#so this is incredibly subjective here and I recognize this

[curedigiqueen]

In my opinion Precure is at its best when it incorporates the communities that the girls are protecting into it.

This of course stems all the way back from the original Futari wa. That shows main premise is "Ordinary days and people are important", and is by nature a normal slice of life whose drama is highlighted by the lengths Nagisa and Honoka go to protect it. As such, the girls have an extensive supporting cast, and the climatic battles often feature some level of emotional support by the supporting cast, even if they're not literally physically present. The girls are the vessels through whom humanities collective will to live is channeled. We spend our time witnessing this will within the people in the girls communities.

I've mentioned before how big a theme of community is in Fresh. There are a ton of minor side characters who make brief but frequent appearances to help flesh out this bustling city. In the end the girls reveal themselves to their community.

Princess and Heartcatch make great use of the victim of the week format to help build a strong supporting cast, understanding the motivations of these characters, who in turn help support the Cures in some way during the 11th hour.

This is part of what makes Happiness Charge and Doki Doki fall relatively flat to me. Their supporting casts aren't as fully developed. There's more one off victims. But there are still moments where this aspect shines, to me in Doki Doki in the involvement of the girl's families. The moment where Mana shouts her identity as Cure Heart is fantastic to me, I can practically see the gears turning in the family member's heads. The Oh Shit of it all.

While an identity reveal isn't a prerequisite for a strong sense of community it certainly contributes to the feelings. Both Futari wa's manage to have a strong sense of community, despite their final fights taking place when earth is reduced to a barren wasteland devoid of people, the fact they still take place on earth helps them make heavy use of the fact that despite being currently devoid of life these are places where there are meant to be life, and where life can exist again.

It's a big part of why while I love Suite, I feel it's objectively weaker than it's two predecessors despite mimicking them in so many aspects. In fact it's probably tied with the futari wa's for my favorite season. But I don't think it's nearly as good as it could be in part because of the lack of community compared to its predecessors. But what we do get of Kanon owns majority real estate in my heart. The entire town is so goddamn weird, and just down for whatever. If I could add an identity reveal to any season it'd be this one. I struggle to believe that no one in this town doesn't know (though that might be because they all are so oblivious). I'd take it away from Healin Good and Doki Doki if I had to and I love those seasons reveals.

Smile I feel is far more popular than Suite, and while I enjoy smile and think it's simplicity is to its strength it's really no surprise that the episode I care most about, more than 3/4 of the season combined, is the episode where Nao sort of kind of has an identity reveal. That's also partially because I just have a huge soft spot for kids. (Muse is my all time favorite. Go, make things worse you funky little messed up 9 year old. And I am probably one of the few people who actually LIKE the baby plotlines... which makes it honestly such an accomplishment that DeliPa got me to dislike their baby). But Smile has a lot of plots that are really self-contained to the main cast, and while I do enjoy how fleshed out the girls' families are the fact that they all turn into living rocks when the villains attack really makes them less interesting to me. Same with Tropical-Rouge, but Tropical-Rouge doesn't even fully flesh out any family that isn't Manatsu's.

Maho Tsukai and Star Twinkle both have fun main characters and worldbuilding, but the fact that, like Smile, the action and human town exist sort of separately from each other really keeps them from catching my attention. I want to like them. And I do. I just don't quite love them. I really love HiroSky's cures in particular, and adore the episodes where they are part of their communities, but do wish we had more of that.

And for what it's worth the miracle lights bring this sense of community into our reality, and they used to use the side cast to help illustrate this in the all star movies. It's great.

[razehider]

this doesn't seem to be widespread knowledge around here yet but there's a big trend among dogshit content scraper accounts to grab a real photo (usually of ✨Aesthetic Nature™✨ or something similar, which is why it's relevant to me) somewhere, and recreate it using AI to avoid crediting the photographer. this can even trick people who are somewhat familiar with the subject matter if they're not paying attention but looks incredibly wrong upon closer inspection

here is some complete garbage as an example. because these "photos" are not completely made up by AI, people into spiders know the species and will recognize their features without looking closely, getting tricked in the process. if you know spider anatomy and look closely though, both of those look like utter abominations. the original photos these two were based on are here and here, by the way

these just so happen to be things i'm familiar with and i would probably get easily fooled by AI recreations of plants or fish or whatever. my point is that if you're not an expert on everything that exists you're not immune to these, so i would probably recommend caring about photo sources unless you actively want to look at this repulsive trash

[drdemonprince]

to the anon asking why trans women don't have male privilege.

well. a lot of you are gonna be shocked to hear this one, but it's incredibly clear why not if you listen to trans women's experiences.

trans women have written at length about being sexually victimized, othered, subjected to violence for gender non-conformity, internalizing transmisogynistic cultural norms, being socially excluded and penalized for their failure to be adequate "cis men" and much more. if you are a person who has experienced misogyny but are not a trans woman you really have got to spend a lot of time reading transfeminist writing about this stuff, because your understanding of gender based oppression will always be woefully incomplete if you don't know what a lot of trans women go through and trust them as a reputable source.

here are some texts that i recommend just off the dome

Here's a thread from Grace Lavery about how even before she came out as a trans woman, men perceived her as an acceptable target for sexual assault in much the same way they do women of all kinds.

Here's a book from Laura Kate Dale about how her Autism was never recognized when she was a child because she met all the hallmarks of "female Autism" as a young closet trans girl.

Here's Jules Gill-Peterson on what transmisogyny is, how it functions, and how it affects the entire course of trans women's lives.

Here's Julia Serano's foundational text that introduced the concept of transmisogyny which explains at length how transmisogyny is so baked into our culture that it influences everyone and harms trans women long before they come out.

There's also just, you know, the base logic that queer people still suffer from homophobia and transphobia as kids before they even *know* they are queer. That's not exactly controversial. In fact the very fact that presumed straightness and cisness is forced upon everyone to the extent that a person must "come out" as anything else is a clear demonstration that trans women suffer from transmisogyny at every point in their lives. Being told you are not permitted to be yourself, that people like you do not even exist, is a pretty core experience of oppression and mimics what a lot of other groups of oppressed women (for example, lesbians) go through.

I will also clarify that trans men often experience privileges related to transmasculinity before they even come out! People never quite treated me the way they treated cis women, I've written about that before, and while structurally trans men do experience misogyny, their positionality is different in all kinds of subtle ways.

[scarabies-real]

PLEASE TELL ME ABOUT JUNCOS IT'S A NEED

YOU’VE ACTIVATED MY TRAP CARD!!!

YOU’LL REGRET THIS!!!!!!!

Okay so dark-eyed juncos (Junco hyemalis) are one of the most fascinating and overlooked species of songbird in the US because they are, generally, fairly plain looking and common. They’ve been called Snowbirds throughout the Eastern US and they’re often disparaged because spotting a junco means it’s about to snow. However, this is often not true because many places have resident populations (meaning they live there year round) and they are subject to a sort of confirmation bias—you’ve heard they’re a winter-only bird so you’ll only notice them during winter, similar to American robins that are known as a “first sign of spring” bird even though their seasonal movements are very complex and they often have resident populations.

Onto why they are FASCINATING, or at least why I think so (and I am correct always obviously) there are many, many different subspecies of dark-eyed juncos. And we have NO IDEA how many there actually are! It is highly debated and depending on who you ask there’s anywhere from 14-15 recognized subspecies, with 2-3 different large groups and 3-4 smaller ones. I’ve even heard people say as little as 9 and as many as 17. I have watched seasoned professionals with tenure get up in arms about this. It’s incredible.

Here’s an example of some!

Read Top to Bottom/Left to Right: Rocky Mountain (Cassiar) Junco (cismontanus), Pink-sided Junco (mearnsi), White-winged Junco (aikeni), Slate-colored Junco (hyemalis), Gray-headed Junco(caniceps), Red-backed Junco(dorsalis), Oregon Junco(oreganus)

If you live in the east of the us, the little guy in the middle (slate-colored junco) is going to be the one you see the most, and if you live in the west it’s the bottom right (Oregon junco). Usually. Very broad, and there are many subspecies within the Oregon group that often get (incorrectly, but understandably) labeled oreganus when they are likely something else.

It’s extremely difficult to identify junco subspecies in field and without particularly great photos most people are left shrugging and putting them in slate-colored or Oregon groups.

This range map is incredibly simplified

And THIS range map is. Well. Yeah. Don’t get me started on intergrades.

There’s several subspecies within the Oregon group and a large, unresolved debate about whether or not the Oregon group is actually its own species separate from slate-colored, with several subspecies.

Their systematics is a MESS (loving) and we’ve just recently moved the Guadalupe Junco to be it’s own species!

MY research has centered around this

You see this little guy right here?

This absolute little stinker that took me forever to photograph because they were being scared by hawks?

Yeah, that’s a Cassiar Junco.

Probably my greatest, rarest observation to date. And most people would write it off!

(Not sharing downloaded image bc location stuff lol. When I say rare I mean RARE.)

The Rocky Mountain Junco, also known as the Cassiar Junco, (Junco hyemalis cismontanus) is a presumed subspecies within the slate-colored group.

Depending on who you ask! Some believe it to be a subspecies, some believe it to be an intergrade between the slate-colored junco and Oregon junco, and others believe slate-colored and Oregon juncos to be distinct species making the Cassiar junco a hybrid. I will not give my opinion here yet since this is, technically, research I am currently doing but…let’s say I am observing breeding behaviors for a reason :)

They are incredibly rare, with most sightings taking place in the Northwest. Though they are spotted across much of the lower 48 a lot of these sightings are thought to be mistaken identity.

Looking at eBird range maps they fall within 0-2% sighting frequency, and all but disappear during summer months.

Is this because they are mistaken for slate-colored and written off? Or are they truly this rare? And if so, why?

There’s so many unsolved mysteries about this group of forgotten birds and especially the Cassiar junco.

Recently I’ve been looking into the research in gonadal growth delay in migrant populations vs resident populations and oh my god I could infodump a whole post on that but I’ll spare you. For now. If you express further interest there will be no saving you. It’s so cool man (said like siren song)

I am incredibly excited to focus my field research on them this winter (especially now that I have…connections) and I am very fortunate to live in a place that seems to get them more often than others.

Three cheers for Cassiar!

[calware]

oo ooo i saw your posts on june and vriska in rapid succession so i wanted to ask: what makes vriska a trans character? if you can’t articulate it yourself, can you lead me to someone who can?

sorry it took me so long to respond to this; it's just that there's truly so much to say. WARNING this post is so so long

vriska being a trans woman has been incorporated in official homestuck works like pesterquest and homestuck 2, which i could start with, but i think it's better to start with how it was conceived of by fans. i've only been around the fandom since mid-2019, so i can't give a very detailed overview of anything before that year, but i can tell you that for years, fans have picked up on themes from her character that resemble and represent the experiences of trans women and transfemininity overall. because of this, i'm going to be linking quite a few posts from others, both because i would otherwise just be repeating something someone else has said but also because it's these readings that have influenced my own reading of the text. this is a topic that is, at times, very subjective, and because of that, i think it's important to recognize that everyone has a slightly different reading—even if it all adds up to the same conclusion—and i want to be able to show the ideas that my reading stems from

before i get into the transfem reading of her, we have to first be on the same page on what her character is telling us within the story. in general, vriska is an incredibly complex and nuanced character, so there is a lot to jump into right off the bat. the fairly surface-level understanding we can get from vriska is that from birth, she was intentionally and deliberately molded into a weapon by the people around her. this leads to a lot of problems, obviously, but focusing on how this affects her is the important part here. she faces daily expectations on how to behave and feel; she's supposed to kill for survival, and she's supposed to like it, to the point where she's desensitized to it. this leads to her not growing healthily; she desperately wants to be more mature than she really is, she struggles to maintain friendships, etc.

Everything about what's happening here is wildly overcompensatory, meant to repair damage she's done without really having to face what it is she actually did. Aradia's extremely passive nature as a ghost makes her an easy target for this kind of overbearing attention. Because what Vriska seems to want most is acknowledgement, and more importantly, to foster strong reactions. Good or bad, love or hatred, this seems to be what she demands from everyone. So for that reason, Aradia's impassivity seems to add fuel to Vriska's sycophantic need to make amends. Not caring much one way or another about what Vriska does is guaranteed to drive Vriska crazy. Neutrality is insufferable to her because it makes her feel irrelevant. Being irrelevant is her biggest fear and ultimate enemy. She struggles to keep herself in the spotlight, and when the narrative is finally done with her and tosses her into the gutter, she fights her way back into relevance. Fighting against the forces of narrative marginalization completely define her entire batshit arc, from her introduction here all the way to the end of Homestuck. – Author Commentary

more notably, on friendships, she lashes out (as she has only been taught to do), which drives others away from her. then, when she doesn't know how to cope with the loss, she lashes out further, creating a vicious cycle

she also looks at the hardships she (along with everyone else) endures and has accepted them as "normal life"

she enforces that on others (tavros, most blatantly) as 1) the only way she knows how to "help" and 2) out of anger for others finding peace when she is unable to. with all of this together, she is consistently regarded in bad faith by others (both in and out of the story), becoming more and more isolated

it's only when terezi (through john) gives her a second chance that she's able to break the initial cycle

now, if you've never thought about it before, you might be wondering, "what does this have to do with her gender" and to that i will remind you that most aspects of alternian society are heavily gendered. for example, lord english/doc scratch's oppressive influence on the planet is a pretty strong symbol for the patriarchy, and practically every instance of oppression on alternia goes hand-in-hand with misogyny in some way. another one of these aspects is the castes themselves; highbloods specifically are referred to as male-dominated castes, putting vriska in a masculine context, something she strongly pushes back against. she leans into femininity with desperation (i.e., asking kanaya to sew a dress for her mindfang/summoner roleplay). and, to that point, she idolizes her ancestor in both her ruthlessness AND femininity. going even further, she does this to the point where she forces herself into a specific conventional feminine ideal—not because it's what she wants to be, but because it's what she thinks a woman should be. she struggles hard with her role not just in the cerulean caste, but also as a woman. as she does with her caste, she consistently fails to live up to gender expectations, unable to be a woman "correctly" in the eyes of society. it's a bootstrap paradox. again, these things go hand-in-hand. now, that's a pretty broad overview of everything, but this post is already pretty long, so we're going to move on

now we can look at it through a transfeminine lens, asking "what would a transfem reading of the character add to what already exists?" there probably isn't anything i could say that hasn't already been said by victoria (doomsdaydicecascader) so i'll link her thoughts here

another analyst i feel is crucial to include is valerie (stabvariation), who has a collection of posts on their own transfem vriska reading. make sure to click through all of them and come back here (this is an older blog of theirs btw, their listed pronouns are outdated, they go by they/them). the reason i bring up valerie in particular is that during the 2019 toblerone hunt, someone found one of the toblerones and, in continuation of the june reveal, saw an opportunity to pitch transfem vriska to the current team (they mention an essay, but i'm not sure if it was ever completed as i was never able to find it). that last post by valerie is the pitch; we can assume that it worked because 7 days later, vriska's pesterquest route was released with some pretty direct indications to her being a trans woman. this is where we leave the Fandom zone and enter the Official zone. we are no longer being subjective and are now being objective

(which to me means that their posts hold some significant weight, in my mind. and, even if it was by coincidence, and this had been written into the story in advance, i think they make good points and that they're worth including)

outside of pesterquest, vriska's now-official transfemininity has been given some nods in HSBC with the hell-tier rungs:

now, nods are nice, but the meat/significance/message/etc of this implication is once again on the reader to extract from the text (back to the subjective zone). for example, ado (gendertrickster) posted a reading on how vriska's recent developments as a character intersect with her being trans, which to me makes me think about the demonization of transfemininity throughout our society and the stigma that surrounds trans women... especially in the context of caring for children due to stereotypes of being predatory, & the fact that she's done the work to improve herself and break the cycle adds another layer to her development as the new kids' pseudo-guardian. vriska being a trans woman changes the context of this development significantly, making it 100 times more meaningful to her arc overall. and i'm sure that there are other things to add to this as well, but hopefully by now you get the point

something i want to mention before i wrap this post up is that i place emphasis on subjectivity/objectivity and what originates from the fans vs. official content not because i see subjective/fan readings as necessarily lesser than what's officially stated or what's word of god. i'd argue that they both have their own unique strengths. i think that there's a lot of power in being able to form your own perception of a work of fiction, or where readers build off of each other's ideas. what does it mean to YOU? granted, most of the time, fandom takes just kind of suck. but i think that this is one of those special cases where people came together to make a really meaningful reading of an already significant and impactful character. the stength of something being official (or even "canon") is that it's an undeniable representation of a marginalized community, something else that holds power on its own. but i want to recognize that it doesn't mean much without you being able to look at the text, read between the lines, and decide what you think it MEANS (let alone deciding if those official works are actually "good"..... frankly i think vriska's pq route could have been better). anyway i just wanted to elaborate on my thought process with the way i wrote this post & view these sorts of discussions in general)

did anyone actually read this extremely long post? (and yes, the linked posts do count). if you made it all the way down here i'm giving you an award

[oddinary4bts]

Emotions of the Soul | knj

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

☆pairing: Kim Namjoon x artist female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

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

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

☆word count: 36.3k

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

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

☆☆☆☆☆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Could that have been Namjoon?

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

You hated Kim Namjoon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could leave immediately after your speech, right?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sooah could go to hell.

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

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

At least when he was a teen, he could.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do not remake pieces.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Maehwa,” he gently said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Both Sooah and Miyoung looked at the piece.

“Clearly,” Sooah sarcastically said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

Kim Namjoon offered you a tight-lipped smile.

“Are you Maehwa?” he asked.

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

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

“It really is you.”

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

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

You scoffed. “What do you want?”

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

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

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

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

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

The nerves on this man…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Namjoon had gotten really intimidating, after all these years.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t remember?”

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

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

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

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

You pursed your lips. “Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the hell had just happened?

*****

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

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

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

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

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

They were the easiest ones, after all.

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

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

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

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

“What do you like so much about painting?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He had been there after all.

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

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

“Everything okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I will,” he said.

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were pretty sure the purpose was to murder you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Both your friends threw you no-bullshit looks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They had allied against you, hadn’t they?

“Right,” you let out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did he say?” she asked.

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

Sooah shrieked as Miyoung grinned wildly.

“Consider it done!”

*****

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

Gosh.

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

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

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

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

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

He was an artist, too, after all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Were you?”

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

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

“Bangtan changed you, didn’t it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” he asked.

“Does this happen often?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Evidently not.”

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

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

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

“Trust me, it’s worth it.”

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

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

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

“I like it,” Namjoon commented as he put down the glass. “Nice choice.”

You smiled, relieved that he indeed liked your choice.

As wine flowed between the two of you, you found conversation with Kim Namjoon was a lot easier than you had initially expected. He put you at ease, like he did when you were younger. Together, you reminisced about middle school and high school, about that time he had spilled hot chocolate on his uniform and you had helped him clean up, which had brought you guys closer.

Until he had kissed you as you were doodling maehwas on his arm, and the rest was history.

“No, but,” he insisted, his cheeks turning a pale shade of pink as he closed his eyes in embarrassment. His dimples winked at you, and you looked at him as he collected his thoughts. “To be fair, I never planned to break it. It wasn’t even my fault.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “You were the one holding it,” you reminded him.

You were referencing a fragile plate your mom had offered Namjoon, from her collection of nice plates she usually only displayed during fancy events. Namjoon had broken it a whole hour after he had been gifted it, and to this day, you still couldn’t understand how he had broken it.

“You tickled me!” he burst out, narrowing his eyes at you. “It was entirely your fault.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, before chuckling lightly. “I barely even touched you.”

He glared at you, though it didn’t last, melting into a soft smile that had you looking down at the table.

Right at the same time, a lean girl walked in, clad in a chef’s outfit, holding up the food you and Namjoon had ordered earlier. She offered you a polite smile, and it turned nostalgic as she looked towards Namjoon.

Namjoon said her name, before turning to look at you. “This is the friend I told you about.”

She was beautiful, in an easy, elegant kind of way. Her shoulder-length hair swayed nicely when she walked, and you had half a thought that she probably should be wearing something to make sure no hair could get in the food. Then you figured she probably had taken it off to come here, and you only realized that she had spoken to you when both she and Namjoon settled their gaze on you.

“Nice to meet you too,” you replied, because you were 75% convinced that that was what she had said.

You were relieved when she smiled knowingly, eyes trailing back to Namjoon. They talked a little more, and it took you a moment before you understood that she was one of Namjoon’s friends’ ex. They continued speaking after that, as you listened politely, nodding whenever she looked your way to encourage her to continue.

She looked sad. Nostalgic. Whoever her ex was, you had the intuition that she still loved him.

“Have a good evening,” she told the two of you about a minute later, bowing.

You bowed your head back, as Namjoon wished her good evening, and then you watched her walk out of the room, hair prettily moving around her head.

“She’s Seokjin’s ex,” Namjoon let out pensively once she was out of earshot.

Your eyes widened, and you looked back towards him. “Your bandmate?”

He nodded. “They broke up a few years ago, during the pandemic,” he explained. “They were engaged.”

You weren’t sure Namjoon was supposed to tell you any of that. It sounded personal, and he seemed to get the cue as you remained silent, eyes falling to the steaming plate in front of you.

“Anyway,” he said, chuckling awkwardly. “Shall we eat?”

“Yes,” you immediately replied, a little too quickly.

It had both of you laugh, and the awkwardness lifted to be replaced by that same familiarity the evening had held until Seokjin’s ex had come in. It had you fall back in your nostalgic memories, as you ate the delicious food on your plate.

When you were done eating, Namjoon suggested dessert, and not really wanting the evening to end yet, you accepted. It led to you both drinking a little more, your inhibitions slurring as alcohol rushed through your bloodstream, making you feel young and alive.

The feeling lingered with your lively chatter, with the exchanged laughs and long looks. Sometimes, Namjoon’s eyes burned on you, and you found you were too afraid to hold his gaze, too afraid to let it mean anything. Whenever it happened, you looked down at your glass, and the tenth time that it happened, you found the glass to be empty.

No salvation for you there. Especially considering that dessert was eaten and long gone, and all that had been left was the bottle of wine.

“So,” Namjoon said as he, too, took in the sight of the empty glasses and bottle. “I…” He chuckled, ears turning pink as his dimples flashed on his cheeks. “Thank you for tonight.”

You couldn’t help your own blush as you replied, “I’m glad I said yes.”

He met your gaze, eyes darting to your lips once. When they settled back on your own gaze, you swallowed a sudden lump in your throat.

“We should…” he started, falling silent as he scraped his throat. “We should do this again.”

The lump dissolved into nothingness as you smiled, softly. “I would love to.”

“What about on Sunday? There’s this exhibit I’ve been meaning to visit, thought you might want to join?”

“You want to bring an artist to another artist’s exhibit?”

He seemed surprised at your question, as if it hadn’t even crossed his mind. And truth be told, you liked visiting your fellow artists. There was just something about a shared passion that made you feel calm, understood. As if, no matter the sorrows your life could hold, there would always be someone out there who understood. Someone who could share the burden, who’d offer you a helping hand in the form of art whenever you needed it.

So you quickly added, before Namjoon could say anything, “I’m kidding, yes, I’d love to accompany you.”

He looked so relieved something warm blossomed in your chest, and your cheeks burned.

“Well then,” he said, smiling that dimpled smile. “I should get you home, it’s getting late.”

The perspective of the date ending made your heart squeeze in your chest, for a reason you couldn’t quite understand. “Right,” you agreed.

It was all you said before you both got up, moving to retrieve your coats by the door. After that, you walked towards the outside world, and when Namjoon’s hand accidentally grazed yours – or perhaps it was on purpose – you hooked a finger around his pinky.

Looking up to him, you caught him looking down at you already. From so close, he towered over you, though there was nothing threatening with his height. It felt comforting, safe, as if you were under his protection.

By the warmth in his eyes, you knew you truly were.

You waited in the lobby for the car to come pick you up, Namjoon with his back turned to the people. Though no one looked your way, no one acknowledged your presence, and for a second, you wondered if you really were with a worldwide famous singer or if Namjoon was just a normal person.

Someone like you, someone who could revel in anonymity wherever he went.

“The car is here,” Namjoon told you as you were looking behind him, observing the patrons slowly exiting, laughing about a joke only they knew.

You smiled up at him, before letting him grab your hand properly this time as he led you outside. His large palm engulfed your small one, warmed it up, and your fingers were tingling by the time you reached the car door that Namjoon opened for you.

He really wasn’t a gentleman when you were younger. There was something oddly relieving to see him act in such a way now, showing you that he had grown since you were sixteen and too dumb to actually know what love was.

You settled in the car, reveling in the warm vehicle as Namjoon sat in the seat right next to you. And when the car jostled forward, you became all too aware of the place where Namjoon’s thigh rested against yours, and of where his arm pressed against yours.

You turned your head to look at him, admiring the soft glow on his features induced by the neon lights outside. He met your gaze, offered you a smile, and you felt yourself leaning forward. As if there was a pull between you, something that was inevitable. You had never been good at resisting, so you let yourself be pulled, let yourself find him.

He met you halfway, lips infinitely and surprisingly soft even with the cold January night out there. He sighed against you, shifting slightly so he could angle his head better, deepening the kiss.

And kiss you he did, with memories and yearning and nostalgia that had you part your lips when his tongue swiped at your bottom lip, only to meet it with yours. You remembered days of early art, of words whispered in the dead of night when nothing seemed like it could bring you apart, when you believed it was you and him against the rest of the world.

Your breakup flashed in your thoughts as he rested a hand on your thigh, carefully, but you pushed it away, refusing to let the memory stain this moment with him.

As much as the kiss was unexpected, bubbling out of neon lights on Namjoon’s soft features, it was also expected. As if fifteen-year-old you had expected to find him again, somewhere, even though you had fled to an entire other high school.

As if the story had just been put on hold then, to resume once the time was right. And as much as you usually were wary in your relationships, tonight felt right. It felt right in all the ways that mattered, in his arm on your thigh and the soft smile he offered you when he pulled away, reminding you that you weren’t alone in the car.

You chuckled, blushing deeply, and your hand landed on top of his on your thigh.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, and he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

You leaned into his touch, sighing dreamily. “I don’t know if it’s the wine,” you said, low enough to make sure only his ears could perceive your words, “but I really want to kiss you more.”

That made him laugh, and his hand fell away from your cheek. “Not here,” he said, head motioning to the driver. “You’ll have to wait until Sunday.”

You pursed your lips, thought about it for half a second before you said, “Do you want to sleep over tonight?”

His grip on your thigh slightly tightened, the only indication that your words had had an effect on him. “You’d like that?”

You parted your lips, tongue darting to wet them. “Yes.”

It was no wonder Namjoon ended up pinning you against your closed door as soon as you walked in, locking you between his strong arms as his lips ravished a hungry kiss on your mouth. You grabbed at the lapels of his coat, trying to pull him closer, right as he slipped one of his large hands to arch your back, pressing your front against him.

The second he left your lips to press open-mouthed kisses on your jaw, you fought against his coat to rid him of the clothing. He sucked on your jaw as he helped you, and soon enough, the coat was abandoned on the floor, right as he pulled you in.

You kicked off your shoes, lips meeting again in a kiss that had your head spin, right as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He groaned when you bit on his bottom lip, and then picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He put you down on the decorative table near the door, and in an attempt to rid him of his shirt, you pushed a vase.

The sound that it made when it shattered on the floor startled both of you, and Namjoon looked down, eyes wide.

“Oh no,” he let out.

You caught his startled gaze, breathing raggedly. “Don’t worry, it was just a cheap vase.”

He looked down at the mess, nodding once. “I’ll buy you another one.”

And then he was finding your mouth again, sucking on your lower lip as he started to fight against your coat, trying to get you out of it. He shortly had to pull away, brows knitting together in concentration because, as much as he tried, the zipper of your coat wasn’t budging.

“Hold on,” you said, putting your hands above his.

Much gentler than him, you managed to unzip the coat, and he helped you slip out of it, throwing it towards his. His eyes dropped to your thighs, where your skirt had ridden up to reveal more skin, though you were wearing pantyhose. He ran his hand along your thighs, head hanging low. You watched him do so, watched his jet-black hair falling in his eyes until you couldn’t resist anymore, reaching between you to push it back.

The strands fell right back in front of his eyes, but it attracted his gaze. He looked at you through his hair, dragon eyes burning a hole through you, and you grabbed his cheeks to pull him into yet another heated kiss.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, and he subconsciously grinded against you, though the skirt and the fabric of his own pants kept you from feeling anything.

“You think we can make it to my room,” you whispered as he moved to your neck, kissing a hot kiss just below your ear.

“You’ll have to show me the way.”

You chuckled, gently pushing on his chest until he finally disconnected from your neck and took a step back. It allowed you to plop down from the table on which he had sat you, and you grabbed his hand, right as he dipped his head to kiss you again.

You kissed him back, moaning softly when his large hand cupped your ass, grabbing at the meat hard but not enough to hurt. It had even more heat pool at your core, liquid lava that was slowly making you unravel, and you needed more.

You pulled away from the kiss begrudgingly, mostly because you wanted to stay here, to be consumed with the passion Namjoon’s lips were carving against you.

You had to make it to your room before you went insane. So you pulled him behind you, not once looking back, or else you wouldn’t get there at all. Luckily enough, you held on strong, but the moment you crossed the threshold to your room, Namjoon pulled you against him, large hand resting on the base of your neck to keep you from moving away.

It took all of three seconds before your brain zeroed in on the spot where his hard dick was pressing against your back.

“Can you feel how much I want you?” he asked, voice low and husky, sending shivers all over your body.

You nodded, tilting your head to the side to give him access when he lowered his head. Too tall, he didn’t quite reach your neck, but his breath skimming over your skin made goosebumps erupt on you.

“I want you too,” you replied breathily.

You could hear a dangerous smirk in his voice when he said, “Take that skirt off”.

Something settled deep inside of you, making you into a puppet he could control. Stepping away from him, your hands went behind your back to unzip the skirt, and you let it fall to the floor. It pooled around your ankle, but when he stepped closer again, one hand squeezing the flesh of your ass, you found yourself unable to do anything.

“You should take off the pantyhose, too, before I rip them”, he added.

You didn’t doubt that Namjoon often miscalculated his strength. Even when he was just a gangly teenager, he already struggled with clumsiness. So you pulled the pantyhose down your legs, and you stepped out of the pile of clothing, waiting for him as he moved closer again.

This time, his hands slipped to your front, and he looked over your shoulder as he started undoing the buttons of your blouse, not even caring that you were still wearing the blazer. His breath skimmed on the side of your face as he did so, and your eyes fluttered closed as you focused on every brush of fabric against you while he worked his way down your blouse.

He pushed both the blouse and blazer off your shoulders when he was done, and they fell on the floor behind you. He didn’t seem to care as he wrapped his arm to your front, moving up until he grabbed your breasts through your bra, squeezing slightly.

“Get on the bed,” he commanded then, and still the good puppet you did, walking to the mattress and sitting down, eyes finally finding him again.

He didn’t say anything as he slowly undressed, pulling his cardigan off. It fell somewhere next to the pile of your clothing, and then he attacked the polo, taking it off in one swift motion that revealed the expanse of his wide chest.

His honey skin seemed to prettily gleam in the moonlight, where it was pulled taught over the big muscles of his chest. He looked sculpted in marble, big and buff, and you closed your thighs in reflex at the thought of his weight over you.

Needless to say, he didn’t look like that when he was a teenager at all. Adulthood looked good on him.

He unbuckled his belt next, taking his time as you just surveyed him. Even in the dim light from the full moon outside, you could see the bulge in his pants, and you salivated at the thought of wrapping your lips around him, of tasting him and making him feel good.

The belt fell with a thud to the ground, and your lips parted as he palmed himself, enhancing the size of his bulge. Your eyes widened slightly – he looked far bigger than you had initially thought he’d be, though you weren’t all that surprised with his large frame.

“Take off your bra,” he said next. “I want to see your breasts.”

You nodded, hands going to your back as you unclasped the bra. You slowly took it off, nipples perking when cold air hit them. You shivered once again as his eyes roamed over you, and even more so when he said, “Beautiful” as if you were a piece of art made for him to admire.

And with the way he was looking at you, you thought maybe, maybe you were.

He took a few steps towards you, and your eyes darted towards the lamp on your bedside table. Namjoon caught your motion, and he tutted lightly. “Not tonight,” he told you. “Tonight is about feeling, not about seeing.”

For some reason, you had expected him to be a lights-on kind of partner, but you weren’t mad about his will to stay in the dark. Because you knew all too well how much pleasure could course through your blood when your sense of sight was taken from you. As an artist, you relied on it far more than a lot of people – the loss of it made you weak, in a burning kind of way.

If you were honest, you enjoyed being blindfolded a lot, but you didn’t see yourself asking Namjoon to do it today. Lights off seemed the closest thing to it, so you didn’t argue with him as he used a knee to part your legs in an attempt to get closer to you.

He grabbed your chin, making you tilt your head back so he could catch your gaze. His eyes were dark, even in the silvery moonlight, and you gulped as he gently patted your cheek.

“You’re going to feel good for me, mmh?”

You nodded, entirely unable to use words right now. Mostly because you were but a puppet, and he the puppeteer. He smirked, satisfied, before unbuttoning his pants. Your eyes dropped, and you watched him do it expectantly, teeth gently digging into your bottom lip in apprehension.

The good kind, the one that made you burst into an explosion of flames.

“You think you can wrap your pretty lips around my dick?” he asked.

For a reason unknown, all you were able to mutter back was, “Namjoon.”

“Yes, baby?”

You gulped, and you looked up at him again. You didn’t watch as he took his pants and underwear off in the same motion, didn’t budge your gaze as you heard the slap of his hard dick on his abdomen. From the way his arm moved, large bicep popping slightly, you knew he was jerking off, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look down. Couldn’t bring yourself to gaze away from his eyes as they burned on you, searing their mark right on your soul.

“What is it?” he asked again, with a barely concealed warning in his voice.

He wasn’t one to have to repeat, was he? No, you were pretty sure Namjoon was used to being obeyed, with being the leader of a boyband like BTS. Pretty sure he expected to be obeyed, and somehow that turned you from puppet to puppeteer, as your hands rested on his thick, muscular thighs.

“You want me to suck your dick?” you asked, voice sultry as you moved your hands up, never touching him where he so visibly wanted.

His lips parted, though he remained surprisingly silent. He clearly didn’t expect you to take control of the situation, but from the way his features darkened even more, you knew he liked it.

“Want me to suck you dry?” you added. “Want to come down my throat?”

“Fuck,” he cursed, and he grabbed the base of his dick to gently tap it against the corner of your mouth. “Better get to work, baby. You’re a lot of talk for someone that hasn’t touched me yet.”

“Say please,” you teased, and you let one of your hands move between his legs so you could cup his balls. They sat heavy in your palm, seemingly ready to explode.

“Fuck,” he repeated, adding your name at the end. “Who would have thought you had this in you?”

 Emboldened by his words, you licked at his tip, collecting the precum on his slit. “That wasn’t please.”

He clenched his jaw, eyes shutting in frustration before he finally said, “Please, baby. Please suck my dick.”

You sucked on his tip once, tongue swirling around it, before pulling away. “Good boy.”

That was Namjoon’s undoing. He let go of his dick, grabbed your head, aligning his dick with your mouth as he repeatedly cursed under his breath. You liked him like this, liked the power you had over him. So you resisted, just to piss him off further, but it only seemed to turn him into a whiny mess as begging mixed with cursing.

                Only then did you finally start sucking him off, jaw straining from how big he was. It hurt, and your eyes watered as he reached the back of your throat with not even half of him in your mouth. All you could think of was that he was going to be quite a stretch down there, too, as you looked up at his features, casted in the soft silvery glow of the moon outside.

                You pulled almost all the way out, but the hand on the back of your head held you in place, forcing you to keep him in your mouth. You played with the head of his cock with your tongue, swirling it around it, teasing the slit as the salty taste of precum filled your mouth. You moaned, softly, and Namjoon cursed once more, before falling entirely silent as he watched you take as much of him as you could again.

Once he hit the back of your throat, you swallowed, eyes watering again as you tried to hold in your gag reflex. It didn’t really work, and when you choked, Namjoon pulled out of your mouth.

“You okay?” he asked.

“You’re so big,” you praised, and you grabbed his dick with a loose grip, jerking him off slowly. Mostly, you spread your saliva on his length, wanting to make sure he was well-lubricated for what was to come.

“Why don’t you sit?” you told him, letting go of his dick.

He looked conflicted for about a second before he did. You readjusted yourself so you were kneeling between his powerful thighs, and the new position allowed you to bite at the hard muscles of his abdomen. He hissed, hand going to the back of your head as he guided you towards his dick once more.

“Suck me, baby,” he said, still sounding just as whiny.

Feeling like a brat, you replied, “What do I get in exchange?”

His forehead creased as he furrowed his eyebrows, searching for something to reply. Though Namjoon was not a man of many words, always choosing his words carefully, right now, it seemed he was entirely silenced.

“I’ll fuck you good,” he finally answered, voice low. He bent a little, grabbing your face, and his thumbs stroked your cheeks. “I’ll fuck you good until your legs shake and you can’t walk anymore. Is that a good deal?”

You bit your lip as he let go of you, once again grabbing his dick so he could hold it up for you. Not moving towards it, you rested your head on his thigh, before reaching between his legs to cup his balls. They were heavy in your palm, and you gently massaged them, earning you a soft grunt from him.

“Careful with the balls,” he warned you.

You pouted before leaning between his legs. You avoided his waiting cock, instead aiming for the base of his dick, right between his two balls. You then licked a long stripe towards the top, and Namjoon cursed as you swirled your tongue on his frenulum.

“My bad,” you then apologized, letting go of his balls as you made a mental note that they probably were too sensitive for him to enjoy. “Let me make it up to you.”

He cocked an eyebrow in question, but the second your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock and you sucked hard, he threw his head back, cursing out loud. It finally convinced you to get to work, and you replaced his hand on his dick so you could jerk him off in time with the bobbing of your head.

As big as he was, you found you couldn’t keep going for much longer. So instead of taking all of him in – or as much of him as you could – you focused on his tip, jerking him off faster after having spit in your hand. Looking up at him, you noticed his teeth digging into his lower lip, a clear indication that he was enjoying himself, and then you closed your eyes, focusing on the job at hand.

Focusing on pleasuring Kim Namjoon.

You sucked him off for a while, long enough for his dick to turn rock hard under your ministrations. Long enough for him to be a panting and cursing mess, long enough for your jaw to hurt so bad you almost thought it was going to dislocate. When the pain grew too intense, you sat back on your heels, and stroked his dick, twisting your wrist as you reached the tip.

“So big I can’t even suck you properly,” you commented.

“I’ll stretch you wide open, baby,” he said, and he leaned back on his hands as he looked down at you. “I’ll stretch you so wide you’ll cry my name.”

It was so crass your hand slowed on his dick as you clenched your thighs. “Fuck, Namjoon.”

He smirked, dimples dangerously decorating his cheeks, but an expert motion of your hand had him close his eyes, mouth falling open on a low moan.

“Should I ride you?” you asked him. “I want to feel you inside of me.”

“You’ll need me to get you ready,” he answered once he was able to look at you again. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You almost wanted to tell him that you were going to be okay, but he wasn’t wrong. Fucking yourself on him without having been previously fingered would definitely hurt like a bitch.

“Ride my face?” he suggested as you debated what to do.

You wet your lips, desire pumping through your blood before you told him, “Lie down.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, and you quickly climbed on top of him, straddling his face. His large hands cupped your ass, squeezing and parting your cheeks as he licked a long stripe from your entrance to your clit. He flicked his tongue against the bundle of nerves, and you hissed, fingers getting lost in his hair as you pushed it out of his eyes.

You maintained eye contact as you lowered yourself on him until you were properly seated on his pretty features. His tongue parted your folds, dipping in your entrance, and you instinctively grinded. He pushed the wet muscle deep inside of you, as deep as he could before arching it, searching for your sweet spot.

When you let out a soft moan, he flicked at the same spot again, and you grinded into his face once more.

“Fuck,” you told him. “Right there.”

He understood right away, and he started fucking you with his tongue, hitting that same spot again and again, making the corners of your vision blurry. All you could focus on were his eyes between your legs, and you moaned his name as his fingers dug into the skin of your ass. It hurt a little, and you wondered for a time if he was unaware of his strength.

You wouldn’t be surprised – he was a lot stronger than you had imagined he was.

As Namjoon kept working on you, eating you out and lapping your juices, you palmed your breast, rolling the sensitive nipple between your thumb and index. The added sensation had more of your vision turning blurry, making it hard for you to focus on Namjoon. So you closed your eyes, focusing on the pleasure moving through you, and soon enough, a knot started tightening in your core.

Instinctively, you started grinding into his face, following the rhythm of his tongue inside of you, and the knot tightened and tightened, almost painfully so. When Namjoon landed a surprising slap on your ass, you lost it, knot snapping as your orgasm hit you.

You came hard, walls pulsating around Namjoon’s tongue, and he milked all of your orgasm out of you, lapping your juices as you dripped on him. When you started getting oversensitive, you moved to sit next to him instead. Namjoon didn’t move right away, catching his breath, but when he did move, it was to wipe his chin with the back of his hand. He sat up after that, catching your lips in a quick kiss that left you breathless, mind spinning with the taste of yourself.

“Now I’m going to fuck you,” Namjoon promised.

All you could do was moan as one of his large hands moved between your legs. He pushed two fingers in, and they slid right in with all the lubrication your orgasm had just brought out of you. He fingered you for a few seconds as he littered small kisses on your shoulder and up your neck, and he nibbled at your ear once he reached it.

“You’re going to take all of me, mmh?” he asked right in your ear, voice so low and husky your walls clenched around his fingers.

“Yes,” you answered.

He pulled away, smirking in satisfaction before saying, “Get on all fours. I want to look at your ass while I’m fucking you.”

“You’d like that?” you teased him. “You want to see my ass bounce while you pound into me?”

Your two sentences were enough to silence him once more, and all he managed to do in reply was nod. It made you chuckle, and before you got into position, you crawled to your bedside table, fishing a condom out of the half-empty box you owned from a previous relationship.

“Put this on,” you told Namjoon as you handed him the condom.

He looked down at your hand. “What size is that?”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Regular.”

He laughed before shaking his head at you. You were about to argue when he got up, moving to his discarded pants so he could grab his wallet. “I need bigger than that, baby,” he told you as an explanation, and you rolled your eyes playfully as you put the condom back in your bottom drawer.

Namjoon fished an appropriately-sized condom from his wallet, and he was quick to get it out of the wrapper and put it on his hard length. He hissed a little as he rolled it down his dick, but once it was in place he moved back to the bed, kneeling behind you as you propped your ass up, keeping your face down.

“Gosh, you’re so sexy like this,” he praised you. “Ever since he saw you again, I’ve been wanting to see you like this.”

A drop of warning clouded your senses for a few seconds, but when he rubbed his dick between your folds, pushing it against your clit, lust took over once more. You grabbed at the sheets as he teased the sensitive bundle of nerves again and again, and when you had enough, you cursed.

“Fuck me,” you told him. “Fuck me before I change my mind.”

He slapped your ass. “You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”

Before you could reply, he pushed the fat tip of his cock between your folds, and you moaned at the burning sensation. It was the good kind of burning, the one that left stars dancing behind your eyelids and on the periphery of your vision. It made you clutch the sheets harder, and then Namjoon pushed in, embedding himself deep inside of you.

He grabbed your hips, fingers digging into the supple skin so hard you were pretty sure they were going to leave marks behind, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. All you did was moan loudly, especially as he pulled almost all the way out before slapping his hips forward again.

It was rough, and your body jerked forward from the impact of his pelvis on your ass. You couldn’t think, couldn’t feel anything other than the stretch between your legs, and when he started pounding into you, you felt him so deep you cried out his name.

“That’s it, baby,” he encouraged you. “You take me so well.”

He slightly slowed down, but his hips still snapped forward in quick and harsh thrusts as he leaned forward, adjusting the position. When he was satisfied by the new angle, he resumed his previous speed, as one of his hands grabbed at your hair, pulling it in a makeshift ponytail so he could keep you in place.

He didn’t pull on your hair harder than that, didn’t force you look back at him, and for a moment, all that could be heard in the room was the sound of skin slapping on skin, and the moans and grunts you two were making. It was loud, and you were glad you lived in a house and not an apartment – you were pretty sure your neighbours would have heard otherwise.

When Namjoon landed another slap on your ass, you cursed loudly, and it made him still halfway out of you. He massaged the spot gently, soothing the skin with his warm fingers. “Do you want to switch position?” he asked.

As much as the current position felt good, you knew this angle would never make you cum. So you nodded your head, and Namjoon pulled out of you, sitting back on his heels. You turned towards him, and your eyes fell to his hardened length. To your juice coating the condom, and you got an idea.

“Lean back on your hands,” you ordered.

He cocked an eyebrow in question, yet he still obeyed. When he was properly positioned, you climbed on top of him, grabbing his cock to guide it towards your entrance. You help onto his shoulder with your other hand, and you slowly sunk on him until his cock hit your cervix. It hurt a little, the angle different from earlier yet making you feel so much more, and you grabbed onto his other shoulder.

“Shit,” you cursed.

“You okay?”

You nodded. “You’re so fucking deep.” And then you leaned back a little, and both of your gazes dropped to the space where your bodies were connected. To the bulge in your tummy as you slightly leaned back. “So fucking big we can see you in me.”

He moaned and threw his head back as you moved up, only to slam back down a second later. He put all of his weight on one hand, and his other settled on your waist, following you as you established a slow and sensual rhythm, rolling your hips whenever he was deep inside of you. It had his big cock rubbing against that sweet spot inside of you, and when the corners of your vision turned white, you started moving faster.

You grabbed onto his neck, not squeezing, and you felt him swallow under your palm. Your pleasure increased tenfold as the hand on your waist moved to cup your breast, and when he squeezed your nipple, you clenched your walls hard against his dick.

“Fuck,” he let out, and he looked at you.

The moment his gaze met yours, you started choking him, increasing your speed to chase your orgasm. His mouth fell open, and his dick reached deep inside of you as you kept going, kept splitting yourself on him.

When your orgasm hit, you wrapped an arm around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder. He circled your waist, fucking up into you as much as he could in this position. He rode you through your high, and you were a shaking mess when he finally slowed down, hand rubbing your back soothingly.

“Lie down for me,” he gently said.

You were too lost in ecstasy to argue, and you craved his dick the second it was out of your pussy. He wasn’t out for long, and he kneeled between your legs, holding them to his chest as he pushed in in one powerful thrust. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head with the sensation, and you moaned out his name as he established an unforgiving rhythm.

When his teeth sunk into your calf in a clear attempt to muffle his own moans, you clenched hard around him, and it was enough to get him close. To your surprise, he pulled out of you, quickly taking off the condom, and he pumped his dick, emptying his load on your stomach and pelvis. The feeling of every hot spurt on you had you reach between you, and when some landed on your fingers, you quickly brought them to your mouth, getting a taste of him.

Namjoon grunted, and he slowly decreased the rhythm of his jerking off until he was just holding his dick over you, one last drop of cum meeting the rest on your stomach. You didn’t move for a long time, both of you trying to catch your breath. It took a while, but once your pulse had stopped racing, you propped yourself up on your elbows, looking at the white mess on your stomach.

“You made quite a mess,” you teased him.

“Sorry,” he sheepishly said. “Was that okay?”

You nodded. “As long as you clean it up, yes.”

He laughed, bending so he could retrieve some tissues from your nightstand. He first cleaned his fingers, and then your stomach, making sure not to leave a single drop behind. Still, you felt sticky, and when you offered him to take a shower, he agreed right away.

You let the warm water run on your body, taking with it your sweat and Namjoon’s cum, as you ran your hands through your hair. You sighed, opening your eyes to the sight of him as he looked down at you, a fond smile on his lips.

“Can you pass me the shampoo?”

He nodded, but instead of giving it to you, he motioned for you to turn. “I’ll wash your hair.”

The domesticity of the action had your cheeks burning, and all you could do was hope he hadn’t noticed. You still turned, and when he started massaging your head, you shut your eyes, sighing in contentment. When he was done, he made you turn around so he could wash the shampoo out of your hair, making sure you didn’t get any in your eyes. After that, you switched place so he could wash his own hair, while you busied yourself with cleaning your body, erasing what was left of the action that had transpired between you and Kim Namjoon.

You didn’t speak more in the shower, though you did exchange a slow kiss once you were both entirely clean. Namjoon’s lips seemed more hesitant now, but as you wrapped your arms around his waist, it was his turn to sigh in contentment. His kiss grew more affirmative now, as if he was trying to tell you that he, too, felt a certain way with you.

Because right now, you felt like you were floating, like you were an astronaut in zero gravity. It was dizzying, but in a beautiful way as you held onto him, and he held onto you. It was filled with memories of the past, yes, but also of promises of the future.

That was when you remembered what he had said right before you had started having sex. How he had been imagining you like this ever since you had met again, thirteen years after you’d disappeared from his life. The previous wariness returned, and you pulled away from the kiss to rest your forehead on his chest. He let you do it, unaware of the drop of doubt that was solidifying into lead in your stomach.

After the shower, you lied in bed, Namjoon by your side, unable to form a sentence. Unable to breathe your worries into words, unable to share with Namjoon that you were afraid he only wanted you for sex. And you tried, you really tried to speak, but all you could do was slowly breathe in and out, trying to calm your racing heart before it burst inside your chest.

Right when you thought you had gathered enough courage, Namjoon softly snored next to you, and you realized that, after all, it was too late to share your concerns.

*****

                You stared at the scenery out of the window. You hadn’t been to Ilsan in a long time, but when Namjoon had mentioned he was going to visit his family, offering you a ride – a company official ride, considering he couldn’t drive – you hadn’t been able to say no. So you watched Ilsan from the window of your parents’ kitchen, remembering growing up.

Remembering days of childhood innocence, and of teenager crushes. Of teenager fights, and breakups that had shaped who you had turned out to be. It was strange to think that you were going to circle your way back to Namjoon, that you were going to come here to Ilsan, with him.

You hadn’t told your parents. When they had seen you arrive, they had asked how you had gotten here, considering your car was nowhere to be seen. You had lied through your teeth, saying that you had taken the train, and they hadn’t pushed, knowing that you indeed often took the train anyway, in an attempt to clear your head and sketch some ideas for your next art piece.

Instead, you had been at the back of a company car, chatting the ride away with Kim Namjoon as if it wasn’t only the tenth time you had seen him again after your breakup thirteen years ago. It was like you had never parted – complicity between Kim Namjoon and you was easy as breathing, as natural as the sun shining in the sky overhead. And the sun had shone all the way home, as if to tell you that your worries meant nothing.

But your worries were still haunting you. Hadn’t stopped haunting you since you had sex with him, chasing you through your days, taunting you through your nights. You weren’t able to escape them, especially not as he acted the way that he did.

That is, as if you were far closer than you were. As if the years hadn’t come and gone, as if thirteen years had been just the blink of an eye. It was strange to you, stranger still, that whenever you were with him, you tended to forget too. Tended to bask in his warmth, and it was no wonder your relationship was so physical.

Indeed, sometimes you even thought that it was all there was. Because each time you had seen him after your date had been physical, his body on top of yours as he fucked your brains out. As you climbed on top in an attempt to gain control, but you doubted you’d ever have the control when it came to Kim Namjoon.

So you looked outside the kitchen window, trying to remember who you were. Trying to remember what you wanted, and trying to figure out what you should eat for dinner later.

You were here for four days, and though you had brought supplies so you could paint here, hoping your childhood home would bring you inspiration, all you had been able to do was worry about Kim Namjoon and what he meant in your life.

You weren’t sure it mattered. Because even though your relationship was purely physical, it still brought you satisfaction. Always left you swimming in ecstasy, always made you sleep soundly for a few days.

It had been weeks since your date. Almost two months, actually. Namjoon had texted you regularly, though the conversation never really delved into subjects that mattered. He was too busy to hang out often, but he made you feel as if he was making time for you. Yet you couldn’t shake what he had said out of your mind.

Did you want to just be someone Kim Namjoon saw when he needed to fuck? When he needed to paint himself on you, to bring more confusion into the mess of art your mind had been since the date?

The answer was easy. No, you didn’t wish to be just that. You’d never been one to have fuck buddies, and every time you saw Namjoon, the impression was reinforced. Perhaps because he made small comments, about how he was glad he could fuck you, glad you were in his bed.

Glad you moaned out his name whenever you came, and evidently, he made you come plenty enough. But yet you needed more, and you hated yourself for it.

Why complicate something that was so easy? So you remained silent, never said anything, though you did hold onto him as much as you could when you slept in his arms, trying to remind yourself that if he just wanted sex, he wouldn’t sleep over, or ask you to stay.

Would he have offered to drive you to Ilsan if you were nothing to him? You highly doubted so. Especially considering how he had talked to you, how comfortable he was next to you.

You sighed, looking away from the window as you turned towards the living room. Your father was napping on the couch, and your mother had gone to the market, declining your offer to come with as she had claimed you needed to work on your paintings.

You had been staring at the canvas for an hour before you had come to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, and you had already finished it as you had watched the world outside the kitchen window, lost in thought. You figured taking a walk would help clear your mind, and you hoped you’d find inspiration by the time you were back home.

Though the weather was warmer outside than it was weeks ago, when you had your date with Namjoon, you still wrapped a thick scarf around your neck, burying yourself in the warm coat you had brought here. You put on your Chelsea boots, and the minute you stepped outside, you loosened the scarf.

The air smelled fresh and hinted at spring. There was no snow, most of it having melted under the peculiar warmth, and by the time you made it to the end of the street, you unzipped your coat too, feeling too hot.

You turned to your left, bowing your head slightly at the older couple that you passed. They reciprocated, but you didn’t pay attention to them more than necessary as you walked towards the park behind your middle school. The middle school where you and Namjoon had first fallen in love when you were dumb and young.

Ten minutes later, the building came into view, and memories swarmed in, chasing Namjoon out of your thoughts. Well, chasing current Namjoon out of your thoughts as you remembered your classes, and the teacher that you had always hated. As you remembered sitting on the bleachers of the soccer field, chatting the evening away when you were supposed to be home.

It was no surprise that you found yourself making your way to those bleachers, and you sat as high as you could, eyeing the empty field. It was the middle of the week, and the soccer field was empty save for birds searching for worms in the wet grass.

You leaned back on your hands so you could look up, gazing at the few clouds in the sky. Wind played with your hair, blowing it in your face, but you ignored it, focusing on the fresh air. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you inhaled deeply.

You were calm and content... until you let out a startled cry as someone said your name. Your eyes flew open to the sight of Kim Namjoon at the bottom of the bleachers, looking up at you.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you told him, hand on your racing heart. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just out on a walk,” he informed you. “Didn’t expect to run into you.”

He walked up the bleachers, sitting next to you before you replied. “Your parents are bothering you?” you teased, gently nudging him.

“Nah,” he said, laughing. “I’ve been songwriting since I got here? Can’t get this song right, so I decided to walk. Thought it’d help clear my mind.”

Of course, he was out and about for the same reason as you. Because you and Kim Namjoon were far more similar than you wanted to believe it. Sometimes, it led you to think that you were two of the same person, and usually, whenever you thought that you had to rein yourself in, reminding yourself that all he did with you was have sex.

“Couldn’t paint,” you admitted.

“Your parents are bothering you?” he asked, repeating your question with a corner smile and a single dimple.

This time, you pushed him, laughing before replying, “You’re annoying.”

He grinned, though you both fell silent as your gazes moved up to the sky, and you enjoyed the afternoon warmth. You knew the night would get cold, but you still had a few more hours of sunlight before the world gave way to darkness.

“You know,” he said as your eyes chased a white cloud on the cerulean expanse of the sky. “I was hoping we could hang out, while we’re here?”

He said it like a question, as if asking for permission, and it had your heart race in your chest. “Aren’t you afraid of your parents asking questions?”

“Not really,” he answered. “They know that you came with me. They want me to invite you over for dinner.”

Your gaze widened as it dropped to him. He was already looking at you, a small, hopeful smile on his lips. “Is that something that we’re supposed to be doing?” you enquired.

It seemed to take him by surprise. “What do you mean?”

You reckoned now was a good time as any to voice your concerns. Perhaps because the scene was familiar, safe, and you couldn’t deal with the concern gnawing at your nerves anymore.

“What are we, exactly?” you said, softly, finally giving voice to the worries.

Namjoon’s eyes went round as blush crept on his cheeks. “What?”

The drop of lead from that first date grew inside of you. “It’s just… we’ve only been hanging out for sex, correct?”

“Is that what it is for you?” he enquired after a few seconds of silence, of him just watching you with a somber expression.

You chuckled awkwardly. “To be entirely honest, I don’t do this. So no, I’d hope it’s not that, but…” you trailed off, eyes falling to the field in front of you. “You haven’t really made me feel like you’re in this for more than just sex.”

He leaned forward as if trying to gain your attention. As your gaze remained stubbornly on the empty field, he said your name once. His voice was soft, gentle, and that, more than anything, made you turn to look at him.

“I thought we were… dating?” he admitted. “I… I’m sorry if I just… assumed?”

It was such a Namjoon thing to do that you couldn’t even blame him. His revelation made the lead melt away to be replaced by a sweet warmth much like the one the sun rays carried. “Oh?”

As you didn’t say anything else, Namjoon straightened, putting a little distance between the two of you. “Unless that’s not what you want?”

In truth, yes, it probably was what you had been wanting since the beginning. Since he had arrived at your house with the flowers before the date, and since his lips had found yours for the first time again after thirteen years apart. You had been wanting him, more than just physically.

“I mean…” You chuckled awkwardly again, shrugging your shoulders. “Yes, that’s what I want.”

He grinned, dimples flashing blindingly, even more so than the sun in the sky up above. “Good. So you’ll come over for dinner?”

This time you laughed, and you cocked an eyebrow. “With just a few hours notice?”

“Yeah?” He shrugged. “My parents already know you, what does it change?”

And when you held his soft gaze, you decided why not? Why not dive in feet first, and not care about the consequences?

You doubted there’d be anything negative to come out of a dinner with Namjoon’s parents. And turned out you were right – both of them were happy to see you, and Namjoon’s mom kept repeating how proud she was that Namjoon had found you again, in Seoul. To Namjoon’s dismay, she told you about just how much Namjoon had cried after your breakup, and about how much it had encouraged him to become a rapper. Namjoon was red up to the tip of his ears as you looked at him, yet he didn’t scold his mother, didn’t tell her to stop.

And this, most of all, was the Namjoon you remembered from thirteen years ago. A shy, sweet boy who was always good to his elders, always polite and ready to help. He did help his mother, doing the dishes along with you after you’d eaten, and when it was time for you to leave, his father scolded him and told him to walk you home.

Namjoon grumbled that he was already going to do so, and you said your goodbyes to his parents before walking out into the night. It was a lot colder than it had been during the day, and you buried your hands in the pockets of your coat as you walked close to Namjoon, his arm brushing yours with every step that you took.

“Sorry about that,” Namjoon apologized.

You glanced up at him, gazing at the aura around his head caused by the streetlight behind him. “About what?”

He shrugged. “The dinner. I didn’t expect my parents to be weird about it.”

“They weren’t,” you reassured him. You walked in silence for a time, eyes moving back to the street in front of you. It was empty, even though it wasn’t particularly late at night. Perhaps it rendered you bolder, because you said, “I’m really happy I said yes. I missed them.”

He smiled, softly. “They missed you too.”

A comfortable silence moved between you, and you basked in it as you made your way home, with your teenage lover by your side. It was hard to believe that he was next to you right now, and just like that, you knew what you were going to paint when you were home.

“The night is beautiful,” Namjoon said softly. “Makes it feel like we never left, you know?”

“Like it hasn’t been thirteen years, right?”

He nodded. “The weight of the years does feel lesser since we’ve reconnected.”

His words had warmth blossom in your chest, heating up your body in the cold early spring night. They had you glance at him, and when you found him already looking at you, you stopped. He stopped just a step ahead of you, turning to look at you.

“Do you think we were just right people, wrong time?” you asked. “I’ve been thinking… it’s been so easy with you, since our date. It’s strange to believe that it would be, no?”

“The years haven’t changed us as much as you’d imagined they would,” he agreed. “Like…” he glanced up at the sky, searching for words to voice his feelings. “BTS came into my life after you. I’d say it changed me, made me grow up far faster than I thought I would. Being the leader and all, I had a lot of responsibilities on me, you know?”

You nodded, not really knowing where he was going.

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to be the leader,” he continued, revealing something you weren’t sure he had said out loud to anyone before. “I wish I didn’t have this weight on me and… in November, when I saw you again, I was going through a hard time. I didn’t entirely recognize you at first, but I was drawn to your gallery again and… I tried to find a reason to visit. To find a reason to talk to you.”

His eyes met yours again, and you almost balked at the intensity of his gaze.

“I felt lighter with you than I’d felt in years. So, when you say right people, wrong time, I think you’re right. I think thirteen years ago was all fucked up for us, but I think we were always meant to find each other again, through all the craziness of the world.”

You didn’t hesitate. You grabbed the lapels of his coat, pulling him down in a kiss. He kissed you back instantly, though his lips were slow against yours. Soft, anchoring you in this moment, in this space that had used to be yours when you were younger. He kissed you like time had slowed for you, like you had all night to stay right here, in this spot.

Your heart found a soothing rhythm in your chest, one echoed in his own ribcage, and his large hands found your waist to pull you closer. When he slipped his tongue in your mouth, you sighed dreamily, the taste of him so heavenly now that the lead in your stomach was gone that you thought you were going to start flying right here, right now.

Namjoon pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, and your breaths moved up in the sky, forming a single cloud over your heads.

“Had I known that you were worried I wasn’t into you like this, I wouldn’t have had sex with you every time we hung out,” he admitted, softly.

That, more than anything else, finished reassuring you.

“Hey,” you let out. “It’s okay. I should have spoken to you about it before.”

He pecked your lips once more before pulling away. He offered you his hand, and you gently took it as he smiled at you, his dimples so familiar on his cheeks that you wanted to drown in him.

“Let’s get you home,” he said. “I wouldn’t want your parents to worry.”

“I’m an adult now,” you reminded him, earning a laugh as he pulled you towards your house.

He shrugged. “They are still your parents; they’ll always worry for you.”

His words held truth, so you didn’t resist as he finished walking you home. You stood in front of the gate, looking at each other, and Namjoon gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers grazed down your face until they rested on your jaw, and he leaned down to press another gentle kiss on your lips, one that had you wish you didn’t have to part with him for the night.

One day, you liked to believe you wouldn’t have to part at all.

*****

                Being in a relationship with Kim Namjoon was easy. The weeks following your trip to Ilsan had you growing ever so closer, and you accompanied him to a dinner with all of his members. There, you saw what it meant for him to be the leader, but you kept your hand in his, bearing the weight of it along with him, even though it wasn’t like he had to keep them in check in private.

You had left early as you needed to go to your studio early in the morning, but had been unable to part with Namjoon, which wasn’t all that surprising to you or him. You both liked sharing a bed, liked the closeness that it allowed you. So you stayed the night, and the next day you made your way to your studio level-headed, ready to paint all day after your meeting with your manager. Your phone was dead, but you knew she wasn’t one to miss a meeting, and you figured you could always charge your phone when you got to the studio.

To your surprise, Sooah wasn’t alone when you got there. There was a suit-clad man, and he bowed his head at you respectfully as you walked in. You threw a curious look to Sooah, and the expression on her face made your heart drop to your ass, if that was possible.

“Hi,” the man politely said. “I’m glad you’ve finally showed up.”

He sounded annoyed, and it grated your nerves right away. You cocked an eyebrow before saying, “To whom do I owe the pleasure?”

“I am Jo Jonghyuk,” he answered, offering his hand for you to shake. “Hybe representative.”

You let out a nervous chuckle. “What’s bringing you here?

Sooah was the one to answer. “There’s been leaked pictures of you and Namjoon,” she informed you carefully. “They are… all over the media this morning.”

A drop of cold sweat rolled down your spine. “Excuse me?”

You hadn’t noticed it before, but the man had a briefcase. He quickly opened it, getting a stack of papers out of it that he handed to you unceremoniously. You looked at them, eyes widening as you saw the series of pictures, all of them of you and Namjoon.

And your face was far too recognizable. You couldn’t pretend it wasn’t you, couldn’t pretend you had no idea what the man was talking about. So when he asked if there was a space where you could sit down to discuss, you let Sooah suggest heading downstairs. You followed them with fear in your gut, and even when you were sitting on the couches downstairs, you still couldn’t stop your heart from racing in your chest.

“So,” the man said. “We’re aware that our artists have lives outside of the company.” He paused, watching you carefully. “But we need to preserve their image. I’m sure you can understand?”

Sooah saved you by replying. “What is that supposed to mean for Y/n?”

“Namjoon is currently in a meeting with other representatives. He will be asked the same thing as you,” the man offered as an explanation.

You cocked an eyebrow. “And what is it that I’m going to be asked?”

“Keep the relationship behind closed doors.” The man motioned around you. “As an artist, I’m sure you understand how one’s image is important. The stocks are going to be impacted if it is said that Kim Namjoon is in a relationship, and not for the better. We are going to release a statement later in the day to refute the rumours.”

It wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be, yet you still felt sick, down to your very core. “And this needed an early morning meeting?”

You’d like to think that you sounded arrogant, defiant, but your voice was filled with nerves, shaking pathetically.

The man offered you a polite smile. “No. I’m here to have you sign an NDA.”

That made more sense. And still, it wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be – it wasn’t like you were going to scream about your relationship with Namjoon. After all, it still was fairly new, and you also wanted to preserve your anonymity.

In that instant, as the man pulled out said NDA from his briefcase, you understood something. Your anonymity was gone, gone like the winds of winter as the world outside slowly turned to spring.

Your face was visible in the pictures. People had seen you around the gallery, outside of official events, when you wore your mask.

You signed with a trembling hand, barely recognizing your own name on the paper, and the man offered you a copy of it before saying that he had to go. He thanked you for your cooperation on the way out, and when he was gone, disappearing at the bend in the street, you turned towards Sooah.

“I’m fucked,” you said.

She pursed her lips, concern moving on her features. “You are not. There’s no indication that people will associate you with Maehwa. I don’t think this will affect the gallery.”

You shook your head. “You don’t understand.” You scoffed, gaze dropping to the floor as the lead you had felt after your first date with Namjoon rematerialized, turning into a reality you didn’t think you were ready to gaze at. “It’s just a matter of time. His fandom discovers everything. They will know it’s me.”

“Then we’ll use it as publicity.”

Your eyes widened as you looked at your manager. “You can’t be serious.”

“Your art is beautiful,” she reminded you. “You’ve been building your reputation for years. Why would you being a human, having relationships, impact it?” She paused as if to give weight to her question. “It’s just going to put emphasis to the emotion in your art. People won’t see you as a masked individual anymore, but rather as the person behind the artist.”

You didn’t want to hear her. Knew she was being rational, yet couldn’t bear the truth in her words. Perhaps because you had always loved your anonymity. Always wanted to keep it, to use it to protect yourself from the world of fame, a world you had never wanted for yourself.

No, you just wanted to make art. To enjoy the science behind the pieces, the emotions that made you create. You were afraid it was going to be taken from you now. And who were you to blame? It was just a question of time before people connected the dots between you and Namjoon, thanks to the pictures, yes, but also to the interview that had yet to be released.

“Deep breaths,” Sooah said calmly, cutting through your spiraling. “I promise it’ll be okay.”

“What if it’s not?” you asked. “What if I can’t paint anymore?”

“You’ve been painting your whole life,” she reminded you. “You won’t suddenly stop because of rumours about you.”

See, that was the logical way to think about it. You clung to the words, held them close to your heart and let them replay in your head. It eased the anxiety that was building inside of you, and soon enough, your frantic breathing returned to normal.

“Shit.”

Sooah raised her eyebrows, waiting to make sure your spiraling truly was over. When you didn’t say anything else, she nodded once, patting you on the shoulder. “It’s all going to work out. And besides, congrats on your relationship with Namjoon?”

She said it like a question because, frankly, you hadn’t told Miyoung or Sooah a lot about you and Namjoon, except that you were taking things slow. It was the best you had been able to come up with, back when you thought he was only seeking carnal union with you, and you hadn’t changed the narrative after you and Namjoon had made it official in Ilsan.

And later, as you worked on the painting you had started in Ilsan, you pictured the cold night, when he had kissed you under the streetlamps. When you had realized that you had truly been wrong all along, that life was a cycle bringing you back to him. Back to where it had all started. You remembered his soft lips on yours, and that, most of all, finished calming you down from the anxiety.

Every stroke of your brush on the canvas, every new line, meant a thousand words, as you painted. As you created art from nothing but the memories your art held, as you put them together to form the image that had come to you that cold night. It was beautiful, in a heavy kind of way, because the emotions were heavy. The love, the recognition and the knowledge of life and the cycle of it, all entwined together to form something that only you and Namjoon could understand.

And as you worked, forgetting all about the world outside, all about the threat to your anonymity, you believed everything was going to be alright…

Almost.

*****

                “Thank you,” you thanked the young girls after they were done perusing your gallery.

It had taken all but a few hours for your artist self to be associated with Kim Namjoon and your gallery. On the same day, you had received more visitors than you had ever had, and though you had donned your mask, you knew it was pointless.

Knew from the looks and the whispers that people knew. Still, for the next following days, you kept wearing your mask. Kept trying to ignore how people weren’t here for your art anymore, but rather for you as a person. For your connection to Kim Namjoon, for what you meant to him and what he meant to you.

Namjoon had been understanding when you had told him how anxious the situation was making you. Had suggested avoiding public spaces altogether, and so far, you had only been able to see him once for dinner two days ago.

The dinner had been spent in far more silence than usual, while you both contemplated what this meant for you. You had settled on really taking it slow, letting the rumours die of their own volution instead of doing more about them. Because Hybe had released a statement, and already Dispatch was on the newest rumour, forgetting all about your possible connection with Kim Namjoon.

Except for the fans, that is. Because the fans came to your gallery, complimented your art, though you did see them snickering in your back. Before, you had believed you were above this, above petty gossiping and jealous bullying, especially coming from younger people. After all, younger people were that – young, and youth often held an amount of stupidity that was rarely found elsewhere.

As it had been the case for you and Namjoon, thirteen years ago.

Still, you found you were increasingly anxious, and instead of expecting Namjoon’s next message, his next call, you started dreading them. It was vicious, poisoning your blossoming relationship without him even being aware of it.

How could you blame him? He was used to this life, after all.

You sighed in your mask, hating the way your eyes burned. They burned more now that you wore the mask more often, drying out whenever you breathed out too strongly. You had gotten artificial tears, and you couldn’t wait to be able to lubricate your eyes as you watched the last few people milling about your gallery.

It was almost closing time, and you were looking forward to it more than you usually did. Mostly because you wanted to bask in calmness and silence for a while, if only to be able to get a grip on the anxiety.

Two older women approached you, hands behind their backs, where you stood by the big painting of Ilsan. They bowed politely, and to your relief, asked you if one of the pieces was for sale. Art enthusiasts, then. It was reassuring to see some of them in your gallery, even after all the recent events.

“Yes,” you answered them politely. “It’s currently on auction for the month. You can put in your own bid if you’d like.”

The smallest one pursed her lips, tilting her head to the side. “How expensive was the last bid?”

Even though this was supposed to be Sooah’s job, you still had access to the app where the bidding took place. So you took your phone out of your pocket, heart dropping in your chest when the screen lit up to show you three texts from Namjoon. You ignored them, swiping the phone open before clicking on the app.

As it loaded, you looked up to smile at the women. “Just a moment.”

They nodded in understanding, yet one of them looked over her shoulder as if annoyed. You felt bad, but it wasn’t like you controlled the technology. All you could do was wait, and the second the app opened, you scrolled down to the current bidding.

You hadn’t checked it since the bidding had started. Lowest bid had been set at 5 million won, but right now, the number you were reading on the screen didn’t even make any sense.

“Huh,” you let out, and you looked at the women, chuckling awkwardly. “It seems the bid for this piece has gone out of the roof.”

That was putting it lightly. Because, looking at the amount on your phone, you believed the bid had been sent to outer orbit.

The smaller woman winced. “How high?”

“1.2 billion won,” you replied. You checked your phone to make sure and even showed the screen to them.

“Oh,” she said. “We can’t afford that.”

You offered them an apologetic smile. “I have more pieces that are on sale and not on auction if you want me to show you.”

The one that seemed like she wanted to leave suddenly widened her gaze. “Oh, that would be lovely.”

They ended up buying a smaller drawing, saying that they were sure the value of it would skyrocket if they ever wanted to sell it. You wanted to tell them that it probably was just a bubble caused by the rumour and that it’d soon burst. Evidently, you couldn’t tell them that, both because of the NDA and because you were growing tongue-tied with the praise they were sending your way. Instead, all you did was offer them a wink, saying that you hoped they’d hold onto it dearly, and then you walked them to the door as it was closing time anyway.

When the door was locked behind them, you leaned against it, sighing shakily. With trembling hands, you fished your phone out of your pocket, and you went through the different pieces you had on auction. Half of the profits were going to a charity for abused women, and still, it’d leave you with much more money than you ever thought you’d own.

You called Sooah, but it was her day off. You didn’t expect her to pick up, as she had told you she was going to be busy tonight, and of course, she didn’t. You still sent her a text to tell her to check the auction app, and then you pushed up from the door, heading to your studio downstairs.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, amidst the brushes and pots of paint you had left hanging around, not really caring about cleaning after yourself when you were in the arms of inspiration. But right now, the mess was making you feel like an imposter, like people would soon find out that you weren’t worth it.

It was then that you finally checked what Namjoon had sent you.

I hope all is well, his first message read. It was followed by, I’ll be in the studio until later tonight, but would you like to hang out after? Finally, his last message was, I’m going to come over to your studio after closing hour with take-out

For some reason, the thought of him coming here made you want to disappear through the floor, but it was already too late. Indeed, your phone started vibrating in your hand with an upcoming call, and his name on the screen taunted you, telling you that, yes, you were just an imposter.

You picked up, hands shaking slightly as you brought the phone to your ear.

“Busy night,” Namjoon said as a greeting.

You let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. You’re on your way?”

“I’m outside,” he admitted. “Just waiting for some people to walk away before I come in. I assume it’s locked?”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “I’ll come open for you.”

There was an awkward silence as if he expected you to say something more. When you didn’t, he said, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied, and cringed at yourself. You weren’t a liar, hated lying, and lying to him felt like you were eating something foul. “Just tired.”

“Well, I hope you’re excited for some take-out. I got your favourite.”

Now, your heart ached in your chest. Because that was Namjoon. Namjoon would always get your favourite food, would always know what to do to cheer you up. Tonight, it felt wrong, as if you didn’t deserve it.

And really, did you deserve it at all? Did you deserve the attention that he had brought to you? Did you deserve the shine in the spotlight?

You highly doubted so.

Walking upstairs felt like a trek to the top of Mount Everest. You were aware that it was anxiety, that you probably shouldn’t listen to the thoughts right now. But they were taunting you, haunting you, a thousand little ghosts spinning around your head in dizzying circles until all that was left was a broken piece of you.

The sight of Namjoon, hood up and mask on, on the other side of the door wasn’t a relief. It was a hand clutching your throat, choking you up until you were left gasping for air on the ground. You stalled for a few seconds, and you wondered if he could feel your hesitancy. If he knew the spirals you had been going down, if he knew you were questioning everything.

You clenched your jaw, sighed deeply, and somehow a small spark of light split the darkness. Because this was Namjoon. This was the same Namjoon as a decade ago. The first boy you had ever loved – could he still really just be that today?

Finally, you walked over to the door, unlocked it and opened it for him. His dragon eyes were unreadable, but they were questioning. You felt as if they were asking questions to your soul directly and, ever bared in front of him, you were pretty sure your soul was answering.

“Hey baby,” he greeted you as he walked in, and you quickly shut the door and locked it behind him.

“Hi,” you said, voice vulnerable in the midst of your anxiety.

“You’ve been busy?” he asked, the soothing tone of his voice dragging a gentle hand on your back, telling you that maybe, maybe if you could let go of the anxiety, everything would be okay.

But could you, when its talons had sunk so deep into your heart you couldn’t quite tell if it was still beating?

“Yeah,” you answered. “I’ve been working on a piece and… didn’t see the time fly.”

He nodded understandingly. “Of course. That’s why I brought food.”

And that was how you found yourself sitting next to him on the couch in your studio, eyes trailing to your piece of art. You wondered if he could see your anxiety in the swirls of darker colours on the canvas. Could he tell you were haunted?

Could he be the solution?

“I think my album is going to be good,” he said as he swallowed the fried chicken he was eating. “You’re going to love it.”

You pursed your lips, not willing to tell him that you’d always loved whatever he made, even back then. “Of course.”

He flashed you a smile, but you could see that it wasn’t quite reaching his eyes. He didn’t say anything though, and you both finished eating in silence. When you were done, Namjoon sat back in the couch, letting out a long sigh as one of his hands gently landed on your thigh. You immediately tensed, and his hand slid away, fingers flexing as if they wished they could hold onto you, but knew it was best not to.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, his deep voice surrounding you, echoes reverberating through the fabric of your soul.

Could you tell him? Could you be honest with Kim Namjoon, or would it make him run away?

A scary thought formed in your mind, coming from the dirtiest part of your soul. Would it be better if he ran away?

“A lot,” you admitted, unable to hide the truth from him. “Quite a lot.”

You met his gaze for a few seconds before finding solace in your painting again.

“You know you can talk to me,” he gently said.

“I know.”

But you couldn’t. You didn’t want to have to tell him that this was all too much for you. That it was too quick, that you felt like you were stuck in a train aiming for a wall at top speed.

“I’m sorry,” he said after the silence had stretched so much, you thought it was about to rip the fabric of reality itself.

“What for?” you asked, genuinely wondering.

He leaned his elbows on his knees, pulling at some calluses on his palm that he got from working out without gloves on. “We haven’t really talked about the rumours.”

You hadn’t. Hadn’t even mentioned anything once, preferring to act as if it had never happened. Foolishly, you’d hoped that it would preserve your anonymity, even after it was gone. Even after the first fans stepped foot in your gallery, even after you’d seen articles about you in the press.

“Yeah.”

“Is that what’s on your mind?” he asked, and he turned his head towards you.

From this angle, it was entirely too hard to avoid his gaze. Instead, you latched onto it, hoping it would make everything better.

“It might be,” you said. You sighed, wetting your lips before you added, “It is.”

“How have you been feeling?”

You weren’t sure there was a way to answer the question. Because you didn’t want him to know just how bad the anxiety had gotten, didn’t want him to know that your life changing so much in such a short amount of time was the scariest thing that had ever happened to you.

“Stressed,” you answered, deciding to use a lesser word in the hope that it wouldn’t hurt him too much. “Especially now that the anonymity is gone.”

He nodded. “I was expecting that to happen.”

You cocked an eyebrow, but found yourself unable to say anything else.

“I’m sorry I took that away from you,” he murmured, and a flash of pain in his eyes told you that he really was.

That Kim Namjoon felt guilty when it came to you, more than he had probably ever felt guilty about anything in life.

“You didn’t mean to,” you reassured him. Because it was the truth – you couldn’t be angry at him for what had happened. You had been part of it just as much as him.

“But it’s still my fault,” he added. “It’s because of me if the media has been after you.”

“It’s not because of you.” You paused, searching for the right words to convey the meaning you wanted. “It’s not you as a person, but rather what you mean to the world.”

You slightly winced, convinced that you had somehow landed on the wrong words after all.

“Possibly,” he said. He sighed, before once again sitting back on the couch. His fingers twitched before he clenched them on his thighs, visibly resisting the urge to do something.

To touch you, you assumed.

“Possibly,” he repeated. “But it’s hard to separate the person that I am from the person that I mean to others. To me, it’s just me, both of these.”

You nodded, because you already knew that. Namjoon was authentic through and through, with everything that he did and was. With every single one of his words – he was a cool-minded reflective person, and it was one of the things you liked the most about him. Maybe because it was such a stark contrast from when he was young, blood boiling at any minor inconvenience.

Maybe because it was an anchor in an otherwise stormy life.

“I know,” you said. “And that’s why I don’t believe it’s your fault. You didn’t mean for any of that to happen. And neither did I.”

“Still sucks that it did.”

You’d never heard a truer sentence before. And it was rhetorical, didn’t mean for a reply. All that you could do was nod, gaze escaping from his to find your wriggling fingers in your lap. A new silence stretched between you, still as heavy. Heavier than gravity – was it going to form a black hole between you and him?

“What’s that painting you’ve been working on?” he asked.

You glanced towards the art. Observed the paler backdrop, the painting that you had started in Ilsan. Your anxiety had splashed swirls of darker blue over it, adding melancholy to it that you’d never really visited in your art before.

“Something to get my mind off the edge,” you admitted. “I’ve been trying to pour my thoughts into it. To escape reality for a time.”

Maybe it had been the wrong thing to say. Weeks later, you’d look back on this moment and realize that it was the catalyst to the destruction. But right this instant, you couldn’t even think past the words.

“To escape?” he prodded.

You nodded. “Don’t you use music as an escape?”

“Yeah,” he said, but somehow his voice was flat.

It brought your attention back to him, and you noticed his eyes on you. Noticed the grief that your words had instilled behind his pupils, hiding somewhere in the deep brown of his gaze.

“So I assume you must understand.”

He didn’t answer right away. Held your gaze as if time had stopped, and maybe it should have. Maybe time should have been kind to you and him, in its chronology.

“If you need an escape from this,” he said, motioning vaguely between you and him, “maybe we shouldn’t be doing it at all.”  

Your heart stopped in your chest, turning cold. Anxiety flooded in, washing away everything that you once were. You felt naked, young, as if you’d gone back in time and were watching him walk away again.

“I never said I needed an escape from us,” you said, and the venom in your voice surprised both you and him.

“Are you happy right now?” he enquired. In a whisper, as if it was the scariest thing. And scary words could never be uttered too loud – wouldn’t they just break everything in their wake?

“I’m not sure.” You saw the flash of hurt on his face, and you quickly rushed to add, “I’m just so anxious.”

“I’ve been making you feel anxious?”

You shook your head. “No. Not you. The situation. The sudden fame. The spotlight and my art being sold at crazy prices. The fact that I have to worry about paparazzi, about what I do or say. It’s so sudden.”

Namjoon didn’t reply right away. Instead, he looked at you, gaze heavy with feelings you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Maybe it was understanding – because of course he’d understand what you were going through. He was going through it too, though he’d known this life for years now.

“I’m sorry I brought this to you,” he eventually chose to say, carefully. As if he was aware you were fragile glass right now, one wrong move and you’d explode into a million tiny little shards. “I can take it away easily,” he claimed.

You cocked an eyebrow, because was he offering you salvation? You highly doubted he could.

“How?”

He pursed his lips, features turning apologetic for a time. “We break up. We go our separate ways, I get the rumours off your back. No one’s going to be after you anymore if they think I’m with someone else.”

The loudest sound in the universe was your heartbeat, in that instant. It was so loud even your thoughts became distant little specks, unable to break the wall of sound.

“What?”

He sighed, shrugging. As if he was giving up, as if he’d given up even before he’d gotten here. “If being with me makes you so anxious,” he started. “And by that, I mean not me as a person. What I mean to the world, or whatever it is that you said earlier. If it makes you too anxious, I’m just going to remove myself from the situation.”

Were you stupid, for being unable to reply anything other than ‘what?’ again? Perhaps you were. Especially as he scoffed this time around, and something started aching in your chest, differently than it was before.

“I think it’s better for you if we break up,” Namjoon explained. When you remained silent this time around, he slowly shut his eyes, head hanging low. “I don’t think I could reassure you enough when it comes to your anxiety for us to be able to be together.”

Your heart felt as if it had slowed down in your chest, so much so that the world surrounding you turned silent, soundless. You heard the breath of air that you took in, cringing as it did nothing to ease the slowly rising panic in you.

“I don’t want us to break up,” you said, murmured, though the moment the words crossed the threshold of your lips you realized that perhaps this had been what you were aiming for all along.

“I can’t date someone that gets so anxious just because they’re with me,” he answered, and he looked truly apologetic. Guilty too, as if he had committed the worst crime humanity could witness.

And perhaps breaking a heart truly was the worst crime out there.

It felt unlike Namjoon. You’d gotten the impression that he was someone reliable, someone cool-headed who’d be able to support you, to help you go through your anxiety. But as you stared at him, sitting there on the couch in your studio, you realized that he, too, struggled with his own anxiety. Had probably struggled with a lot of it in the past, so much so that he couldn’t afford to put himself in a situation where he’d only get bad again.

The only solution appeared like a dark cloud looming over the horizon of your conscience. You wished wind could blow it away, wished you were strong enough to manage your anxiety without losing him, but you knew it’d be easier once he was gone. Knew your sleep wouldn’t be as troubled, knew you’d be able to dwindle away into anonymity once more.

You had to let him go. For your sake, mostly, but for his too. Because he deserved someone who could shine with him in his spotlight, someone who’d be able to accept all of him, including his fame. And that just wasn’t you.

“Namjoon…”

“It’s hard for me too, you know?” he added. “To watch the person that I love getting worse every day, knowing that I’m the cause of it. Y/n…” he paused, and this time he was the one to look away. “I haven’t even seen you smile in weeks. Ever since the rumours.” He shook his head. “Even before that. I’m not sure you’ve been happy since we started dating.”

“That’s not true,” you declared, trying to put as much conviction in your words as you possibly could. “I was happy in Ilsan. I was happy when we came back, too. It really is just the sudden fame that’s been throwing me off.”

You were relieved you’d finally found words to explain your anxiety. And somehow, them slowly falling out of your mouth eased the anxiety, eased the fear.

But you knew you were going to let him go.

“Then we take a break,” he continued. “I don’t want to be the source of something negative in someone’s life. We take a break, let the rumours dwindle away, and when it’s safe, we can try again.”

Your eyes blurred with tears. If he saw them, he ignored it, instead focusing on the calluses in his hands again.

“If that is what you want, I’m not going to force you to stay with me,” you said, voice small in the enormity of what was happening.

He scoffed. “What I want is just impossible. This is just second best.”

“Breaking up with me is second best?” you asked, anger and bitterness swirling under the surface of your ache. “It’s that easy for you?”

He frowned, meeting your gaze again. “Who said it was easy?”

“You’re the one that claims it’s a good thing. Second best.”

At that, he rolled his eyes, slowly shaking his head again. “This is not what I meant.”

Maybe your anxiety was winning against you, maybe the knowledge that you had to let him go was stronger than anything else. Because you couldn’t watch him anymore. Couldn’t gaze at his deep brown eyes anymore, knowing that they’d become ghosts in your memory in just a few moments.

A few moments of breaking, of a glass heart dropped to a stone-cold floor.

“Then leave, Joon,” you said, voice unwavering even though you felt like ice was clutching your entire being. “Let’s take this break, let’s see if it’s better for both of us.”

The dark cloud rolled closer, engulfing you. Especially as he didn’t fight more. As he nodded his head, got up and motioned towards the stairs. As if that was enough when he was dropping you, giving up on you.

But weren’t you giving up on him just as much?

That night, you sat cross-legged in front of your canvas, watching the opened paint pots littering the floor around you. When your eyes slid back towards the canvas, a single tear escaped the confines of your eyelids, rolling along your cheek.

Deep brown eyes looked back at you, shining with their own unshed tears, reminders of where you failed in the timeline of your life.

*****

Thirteen years ago

                You were going to kill Kim Namjoon. You would kill him, and be happy about it.

You’d heard from a friend of a friend that he had been hanging out with a certain Jeon Yuri, a beautiful, popular girl that had every reason to be liked by a guy like Namjoon. It was understandable – everyone loved Yuri.

Only, Yuri hated you. Always did, and took to insulting you in that covert way of hers that made people think she was complimenting them. But you saw right through her – you knew she was just a conniving rich girl. So you hated her back, with all the hate your little heart could summon.

To think Namjoon was hanging out with her? You’d kill him for it.

So you waited outside the gates of your childhood home for him to show up. You had been waiting there for a while already – partly because you needed to cool off, but also because you wanted to avoid your parents’ questions. Because obviously they loved Namjoon.

Everyone loved Namjoon, and everyone loved Yuri. You knew you were going to hate the both of them.

Namjoon arrived with a smile on his face, dimples flashing as if they’d get you to fold, to forgive him. To be fair, he did not know about your history with Yuri, as you never spoke about it to anyone. But when he saw your features, his smile immediately crumbled, replaced by worry.

“What’s wrong?” he instantly asked as he stopped in front of you.

“What’s wrong?” you repeated, before scoffing. “Why did I have to hear from Kim Haru that you’re hanging out with Jeon Yuri?”

His brows furrowed. “What’s wrong with hanging out with her?”

Your eyes widened and your fists landed on your hips. “Everything? She’s just a bitch.”

“Excuse me, what?” Namjoon let out, and you could tell by the reddening of his cheeks that he was already getting worked up too. “You told me to never call a girl a bitch and now you’re doing it?”

You rolled your eyes so far back you thought you could see your brain. “It’s not the same thing.”

He scoffed, in that condescending way of his that he always used when he wanted to win an argument. And you saw red. You saw blood red, scarlet like you were but a bull attracted to a flag.

“Don’t you fucking condescend me right now.”

“Don’t you fucking curse at me.”

“No seriously,” you continued. “I don’t want a guy who’s only after popular girls.”

“I am not,” Namjoon drawled. “I’m tutoring her and Park Seojin in maths. You already knew this.”

As a matter of fact, you did not. “You never told me.”

“Because you never listen to me,” he spat. “You’re always just drawing your fucking drawings as if that’ll lead you anywhere in life.”

“Kim Namjoon!” you burst. “And you’re always just going on about how you want to be a rapper. You’re a kid, dude, stop chasing after pointless dreams.”

He stepped closer to you, towering over you. You stood your ground, crossing your arms on your chest. “You’ll be sorry you ever said that. Oh, you’ll be so fucking sorry.”

“I don’t think I will. I don’t even think I’ll remember you.”

It was a low blow, and you could tell it hit him right in the gut. “You’re breaking up with me over such a stupid thing?”

“I’m breaking up with you because you’re a liar. You said you were with your friends, and then I learn that you were with Jeon Yuri?”

He sighed for a long time, shaking his head in frustration. “Oh, so this is really what it is about? Maybe there’s a reason why I didn’t want to tell you I was tutoring her.”

You scowled. “Why?”

“Because I knew you’d throw a jealousy fit. You think you’re entitled all of my time.”

“Fuck you,” you growled. “Fuck you. I have all the rights to be jealous when my boyfriend hides stuff like that from me.”

“Boyfriend? I thought you broke up with me.”

Your gaze slightly widened. “What?”

“I’m not your boyfriend anymore,” he said, adding your name like it was an insult. “Get over me already.”

“Do you even love me?” you replied, your anger suddenly dying down to be replaced with gut-wrenching pain.

But you knew better than to expect his anger to ever die down. It took forever for Namjoon to calm down, and you feared you had crossed a line tonight.

“Not when you get mad at me for no valid reason.”

His words hit like a slap to the face. “I just don’t like her. Can’t you tutor someone else?”

“No.”

The simple negation brought back a shade of anger to you, and you said, “Then perhaps we really should break up. Maybe I can find someone that actually respects me.”

“Because I don’t respect you?” he said, hands moving around his frame in anger.

“Clearly not.”

“You’re right then,” he continued. “I don’t respect you. I don’t love you either, apparently, so I’m done.”

“Joon…”

“No, Maehwa,” he said, and this time the nickname broke your heart in two, splitting it right in the middle. “You don’t say my name like that.” He slowly shook his head, seething. “As a matter of fact, I don’t want you to ever speak to me again. To ever look at me. I don’t want someone that acts like a fucking child.”

“You act like a child all the time,” you interrupted, but he ignored you.

He ignored you, in favor of turning around to walk away. You watched his back, before taking a step towards him, yelling his name again. He stopped, but didn’t turn to look at you. Instead, he said, “I’ll kill you if you follow me.”

You scoffed. “Oh please, as if you’d ever hurt me.”

“I’m serious, I’ll fucking kill you if I ever see you again.”

It felt enormous, to say such a thing. And perhaps youth was that – enormous in its drama. So you replied, “I hate you more than I hate anything in this world.”

He shrugged his shoulders, and then he walked away.

He walked away into the October night, and your cleaved heart shattered in a million tiny pieces.

☆☆☆☆☆

Read the rest of the fic here bc tumblr sucks and now we can't write posts longer than 1,000 blocks

[traincat]

Hi, it's me again, with another comics question 😅

So, I will preface this by saying I really don't know much about Marvel's Civil War beyond the mcu (from what I do know I can gather that the Accords are rather different in comics than in the movie because I fear I'd be team iron man in the mcu but very anti-tony in the comics). Anyways, I know some main points- Peter starting off backing the Accords & revealing his identity, the F4 being against the Accords, Peter eventually deciding to switch sides and being bridal carried™️ by the Punisher.

I really don't want to read through ALL the civil war comics but I guess I'm wondering about the motives behind Johnny & Peter's positions. Why does Peter choose to back the Accords when literally every other vigilante recognizes it as a really not great idea? (Is it the /responsibility/ of it all? Do the F4 go against it as a team or is there infighting there? Do Johnny and Peter ever actually fight each other directly? Do they talk?

I'm so sorry for the bombardment of questions, but I guess they all boil down to: what comics do you recommend for someone (me) that wants to see Peter & Johnny's roles/relationship to the Accords, especially if they interact?

Thank you in advance!!!!!!! (I always appreciate the amount of effort that goes into your responses 🩷)

Okay, let's talk Civil War. Please note it's been a hot minute since I read it, and I'm not revisiting it beyond my refs folder, because I don't respect Civil War as an event enough to do that.

First off, what IS 616 Civil War, and how does it kick off? Let's find ourselves on the map. The year is 2006, and Peter Parker is on the Avengers because Brian Michael Bendis hates me personally. The New Warriors, a team of younger superheroes, have reformed themselves as a reality show, and are filming in Stamford, Connecticut. One of their members, Namorita, confronts escaped supervillain Nitro, whose power is exploding. And the extremely obvious happens.

The problem? In addition to killing Namorita and several other heroes, the explosion also kills sixty nearby school children. The government subsequently passes the Superhuman Registration Act, which would require powered individuals operating as heroes to register with the government and be subject to official regulation. Failure to do so results in imprisonment in a facility built in the Negative Zone. That part is not public knowledge.

So where are Johnny and Peter in this? For Johnny, it's pretty simple. You see, Johnny and Namorita used to date -- it's the first of what I call Johnny's "celebrity" relationships, where I think the appeal for him was being seen with another celebrity as opposed to any genuine attraction. (See: Kourtney, Darla Deering.) Namorita and Johnny broke up a long time ago, because they never spent any time together in the first place.

(FF v3 #55) It's very important to Have A Girlfriend so people know you're straight. What do you mean you should want to do literally anything with her.

The problem is, the relationship WAS incredibly public at the time. So Johnny is very much known as Nita's ex, and the anger surrounding Namorita's actions is boiling. While out on the town, Johnny is violently assaulted and knocked unconscious before he can flame on. The crowd then proceeds to beat him into a coma.

(Civil War #2) He wakes up at some point in here, but Johnny's involvement in Civil War is very limited after this. When Sue leaves the pro-Iron Man (and SHRA) side to join Captain America, he goes with her. That's pretty much all there is to it.

Now, as previously mentioned, Peter has been with the Avengers at this point in time. He's also living in Avengers Tower with Aunt May and MJ at this point, because his apartment and Aunt May's house were destroyed. Long story, only kind of interesting. He and Tony have gotten pretty close. This is where the Iron Dad fanon originally came from -- and I wouldn't ever personally say it's a father-son dynamic, there is an air of mentorship to it. (How in character I find this doesn't matter for the sake of this post.) Suffice to say, during this period, Tony and Peter have become close. And Tony is really going hard for the Superhero Registration Act, so he enlists Peter's help.

(ASM #529) 1) He's going to regret that. 2) Hahaha like Peter promising something means literally anything 75% of the time.

This is when Peter starts wearing the Iron Spider costume, as designed by Tony. It's also when he takes off the mask in front of the whole world and reveals his identity as Peter Parker.

(Civil War #2) He's really gonna regret that.

Things go uh. Bad. See, the thing with Peter is that he doesn't keep his identity secret for his own sake -- it is always to protect the ordinary people in his life. He's promised nothing will happen to them, but obviously as soon as his identity is out, there's a target on their backs. And Peter has a lot of enemies.

(ASM #533) It will.

Going to take a break here and say that Tony, especially from the Spider-Man side of things, does not come off as especially sympathetic during Civil War. I'm not an Iron Man expert and I'm not here to either defame characters or discuss about whether Civil War was particularly in character for anyone, including Tony. That's for other people who have the necessary background to talk about Tony's characterization in depth. I'm just here to talk about Peter's poor life choices.

(ASM #533) "I call you boss because I know it bugs you. Don't start taking it too seriously." A big part of Peter's characterization that I think gets overlooked is that, consistently, since he's been fifteen years old, he has almost always physically been the strongest person in the room, and he certainly believes the smartest. A lot of his interactions with Tony in ASM come with Peter's underlying belief that he could crack open the Iron Man suit like a crab claw.

(ASM #535)

Slowly, through a combination of things, Peter's faith in Tony and pro-Registration side disappears. Again, I'm not rereading Civil War, sorry. Anyway, he switches sides. The problem? He's still wearing that damn Iron Spider suit, which Tony can lock.

Well, I mean. Theoretically, that's a problem.

(ASM #536) This doesn't have anything to do with the main story really, I just wanted to post it because he's hypercompetent, and it's hot. My blog, my rules.

Yadda yadda yadda, Tony sends a team of supervillains to capture Peter, yadda yadda yadda, big fight, yadda yadda. This is where that famous scene of the Punisher bridal carrying absolutely beat to hell Peter comes from.

(Civil War #5) Hi Frank. Also in writing this post I discovered my Civil War refs are a mess.

Anyway, from here on, stuff happens, big superhero fight -- it's not too important from the Spider-Man side of things. What is important is that the aftermath of Peter's decision to unmask leads directly into One More Day, or the infamous Devil Divorce storyline where Peter sells his marriage to Mephisto in order to save Aunt May's life after she's shot by the Kingpin's assassin. I'm not going to go into all of that here, but I am a rare One More Day stan. I actually think it's a stunning piece of Peter Parker characterization -- it just led directly into a whole bunch of other stuff I hate, and the aftermath of it (the erased marriage and associated retcon) has gone on far too long. But that's not One More Day as a standalone story's fault. (People who complain that Peter chooses May over MJ miss the point entirely that Peter DID choose MJ over May, initially and instinctively -- the bullet was supposed to kill MJ, and Peter tackles her out of the way, leaving May in the path. THAT'S the whole thing and why Peter can't possibly make any other choice. Because he already made the choice, and the woman he views as his mother suffered for it.)

As for Spideytorch interaction in Civil War, there really isn't much to say. Johnny's in a coma for a chunk of it and Peter's got his own drama going on. Even when they're on the same side again, they don't really interact. Immediately post-Civil War, when Peter is hiding out in a shitty motel with Aunt May and MJ, Steve does ask Johnny if he can get in touch with Peter, since he's the closest with him.

(ASM #537) But it's Steve who goes to meet Peter, not Johnny. Shame.

As for comic recommendations. Oof. Civil War is kind of tricky -- I think if you're going to read it, it's best to read the main series, Civil War (2006), which is fairly short all things considered and very fast moving. It's basically the first of the big "modern events" which meant they hadn't yet nailed the practice of making it as awful as possible for everyone to follow. For Peter's involvement, I would read Amazing Spider-Man #529-537. (Pacing was different back then, she said, smoking a cigarette and staring wistfully out at the water.) It's not NECESSARY, but I would read from #538-543 just because it's GOOD. (#544 is the beginning of One More Day, and requires a different reading list.) This is where he confronts the Kingpin in prison and it's honestly so good. Top ten Spider-Man scenes of all time.

(ASM #543) I think about "it takes three seconds" all the time. Sidenote but JMS really has the perfect Peter voice, the best out of every modern Peter writer. Look how well the dialogue hits here, and the rhythm of it. No pointless joking, no rambling. Just beat, beat, beat.

I also think Civil War: Frontline is very good if you want Peter Civil War content. It's more Bugle-focused, which is really fun if you enjoy that set of characters.

Like I said, Peter and Johnny really don't interact during Civil War, and beyond getting violently assaulted in the first issue of Civil War #1, Johnny's not majorly important to the plot. Which is, uh. Very typically Johnny. Hey, at least it wasn't actively a homophobic hate crime this time, right? (Looking at you, Zodiac (Dark Reign). Don't read it, just know that's literally what happens.)

Here's a cute panel of him playing board games with Franklin and Val though.

There is significant infighting with the FF, where Reed sides with the pro-Registration side and even designs the Negative Zone prisons. Sue switches sides shortly after Johnny's recovery, going to Steve's side, and Johnny goes with her because that's what Johnny does. Ben, on the other hand, takes a neutral stance for the majority of the event.

If you do want to read anything for Johnny from it, there's a really good issue of Fantastic Four set while he's in a coma, though it's mostly a Ben character piece. (And a very good one.)

(FF #538) Listen, the only sensible person during all of Civil War was Ben, who was Team France. He went to France.

[my-my-my]

KINKTOBER DAY 6 - Somnophilia: Sosuke Aizen (Hueco Mundo) x Female Reader

Requested by anonymous

Summary: Observing people, shinigami and hollows alike, are just one of the many hobbies Aizen likes to partake in. In one of his visits to Naruki City, he decides to leave a book from his personal collection, in a used bookstore. You, a human who doesn't know any better, become fascinated by the book - never hearing or seeing anything about it before. No one knows of this book, except a stranger, Aizen, who feeds your curiosity.

TW: this is kinda angsty. Implied past somnophiliac acts (reader thinks its a dream), dubious consent, hypnotism, voyeurism, stalking.

Word count: 2491

Read on AO3 here.

In preparation of his descent into Hueco Mundo, Aizen scoured Karakura Town and the nearby Naruki City for test subjects, spiritual readings and hollow experimentation. Sometimes, it’s easier to disguise himself amongst the humans, wearing a gigai.

Aizen is fascinated by the mostly mundane tasks of human beings. They’re so incredibly fragile in his presence yet make the most out of their inadequacies. While their technology is not as advanced as Soul Society, his or Urahara Kisuke’s inventions, he’s amused by what they have made for themselves already.

Sometimes Aizen wanders through the various bookstores and libraries in the World of the Living. He observes mortals and what they decide to read. For whatever reason, today he decided to bring a book from his own collection and places it on the shelf of a used bookstore.

He watches you, with curious eyes, skimming the book. Your eyes widen from what he can see. What will you make of it? He wonders. The store owner doesn’t recognize the book at all but sells it to you for a low price.

He watches you read it in your home, on your commute and your days off. You’re in awe.

You decide to finish the book in a quiet part of the park, under a gazebo with some of your favourite flowers surrounding it. Page after page, you’re engrossed with what the book shares with you, things you haven’t heard of, concepts you had never dreamed of. You had never heard of this book before, no existence of it in the library or online copies anywhere. Yet it captivated you.

“Are you enjoying that book? It’s quite fascinating, isn’t it?” Aizen asks, as he walks into the gazebo to see you.

Today, Aizen would find you enjoying an iced coffee on the patio of a café in Naruki City. In the back of his mind, he had already begun his machinations to move you further away from Naruki City to Kyoto or somewhere else, where you wouldn’t be affected by his plans for Karakura Town and the nearby areas.

You sipped your coffee, thoroughly engrossed in a book that he had lent you. His lips twitched at seeing you enjoying something he also enjoyed, his heart quickened in your presence.

But he ignored it.

Today, Aizen donned a gigai, as he always does when he visits you. A simple white dress shirt tucked in to black slacks, the sleeves rolled up, his hair pushed back as normal. He ordered a white jasmine tea for himself, and a small pastry for you.

“Are you enjoying the book?” Aizen’s voice startled you, but you smiled at him, waving him over.

“Yes, I am, thank you so much Aizen-san! Your recommendations have been wonderful.” You beamed at him, placing a bookmark on the page as you closed the book. It wasn’t often that you bumped into your mysterious crush.

He gave you a small smile and sat across from you, taking a sip from his cup. This café is terrible he thought to himself, tasting the bitterness of the tea leaves. But you were here, and that was more than enough to finish drinking the offensive liquid.

“What brings you here today? I haven’t seen you in a while.” You asked, feeling nervous suddenly.

“No reason in particular, I was in the area and wanted some tea. I just happen to see you here today. It’s nice to see a familiar face.” Aizen said, continuing to drink his tea. He noticed your coffee was also still unfinished. “Are you not enjoying your drink?”

You laughed, then lowered your voice, “I found this place on a whim… but it’s kind of terrible don’t you agree?” To which you gave him a sheepish smile.

Aizen chuckled, nodding his head, “but I got this for you. Hopefully that’s better than our drinks.” Your eyes widened at the pastry, and you immediately thanked him for it.

You ripped a small portion off the plate and placed it immediately in your mouth. Your eyes lit up, it was surprisingly delicious. “You need to try this Aizen-san!” You immediately ripped another piece off and handed it to him.

A blush crept up your face as he ate from your hand. “It is delicious. Maybe they should open a bakery instead.” Aizen surmised, his tone calm and collected, as if your fingers weren’t near his mouth at all.

You gave a nervous laugh and immediately pulled away, “I think that’s a great idea for them.” “Ignoring them, tell me what you think of what you’ve read so far.” Aizen asked, watching your eyes glimmer in excitement.

It had been a few months now, of meeting with Aizen, whose first name you learned was Sosuke. He revealed very little of himself, but you had exchanged numbers with him. As of late, many of your meetings were more like “dates,” that ended with some kisses and heavy petting.

Yet you still didn’t know much of the man. He was a complete enigma to you. You had shared with one of your closest friends what you knew about him, but even their sleuthing skills couldn’t find anything. Was he giving you a fake name?

You doubted that, but you never really saw him around town save for when you two were hanging out. He wasn’t purposefully evasive towards you, he told you as much that he was in the area a lot (but didn’t specify where), as he had work there (but didn’t disclose what he did).

Yet even then, when you two were together, it felt like the rest of the world was gone. The two of you were in a bubble. It was strange in some cases, you thought. On days when you were having an especially hard time, something at work or something upsetting, you would find him, almost as if on accident.

And the time with him felt comforting. Your problems felt like they disappeared when you were with him, or he offered you advice and listening ear if it was too much to bear.

But still, nothing about him, nothing of existence of him. Maybe… you were hallucinating him?

That would make sense, right? Your friends never met him, and any instances of trying to have him meet them were thwarted at some point. Even when you tried to take photos, your phone’s camera would (surprisingly) malfunction.

Now you felt crazy, but the books were real, weren’t they?

You picked up the latest book he lent you. It was heavy, hard and sturdy. It felt real.

You took a photo of it and sent it to your closest friend, who responded with a question mark.

“Why are you sending me a pic of a book?” Your friend responded.

You replied with an “oh it was an accident, meant for someone at work!”

Ok, so the books were real.

Then your phone rang. Speak of the devil and he shall appear your mind thought, as Aizen’s name flashed on your screen. You hurriedly picked it up and heard his baritone voice immediately. “Are you free tonight?”

Aizen had treated you to dinner, at a remarkable restaurant you were saving up for. You savored every part of your meal, from the food, the décor and Aizen himself.

“I think…” you hesitated, wanting to choose your words carefully, “this is the first time you’ve called me for dinner, Aizen-san.”

He gave you a small smile, “it is, and unfortunately there’s a reason behind this.”

You felt your heart dropped at the shift of his tone.

“I’ll be going overseas indefinitely.” He said, “I’m not sure when I’ll be back here again.”

“Oh…” you trailed off, disappointment clear in your voice. “For how long?”

“I’m not sure yet, but it may be the last time I see you.” Aizen said, his face expressionless. He watched your face drop with sadness, while his heart felt a bit strange. But he ignored it, again. He enjoyed your company and nothing more of it would come from it. His plans were too far along now to pull you into them. It was better this way.

Although Aizen shared it was his last night, he wanted to spend the night together. It was a surreal blur to you. The two of you spent time watching the stars, discovering late night gems in Naruki City, with kisses in between, but once a yawn escaped your mouth, he escorted you home. You remember being tucked in to bed, and then waking up to find a new book on your bedside table. Aizen’s last gift to you. You thumbed the pages carefully before hugging the book to your chest.

The following morning, you sent him a text, to have it being bounced back. Calling him left you with an automated tone saying the number did not exist.

The man, Aizen Sosuke, never appeared in your life again. To your friends who knew of him, never brought him up.

At places where you two were seen together, no one batted an eye as to where your partner was. No one asked. As months went by, if it weren’t for the books lining your bookshelf, you would have wondered if he even really existed.

Lord Aizen remained unphased watching Ulquiorra share his update on Karakura Town to him and the rest of the Espada. Everything was going according to plan, plans that he thought well and hard for, plans that had contingencies running if they were (shockingly) to fail.

Ulquiorra’s voice droned out of Lord Aizen’s mind as he saw the briefest glimpse of you. Of course Ulquiorra was not privy to you. Watching you, hearing you, talking to you was only a privilege to Lord Aizen.

To which he thought, he was due for a visit to you.

Some nights you dreamt of Aizen.

Some dreams, the two of you were a seemingly normal couple, traveling the world and sight-seeing.

Other dreams he was a military captain, commanding his troops with his sword and his voice alone.

Some dreams felt real – his touch hot against your skin, his kisses deep and passionate. Your bed, his bed, some other bed – you would wake with the distant memories of moans and pleasure, as your thighs were left sticky, and your body covered in a light sheen of sweat.

Other dreams involved him in a palace far beyond, of stark white in an area devoid of light. Where sand dunes filled the landscape, with strange creatures roaming around. He commanded them, wearing robes of white, with a presence that commanding fear and utmost respect.

You never knew what to make of these dreams. Some days you loved them, to see him again, to “feel” him again. Other days you hated it, you wished you had never met him.

The dreams now, were becoming fewer and far between, and again, you weren’t sure if you were happy with that. To be haunted by him, or to forget him almost completely.

Tonight though, you were exhausted, and your bed called to you more than anything.

Once you were sound asleep, Aizen approaches. He knows you and your bed now. He knows which parts to put weight on – and which not to – to avoid waking you. It amused him some days, to hear you cry for him in your sleep, other days it made his brows furrow, his heart quickening like it did before.

Tonight he wanted you for himself. Seeing you in Ulquiorra’s surveillance update tugged at him. You called to him, both mind and body, and it bothered him. But tonight he would indulge. His reiatsu lightly fills this room, weighing on you more heavily, forcing you into a deeper slumber.

“Sosuke” you whimpered, your eyes still closed, while your brows were knitted. He kisses your forehead and watches you relax, wondering what you were dreaming of tonight.

Aizen cups your face and turns you on to your back. Your breathing is deep – your chest rises and falls to every breath you take, your breasts barely containing your nightshirt.

Aizen muses if you were made for him, as your legs spread apart. He whispers an incantation under his breath that leaves you naked and bare for him alone.

He runs his hands over your body, parts he's familiar with, places he hungers for. Deep kisses are left along your neck as he travels down your breasts, taking delicate care for each nipple.

Your eyes are still closed, but moans are freely spilling from your mouth. Aizen pushes your legs further apart, your glistening cunt in full display for him. He draws slow circles around your clit, earning a gasp and mewl from you. It amuses him how needy your pussy is for him, you’re completely drenched, and he hasn’t even put a finger in.

Aizen pushes a finger into your wet hole and relishes at how tight you are around him. Your mouth opens into a whine, “please, more Sosuke.” Although your eyes remain firmly closed.

Who was Aizen to deny you like this? Undoing a part of his robe, Aizen pumped his cock in his hand, watching you panting, and moaning for him. As if on reflex, he watches in amusement as you pinch and play with your own breasts, before your hand circles your clit, but he stops you before you can go further.

Your body was meant for him, and he would remind you of that fact.

Aizen slowly pushes his cock inside you, relishing at how your face tightens at the sudden intrusion, but slowly relaxes as you moan to the full stretch of him. Aizen brings your face to him, giving you a deep kiss as he slams his hips into you.

A part of him wants to see your eyes open for him, to watch your eyes sparkle at him, trickle with tears as he pounds you mercilessly. But not tonight. He grinds into you, forcing your legs on his shoulders as his cock is covered in your slick juices.

You chant his name, over and over again, cries for more pleasure, more of him. And of course, he would never deny you tonight. Aizen slams into your wet pussy repeatedly, as you tighten around him, before a low groan escapes Aizen, his cum filling you up as he remained inside you. He watches you in fascination as your eyes relax again, your breathing less laborious than before, slowly pulling his softening cock out of you. You let out a soft whine from the feeling, to which Aizen kisses you, as if to say he was sorry.

He undoes the incantation in your room, your shirt appearing back on your body, before fading into the darkness of Hueco Mundo once again. When morning comes, you’re left with another moment of wonder and frustration. Of sticky thighs, sore nipples and kiss swollen lips. A vision of Aizen runs through your mind, haunting you once again.

I've been in a wistful mood for Aizen as of late... and yes, more Ghost sex hahaha. Thank you for reading! This fic was set to VIQ's "Ghost".

[diorchids]

where ya headed?

simon 'ghost' riley.

cw: simon is southern in this. (walk with me...) age gap, country + southern!simon, unwanted touching, pervert!simon, slight manipulation, oral, penetration, choking.

you shivered in the cold, keeping your head low and your arms crossed as the cold breeze made you practically freeze completely. your bag was almost empty, left with nothing but a lighter and a few loose cigarettes. how lucky you were.

you walk and walk, ignoring any sounds in the woods you wouldn’t recognize in the darkness. as you walk on the sides of the road, the sound of a motor engine nears you, but you continue walking. 

the sounds came from a beat-up pickup truck behind you, low hums of tunes along with it. you turn your head slightly toward it, still unphased from the hissing of the engine. the car seemed to move at the same pace as you, failing to speed up. the red truck ran beside you with a man in the front. he sat with an arm on a seat next to him

plaid button-up, handlebar mustache, blue jeans--he had the whole get up.

he obviously wanted your attention, honking the car horn before rolling down the window. he gave you a once over before speaking, “hey there, you look like you could use a ride. where ya headed, sweetheart?” you ignored any thoughts reminding you of those men. the rapists, murderers, kidnappers, the bad men. 

you hesitantly walked to his window and rested your arms on them, shrugging as you stood. “i’m headed to the motel ‘bout an hour or so away, sir.” he could tell you were cold, your soft sniffles and sneezes giving him a hint. 

he nods and gestures to the passenger seat, “way too cold to be out here, ‘specially at this time of night. hop in, i’m actually headin’ that way myself.” those thoughts plagued your brain again as you ignored them again. you open the door and sat. as you settle in, he turns up the heat and glances over at you. “name’s simon, simon riley. i live in the cabin just up north.” you introduce yourself to him, making it known you’re not versed on the state.

he nods and controls the wheel, “pleasure to meet you, sweetheart. what brings you to these parts?” you straighten your back and tell him where you’re from, about 3 states over, trying to get back to a friend who’s at the motel.

“i’m glad i could help you out. not safe ‘round here for a young lady like you to be wanderin’, considerin’ the weather, i doubt you would’ve made it a mile,” he pauses, “you’re a pretty little thing.

you stutter and mutter out a thank you to him, a warm feeling spreading over your face quickly. this isn’t that, though. this man’s old enough to be your father, he’s just a stranger helping a girl. he notices your expression and interjects. he leans over to you, making you feel uncomfortable as he speaks lowly. “hope you don’t mind my saying so. not many young ones like you out here,”

you nodded and stayed silent before a warm hand planted on your thigh, squeezing with a grunt. “it’s refreshing.”

you try and change the subject “the motel’s a way out, sir--simon. i don’t have the money now, but when i get back home, i could mail you money, really.” you stuttered, trying not to notice his hand perversely trailing up your leg.

“ain't no need for that. think of it as a favor. you could--" his fingers inched closer to your core, “do me one, how’s that sound? a favor for a favor.”

you sat and thought about it. this man’s doing you a huge favor with this, you felt obligated. “okay. a favor.” 

he got you out of the car, calling you over to his side before groping your body disgustingly. you couldn’t say no, this was the favor. “bet you wanted this, didn’t you?” he squeezes your plush ass, grinning as you stood, helpless. his hands continue to wander and grope at your body, ignoring any protests as he gets incredibly handsy.

he rubs his bulge up against you before you touch it, your fingers curving over it. he coaxes you onto your knees on the gravelly road, small pebbles pushing into them. 

you eyed his huge bulge, watching as he unbuckled his belt, planting a hand into your hair as he instructed you to pull his boxers down. “it’s really big, sir,” you whispered, a smile spreading on his face. "go ahead, sweetheart, it won't bite."

you obey, hooking fingers onto his waistband before tugging and taking him into your mouth, gagging on his girthy length pathetically. 

you sat with his cock in your throat for some time before starting to bob your head, hair moving in the cold wind as you tried your hardest not to gag again. your hand wrapped around the base of his fat cock, stroking and squeezing while your warm mouth sucks him off. he grips your hair even tighter when you slide your tongue up a vein, bucking his hips deeper into you. 

“doin’ perfect, baby girl, look at you go,” he groaned, praising the way you squeezed and sucked him like a pro. your hand cupped his heavy balls before they just slapped your chin repeatedly. cars rode past, a couple catching a glimpse of you on your knees, but simon didn’t care.

your mouth, so hot, so delicate, was the only thing keeping him warm in this weather. you were so busy, that you’d practically forgotten you were cold. 

he ended up fucking your throat, making you keep your hands away from your mouth as he used you for his pleasure. you fondled his balls and sucked prettily, batting your lashes while you looked at him with desperation.

his cock twitched in your throat before he thrusts a few more times, causing you to gag uncontrollably.

he was disgusting. 

warm cum spilled from his pent-up cock right down your throat as you swallowed and cleaned up the spend with your fingers, sucking his hot load off your fingers. it was a sight to see, your sultry gaze on his body as you caught your breath. 

you looked up at him, still on your knees, sure to bruise by morning, before he helped you to your feet. he wasted no time to touch you again, but now his slick cock rubbed up against you when he groped you, pinching your nipples and sniffing you. a pervert.

your ass was pushed up against his, still leaking, cock, he groaned out how much he loves your body. your company--your readiness. 

“walkin’ around like that--no business doin’ that ‘round here,” his fingers hook onto your skirt, “barely got anything on.”

he decides to pull down your skirt, revealing your panties with small prints of cherries. “i wanna feel your lil’ pussy around me, need that badly.”

you nod, facing away but your eagerness is still obvious. his thick fingers run over your ass before stopping at the wet spot on your panties. they rub your already swollen clit as you push into his touch, not noticing the cars still riding past, people eyeing this disgusting view. simon pushes his fingers into your underwear, sliding his middle finger over your slit lovingly.

he pulls your panties down hungrily before rubbing his cock against your holes, gripping your hips as he speaks, “fuck, sweetheart,” before his thick tip prods at your tight entrance, forcing it inside as your legs tremble and your grip on the seats tighten. 

your eyes prickle with tears as he forces most of himself in, filling you to the brim as he attempts to thrust, only moving in and out an inch at a time. you grip the seats as he settles into you, but he goes slow for you, knowing it’s too big, knowing he’s stretching you out too much. you cry out, begging for him to go slow, but to get it over with. 

“i know, baby girl, shh, shh, it’s gon’ be over soon. just take it all.” and you did, pushing your ass up against him, making sure to do as he says and take it. 

you sucked him in perfectly, eyes rolling back, back arching uncontrollably as his cock dug through your walls. his red tip bullied your cervix, almost touching it each time he thrust deeper. his hands stayed rested on your hips as he fucked you harder. “grippin’ me like a fuckin’ vice, ain’t ya?” spit fell from his lips onto your ass before sliding down to your hole, serving as a lubricant for his oversized cock. 

his hung cock barely slipped in and out of you, tight hole failing to stretch enough. as you spoke disgusting words. begging him for the worst, to go harder, to make it hurt. talking about how badly you loved his cock, showing how fucked out and dumb his dick made you. 

a big hand wrapped around your neck, thick fingers bruising you, proof of your encounter.

you couldn’t take it anymore, your tummy feeling warm and a tingly feeling in your cunt made you weak as you tried your best to fight it. you couldn’t hold off, though, giving in to him as you cried out and gushed on his cock. your cunt constricted around him as you came. his grip on your neck tightened as you came on his cock, a milky white circle forming at the base of it. 

a car drove past, seeing you bent over with the low, yellow lights of the pickup truck shining on your figure. seeing him behind you, pants down to his ankles, your skirt down to yours. 

you groaned loudly as he continued fucking your soaked hole, juices dripping. his balls feel heavier, ready to let go. 

“take it--take it all,” he thrusts a few more times before releasing his load into your hole, potent cum sure to get you pregnant. “puttin’ my kids in you.” as his last spurts fill you.��

his cum seeps out of you as your legs tremble. “there we go. there we go, knew you could take it.” 

he helps you fix yourself up before delivering a slap to your ass and hopping in the car. he drove you to the motel and handed you a napkin to write your number down for him. 

“well, don’t let me take up your whole night. i’m sure so-and-so’s wonderin’ where yer at.” you kissed him on the cheek before he left. 

it must’ve been the southern drawl. 

[kivino]

PROFESSOR!NANAMI KENTO X READER HEADCANONS

my jjk masterlist || my cod masterlist

Word counter - 900-ish

Tags/Warnings - NSFW - MDNI; professor x student relationships; reader is an academic weapon (or not really); p in v freak nasty; oral (reader receiving); afab!reader.

A/n - my first time in a long time writing smut, so i hope it’s decent ♪(๑ᴖ◡ᴖ๑)♪ please, like and reblog if you liked it, i’m trying to find my jjk audience （╹◡╹）♡

Professor!Nanami, who went into education instead of pursuing a job of a salaryman and surprisingly, found it rather fulfilling, helping students, explaining the nuances of classical literature to them and igniting the passion for his subject of study among them.

Professor!Nanami, who’s eyes keep lingering on you, despite his effort to force his gaze away from you, so beautiful, incredibly insightful and hardworking, pages upon pages of messy notes under your fingers.

Professor!Nanamix, who recognizes your efforts, fond look in his eyes when your answer to his question strikes a chord within him, making his heart swell in his chest. “Good job. I see you’re already familiar with the material, are you?” He asks, arching his brow at you, as he puts his hand on your desk for some support, his tall form towering over you, making you hold your breath from a simple glance of his hazel, almost golden eyes.

Professor!Nanami, who, upon seeing you through the glass doors of the study hall freezes in his place, his eyes taking in your every movement, down to the flutter of your eyelashes and quick fingers turning another page of your notes.

Professor!Nanami, who lets out a shaky exhale when you bite your pen, lips squishing against the tip of it so deliciously, oblivious to your infatuated observer.

Professor!Nanami, who can’t refuse you a conversation after class, getting lost in your eyes, dissecting your mannerisms and patterns of speech in his thoughts during his evening rides back home, just to find some sort of sign that you might like him more than as an educator.

Professor!Nanami, who can’t help but palm his hardening dick through his slacks when remembering your absolutely stunning doe eyes looking at him with such eagerness and fascination, when talking about his subject.

Professor!Nanami, who clasps a hand over his mouth and shuts his eyes tight, imagining it’s your thumb swirling around his red tip, and it’s your fingers clasping around his painfully hard member as you nip and kiss the soft skin of his exposed neck.

Professor!Nanami who, when noticing at your messy hair and ragged breathing after you’re late for class, has to squeeze his hand into a fist, blunt nails painfully digging into his skin just to keep him grounded.

Professor!Nanami, who feels nothing but shame, pining for his student like he’s some kind of pubescent high school boy.

Professor!Nanami, who just can’t say “no” to you, when you ask oh-so-nicely to help you and explain the final assignment privately, in his office. “Of course you can come in for a consultation. This card here has my office hours…” he nods eagerly, pulling out his business card holder from the inner pocket of his discarded jacket.

Professor!Nanami, who’s oblivious to a fault to how you’re leaning over him when asking for help, your soft hand connecting with his shoulder, fingers gently rubbing his arm and sending electric sparks right to his brain.

Professor!Nanami who makes you see stars on his tongue alone, devouring your pussy like it’s his last meal, fingers spreading you folds, soft lips leaving rough bites on your thighs and suffocating himself in you.

Professor!Nanam, whose hair you keep tugging for leverage, whose face you keep grinding into, desperate and hot from his passionate touches, aching for release, that he’s so nicely working you up to with his fingers and his mouth.

Professor!Nanami, who has you cross-eyed, fingers toying with your clit, halting your attempts to squirm away from his touch, overstimulated and needy, making your whole body twitch with uncontrollable surges of pleasure as you forget any words, but the name of your favorite professor.

Professor!Nanami, who wishes he would’ve taken you out on a nice date, perhaps a candlelit dinner at his favorite place, before having you with your legs spread out, whiny and sensitive on his office table, as his hand muffles your (very loud) moans. But what’s done is done.

Professor!Nanami, who marvels at the way your pretty tits bounce with each thrust of his cock in your drenched pussy, lewd, pornographic squelching and your pleasure-filled yelps filling the dark space of the room.

Professor!Nanami, who just can’t keep his mouth shut, when he’s looking at you. “Ah, hah, y-you’re, a-ah, doing so…m-mh! so well for me…” Nanami whispers, hot breath fanning over your ear, as he dives back, leaving wet kisses all over your neck, some of them swelling into rough, stinging markings, reminders from him.

Professor!Nanami, who keeps driving his cock inside of you, reaching so deep you’re barely able to form a thought when you all can feel is his broad tip giving such sweet kisses to your cervix.

Professor!Nanami, who after multiple hours of you getting to know each other so deeply and intimately in his office, your captivating smell still in his mind, gingerly asks you, while buttoning up your shirt: “Would you like to get dinner sometime with me?”

“Are you inviting me on a date?” you clarify, not able to hide your incredulous tone when asking this question. You knew that he was a gentleman, but had no idea he would want it to be something else…more than you imagined. Or he just felt obligated to do that, in which case…that’s worse.

“Precisely. I…it’s embarrassing to admit, really…” you mentally scoff. You just saw each other naked with every possible consequence of that also happening, and he’s…embarrassed? “But you’ve caught my eye. So, I’d like to invite you out. See where it goes.”

Well, how can you say “no” to your favorite professor?

check out this masterlist for more jjk fics or send me a request/comment!

[strawberrystepmom]

touch me so i know i am still here | three

cw: mentions of alcohol. detective dante sparda x investigative journalist f!reader. | word count: 3.1k, reading time: approx. 12 min.

notes: for the purposes of this fic, dante's last name is sparda. i know this is not his canon last name. thanks for suspending disbelief for my sake <3 uh. this series is violent and dark but it's not heavy, it's actually pretty funny and cheeky considering the subject matter so i hope you like it!

this is the third part of a series. each post will contain warnings that pertain to that particular chapter. | part: one, two

The weeks that have passed since you first roped Detective Sparda into your crazy plan have flashed by in a practical blur. Every day of the past twenty-one has been spent talking to him in some capacity, even the ones where you’re both allegedly off and comparing your research over pizza and beers, though most of it has been through text and phone call specifically. 

Strangely, you’ve almost found yourself looking forward to the usual wakeup call you place to him around 8:30 every day. He’s charming and easy to talk to, shockingly laid back for a cop with almost two decades of experience under his belt. During your chats you’ve quickly learned that he has a nephew he’s incredibly proud of although you were not brave enough to ask about those circumstances given what you’ve read and heard about his brother. He’s never been married but still hasn’t ruled it out. He loves to sleep in, to enjoy the stiffest drinks you’ve ever had the misfortune of being dared to taste, and to have a little ice cream to finish the night off. 

You’ve also learned that you may be developing a bit of a, how do you say, crush on the man. 

Anxiety dots your palms with sweat the same way it did that fateful day so few weeks back as you reach for the box that buzzes into the desk manning the side door of the police station. Dante told you this is the simplest way to get in because most of the time he’s the one manning said desk just to get away from his own. Reaching for the buzzer, your finger shakes and you scoff at yourself.

The speaker buzzes.

“Secret password.”

You recognize his voice and roll your eyes. Last night you told him you’d stop by around lunch time and to expect you but you didn’t expect him to be literally waiting by the door. Holding down the button to talk, you lean close to the speaker.  

“Let me in.”

A chuckle is all you hear before the speaker cuts off and the door unlocks, buzzing you inside. Right in the door is a face you recognize well, smiling smugly with arms crossed over his chest, swinging back and forth in his chair like always. 

“Came to meet the family today?”

Groaning and readjusting your heavy work bag where it sits over your shoulder, you poorly attempt to downplay how flustered his question has made you. 

He told you weeks ago he sees his co-workers as the closest thing to family he has, as tragic as it is. There’s no family besides his nephew to enjoy holidays and family dinners with so the particular honor has always been given to his favorite bar that tragically started closing last Christmas (something you also learned within days of knowing him) or the people at the station closest to him. 

Tipping your head to the side, you smile wryly at him. “I actually came because you asked me to but if you’re going to introduce me…” you trail off, continuing to fend off creeping embarrassment. 

What if these people he values so much hate you? The relationship of journalist and cop has long been that of cat and dog, one always chasing and the other swatting at them in response. Sensing your discomfort, Dante reaches for the door separating the hallway that contains his office and other desks and cubicles and opens it, ushering you through with a solid, fluid movement of his hand. 

“They won’t bite, I promise.”

You mock-laugh at him which only deepens his grin. 

It only takes a few more steps until you land at the desks that house his immediate subordinates, two women he has told you about many times. Nico he calls one, Lady the other, both sporting slacks and button downs rather than the usual beat cop uniforms. 

They aren’t quite what you were expecting. You’ve worked with cops throughout the admittedly short entirety of your career and have met them from all walks of life but much like Trish at the front desk and even Dante himself, these two seem different. Like they understand the responsibility bestowed upon them when they agreed to do right on behalf of others. This is an anomaly amongst police and certainly the ones you’ve ever reported on who haven’t hesitated to take a bribe or submit a half finished report if it meant saving their own asses and that’s the mild shit.

“So you are the one that has been keepin’ him busy enough he don’t bother me,” the visually younger of the two, Nico, asks you. She’s all tan skin with a pretty grin, glasses perched on her nose with a sweet southern drawl that sounds out of place amongst the accents of your native city.

Her counterpart is a woman whose age you can’t quite place just by looking at her, short haircut cropped to her ears framing sharp cheekbones. She sees you search her torso for an identifying badge but she shakes her head. “You can call me Lady, no need to get formal with it.”

You feel comfortable but aware that you are being scrutinized, especially by the shorter haired of the duo. She isn’t sizing you up yet there is a nagging feeling that you are being felt out. What’s your story? What do you really want with Dante?

The little tinge of protectiveness strangely makes you feel soft toward the detective. 

“It’s really nice to meet both of you.” You smile brightly, genuinely, and Dante stands back from the three of you like he’s observing cautious animals unfamiliar with each other. “Sorry for stealing him from you, we’ve been elbow deep in all of this stuff we’re working on.”

You don’t elaborate too much, unsure of how much he’s told them about what exactly he’s working on. It’s a case he’s technically not supposed to be touching. His plausible deniability is that he was asked to help you and no further investigation occurred. Is that true? No but he can spin a good thread if the need arises. 

“Trust me, it ain’t stealin’ him to begin with, it’s a good thing. We always tell him he should get out more and especially if it means you’re both going to get some answers.” Nico offers you an apologetic half smile but you aren’t quite sure if the apology is meant toward you, Dante, or the situation just in general.  

“He drives us crazy talkin’ about all of it all the time.”

She of course was referencing his constant dialogue about you rather than the case but you seem none the wiser.  Dante shoots her a glance that you just barely miss, mid head turn to look up at him with a smile of your own. 

“If it’s any consolation, everyone thinks I’m crazy too.” 

The smile you flash at him is genuine, warm and disarming. There’s life in your eyes he doesn’t get to see often around these parts which spurs him on to keep the easy atmosphere intact. 

Raising a brow, he looks around at his colleagues, lips pursed to hide the smirk nudging its way onto his face. “You guys think I’m crazy?”

A few smatterings of half hearted disagreement hatch amongst the two other detectives who pretend to focus on the very important documents on their laptops in front of them. The mood doesn’t shift but the topic of conversation clearly does, discussing a burglary that has spawned the theory that it is a crime ring. The detective chuckles, clapping the woman closest to him on the shoulder.

“Alright, I’ll leave you guys to think about the effects words have on people and we’ll be in my office if you need us.”

They continue to mutter amongst themselves, letting the two of you walk off with minimal argument. Thinking back about the interaction, you decide to speak up about your observations.

“For what it’s worth I don’t feel like they actually think that about you.” He shoots you an inquisitive glance, turning to face you halfway. “Crazy. Y’know, that you’re crazy.”

It’s hard to explain where you get the lingering sense that they respect Dante from. You could simply tell judging by how natural everyone felt with each other, effortlessly flopping between serious and silly. 

“So you’re telling me there’s a chance they don’t think I’m some senile old fuck yelling at shadows and clouds?”

Giggling, you lean against his side and playfully butt your shoulder against his arm.  “You aren’t even 40, detective.”

The touch makes him stop in his tracks. You follow suit only to be met with blue eyes gazing down at you warmly, his head tilted as if he’s telling you a secret. 

“Well, I feel 80 and when it’s rainy out, my knees do too.”

Another playful eye roll from you. 

“Do you need ibuprofen? I’m sure I have a few rattling around in my bag somewhere.”

He takes your playful jab in stride, laughing as always, aware you don’t mean it. You reach for your bag and sling it around the front of you, pulling out your tablet and stuffing it under your arm just to have something else to do so you don’t remain this preoccupied with his stare. 

“Teasing aside, I get the impression that they admire how hard you’ve always worked to figure this out regardless of the risk.”

It’s unlikely he’ll actually get in trouble for helping you with this investigation yet there’s a sense that he’s at risk regardless. He was taken off the case because it’s too close and now he’s been roped in by someone just as close as he is. There’s no harm in helping you pinpoint old locations or files but if this goes deeper…

That’s a question for later Dante to deal with. He sighs and starts walking again, watching you tap and type.

“And you know what I think?” Humming, you raise your brows to indicate you’re listening to him but keep your eyes trained on your tablet, swiping through apps. “That you made a great first impression and that they’re being more patient with me where you can see it ‘cause it means you’ll be nice to them and bring donuts and shit.”

Perhaps your natural acclimation to being a people person is something you owe to your experience in journalistic pursuits, expertly getting people to take down their defenses with a trustworthy face and smile. People are excited to see you, especially at the station because you bring them something new. A story, an encounter, anything. 

They eat it up and a cynical part of the detective believed at first you were playing a carefully mastered role.

Now it’s you who stops, standing and letting your hands dangle at your side with a curious tilt to your head. “Is it really so hard to admit that they may simply like you?”

Since then the astute detective has picked up that you are not faking a thing. 

Extending your pointer finger and pressing it in the middle of his chest, you look up at him through your lashes.  “And furthermore, I would never bring donuts to cops, that’s a terrible joke even for me. I’d bring danishes or croissants or something that doesn’t scream that it was grabbed from a chain five minutes before it was going to be dumped for sitting out too long. Give me some credit.”

Nope, nothing. Everything you do is authentic and thoughtful, heart on your sleeve and all. Swinging the door to his office open, the man once again ushers you in first but doesn’t shut the door in a conscious effort to avoid seeming presumptuous.

“Noted.” Dante laughs and sits down at his desk, picking up the folder on top of it and pretending to leaf through it while swinging his chair back and forth with the heel of his shoe. 

You want to ask him where this habit started. Would he even remember? Was there a younger version of Dante that had no idea what his life would be like tipping his desk chair back and forth in school, driving his teacher crazy? Has he always been this full of frenetic energy? 

Why are you so afraid to ask him any of this? It’s not like it’s life or death to ask someone about their childhood, at least not compared to what you’re both dealing with here. Anxiety returns, your palms slick with it while you shut the door to his office behind you.

“I found something interesting while going through case files the other day,” he mentions offhandedly while you continue to daydream about the questions you want to ask him. Sitting down, you lean over the desk and prop your chin up with both of your fists. 

Your eyes widen, a surprised grin blooming while you slip into one of the cushioned chairs across from him.

“Do tell.”

He passes the folder in his hands to you. Flipping it open, you look down at a map of the city printed into grids across a dozen or so pages. This version is different from the pages you’ve been able to access and review using freedom of information laws. Your brows furrow, pinching in the middle.

“Most of the murders have not been localized outside of happening in the same city which I know you know but,” He takes a breath, leaning in your direction to point at various scribblings he left across the pages in front of you. “the location where the bodies have been found has always been.”

Now that is new information or at least a conclusion you hadn’t come to on your own already.

“I noticed the FBI was trying to build a profile for this guy and they decided that this area must have had some significance to his life.”

He points to a large circle just outside of city limits. In it lies miles and miles of wooded acres, near a nature preserve that has fallen into disrepair after years of neglect.

“The area around the lake?”’

Dante nods. “Yup. Sanders.”

“Hm,” you muse, nursing the sting that after hours and hours and hours of combing through this information yourself you hadn’t come to such a conclusion on your own. You have looked at maps identical to this more times than you can count. You’ve combed through every journal and memory belonging to the victims that you could get your hands on. 

It makes you feel sloppy and immature compared to the man in front of you. Shifting in your seat uncomfortably, he takes the folder from your hand and closes it.

“It’s just something to think about.” 

It’s like he once again sensed your discomfort or something. He smiles at you warmly. “We can even pull out the big map later if you want to compare the two?”

“I’m only here for forty five minutes.”

He shrugs.

“Then at my place later?”

You shake your head. “No, I’m going to check this out tonight.” When you nod toward the folder he scoffs incredulously in response. “Absolutely not.”

Now it’s your turn to scoff, instantly taking issue with his insistence that you don’t. 

“Detectiv–”

“Dante. And no. You’re not.”

Jaw dropping when he decides to interrupt you, your face contorts into what could best be described as a look of complete challenge. This isn’t the first time Dante has ever seen you look this way, determined as all hell to get your own, yet it is the first time he has seen it not over a particularly competitive round of darts. Offense flashes in your eyes, attitude in your posture, and he moves to disarm.

“I can tell what you’re thinking, it’s written all over your face and it’s not because you’re a woman. I know how well you guys can handle yourselves when there’s danger but listen to me, please.” Catching the tense drawl at the end of his voice, you do, putting your tablet down and rolling your shoulders, gaze pinned to him. “I promised to work with you every single step of the way on this but you need to promise me that you will not follow up on any of it on your own, got it? It’s dangerous. We don’t know if this asshole is lurking or where. You aren’t dumb.”

An argument springs to life but dies when you take an additional second to ponder if it’s worth it to try and change his mind about this. He’s right. You’re not skilled with weapons or particularly strong, you’re a journalist who struggles to put her pocket knife away safely when she gets it out to show it off. This is not your wheelhouse but it is his and he wants to keep you safe.

Could it be that he has also taken a bit of a shine to you over the last few weeks? Your cheeks heat, face downturned and staring at your lap. Bad timing to hope he has a crush on you mid-scolding but you’d be lying if you said his words, his concern, weren’t stirring something inside of you that should perhaps be left alone.

He clears his throat, eyebrows raised and captures your attention once more.

“If you want to go and check it out, I’ll come with you.”

You lift your head and smirk. “Aww you mean it? Thanks dad.” Dramatically clutching your tablet against your chest, you soften your face and pout. 

He shoots you a glance out of the corner of his eye, picking up the folder and dropping it into his desk drawer. “But not tonight. Tonight you’re coming over and we’ll get shitty takeout and discuss this. We need to look at the big map before making any moves, okay?”

Sighing, you soften your posture and lean forward. It’s not only hard but impossible to argue with him now that you know his real concern is your safety and not your ineffectuality. 

“Okay.” You look down at your wrist, eyes widening at the time. “Man, you managed to suck up all forty five of my minutes very quickly.”

Rising to stand, you offer a slightly apologetic smile. Are you apologizing for getting up and arms or for leaving him? Who knows.

“Text me your address and I’ll get there sometime. When I get off or whatever.” 

Scoffing, this time without the incredulity of a few minutes prior, he leans back in his chair and folds his arms behind his head.

“Oh no, I’ll come pick you up from work.”

You really wish he wouldn’t do that.

“Dante…”

The grown man next to you laughs, joyous. “Ah, you said it that time!”

All you offer is a sharp exhale in response, gripping the door handle.

“You get off around six, right?” He grins, pointing in your general direction. You nod. “Alright, six it is.”

Dangling from the door, you raise your eyebrows and feign annoyance.

“Yeah, yeah, see you at six.”

[hrtfelt4u]

heartstrings. | wonbin park.

002. world war iii. (written portion)

The floor of the club is slowly more packed with people looking for a good time tonight. Neon lights strobe on the dancefloor, illuminating the crowd of moving bodies dancing to Shotaro’s set. The bass is thumping and you can hardly hear anything else besides plastic cups clinking together, and the loud chatter around you.

The floor behind the bar is frustratedly slippery and wet, as always, and you try not to fall as you’re squeezing by Chisa. The crowd is a decent size tonight so you nudge her, gesturing your chin towards her boyfriend at the dj table, having the time of his life. 

Shotaro is busy twisting knobs and mixing with a pair of headphones around his neck, a few of his friends around behind him sipping and enjoying their time up there with him. You don’t recognize anyone unfortunately, wishing you were seeing Jurin.

“He’s doing great out there!” You yell over the music, head bobbing along to the beat as you make a rum and coke for someone, scooping ice into a cup and a large jug. 

Of course, your side of the bar had run out of ice ten minutes ago and despite calling over the walkie for more, no one is around with a bucket of it yet. Now you’re just stealing from Chi’s side.

Chisa gives a bright smile to you, not noticing your blatant robbery, her usual neat pink hair ruffled from the chaos of bartending. She grins over to her Taro who is happily waving along with the crowd. 

“He is! I’ve been telling him he needs to get back into it again! What better place than the Fix?”

You purse your lips, impressed at his skills and nodding along to the Don Toliver song before crossing behind your friend again. You finish off with the girl who ordered, pour the ice you stole in your bin, and go to make her friend her mojito. 

Finishing their order up, you yell over the music, “Do you want a tab open?”

The girls are extremely pretty, which you had complimented them earlier. They look at one another, seemingly confused about how to reply. They’re about to answer when Sungchan appears from the thick line of people at the bar, sliding in smoothly. 

His hair which was slicked back at the start of the night, is now a little disheveled. It only adds to his handsome features though, and the two girls are surprised at his appearance, clearly frazzled at your best friend’s attractiveness.

“You ladies are at table three, right? It’s already open under your friend’s name! Jake Sim?” Channie gives a charming smile while he leaned over to talk to them, to which the girls make a face of realization, nodding, and thanking him. 

“You girls are good then, have a good night!” You send them off and they walk away, but not without looking back at Sungchan and talking to themselves. 

As you’re punching in their drinks under table three’s tab, Channie leans over the counter, a thumb thrown over his shoulder. 

“That Jake guy, he’s friends with Jay!”

“What?” You immediately look up while pointing to the floor, eyebrows raised in incredibility, “He’s here?” 

Sungchan nods, “Yeah, he called me over and asked if you were working tonight!”

Rolling your eyes, you ask the two impatient guys beside Sungchan for their drink orders, “Of course I’m working, he knows I always am! Dumb ass question… what’d you say?”

Channie’s eyes squint, hands on the sticky surface splaying out in a seemingly obvious manner. “Well, I said yeah! Should I not have?”

You scoff, amazed at your friend’s complete idiocy around Jay. Of course, not that you told him too much about you and your “boy toy,” but you figured that if you rolled your eyes at the mention of the man’s name enough, your oblivious friend would get the hint around the subject.

You and Jay— a handsome, dark-haired producer you had met at this exact club six months ago— began talking. He was charming and quiet, which you liked despite the absolute mayhem that was the nightclub you bartend at. 

It was simple; he asked for your number and when you were clocking out, and one thing led to another. Lonely and looking for company that night, you were in Jay’s bed and had a great time. He was captivating, with soft lips that knew just the thing to say, and how to take care of you, easy as that. 

For a solid month, Jay would come in every weekend to see you before the club closed, hanging around the bar with easy conversation as you closed up and then you would sleep together. It was extremely casual which you liked, at least until he stopped showing up out of the blue one weekend. 

It wasn’t like you two actually had an established conversation about what you two were doing, but it wasn’t until that time he fucked off to who-knows-where, did you finally reflect on it more. 

You had Jay’s number, and despite sleeping together for a month, you hadn’t texted him until that moment, asking where he was. He had charmed his way out of your bad side, excusing himself as a producer that needed to travel around; he had left the city for work and forgot to say. 

It truly didn’t bother you the first time. But then, two weekends later, Jay was back and sweet when he didn’t need to be. The second he was back in the city, he was waiting outside the Fix with the fattest bouquet of flowers you’ve ever received and a dinner reservation on the other side of the city— the bougie side. 

Not sure what his deal was yet, you cautiously went along with it and enjoyed the night more than you thought. That truly should have been your first red flag.

From that point on, the casual sex wasn’t so casual anymore. When he’d leave your bed, he’d sweetly leave small gifts and a kiss on your forehead before skipping off to another city. He’d seemingly forget to mention until the night-of, that you wouldn’t see him for a bit, and then come back like nothing had changed. 

After two more times of Jay doing that, you definitely should have learned your lesson. You should’ve, but you were weak and lonely every time he’d text just as you were clocking out. Your empty, dark apartment was quiet to return to, and you knew if you replied, Jay would pick you up in his nice car and keep you warm for the night.

Now this time around, seeing as you knew he was back downtown and he still didn’t want to text you, you were determined to stand your ground. No more of the games because you refused to be that person you saw yourself becoming— at the mercy of someone’s beck and call.

And of all things, he wanted to show up at your night club with a table for his friends, along with some pretty girls? Absolutely not. 

That’s why you shake your head, hands busy as you answer Sungchan, “Yeah, you shouldn’t have!”

You punch in the guys’ totals, making serious eye contact with Channie, “If you see him come over here, just know I’m telling him to fuck off.”

Channie laughs, knocking on the counter and standing up, “Got it, we don’t fuck with that guy anymore. Good to know!” 

He’s about to walk off but you exclaim, waving at him over the noisy surroundings, “Get me ice!”

Sungchan is throwing his head back in annoyance, “Come on!”

You throw your arms up, taking another person’s order, “Channie! I’m packed right now, help a sister out!” 

Sungchan is smiling while shaking his head dramatically, heading behind the counter to follow your orders.

“Don’t shake your head at me!” You laugh, bumping him with your butt when he rounds you, “You hop behind the counter with me and Chi then!”

“Oh hell no!” Sungchan strongly refuses, ushering himself out with the ice bucket, “That’s not my job tonight, thank you!”

“Then come back after and tell more people at this bar to go to the one on the other side of the club!”

Sungchan gives a thumbs out behind him as he leaves, picking up two more orders as you see the line for the bar get even longer. Your grin drops fast and you lock in, deciding it’s time to get real busy. Sungchan had come back with great speed with the ice so you didn’t have to shuffle over to Chi’s side anymore.

Eventually, the initial rush dies and you and Chi can slow down fifteen minutes later. You catch Chi in your periphery on her toes, squinting over to the dj table. Curious as to what she’s looking at, you follow her line of vision.

Immediately, you recognize the sight of a tall, broad back, approaching Taro and dapping up him and his friends in apology for being late.

“What the fuck is Anton doing here?” You ask, shuffling to work closer to her to chat. 

The corner of Chi’s lips spread down as she shrugs, “I didn’t know he was back in town. Good thing Juria isn’t working right now.”

You and Chi both laugh at that, at least until you see the person you’re talking about literally round the corner and wave at the other end of the bar. Juria’s blonde hair sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the crowd as she happily waves you both down, the cutest grin on her face. 

You and Chi would definitely be smiling at her sudden appearance to visit, if it weren’t for who Juria had brought with her— a man whose hands are on her waist— and Anton, her ex, literally drinking and chatting with Shotaro near the dj table right now. 

Sure, normal exes would just give dirty looks to one another, or ignore each other. Juria and Anton were not normal exes by any means, and you and Chi knew that very well.

Both of you share a look of distress, especially when you see Shotaro swap with someone at the dj table. Taro then wraps an arm around Anton, the other around one of his friends you didn’t recognize, and starts heading towards you two.

“Oh, what the fuck, is Anton coming over here?!” Chi exclaims, going back between looking at Juria and Anton. 

“Okay, wait, they cannot see one another. World War III would start if Juria saw Anton here, the latter with a man slung around her too.” You usher out in urgency, slipping by Chi to meet Juria at the end of the bar. 

Slapping a grin on, you hug Juria, who seems a little drunk but happy nonetheless. 

“Hi love! What are you doing here!?” You genuinely mean the question, eyes shifting to this guy behind her. 

“I told you, I went on a date with Leehan! You can finally meet him!” Juria cheers, quickly unwrapping said man from around her and pulling him to her side. 

You give a forced smile to Leehan given the situation, knowing this guy’s good looks would really piss off Anton. 

Giving a glance to Chi behind you, she’s equally terrified. Sliding over to block the view of the four all chatting, you shake Leehan’s hand. 

“Happy to meet you finally! Was wondering who our lovely Juria has been talking to! What are you two doing here though? Just… saying hi?” You cringe, Leehan catching onto the mood with a quirk of his brow. 

“Uh, yeah! We were just in the area from dinner and Juria wanted to stop by. Anyways, we won’t take you away from the bar too much, we’ll—”

Juria’s smile drops and you immediately sense the trouble brewing as she leans back from the bar, peeking over your side. “Don’t tell me that’s—”

“You know—!” You scratch at your head, practically moving back and forth to block her view, “You two should get out of here! Why’d you even willingly come here on your shift off, huh crazy girl?”

Forcing a chuckle, you place Leehan’s hands on Juria’s shoulders to lead her out, baring your teeth and whispering to the guy, “Get out. Now.”

Leehan nods annoyingly slow, and you’re about to practically shove the two out the door when Juria’s face changes, the two clearly having made eye contact now. 

“Leehan,” You seriously mutter, “Leave before you get your ass beat.” 

“… What?” 

And then… everything goes to shit.

|

author's note: oh leehan... should've listened bud...

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(c) hrtfelt4u 2025

[darkeralmond]

UNCHARTED WATERS

Prologue > next

Pairing: Macklin Celebrini x Emilia Richardson

Summary: Macklin has had feelings for his best friend, Emilia, since freshman year. After her winning lacrosse game, he nervously gives her flowers and confesses that he’s been in love with her since their first kiss. What happens when Macklin finally decides to step out of his comfort zone and dive into the unknown?

Warnings: nothing except Macklin being adorable

Apricot Speaks: HIII!! i missed u guys soo much, but im finally back!! yay!! hope u all enjoy this as much as i did writing it!! there will other parts to this so be on the look out!

“Flyers on me, Flyers on 3!”

“1 2 3, Flyers!” Emilia and her team shouted as they pointed their lacrosse sticks in the sky in celebration.The homeside of the bleachers erupted into cheers as the girls on the field embraced one another.

Mrs. Richardson held her phone up like the proud mother she was, documenting the team's victory. “Macklin, honey? Did you get her goal on video?” She asked as if the video on her phone wasn’t rolling.

“Right here,” Macklin said as he directed her attention to the video.

It showed as Emilia moved with such grace around other players on the field, with incredible speed that made her look like a track star.. She left everyone, including her own teammates in the dust.

With the goal only being protected by the goalie, it was like watching a face off between two duelers. As the defenders grew closer and the clock running out of time, Emilia grounded herself before pulling her stick far behind her head. She launched the ball with all of her power, causing the ball to hit the bar and land in the goal. She slammed her stick on the ground, screaming in celebration as the clock buzzed, implicating the end of the game. Her team stormed the field and swarmed around her like bees.

Rewatching the video made Macklin’s smile as it reminded him of his own hockey team’s celebration when it came to a victory like that.

By this point, Mrs. Richardson had stopped filming and mumbled under her breath that Emilia’s dad would be hoping for a video. Emilia’s parents’ divorce was still fresh and a very sensitive subject to Emilia, causing Macklin to shutter due to the distaste in her mom’s voice.

To change the topic, Macklin said, “Emilia’s gonna love these shirts. Well, she’ll probably be more embarrassed than anything….” He directed his attention down to the t-shirt with Emilia’s face plastered on the front along with her number and last name on the back in bright orange lettering.

“Well, it’s our job to embarrass her of course!” She said with her signature cackle. Her mom then noticed some of the girls making their way off the field towards the locker room. “Oh, they’re heading off! Do not forget the flowers!” She pointed at the bouquet next to Macklin while sporting a huge smile.

“How could I forget,” He said as he snatched the flowers from the spot. He trailed behind Mrs. Richardson as they went down to the gate which led to the field. The closer they got to the bottom, the more anxious he got.

Tonight was the night Macklin was going to finally confess to Emilia. Ever since freshman year, he’s been head over heels for her, but both their parents argue he’s been obsessed with her longer than he had realized it. The last time he got her flowers for his homecoming proposal, it went well. It’s why he decided to do it again.

While Emilia’s mom chatted with some of the other players’ moms who also waited to congratulate their daughters, a couple of the girls on the team noticed Macklin and the flowers in his hand. It was obvious who they were for, so a few of them began whispering to one another. The more stares he got, the clammier his hands became.

It wasn’t until a group of freshmen girls were about to make their way into the locker room when the redhead girl, which Macklin recognized to be Emilia’s little for senior night, spotted Macklin and the flowers.

She stopped the whole group and turned their attention to Macklin. “Are those for Emilia?” She asked.

“Uh, yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck with a small smile on his face. “They are.” He shouldn’t be to display his feelings for Emilia, but something about these girls intimidated the hell out of him.

“Oh em gee!” She squealed as she held up her finger before saying, “I’ll go get her!” She abandoned her friends, sprinting back onto the field while her friends surrounded the gate. They were obviously excited to witness this moment between her and Macklin, but this drew even more attention to him. It would be different if he knew a majority of these people like he did with hockey, but this wasn’t his scenery so he was prone to stage fright.

The redhead came back faster than Maclin expected, dragging Emilia by the arm. She was obviously confused about why there were so many people waiting around for her. The other freshmen parted for her, making a path which led straight to Macklin, resembling a something similar to a wedding.

The realization dawned on her as soon as she made eye contact with Macklin. All Macklin could do was stare at her with admiration, captured by how beautiful she was even after kicking ass on the field.

She let out a loud cackle, similar to her mom’s, causing Macklin’s heart to swell. “I thought we were done with these types of grand gestures” She then looked around cautiously before joking once more, “There’s no posters spelling out prom, right?”

“Ahh, you’re not so lucky this time,” Macklin said before pulling her into a tight bear hug. The tension he had felt before loosened in this embrace. She fit perfectly in his arms, making him never want to let her go..

He knew he had to eventually, so when they pulled away, he held out the flowers for her to take. “What would you have done with these if we lost?” She asked before bringing them to her nose and smelling them.

“Consolation flowers?” He shrugged, which won another laugh from her. It was a sound he could never get tired of, and the euphoric feeling knowing what he’s said made her laugh could never be topped.

Emilia’s mom finally strayed from the other moms, coming back to Macklin and Emilia. “Before you go back to the locker room, I want to take a picture of you two!”

The little audience that congregated around the pair had finally vanished, now leaving Emilia alone. Macklin felt even more relieved as he wrapped her arm around Emilia’s waist, her head naturally landing on his chest.

After her mom snapped a few pictures, the two broke apart and Emilia announced, “I have to go, butI’ll be back out shortly.” She turned to her mom and said, “Is it fine if I go with Macklin to get some food?”

“Yes of course, Em. I’ll see you at home,” Mrs. Richardson said before Emilia ran off into the locker room. When the door shut, she turned to Macklin and squinted. “You two behave,” She joked, but Macklin wasn’t sure if she was 100% joking or not.

He flashed her a thumbs up and said, “Got it.”

Once alone, all of the thoughts he originally had came flooding back. What if she said no? Then what? Would it be awkward? Would they be normal like they used to be? Then, what if they broke up and stopped talking to one another?

Macklin closed his eyes and collected his thoughts into one. All these thoughts were trying to hold him back, but he knew to overcome them. Now’s not the time to stay silent. He knew what he wanted.

He wanted Emilia.

…

Emilia plopped into the passenger seat, as if her often sitting in it granted her ownership, and shut the door behind her. She had thrown everything else in the back except for the flowers, which she made sure were treated tenderly. “So, where are we heading off to?” She asked, looking over in Macklin’s direction.

Macklin shut his door and looked over at Emilia, realizing how close they were. Their faces were only inches apart making it to where Macklin could see every detail on her face.

Her eyes twinkled in the light of the night sky, she hadfreckles scattered across her face, and her lipslips were slightly parted. He paid extra attention to her lips, pushing down the urge to kiss them right then and there. It’s not like he hasn’t before.

“Macklin?” Her voice drew him out of the daze she put him in.

His eyes shot back up to her own, watching as her eyebrows furrowed. With the memory of their kiss conquering every other thought in his mind, he spoke,. “You remember when we kissed during that game of Spin the Bottle?”

She was taken aback, twitching before responding with,, “how could I forget? I mean, it was my first.” She had a lighthearted tone, contradicting Macklin’s serious one.

He licked his dry lips before pulling away from her.. “You know it was mine too right?” He came across as charismatic and smooth when really, Macklin had the lingering fear of his feelings not being reciprocated.

Her eyebrows drew together as she scoffed in disbelief. “Nuh-uh.” She mirrored his body language before looking off to the field with her mouth still open. “Why didn’t you say anything?” She looked back at him with her brows still furrowed.

“Because I was embarrassed,” He answered truthfully. He held eye contact as he felt the air in the car grow thicker as the tension between them grew.

“Why, because your first kiss was me?” She was trying to maintain her playful tone, but Macklin knew better than anybody she knew what was coming next. They’ve had many interactions like this recently where one of them, mostly Macklin, have come close to crossing the friendship line into uncharted waters. Emilia always back peddled by making something into a joke when things got too real.

Typically Macklin would drop it and retreat back to safety and pretend nothing happened, but curiosity into what was in the unknown caused him to timidly cross over the line. “No, because everyone says you get attached to your first… and I did.” Emilia stopped talking.

The silence crashed into Macklin like a monstrous wave, trying to pull him beneath the water to make him accept defeat and swim back to the friendship shore. He knew he wasn’t backing out now. With his head above the metaphoric waters, he continued.. “Emilia, you have no idea what that kiss did to me.”

“Macklin, that was 3 years ago.” She was trying to guide him back to shore, trying to save him from facing uncertainty head on. Macklin thought of giving up, taking her hand and letting her pull him back to safety, but the hand had different intentions. “Why are you saying something now?” She asked, letting Macklin guide her into the water, dipping her toes in to get a feel.

It caught Macklin off guard, but her eyes pressured him to keep talking. “That’s the thing. I can’t keep living in this fantasy world that we’re just friends. I can’t keep seeing other girls and lying to them that we’re only friends..” She had inched closer, but she was still behind the line. She still hadn’t left the safety of their friendship, but the glint in her eyes spoke to Macklin more than her words. She was considering diving head first.,

“I want our friendship to change into something more.” He blurted without a second thought. Her eyes widened, causing Macklin’s heart to sink with disappointment.. “That’s not the look I was hoping for.” He began to let go of her hand, letting himself drift off with the current.

“No Macklin! I…” Her hand stretched out, catching him before he fully descended and lost her. In doing this, her body became more submerged into the water, but the look in her eye told Macklin she didn’t care, she might’ve not even realized it. .

“I like you, a lot actually, but I’m scared.” She finally confessed before licking her dry lips. Macklin could’ve imagined it, but he could’ve sworn seeing her eyes briefly fall to his lips before meeting his. “What if we cross this line and we can never go back to the way it used to be?”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take for you,” He answered without hesitation. “But what I do know is I’m tired of hiding this from you and everyone else.” He pulled on her hand to convince her to join him, to cross the line and make the passage to somewhere more. “Emilia, I want you to be my girlfriend.”

His question was able to force a smile to appear on her face as she nodded her head. She dove head first into the metaphoric water by answering, “Yes. I thought you’d never ask.”

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

I’m gonna write this down now so I can look like an absolute genius later (or look like a clown, but at least I said it with my full chest!)

❌ Spoilers for the FNAF Movie below! ❌

Ok, I might be huffing hopium here, but in my heart of hearts I STILL think Mike Schmidt is Mike Afton. If (or when) they make a sequel, there’s a way they can reveal this

So the most obvious thing from this movie is when Mike is in “Steve’s” office, and when “Steve” is reading Mike’s name out loud from his résumé, he stops mid-sentence. He looks at Mike for a weird amount of time, almost studying him, before completely changing the subject. There’s no way in hell “Steve” recognizes Mike from when he saw him as a kid when he kidnapped his brother Garrett 10+ ago, no chance. Also why would he go to Nebraska (unclear where the movie takes place, but let’s assume Utah because of the books) to kidnap a random kid and just drive off? Here’s what I think is going on…(also I’m gonna call him William from now on cuz we all know lol)

William fingered out that Mike is his son during that interview. My theory is that at some point, William was married and him and his wife have a son named Mike. And for one reason or another, they got divorced. This is when Mike was too young to really remember which is why he doesn’t recognize William during their meeting. Mike’s mom gains custody of Mike and remarries, she marries Mr. Schmidt. They have a child together, Garrett. Sometime after the divorce, William adopts a child, trying to cope after losing his only son. He adopts Vanessa.

William finds out about his ex-wife having another kid. He wants to cause her pain and suffering for leaving him. He follows the Schmidt’s and takes Garrett during the camping trip. Unable to handle the pain, Mike’s mom takes her own life, leaving Mike and his stepdad. Mr. Schmidt marries a little later to another woman, and she has a daughter named Abby. Sometime after this, both Mr. Schmidt and his new wife die, leaving Mike to care for Abby.

Vanessa owed William so much, he had adopted her while she had suffered in an orphanage for years. She would do anything he told her, even if it meant covering up his crimes. Years later, realizing what she was doing was wrong, she left her father and became a police officer, hoping to stop people like her father as she had failed to stop him.

Here’s another thing. Scott Cawthon knows that the fans are obsessed with the lore of FNAF. I think he knew he could make more movies, this isn’t going to be a one and done deal. Plus, he had his hand on this project every step of the way, he wouldn’t agree to anything that he didn’t want to happen in the story. Mike being William’s some is CRUCIAL to the story of FNAF (at least in the games). I think he’s trying to fake us out, you know how he loves to troll the fans!

Again, this is just a theory (A GAME THEORY lol), but I don’t think the idea of Mike being an Afton is dead just yet. Hoping and praying so I can look incredibly smart if or when the sequel drops 🙏🏻

[cescalovestowrite]

These days I find myself thinking a lot about Odysseus' relationship with the divine (I listened a lot to "Warrior of the mind" and "My Goodbye" so that explains it)

I remembered a beautiful book, "La mente colorata" (The colorful mind) by Pietro Citati. The author explains that in the generations before the Trojan War, gods and men lived side by side. They fought, challenged each other, mated...

With the heroes of the Trojan War, however, we see a change. Only a few, only the most special, have direct relationships with divinity. Of course, some are deceived by dreams (Agamemnon), others are betrayed at the last moment in battle (Hector), and in general everyone is subjected to the will of the Olympians, who sometimes instill strength (Diomedes) and other times can lead to madness (Ajax). But some, only the most special, can address them directly and receive an answer. Only a few have the privilege of seeing the gods, of recognizing them when they are in front of them, without being deceived by their disguises. Among these I'd say the most relevant are the two demigods (Helen and Achilles of course) and two mortals (Odysseus and Diomedes).

Odysseus in particular has one of the most extraordinary relationships with Athena. He sees her and speaks to her, she advises and reassures him throughout the war. This is why I find it incredibly heartbreaking that in the ten years that separate him from Ithaca, Odysseus complains that he can no longer hear her. He speaks to her but she no longer responds and Odysseus does not understand why, he cannot believe it. When he finally sees her again, now that he has arrived in Ithaca, he is incredulous, he cannot help but ask her why she abandoned him for so long. She answers in an almost awkward way in our eyes: she explains that it was to not disrespect her uncle Poseidon, but assures him that she has always watched over him and his family. Then Odysseus asks why she did not warn his loved ones that he was alive and intending to return. Here too, Athena's answer is evasive.

Honestly, I think everyone can read what they want into this episode, but I personally recognize the coldness and distance of the gods. Being their favorite does not ensure any salvation, because the gods are easily distracted, they lose interest. The fight for the survival of mortals can never be more than a source of entertainment for them, even when they love the players. The Greek gods can be sweet and terrible at the same time.

[professional-spectator]

Hey there, it's IDK! I usually stick to writing in the third person, but I thought I'd try something a little different this time. If you want to imagine yourself as the reader, go right ahead! Though, fair warning, I've never been the best at those kinds of stories, haha.

I'm a huge Cyno fan and proudly main him in the game, so of course, he's going to be a part of this story! I absolutely love Sumeru, and I feel like there aren't enough fanfics set there, especially ones that focus on Cyno. I'm still deciding whether to make this a series, so please let me know what you think!

Okay, here's the little disclaimer and a heads-up: I don't own Hoyoverse, Genshin Impact, or anything related to them.

And a big thank you to @arn9tails for letting me use their Genshin size difference AU as the basis for this fanfic. The idea that Teyvat isn't scaled to Earth but is actually much, much larger really fascinated me—it's a pretty scary thought, isn't it? I also really liked the idea that people from Earth aren't resistant to it, which is what sparked this whole thing.

Also, just a quick heads-up: this story touches on some serious and sensitive subjects. It's inspired by SAGAU (Self-Aware Genshin Impact Alternative Universe), isekai themes, different isekai worlds, creation myths, and fanfiction in general.

Alright, let's dive into chapter 3 and see what adventures await our dear Oc!

Chapter 3 Paimon copy cat:

I sighed, realizing that no amount of reader inserts, fanfiction, chatbots, or fan-made otome games could have adequately prepared me for what I was experiencing. I felt incredibly small in this world, perhaps the size of a Barbie doll, and the food before me was stunning, as though it had been plucked straight from an anime. Had I not been so stressed, I would have undoubtedly been fan-girling.

Despite the plate still appearing enormous relative to my diminutive size, hunger overwhelmed me. I was ravenous, but without any utensils. Although I had prepared this dish countless times in the game, I had never actually tasted it back on Earth.

According to the game's lore, the dish was Biryani: "An aromatic rice dish. Stir-fry the meat until it's crispy on the outside and tender on the inside. Then, stew it with condiments and long-grain rice. Sprinkle a few Padisarah petals before serving. Every grain is saturated with the aroma of fatty meat and condiments. The dish has an exquisite taste only found in Sumeru." To my exhausted and sleep-deprived mind, that description simply translated to "food."

At that moment, I likely resembled a wild animal.

"You look like a boar piglet..."

I immediately recognized Cyno's voice, followed by Tighnari, who looked utterly exhausted.

"Cyno..." The forest watcher shook his head, his expression weary. "Just ignore him..."

A wave of embarrassment washed over me.

The insult was like a slap. "I don't resemble a boar..." The denial escaped my lips before I could think, a purely defensive response born from injured pride. Hindsight suggested a more tactful approach might have been wiser.

"You do... you resemble a boar piglet," Cyno's voice, a resonant baritone from his towering height, corrected me. Stupid giant Cyno. A child? I was a fully grown woman, thank you very much. I couldn't discern his meaning – was he joking, or was it simply his blunt, unwavering honesty? A shiver traced its way down my spine. The mere thought of facing a real boar filled me with apprehension. My small size in this world already put me at a disadvantage, and if the boars here were anything like their Earth counterparts, with their indiscriminate appetites, I was in deep trouble. The food chain's hierarchy became painfully obvious, and I realized I was at the very bottom.

He locked his intense, crimson gaze on me, his expression inscrutable.

"Tighnari, I did not enjoy yesterday's dinner at camp with the boar..." he stated, his tone utterly grave, the slightest cock of his head the only hint of anything unusual. I could almost hear Tighnari's weary sigh carried on the wind. "He was such a pig..." Cyno continued, his voice as monotone as ever.

As a dedicated Cyno player, even I couldn't manage a smile. He was trying, I could tell, attempting to alleviate the tension, but his attempt fell completely flat. I had always pictured that if I ever met him in person, I'd be overcome with laughter, tears streaming down my face. But here, now, standing before the genuine article? Not a possibility.

"You see, the boar is a part of the pig famil-..." I watched, a bizarre blend of fascination and dismay, as he tried to analyze and explain the joke, only further entrenching himself in comedic failure.

Tighnari, muttering, "I should wash the dishes..." gathered the plates and walked away from Cyno, abandoning me. I wanted to scream, "Giant Tighnari, come back!" but I bit back the words.

He'd deserted me the instant Cyno began his jokes. I felt a pang of sympathy for Cyno; he seemed utterly oblivious to just how awful his jokes were. Now, I was trapped at this enormous table, forced to endure them. Kaveh's voice line suddenly sprang to mind, the one where he warned the Traveler to never listen to Cyno's jokes sober. Between you and me, I'd always dismissed it as the ramblings of an alcoholic. But Kaveh was right.

Cyno's voice cut through the silence. "Not funny? Mao?"

Mao. That was the name I'd settled on. A placeholder, really, a designated title in this bizarre chapter of my life. The fact that I couldn't remember my own name gnawed at me, a constant, low-level hum of fear beneath the surface. My emotions were a tangled mess, a chaotic storm of anxiety and bewilderment. And then there was the small matter of my current stature – I was, quite literally, the size of a Barbie doll. A cat minded you.

"It's not you, it's me..." The words tumbled out before I could stop them, and I trailed off, cringing inwardly. It sounded like a breakup line, ridiculous given the circumstances. Thankfully, Cyno didn't seem to pick up on the awkwardness.

The words rushed out, a torrent of pent-up worry and frustration. "I was abducted, along with my best friends, and I have absolutely no idea where they are. On top of that, I left my aunt in charge of looking after my parents, and they're both really sick. I'm supposed to be home."

Cyno's gaze softened as he took in her plight. Trapped in a world so alien, so vast compared to her own—he understood her fear, her disorientation. A deep frown etched itself onto his face. The practice of selling these "mini humans" was an abomination, a custom long outlawed in Sumeru. Yet, despite the ban, they still surfaced, these tiny beings, often brought to the Akademiya under the guise of research.

But these miniature people… they were different. They didn't behave as ordinary humans should. Most scholars accepted this at face value, attributing it to their diminutive size or unknown origins. Cyno, however, suspected a deeper, more insidious cause. He remembered Tighnari's insightful observation: these "mini humans" likely lacked the natural defenses, the inherent immunities, against this world's unique magic, its mana.

If Mao—the name they'd given her, since her own was lost to her—was similarly vulnerable… Cyno's mind raced. He couldn't be sure if the world's strange energies had already begun to affect her. The thought sent a shiver down his spine. Was it possible she might regress, devolve into the feral state he'd witnessed in other mini humans? He couldn't allow it. He wouldn't.

His resolve hardening, Cyno met her gaze. "We're going to get to the bottom of this," he declared, his voice firm, laced with a promise he intended to keep.

I nodded, but little did I know what the next day held. A day that would turn my world, quite literally, upside down.

I awoke the following morning, desperately wishing the events unfolding were nothing more than a bizarre dream. Alas, reality crashed down upon me: I was in a gargantuan version of Teyvat, perched precariously on Cyno's broad shoulder like some exotic parrot. My knuckles were white as I gripped his cape with my uninjured hand, fighting the dizzying urge to look down. It was a terrifyingly long way to fall. He had been striding purposefully towards Sumeru City for what felt like an eternity – a good four hours, at least.

How, you might ask, did I find myself in such a ludicrous predicament? Well, it all started something like this:

"Hey," I began, craning my neck to look up at Cyno. Without a word, he promptly scooped me up, his movements reminiscent of King Kong seizing his prize.

"I really don't want to go in your pocket..." I protested, my voice laced with apprehension. The last time I'd been confined to that pocket, I was bordering on the brink of a full-blown meltdown. Besides, the space was incredibly claustrophobic.

"How else are you supposed to travel, Mao?" He crossed his arms, a gesture I knew all too well.

"Walking, like a normal person..." I suggested, perhaps with a touch too much hope in my voice.

"You wouldn't be able to keep up, and the moment you set foot on the forest floor, I'm sure some ravenous beast would try to make a meal out of you," Cyno countered, painting a rather morbid, and frankly, unsettling picture.

"Isn't there any other way?" I pleaded, desperation seeping into my tone. Cyno sighed, a sound that usually preceded some form of compromise.

"I suppose I could pass you off as a jinni..." he conceded, his voice tinged with reluctance.

And that is how I ended up here, teetering on his shoulder like a brightly plumaged parrot. To add insult to injury, I was adorned in something vaguely resembling Princess Jasmine's outfit from the cartoon, albeit a significantly more modest version, for which I was eternally, deeply grateful.

"Do the Jinn really wear these?" I asked, my fingers gripping Cyno heavy cloak. Perched precariously on Cyno's broad shoulder, I couldn't help but feel like a slightly-out-of-place Princess Jasmine Barbie doll.

"Yes, when they take human form, they do." Cyno's voice was a low rumble. "But they're rare, you know. Most are kept confined – in jars, or bound to weapons, or even trapped within lamps."

I nodded, remembering the few Jinn scattered throughout the game's lore. They were creations of Nabu Malikata, powerful beings, but…

"Are they common?" I asked, my curiosity now fully ignited. I didn't recall encountering the Jinn all that frequently during my playthroughs.

"Common enough..." Cyno replied, his tone leaving me wondering just how "common" was "common enough" in this strange new reality.

Sumeru City was a feast for the senses, a vibrant tapestry of exotic scents and captivating sounds. I reveled in its beauty, often perched comfortably upon Cyno's broad shoulder, the rich aroma of spices swirling around me. Life was tranquil, until that moment that peace shattered with a single, chilling question. I overheard a voice, laced with avarice, inquiring, "How much for the Jinni?"

Being Barbie-sized, it seemed, offered no advantages in this situation. My tiny heart lurched within my chest. Did people truly see me as nothing more than a commodity, an object to be bought and sold?

"Not for sale," Cyno's voice cut through the air, firm and unwavering. In a swift, protective motion, he tucked me safely inside the secure darkness of his cloak pocket.

I wish I had an exciting secret to share, or that I had found something interesting in Cyno's pocket, but sadly, neither of those things happened. After what felt like forever, he finally pulled me out from inside his cloak.

"Mao? Are you okay?" he asked, his voice a tint of worry. I gave a slight nod.

"I'm fine..." I answered, my eyes scanning the room. It looked like an office, or maybe a bedroom—possibly a studio apartment. I noticed I was sitting on a desk, and in the corner, there was a bed and a bookshelf. I tried to remember, but I couldn't recall Cyno ever having an office in the game. I knew he had a place to live, but the details were vague.

"So, what now?" I blurted out, feeling anxious as I sat on his desk. He stayed in his chair, looking at me.

"For now, I need you to tell me everything you know..." His voice was strong and determined. I had a sinking feeling that I was about to be interrogated.

I was the size of a Barbie doll, a tiny intruder in a colossal, terrifying version of my favorite game. The thought of being interrogated by Cyno, my beloved character, sent shivers down my spine.

He began with deceptively simple questions, each a calculated probe: my date of birth, my mother's maiden name, the name of my childhood pet. With unnerving precision, he recorded every answer.

The inevitable moment arrived when I had to explain Genshin Impact to him. It was a daunting task, considering Teyvat was a world untouched by computers and the technological marvels of modern Earth.

"In your world, I'm a character in a game?" he finally asked, his voice sharp and devoid of warmth.

"Yes..." I squeaked, my gaze fixed on the floor, struggling to articulate the impossible. I braced myself for anger, for threats. Instead, an unsettling calm settled over him.

"That's interesting. What do you know about me?" The crimson eyes that I once adored now sparked with an intensity that filled me with dread.

"I know you tell jokes to diffuse tense situations. I know you received your Vision while reading a book on Sumerian law, before your appointment as General Mahamatra. And I know about Collei..." The words tumbled out in a rush.

"Is this game akin to Genius Invokation TCG?" he pressed, his mind already dissecting the information.

"Yes, in a way, but far more interactive..." I offered, struggling to find the right words.

"Hmm, could that be the reason for your divergence from the other 'mini humans'? Perhaps your immersion in this world through the game..." Cyno murmured, more to himself than to me, lost in a labyrinth of his own deductions.

Before I could even blink, Cyno's hand was upon me, scooping me up with the force of King Kong. I found myself staring up at him, my expression, I imagined, resembling that of a pouting kitten cradled in his massive grip.

"Give me some warning, will you? I'm not particularly fond of being manhandled..." I leveled him with a look that could only be described as utterly done.

"Mao, I assure you, no harm is intended. We simply must be on our way..." He then proceeded to deposit me, once again, upon his shoulder. I felt like a brightly colored parrot perched there, surveying the room. He reached for a jar on his desk, the lid unscrewing to reveal some sort of almond-coated treat. Chocolate, I presumed. He offered it to me, and of course, it felt enormous in my hands. I devoured it.

"Mao, you eat like a boar piglet..." A chuckle rumbled from his chest.

A blush crept across my face. Why was this man constantly comparing me to a piglet? It was the second time now!

"I do not!" I protested, perhaps a little too vehemently. I hadn't even realized I'd finished the treat so quickly. He offered me another. I also didn't realize how ridiculous I looked.

"You do. Though, I suppose it makes sense, in a way." Cyno seemed to be thinking aloud, more to himself than to me.

"The Traveler has a floating companion, bigger than you but smaller than a child, who possesses an enormous appetite. Perhaps it's your size, coupled with your intelligence, that drives you to eat more..."

The realization dawned on me. He was talking about Paimon. He offered me another almond, and I froze as his large finger gently patted the top of my head. A wave of conflicting emotions washed over me: embarrassment, anger, a strange sense of humility, a flicker of… pleasure? And underlying it all, a distinct anxiety. It hit me like a bolt of lightning: did he see me as another Paimon? Another almond, another head pat. Oh, I was a Paimon to him—a cute, adorable, albeit slightly annoying companion with an insatiable appetite. I glared at him, my annoyance palpable. I could practically see the thought bubble forming above his head: "Adorable, like a piglet."

High up on Cyno's shoulder, I felt like some strange, miniature parrot—a Paimon-esque creature under observation. I was doll-sized, perched upon the shoulder of my favorite character, being hand-fed almonds. It struck me then: did others yearn for their own Paimon? After all, the Traveler had journeyed to the farthest reaches of Teyvat, accompanied by the tiny companion. Perhaps that was the driving force behind the booming "Mini Human" market. But such thoughts were far from my mind as Cyno strode down the hall, my attention consumed by the almonds I munched on.

A confession: my pride stung a little. I was, by all accounts, average. In my daydreams of being Isekai'd, I always envisioned myself as the female lead, the center of attention. Back on Earth, I often felt like a background character in my own life. And now, here in Teyvat, the world of my beloved game, I was merely a tag-along. Not the heroine, not even a significant player—just a tiny sidekick.

As we delved further into the Akademiya, the familiar sight of the House of Daena came into view. A wave of awe replaced my earlier apprehension. This was the place where I had spent countless hours in the game, getting lost in the intricate library and longing to experience it in person. And now, here I was, although my current situation as a miniature version of myself clinging to Cyno's shoulder was difficult to overlook.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself," Cyno's deep voice rumbled, interrupting my thoughts. He gently patted my head, his finger feeling enormous.

"I am not! Stop petting my head!" My high-pitched, indignant voice echoed in the vast space. I clutched his cloak even tighter with my injured hand.

"Hmm?" He raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "Mao, you seem to be enjoying it," Cyno repeated, his face stoic and serious. Was he really that oblivious? Another almond appeared, an offering as if food could buy my cooperation. Sadly, it often did. With a resigned sigh, I raised the comically large almond to my mouth.

"I am not..." I mumbled, taking a bite of the almond. "Stupid giant Cyno, stupid almond, stupid head pat," I thought to myself.

"Why are you pouting, Mao?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.

"I'm not!" I retorted, probably sounding just like Paimon.

The earlier integration with Cyno had been intense, and Dori's name inevitably came up. I couldn't help but throw her under the bus, exposing her "Mini humans" operation—the one dealing with humans from Earth, like my friends and I. But that was then, and this is now.

We found ourselves in the House of Daena. I sat on Cyno's shoulder, feeling like a tiny, inquisitive parrot.

"What brings us here?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"I need to wait for something..." He eventually set me down on a table. Being so small was incredibly frustrating; a mountain of books towered over me. Why the secrecy? Couldn't he just tell me what was going on? I glared at him, only to receive another head pat in return.

I held back my questions. What were we waiting for, exactly? Just then, I saw him retrieving what I assumed were his Caskets of Tomes. In the game's lore, these card boxes were created by Sumeru Akademiya researchers and had a special mechanism for detecting others nearby who also possessed Caskets of Tomes.

I enjoyed the Genius Invokation TCG in Genshin Impact, but I was quickly learning that reality didn't perfectly reflect the game. The cards were half my size!

"Do you know how to play Genius Invokation TCG, Mao?"

Now I was completely baffled.

"In theory..."

He started explaining the game to me, but it was obvious he was multitasking; his attention was divided. He was watching someone, or something, else.

Perched on a thick volume, I felt utterly insignificant amidst the towering stacks of books that surrounded me. Before me, spread across the table, were the Genius Invokation TCG cards. They seemed larger than life, each one a miniature portal into the game's sprawling world. The characters depicted on the cards appeared almost holographic, shimmering like ethereal projections above the playing surface.

The selection of characters immortalized on these cards was a curious one, primarily reserved for figures of historical significance and those actively shaping society. It was why Cyno, Kaveh, and Tighnari had their own cards, their images gleaming under the soft light, while Sethos, Alhaitham, Dehya, and Collei remained absent. It was a stark contrast to the game I knew.

Cyno seemed to be juggling a multitude of tasks within the confines of his mind, his expression an unreadable mask. Even when the event he'd clearly been anticipating finally unfolded, he remained seated, betraying no outward sign of surprise or satisfaction. Once our game reached its conclusion, he abruptly scooped me up, depositing me unceremoniously into the depths of his cloak pocket.

Cyno conversation with Mao proved to be a treasure trove of information, particularly regarding her earlier circumstances. She recounted detailed observations of various individuals, painting vivid pictures with her words. One person, in particular, caught my attention: Cyno's observation of a scholar near the Akademiya. According Cyno had witnessed this scholar exchanging what appeared to be a coded note with another, hinting at Dori's network of informants embedded within the very walls of the Akademiya. Cyno's actions were so subtle, so expertly masked, that many believed he was too engrossed in our Genius Invokation TCG match to notice the clandestine exchange. But of course, nothing escapes Cyno's watchful gaze. Shortly after relaying this information, Mao, too, found herself scooped up and deposited into Cyno's pocket.

Once more, I was desperately clinging to the inside of Cyno's pocket. The constant bumping was almost unbearable. Was he engaged in another fight?

"Ugh!" The abrupt movements made my stomach churn. I was thrown around like a rag doll, screaming and struggling to hold on.

Through the thick material, I could hear his voice, loud and muffled.

"What information do you have regarding the black market for mini-humans? I am aware of who your superior is..." His voice was cold, leaving no room for argument or excuses. "There's no point in lying."

He sounded absolutely frightening. Then, in one fluid motion, he pulled me out of his pocket. By this point, I was almost used to being held up like this. The sudden exposure to the bright sunlight was nearly blinding.

I blinked, trying to adjust my vision as I realized Cyno had some unfortunate person pinned against a wall with one hand, while I dangled precariously from the other.

"Do you recognize her?" Cyno's firm grip was the only thing preventing me from falling, but I trusted him completely not to drop me.

"Take a close look..." He held me up, presenting me to the scholar's face.

"It's a mini; they all appear the same..." the scholar stuttered, although I noticed a hint of recognition in his eyes.

"That's rude..." I gave him a look that clearly said, "I'm so over this." I didn't expect his reaction; he screamed.

"It's talking! It's talking..." the scholar yelled, clearly bewildered. Apparently, according to the Akademiya, earthlings – their creative name for "mini-humans" or "minis" – weren't supposed to be able to speak and only had the intelligence of a cat or dog.

"What's wrong with it? Is this an abnormal...?"

"No, she isn't..." Cyno's presence alone was enough to easily intimidate the scholar. I was simply there for the ride, a prop in his interrogation. Before long, Cyno had gotten the information he needed and placed the scholar under arrest.

Once more, I found myself perched on Cyno's broad shoulder, feeling like a brightly colored parrot. He released the scholar he'd been holding to the waiting Matra, his expression hardening.

"We have much to do, Mao..." His voice, usually so measured, now carried a weight that made my non-existent stomach clench. I hated this diminutive form, this feeling of being a mere doll. I was not a child, despite the way he treated me. Another head pat, delivered with the force of his massive finger, only amplified my frustration.

"Can you please explain to me what's going on?" I demanded, glaring up at him with all the ferocity I could muster.

"We are going to get to the bottom of this," he declared, his gaze fixed on some distant point. "Clearly, you are the normal one in this equation. There is something deeply amiss when others of your kind arrive in this world... We are going to hold those responsible accountable. It simply isn't right to enslave an entire group of people for the sake of companionship... Especially when they are rendered unable to speak for themselves."

The realization washed over me then: I was now an unwitting participant in Cyno's personal quest for justice. Another head pat landed, and I could see he genuinely believed I enjoyed them. I didn't have the heart to correct him. A weary part of me screamed that I'd had enough adventure, that I just wanted to wake up from this bizarre nightmare. But deep down, I knew I no longer had a choice in the matter. My fate was intertwined with his.

"So, what now?" I asked, the question hanging in the air.

"We'll go undercover..." Cyno stated, a glint of determination in his eyes as if he had a fully formed plan already brewing. Undercover? That didn't seem like his usual style. He looked incredibly resolute, a man on a mission.

To be continued, maybe......