of approval, almost like a growl. She sat up a little straighter in her chair, eyes gleaming with interest. Wanda, on the other hand, was a mix between softness and looking like she wanted to eat you alive, like every word from your mouth made you more delicious, more precious.

“God, you’re perfect already,” Wanda whispered, breathless.

Before you could bask in the warmth of that too long, something sparked in your memory. “Oh! But face slapping,” you said quickly, like the words were chasing each other out of your mouth. “I saw that a lot. And that is a big no. I know that for sure.”

Wanda’s expression shifted, like she wanted to ask, but she didn’t press. “Understood. Noted,” she said, her voice honest and protective. “That’ll never happen then, Sweetheart.”

What followed was a long, very intense conversation about kinks and limits. Natasha would throw out possibilities with the same casualness as asking what someone would want for dinner, and every reaction you gave, every squirm, every soft gasp or wrinkle of your nose was noted with precision. 

Wanda was softer, coaxing things from you like secrets, watching how your body responded more than what you said. 

You were surprised by how long your “I want to try this” list became. The “absolutely fucking not” list was far shorter, and that thrilled you more than you expected.

Eventually, Wanda reached for your hand, her touch deliberate and comforting. “So,” she started, voice gentle but firm, “we also need to talk names. What you like to be called. And what we’d like to be called.”

You narrowed your eyes, suspicious. “Names?”

She nodded, face open, gaze warm. “Mm-hmm. Titles. Terms of endearment. Pet names. Dynamic-specific ones, if they feel right. Not everything has to be sexual, sometimes, they’re just about grounding. About knowing your place with us, even when we’re not touching you.”

“Oh.” You blinked. “Okay. Like what?”

“Well, I like ‘Sweetheart,’ ‘Darling,’ ‘Honey,’ ‘Baby,’ obviously,” Wanda said, her tone light and teasing. “And then there’s ‘Malyshka,” she added, her voice softening, the playful warmth shifting into something deeper. She paused, letting the silence hang for a moment before locking eyes with you, a shadow passing through her gaze. “It can mean two things, baby girl, or...”

Your breath caught, pulse quickening as the tension between you thickened. “O…or?”

“Little One,” Wanda whispered, her words barely audible, but they hit you like a soft, lingering echo that stayed with you long after she'd spoken.

The words landed like a heavy blow to your chest, your breath catching in your throat. You couldn’t help the sudden heat flooding through you, the way your body reacted before your mind could catch up. Your gaze darted away, cheeks flushing hot, a mix of shock and something more flooding your system, a whimper falling from your lips.

Wanda noticed your reaction. Her voice was thick with something dangerous and darkly intimate. “That one hit, didn’t it?” she asked, her smile slow and predatory.

You couldn’t answer, your mouth too dry, but the frantic nod of your head told her everything she needed to know.

Natasha’s voice broke through, amused and approving. “Sweet,” she said, her tone dripping with satisfaction. “I like it too. It suits you.”

You peeked out from behind your hands, flushed, heart still hammering in your chest, but desperate to stay grounded. “So I  just pick one?” you asked, the words trembling as they left your lips.

Wanda’s smile curled at the edges, a knowing glint in her eyes. “Or all of them,” she replied, her voice teasing. “If you want them.”

"I…I like them," you whispered, the words barely more than a breath. "I don’t really mind any pet names. Use whatever feels right. And if I don’t like it, well, I’m sure you’ll be able to tell."

Wanda’s gaze sharpened, her fingers moving to your chin with a quiet firmness, her expression taking on a subtle sternness. "No," she said, her voice gentle but unwavering. “You’ll tell us, understood? Don’t expect us to just know. You need to speak up, okay?"

Something about the firmness in her gaze made your stomach twist. You weren’t used to being asked to speak up, to set boundaries. But there was something in her tone that made you want to try. You nodded, voice small but steady. "Okay. I will."

You barely had time to process Wanda's words before Natasha leaned forward slightly in her chair. Her gaze held a mischievous edge that contrasted with Wanda’s warmth. Her lips curled into a slight smile, the playful glint in her eyes a stark contrast to the serious conversation before.

“My suggestions aren’t quite as cute as Wanda’s,” Natasha said, her voice dipping lower, teasing. “Kotenok or Kitten is what hits me when I look at you. Skittish. Soft. Trouble.”

Another jolt surged through you. Your breath caught again. “Yeah…Yeah…Kitten is good.”

Natasha gave you a slow, approving smile, her eyes glinting with a darkness that made your heart skip a beat. “Perfect, Kotenok (Kitten), ” she murmured, her voice low and controlled. “And just so you know, I tend to lean toward Russian pet names, so you’ll probably hear lots of them, for example, ‘Detka,’ ‘Krasivaya Devushka,’ and maybe even ‘Printsessa.’” (Babe/baby, Pretty girl, Princess). She paused, a hint of mischief in her gaze. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell you what they all mean...over time.”

The sound of those words, so fluid, coming from Natasha’s lips, melted you. Her accent thickened as she spoke, each syllable rolling off her tongue with a slow, deliberate grace. Her voice lowered an octave, and the heat in her gaze made it feel like the room was getting warmer. You couldn’t understand a single word, but it didn’t matter. You’d take whatever she said, in any language. 

Wanda’s fingers tightened around yours, her grip grounding you as you spiraled from Natasha’s words, like she knew exactly how they’d rattled you. Her touch pulled you back, steadying you, while her voice held you in place. “And for us,” she said, her eyes locking with yours, “we do have our preferences.”

Your breath caught, heart pounding in your chest. Dread and excitement twisted in your belly, knotting together as you felt both women’s gaze on you, different yet equally intense.

Wanda’s smile shifted, becoming something darker, something more dangerous, as she leaned in closer, her breath warm on your ear. “I like being called Mommy.”

Natasha’s voice rang out with no hesitation, deep and commanding. “And I like Daddy.”

It wasn’t just the words, it was the way they said them. Wanda’s voice had a lulling, dangerous sweetness to it, pulling you closer, inviting surrender. Natasha’s tone was firm, commanding, like it could settle deep in your bones, leaving no room for doubt. The combination hit you like a lightning strike, every nerve in your body humming with heat.

“Shit,” you breathed, too overwhelmed to filter your response, the heat from both of them starting to burn through you.

Natasha’s lips quirked into a slow, wicked smile, her eyes glinting with something dark and hungry. “Good shit or bad shit?”

You squirmed under her gaze, trying to stay grounded, but the pull of both women was too much. “I think you know the answer.”

“Maybe I do,” Natasha purred, her voice low and thick with authority, making your pulse spike instantly. She didn’t budge from her chair, but somehow, it felt like she was moving closer to you with every word, the force of her presence suffocating, undeniable. “But maybe you should be using your words, like Mommy asked you to. Tell Daddy you like the idea, Kotenok (Kitten).”

You almost whimpered, but the sound barely escaped, a tremor running through your chest. “Jesus fucking Christ,” you breathed, your voice barely audible, shaken with the weight of everything swirling inside you. The words were raw, pulled from somewhere deep, but before they could consume you completely, Wanda’s voice cut through the haze.

“Natasha,” she said, the warning in her tone undercut with a hint of amusement. “Stop teasing her. You’re not helping.”

Natasha didn’t look the least bit sorry. Her grin only grew, a predatory gleam in her eyes. “I think she needs way more than teasing.”

Heat flooded your body, pooling low in your belly. Your thighs instinctively pressed together, betraying you in the most humiliating way. You hadn’t meant for it to happen, but every glance, every word from them twisted something inside you. 

You couldn’t keep it in anymore, and an embarrassingly desperate whine escaped, slipping through your clenched teeth. The sound was part shame, part desire, and it made everything tighten further.

Wanda and Natasha exchanged a glance, their eyes darkening in unison, their expressions sharpening, and just like that, they both knew. They saw everything.

“Don’t…don’t look at me like that,” you mumbled, voice small, barely audible as you dipped your head in an attempt to hide the blush burning your skin. “I’m already embarrassed enough.”

Wanda laughed, soft and syrupy, the kind of sound that made your skin prickle. “What are you embarrassed about, baby?” she cooed, her voice laced with mock-innocence, almost cruel in its sweetness.

You shook your head quickly, too overwhelmed to speak. “It’s nothing,” you whispered, voice fraying at the edges.

She moved then, just a slight shift, barely more than a lean, and her fingers were under your chin again, before you could prepare for it. Cold rings pressed against your skin as she tilted your face up, slow and deliberate, until you were forced to meet her eyes.

“See, I don’t think it’s nothing,” Wanda murmured, her tone lower now, closer, more intimate. “I think you’re aching, and you don’t know what to do with it.”

You nodded before you even realised you had, your body moving before your mind caught up. It was as if instinct had taken over, bypassing any hesitation. Wanda’s smile grew, a wicked, tender thing, all at once.

“If it helps…” she whispered, her mouth brushing the shell of your ear, “you’re not the only one.” A pause, and then, “I’ve been wet since the first time you whimpered for me, Sweetheart.”

The words knocked the air from your lungs. Your breath faltered, eyes widening in disbelief. You stared at her, frozen, your mouth hanging open, utterly stunned. A tremor ran through you, the need swelling inside you until it became almost unbearable. You couldn’t form the words, couldn’t bring yourself to speak, but all that ran through your mind was touch me .

Your reaction must have sparked something in Wanda, because her hand shifted from your chin to rest softly against your cheek. Her teasing tone fell away. "Hey, baby, you with me?" she asked, her concern breaking through. "I’m sorry. Did I come on too strong?"

You shook your head almost violently, desperate to push the thought away. No, that wasn’t the problem. That wasn’t the issue at all. The problem was how badly you wanted it. How much you needed something you didn’t even know how to ask for.

“I want—” The words faltered, getting stuck in your throat. You pressed your lips together, heart hammering in your chest. It felt too soon, too much. Even with everything that had been said, could you really ask for this already? What if they turned you away? What if they saw you as desperate? What if you weren’t enough?

Wanda’s brows lifted, but her voice stayed gentle. “Want what, Malyshka (Little One)? ”

Your whole body had jerked at the sound, a shiver crawling up your spine. The way her accent deepened when she said that word? It hit you like a lightning bolt, confirming you had definitely found a new kink. Between her and Natasha, it was inevitable. 

You were squirming now, eyes clouded with need, chest heaving with every breath. Without even thinking, your hips shifted, searching for some kind of pressure, any relief, but there was none. It was mortifying, how easily your body betrayed you, how quickly you fell apart under her voice.

Wanda’s smile curved, a glint of something dangerous in her eyes as she watched the way your body moved, squirming under the weight of her words. "Do you want some...help?" she asked, her voice light but carrying an edge, her smile sharp and knowing.

You opened your mouth, but no sound came out. Your throat tightened, as though it had forgotten how to form words. But in the end, it didn’t matter. You nodded, just once, barely a movement, but it felt like surrender, as though you were offering yourself up to whatever came next.

Wanda’s hand stayed gently resting against your cheek, her thumb stroking your skin in slow, rhythmic motions. She watched you unravel, and there was a deep sense of pride in her voice when she spoke. “There you go,” she whispered, the words dripping with satisfaction. “That’s our girl.”

You swallowed hard, fighting to hold onto any semblance of control. Your eyes flickered to Natasha before you could stop them, as if your body had remembered she was there even though your mind had momentarily shut her out. She still sat across the room, lounging in that chair, watching you intently, like a predator assessing its prey.

Wanda noticed the glance, and she leaned in close, her voice dropping low, a soft murmur that sent a shiver through your whole body. "Don’t worry about her," she whispered, her lips brushing your skin as her words sank in. "We agreed she would just watch for today...Our Little One isn't ready for Daddy just yet."

You couldn’t help the tremor that ran down your spine at her words. They hit you like a wave, crashing into you, making your knees fall open slightly without thinking. Your breath stuttered in your throat, and you could feel the heat pooling low in your belly. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Wanda cooed, pulling back just enough to look at you properly. Her hand slid down from your cheek to your throat, not squeezing, not threatening, just holding. Her eyes scanned your face for your reaction, and when it was positive, she continued. “You are wound so tight, aren’t you? That pretty little head of yours is spinning.”

You whimpered again, more desperate now. You didn’t know if you wanted her to stop or keep going. Everything inside you was tangled up in heat and shame and the most exquisite ache you’d ever felt.

Wanda kept her attention locked on you, fingertips grazing down your arm now, slow and deliberate, every inch she touched feeling like it burned. “I’ll take care of you,” she promised, her voice velvet-smooth. “But you’re going to ask me for it. Properly. When you’re ready.”

You blinked up at her, wide-eyed and flushed and completely overwhelmed. “I don’t…I don’t know how,” you admitted, your voice high and shaky, barely audible.

Wanda’s expression softened again. “That’s alright,” she murmured. “We’ll teach you. That’s part of it. You don’t need to know anything right now. Just that you’re safe. And that we’ll never take what you don’t give.”

She reached for your hand again, lacing her fingers with yours like before. “You’re doing so well already. I’m proud of you.”

Your eyes stung. Her praise hit harder than anything else had, like you’d been starving for it without realising. Your body ached, but your chest swelled, heat blooming there like sunlight.

Then Wanda kissed you, and it felt like something out of a dream. No urgency. No rush. Just her lips brushing against yours like a question, like she was waiting for you to answer with your body. 

Her lips were impossibly soft. She kissed you like you were made of paper, fragile and water-damaged, and she didn’t want to leave a single mark, yet.

Your breath caught the moment her tongue brushed the seam of your mouth, just a test, and you gasped softly, lips parting for her before you could stop yourself.

That was when the first noise slipped out of you. Not a whimper, not yet, just a soft, aching little sigh, like your lungs didn’t know how to hold the heat.

Wanda pulled back the tiniest bit, her mouth hovering so close you could still taste her breath. She smiled. “That’s it,” she murmured, voice low and sweet, like honey melting over hot skin. “Don’t think. Just feel me.”

Your fingers twitched at your sides. You didn’t know where to put them. You were too nervous to grab her, too overwhelmed to keep still. Every nerve felt raw. Every breath was tight and shallow.

And across the room, Natasha hadn’t moved. She was just watching, her gaze heavy on your flushed face. She hadn’t spoken for a while, but you could feel her approval like a pulse in the air.

Wanda’s kiss deepened slowly. She coaxed your mouth open, tongue slipping past your lips in a way that made your toes curl. Every sound you made just seemed to encourage her, every little whimper, every gasp against her mouth. You could feel yourself trembling and hated how obvious it was…but she didn’t mock you for it. She kissed you harder.

You didn’t realise how fast your chest was rising and falling until she pulled back to speak. “Is it too much?” she asked, voice quiet and close to your ear. Her hand stroked the side of your neck, grounding. “You can tell me, Honey.”

You shook your head, throat tight. “Not enough,” you whispered, and the shame hit immediately, face burning, eyes wide. You couldn’t believe you’d said it out loud.

Wanda made a sound low in her throat, a soft, breathy laugh, thick with delight as she tilted her head to better drink you in. “Oh,” she murmured, voice just shy of mocking. “You’re already there, aren’t you?”

Her lips pressed gently to your cheek, then lower, brushing your jaw, lingering at the corner of your mouth like she was savouring you already.

“Lie back for me,” she said, light and coaxing, but with a flicker of something reverent beneath the teasing. “I need room if I’m going to worship you properly.”

Your arms trembled as you moved, slowly unfolding yourself. You hadn’t even realised how tightly you’d curled inward, hugging your knees to your chest like that might somehow contain the ache building inside you. As if protecting yourself from just how much you needed this.

But Wanda didn’t push. She didn’t rush. She simply waited, her hands stroking slowly down the outside of your thighs in patient, grounding passes, keeping you tethered.

You eased back until you were open to her, lay back, knees bent, feet flat on the sofa cushions, and her mouth dropped open as she looked at you, legs parted just enough, flushed and breathing too hard.

Wanda’s fingers slid under the hem of the loose tee you had borrowed. Her touch was light, her voice even lighter. “Can we see you properly, Little One?” she asked, with none of the teasing from earlier, just soft patience.

You nodded.

But Wanda’s fingers stilled completely against your skin, her touch suddenly so still it burned. Her head tilted slowly, eyes flicking up to meet yours with dark, patient hunger. “Words, darling,” she murmured. “Tell Mommy you want them off.”

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed hard, breath catching on the way out. “Yes,” you whispered, barely audible. “Please…Mommy. Take them off.”

Wanda let out a groan that melted into something almost desperate. The title lingered in the air like smoke, curling possessively around her. Her eyelids fluttered as she breathed through the heat. “God, you sound so good when you say that, baby,” she moaned, voice thick with want. “Such a good girl for me.”

Wanda’s fingers twitched back to life, the pause over. She dragged them down the soft line of your stomach, her touch reverent now, like she was unwrapping a gift. 

She pushed the hem of the shirt slowly, watching your face more than your skin, reading the way your breath hitched and your chest rose. Her hands were warm, steady as she eased it off you entirely, guiding your arms up and over without a word.

“You’re shaking,” she murmured, and you were. You hadn’t even realised it until she pressed her lips to your shoulder, slow and open-mouthed, breathing in the scent of you like it grounded her. “You’re being so brave for me.”

Your face burned as she then reached for the drawstring of your joggers, slipping it loose with deliberate care. She didn’t rush. She didn’t tease. It wasn’t about making you squirm; it was about seeing you, piece by piece, letting you feel every second of it.

She slid the fabric slowly over your hips, the backs of her knuckles grazing sensitive skin on the way down. “Lift your hips for Mommy, baby.”

You obeyed without hesitation, thighs quivering as you raised your hips, trusting her completely. In one fluid motion, Wanda drew your joggers and underwear down together, baring you to the cool air and to her gaze.

Then you were exposed, and Wanda just…stared. Like she couldn’t quite decide where to look first, like every part of you demanded her full attention.

Her hands settled instinctively on your thighs, her thumbs tracing slow, featherlight circles against your skin as her eyes darkened. “You’re beautiful,” she breathed, reverent and a little awed. Then, without looking away from you, she spoke to her wife, “Natasha, look how pretty she is.”

Heat flared instantly in your face. Your eyes flicked toward the chair across the room before you could stop them, and there she was. Natasha hadn’t moved an inch, still lounging like a queen at rest, but her mouth was curled into a sharp, pleased little smile. Her gaze caught yours and didn’t waver, all dark promise and deliberate patience.

A quiet, shameful sound escaped your throat, and Wanda lit up. “Oh,” she laughed, wicked and delighted. “I knew it. You like being watched.”

Mortified, you dropped your head back onto the cushion and slapped a hand over your face, trying to hide. But Wanda only laughed again, sugar-sweet and cruel in the way that made your stomach flip.

“No, Little One,” she scolded gently, tugging your hand away with ease. “None of that. You don’t get to hide, not when you’re this perfect.”

You whimpered again, thighs twitching as your hips shifted against the cushions. Your legs squeezed together, then fell open, helpless. You couldn’t stay still. Every part of you was burning.

Wanda tilted her head, her lashes low, eyes sparkling as she looked at you. “Such a sensitive little thing,” she whispered, the words sliding like velvet over your skin. “And we haven’t even started yet.”

Before you could speak, she leaned in and kissed you again, slow and deep, the kind of kiss that left you aching in the chest. Her hand slid up, not between your legs but along your waist, curling around your side to hold you close.

Her mouth moved across your face, over your jaw, and down your neck, where she latched onto your pulse, sucking deeply, deliberately. The sensation jolted through you, and before you could even think, your body arched into it, a soft gasp escaping your lips.

Wanda's lips lingered, the bite sinking deeper, her mark burning into your skin like a brand, sending heat spiraling out in waves across your chest. 

You whined, your body trembling beneath her, every nerve alive with the intensity of her touch. She hummed against your throat, her tongue sweeping over the mark, and her breath came slow, heavy, each exhale a silent promise of more.

“There,” she breathed, her voice thick with a dark, possessive pride, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she pulled back just enough to study the mark she’d left on you. "God, you look so fucking perfect with my mark on your throat."

Your hips bucked involuntarily, the possessiveness in her tone winding around something deep inside you. She chuckled low, pressing her palm flat to your stomach to keep you still. 

“Settle down,” she breathed, pressing a kiss to your collarbone, then another, then lower. Her hands moved as she did, slow and reverent. She wasn’t trying to rush to anything, she was worshipping you. Making sure you felt every graze of her teeth, every soft scrape of her nails down your sides, every lingering kiss as her mouth charted a path down your trembling body.

When she bit you again, just under your ribs this time, you jolted, another high noise bursting out before you could stop it. She soothed it immediately, nuzzling into your side like she couldn’t bear to be apart from you, even for a moment.

“I love those little sounds you make,” she murmured. “So pretty. So fucking perfect for me.”

You were already trembling, your body humming like a live wire, and she hadn’t even really touched you yet. But you could feel it. The slick heat between your legs, the desperate, aching want that coiled tighter with every second. 

When Wanda shifted, sliding lower down the sofa and settling between your thighs, your breath caught in your chest like a punch.

“Breathe for me, Little One,” she said softly, her voice gentling as both hands returned to your thighs. Her thumbs moved in slow, soothing circles, grounding you with each pass. “You’re doing so well, but you need to breathe.”

You nodded shakily, dragging in a broken gasp, lungs finally loosening under her attention. Wanda leaned in and pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, right at the apex, so close it made you twitch. 

Her breath ghosted over slick, flushed skin, and then she kissed again. And again. Gentle. No bite this time. Just lips. Warm and reverent and unbearably soft.

You sobbed at the sensation, legs twitching, instinctively trying to close around her head, but her hands held you open.

“Are you ready for me, Sweetheart?” she murmured, looking up at you with eyes too focused, too careful, like nothing else in the world existed except your answer.

You nodded, then remembered. Words. She needed words. “Y...yes,” you managed, voice cracking. “I’m ready.”

Wanda smiled, proud and soft and utterly devastating. “Good girl,” she praised. Her hand slid slightly higher, teasing. “Now tell me what colour you are, hm?”

“G...green,” you blurted, the word high-pitched, nearly a whimper. Your body clenched with the surge of heat the check-in triggered, need sparking sharply under your skin. “I’m green.”

Her smile deepened, and she nodded. “That’s my good girl. And if you want to stop?”

You let out a desperate, wounded little whine. “Yellow or red,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out in a breathless rush. “Please, Mommy, please! I’ll say it if I need to just—”

She let out a soft chuckle, a kiss pressed between your thighs. “I’ve got you. Keep your legs open for me,” she murmured. And you opened up for her, you knew you would do anything she asked of you, right now. 

As you obeyed, Wanda let out a breath, slow, shaky, like she needed the moment to collect herself. Her palms skimmed up the insides of your thighs, warm and firm, coaxing you open even further, keeping you bared beneath her gaze. She didn’t rush. Just held you there, eyes drinking you in like something sacred.

“You’re going to be so good for me,” she murmured, voice low and velvety, thick with heat and something deeper. Not a question, not quite a command, more like a vow. Her gaze flicked up, locking with yours. “Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

You nodded too fast, too eager, once again forgetting words. Your head fell back against the cushion, mouth open as you sucked in shallow breaths, dazed and trembling.

Wanda’s fingers pressed just a little harder into the soft flesh of your thigh, a subtle squeeze. A quiet correction, not born of anger but patience, like she was guiding you, gently coaxing obedience into instinct.

Her voice followed, low and coaxing, velvet over steel. “Ah-ah. Use your words for me, Sweetheart.”

“Yes,” you breathed, so desperate it came out as a sob. “Yes, I’ll be good, Mommy. I promise! Please—”

Wanda smiled. She didn’t respond with words. She lowered her mouth instead.

The first touch of her tongue was impossibly soft, barely more than a kiss, just a warm, wet brush that sent your whole body taut. You let out a noise that sounded somewhere between a moan and a cry, hips twitching, only for her palms to flatten against your inner thighs and hold you steady, immovable.

She pulled back immediately, her lips wet and shining, her eyes dark with something feral, in a way that made your stomach flip. “Stay still,” she murmured, voice low and commanding, and it hit you somewhere deep.

You froze, muscles trembling with the effort, breath catching in your throat. But the way she looked right now? Flushed cheeks, parted lips, eyes fixed on you like she was starving for more? You didn’t even need her touch. That look alone was enough to ruin you.

Nonetheless, she leaned in again, slower this time, licking a flat stripe up your centre, and you nearly came from the sound alone. The soft, slick drag. Her low hum. The soft, wet suction as her lips closed around your clit for just a second before pulling away again.

A loud moan spilled from your throat as your back arched off the sofa. “Oh, Mommy!”

Wanda hummed, pleased and hungry, her voice dipping lower, raspier, heat threaded through every word. “Does that feel good, Little One?” she murmured, her breath warm against your skin. “You taste so sweet…”

And then, Wanda truly began. Her tongue moved in slow, deliberate strokes, tracing you with maddening precision, as if she had all the time in the world to explore every inch of your cunt. 

Each flick, each circle sent electric jolts through your body, teasing and torturing with perfect timing. Every pause felt like an eternity, just long enough for you to think she might be done, only for her to dive back in, harder, deeper. 

Wanda slid her arm beneath your thigh and lifted, settling your leg over her shoulder like you weighed nothing at all. You let her. You didn’t even think; your body just obeyed, limp and aching and wide open. 

The moment her tongue ran through your folds again, your hands found her hair, gripping it with a desperate urgency that made your knuckles throb. You clung to her like she was the only anchor in a storm, your body trembling with need. 

The words spilled from your lips without hesitation, desperate and raw. “Mmmm, Mommy! Yes, please…don’t stop…more!” you begged, voice shaky, almost frantic. You didn’t care anymore, didn’t care how desperate you sounded. All that mattered was the aching hunger inside you, the overwhelming need that Wanda was slowly, perfectly, fulfilling.

Her tongue pressed deeper, more purposeful, sliding through your slick folds with aching precision. Every stroke came with a little more pressure, a little more hunger, as if your taste had lit a fuse in her. 

She moaned softly against you, the sound sending a shock through your spine, and her hands gripped tighter, one anchoring your thigh, the other still holding you down as you writhed below her.

She found a rhythm that made you keen and she circled, sucked and licked at your clit like she wanted to drag it out until you forgot how to do anything but fall apart for her. 

“Such a good girl,” Wanda breathed against you, her voice wrecked with hunger and lust. The words vibrated through you, each syllable soaked in pride, in possession. “So sensitive…look at you.”

Heat poured off you in waves. You were burning. Every inch of your skin felt too tight, every nerve alive and screaming. Her mouth didn’t relent, and your body responded with sobs, helpless, choked little cries that crawled up your throat unbidden. 

You were shaking, desperate for release but far too overwhelmed to ask for it, like your body couldn’t decide whether it wanted to run or fall apart right there beneath her.

Your eyes squeezed shut, vision swimming, the world narrowing to nothing but her, her mouth, her voice, her hands. Until you heard, “Look at her.” A low, smooth voice cut through the haze, amused and dark. Natasha. “Wanda, you’re going to break her.”

It hit you like a lightning strike. Shame and arousal collided so violently that it knocked the breath from your lungs. You couldn’t believe you’d forgotten she was there. But of course she was. 

But now, her voice cut through the fog, pulling you from the tight grip Wanda had on you, the overwhelming rush of sensation temporarily halted as your face flushed with heat. The reality of the moment hit harder than the pleasure had, and yet, it anchored you in a way you hadn’t expected.

Wanda didn’t look away from you. She didn’t even pause. Her mouth just closed over your clit again, firmer now. Your thighs tensed under her grip. Your back lifted. You were sobbing her title like it was the only thing you knew. “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy…”

“Shh,” she whispered,  “You’re okay. You’re doing so well.”

You were too far gone to respond. Your mouth opened, a moan catching in your throat and sticking there as you ground helplessly into her mouth, chasing your pleasure. 

Wanda moaned into you, it was low, deliberate, a sound soaked in hunger, and the vibration of it rippled straight through your core. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t restrained. It was carnal, shameless, and it nearly undid you on the spot. 

Your whole body jolted like it had been struck, legs trembling as you continued to grind into her face as the pleasure spiked white-hot and unbearable. 

Wanda then chose to experiment with another of the kinks you mentioned, her voice rough as she spoke. “Mmm such a desperate whore,” she moaned. “Grinding your cunt into Mommy’s face, such a dirty little girl.”

And that…that…was what broke you. You’d suspected, thanks to those deep dives on Tumblr, that it would do something to you…But hearing it for real, hearing it from Wanda . It didn’t just undo you, it detonated something inside you.

You were spiralling now, clinging to the sensation, chasing the edge that felt so close you could taste it. You needed to fall. You needed it, more than breath, more than sense, more than anything you’d ever needed before.

“I...I’m—” The words got stuck in your throat, too tangled up with the raw ache consuming you. “Please!” The plea came out desperate, ragged, your voice a broken whisper of need.

Wanda lifted her mouth just long enough to look up at you, her chin glistening, her eyes blown wide with hunger. “Let go,” she whispered. “Cum for me, Malyshka (Little One). ”

And you did. You shattered. Loudly, helplessly, trembling so hard your teeth nearly chattered, a scream tearing from your throat as every nerve in your body lit up and snapped loose all at once.

Wanda didn’t stop. She licked you through it, steady and patient, never pulling away even as your thighs clamped around her shoulders and your hips jolted beneath her mouth. She drank every twitch, every sob, until you were limp and gasping and twitching from overstimulation.

Only then did she slow, then finally, finally pulled back. Her face was flushed, her lips red, eyes dark and glassy with want.

She looked up at you like she wasn’t quite done. “Such a good girl,” she whispered, crawling back up over your trembling body. “If this weren't our first time, I wouldn't be finished with you yet.”

You were whimpering, breath catching in your throat over and over like you couldn’t get enough air.

“Oh, Sweetheart,” Wanda whispered, her hands feather-light now, reverent. “You did so well for me. You were perfect.”

You were too far gone to speak. You blinked up at her through wet lashes, barely able to focus, your whole body trembling with the aftershocks of everything she’d pulled from you.

Wanda leaned down and kissed you. You tasted yourself on her mouth, but all you could feel was the way she held your face in both hands like you were breakable now, like she wanted to kiss every cry back into your body.

She reached for you with both arms and pulled you straight into her chest, tucking your head beneath her chin. You folded willingly, instinctively, curling into the heat of her body as though it was the only place in the world you’d ever felt safe. She held you there, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head, the other stroking along your spine in long, calming passes.

“There we go,” she murmured, so soft it was nearly inaudible. “Come here, darling. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t, not yet. But you clung weakly to her hoodie, your fingers barely gripping the hem, and Wanda’s mouth found the crown of your head and kissed it, slow and sure and overflowing with something too full to name.

There was movement to your left, measured and careful. Natasha. She had been quiet the whole time, hadn’t touched you once. But now she approached with something folded in her arms.

“I thought this might help,” she said, voice hushed.. She knelt beside the couch, holding out both the bottle you’d left earlier and a thick, soft blanket.

Wanda adjusted you slightly so she could reach without disturbing your place against her chest, accepting both items with a grateful nod. “Thank you.”

She opened the blanket first, shaking it out one-handed with practiced ease, and Natasha helped drape it over your back and shoulders, tucking it in so gently it barely felt like anything at all. Still, the weight of it made your chest wobble with an aftershock of emotion; it was warm, soft, and it covered you. Like a shield. 

You made a tiny sound, something caught between a sigh and a sob, and Wanda only pulled you tighter. “You’re not vulnerable, Little One,” she whispered into your hair. “Not here. Not with us.”

Natasha’s hand briefly, barely brushed over your shoulder as she pulled the blanket more snug around your side. Then she leaned in, close enough that you could smell her perfume, and offered you the water, unscrewed and waiting.

“Slow sips,” she said gently. 

Your hands shook, but Wanda helped you guide the bottle, letting you rest against her chest as you drank. You managed a few small sips before your throat threatened to close again, overwhelmed by everything by touch, by sound, by being seen. You pulled back slightly, your eyes watery, and Wanda was already there, thumb brushing the side of your face.

“That’s enough for now,” she said softly, taking the bottle and setting it aside. “You did so well. Just breathe.”

You nodded, barely, and Wanda held you even closer, curling one leg beneath her on the sofa so she could keep your body entirely against hers. She wrapped the blanket more securely around your back, and her lips found your temple, your cheek, your jaw. Every kiss was slow. Careful. Anchored in a depth of feeling that made your chest ache.

“I’m so proud of you,” she murmured. “You gave me everything, and you were so brave.”

Natasha shifted subtly, her gaze soft and steady. Her voice was lower now, gentle in a way it rarely was. “You were breathtaking,” she said. “Really.”

You blinked at her, breath hitching, but all she did was reach out and brush your hair out of your face, her touch light as air. You hid your face again in Wanda’s neck, overwhelmed all over again, but in a way that felt like comfort. Maybe even like home. 

—

The rest of the day was a haze of comfort and unease. Wanda stayed by your side, her touch unyielding, grounding you whenever you felt adrift. She kept you close, either holding you or brushing against you constantly, her presence soft and reassuring. 

It was as if she sensed something was off, that your mind was clouded, your thoughts scattered, and your body delicate. You couldn’t fully settle, but Wanda was there, pulling you back whenever you zoned out. Her smile, warm and steady, reminded you she was present, even when you couldn’t quite make sense of what you were feeling.

Natasha, on the other hand, had pulled away. As the day wore on, she became more distant, both physically and emotionally. The same barrier that had seemed to lift during your earlier conversation had slammed back into place, stronger than before. You couldn’t shake the feeling that she was second-guessing everything now that it had all become real. 

The thought struck harder than you expected, a sharp ache in your chest that wouldn’t let go. A wave of loneliness, of abandonment, washed over you, and you couldn’t make sense of it. Why did it hurt so much? You barely knew Natasha, so why did it matter? 

As the day went on, Wanda seemed to sense the unease building within you. She noticed the glances you cast toward Natasha, the way your gaze lingered. Each time, she’d murmur something soothing, reassuring you that it was okay, that Natasha just needed time to process her own feelings. 

And in some way, that helped. Wanda didn’t seem concerned, her belief that this wasn’t the end giving you a strange sense of comfort. If she wasn’t worried, maybe you didn’t need to be either. Slowly, you allowed yourself to relax into that belief.

When it was finally time to leave, Wanda’s sadness was obvious. She kissed you gently on the cheek, her touch lingering as she looked at you with eyes full of things left unsaid. Natasha, though, had a different expression. Her smile was faint, polite, but you could sense the relief in her that the day was over. 

Before you left, Wanda made sure to add both her and Natasha’s numbers to your phone, and then put yours in theirs. She followed it up by insisting you log into her Uber account. “You’re not paying for rides to our place,” she said, her tone firm but gentle, as though the matter was settled. Her quiet confidence made it clear this wasn’t just a one-time thing. You’d be back, she was certain of it, and somehow, that certainty gave you a strange sense of comfort, even as your emotions swirled inside.

You left their house feeling lighter, but still overwhelmed. The quiet warmth of Wanda’s comfort stayed with you, but so did the knot of uncertainty in your chest. Tomorrow would come soon enough, and with it, the weight of starting college. You didn’t know how you’d handle it, but for now, you just had to move forward.

—

Your first day of college had dragged on, with it being the first day, there was absolutely nothing interesting, just a never-ending loop of syllabi readings and assignments you could barely muster the energy to care about. Every class felt like a lecture in monotony, and you found yourself wondering, for the umpteenth time, why you’d even bothered to sign up for this. 

You slouched into your seat, dragging your feet like the rest of the half-dead students shuffling in behind you. 

You scanned the syllabus again, hoping maybe you’d missed something less soul-crushing the first time. Nope, dense readings, no extensions, mandatory participation. You didn’t know much about the professor for this class beyond the basics: she was strict, she was demanding, and she didn’t tolerate nonsense, and you could see that in her syllabus.  

One class left. One more hour, and then you could go home, grab something greasy, and let Kate grill you about your mysterious Saturday night. You weren’t looking forward to that conversation, but at least it wasn’t another lecture.

Then the door opened, and everything came crashing down.

You barely looked up at first, expecting someone completely forgettable. Sensible shoes. A cardigan. Maybe a sigh as they pulled out their notes. But then you glanced up, and your stomach plummeted.

It was Natasha.

No. No. Not Natasha.

Professor Romanoff.

Your body froze, rigid, like a deer caught in headlights. Shit. You hadn’t asked her last name. Hadn’t asked what she did for work. You’d just assumed she was something powerful, a lawyer maybe. Never in your worst nightmares had you imagined she'd be standing at the front of your classroom, like she hadn’t just watched her wife tear you apart on their sofa the day before.

She moved to the front like she owned the ground she walked on. Back straight, jaw set, and when she turned to address the room, her eyes swept over the crowd like a searchlight, briefly landing on you. For a split second, your breath caught, but there was nothing in her gaze. No recognition. No warmth. Just a cold, professional indifference.

“Good afternoon,” she said, her voice low, controlled, and sharp. Just as you remembered it. “I’m Professor Romanoff. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumours. And yes, they’re true. I expect discipline and respect. Follow my rules, and we’ll have no problems. Break them, and you’ll be out of this class without hesitation.”

Your chest tightened, and your head went foggy. Every word out of her mouth hit you like a wave crashing over you, one after the other, drowning you. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. Your body buzzed with disbelief.

The rest of the class became a blur. She spoke, she walked through slides, she gestured to the syllabus, but all you could hear was static. Every syllable of her voice felt like nails on a chalkboard, scraping across your skin. The tension built in your chest until it was suffocating.

By the time class ended, you bolted from your seat, nearly knocking into someone in your haste to escape. The cool air outside was a relief, thin and sharp, but at least it wasn’t soaked in her perfume or her unyielding authority.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and your heart skipped a beat.

Natasha: We need to talk. Meet me at the gas station. You know the car.

It wasn’t a question, it was a command. A part of you wanted to switch your phone off, go home to Kate, crawl into bed, and pretend the message didn’t exist. But the other part, the one still reeling from how Natasha had looked straight through you like a stranger, knew ignoring her wouldn’t make this go away. It would only make it worse.

You texted Kate a rushed excuse and made your way to the gas station. Natasha was already parked, sunglasses on, face unreadable. You knocked lightly on the window. She didn’t say a word, just motioned for you to get in. You did.

“Where…where are we going?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper, unsure if speaking was even allowed.

“To see Wanda,” she said tightly, jaw clenched. “This is going to break her heart.”

Your heart clenched, but you didn’t dare say anything else. Neither did she. The car ride passed in tense, suffocating silence, your pulse hammering harder the closer you got. By the time she pulled into the driveway, your stomach was twisted in knots.

Wanda opened the door with a smile, immediately pulling Natasha into a hug, her voice light. “Hi, my love,” she said, then glanced past her to see you, small and shaking behind. “Nat? Why’s our Little One here, looking like that?”

“Maybe she should explain,” Natasha said, her voice low, each word bitten off with sharp precision. The calm she’d worn like armour since she saw you cracked at the edges now, something colder slipping through, something furious. 

Wanda blinked, visibly confused, her gaze shifting between the two of you as she guided you both inside with careful hands. 

Inside, Natasha stayed standing, rigid, coiled across from you, while Wanda hovered by your side, concern etched into her brow. “Did something happen?” she asked carefully, though her eyes were already searching yours, catching how you shook.

Natasha let out a bitter laugh, dry, humourless, and dangerous. “You could say that,” she snapped, then turned to face you, eyes narrowing like twin blades. “It happened again, Wanda. We’re being used.”

The words were a slap. Your heart stuttered, and beside you, Wanda’s head snapped toward her wife, brows pulling into a deep, confused frown. “What?”

“She’s in my class,” Natasha spat. “My fucking class. She played the innocent routine, wormed her way in, probably thought that whoring herself out would get her better grades.”

“Natasha!” Wanda’s voice cracked through the air like a whip.

But you were already gasping. “N-no,” you managed to get out, “that’s not true! I didn’t know! I didn’t know!”

Natasha stepped closer. “You expect me to believe that?”

Yes!” Your voice cracked. “I didn’t know! I never saw your full name! The portal just said ‘Professor Romanoff’ and there wasn’t even a photo, I…I didn’t know it was you! I swear, I swear—!”

You backed up instinctively. Wanda’s hand caught your elbow, but it wasn’t grounding; your whole body was trembling, heat rising to your face, your limbs cold.

“No?” Natasha’s voice sliced through the air, cold and sharp, every word like a lash. “You just happened to end up in my class, right? You think I’m stupid?”

The words hit you like a freight train, but it wasn’t just the anger that crushed you; it was the way it landed, sharp and bitter, just like everything you’d heard your whole life. Your heart pounded in your chest, and before you could stop yourself, the words rushed out, desperate, broken.

“No! I’m the stupid one, okay?” you screamed, your voice high-pitched and strangled, raw with panic. The pressure in your chest felt like it might suffocate you. Your mind spiraled, racing through a thousand memories, a thousand voices all telling you the same thing. It was all crashing down on you, everything you feared, everything you hated about yourself, flooding to the surface.

“I’m stupid! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do anything wrong, please, just, please believe me, please!” The words rushed out, tumbling over each other in a desperate rush. “I didn’t know! I swear, I didn’t know you were my professor! I should’ve known, I should’ve checked! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m just…I’m stupid, I’m so stupid…” Your voice broke, your knees feeling weak, your mind a blur of self-doubt.

You could barely see, everything blurred behind a wall of hot, stinging tears. The room faded around you, all sound drowned out by the roar of your breathing, the relentless pounding of your heart in your ears. You were spiralling, free-falling into that familiar place, the one carved out by years of being wrong, being too much, not enough, always failing. You had ruined everything again. 

You didn’t see Natasha’s expression shift, didn’t catch the way her posture softened, the fire in her eyes dimming into something far more fragile, fear, concern, guilt. You didn’t notice her step forward, slow and cautious, pulled not by anger anymore but by instinct, by the quiet, urgent need to soothe. You didn’t see any of it.

All you registered was her hand rising toward your face. And your body reacted before your thoughts could. You flinched, violently, arms flying up to shield yourself, your whole body recoiling with a panicked jolt. You stumbled back, your breath catching in your throat, eyes wide and glassy with terror as you braced for impact.  

Natasha froze. Her hand hung in the air, suspended in horror, fingers trembling. The colour drained from her face as the realisation hit: you were afraid of her. And it was clear that someone else had carved that fear into your bones long before now.

“Detka…(babe)” she breathed, voice shattered, barely more than a whisper.

You couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t look at Wanda either. You kept your arms up like a shield, like you could somehow disappear behind them, like maybe if you were small enough, quiet enough, sorry enough, they’d forget you’d ruined everything.

“I didn’t mean to….I didn’t know! I swear, I didn’t know,” you choked out, your voice thin and brittle, like glass about to crack. “I wasn’t trying to get anything from you, I wasn’t…I wasn’t using you, I wouldn’t, please.”

Your knees buckled slightly, your whole frame shaking, and finally, Wanda moved. “Oh, Sweetheart,” she whispered, rushing to your side, gently wrapping an arm around your waist before you could collapse completely. 

Her hand cupped the back of your head, pulling you in, holding you like you might break apart. “No, no, darling, no one’s mad at you, okay? You’re okay, I promise, you’re safe.”

Natasha hadn’t moved. She was still standing in place, her jaw slack, her hand slowly lowering as her chest rose and fell with shallow, uneven breaths. Her eyes were locked on you, wide and glassy.

“I thought—” she tried, but her voice failed. She swallowed hard, blinking fast, like she couldn’t quite breathe. “I thought it was happening again.”

Wanda glanced over her shoulder at her wife, her voice still low but firm. “She didn’t know, Nat...It was just fate.”

“I know,” Natasha whispered. “I know that now. I just, when I saw her in that room, it felt like before.” She let out a breath like she’d been holding it since the moment she walked into the classroom. 

You peeked up through your lashes, finally daring to meet her eyes. The anger was gone. All that was left was guilt and something painfully soft.

“I wasn’t going to hurt you,” Natasha said, slowly, deliberately, her voice aching with apology. “I was, shit, I was trying to comfort you. I didn’t think—”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again, because it was all you knew how to say.

Wanda stroked your hair gently, her voice firm. “You don’t need to be sorry, you didn’t do anything wrong. Not one thing.”

But still, the words hung between the three of you like smoke.

Natasha stepped forward, painfully slow, eyes flicking from you to Wanda and back again. She crouched a little, dropping down to your level, her voice raw and barely holding together. “Can I…?” she asked, hand hovering just inches from your arm. “Can I touch you?”

Your breath hitched, but you gave the smallest nod.

The moment her fingers brushed your skin, everything in Natasha crumbled. She sank the rest of the way down, arms folding around you gently as Wanda kept one around your shoulders. The weight of both of them wrapped around you, solid and warm.

“I’ve got you,” Natasha murmured. “ We’ve got you.”

Natasha didn’t let go. Not for a long moment. Her arms stayed around you, gentle and steady, never demanding, just there, like a tether, like she was trying to imprint your shape into her bones, as if by holding you now she could somehow make up for every second she hadn’t before. You felt the way her hands trembled, how her breath caught against your skin.

“I’m so sorry,” she breathed, the words cracking on the way out. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Not a single fucking thing. This is on me. All of it.”

Your body was still stiff, every muscle drawn tight like a bowstring, your breaths coming in hiccupping, uneven bursts, your chest aching from how fast your heart was racing. But even through the storm inside you, you didn’t pull away. Couldn’t. Not when her voice sounded like it was breaking apart just to reach you.

“I should’ve seen you,” Natasha murmured, forehead pressed gently to your shoulder. “I should’ve looked. I should’ve listened. You were terrified, and I was too wrapped up in my own shit, too scared of being used, too angry to even ask. I didn’t give you a chance. I just assumed the worst. And I...”

“Nat…” Wanda said softly, a hand on her back now, grounding her.

But Natasha shook her head, voice raw. “No. She needs to hear this.”

She shifted just enough that you could feel the ghost of her breath against your throat, her hands still steady on your sides, but now you noticed the shake in her fingers. Not from rage. Not anymore.

“You looked at me like I was going to hit you,” she whispered. “And I don’t think I’ll ever forget that. But I need you to hear this, I will never hurt you like that. Not ever. Not unless you ask for it. Not unless we talk about it, plan for it, and make it safe.”

Your voice was barely audible, crushed beneath the weight of your own guilt. “It’s okay. It’s my fault. I didn’t know. I should’ve…I should’ve guessed, I should’ve asked, I’m so stupid—”

“Stop.” Wanda’s voice broke through, warm and firm. Her fingers tipped your chin up, her eyes locking with yours, full of calm and command. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You don’t have to know everything.”

You whimpered, a soft sound full of doubt and disbelief, but you didn’t look away.

“You’re not stupid,” Natasha echoed, gentler now, her hand brushing your cheek in the softest touch. “I can tell you’ve been taught to expect the worst. To believe it’s always your fault. You’ve been made to apologise for existing, haven’t you?”

You nodded without meaning to, like your body had been waiting for someone to say it out loud for years.

And Natasha’s whole expression shifted, darkening, not with fury at you, but at the unseen ghosts still haunting you. Her voice dropped, low and furious, like a promise carved in steel. “Just one word from you, and I’ll destroy them, just tell me, Little One, and I’ll fix it.”

The title caught you off guard, like a splash of sunlight after days of rain. Your chest fluttered. Your heart squeezed.

“Little One?” Your voice trembled, barely a whisper, fragile and shaking under the weight of your doubt. “I’m still your Little One? After everything? You didn’t even want me in the first place…surely you can’t want me now?”

Natasha’s face crumpled, like it physically pained her to hear you say that, and in that instant, everything she had been holding back cracked wide open.

“Sweet girl…” she whispered, her voice raw, fingers trembling as they cupped your face. “Stop. Please. I wanted you. I want you. I care about you more than I ever thought possible.” Her voice was thick with emotion. “I was scared of how you made me feel. It came on so fast, and I didn't expect to care so soon. But you were so perfect with Wanda. So soft, so beautiful. And I pulled away because I was so afraid of getting lost in you, but fuck, I don’t care anymore. I’m done being scared.”

Behind you, Wanda’s arms tightened around your waist, pressing herself into you as if she, too, needed this moment of vulnerability. “We want you. Both of us, ” Wanda said quietly, her voice steady but full of feeling. “Don’t ever think we don’t.”

Your voice cracked as you looked at Natasha, your eyes full of uncertainty. “But…what about college?”

Natasha gave a small, determined shrug, the weight of her resolve settling in her gaze. “We’ll make it work. I’m not letting you go. Not now. Not ever. You’re ours.”

And in that moment, with both of them holding you, Natasha’s forehead pressed to yours, her grip grounding you like she was afraid to let go, Wanda’s warmth surrounding you from behind, you finally leaned into them completely. 

That day had changed everything for both you and Natasha. For the first time in your life, you knew, without any doubt, that you could finally drop your walls.

Natasha, too, had her own shift. She realised, with a painful clarity, that by clinging to her past wounds, she wasn’t just hurting herself. She was hurting you. She was hurting Wanda. And even though you’d only known each other for a matter of days, there was a deep understanding between the three of you. 

You felt it in your bones, the unspoken certainty that this was just the beginning. Something beautiful, something real, was waiting to grow between you all.

At first, despite the growing trust, things weren’t always easy. Especially when it came to punishment. There were moments, early on, when the balance wasn’t yet settled, when the rules were still new, still unfamiliar. Punishments were more frequent as you navigated this delicate dynamic, learning where the boundaries lay. 

But any time you flinched in that way, any time your mind betrayed you, when the old instincts to recoil and protect yourself kicked in, they were there. They’d stop. They’d call the safeword, and the world would pause. 

In those moments, no matter how intense the scene, no matter how harsh the lesson, they always made sure you knew one thing: you were safe. “Safe” wasn’t just a word; it was a promise. 

With each moment they showed you that you were cared for, each time they respected your limits, it became easier. And then, eventually, there was a shift. You stopped flinching. You stopped questioning, stopped second-guessing. 

The trust settled into you like a warm embrace, a sensation so profound you hadn’t even known it was possible. In their presence, you were safe, utterly, completely safe, and the weight of that truth was something you’d never imagined could exist. 

Vulnerability no longer felt like a weight; it became a gift, something you could offer freely, without fear, because they had shown you that you didn’t need to protect yourself anymore. They would do that for you now. And in that space, you learned to give them everything, your trust, your heart, your willingness to surrender it all.

Because you knew, deep within your bones, that they would handle it with a tenderness, a devotion, that made you feel like you had finally come home.

—

Did I need to make this as angsty as I did? Probably not. But did I do it because I love exploring how trust builds after darkness? Definitely. What can I say, a damaged girl needing care and love is my thing. Sorry, not sorry. Hope you still enjoyed it!

Taglist: @angelicbrats @chansawrelier

[ahundredtimesover]

I Want You to Stay (07) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: boss!JK x assistant!reader; idiot strangers to lovers; slow slow burn; k-drama feels; angst, drama, fluff, smut

Chapter (Series) Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption & passing out, unhealthy coping mechanisms; family drama; minor injuries; power dynamics (JK starts off as a jerk); work-related anxiety, feelings of helplessness, insecurities; childhood traumatic experiences, nightmares; sexual harassment, prior incidence of domestic violence (PLS PLS BE CAREFUL WHEN READING); arts and business/property devt talk that’s probably inaccurate; commitment issues & emotionally constipated characters; cold and detached JK; eventual explicit sexual content (specific warnings stated per chapter) (18+)

Chapter Word count: 15.4k

Series Masterlist

Status: Ongoing

Series summary: Working for Jungkook isn’t the same as working for Hoseok. For starters, Jungkook doesn’t smile, he doesn’t appreciate you, and he gives you too much work. It doesn’t help that he’s incredibly handsome and has women at his beck and call. But as the tension grows, it becomes impossible to resist him. You’ve dedicated yourself to your job for 8 years so when you finally decide to put yourself first, he asks you to reconsider. And while you know that leaving is difficult, you learn that when it comes to Jungkook, staying is always so much harder.

Playlist 🎶: on the way home

A/N: One of my fave chapters! I hope you like this one! And just a heads up that intervals between posting days will be longer as the chapters get longer, too. And bc u know, life... HAHA but again, thank you so much for all the love for this like??? HOW. PLS you've all been so nice so thank you! 🥰 Also… JK in that SNTY suit.

And as always, my biggest thanks to @wonwoonlight  🥰

PS. If I can’t tag you, pls fix your settings!

Mr. Ri loads the luggages in the trunk and you double check that all bags - which you helped pack yesterday - are complete. You enter the car right after and head to the airport where Jungkook will fly to Singapore for a few meetings and to attend Seokjin’s alcohol launch party. 

It’s been over a month since the Arts Center event and so much has happened since then. Jungkook went to Jeju to meet an artist and then to Japan over a weekend to meet another two. He’s been on calls with a few more with plans to meet in their country of residence in the next months, and he’s gone around different local towns to meet with craftspeople for souvenirs and future exhibitions. He’s also touched base with various national and international Korean arts and culture organizations for promotion and joint projects. The event opened doors for a new network that he hoped for. There are now proposals for other collaborations and side engagements that’s doing a lot for the company’s brand and expansion. 

To say that Jungkook and the team have been busy is an understatement. You went back to work after those few days of recovering with everyone overwhelmed by all the things they had to do but like you expected, you all managed and got things organized. There are still multiple things to handle all at once, but everyone’s just been on top of everything and showing how competent you all are as individuals and as a team.

Within that period, Jungkook has stopped by the team’s office and the pantry more times than those first months. He also managed to laugh at Do-hyun’s unfiltered remarks a few times and even slipped his own that got the team giggling. He’s seemed a lot more relaxed and so has the team. Lunch meetings have been regular given all the work you all have to do. Yohan and Chin-sun even say that they’ve gotten to know Jungkook a little better through their visits to the Arts Center. And while they do think he’s still a bit detached and catch him in his own world sometimes, he’s a lot more engaged and is actually way smarter than they’d initially thought. 

Jungkook checks his phone and sighs, prompting you to turn to him.

“Seokjin says the party is an intimate event but there’s gonna be over two-fifty guests so I don’t know about that,” he shakes his head, showing you the restaurant bar where his friend will be launching his alcohol brand. “For some reason, he expects me and Tae to entertain guests on his behalf.”

This was another development you hadn’t expected. Since that morning when Jungkook sent you food when you were unwell, your relationship changed. It’s still professional but there’s more openness now, as if that prompted both of you to be comfortable around each other. 

There’s more trust and honesty, too - he lets you make decisions, lets you handle the team when he’s away, and asks you for your unfiltered opinion. You feel like all the time you spend together has allowed you to learn how he sees and understands things; you even finish his sentences sometimes. 

He’s also loosened up a bit and allows himself to laugh and smile more. They’re still rare occurrences but you never point them out, not wanting him to feel awkward and then stop. They often catch you off guard so you haven’t been able to fully appreciate them but at least he feels comfortable around you, enough to even talk about non-work stuff and things that fill his mind, like random questions or small concerns. 

You’re unsure if he notices how uninhibited he’s become but you don’t point it out either. He still has his moments of living in his head, his faraway thoughts rendering him quiet and observant, and his perfectionist attitude means he’s still critical sometimes. But he doesn’t take anything out on you - not his frustrations nor his fears. He’d usually keep to himself and talk to you once he’s cooled down and you’d take that any day, so long as you keep your sanity and are able to do your tasks as instructed.

In return, you let yourself be the same. You’ve fully restored your confidence and that’s allowed you to show just how capable you are. You’ve been more vocal with your thoughts, too, and don’t take it personally when he doesn’t agree. You smile a lot more, joke with him even, and have been more generous with words of encouragement and affirmation. They come more naturally than you expected, and you appreciate that he doesn’t turn you away whenever it happens.

He’s actually okay to be around when he’s not being grumpy or difficult. You suppose that the situations he was put in - and how you responded with patience and understanding - allowed him to see that you’re truly on his side and that let him put his guard down a little. You’re past trying to please him for the sake of making your job bearable; there’s actual joy in it now, and while the search for who you are outside of all this continues to ring in your head, you think that sticking around for now isn’t so bad either.

“Perhaps Seokjin has seen how good you are with entertaining guests now and deems you worthy of being an extension of him,” you respond to Jungkook’s earlier musings. “And he wouldn’t be wrong. You’ve become really good at it.”

“You know, I think you oversell me sometimes,” he chuckles. 

“Hmm, I think I don’t,” you counter. “If I may say so, Mr. Jeon, it's just that the bar was pretty low so the improvements are quite striking.”

“Fair enough,” he laughs, not taking offense.

“You can still do better at charming people. Maybe you can learn a thing or two from Seokjin and Taehyung,” you push.

“Those two flirt, they don’t charm,” he playfully rolls his eyes.

“Well, I completely disagree, sir. I mean, I’ve seen it firsthand. And I’m not one who’s easily charmed.”

“Fine, I’ll see what I can pick from them, then,” he concedes.

“Kidding aside, I think you’ll be fine, Mr. Jeon. Plus, it’s unrelated to work so there’s no need to impress anyone,” you state. 

“True,” he hums. “But just thinking about these next few days is already making me tired. Tae rented a yacht for tonight. We have Seokjin’s launch tomorrow, and to celebrate, he’s throwing another party the day after.”

“Hmm, must be that you’re getting old,” you tease, earning you a hum in agreement. “But you’re used to that though, right? They always said that was your life back in Singapore.”

“It was. I had less responsibilities and people to manage but back then, everything seemed too much,” he shares. “I took the weekends seriously and really just did whatever I wanted. I haven’t done much of that these past weeks because I’ve been so tired and I feel like I’m under the microscope when I’m here. So yeah, I’ll probably just take advantage of being back there and just enjoy it.”

“As you should,” you say. “You’ve worked hard and you deserve to spend your weekend however you wish. Just, uh…”

“What?”

“Probably give Lucas a heads-up in case a half-naked woman greets him in the kitchen on Monday morning.”

The silence is deafening and you think you’ve crossed a line with this one. You turn towards him and he looks stunned at your unfiltered remark.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Jeon,” you bow in apology. “That was too personal.”

“It’s okay,” he responds after a beat of silence. “I guess I deserve that. I mean, I never apologized for the morning when you experienced exactly that. And for when you found that underwear on the floor, which I forgot to clean up. So, uh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, too. I got over it,” you assure him. “And if anything, I’m pretty sure she left that on purpose so she’ll have a reason to come back.”

“That’s exactly it,” he groans. “She saw me again and wanted to go to my apartment so she could get it. I told her I threw it away.”

“How brutal,” you tease again.

“Not my finest moment but yeah, I’m sorry to put you in that position. Must’ve been tough seeing proof of all the washroom gossip.”

“You know about those?” You gasp. 

“I’ve heard about them,” he sighs. “Mr. Ri’s got eyes and ears in the office.”

“It’s hard to defend so I just don’t try,” the older man shakes his head. “Not like you deny it anyway.”

“Not like I really care,” Jungkook shrugs. “But even then, I guess it wasn’t the best start for us,” he tells you.

“Perhaps not, but I’m not one to judge, Mr. Jeon. That’s all in the past now, and that feels like a lifetime ago.”

“It does,” he hums. 

It’s during these casual exchanges when you get to see a bit more of Jungkook as the person that he is, beyond the perfectionist executive who still harbors fears and worries about his new role. He’s still a human being who finds ways to deal with the stresses of life, someone who needs time to step away from his burdensome responsibilities, someone who seeks intimacy and connection and finds ways to attain them in his own ways. The doubts and worries are still there, but the foundation has stabled a bit. Somehow you think that you’ve created a space safe enough for him to talk about them, to apologize, and to try to be better. You hope he gets to create that for himself, too, and if that’s what you’ll leave him with by the time you decide to step away from this job, you think you’d be satisfied. 

Silence engulfs you both and like he often is after being vulnerable with you, he keeps to himself once again. You wait a while before running through his meetings for today and next week and inform him of what the team will be working on while he’s away. Jungkook responds with a few last-minute instructions, especially about the tasks he needs done in time for your team meeting on Monday. You’re both back to professional talk and you don’t really mind; there’s something about being honest and open that could be a bit disarming.

The car stops and Mr. Ri exits to retrieve the luggage from the trunk. Jungkook, in his navy blue suit, gathers his things and says goodbye. Before he can close the door, you call out his name.

“Yeah?” He asks, his one hand carrying his bag and the other, on the roof of the car as he bends to look at you.

“Happy birthday,” you say. “I know you think it’s just an ordinary day but I hope you celebrate well.”

“Thank you,” he says after a few seconds, basking in the softness of your smile for the short moment that he can.

Jungkook steps away then closes the door. He heads to the airport lounge before taking the 6-hour flight to Singapore, spending it on reviewing reports and design proposals. He goes straight to the office when he lands, settling down in his room where he responds to emails. He munches on some dumplings for lunch, thinking he’s missed the ones from the restaurant across the street, but then Lucas enters and sets down a bowl of seaweed soup.

“Ms. Cho asked me to get this for you, Mr. Jeon.”

Jungkook is caught off guard but manages to dismiss Lucas and tastes the dish. It’s nothing like his mother’s, but then again, he hasn’t had it in years. When Jungkook moved here, there were no celebrations apart from getting drunk at a club, which is also why he’d stopped thinking of his birthday as anything special. There were no traditional meals or well wishes or birthday cakes.

He’s here again. There’s that yacht party tonight but it won’t feel like a celebration. Somehow, with this bowl of soup, this does. You’re a thousand miles away but even then, he still feels your presence. Even then, he feels more cared for than he has these past several years combined.

Jungkook wakes up the next morning with a splitting headache. His neck feels a bit strained, given that he’d slept in an awkward position wearing his clothes from last night. He also barely remembers much. One minute he was drinking with a woman around his arm and the next he’s… here. 

He shifts and lays flat on his back, groaning as last night’s happenings manifest in the soreness of his entire body. The yacht was fancy, as he’d expected from his best friends. There was overflowing food and drinks, the music was great, and the guests were honestly too many for his liking. There were familiar faces and new ones, but he mostly stuck around with those he knew. What he also remembers is not being able to taste his cake. He’s definitely calling Seokjin to complain.

Suddenly hit with the thought of not knowing how he’d gotten home last night - or with whom - Jungkook sits up and groans once more, the incoming call adding to the ringing sound in his head.

“Mr. Jeon,” Lucas answers on the other end. “How are you feeling today?”

“Terrible,” Jungkook says, now finding the strength to get off the bed. “Did you take me home?”

“Yes, sir. You wanted to leave so Mr. Ri and I took you to your penthouse,” Lucas answers. “Your valuables are on the table.”

Jungkook sighs, knowing it was one of those nights. Removing his clothes, he sees the fresh marks on his chest. Wanting to prepare himself before finding some stranger in the other room, he asks his assistant if he’d brought someone home with him.

“No, sir. It was just you. She, uh, she asked to come but you told her you were too tired so she stayed behind.”

“Oh, good,” Jungkook exhales in relief, not wanting to deal with any of that this morning, which is one reason why he always asks them to leave. “How long do I have until I have to get ready for tonight?”

“About five hours,” the younger man replies. “You have a scheduled dinner with your friends at 5:30 and then the event at 8. I’ll be there before that to help you get ready.”

“Alright, thanks. I’ll just workout to deal with this hangover.”

“Medicines are in the cupboard, sir. Please just let me know if there’s anything more you need.”

“I will.”

Jungkook hangs up and presses on his temples as if that’ll do anything. He retrieves the medicine as advised and thinks of something else he needs - a cup of lemon ginger tea. Ever since you’d prepared one for him that one morning, he’s been having it after every night out. He calls the butler to have it prepared for him, given that he doesn’t have the energy to do so himself. 

It arrives, and coupled with the aspirin, he’s starting to somehow feel better. He knows that heading to the gym will do the trick, as it always does, but it still makes him think that he shouldn’t have drank as much as he did last night. 

For someone who’s not particularly fond of people, even Jungkook sometimes wonders why he goes out and parties as much as he does. 

He wasn’t always like this though. His weekends used to be spent on food trips and travels, but after the breakup with Chaerin, those days became free, and he’d stay out late so he could sleep the rest of the next day. The women were to make up for the loneliness; the alcohol was to forget why he needed them in the first place. He hates loud and unnecessary sounds, but the music and the chatter started to become white noise for him; they’d become a companion to help deal with the noise in his own head, or the lack of it. 

Years later, the remaining thoughts in his mind were just all about work, and he’d revert to the same habit for relief - the women became his thrill; the alcohol was so he wouldn’t remember them. 

And it works. The ecstasy lasts only through the night. It’s fleeting as his desire for them is. He doesn’t recall names, just that they made him feel good and that they felt the same; they often try to hook up with him again after all, seeking him in the clubs they know he frequents. But he rarely entertains them; a second time leads to a third, and he can’t be assured that they won’t ask the same tiring questions he hates hearing - why doesn’t he have a girlfriend? Why doesn’t he want to commit to anyone? Does he see himself settling down and having a family? What’ll make him want that?

It’s happened a few times, during the rare instances that there’s a lull in between and they take advantage of his brief period of vulnerability to make him open up. He never does, and it’s not because he thinks it’s a weakness to do so, but he just never really let the moment linger to find out. 

After a light meal, Jungkook heads to the gym and spends three hours expending his energy so he could get it back. 

This is his other means of dealing with his stress. Working out makes him focus on something else and it helps in releasing all his anger and frustration. As he stares at his bare body in the mirror right after - the marks from last night still visible - he scoffs at himself. 

He’s so stereotypical, it makes him sick. He’s allowed himself to let his life revolve around the shallow and fleeting sensations of pleasure to counter the permanence and inevitability of his job. This is his world and he made it this way. And while he drowns in the nothingness inside the walls that he created, he still thinks it’s better than being outside; somehow he thinks it’s lonelier and more burdensome out there. At least in here, he’s all he has to deal with; he’s all he can disappoint.

But there are still moments when he wonders what it could be like if he just dared to live differently. Like when he watches Seokjin animatedly explain the history and creation process of Korean traditional alcohol during the product launch that evening and how his passion is moving and infectious. Or when he observes how Taehyung freely moves around the club and makes connections with others as deep as his smile. 

Jungkook thinks about all this as he glances at the woman next to him later that night, bare under the covers like he is, her body curled into a cocoon as she takes a break. 

She’d caught his eye earlier because she wasn’t trying to get his attention like the others were. She spoke less and screamed more, let him do what he wanted but touched him softly as she pleased.

“You’re a good lover. Why do you waste yourself with something temporary like me?” She’d asked. 

It left him speechless and he shrugged - a change from his usual dismissal - but there’s really nothing to say. 

Why does he? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to. 

But it’s at this moment that he tries to imagine what it would be like if it were the same face he saw next to him every morning, if it were the same hand he held everyday, if it were the same warm body he curled into every night. His mind wanders too far, into the depths of a place it can’t go to, beyond boundaries he can’t cross, and the sight is both terrifying and calming. 

It’s safer where he is.

So when she wakes up from a short nap, she looks up at him, her soft eyes wishing for something she knows she shouldn’t.

“You should go,” he says, the softest he’s ever uttered the words. 

“Okay,” she whispers in submission. 

She gets up from the bed, finds her stray clothes on the floor, and puts them on. Jungkook follows her to the door, a first for him. Maybe it’s her gentleness, or the unspoken understanding between them, or maybe because she doesn’t ask for more even if she seems to want to. 

But though he contemplates pulling her back to try to feel what that’s like - seeing her in the morning, holding her hand, curling into her embrace - he doesn’t. He knows even that desire would end; it’s fleeting just as everything around him is.  

He holds open the door. She turns around with a smile.

“I hope someday you find someone you’ll ask to stay,” she says, surprising him again. “I’m sure they would.”

You walk around the store in awe of the luscious plants displayed on the shelves, your eyes as bright as the lights that shine over them. There are so many to choose from, and though you have an idea of what you want to have, it’s tough deciding which ones to get right now. The money tree is a must, so is the Chinese evergreen. But do you go for the orchid or the peace lily? Can you keep up with a spider plant? How many of the asparagus ferns should you get?

Your eyes flit from one plant to the next, eventually deciding on getting everything on your list then placing them on the cart for payment. 

Jimin chuckles next to you. “Since when were you a plant mom?”

“Since she got that aloe vera from Yoongi and she was convinced that she has a green thumb after it didn’t die,” Soomin deadpans next to you as you frown at her sarcasm. “That’s also after my weekly reminders to water the plant because ‘no care’ doesn’t actually mean it’s going to survive on its own.”

“Oh, shush,” you scoff at her. “You told me I was doing a good job.”

“You’d send a photo every few days, hun,” she laughs. “What else was I supposed to say?”

“True. I needed the encouragement,” you shrug, paying for your haul. “But also, I’m a plant newbie. Yoongi said that I probably need some of them at home and in the office for positive energy and he’s not wrong. All the frustration from months ago just accumulated in my apartment and I need a change.”

“So… Is Yoongi a plant dad, too?” Soomin wonders.

“No. He just knows about a lot of things,” you reply. “Plus, he’s an architect and a designer. He knows a thing or two about plant decor.”

“Why isn’t he here with you, then?” She arches an eyebrow.

“Because I’m with both of you, duh,” you roll your eyes. “And before you say anything more, I don’t really like mixing my work friends with my personal friends. It’s different.”

“Well, I’m glad we could join you on this new phase of your life,” Jimin tries to be encouraging. “It’s like turning over a new leaf.”

You scold him over his terrible pun but laugh anyway, enjoying the comfort and playfulness that only your best friends could bring. They picked you up from work last Friday then you all headed to a club after dinner. You spent yesterday at a beach at their insistence then stayed in during the evening. It’s now Sunday and you’re dragging them around as you run errands before saying goodbye to them again, and it’s not a normal day without Soomin mentioning Yoongi. Perhaps it’s because of all the guys you’ve mentioned that have taken interest in you, he’s the only true green flag; he’s also the only one you didn’t entertain at all. You suppose that’s something she’ll not really get over. 

The three of you head to a nearby cafe. Jimin excitedly talks about the latest menu item in their chain of restaurants while Soomin groans about the stuff she has to deal with as she manages her family-owned shipping company that’s the biggest in the port city of Busan. They turn to you and ask how the rest of your week is going to go, with slightly surprised looks when you don’t talk about work with as much disdain as you used to. There’s excitement, even, something that Soomin points out, and when you mention that Jungkook is on an overseas trip, she assumes that’s the reason why.

“Not really,” you clarify. “He arrives tomorrow evening, but the week’s packed - we’re visiting the Arts Center for inspection and then I’m doing an ocular with Chin-sun for the VP events we’re holding in the next few months. I mean, I won’t be buried in files nor will I be in meetings all week. So yeah, it’s not bad.”

“That’s good,” Jimin beams. “At least it’s nothing like how it used to be. Right?”

“It’s a lot better, I told you guys,” you say, reminding them of a similar talk you had the last time they were here, which was a week after you’d gotten sick. “Jungkook is… rational, less grumpy and impulsive; he also listens to me and trusts me. He’s even smiled a few times.”

“Wow, he really set the bar low for you, huh,” Jimin chuckles, earning him a nod.

“Does that also mean that he’s now completely bearable and no longer your type because he’s not an asshole anymore?” Soomin chimes in, being the blunt and bold one among the three of you.

“He never was my type in the first place,” you scowl. “Plus, he’s literally my boss, Soo. That’s like, not some flag, it’s a whole ass brick wall that shall not be crossed.”

“Right. That’s why Mr. Min didn’t make the cut,” she points out. “Told you you should’ve just quit your job so you could date him.”

“And I also told you that wasn’t the only reason why I didn’t want to,” you remind her. “Yoongi’s exactly the type of person I need in my life, and being more than friends is the surefire way of making sure that doesn’t happen. Like, why would I risk a good friendship for something that may not work out? Whether I break his heart or he breaks mine, it’s pain I can’t handle. There’s just no going back from there.”

“Right, that is your biggest fear,” Soomin replies softly, the sympathetic tone in her voice telling you that she does understand where you’re coming from. “I mean, it’s still possible that you wouldn’t hurt each other but I get it. It just sucks, I guess. The good ones often start as your friends.”

“I know. And I’d rather have them and be single than none at all,” you sigh. 

The thought is simpler than it seems. You won’t deny that you’ve thought of how things would’ve been if you gave Yoongi a chance, but the fear of what you’d lose always trumped that type of possibility. 

There’s a kind of pain you don’t want to experience, one of a broken heart caused by losing someone you’ve given your all to. It’s how you think you love, after all; you can’t give any less. But it’s also why you’ve never done it. No one’s inspired that kind of devotion for you. 

Soomin has pointed out before that it’s probably also because you don’t open yourself up to the possibilities as you should. Maybe you’ve just been too focused on other things. But maybe you also just haven’t felt the kind of all-consuming desire for someone who would be worth it, one you’d want so much that you’d willingly face the fear of paralyzing heartbreak just to be with them. 

You suppose that’s the difference. That’s the irony, too. You’re scared to love because you’re scared of the pain, so you keep your distance to keep yourself safe but it’s also why you haven’t found someone you’re willing to crawl out of your walls for.  

There’s not much you feel passionate about in life. Maybe it’s love. But you’re too cautious to feel it, to look for it, so you don’t really know. Maybe it’s something else completely, and working in the environment that you do hinders you from discovering it. You’ve kept your distance from a lot of things over the past years and the thought that one day, you’ll be able to feel free from all the burden you carry because of a past you couldn’t control, makes you look forward to the day when you get to walk away from all those and hopefully, find whatever it is you’re looking for. 

Jimin nudges you after you zone out, and you switch the subject and ask about the latest gossip in their hometown. You enjoy living vicariously through their social life back in Busan. They not only come out here to Seoul to see you but also to take a break from all the drama that they can’t really escape from, given the type of people in their circle of friends. You always thank the heavens you got lucky that at 10 years old and making a new life in a new city, you found Soomin and Jimin, perhaps the only other people aside from your mother who make you feel safe and protected, a feeling you don’t take for granted. 

They indulge you and share some stories, but when Soomin goes through her social media feed to show you something, she gasps instead when she realizes that the men in her friend’s Instagram post include Jungkook.

“Did your boss just go there to party?” She asks, showing you the photo.

“Partly,” you reply. “His best friend hosted the launch of his alcohol line there but there are a couple more parties because it’s his birthday weekend. Your friends went?”

“Yeah, some of them are Kim Seokjin’s friends, apparently,” Soomin says. “Small world. But then again, I shouldn’t be surprised. Seoul and Busan socialites attract each other.”

“Why aren’t you there, then?” You chuckle. 

“We’re choosy socialites,” Jimin clarifies. “Or like, pretentious. We just act like we are but we really aren’t, just to say that the Park and Cheon kids are interesting and sociable like the rest of them.”

“Who says they’re interesting and sociable?” Soomin states incredulously. “My eyes roll to the back of my head every time I’m in those shitty events. The lack of self-awareness of rich people repulses me. And I obviously don’t count us in.”

“And you shouldn’t,” you confirm. “I attract good people, I guess. I’m glad you’re not like them.”

“Well, what about Jungkook’s friends?” Jimin asks. “How are they like?”

“What I can say about the Kim brothers is that they’re nice people,” you say. “Very charming, ridiculously good-looking... And they sound like good friends, too. I can’t say much else. Their dating game is pretty strong though.”

“I’d assume. I mean, when you look like that, how could you not be?” Soomin states. “I mean, even Jungkook’s on point. That’s some hot girl he’s got.”

She shows you a couple of Instagram stories from her friends posting about the launch party. It turns out, there were a lot of Korea-based personalities who were invited. You spot Jungkook immediately, wearing the all-white ensemble that you packed for him the other day. His hair is a bit curled and the knitted top underneath the simple coat highlights his taut physique. There’s also that gorgeous woman around his arms, and if what you know about him is enough, you’d guess she’s probably one of those he seeks for a good time. 

The sight of him loosening up a bit and enjoying himself is something you appreciate. He’s always stressed when he’s here and you’re glad he could spend a few days partying elsewhere without having to think about work, especially during the week of his birthday. You don’t know how much of this aspect of his life he enjoys, but he does seem a bit free yet still somehow detached. You suppose that’s something he’ll always be - a man trying to live his life while separating himself from the meaning of it. You’re unsure of how he does it but perhaps it’s not that different from how you are, too. 

After lunch, Soomin and Jimin do a few more of your errands with you before dropping you home and then heading back to theirs. You spend the rest of the evening arranging your plants in your tiny apartment and feeling like more life is breathed into it with every one of them finding their home in a corner or on a shelf. Oddly enough, you feel a bit less lonely. That’s how you think you’ve been doing things, after all - finding substitutes for the kind of company you’re yearning for, for the kind of relationship you’re so afraid to have.

Jungkook wakes up that Monday morning feeling a lot better than he did the days before. For one, there’s no ringing in his head nor the feeling of dehydration. Bare under his soft covers, there also aren’t any fresh marks on his chest that signify the kind of night he usually has. In fact, he remembers most of it - he stayed by the bar and briefly chatted with the women who’d approached him. 

Suzy was there last night, too, the only one he’s hooked up with more than once, and probably the only one he’s had proper conversations with, given that she’s a landscape designer. She’s been away on business trips and had just gone back, her bluntness about going back to his apartment that she’s too familiar with being met with a rejection that she didn't take personally. 

“Has Seoul changed you?” She asked, her eyebrow arched in anticipation of his reply.

“Do you think a place would do that to me?” He laughed.

“No, but a person would,” she shrugged. 

“None of that,” he shook his head. “There’s no one. I’m too busy, too tired.”

“But not too lonely?” she asked. “It’s the only reason why you would call me.”

There was no bitterness in her words but still, he asked. “And why did you always come, then?”

“To see if each time would be good enough for you to not make me leave.” 

The conversation took a turn that he didn’t expect, the usual honesty in her words being too honest for him. He fumbled for something to say but she shook him off, claiming that she knew what she was getting into every time he took her home and that constantly hoping for something doesn’t guarantee that she’d get it one day. 

He drank a couple of glasses of whiskey after she left but managed to call his butler for a sandwich and lemon ginger tea in time for his arrival at his penthouse. The meal did the trick, as he’d slept soundly after a warm bath without a splitting headache and regrets the next day. 

It’s Monday, after all, and it’s back to work as usual. He has a few meetings to attend before flying back to Seoul, one of which is with the team. He gathers the energy to get off the bed for a half-hour exercise before getting ready. He eats the breakfast that the butler orders for him then heads to the office where he briefly meets with Lucas. 

Settled on his desk, he proceeds to virtually meet with the team, who all promptly greet him from the conference room. He asks how their weekend was, with most of them looking surprised because he rarely asks them about it, but they answer anyway. That’s when he notices that you’re not around, prompting him to look for you.

“I’m here, Mr. Jeon,” you answer off camera before appearing on screen with a candle-lit cake in your hands.

He’s surprised when the team sings him a happy birthday, your eyes fixed on him as you mouth the words with a soft smile on your face. Do-hyun giggles at his silence, saying that he probably forgot it was his birthday or he maybe didn’t expect that they’d prepare something for him. 

“We like you now, Mr. Jeon,” she teases, earning him a nudge from Chin-sun but she doesn’t seem to mind and neither does he. 

It’s what makes him laugh, hoping that the pink on his cheeks aren’t visible on screen. He hadn’t expected this. He also knows he doesn’t deserve it, but he’d bet that you had everything to do with this.

“You’ve probably been too busy to celebrate but we haven’t forgotten. More like, Ms. Cho made sure we remembered,” Manager Lee chuckles. “We hope you enjoy this little something we prepared.”

“It’s an ice cream cake so it’ll just be in your refrigerator and you can have some when you return,” you say. 

“Thank you,” he finally manages to say. “You didn’t have to but I appreciate it. I’m looking forward to having some when I get back. Ms. Cho should also buy another one big enough for the team to share.”

You nod in acknowledgment of his instruction before starting with the meeting. There’s a lot to talk about, given the Arts Center construction and activities, as well as the upcoming year-end events that they have to organize and coordinate. It goes on for over two hours and it ends with your gentle smile after he says goodbye.  

The rest of the day feels too long for Jungkook, especially during the late afternoon flight and eventual ride home. He stares at the photo you sent of the cake, making sure he sees the greeting on it. 

“Get home safely, Mr. Jeon,” you text him after he says thanks. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With the reminders of the impermanence of things and people this weekend, Jungkook finds comfort in the stability that you provide. It’s in your smile, in your reminders and organization of his life, in your thoughtfulness and patience. It’s in the assurance that tomorrow is another day, one in which he gets to see you once again.

The cake is simple but sophisticated. The mint chocolate flavor is exactly how he likes it and in ice cream cake form, it’s really delicious. He’s glad he gets to have this all for himself, as the team was able to enjoy one yesterday as per his instruction, and you’d sent a group photo of everyone enjoying it to him, the small smile that formed on his face no longer surprising him. 

For one, the comfort is there. He’s seen just how much better the team is working together because of it - they’re more open to giving him feedback and receiving his, any moment of frustration is easily mended with laughter, and his encouragement and affirmation have been motivating them as well. In the midst of it is you who makes sure that communication flows smoothly and that everything is on track, acting as the glue that keeps everyone together. 

He sees firsthand just how good you are at handling things, and how despite all the stress, you manage to get him seaweed soup and a cake for his birthday. It’s more than just the details regarding work that you’re on top of; it’s also details about his life, and how he’s responding to it tells him that maybe, whatever change there is like what Suzy observed, a big part of it is because of you.

“I’m glad you like it, Mr. Jeon,” your voice cuts through his thoughts. 

He looks up and sees you with a portfolio in hand, motioning towards the cake that’s now one fourth eaten.

“Ah, yeah,” he says, not denying it. “I feel like I haven’t had sweets in a while. Where did you buy this?”

“Oh, uh, I asked the baker who made desserts for the Arts Center event if she could make a customized ice cream cake,” you explain. “Fortunately she could. And thankfully it’s delicious. She enjoyed working with us so she gave us a discount.”

“You… had this made for me?”

He’d expected it to be store-bought, but learning you made the effort to reach out to someone reminds him once more of your thoughtfulness, of your care.

“Yes, I, uh, I just assumed you’d receive a few and I thought to give you something a little different.”

“It’s the only one I got actually,” he says, catching you off guard. Your face falls a little so he follows it up. “Like I told you, I don’t celebrate my birthday so I don’t let people know about it. And the ones who do also know that I don’t make a big deal out of it so they don’t really give me anything.”

“Oh,” you say, feeling a little sad. 

You’re not one to have big celebrations but you do have a bit of it. For your 30th birthday at the start of the year, Jimin and Soomin threw you a little party in your humble home in Daegu where they performed some of your favorite songs and enacted your favorite drama scenes to make you happy. There was no need for anything fancy - just your loved ones and your mom’s and Min-woo’s amazing cooking. 

But even before that milestone, your friends always made sure to at least get you seaweed soup and a birthday cake; they want you to remember that there are lives impacted because you were born. You can’t really say that Jungkook’s impacted your life the same way but you still value his existence; a small cake is just a little something to celebrate that. But the idea that his family and friends pass up on the cake - and perhaps the gifts, too - makes you think that there’s really not much in Jungkook’s life he feels he could share with others, that there’s not much he could give and receive in return. 

“I hope I didn’t cross a line if it’s something you don’t like people knowing,” you continue. “I just thought… it would be nice to receive something from us.”

“It actually was,” he admits, his voice soft and low. Turning away, he says, “it’s been a while since I actually thought about my birthday as anything other than ordinary. It’s nice to be reminded sometimes. So thank you, Ms. Cho. For the soup, too. I appreciate it.”

Perhaps it’s his honesty that does it, but you can’t help the smile that forms on your face. If learning how to express gratitude is something you could teach him, you already feel accomplished. 

It’s the next day when you find yourself back in Jungkook’s office, staring at the potted plant in your hands. You’ve gone from debating on whether to leave it on his desk or the coffee table, to even giving it at all. You won’t lie and say you didn’t know what you were thinking when you passed by the plant store after work last night to get this specifically for him. You did - you wanted him to feel that joy of receiving a gift, which you suppose doesn’t happen, especially for someone who can literally buy anything he wants. 

But still, it doesn’t mean that your good intention will be received well. You’ve given Hoseok a small gift every year for his birthday, partly because he likes receiving them and also because it’s your way of saying thanks. 

You want to give this to Jungkook as a form of gratitude, too. Despite how you both started, the amount of things you’ve learned from him and continue to have somehow made up for it, and you also know that he’s learning from you as well. He’s given you agency to make decisions. He’s also given you events and small projects to manage, making you realize it’s what you really enjoy doing. Seeing things come together the way you envisioned it is so satisfying. Perhaps without intending it, Jungkook’s showed you a way out, a path that you want to explore so much that you’re willing to let go of all that you know in this company for something new, for something that feels more like you. 

Your thoughts have completely digressed and with the time you took debating and reflecting, you hadn’t heard his footsteps, and so you jerk a little when he calls out your name.

Turning around, you bow in greeting, remembering at the same time that you have something that you’re not 100% sure yet you want to give right now. But as always, he calls you out on it. 

“Is that a snake plant?” He asks, walking towards his seat.

“Yes.”

“Is that the one on your desk?”

“Uh, no, actually,” you laugh dryly, knowing you can’t turn back from it now. “I… I meant to give it to you, sir. I just thought that, uh, the money tree on the shelf might be too lonely so I got you a desk plant. I heard it’s good for positive energy and to filter the air.”

“It is,” he hums. “Is that why you got yourself one?”

“I suppose. I figured it could help improve my mood. Yoongi suggested it before but I just kept pushing it back. I finally got some for my apartment last weekend,” you explain, just so he knows it didn’t come out of nowhere. 

“And you think this will improve my mood?” He arches an eyebrow. 

“Maybe,” you shrug. “We’ll probably need a dozen of them here but we could start with one.”

He matches your soft laughter with his own, which you’re thankful for. He reaches out for the plant, nonchalant like you when your fingers brush against each other. 

“Hopefully this will work,” he says as he places the small, white pot next to his desktop. 

You leave him so he could prepare for a conference call while you’re set to meet with the marketing team. Jungkook gazes at the plant and notices the little note attached to the string around the stem. 

Happy birthday, it reads. 

This wasn’t just something to match the money tree that Hoseok left for him that he hasn’t been caring for much. This was a gift for him. You probably assume that if he doesn’t receive birthday cakes, he wouldn’t be receiving gifts, either. And you’d be right. His best friends just throw him parties. And once he left Seoul to obtain his MBA in Singapore and stayed to work in their Southeast Asian headquarters, the distance between him and his parents grew. They’d reach out but he didn’t bother much, so he’d stopped expecting anything. After he broke up with Chaerin, he stopped receiving anything at all. This is the first time he’s gotten something from someone after a long time. 

It’s simple in its meaning and honest in its intention, and he doesn’t hold back the smile that forms on his face.

You watch the realization dawn on Jungkook from outside. You’d remembered the silly note you left right as you sat down and didn’t have time to take it back, which really wasn’t much, but you suppose it’s enough to tell him that the plant indeed is a gift. You don’t know if someone like him even receives them, or would even appreciate something so cheap and humble, but the gentle smile he has on tells you that he probably doesn’t get much, but that this is something he welcomes. 

Your smile follows soon after but it feels different this time. There’s pride somehow that your little gift could elicit something so rare out of him. There’s also a bit of awe; this is the softest he’s ever looked, with that tinge of gratitude and yearning, a complete contrast to what you know of him, to how you’ve always seen him. It’s… it’s actually beautiful. 

And this is when things start to get confusing, especially as your phone beeps with that SMS from him.

[From: The Boss] Thank you, ___.

It’s the non-work message. It’s the use of your name. This is personal for him and you acknowledge that it’s the same for you. Perhaps there’s a reason why you made the effort to get the gift last night, why it mattered to you that he received something to celebrate his birthday, and why seeing him appreciate it the way he does is making you giddy and satisfied at the same time. 

Maybe it’s the care you’re starting to feel for him that’s beyond just wanting to make your job bearable. You’ll dissect what that truly means later on, but right now it’s just you, him, and the glass wall in between the both of you. There’s distance, there’s a boundary, but there’s a transparent barrier that allows you to see what’s on the other side, one which allows you to know who he is behind the man you’ve come to know. And you admit, he’s not so bad after all.

The construction of the Arts Center is going better than expected. Given some of the delays due to the wrong materials delivered and some permits that took a while to get, the workers were able to make up some ground, largely due to Jungkook’s supervision. When you both visited a few weeks ago, there were many things to work on, and he managed to identify the priorities and find ways to get the project back on track. 

It was during those few days of constantly being on site that you saw how efficient and effective he really works. You admired his precision and attention to detail, how he instructed the team leads and project managers and laborers, how he put together the design of one of the rooms just as he’d envisioned it. 

He was commanding and decisive, and you appreciated his thorough and simple explanations that allowed you to keep up with him. He’s said that he wants you to understand what’s happening so that you’re well-informed should you need to communicate to others on his behalf, and what initially intimidated you turned into something you became interested in. Since then, you’ve been watching design shows to help you further. The challenge was welcomed, and now you feel like everyday, you’re learning something new on the job. 

His instructions from that time were followed, and you’re back today to inspect the rest of the spaces. Everything is so massive, and with one half of the wall of the performance hall already done, you can clearly see the upgrade. The details are impressive, and the way that the traditional designs merge with modern elements is a feature itself. 

You’re immersed in the intricacies of the ceiling, walking towards the wall to get a closer look that you don’t immediately notice the workers walking past you with a massive slab of marble. The moment that you do, you step back too quickly, tripping on your heels, and just as you brace yourself to hit the ground, you instead feel your back against a firm chest, with hands on your elbows breaking your fall.

You sigh in relief, even leaning your head back because nothing could be more embarrassing than falling on your ass in front of many people, including your boss. That is, until the familiar scent of jasmine and bergamot wafts through your nose and you realize that what you just did is debatably more embarrassing than what could’ve happened. 

The familiar clearing of the throat is what finally does it for you, and with wide eyes, you turn around and face him to apologize. 

“I’m sorry, sir. I—”

“Was so much in awe that you didn’t notice the workers passing by,” he finishes, his slightly teasing smile calming you down.

“Ah, well of course. The details are too pretty,” you reason, stepping back only a little. You look at him shyly. “But thank you. I was about to fall.”

“I know. And I was about to lose it if my assistant got injured on the job.”

“True. It’s bad publicity, I guess,” you shrug. “And distractions could cause delays. And that’s bad, too.”

“Or you know, I simply just can’t have you injured, simple as that,” he says with a little frown on his face. 

“Imagine if I didn’t see them? They could’ve dropped the marble and I would’ve completely lost it!”

“Why?” He arches an eyebrow.

“That slab is like, two months’ worth of salary, Mr. Jeon.”

“It’s actually more but that’s not the point,” he fully frowns now. “If you didn’t see them, then they could’ve hit you, and then you would be whining in pain right now. You could’ve gotten seriously hurt, ___.”

His voice is firm and low, and you nod in acknowledgment because you also know he’s right. The workers’ vision was limited but yours wasn’t; you were just too distracted and if you hadn’t pulled early enough, that marble really could’ve done damage to you. And if it wasn’t for Jungkook catching your fall, then something bad still would’ve happened to you.

“But are you okay? You didn’t twist your ankle or anything?” He asks.

“No. Uh, the heel’s just a bit loose but I’m fine,” you reply, still trying to wrap your head around how he’d said your name - informally, in this setting, as he told you that you could’ve gotten hurt. Maybe you weren’t imagining the worried tone of his voice earlier.

“Okay,” he sighs. “You have to be careful next time.”

“I will, sir,” you reply. 

You step aside and Jungkook sees you from his peripheral vision as he returns to assessing, staying put and only glancing at the ceiling unlike earlier. He’d seen you marvel at the design of the hall earlier, and while he was initially doing the same, seeing you wide-eyed and impressed caught his attention more. 

Many times, he’s seen you look dejected, frustrated, angry. He’s seen your moments of focus and joy, too, but this is the first time he’s seen you be in awe. There was this softness on your face that was still filled with emotion, and he’d been drawn to you enough to see that you were about to fall. He’s glad he has quick reflexes and was able to get to you in time, the worry he felt at the thought of you getting hurt in any way was quite overwhelming for him. And while it’s partly because you’re his responsibility in this case, he also knows it’s more than that. 

He gestures moving to another room and you follow him outside, and just as you try to stay close to him, Jungkook also makes sure you’re away from any kind of danger. He moves to your side when there are workers nearby with their heavy equipment and large materials. He shields you from the drilling. He glances at you as you both walk towards the other performance hall. And when you get there, you see the ceiling installation is ongoing, and Jungkook immediately calls for hard hats for the both of you. 

He hands you one and you put it on, fumbling with the strap underneath your chin. You groan in frustration when you’re unable to lock it, and that’s when you see him move towards you. 

“Let me,” he says.

You stop your movements and shyly nod in agreement, and he waits for you to let go before he fixes it himself. 

It’s a little odd being on the other side, since it’s always you who fixes his tie or his coat. But you’re the one watching him now, with his furrowed brows and seriousness in securing this safety gear on you making you feel warm inside.

He steps back then looks at you, trying hard to control his laughter.

“Are you laughing at me, sir?” You pout.

“No. I don’t make fun of people,” he says, turning serious now, but you don’t miss the grin on his face.

It’s unfair that he looks good even with a hard hat on.

One of the project managers calls him and he goes around, with you staying close by. This performance hall is bigger and boasts of a more traditional design, which would hold the cultural performances that the Culture Minister is very excited about. You watch Jungkook inspect the space with thoroughness, checking each wall panel and each seat. 

It’s amazing to you just how involved he is with this project even with the project managers handling things relatively well. He wants to be on top of everything, he’s said; it matters too much for him to not know what’s going on. 

You see Yoongi enter the room and approach him. Once he sees you, he laughs as well.

“Do I look that bad?” You groan. “Mr. Jeon was laughing at me, too.”

“It’s a little big, and I guess I’m just not used to seeing you in one,” Yoongi shrugs.

“Why don’t you have one?”

“I don’t need it. I’m here all the time and nothing happens.”

“Well, I’ve been here a few times and I almost fell earlier,” you say, recalling the almost-embarrassment.

“I know, I saw it,” he chuckles.

“You were there?!” You gasp.

“No, I was totally in the other room that’s why I witnessed you almost get hit by the marble then trip on yourself,” he deadpans. 

“I didn’t see you, that’s all,” you shrug. 

“I was by the doors. I checked these spaces yesterday and I just wanted to be around in case Jungkook had new instructions,” he explains. “But I gotta say, you guys were kinda cute earlier.”

“Almost falling on my ass isn’t cute, Min Yoongi,” you scowl. “I could’ve either ruined the marble slab or hurt my bum. Either way, it would’ve been embarrassing.”

“I didn’t mean just you. I meant you guys,” he gestures towards Jungkook. “He caught you, didn’t he?”

“Yes… That was embarrassing, too,” you frown. “What’s cute about that?”

“He looked worried. It’s just not something I’ve seen him be towards other people, that’s all.”

“It’s because an injured employee on site isn’t good, okay? Plus, if I’m incapable, then no one’s gonna be around to make his life easier,” you reason.

Yoongi stares at you for a while before shaking his head. “Wow, you really are dense.” 

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” you cross your arms in frustration. 

“Forget about it,” Yoongi shakes his head, deciding not to push it. 

He’ll tell you another time that he’s glad you’re becoming more of yourself again, that the light has somehow come back, that there’s now comfort you exude around the man you’d once despised. Yoongi feels assured now that there’s someone else who seems to be looking out for you, and that it’s something you don’t seem to mind at all.

“Yah! You’re being all mysterious again!” You pout, something he chuckles about. 

“Me? Mysterious? Come on. I’ve always been an open book,” he teases. 

You’re just about to nag him again when you hear Jungkook clear his throat, and you turn towards him and ask if he’s already done inspecting.

“There are still a few things I want to run by my design lead before leaving,” Jungkook says. “Please move my meeting to 3PM.”

“That’s noted, sir. I’ll give Mr. Hong’s assistant a call.”

You excuse yourself and step outside, leaving both men alone.

“Angering my assistant, are you?” Jungkook asks Yoongi, the curious yet playful tone in his voice evident.

“Nah, just teasing. That a problem?” Yoongi answers back. 

“No. It’s good she has someone she’s comfortable with at work.”

“Could be you, you know? That isn’t so bad,” Yoongi remarks, surprising him. “And it doesn’t cross whatever boundary you’re trying so hard to stay behind.”

“We’re not… on that level. I mean, I don’t know how to be someone other people are comfortable being around,” Jungkook admits.

“I don’t know about that. Seems like you’re already that for her,” Yoongi says. “I was just teasing her about how you guys looked cute earlier, when you broke her fall.”

“You were there?”

“Both of you really don’t notice other people when it’s just both of you, huh,” Yoongi laughs. “But yeah, I was. I saw her relief. And I saw you worry.”

Jungkook merely shrugs, not wanting to confirm. Even if he denies it, Yoongi will still believe what he wants to believe. But the older man knows you well just as much as he knows him. 

“You care about her, don’t you?” Yoongi responds to the silence. “And I mean not in a superficial way, or a good boss caring for his employee type of way. Like, you worry when she’s sick or overworking, when she’s hurt or in danger. You want her to always be safe, to get rest. You like having her near. You wanna know that she’s happy.”

“You know I can’t do that,” Jungkook finally answers. “I can’t think of her that way.”

“I know. That’s why you were the way you were,” Yoongi says. “How else do you respond to things you can’t control than through anger and detachment? But just because you shouldn’t, it doesn’t change the fact that you do.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that it’s wrong,” Jungkook counters.

“Well, irrationally calling her out and being angry were wrong, too, and you did those because you weren’t being honest with yourself,” Yoongi argues. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, the least you can do is be true to yourself about how you feel. Because the more you deny, then the more you resist, and when you do that, you end up hurting her. Is that what you want?”

“Of course not.”

“Then just… accept things - what you feel, what you both are, what you can or can’t be.”

Jungkook looks at his friend as if some epiphany had just transpired. It’s been difficult for him to make sense of what he feels around you. There’s always that air of familiarity, but the warmth and comfort are new. There’s the reality that you come from different worlds, but that you both somehow feel and experience and maybe desire the same things. There’s that sense of fear over change and of what he can’t control, yet you somehow provide the calm and stability that he hasn’t felt in a long time. 

It’s all these contradictions that have been messing with him, and Yoongi’s right - because of all the times that Jungkook had wanted to create that distance, all it did was hurt you. That’s the last thing he wants, he realizes now. He’s seen you struggle, and even if that’s just a fraction of what you normally go through, it’s enough to tell him that he doesn’t want you to experience that again, especially not because of him. It’s too early to say the extent of his care towards you, and it’s not something he’s willing or ready to explore right now. But just as Jungkook’s about to comfort himself that it’s fine, and that he shouldn’t dwell on it anyway so as not to further nurture it, Yoongi speaks again.

“Just… just a heads up, though,” he adds. “The care that I felt, that’s how it started for me.”

“What started?”

“Me, liking her.”

It’s at that moment when you come back from your call, and you inform Jungkook that the meeting’s been moved and that he has a scheduled one with some of the directors on Monday. 

“Alright,” he says, directing you and Yoongi towards the souvenir shop, temporarily disregarding what he was warned about.

“You two looked so serious. Everything okay?” You whisper to your friend. 

“Yeah,” Yoongi hums, giving you the most genuine smile he could give. 

There’s that sparkle and softness in your eyes that had captured him all those years ago. They dimmed throughout the years and they’ve just been sporadic, illuminating only during specific moments. He’d seen them again a lot more regularly, and even today, as you looked around the halls and admired the designs of the space. 

Yoongi doesn’t know if a certain person is the reason for that. He knows you enough that you wouldn’t even notice it, so you definitely wouldn’t know what caused the change. But as your friend, he hopes one day you will, so that if you’re brave enough, too, you’d try to make sure that the light stays. 

The inspection ends and you get back to the office at 4. You return to piles of documents you have to sift through and encode, and your original plan of leaving on time changes. 

Jungkook spends over an hour talking with Yoongi and the construction lead about the Arts Center, and once that’s over, you see just how exhausted he is. He’s massaging his temples and sighing deeply, and you know that whatever just transpired, he’s going to be thinking about it all throughout the weekend, which he doesn’t really have time for. The gala that one of the Board members throws annually is tomorrow night, an event you’ll be attending with him as well. 

You enter his room to remind him about it and to give some forms for his signature. He signs them off, and when you say you’ve got a few more requests that you’ll leave on his desk for Monday, he tells you to just wait until then.

“Go home, Ms. Cho,” he says. “It’s been a long week. And it won’t end until after tomorrow night.”

“What about you, Mr. Jeon?”

“I’ve got some stuff to sort through after inspection. I’ll probably leave in an hour or so.”

You frown, a mannerism of yours that he’s gotten used to seeing. It’s mixed with a pout that often makes him internally laugh because it seems unlike you. It also always means there’s something you want to say that you’re holding back.

“Should I not?” He arches an eyebrow.

“Hmm. Just thinking that it might be better for you to take a rest tonight, too,” you advise. “The gala could be quite draining and it would be good to save your energy for that.”

“I’ll think about it,” he hums.

“Then I’ll think about going home, too,” you answer back. 

Jungkook chuckles, knowing you’re always going to counter him in some way. And he’s glad that you do.

“You may go. And get a good rest, too.”

You nod and bid him goodbye, exiting the room to start packing your things. It’s five minutes later when the door opens and you see him with his bag, ready to head home as well.

You smile at his tender doe-eyes as he admits through them that you were right - he doesn’t have a reason to stay behind, so he’ll call it a night and get as much rest as he can. 

He pauses by the entryway, and you pick up that he’s waiting for you, perhaps to make sure that you’re indeed going home. You quicken your pace and walk next to him, steps in pace as you both go to the elevator and down to the lobby. 

“Mr. Ri can bring you home after me,” Jungkook says. “It’s late already.”

“Not late enough,” you reply. “I’m okay, Mr. Jeon. It’s not necessary.”

He concedes, and you wait for the car to arrive and say goodbye to him again. 

There’s a softness on his face as he lingers before he enters. A small smile forms, and it’s what you see until you fall asleep that night. It’s the same one that’s oddly been giving you comfort lately - it’s a little restrained but somehow it still looks vulnerable. Perhaps it represents how Jungkook’s been to you - there are some contradictions, but beyond all that, there’s care.

Mr. Ri happily greets you as you enter the car that late Saturday afternoon to head to Jungkook’s penthouse. He compliments your dress, saying it’s nice to see you in something formal that fits your style - it’s simple yet elegant, and you tell him that your mother wouldn’t stop gushing over you through the screen, nagging you to send full-body photos so she could appreciate you more.

Jimin and Soomin surprised you in the morning to help you fix up, insisting that they wanted to make sure you spoiled yourself for the event. If you wouldn’t, they would, so they treated you to the hair salon and had your nails done. They’re the ones who took so many photos like some formal dance, and Jimin commented that the only downside was that they were sending you off to pick up Jungkook. 

Defending your boss the way you did surprised you a little; it surprised them a lot more. You’d said that he bought you the dress, that he’s been nothing but kind, and that whatever negative feelings you had towards him are all in the past. Your friends understood, deciding not to ruin your night and then letting you go so they could eat out and meet you back at your apartment once you’re done. 

You chat with Mr. Ri about how things have been at work, your friends, and your family. You also talk about the gala and how it feels a little nerve-racking attending this time, given your experience with Jungkook. 

It’s a grand event that the company’s executives attend, and guests are asked to refrain from going solo. For such requests, it’s not unusual for them to bring their assistants. You’re expected to attend anyway, and assistants usually partner up with each other and it always worked. You went with Hoseok last year because A-yeong had a work event, and while you expected that Jungkook wouldn’t care for such request and maintain that he’d go by himself, you also didn’t think that CEO Jeon would insist that his son take you as his date so he wouldn’t be alone. 

The elder Jeon had reasoned that business discussions usually take place during the gala, and it would be good for you to be around and be familiar with the new people on the scene. Hoseok had said that they’re expected to stay through the whole thing, and it’s much better for his cousin to have a companion so he could survive the night. That was months ago when things were still a little shaky for you both. You still remember Jungkook’s displeased look when it seemed like he had no choice in the matter, especially since he probably thought that his father just wanted to make sure he’d act accordingly. It feels like a lifetime ago, really, as you think about his soft smile from last night. 

You don’t know exactly what you’re feeling, why his gestures or mannerisms suddenly mean something to you, or why there’s excitement when you think about seeing him outside of work. You’re unsure why the curve of his lips when he grins or the deep huff that follows his laugh makes you a little giddy, or why his eyes lingering on you makes your heart beat a little faster than usual.  

Just like right now, as they gaze at you while you seemingly do the same. 

“You look, uh—” he starts, unable to find the accurate but appropriate term to describe how you look. 

“Nice?” You finish, recalling the term he’d used when you tried this gown for the first time. 

“Something like that,” he chuckles, earning him a giggle from you.

He playfully shakes his head, perhaps knowing that you’re used to him not making grand compliments or anything. But he does smile after, and there goes that blissful feeling again. 

Maybe it’s because for the first time, you’re being appreciated. Maybe just like how it’s been recently, he likes being around you, prefers it, even. And given how you felt so unwanted during his first few weeks here, this is a blessing, as if in his appreciation of you, you’re liking yourself as well.

“Well, in my opinion, you look quite dashing, Mr. Jeon,” you say bravely. “Except your waistcoat seems to be uneven.”

“Exactly what I thought,” he sighs. “I can’t quite align it properly.”

And as you always do, you approach him, your hands immediately going towards his shoulders to flatten the vest, then his sides to pull it down. You adjust it a little bit more then fix his collar after, and suddenly this feels so natural - being close to him, taking in his scent, and smiling as he glances at you. 

“Do you need help with your coat?” You ask once you finish.  

He nods and you follow him to his walk-in closet where you take the last piece of clothing and assist him in wearing it. He adjusts the lapels while you assess if all wrinkles have been flattened. You watch him look at himself in the mirror and you can’t help but admire him as well. He exudes confidence, which you can say now is strikingly different from the Appointment Dinner where he still looked a bit unsure. But now, he commands respect. The deep black color of his striped three-piece ensemble with his slick hair parted in the middle makes him even more handsome, and you manage to hold in the gasp you were about to release as he faces you for a final look.

“All good?” He asks. 

“All good,” you smile, turning around and walking back to the living room. 

He follows, and he takes this time to bask in your beauty before he has to act like it doesn’t affect him again.

There’s a reason why he was rendered speechless the first time he saw you in this gown at the tailor shop, so much so that he had to step out to get some air. You look even more stunning now, with your classic but natural-looking makeup and your styled hair. You exude a certain kind of glow that sucks him in, that makes his heart race yet soothes him just the same. 

It’s a little dangerous for him, given that he’ll be spending this entire evening with you as his date, looking the way you do while he has to act disinterested, as if his attraction isn’t slapping him in the face and his internal alarm bells aren’t ringing.

But he has to act professional. He has to stay behind the lines even if his mind is yelling all the words about your beauty that he has to ignore. So he gives himself this short moment where he gets to admire you, and when you make it to the elevator and become confined in a small space, he holds his breath as you smile at him shyly, hoping that he doesn’t give himself away. 

He’ll get himself together, he orders to himself, and he’ll make sure he doesn’t scare you off. 

You make it to the lobby and enter the car. The drive to the venue is quiet at the beginning. It’s technically not a work day so there’s no reason to discuss work. You and Jungkook may have started talking about non-work matters but it doesn’t mean you readily talk about actual personal things. They’re occasional, as it’s not something he seems to do much and you’re often guarded about yours. It took a while for you to open up to Yoongi and even then, there are many things he doesn’t know. You’re comfortable around him, there’s no denying that, but there are still parts of you that you don’t like to share with others, and you suppose that Jungkook is the same.

But still, you ask how his evening was and how his day went, expecting he’d give a basic answer.

“I just stayed home last night and watched soccer over drinks,” he says. “Then I did my workout and went for a swim this morning. I did a bit of work in the afternoon and then got ready.”

“Ah, no party last night and then recovering from it in the morning?” You tease, knowing that’s a usual occurrence for him. Lucas did mention about the Singapore trip and how he’d taken home a passed out Jungkook on the night of his birthday. 

“Well, there was a party,” he responds. “There always is, but I passed up on it. I didn’t want to feel out of sorts tonight. There’ll be a lot of new faces and I don’t wanna mess up.”

“Oh, you won’t. You’ve been doing really well, Mr. Jeon. And that’s me being honest.”

“Why wouldn’t you be?” He arches an eyebrow. “Would you tell me otherwise?” 

“Well, the me of now, would. The me of a few months ago would want to but wouldn’t.” 

Jungkook dwells on your answer. “Hmm. What changed, then?”

“I got used to you.” 

He meets your gaze and somehow it feels too long. You don’t really know what prompted you to say it but you felt a little bold, a little too honest.

“In what sense?” he wonders, turning away now.

“I’d say I got used to the mood swings but then again, they haven’t been intense compared to those first few weeks,” you admit. “But surprisingly, it’s the calmness I’ve become accustomed to. And the seriousness and occasional zoning out, but also, the…”

Care, you want to say. Or the thoughtfulness. 

“Consideration,” you say instead. 

Jungkook’s throat dries up as he finds the words to say. He’s now afraid to look at you because he might give in and say something he’ll regret. He’s been praised before for his work and his designs, but he supposes that no one’s really complimented him for something he does for other people, specifically for you. Maybe that’s why he thinks he doesn’t deserve it; he’s unsure if he’s really considerate by nature or if he just is towards you. It’s why he brushes it off, insisting he just has his moments.

“But those moments could mean a lot to the one it’s shared with or directed to,” you counter. “Even if it was just once. Or even if it was so trivial that you probably forgot already. But the other person doesn’t. Or they would, but something about that moment stays.”

Jungkook thinks about the moments you’d shown him consideration. Or even care or thoughtfulness, but he wouldn’t word it that way to you. There are the big ones - when you showed your support of the Arts Center to his father, when you calmed him down during that first Board meeting, when you gave him the noodles when he was sick, when you stayed with him during his interview with the magazine publications.

When you stood up to him. When you didn’t quit after that first week.

There are also the small moments - the ginger and lemon tea on Monday mornings when he looks like he’d drank too much the night before, the biscuits you serve with his coffee, the affirming looks during team meetings, the comforting smiles from outside his office when he’s stressed. 

There’s a lot of those you show him, and he realizes now that he remembers each one. 

The silence returns soon after, as you both seem to prefer basking in the soft music that Mr. Ri plays. 

It’s 15 minutes later when you arrive at the venue. You get out of the car and meet Jungkook by his door, surprised when he offers his arm that you take. 

“This is how they do it, right?” He looks at you questioningly.

“Yes,” you chuckle. “It’s a little over-the-top but the hosts treat this like it’s some red carpet event and I just follow what the others do. Bitna says it’s the one time we could feel like proper ladies or something, whatever that means.”

“Hmm, makes sense. I guess I’ll be a proper gentleman, then. Whatever that means.” 

You hold onto him lightly as you both make your way inside. You try to disregard the firmness of his arm and the way it feels under your touch, so you gently let go not long after and clutch onto your purse instead, not wanting to give off the idea that you’re anything more than each other’s dates. You greet the guests and establish your position to those who are unaware in an effort to show that this social event is a work function as well. 

Jungkook talks about the Arts Center when he can, and you mentally take note of certain projects, sites, events, artists, and patrons that are mentioned, quickly typing them on your phone for future reference. He talks to you about them in between flutes of champagne and canapes that are some of the most delicious you’ve ever had.

Jungkook laughs as you down another brie and cranberry bruschetta.

“What? I like fancy food,” you pout.

“Yes, your normal people’s taste buds like fancy food,” he teases. 

It’s a statement you make often and you smile that he now uses it against you.

Your moments of casual ignorance of what’s going on around you are ones you find yourself enjoying too much. You internally sigh every time a guest approaches him, and even more so when you find yourself with a few others and someone stands a little too close, or has his hand linger on your elbow, or whispers something in your ear as if you’re at a bar and the music is too loud, which it isn’t, so there’s really no reason for this son of some business tycoon to be asking you to head outside “to talk.”

“Don’t you have a date?” You ask after he insists. 

“Yeah, some girl,” he shrugs. “She’s kinda boring. Lucky I found you.”

You awkwardly smile, knowing it’s not your place to reject him and make a scene. He looks to be the type who always gets his way and if he doesn’t this time, you’re afraid of how he might take it. 

You don’t budge and call for another flute of champagne instead, finishing it in one gulp that has the man releasing a deep breath in front of you.

“So you’ve been working for the Jeon’s for 8 years, you say?” He speaks again.

You nod, looking around to avoid his eyes.

“That’s quite a long time, yeah? I’m sure I can get you a spot at my company,” he brags. “I mean, we sell luxury cars. That’s way more interesting than buildings and shit.”

“I don’t drive,” you say too quickly. “I mean, I don’t know how to.”

“Perfect. I can teach you then,” he smirks. 

It’s the look that heightens your level of discomfort, and just as you’re about to make some excuse and run away, Jungkook calls your name that has you immediately turning towards him.

“Yes, Mr. Jeon?”

He’s not too far away; he comes closer yet still maintains a bit of a distance. 

“Hoseok’s asking for me but I want to speak to Mr. Saito before he leaves. Can you go to my cousin on my behalf?”

“Of course,” you say, excusing yourself and scurrying away from the scene, sighing in relief at the sight of a familiar pair of faces.

A-yeong gives you a hug and you return it, then you turn to Hoseok and ask what he needs Jungkook for.

“Nothing,” he says. “I didn’t call for him.”

“Oh, okay. Well, he said you did.”

“I haven’t spoken to him since we got here,” Hoseok replies. “You know how this gala goes. So many people to meet. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, just… uh. Well, I just met Mr. Kwon’s son. And let’s just say, I don’t want that to happen again.”

“Oh, ___,” A-yeong sighs, knowing exactly what you mean. “Just stay with us. Or don’t leave Jungkook’s side.” Turning towards the man who’d just arrived, she adds, “stay close to her, okay?”

Jungkook looks at you, his eyes asking a question that you know the answer to but neither of you says anything. 

“I will,” he nods. 

Both of you stay where you are for a while before heading back to your seats for the sit-down dinner. You converse with those at your table, thankful that they’re all decent and entertaining. After that, Jungkook doesn’t leave your side. It almost seems like he’s your date rather than the other way around, but you appreciate his presence, especially when he calls your attention once you start looking uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry,” you sigh. “I just… I just get a little uneasy when people I don’t know get too close.”

“I understand. I’m the same,” he says, prompting you to look at him. “But I just feel uncomfortable, not unsafe. There’s a difference. And it’s not okay if that’s how they make you feel.”

He knew without you saying the words. It takes you back to that night at the restaurant with Hajoon and how Jungkook had looked the most guilty he’d ever been when you said that his staring made you feel uncomfortable. You supposed then that it was mostly because he thought he was causing a rift between you and Hajoon but you realize now that it was more than that. For all that Jungkook is, you’ve come to see that there are things he can’t stand himself doing; deliberately making you feel unsafe is definitely one of them. Perhaps it’s why at this moment, you feel the exact opposite being around him. 

And that’s how the rest of the night goes. He stays close but when he’s caught up in a conversation he can’t get out of, he gives you that look to remind you that it’s okay to step away, that you have the ability to remove yourself from a situation you don’t feel good being in. And you do, and the worry you used to have about being a mere assistant fades away. You never thought that one Jeon Jungkook would give you the permission to do that.

You’re seated on a chair some time later, the hours of walking in your high heels taking its toll on you. You wave to Hoseok and A-yeong, no longer having the energy to walk up to them for a proper goodbye. You sigh to yourself, feeling the tiredness slowly overtake you. It was still a good night, but it took a lot of energy from you, too. 

“Hey,” you hear Jungkook call out. 

You turn to him, still looking handsome as he stands nearby, his hands in his pockets as he mirrors your exhaustion.

“Ready to head home?” He asks.

“Yes,” you say too quickly, earning you a laugh. 

You stand up, limping only a tiny bit, but you think Jungkook notices, as he offers his arm just like he did at the start of the night.

“This is what a proper gentleman does, right?” He asks. 

“I suppose. Although I might say, Mr. Jeon, that’s what you were the entire time. So thank you.”

Jungkook nods in response, unsure how to receive your gratitude. He knows what you mean, as the first sign of your discomfort had him looking at you constantly. He was worried all night but he supposes there’s no reason to feel that way now, as your faint smile just signifies that you’re tired more than anything. 

For the short moment it takes for you to walk closer to him, he basks in your beauty once more. The night will be over soon, and he’s glad he could give you some reprieve this time. He tries not to lose it when you tighten your grip on his arm for support though, but that’s something he can think about later on. 

The walk to the car isn’t that long and you let go of him eventually. You head towards the other door then enter, the space in between reminding him of where you both belong - on either side of a line, one that he shouldn’t think of crossing.

You sink into your seat, fighting the urge to curl your body and take a nap, so you sit up straight and hold yourself together after once again feeling Jungkook’s arm under your touch. Most of the alcohol has left your system but perhaps not enough, as you boldly look at him and smile in appreciation. He returns it, perhaps knowing why you are.

You look out the window, appreciating Seoul’s night sky, until the vision starts getting unclear, as the rain falls steadily on the window. The tapping of the droplets on the glass is a sound you’ve come to appreciate, among other things that you used to be terrified of. 

There’s just this calmness, as if the rain is greeting you, accompanying you in your thoughts. But the sound of the radio getting louder disrupts that a little bit, and in looking at Mr. Ri in question only to find him glancing at the rearview mirror to see the man next to you, do you realize why he’s doing so.

Jungkook’s demeanor has changed, a complete 180 to how he looked not long ago when he seemed satisfied, fulfilled, almost proud of himself for surviving the night. He’s now cross-legged and cross-armed, with his eyes closed and jaws clenched, as if he’s trying to hold himself together. Or trying his best to drown out the sound of the rain, the way Mr. Ri is trying to do for him.

Your face falls at the sight. You’ve seen Jungkook stressed and angry and disappointed; you’ve seen him anxious, too, but this is different. There’s a bit of fear in there, and with the way he flinches and how he’s clutching onto his arms, you know this comes from somewhere and this was caused by something. If it’s anything similar to what you know, then this was because of something painful.

You want to reach out to him but you know you shouldn’t. You helplessly look back on the road then glance at Jungkook every few seconds as the rain continues. It doesn’t seem like it will be a terrible downpour but it’s stronger than usual. 

You try to remember instances in the past where he’d acted this way. A few come to mind, and you think now there’s a reason why he becomes uneasy when it starts to drizzle. That happened the other week while you were on a site visit with him for a small project, but you hadn’t thought much of it, given that he was on his fourth cup of coffee on the way there. 

But right now, you wish there was something more you could do; anything is better than nothing. But you feel constrained - by the distance, by your position, by his boundaries that seem to always be there.

By some miracle, the rain weakens, and it’s stopped by the time you arrive at Jungkook’s apartment building. The car halts and with him still in the same position, you think he probably doesn’t realize he’s home. 

“Mr. Jeon,” you say softly, gently tapping his arm to get his attention. “We’ve reached your place. And the rain has stopped. It’s… it’s okay to open your eyes now.”

It takes a few seconds but he takes a deep breath, opens his eyes, then looks around. It’s just droplets frozen in time on his window and he sighs in relief. Somehow the assurance that he’s okay means something to you this time; you hate to think of what burden he carries that he hides away.

He opens the door, and there’s a bit of disappointment you feel when he closes it and leaves without a goodbye. You suppose he just wants to get to his place immediately and rush to safety. But you don’t want to intrude, not if distance is what he needs, so  you settle with just watching him walk away. 

But then he turns around, and with that bit of boldness left in your body, you open the window and give him another smile. You wish he feels the tenderness in it; you wish somehow it’s enough to let him know that you understand, and that he’s not alone. 

“Good night,” you manage to say, and he hears it despite the distance.

“Good night, ___. And thank you.”

It’s the use of your name. It’s the softness of his smile and the words of gratitude. It’s the way he lingers as the car starts to drive away and you’re left watching him even from afar. 

It lets you know that he knows. And it’s the reason why you sleep soundly that night and why for the first time since you’ve met him, you can’t wait to see him again. 

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[chimeracauldron]

OMG!! Posting fully fleshed artworks like that on the daily is insane!!! How do you keep those juices flowing? And if it’s not an issue would you mind letting us see the speedpaint for Joan? Of the day: Memory ?

Haha, I wouldn't say they're all fully fleshed, the reason so many pieces are sketches is because that's all I have the time/energy for most days, but it's very flattering of you to say so ^^. For me, I just really like making art, it's basically all I want to do all the time, and I'm also pretty impatient, so I've learned to draw quite fast over the years. I'm also not exactly coming up with ideas on the spot, I've been using these daily drawing to explore ideas and OCs I've had bouncing around in in my head for a while.

I don't think it's a sustainable output for the record, the daily Joan?s has been a bit of a fun challenge I gave myself, and I'm lucky I have the time to do it, but I won't be posting daily Joan?'s anymore once I'm done with this little comic.

Unfortunately I don't make a habit of recording myself drawing, so I don't have a speedpaint to show you, but if it's interesting I could explain how I go about painting! I try to keep my process as simple as possible for these, and I have one brush I use for sketching, coloring, and painting. I wish I could tell you where I got the brush, I've long forgotten what it was originally, but it's just a textured pencil brush with pressure sensitivity on for the opacity and brush density and the minimum value set to 60/50.

I usually only do these pieces in 3 layers, the sketch, rough color underneath, and then the paint over, sometimes I'll rough out a background on another layer, or I'll add a few more layers if I think I might wanna go back on something I'm trying. As you can see, the rough color stage is quite rough, so i do change things around a bit when I'm painting and continue to mess with the colors if I feel like it. I have areas of detail I focus on, but otherwise try to keep it rough, you can see there a lot of large brush strokes throughout, especially when I'm blending large blocks of color. My brush doesn't have color mixing on, that's where the opacity and density sensitivity on my brush some in, I usually just lightly layer the colors over each other and color pick the middle until I get a gradient I like. This also works as a handy shortcut for figuring out how to light contrasting colors, like the green light on the cat lady's reddish-brown fur.

Anyways, thank you for reading, I hope that was all at least a little bit informative ^^

[kyri45]

✨ShadowPeach Bio Parents Bio AU Q&A! 23/10✨

I'm LIVE on my TWITCH page drawing Spicynoodle! Come and say hi!

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

Anonimo ha chiesto: Ok so your Bio parent AU (loving it so much by the way) takes place after season 5 right? I thought it would be cool if you touched on Monkey Kings issues with Mk using the circuit on him. I eat that stuff up. if its already going in a different direction then that's ok, just a suggestion.

Aww in the end I don't think I can fit this in the story. It's absolutely an amazing idea, and I had thought of adding it for so long, but in the end the final part of the story will go differently.

Anonimo ha chiesto: How do Wukong and Macaque react that they have two grandchildren?? (Kai and Nya)

Will probably die of emotions. The fact that that's both their son's son/daughter, and that's their nephew/niece. It would blow them away. I'll never have children, but they completely change your prespective.

@shadowpeachera ha chiesto: AGHHHHHH XIAOTIANS WEAPON IS SOOO COOOOLLL AND THE WAY YOUR SHOWED HIM MAKING IT AGHHHHHH SO GOOD HOW LONG DID IT TAKE YOU TO COME UP WITH THE DESIGN? THE COLOURS? THE EVERYTHING UGHH I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS COMIC AGHHH

I think I did a couple of sketches before the final design, but I went on pinterest quite a lot before to see some variations of magical staff

@beanspassin ha chiesto: Do you think Macaque and Wukong will ever find out about each other secretly checking the other out? Cause let’s face it, Wukong will get a MASSIVE ego boost when he finds out Macaque was staring at him. 🤭

I think Macaque can HEAR when Wukong is checking him out. Wukong probably would negate the fact that he's checking him out, bc my boy is just a mess of emotion

@tessthe-cheesecake ha chiesto: Hello! I just wanted to say I really love your Shadowpeach Bio Parent AU I just have two questions, one: how is MK handling four ears? I assume he doesn't like crowded places (if yes then me too bud me too) ok second question would MK ever go back to being Wukong's successor but in his own way instead? :)

I think MK doesn't want to be a successor bc he doesn't want to be the next Monkey King, but he still wants to be the Monkie Kid. Also, I think he might be starting to feel himself a little more like an heir then a successor

@minli-daughter-of-wukong ha chiesto: So, would you have changed MK’s weapon if you thought a staff wasn’t really his style anymore? Also how did you come up with the idea for the sunset staff and can you give tips on how to find the right kind of weapon you’d choose for a character? So this is so long lol

I aint real good with weapon/characters. This was my first time matching a weapon to a character to be honest. I wanted to create something that was similar to both Wukong's and Macaque's staff, but at the same time being something new. With a new color palette that could represent the kind of hero MK wants to be

@cavern-of-shenanigans ha chiesto: Ok ok ok this is kind of silly but MKs new staff kind of reminds me of a twirling baton So combined with Macaques showmanship and the scarf bit MK tied on, they could play around with it and do a joint shadow play/ribbon dance performance! Maybe add him into the hero warrior story? Nice mother son bonding activity because its cute

HA! true! they are performance duo!

@ashmeertheimp ha chiesto: Hi love your fan art, story,and art style! What if piggsy and Tang went on a long trip and lives in flower fruit Mountain

I don't think freenoodle could survive living so close to shadowpeach

@italian-wizarding-world ha chiesto: Duuude i love, Love, LOVE!!! your art, and your Mk, Wu and Mama it's just too sweet, just two question: 1 Why sunset and not dawn? is it because usually sunset are more impresive? or maybe the staff has two "forms" depending on him using more his shadow powers and if so can he change between them? 2 We need red son reaction to Mk essentially magical girl transformation even if it's just a sparkling staff, because i think it would be epic/hilarious. We need more moment about them and Mei lookin at how dumb both are

I liked sunset because in a way MK started more with Sun powers and he is now discovering more his Macaque side of powers, so he's approaching a little bit the shadows (so his journey was from day to slowly twilight)

Anonimo ha chiesto: Have you ever thought about drawing an adult MK? I love your drawing style, and I wanted to see what an adult MK would look like, as well as Mei and Red Son. Você já pensou em desenhar um MK adulto? Eu amo seu estilo de desenho, e eu queria ver como seria um MK adulto, assim como Mei e Red Son.(I'm Brazilian by the way and I love reading your Au)

Maybe in the future....?

Anonimo ha chiesto: I REALLY REALLY REALLY LOVE NO ..I ADORE YOUR DRAWINGS MAN!!!❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ EVERY DAY I REREAD THE WHOLE LMK COMICS OF YOURS..!!!!!!❤️❤️ And hey l have a quition!!! What if mk interrupted wukong while his meditation and like wukong thinks he's in the past what is he gonna do when he see mac!?🌝❤️ Probably we will see a lot of hugs and kisses?🥹

Can you imagine since they are so cuddly even if they aren't together yet again in the AU, that because of this Macaque for a good moment DOESN'T notice the difference?

Anonimo ha chiesto: Can we get a character sheet for chiyou?

nope sorry, but he will come back no worry

Anonimo ha chiesto: Who else wants to see Pigsy and Tang show Monkey King and Macaque pictures of MK growing up?

Aww I think Wukong and Macaque would die from cuteness but at the same time feel a great remorse that they weren't there for their child when he was little. They are glad freenoodle was with them, but still, It's a big chunk of his life that they missed.

@itz-izzyart ha chiesto: So with the noise canceling headphones, does mk wear them so he (hopefully) doesn’t start hearing the past again or is it just something he wears to help him sleep at night?

Both. It helps him muffle the noise.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Would Wukong get ptsd if MK somehow got a circlet himself ?

He would probably loose all his immortalities rather than let MK have a circlet.

@loseranddummy ha chiesto: I have a ≈question≈ is Peng gonna be in your lmk bio parent comic by chance?

mmmm nope, sorry

@oddogoblino ha chiesto: Beeeeeg monke armmssss...meant for hug jail...

yessss..... and cudlleeeeeee...

Anonimo ha chiesto: :D was macaque grooming mk while they were waiting for the weapon to be forged

yup!

Anonimo ha chiesto: HI! Hope you're well and staying hydrated. Would we/could we see more Lilo and Stitch refs for your ShadowPeach bio parents au? I saw the last one and couldn't stop laughing. 😆 Maybe a beach scene or something?

I'll have to see the movie again and I'll see if new idea come in my mind

Anonimo ha chiesto: Have you ever thought about that because Macaque was gone from the living world for so long he doesn't know how use modern technology. Like Wukong's phone will go off when he isn't there and Macaque can't figure out how to get the stupid thing to be quiet

They are both gay boomers, your honor

Anonimo ha chiesto: In your shadowpeach au who is a morning person and who is a night owl Macaque or Wukong?

none of them. Wukong sleeps like 12 hours and Macaque like 5. (but now he's sleeping more thanks to Wukong but still wakes up earlier than Wukong)

[milkoomi]

⋆˚࿔ a new canvas means a new you 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

a mini series on the art of becoming a better you

previous chapters

final chapter — THE ART OF OVERCOMING

i know there’s a lot of us who struggle with anxiety or fear or even the anxiety of experiencing failure. there’s so much in our lives that we worry about, and there’s this feeling of struggle that we have from it that makes it feel like it’s impossible to overcome any hardships we come across. but the truth is: we can overcome the hardships. we can overcome anxiety, fear, stress, failure; everything that life has to throw at us, we can overcome it!

ᥫ᭡. understand your emotions

a lot of those “i can’t do it” moments stem from us not understanding why or how we’re feeling the way we do. it’s important to understand what you’re feeling and reflecting on those emotions or thoughts. when we experience stress or anxiety, our minds are filled to the brim with overwhelming thoughts that are just spinning and mixing around in our heads. that feeling makes it even harder to really think about things logically and to even understand an ounce of what we’re feeling.

let it out.

let out your frustrations, in a healthy manner of course! if you feel like crying, do it! just let it out. even if you’re just brain dumping into your journal, it allows you to spill all the thoughts that are running around in your mind out. release your thoughts and emotions.

take time to reflect.

journaling is an on-going topic within this community on tumblr and on my page, but it’s talked about so much because it’s one of those things that really works and shows actual growth within ourselves! so take the time to write down everything that you’re feeling, let yourself process your emotions that overwhelm you!

consider the “why” when it comes to your emotions.

why are you feeling anxious? why are feeling scared? why are you feeling stressed out? it’s important to figure out why exactly you’re feeling the way you are because without that understanding, it can lead to even more negative thoughts and emotions.

once you understand why, then consider going back to the reflection bit. just take as much time as you need to process your thoughts and feelings!

ᥫ᭡. reassurance

remind yourself that it’s going to be okay! i believe i mentioned this in one of the previous chapters or in one of my other posts, but you have gotten through 100% of all your worst days, so who says you can’t get through one more? you will get through whatever situation it is that you might be going through! it’s so important to give yourself that reassurance.

also, it’s absolutely okay to ask for reassurance from others! being reminded by the people who love and care for you that things are going to be okay can be such a calming feeling. it’s okay to ask for reassurance, we all need it from time to time!

getting this reassurance just puts our minds at ease and, at least in my own experience, it has given me motivation to work through whatever it was that i was dealing with. having reassurance shouldn’t feel burdensome, it should feel relieving!

ᥫ᭡. juno’s rules

i, personally, like to follow a small set of rules when it comes to overcoming something like anxiety about starting a new semester or stress from financial hardships or fears of creating new relationships with people:

rule 1: believe that you can overcome the feeling

there’s a lot of people who manifest, me included, and we see a lot from different posts/sources about manifestation that we have to believe that what we want is already ours. so use that same idea and believe that you can or already have overcome whatever it is you’re going through!

when we put ourselves in that mindset of believing we can’t do it, the more and more we’ll manifest that whatever it is we’re struggling with will only continue to make us struggle. you have to believe that you can overcome the situation/issue/feeling, otherwise those negative thoughts will overpower your want and need to relieve yourself from the stress.

rule 2: have a support system

we can’t always do things on our own, sometimes we need that extra help, and that is okay! i mentioned this earlier, but seriously, asking for help/reassurance is 100% okay. you should ask for help especially when you need it!

your support system could include your family, friends, mentors/teachers, partner(s), and/or a therapist! there are people willing to help you or even just be there for you to lend you their support!

rule 3: take action

when we become overwhelmed by a situation that we know we need to overcome, sometimes we’ll reach a point where we might feel stuck. it’ll sometimes feel like we’ve given up as a whole, and we have to stop having that kind of mindset!

if you’re stressing about an upcoming exam, take action by putting in the work to study and review notes or reach out to your teachers/professors/peers for extra help!

if you’re stressing about talking to a loved one about setting boundaries, take action by writing everything you want to say and gathering all your thoughts together to get your mind situated and more organized!

whatever it is that’s causing you to feel negative emotions like stress, anxiety, or fear, take steps towards relieving that feeling! sometimes taking action may be practicing more self care or changing your lifestyle or even breaking bad habits! whatever it is, you have to be willing to take action and you have to remember who you’re doing this for: yourself.

ᥫ᭡. final notes

it’s important to remember that overcoming something, whatever it may be, is for the betterment of ourselves. i talk a lot about self care on my blog and i will always advocate for that! whatever it is that’s bringing us down or adding a lot of stress in our minds, we have to be able to overcome those obstacles or feelings! getting ourselves to work through challenging situations or difficult emotions is the best form of self care and it allows us to grow even more as individuals! there’s so much strength in putting in the work to overcome something and there’s even more strength we gain from doing so! self improvement and becoming that girl/person can become easier when we learn to overcome what life has to throw at us. life isn’t easy and i know a lot of us can attest to that, but life also has a very special way of showing us what it’s like to live our lives to the fullest.

with lots of love, juno 🌷

[saytrrose]

A post that Freakshow Au + Sm-Baby Fans NEED TO HEAR. READ IT.

—————

I cannot stand the people on tumblr in Mushys comments accusing her of so many horrible things. People have been stating that Mushy has been drawing “non-con” and supporting “abuse”. I will not go into too much detail on how it is affecting her and why but it is incredibly overwhelming for her, and she is not comfortable posting for the time being- and you people are making it hard for her to enjoy it anymore.

Mushy is portraying the au and characters how they would canonly work and that does not make her a bad person. The large amount of people trying to say that she has been drawing non-con of the late absolutely SICKENS me. You clearly do not have any understanding for that terminology and should not be throwing it around. Maybe if people paid attention to the au, the lore and how they are characterized you would come to the conclusion that NO ONE WANTS TO BE IN THE FREAKSHOW AU.

If you need a reminder of the definition, The TADC Freakshow Au is an Au where a horrible virus infects the Ai and twists their reality into a horror mindscape. THIS IS NOT CAINE OR ABLES FAULT. Caine and Able ARE AI. They are corrupted by the virus unwillingly and what Able puts Pomni through in the Able-Owned Pomni Au is yes, considered psychological abuse. HOWEVER why in gods name would you assume she supports that shit? Do you people just assume whenever someone draws a death scene they support murder?? or when someone depicts a scene of an animal getting hurt in a fanfic or movie that director/writer supports animal abuse?? Does that seriously go through your head?

EVERYONE in the Freakshow au in under some sort of psychological abuse- HELL in the original show they are. Like did you even watch it? And back to Freakshow, it’s a HORROR AU. People are killed left and right and no one seems to have a problem with that hm? THIS IS FICTION. PEOPLE NEED TO LEARN THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN FICTION AND REALITY BECAUSE WHEN YOU DO NOT DO SO YOU HURT PEOPLE IN REAL LIFE. Not the people producing fictional content, YOU.

People are quite literally, harassing Mushy right now and it is heartbreaking to see my friend experience this. If you do not like certain content that Mushy creates, BLOCK her or BLOCK her tags. People asking for her to tag her art with “abuse” makes her highly uncomfortable. If you do not like this, simply take responsibility for your own viewing and stop interacting.

People need to stop assuming that Mushy is also not trying to find comfort in drawing certain topics. You people need to stop assuming that Mushy lives some sort of cheery happy go lucky life. She experiences a lot, she is going through A LOT right now and you people dog piling these accusations onto her is not only just disrespectful as a person in general, but as her follower. It is truly just disappointing to see just how rude people can be when they are supposed to be your biggest supporters.

A tag MIGHT be arranged, something as simple as “Able-Owned Au” and if this is done then block it. It is that easy. It is so so easy and simple to take initiative for yourself and what you see and how you feel about it by limiting it on your own end than going out of your way to make someone feel horrible about themselves.

Mushys blog is HER blog. She can draw whatever she would like to and if anyone has an issue with this you can very kindly, FUCK OFF. The block button exists, use it. The block tags method exists, use it.

Stop harassing creators.

[cacodaemonia]

I was unfortunate enough to come across this ask from someone I don't follow a while back. It was one of those wtf moments that was so strong, I had to show the screenshot to a friend who isn't in fandom and never has been. They know the basics of how fandom works, and I've told them about the pro-censorship people in fandom, but this post really required some extra explanation, and I thought I'd share how I broke it down for them:

Obviously, most antis are very young. We all know this. That doesn't mean that all young people are anti-sex, pro-censorship, or unable/unwilling to distinguish fiction from reality, but it's much easier for young folks to get caught up in dangerous and toxic communities—in both real life and online.

From what I've seen over the years, there are all kinds of reasons why antis campaign against fiction they don't like and why they harass other fans and small creators. But I think a key point is that they seldom target big name authors, movie studios, or other media companies who make 'problematic' things.

That right there tells you a lot about one of their primary motivations: power over others.

They want to feel morally superior to people who create art (including writing, etc.) that they dislike. And because they can't influence powerful individuals and companies, they turn their personal disgust and outrage on people who are their relative equals or on those who have even less socioeconomic power—especially marginalized groups like queer and disabled people, who make up large portions of fandom.

There are plenty of other factors that impact this radicalization, of course, but I really think that the power aspect and feeling like they're one of The Good People are the most important elements.

But anyway, the screenshot above got me thinking about how someone could reach the point where they genuinely believe that government censorship of fanworks is necessary to... what? Prevent people from making (subjectively) 'gross' art because... that will lead others to commit actual real life crimes?? That's what the anti above seem to be suggesting with the slippery slope comment, and when I got to this point in the explanation to my non-fandom friend, they were BOGGLED. They simply could not comprehend the massive leap of 'logic.'

So I paused for a moment and considered how I could explain it, based on the various stages of indoctrination I've seen among antis over the years.

I think that a lot of these young people are probably very new to fandom. They find out about fanfic and go onto AO3, and they likely assume that some algorithm will handfeed them what they want—even though they haven't bothered to learn how an archive like AO3 works and haven't used any search filters to include or exclude things they like or don't like (this required a whole explanation about AO3 filters to my friend btw).

So anyway, these people who have grown up on sanitized mass media fail to heed any of AO3's many warnings, including creators' tags, and they come across something that they think is gross or that makes them uncomfortable. For example, "Ewww, fics about underage characters having sex is gross and makes me uncomfortable." That's fine. Hit the back button and use filters to avoid that. Problem solved!

But then maybe they go on social media and complain about someone making art they don't like, and they rapidly get sucked the echo chambers of cult-like anti communities. And this is where they all amp each other up by exchanging conservative talking points dressed up in ostensibly progressive language. They begin to feel angry and self-righteous and certain that they have to do something about this issue they've collectively fabricated. After all, "Think of the children!!"

I should also point out that most antis don't seem to even understand the words they use. For example, in that screenshot, it's pretty clear that the op is using 'censorship,' 'glorification,' and even 'slippery slope' as emotional catch phrases rather than words that have useful and concrete meanings outside of fandom.

Finally, their crusade against the fiction they dislike becomes such a huge part of their identities and 'friend' (more like mutual purity surveillance) groups that they just keep building it up into this huge moral panic until they're unironically saying things like, "Writing a fic about a 17 year-old and an 18 year-old kissing is actual pedophilia and the author should be harassed and doxxed and imprisoned."

When I got to that point, my friend was still boggled, but it was more of a horrified sort of boggled, where you just stare into space and contemplate the merits of a giant space rock hitting earth in the near future.

I really wish people getting sucked into anti mindsets would take a moment to consider how bathshit their beliefs sound to the average human being on the planet who doesn't spend huge amounts of time on social media.

[awanderingtortoise]

Post etoile I am reading reviews and I see a lot of people complaining its unrealistic. Which... yes. I will concede to the banter being in your face at the best of times, but in terms of characterization and tone? These are not fantasies. Tone wise, I find they're portraying the real struggles of artists and art management quite honestly, while contrasting it well with a little surrealist feeling in other shots and scenes. And honestly, chaotic reality hidden behind an almost unreal facade? That's ballet, that's art.

Realism: the funding issues, the sweat and the chatter and the mundane preparations of the dancers, the more honest and emotional moments (The video from Jack's kids at the party is a good one, ouch, and the final scene with him and Cheyenne).

Unreal/surreal: Think the long hold on the ending shot where Nicholas drops to the floor, the uninterrupted ballet sequences, the running gags like with Tobias (is he coming back?), Crispin's almost cartoonish manners, the place name references of Nicholas's medical history.

Combined: the Paris charm/aesthetic vs bruna's ill functioning bathtub, mishi's entire childhood vs the party toast scene, the perfection of Tobias's finished works contrasted with the chaos of his creation process

I don't see this as a flaw, because it reflects the world they are in where the exterior persona is often vastly different from the interior, and because that real-yet-unreal feel is reflected in the characters themselves. Not just as a contrast between person and performer (Cheyenne's onstage grace and offstage.. cheyennity, jack's social facade vs the vulnerability he can't even confront) but also in the contrast of tv to real life. Which is, in fact, less contrast and just a teeeny bit of exaggeration.

Like I understand these characters are absolutely batshit, but you would not BELIEVE the shit that goes down when creative people have to work together in a room. At most, the characters in etoile are very realistic, yet comedic caricatures of artist archetypes, stereotypes in this century that have a VERY factual basis. "They're being weird" My violin professor once spent ten minutes of our lesson just having me sandwalk across the room like Paul Atreides. That's on the normal days.

"They're being unprofessional" I know a conservatory professor who curses at his students in a blind rage when they can't sing middle C out of thin air. Have had an orchestra colleague that blocked my MOTHER on Facebook, who they spoke to for maybe a total of ten minutes in his life, god knows why. Have met mediocre conductors who WILL walk out of the entire rehearsal if they feel a bit pissheaded today, meaning theyre letting go of SIXTY PEOPLE'S THREE HOURS+ of paid labor, and the management can do nothing but let them. I have trained under people who publicly shame, gaslight, guilt trip the students in their YOUTH ORCHESTRA, and no one, not even the kid's parents, does jack shit. Arts industries are insane. There is nothing these people can do that I will find unbelievable except be normal.

[petesdirtysock]

bill dickey & the cycle of abuse theory

i think about evan dorkin's point of saying "bill wasn't always a sociopath" because i think it really explores something interesting about the cycle of abuse and the effects it has on others. so here's a really really long text post about it !

tldr, sock has a really convoluted theory about bill's mom's possible abuse towards her son and it causing a big issue for bill and his mental health and literally everyone else who crosses his path

tw for abuse , manipulation , trauma

to first begin, let's look at bill at the beginning of the series! at first, we see bill as almost the same as he was in the "welcome to eltingville" pilot. a lot of people say that the tv version of bill is really tame in comparison to comic bill & i 100% agree. one potential reason for this may be that the art styles are so vastly different when you really look like it and all of the scenes were bill goes absolutely insane would be hard to animate for adult animation shows. typically the styles are simpler for the sake of cost but this might be different since we had a lot of great shows in the 2000s that were able to accomplish both ( but that's a conversation for another day ).

but in bill's case, i feel this was almost intentional ( & kind of not ) since the scenes chosen for the show were the beginning of the comic! throughout the comic, we see bill get worse and worse and he comes to his greatest failure in the epilogue where i very strongly believe ( and i think its canon ? ) that he caused the injuries and potential death of multiple people during the comic con fiasco. like i dont know if any of you guys have been to the jacob javits center ( where the comic con in the comic takes place ) but there's like thousands of kids, elderly, and full grown adults that basically pack the entire building. THAT HAS MULTIPLE FLOORS BY THE WAY. like there have been times i've had to squeeze through people in just the artist's alley, IMAGINE THE TINY ASS FOOD AREA & THE FRONT OF THE BUILDING.

and you may be asking "sock, what in the hell would possibly cause this impulsivity and disregard for human life in someone who is pretty much normal other than being a creep???". so it turns out the answer to that question is divorce and abuse.

i'm definitely not qualified to diagnose anyone, especially not in the realms of personality disorders ( im just a depressed and anxious autist lol ) but since we have confirmation that bill is a sociopath by evan dorkin, i can back this up with COLD HARD FACTS!!!

first to begin, sociopathy is a mental personality disorder that can be caused by genetics AND by societal / environmental factors. so it is 100% possible that bill was either born with sociopathy and the events brought them on strongly OR he wasn't born with sociopathy and his trauma brought it on. in my opinion, i believe the first option is more possible since we have 0 info on bill's parents other than his mom being abusive ( WHICH DOES NOT MEAN THAT SOCIOPATHS ARE MORE INCLINED TO ABUSE ). so that's up to you guys!

sociopathy is characterized by someone who frequently does impulsive and erratic behaviors. this person has the ability to have strong connections with others but not many. they can be kind of mean but have the ability to be empathetic in some circumstances. they may be hotheaded and tend to rationalize their actions despite them obviously being wrong. this describes bill perfectly, sadly enough.

now, im gonna list off some of the points where bill's sociopathy comes out. if you disagree with any or think i missed one, please let me know! the first time we see bill show off sociopathic behavior is him threatening his little brother, tommy, for his dad's money so he can buy the dreaded boba fett figure. from this we also learn that, in this divorce, it's very probable that bill's parents live in two seperate houses. if his mom were home during this scene, like she is in the first club meeting scene, she probably would've told bill to be quiet. we also know this because after the comic shop fire, she tells him that her sister invited them to live with her ( hopefully that paused the abuse for some time or maybe not, ill get to that later ). the idea that bill could threaten his little brother as a angry angsty teenager isn't that hard to believe but knowing what we know now, this is a little worse. another scene later on shows this getting worse. during the intervention scene, we can see how he's willing to excuse away most of the "nerd behavior" he does, despite him being able to easily just say "okay, i'll give it up". but because he tends to make himself seem better to others by excusing it away, he is willing to put it to 100%, even puking on the guys. and from there, i don't think i have to explain the sociopathic tendencies behind the comic book fire scene and the comic con epilogue.

now what does this have to do with bill's mom? like i said earlier, evan dorkin has come out and said that along with pete, bill also experiences abuse from one of his parents. in this case, it's bill's mom. we don't see much of her but we know that she's usually angry and bill doesn't like her. he never says anything to her face though, which is fair in the case of abuse. sociopathy can be brought out in someone due to trauma and abuse is a traumatic thing to experience.

perhaps, bill's familial abuse makes him believe subconsciously that hurting others is okay. this is NOT true for all abuse victims ( i would know ) but in some cases ( especially in pop culture ), this is true. my opinion on the situation between the divorce and the abuse is this:

bill's mother was abusive towards bill and maybe bill's dad and brother

the parents got divorced and bill was sent to live with his mom while tommy was sent to live with his dad, splitting custody

due to bill being the older one, he is able to move between the homes but maybe bill's dad doesn't allow tommy to live in bill's mom's house

due to us not seeing any "clear signs" of abuse, there is a chance that bill's mom stopped physically abusing him for the time being due to court order

bill might possibly hate his mom because of their close proximity or fhe fact that she "scared" his dad away, ruining their family

the main reason for why i believe abuse is involved is the fact that he was pretty normal when the club first started ( which i assume was freshman year because of how small they look ). and yes, divorce can cause kids to act out but to such an extent implies that something possibly really bad happened.

thank you for reading and please let me know what you think ! be kind and have a great day (*´∀｀*)

[cometjuice]

Do you have any headcanons for Lou Ellen? Love ur art btw!!

OH BOY DO I

and thank you!!

Here’s my little headcanon backstory of where lou came from and how she met will.

i think lou ellen is originally from tennessee, deep deeeep in the appalachians where old magic is rife. The appalachians are one of the most haunted places in the united states, and for good reason. There is a lot of history there, spanning back millions of years.

she grew up dirt poor, like in a tiny cabin her granddaddy built himself in the middle of assfuck nowhere with just her mom

who is not the most mentally stable and definitely was not ready to have a kid.

since lou is a demigod, weird things happen (as they do) and the town begins to see her as “other” and “odd”. they ostracize her and her mother, and her mother blames lou ellen for their treatment.

eventually she either runs away or gets kicked out at age 12 and makes her journey to new york.

she is completely alone, but something is telling her to go north. does she know why? or where north is? nope, but she knows better than to question the woods.

basically hitch hikes cargo trains until she hits new york where she never makes it to camp but is instead intercepted by luke.

in return for her loyalty, he gives her food and shelter while also capitalizing on her anger towards both her parents; her mom and her other mom who she’d never met but resents for leaving her with a crazy woman who hated her.

she fights for luke simply because what else can she do. she doesn’t *like* him but he’s her only source of food and shelter right now. she starts to bond with some of the other demigods in luke’s camp, some other nemesis and hecate demigods.

she gets claimed on a quiet night, by herself. i think a part of lou ellen just knew, after being told by luke that she was a demigod, that hecate was her mother.

it’s just made sense. and that night, three snakes come to her, and she just knew. a bit of an odd night.

she keeps it to herself, that gut feeling that brought her to new york telling her that she should NOT divulge this information.

during the battle of manhattan, she is locked in a scuffle with some ares kids (post silena) and is left to bleed out by her “comrades”.

that’s when she meets will.

despite knowing who she fights for, he still saves her life, unwilling to lose another person even though she fought for the people who killed his brothers.

wills kindness and desire to choose forgiveness strikes lou ellen. he offers for her to come back with him, that they could protect her. she doesn’t need protecting, she survived all this time on her own goddammit.

but she doesn’t go back to luke either. after watching another battle where it’s obvious kronos (masquerading as luke)doesn’t give a shit if she lives or dies, she goes to will.

it was hard at first, everyone treating her like she was dangerous. it was exactly like tennessee.

but will was her rock. he defended her and his constant presence eventually persuaded others to let down their guard.

the second to really let his guard down around her is cecil of course. cecil didn’t have an opinion but if will liked her, than damn of course he would.

they bond over terrorizing him and debilitating mommy issues.

[coq-courage]

Well hi there! The fact I'm posting means that at least one of my boys appeared in an episode and yes that's spoilers but uh, [*points at url*], it's kinda expected at this point soooo

let's talk about that new episode, ye?

spoilers after the cut for MLB Season 6 Episode The Ruler!

on the left we have Nath's dad, on the right is his mum, and in the middle we have have.... looking like a kicked puppy that's waiting for the bad news that he's about to get it again

i want to point out that the living room (sitting room?) they're all in is very much... Staged. it's clear that the parents enjoy modernism and straight lines and minimal color

and then we have... Marc and his family with a closeup, they actually love each other and hug and are joyful and

and its really really really obvious that one family openly supports their child's endeavors and the other family "wants to support" but "keep finding fault"

also??? Marc having "business in the front, party in the back" vibes for his makeup is killing me, dude really said "i feel like eyeshadow today.... but only on one eye" i wonder if he switches which eye gets the makeup

and there goes my headcanon about Harry Clown being Marc's dad, damn, its a good headcanon but i do have to edit things now

the whole Marinette is sick b-plot is vaguely annnoying to me, cuz of the snot, i hate it on a cosmic level, its gross, but animated pretty darn well so hey! props to the animators! you made me feel like grossed out, which i'm sure was the goal

i'm loving Diane, visually, she's just poppin'

i just LOVE that when marinette said the next issue for the comic was already written, EVERYONE including a random kagami popped up outta nowhere to say "OWO"

just LOOK at these gays!

i get Nath a lot here, his uncertainty comes across clearly, as is his want to be something his parents can be proud of, and he's letting it intervene with what he wants to do, but, he's also able to recognize that his issues with the story are entirely personal and not at all related to Marc

Closeup of their faces to show them off

Also the way that after school, Marc is smiling so gently at Nath, so reassuring, "just cuz the story changes or ends here, doesn't mean we do", and Nath slowly smiles due to watching the smile, reassured that he and Marc are fine

And then once Nath is turned away long enough, that smile DROPS

We see that Marc is definitely more confident and sure of himself now, yeah, but we also see he will LIE about his emotions. Marc is doing the typical Older Person thing where they will do anything possible to ensure a younger person doesn't feel rejected

So he hides his disappointment

He hides how he knows he'll react

He doubly so hides since one of the first times he felt his emotions near Nath, he got Akumatized but yeah

and god, Marc, plz, i get why you're lying for Nath, i get it. your boy's mother is strict and doesn't approve of his method of art, and you dont want to get him in trouble, i get it, i just hate it

hey fellas is it gay to--

gently hold your partner's hand and rub the back of it with your thumb? no? just me? nah i think its pretty gay

also???? adrien finally admitting to us that he likely stinks of cheese??? awesome

now we're getting to nath returning home and his parents have found the script marc wrote....

i, when i first saw this, i told my friends to make sure they had spoons when they decided to watch it

if you had an issue with the whole Nath tearing up Marc's journal back in the Reverser episode, you will have an issue here

because apparently it runs in the family AND that does not mean good things for how Nath grew up

Shirel Kurtzberg finds Marc's script in Nath's room, and shows it to her husband, presumably neither of them read it, but they recognized the name on the front as the name of the comic that Nath had been working on with Marc

and the whole scene plays out like parents finding their kids' drug or porn stash, ending with Shirel taking the script (that, again, doesn't belong to anybody in the house) and running it through an industrial shredder (not even taking off the binder clips)

"See what encouraging him to read comics leads to?" she says as her husband rubs the back of his neck and looks away

if this is what they've done his entire life, then OF COURSE Nath's instinct had been to tear up the journal

children do as they are taught by their parents' examples

and its shitty but its true

Shirel very specifically shows her distaste for Nath's preferred style of art throughout the episode, while then naming some "noble arts" as architecture, industrial design, and scenography. This is why i made note of their sitting room design up there.

all the things she mentioned have a very specific thing, they are all made for people but do not actually include people, meanwhile Nath draws people, he draws about people and emotions

her noble arts are not about people's emotions, they are vessels for use, yes, they can still be beautiful and emotional, but Shirel comes across as very much wanting to be emotionless

Beige Modernism

she enjoys it

go back and look at the pictures on the walls in that room, they're full of straight lines, her art is made with rulers, everything is very precise, she is a very inattentive mother, very much a "my child will pursue my dreams" type of mother

and Nath cries hard when the script is destroyed, he rushes out and back to the school and

we get our first blatant misuse of powers that isn't Adrienette, and it's Nath Making Bad Decisions Out Of Fear

he fears what his parents will do, because of how they treat things that don't belong to them, and if they're not proud of him, if he's failing to be the son they want, then can he call himself their son? should he worry about what they might do to him who is therefore not their son?

yes, its a stretch, BUT i can assure you that this is one of the things that would run through the mind of someone in a situation like that

Nath wants the love of his parents, and because they don't approve of something he enjoys with all his heart, something he loves deeply, he fears he is unloved and therefore not their son

SIGH

okay, that long serious bit is over (for now)

props to Marinette for not giving in and letting him destroy the proofs

props to Marc for calling out Nath's bluff

Ew Points for Marc using Marinette's snot tissue to wipe his eyes after crying

props to the half-blind wheelchair-bound teacher for thinking of Nath's wellbeing and not forcing him to stay in school when he obviously couldn't pay attention

props to Marinette for trying to change Shirel's mind

Tea for the students watching from the overhang and listening because they all support Nath and Marc but aren't sure what to do and if they could even do anything

MAJOR props to Nath for this

he finally decided

he would NOT let his mother ruin a beloved hobby for himself

did he say he disobeyed? no

but that face is perfectly clear to me

that face says "you know what? i'm DONE! you don't like my hobby? oh well! i love it! and i love the kind of person my art lets me be and i'm tired of letting you railroad me into a Perfect Son, who then ends up hurting his friends because they believed in me and relied on me and following your orders has made me hurt them and i'm done."

unfortunately for Nath, he's not exactly a poet, that's Marc, so when Nath wants to be perfectly clear, he is clear visually

New Butterfly, my love, i dunno how to tell you how much i love you, how clever you are

now for my fav thing

Marc straight up JUMPS onto The Ruler's back, he is READY to take her down, he will protect Nath, he will fight The Man/The Machine/Whatever

hell yeah! go for it you punk! fight the power!

but err...

you absolutely hit your head there.... and the shoulders.... and hmm

Marc? darling? sweetie?

please see a physical therapist, immediately

have yourself checked over for any of those like pinpoint pressure injuries that interrupt bloodflow, please? (aside, did i mention i love taht Season 6 actually gave you ears outside of being a hero? cuz i do)

and then we see that Nath is also perfectly willing to fight, mostly to protect Marc but yeah

now uh... hmm.... Nath's transformation.... imma just leave it at, comic book boy entered a wardrobe (closet) and david bowie (ziggy stardust) left it and its just exceedingly funny to me cuz both were bisexual redheads

now, the mind control of The Ruler is interesting, she stamps you and you do the next order given as long as it's one sentence, or so it would seem

i think we can name on one hand how many times Marinette's plans required her trusting other people to be smart enough to carry them out without her saying much of anything, and its nice to see that Nath could put it together

this is a special aside for, "a jet plane?" and the fact that her sneeze caused the perfume cloud to disappear

New Butterfly (i can't spell her name~~).... why are you sus of Nath? do you know? i think you might know something, or at least suspect, which, considering who are you... fair

then that last scene

Nath is nervous, worried, but he's also resigned, he has come to terms with the fact that his parents may not enjoy his work, but he's showing them the finale anyway, and Marc is happy to support him, anyway he can

the parents read

the father immediately is crying and "damn okay, that was some good shit"

the mother... she is pensive

she looks at the cover page, with the sun knight and the dark knight, she had just finished looking at the last page, where, we can presume, they kissed because of that ending title card

she's thinking

she looks at the charm Ladybug gave her and decides to THINK a little harder

she sees her son holding the hand of a boy that screams the rainbow

she realizes she was wrong

emotional art has a purpose

but also

she realizes how hard he worked, how much joy it brings

she realizes she misjudged something here

she says she's sorry

then she says she loves him

family hug time, words are left unsaid but then the father says, quietly, "hey marc, aren't you part of the family too? come join", and he does

that wasn't even in question

the moment they realized exactly how much HEART was put into the comic, the parents made sure to let Nath (and Marc by extension) know that they loved him and didn't find fault in Specific Choices

and then... then the true final scene arrives

i almost don't want to talk about it, i feel like it's a scene that needs to be viewed and not talked about

so... i'll leave the talk of that Final Scene as:

which is gayer, the kiss in El Toro OR Marc and Nath in the Final Scene of The Ruler?

--

before i finish this post off, i do also wanna mention how i KNOW that everyone is taking the episode as "gay son comes out to homophobic parents" but while i can see the heavy handed metaphor, [*points at literally everything in this episode*], his mother very clearly thinks and realizes that the comic is basically Nath's coming out, and that her son thinks she doesn't love him, so she clarifies that

it can be that deep, but i wanted to make sure we ALSO thought about the surface level interpretation here. there are many kinds of issues in the world, and simply being unable to make a parent proud is an unfortunately common one that strikes hard no matter the age of the person