#think that’s going to make them go any quicker seeing as a deadline before a war kicked off didn’t so idk. I don’t know what to expect from

[mintmentos]

I’m really not vibing with the theme music and the more I think about it the more I think it’s for the same reasons people are having issues with the pacing.

The books are adventures - it’s kids being sent off on their own to complete quests and fight monsters and save their friends. They’re fun and upbeat and scary and exciting.

The theme music is whimsical and magical and completely opposite to the sense of adventure of the original stories, and I think that’s lost in the show as well. The complete lack of urgency and weird pacing makes the stakes seem really low and the encounters with monsters are over so quickly or interrupted by something that brings the tension of the scene crashing down.

[f0point5]

I had the time of my life, with you

Companion piece to the Max Verstappen x bestfriend!reader social media au

✨Set in Abu Dhabi 2021, right before the race✨

A/N: So it turns out setting myself deadlines actually works lol. I still have a love/hate relationship with these pieces. But, I have a special place in my heart for this one because I had the title in my head since like the second week of the smau and I didn’t use it for any other chapter because of that. And also it’s an Easter egg because in the AD bonus part Y/N uses it as a caption for her Instagram post as an Easter egg for Max ;) we love a mastermind. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this little ramble.

You thought you knew tension. You thought, growing up like you did, you were more than familiar. The eerie silence, the glazed expressions as your mind tries to protect you from close the chaos is, the pit in your stomach, that heaviness of breath, that feeling of cold that goes down to your bones no matter the weather.

Fucking hell, were you wrong.

You’ve never known tension like this.

The garage is thrumming with energy. Everyone is going about their business quicker, deeper, quieter, than it seems like they ever have. The grandstands are filling up, music blasting over the speakers. There’s a palpable electricity in the air. You’ve been shivering all day, unable to get warm enough even in a jacket in the desert heat.

You wrap your arms around yourself as you wind through along the narrow corridors behind the garage to the small room that Max has been hiding in. For the first time in a while, you knock instead of going straight it.

You’ve barely seen him all day, he’s been pulled this way and that for a hundred interviews and briefings, ducking the Netflix crews who’ve never been so sycophantic. They made him a villain, and now they lurk like there’s blood in the water in case he becomes the hero. Selfishly, you’ve missed him, and when you’d said as much to Christian, he’d just nodded to the back of the garage.

“He’s taking a couple of minutes to himself,” Christian had said, fixing his gaze on you. “But you should go and see him,”

So you had. And as you heard a gentle “Come in,” over the noise of drills and loud dance music and stepped inside, you realised why.

This was tension, you thought as your eyes fell on Max. He was on the small couch, hunched over, elbows resting on his thighs, hands clasped together almost as if he were praying. It’s like you can see every muscle in his body pulled taut under his fireproofs. He doesn’t even raise his head when you come in, but you suppose he glances at your shoes to know it’s you.

You close the door behind you, leaning against it. You’re not sure why, but it feels like you’ll bother him less from over here.

“Hey, champ,” you say, mustering a smile in case he looks at you. He doesn’t, at first. His eyes stay on the ground, and then, painfully slowly, his head lifts.

His eyes are still your favourite colour, his hair is still a bit too long, he’s still unshaven because he couldn’t be bothered even though he might be looking at pictures of this night for the rest of his life. He’s still Max.

“It’s a bit early for that,” he says, his half smile as delicate as yours. Yeah, still Max.

“Respectfully, I disagree,” you tell him crossing your arms over your chest as he looks up at you. “Since I can remember you’ve wanted to be a champion, and since I can remember, I knew you would be. That nickname is twenty years in the making,”

His eyes drop to his hands again and your heart drops with them. You’re trying so hard to say the right thing, but it was arrogant to think you ever had a chance. What experience in your frivolous existence would help you know what to say at a time like this. You wonder if you should just leave him to it as you fold your bottom lip between your teeth to chew at it as another shiver wracks your body.

“Twenty years,” Max says quietly, making you look over at him again. “It’s a long time,”

“Yeah, it is,” you reply, nodding even though he’s not looking at you. You edge closer to him, and when he doesn’t react, you take a seat beside him. Not as close as every cell in your body tells you you need to be, but as close as you feel like he’d want right now.

“You don’t understand,” he says with a sigh.

You don’t respond, because you know you don’t. You’ve never committed to anything, loved anything, lived for anything, like this. This dream of his has outlived marriages, outlasted memories, predated a friendship that feels like it has been going on forever. It’s the only thing Max has ever wanted. You’ll never be able to understand, because no matter how much you love him, he loved racing first.

“Tell me what to say, Max,” you almost beg as you reach towards him. You can’t even hold his hand, so you just place yours on his wrist, fingertips resting against his skin at the edge of his sleeve.

You glance over at him, naively hoping he will look over at you and tell you what he needs from you. Because you’d do anything.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he just says, “I’m sorry,” in a small voice the brings a lump to your throat.

You shake your head. “Don’t be. I know I don’t understand. No one can. Not me, not Christian, not Stan, not even your dad. You’ve outclassed your whole support system here,” you say this last part with a laugh, but it’s true. He’s alone now more than ever, he’ll stand on that top step alone, too. “We’re all so proud of you, you know,”

“I know,” he mutters, and it kind of breaks you how dismissive he is, even if you know why.

“Do you?” You ask him, leaning a little closer to him, but he doesn’t react.

He just continues staring at his hands as he untangles them, his left fingers curling backwards until they brush over your hand on his wrist, and you hastily slot your fingers into his as he lets out a heavy breath.

“Yeah.” He says, sounding more resolute this time.

“And you know that we’ll be proud of you, even if-“ you can’t even bring yourself to say it. “We’ll be proud of you regardless.”

“I know,” he says, “but it’s not enough,”

Despite yourself, you let out a frustrated sigh. “Max, I know that it’s not a trophy, but-“

“No,” he says, squeezing your hand to silence you. “It’s not that. I mean that it’s not enough, to come second.”

You grip his hand tighter as he lets out a laboured breath, his head lifting so he can stare straight ahead where the Dutch flag is pinned to the wall.

“We didn’t do all this to come second.” His voice is low and reverent. “My mum, Vic, I took so much from them. My dad gave up his whole life for this. You put your life on hold for this. It can’t all be for nothing,”

He’s never really said it, but you know what he means - this win is owed. He owes his mother a marriage, his sister a father, and his father a career. And none of that is in his gift, but if he can weigh a championship against all that sacrifice, then maybe he will be forgiven. Maybe for the first time in a long time, he’ll race with a clean slate. Without wondering whether he was worth the life he cost those around him, and the life he cost himself. And you want that for him. God, you want that more than anything.

You reach for him before you can stop yourself. Space be damned. You cup his cheek in your free hand and force him to look at you.

“Max, It won’t be for nothing.” You promise him, your nails pressing gently into his skin as if you’re trying to hold onto him. Like he might float away. “Not to me. Not to anyone who loves you. Even if you don’t win today, even if you never do, even if you shunt on the first lap. I had the time of my life with you this year. Being there for you will never have been for nothing,”

He wants to believe you, you can see it. But even if he believes that you all think that, he doesn’t think that. How do you tell him it’s worth it, when you both know there’s only one way for him to prove it?

“Do you want me to drive?”

Your question catches him off guard so much as that he snorts his laughter. You feel the air against your face as he falls back against the couch.

“I’m serious,” you say, grinning as you watch him. “I’ll put on the suit and the helmet and do the race for you, like Mulan. I did the track walk, I know where I’m going. Vaguely, anyway ,”

You’re making a meal of this mediocre joke, but you’ll do anything you can to keep him as carefree as he looks right now. With his head thrown back and the colour returning to his cheeks as his shoulders shake.

“Engel,” he says, his head lolling in your direction, “You really think you have a better chance of winning than me?”

You reach over to move a stray strand of hair away from his forehead, and his eyes follow your fingers.

“No, I don’t,” you say, letting your hand slide through his hair to rest on his jaw. “Because you, Max Emilian Verstappen, know how to win races better than anyone.”

Your thumb brushed across his stubbled cheek and he leans into it instinctively, just like the cats. The smile you give him feels more like one you remember, and the ones he returns reaches his bright eyes.

“Alright,” he says with a shrug.

He gets to his feet in one smooth movement, pulling you with him towards the door by your entwined hands that you’d quite forgotten about. He must have, too, because when he notices he squeezes your hand to get you to look up at him. When you do, your breath catches in your throat, and for the first time all day, you feel warm.

“I better go and win, then,” he says lightly, pulling the door open.

No one will you believe you, but you know then that you’ll be looking up at him on that podium tonight, when he’ll be a world champion.

“You will.”

Tag list

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[edensrose]

Hello! I love your blog !! ❤️❤️❤️you could do: how the ainurs would react if you gave them a sexy massage ❤️😮‍💨🫰

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ ainur ⠀〳 reader⠀ ❜࿔

· ⊰ synopsis. how mairon, melkor, manwë, námo, irmo & eönwë react when their s/o sends them a dirty text while they're at work ( minors dni ៸៸ sexual content ៸៸ explicit descriptions ៸៸ dirty talk ៸៸ semi-public sex ៸៸ somnophilia with pre-consent ៸៸ penetrative sex ៸៸ overstimulation ៸៸ edging )

· ⊰ note. thanks so much love! I think I had a bit too much fun with this request haha. it gets quite smutty

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ mairon.

ʚ Usually he wouldn’t look at his phone when he was so nose-deep into work, but he did and he was pleasantly surprised to find your suggestive message 

ʚ Damn, if only he could get home to you right now. But he had work, he had to hold strong 

ʚ Replies to you telling you to behave yourself and that he’ll be back soon to tend to you all night long 

ʚ Did you relent? Of course not. He places his phone down and low and behold - another text. Even dirtier than the last

ʚ We all know that Mairon has absolutely no patience, so he texts back, a bit firmer this time:

ʚ ‘Doll, do you really wish to test my patience?’

  ‘Are you so needy to be filled that you’d go to this extent?’

 ‘By all means, continue. But prep yourself for when I get home.’ 

ʚ That was the last message he sent before leaving you on read for your following messages. He tries to hold strong, tries to keep himself composed. But with the growing shamelessness of your texts, he eventually signed off work and goes straight back home to you. Screw Melkor’s deadlines, he’d get them done some other time 

ʚ You definitely weren’t expecting him back home so early, now to immediately bury his hand into your hair and crash his lips to yours 

ʚ Before you knew it you were stumbling back into the bed with his hands all over you. Don’t expect any sort of release for quite some time. You’ll be edged for as long as he sees fit 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ melkor.

ʚ Self-control? What’s that? Melkor has no idea of such a term and on that note, neither is he aware of the definition ‘shame’. Especially not after the stunt that you had pulled this morning with your endless teasing and feather touches when you knew good and well that he had work. Your body had been on his mind all day, so it’s no surprise that all he needed was a little bit more motivation to come rushing back home to you 

ʚ The second he receives your message he stood up from his seating, in which he was having a meeting with his brother, and grabbed his coat. Did he answer any of the questions directed to him? Of course not 

ʚ As he’s walking down the hallways of the building, he decides to reply to your dirty little text with a voice message. He couldn’t care less who was listening to him, all the more reason to show off his perfect little lover 

ʚ “I expect you laid back and ready for me once I get back. Think you can handle not touching yourself?”

ʚ Of course you decided to test his patience and while he was on his way back, you got to work on doing exactly what he told you not to, giving him a wonderful surprise for when he came back home and saw your form splayed out on your shared bed and playing with yourself 

ʚ Melkor’s hand wraps around your throat quicker than you would have expected and his free hand joins yours with two fingers entering your heat and curling into that one spot he knows oh so well 

ʚ “Little slut, this is what you wanted, right?” He’d chuckle against your ear, immediately getting to work on ruining you. Lots of overstimulation and making you cry until you’re spluttering out apologies 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ manwë.

ʚ You knew exactly what you were doing by sending him these texts, especially when you knew that he’d be in a meeting. You had been rather suggestive all morning and Manwë played ignorant for his own sake. He knows damn well he cannot deny you when you flush up against him and give him those eyes 

ʚ So, since he decided to play ‘hard to get’ you decided to make his life all the more difficult and sent a little audio to him. Manwë was alone in his office when he opened the voice note and immediately dropped the sound once he realised it was an audio taken with you touching yourself 

ʚ Oh it took all of his divine patience to not simply call the meeting off and go back to you, especially with your little moans and pleads. He already felt the tightening in his pants and unfortunately had to turn the voice note off altogether, knowing he wouldn’t be able to focus. He heads out for the meeting 

ʚ You continue with your texts, growing more and more shameless with each one. He regrets checking them, because all he can imagine is that damn voice note and the way your expression twists up in pleasure

ʚ He manages to make it through the meeting and the rest of the day, but not before sending you a simple, innocent text

ʚ ‘Darling, just wait until tonight ♡ ’

ʚ When he got home, you were on edge. Expecting him to push you up against the nearest piece of furniture and blow your back out — however, he seemed calm. He seemed as though nothing had happened. In reality he was honestly just luring you into a false sense of security. Having dinner with you, showering you in affection as he always did, asking you to join him for a shower 

ʚ That was your mistake. As usual he lathered soap on his hands and got to work in washing you — until his touches got sensual, teasing, and before you knew it you were flushed to the bathroom wall with your chest pressed against the cold tile while he rutted into you 

ʚ Manwë is patient. He won’t give you what you want for the longest time and reduce you to a trembling mess on his cock after several denies orgasms before leaning to your ear and asking in a gentle, innocent tone,

ʚ “Oh, surely you can take more than that, my darling. After all, you’ve edged me the entire day — I am only returning the favour.’’ 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ námo.

ʚ You knew it was a death wish sending him a dirty text while he was at work, but you know what, you wished to get back at him after a small disagreement that the two of you had in the morning. And what’s better than make-up sex, right?

ʚ You started your text off with a simple apology, it seemed innocent at first. Námo’s eyes softened when he saw the message and picked up his phone to respond to you — until he saw the following message. Oh, how shameless were you?

ʚ He can all but watch as you send a few more, making sure to keep the chat open so that you are well aware that he’s online and reading them. However, he soon went back to work, with no response mind you. He was far from angry, if anything, he wished to work on your nerves a little. He knew exactly what you were doing and honestly? He wanted to leave you a bit on edge for when he eventually did get home 

ʚ Did you stop? Of course not. The more that he left your messages on read the more determined you were to get some sort of response out of him — or at the very least get him to come home and fuck your lights out as an apology for earlier’s argument. So you took it a step further and sent him an audio 

ʚ He brings the phone to his ear, listening to your soft voice, your innocent apologies, your gentle begs for him to forgive you and use you as he sees fit. Basically, all of your attempts at trying to appease him. Especially with that little name of ‘Sir’ attached to some of it 

ʚ Námo was patient, however, and would continue on with the rest of his work day which had extended out into the night. He expected you to be asleep by the time that he got back home and that’s exactly what he was betting on. Once he arrives, he sees you curled up in your shared bed, fast asleep 

ʚ Perfect. He undoes his tie and slowly brings it around your wrists, careful to not wake you as he immediately got over you. You had been lying on your stomach, so by now he was flushed against you — especially, his crotch between your legs 

ʚ He moves some of your hair to the side, taking in your sent as he immediately begins rutting against you with soft little groans and laboured breaths as he watches your body react and open up to him 

ʚ Doesn’t even undress you entirely. He simply gets your shorts down and pushes your underwear to the side after pulling down the waistband of his pants to free his length and immediately entering you. He knew good and well you probably touched yourself before this, he could feel it when he had started to prep you. Still, he groans into your neck and bites down on your skin

ʚ That’s when you wake up, surprised by the presence over you but immediately moaning into your pillows once you realise what is happening. And he’s far from merciful. Rutting against you oh so feverishly as he fucks you into the mattress just as you wanted him to 

ʚ “Sshh, let me take care of you. Damnit, you take me so well, little one.’’ 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ irmo.

ʚ Irmo made the mistake of letting you come along with him to work that day — especially with him having a less busy day. He ran a clinic and was one of the main doctors. Today was a slow day and you had tagged along to give him some company. However, while he was busy with his patients or completing some scripts, you were elsewhere

ʚ You decided to use this to your advantage and devised a little plan. He seemed rather free in any case, promising to allow you back into his office once he completed some simple admin work. Why not make it a bit difficult for him?

ʚ The last patient of the day had just walked out of his office and you knew he would be waiting for the script to be printed. So, you decided to start your onslaught. Needless to say, Irmo was beyond surprised to see your texts. So, so lewd despite you being in literally the other room 

ʚ He tries to focus, signing whatever it is he needs to with shaky hands as he watches your messages pop up — one after the other. Telling him about how you simply couldn’t wait to help him ‘unwind’ from work a bit 

ʚ Irmo had never finished a script so quick and saw the patient out with his usual smile, albeit with some tremble in it. He then turns to where you are sitting, looking oh so innocent as though you weren’t just texting him about how wet you were for him 

ʚ The rest was a blur. You were pulled into his office with him barely managing to lock the door. He knew that his receptionist was still out there so he tried to be silent, but there was a growing the heat between the two of you 

ʚ He swipes off whatever is on his desk and hikes you up so that he can nestle himself between your legs and kiss your lips until you were breathless and dizzy. Touching wherever he could, pressing kisses down your throat and telling you how you had to be quiet 

ʚ So here you are now, riding him while he’s in his chair. White shirt unbuttoned and pants shoved down and he buries his face into your neck and tries to keep back his moans. If it wasn’t that, then he was kissing you oh so messily with his hand buried into the back of your hair 

ʚ “You have to be quiet, dearest,’’ he groans against your lips as he steers his cock up into that one, perfect spot. “Unless you want them to hear how you come undone on me?” He chuckles breathlessly 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ eönwë.

ʚ You’re well aware of how serious your lover is when it comes to his work. But you also know that you have him hooked around your little finger. So why not test him a little for the fun of it to see his reaction?

ʚ Needless to say, a heated text from you was the last thing that the maia expected while he was at work and finishing up training the new additions. He picked up his phone and immediately looked around to see no one was around when he saw your message on his lockscreen

ʚ He didn’t know what to do, especially when you continued typing. He felt his face burn and simply washed all of your dirty texts telling him just how much you needed him 

ʚ ‘My dawn, I’m at work.’ 

ʚ Oh, that didn’t stop you. If anything it only further motivated you, wishing to see if you could push him far enough to the point where he abandons his job and comes home just to bury himself into you

ʚ To Eönwë’s credit, he did try for quite some time to keep composure. But with your added shamelessness coupled with even a voice note, he found himself finally losing it and clocking out of work prematurely. Didn’t give you a message to let you know that he was on his way back home. You’d only realise when you heard the front door open 

ʚ You glance over at him smugly from your place on the sofa, acting innocent as though you hadn’t driven him to the point where he came all the way back home prematurely. “What’s wrong, my love? You seem to be troubled.’’ 

ʚ For a second he considers the possibility that it was all in his head — until he sees your damn little smirk. He doesn’t do much, no, he’ll lead you to believe everything is fine. Leaning down to press his lips to yours as he usually does when he arrives home 

ʚ You should have expected your back to soon be flushed against the sofa and the kiss to suddenly grow more intense. Yet the air was still knocked out of your lungs, especially when he took your two wrists and pinned them above your head

ʚ Once he finally pulls away, you see the strict shine in his eyes and can't help the excitement festering within the pit of your stomach as he leans down to your ear as he begins to grind his hips down into yours

ʚ “You’re going to regret that, angel. You know just how much I enjoy seeing you weep for me.’’ 

ʚ Mosy likely isn’t going to stop until you’re calling his name oh so prettily and apologising for your behaviour 

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[khaire-traveler]

Hi Beloved✨🌸🩷💚💜💙💜

I’m not sure if I’m the anon you meant to resend the ask, but first of all, please let me sincerely apologize for sending it while you were on a break.🙏💛🥺 I completely missed your pinned post and for that I am sorry!! It was very kind of you to take time away to try to draft a response to me (if I’m the anon), and I really do appreciate this from the bottom of my heart!🩷🥹✨

Perhaps the draft was deleted to allow me to resend my ask with more details so you can see exactly what’s happening.

Hermès has worked with me for a while in many ways and he always comes through for me! He has shown up “romantically” in relation to my FS (Future spouse/soulmate) because I believe in the signs he has given me in relation to showing me who my FS is and their characteristics, personality and overall being.

Hermès is kind (to me), funny, athletic, generous, handsome and represents Gemini amongst other things, which I think my FS is/will embody character-wise.

This has strengthened my bond with him as well as him just coming through for me when I need something done fast or just help. He shows up, whether I ask or not. He helped me finish my over 50 page thesis paper which I was struggling and procrastinated to write, literally two weeks before the deadline. He helped my Mom along with Arch Angel Rafael to get better quickly. That is how good and powerful he is to me!

Usually, he shows up in tarot readings, in passing or dreams but the connection is always spiritual, mental and emotional. It is never physical in that sense of being in his presence or seeing him.

Recently, I asked him to help me complete one of my goals, which was to meet my FS sooner and for us to come together quicker, because there have been delays in this connection and I do get sad and frustrated over it even though I understand Divine timing and the delays.

I told him that even though I understand that the delays are most likely necessary and for a good reason, I would like them to come to an end because I want to meet my FS and I’m finally ready to reach this desire now, because it feels like right now is the time and if he could help me out with this, and finally how grateful I am for all that he does for me and I know I can trust him with this next part of my life.

I have a drying mat that I usually hang up over the dish rack in the kitchen to air it out so it dries better/faster. Usually if it falls, (which isn’t very often) it falls over the dish rack. While I was talking/praying to him, it literally just fell, hit me on the head with a plop. This has never happened before and it was a very light, funny, mischievous moment. I did not feel any malice, but of course I was shocked and felt it was him, just being playful.

This is the first physical encounter I believe I have had with him (outside of the dreams and tarot) and I’m not sure how to interpret it. I don’t know if it means, I may need to take a moment to consider the request because you do have to be careful what you ask for or more of a, don’t be silly I’ll help you do it kind of thing (I feel it’s the later, but I’m uncertain )… I don’t want to bother him to ask for anything else, but this is the one goal I really want to reach before the year ends. It was just such a powerful moment for me and I’m still shaken.

I don’t have anyone else I can ask to help me make sense of this and I know you’re very gifted, which is why I came to you🩷✨

I would really appreciate any insight and guidance you can give me, if possible. I’m so sorry that this is long and again for disturbing you on your break. I hope all is well with you and it's going well!

Thank you so so so much for everything!

🩷💚💙🤍🌸🙏

Hello, Nonny, thank you for resending this! I appreciate the added detail, and I am so sorry about the delayed response; life has been actually insane for me offline. ☠️

So firstly, I'm going to direct you to this link here which will take you to one of the sections listed on my pinned post. I believe there is some helpful information you might find there, specifically concerning interpreting signs from deities.

With that out of the way, I want to say that, honestly speaking, no one can interpret a deity sign for you. All deity signs are meant to be personalized - things that are meant to be interpreted by that specific worshipper - so what makes sense to one person might not make sense to another regarding signs. For example, Hermes tends to send me birds as signs, but for a friend of mine, who lives in the middle of a massive city, the only birds they see are pigeons, so birds aren't much help as signs. Instead, Hermes chooses to a specific mail company's trucks to them.

I say this mostly to let you know that other worshippers can't interpret - specifically such important-sounding - signs for you. I personally encourage you to rely on your own intuition here. Did it feel like a sign to you? Did it come at a strangely opportune moment? Did the sign answer a question or provide a response to something? These are just some good questions I think about when interpreting signs in my own practice.

Along with that, I'll tell you a trick I used to use at the beginning of my practice that helped a lot with interpreting signs. I personally call it The Rule of Three because I think it sounds cool. Here's how it goes: once is a coincidence, twice is a curiosity, and thrice is intentional. This helped me a lot when I struggled with over-rationalizing things and being a bit too skeptical within my practice. I'm not sure if it'd be helpful for you, and it's important to note that not every sign can be easily applied to this rule, but I hope it can help in some way.

If you want my personal opinion, though, I'd say it could be a sign of something. I don't really know what it could mean; it's possible he was just being playful with you. I encourage you to communicate with him directly through divination or other means to get a more concrete answer. If you don't know how to do divination, I have a section for it on my pinned post that may help. You could also try asking, through prayer or otherwise, for another sign from Hermes or maybe for him to send you a dream. That's typically what I do if I'm unable to do divination.

It's very nice that you had a fun little interaction with Hermes, and I hope that my answer helps you in some way, although I couldn't really give you a direct answer. No one can really speak for the gods, so it's difficult for me to say what his intentions were. :/ Regardless, though, I wish you the best of luck in finding your future partner and in continuing down your spiritual journey. Take care, and have a good day/night. 🧡

[booksandchainmail]

Pale Arc 7

Well that wrapped up quicker than I expected! I expected dealing with Alexander to be the focus of at least one more arc, but looks like John's wrapped that up rather neatly. From a pacing standpoint, I'd say this makes sense: we've just had two arcs focused on power struggles for the Blue Heron Institute, I think it would be tricky to have it not feel repetitive if they kept fighting over the school.

Outcome-wise, this seems like best possible scenario. Raymond Sunshine seems like a decent person for a practitioner, and while he might not want to hold the position long-term, I think he'll be better than either of his predecessors. Alexander being dead also avoids the threat of him retaliating against the students, particularly Nicolette.

This also seems like a good outcome for Kennet: not only is Alexander dead before he could investigate, but the local practitioner community no longer specializes in investigation. And I think Ray will take Zed at his word that they shouldn't pry further. Though I am worried that drawing so heavily on the Kennet Others for this fight will raise questions among the other students.

This arc also felt the most high-stakes so far. In most arcs so far, there's been some kind of safety net. Arcs 4 and 6 didn't have climactic fights. In Arc 2 Miss was there to help against Nicolette and Alexander and in Arc 3 the struggle was against their own allies who wouldn't use lethal force. And in the two arcs that didn't have that protection (1 and 5), the climax of the fight was from an interlude (unawakened) point of view, who saw the girls pulling off impressive feats without letting us see their fears and struggles.

Here, the danger is real and present and through their own eyes. After Laila's death, it was clear that Bristow was fine with students dying during his coup, and though I didn't think any of the Kennet Trio were going to die, the threats were heightened. Particularly when Verona and Lucy were captured, with no resources and a deadline fast approaching. Avery's also had a rough go off it this arc: most of her chapters involved physical combat that she got hurt in.

We didn't get much info on the Carmine Beast investigation this arc, aside from that ominous conversation in the extra materials. From that, I think we can conclude that the murder conspiracy has at least three members (two in conversation refer to passing information along). We also know that John is innocent! And I'm more and more inclined to say Miss is innocent as well. That doesn't leave many suspects in Kennet, though admittedly some (but not all) members of the conspiracy could be from out of town. Matthew, Edith, Alpeana, Maricica, Guilherme, Toadswallow, Bluntmunch, Cherrypop, and Gashwad. If no outsiders are involved, that's at least a third of them involved.

Also, some additional Maricica theorizing: we now know at least one of her three traps (the nettlewisp backfire). And I think Verona getting changed into a cat is another trap (glamour making you more vulnerable to outside transformations). Which would mean that there was a trap in Lucy's trick and Verona's glamour, and I'd expect the third to be in Avery's information gift. Went back and looked at the list, and Avery's information was on disrupting rituals like the Choir, which was noted a while back as potentially being a trap (not telling them about how that could strengthen the ritual or about how the Choir might cheat)

[theangelicstoryteller]

This is my (very late, whoops) day 7 contribution to @zelinkcommunity Zelink Week 2023! Life hits you fast and then you miss your fan deadlines, unfortunately. Anyway, I chose the prompt "Just a Kiss" for this free day.

You can also read it on AO3!

Cycle: Ocarina of Time

Title: One Is Never Enough Rating: E Words: 3,244 Summary:

Link returns home after an assignment and sneaks into his and Zelda's room before he must report to many official people in many official ways. All he came for is just a kiss, but one can never sate them, especially as they have not seen each other in many weeks...

Happy readings to you all!

It was good to be home. Link easily snuck into the castle and made his way to the bedchamber he shared with Zelda. The guards, so used to peace, were quite terrible at their jobs. Link took notes of where they made obvious holes and where they were slacking and too easily made his way into their room. He was not even in anything close to a disguise and he would think he would stand out in his green tunic and hat that Zelda hated.. He wasn’t even in the knight armor.

The room was empty and he frowned for a second. He was hoping he would catch Zelda. But he shrugged and decided to clean up a little. He stripped himself down and walked over to a bathing chamber connected to the room. The giant tub was empty, but there was a pitcher of water the maids kept for quicker clean up, which Link was thankful for. He wiped the dirt of the road off his face and hands before trying to get the rest of himself. It turned a dingy brown before he frowned at it and slightly set it to the side. The maids would get it later. He had managed to give himself a modest wipe down and he felt better, at least, but he knew he could use a really good bath. Maybe in a few hours after he officially reported himself returned.

He started to shift through his clothes. He was hoping he would see Zelda before he had to report in. She usually came back to their chambers at this time to have a small break and lunch before going about her day again. Link always tried to make a point to meet her here, if their schedules lined up for it. They were always so busy anymore. But he supposed it was bound to happen. She would be queen soon, so he assumed it was her father getting her ready to take his palace.

He found the tunic he wanted and took it out of the drawers he had been rummaging through. He was about to start putting the pants on when he heard the door rattle. The blood drained from him and he quickly jumped into Zelda’s closet, pushing past the line of dresses to dive to a back corner to hide himself. He really didn’t want to be seen here, and especially not in this state by probably the maid coming to ready Zelda’s lunch.

He was able to hunker into the closet and settle the dresses around him as the door opened. From his corner of the closet, he could see the door and who entered. It was a maid bringing in a tray of food and tea, but it was also, happily, followed by Zelda. She thanked the maid for the food as the servant laid the meal out on a table in the sitting area across from their bed. The maid bowed politely before exiting, closing the heavy doors behind her. Zelda settled into one of the chairs around the table where the tea had been set, readying herself a cup. Link made sure she was not holding any china before he called out awkwardly, but calmly, as he slowly made his way out of the closet. “Zelda.”

She jumped up, spinning around, her hand slipping into the hidden pocket of her skirt as she looked to the closet he was hiding in. He quickly lifted his hands, which were holding the only bit of clothing he had on him, as he said “Wait, Zelda, it’s me!”

“Link?” she asked, bewildered, her hand coming out of her pocket. Good sign, he didn’t feel like getting stabbed right now. “Why are you naked in my closet?”

“I–” Link felt his face turn bright red. He knew this would be awkward, but he was just now grasping the scope of how this must look from her perspective, “I was just getting dressed when I heard the door open, so I decided to hide and the easiest place was…” he trailed off, his flush moving down his neck.

She blinked, and her eyes immediately went downwards, glancing at his bare form before looking back into his eyes. She still looked confused, but he saw laughter sparking her eyes. She gave a confused grin as she asked “Was hiding in the bathing room too easy for you?”

His blush moved to the tips of his ears as he moved the clothes still in his hands to cover himself slightly. “I was worried I would get caught…”

She laughed lightly and walked over to him, throwing her arms around his neck. He wrapped his arms around her, dropping the now creased tunic to the floor as he held her. He pushed his face into her hair, careful to avoid her crown, savoring the scent of her. She smelled of lilies today. She liked to use many different kinds of scents, changing them seemingly at random. He liked today’s scent. It was different than when he had left a few weeks ago.

“I take it, then, you have not reported back that you have returned yet?” she asked playfully, her head resting on his shoulder.

He squeezed her a little tighter, keeping her close. “Not yet. I wanted to see you before I reported in. I just wanted a quick kiss and a change of clothes before I made my report.”

”You’re not shirking your duties, I hope,” she said leaning back so she could give him a look, one eyebrow raised. He laughed lightly at her look, giving her nose a quick kiss.

“On the contrary,” he told her, smiling at her. “I actually took stock of how lazy the soldiers are on these upper floors. It was far too easy to make my way here. I wasn’t even in my armor.”

“Were you in that hat that I hate?” she asked dryly, glancing at his head.

“I like my hat, thank you,” he told her with a grin. This was a silly game they played and no matter how many times they did, it always amused Link.

“Perhaps the guards just took pity on you with your poor fashion sense,” she said in that same flat tone.

He rolled his eyes dramatically and gave her a kiss. He meant for it only to be quick, but she chased after him as he drew away, wrapping her arms around his neck. He made a surprised noise as his hands rested on her hips. She sighed into his mouth, sending his blood south. “Zelda,” he whispered as she pressed herself against him, running her tongue across his bottom lip. He gave a strangled moan before leaning back.

She whined in annoyance as he withdrew. “Wait, Zelda, wait,” he said quickly, feeling his reaction to her start to press against her thigh. “As happy as I am to see you too, I’d rather not cross your father and keep you from your afternoon engagements.”

She chuckled and there was something wicked behind it, making him blush as well as arousing him more. “Yes, that would be a concern…” she said, moving her head to trail kisses down his neck, “if I had any afternoon engagements to worry about.”

Link blinked as Zelda’s mouth traveled over his collarbone, her hands moving down to roam across his torso. Link’s body started to heat up as his hands moved up, one to her back and another to her hair. He felt his heart start to race and his breathing pick up. As her lips started to travel across his chest, he gently removed her crown. “Then I think I want more than a kiss, your highness,” he said, a little dazed, his hands moving down to her shoulders to remove her pauldrons.

She laughed, moving her head back up to kiss him again. His hands made quick work as she opened his mouth with her own, her tongue flicking into his mouth, drawing out a moan from him. Her pauldrons fell to floor with a soft clunk as she slipped her large gloves off. His hands went down to her belt and her hands also dropped to below his waist, grabbing his hardening cock. He yelped, grabbing her belt and yanking her to him in surprise, making her laugh as their hips connected.

“Need some help, my love?” she asked with a smirk, her thumb running slow circles over the head of his dick.

He felt lightheaded, probably because all of his blood was rushing downwards. “You’re distracting me,” he said, trying to keep his tone from whining. She was so beautiful, looking up at him through her lashes, her blue eyes deeper than Lake Hylia itself, her hand on him sending jolts of pleasure shooting through his middle. He managed to slip her belt off, her waist adornments falling to the floor around their feet.

She laughed at him, making some of the blood in him rise to his face. It was a wonder he had any to spare from another part of his body. She released him so she could slip the overshirt off of her, exposing the buttoned laces that held her bodice. “Is this more helpful?” she asked in that coy little voice of her, smirking at him as she dropped the shirt to the floor.

She drove him absolutely mad. And he loved every second of it.

Though his breathing was still slightly labored, he lasered in on her laces. His fingers raced down her front, unbuttoning the front to expose her brassier. He didn’t even notice the color as an idea quickly flashed in his head. He let the momentum of unbuttoning her dress carry him down until he knelt on the floor before her and grabbed the bottom of her skirt. She made a surprised little noise as he hiked her skirt up, nearly diving under it. “Link!” she exclaimed, as his head went under her skirt.

Here, he noted her panties here a lovely shade of pink and wondered if her brassiere matched. But he only let the thought pass through his mind quickly before he focused on her legs. He was never one to not follow through with his ideas, even if they were not so well thought out. But she was driving him up the wall and it was time for a little revenge. Before she could back up or remove her dress properly, he twisted his torso and wedged one shoulder between her legs. She gave a little squeal - a very undignified squeal, he was definitely going to tease her about that later - as he stood, easily standing with slightly damp panties resting on his shoulder, the heat between her legs pressed up against his ear, holding onto the leg across his chest to keep her balanced. “Link!” she said, a little more demanding, as her hands came down to his other shoulder to keep her balance. Before she could squirm out of his grip and fall, he took the few steps over to their bed and leaned over to drop her into the bed. She gave another undignified squeal as she fell over onto her back. The dress got caught on his head as she fell over, which he then grabbed to further yank off of her.

“Link!” she said, her hair now disheveled, her eyes almost angry and her face full of what he called “royal authority”. “What were you thinking?!” she demanded, propping herself up on her elbows to glare at him.

He didn’t answer at first, taking a second to look down at his wife now splayed out in her underclothes and stockings, her heels still on, over the blankets of their bed. He noted with amusement that her brassiere did match her panties. And instead of answer her, he knelt by the bed and grabbed her legs, pulling her to the edge so he could place her legs over his shoulders. He felt her yelp slightly as he pulled her over. She opened her mouth probably to yell at him some more for his little stunt, but whatever she was about to say was cut off with a moan as he put her out right to the damp spot on her panties.

Her taste was intoxicating. He could barely taste her through the thin cloth, but was excited for more. He felt her hands in his hair as he kissed across the cloth to her skin, running his tongue across edge of the fabric around her skin, tasting her skin. Being away from her always made her taste more intense to him whenever he returned. He flicked his tongue under the seam of her panties and felt her pull at his hair. “Link…” she whined impatiently.

After the way she treated him? He smiled wickedly into her skin and started kissing down her thigh. She made a displeased noise and pulled his hair, trying to pull him back up. His hands came up to her hips and slid over her panties, dragging them down as his lips worked their ways over her thigh highs and down to her stockings, working towards her knees. She helpfully lifted her hips, releasing his head so he could work her panties down her legs. She leaned up further, watching him with half lidded eyes as he threw her panties to the side and then easily slipped her shoes off for her. Then his hands slowly made their way up her legs again, as he leaned close to her. She started to lean back, opening her legs to welcome him again, but instead he half stood, leaning up to give her a kiss.

She kissed him back, greedy and needy, as his hands moved to her thighs, skillfully loosening one with each hand. He opened his mouth to invite her tongue in, which she did quickly. He savored the kiss for an instant before he broke it, moving to her neck and working his way down her again. Her head rolled back as his lips found the junction of her neck and her shoulder, giving her a playful nip. He was glad she was prone to high collared dresses. His hands came up and undid the laces on her brassiere, loosening it just enough to free her breasts, his mouth moving down to take in one pert nipple into his mouth, his hand moving from her thigh to grasp her unattended breast, pinching her nipple. She moaned deeply, pushing her chest into his hand. He kept his hand on her breast as he moved his mouth back down her body, kidding over the bare bit of fabric still clinging to her body and down her middle, lips moving over the dip for her hips. She fell back again with a moan, her hands back on his head. But before his mouth moved to her sex again, he instead turned and moved down her other thigh, his hands coming down to start slowly sliding her stockings off her legs.

She made this wonderfully infuriated noise, making him smirk against her skin. But before he could move too far away from her, she wrapped her legs around his head and dug the heels of her feet into his back, pushing him forward as she grabbed his head and pushed him back to her. He couldn’t help but laugh as she made this noise like a growl. But he thought he teased them both enough and finally set his mouth to her.

Her moan was immediate and loud. She released one hand from his head to shove her fist into her mouth to muffle her sounds of pleasure. He slowly brought his tongue down the seam of her body, hearing her muffled moans as her hips bucked into her face. Goddesses, how he missed her taste. He was glad he was already naked, as he felt the confines of his trousers would have been painful with his body wanting her so much it was almost painful. He opened her with his tongue, savoring her as he slipped between her hot, slick folds. One hand came up to rest on her thigh while the other reached up to move up her body and grasp at her breast.

She moved her chest up to his hand, lowering her hips, just to have her body flop back into the mattress so she could buck her hips back into his mouth as he sucked on her clit. She was panting, her thighs tensing around his ears. He keeps his tongue slow as he moved up and down her, coaxing those muffled moans of hers. She grabbed one of the pillows by the head of the bed, covering her face so she could moan into it with wild abandon. His tongue swirled around her clit again as he brought the hand on her thigh up to slide one finger into her, making her buck again in surprise. He curled his finger, finding that spot in her and it made her nearly scream into the pillow. Her hips were erratic as she tried to move with his tongue but unable to catch his rhythm without being able to see him.

She threw the pillow off of her, panting heavily. “Link…!” she said, breathless and needy, making him groan against her. “Please…!” she tried to demand but could only manage to beg.

He slid a second finger into her, moving them slowly as his tongue moved quickly, sliding in and around her in fast movements he knew she loved. She covered her mouth with her hand as she muffled the sounds of her pleasure, her hips now bucking with the movements of his fingers. Unable to stop herself, she moved both hands to his head, pushing him closer as she said his name, an urgent warning, a desperate plea, an insistent command. All he had to do was curl his fingers and it was over.

He felt her orgasm more than heard her as she tried to keep her moan in check. He felt her arch into him, how her thighs tightened around his ears, her fingers balling his hair to pull at it, her moan vibrating through his tongue and through his head. She tightens around his fingers and he uses those to draw her orgasm out until she slows, slumping back onto the bed, panting and spent. He kisses back up her body, crawling onto the bed with her, having his mouth linger on her breast again, taking her nipple into his mouth once more. Her hands are still in his hair and she runs her nails across his scalp, making him shiver. She pulls his head up so their lips meet again and she kisses him deep, hitching her knees over his hips as he fully moves into the bed with her. Her hands move from his head and down his chest, wrapping her hands over his length. He sighs into her mouth, his hands grabbing her ass to move her back on the bed so he can settle more comfortably into it. She breaks the kiss to lean back and smirk up at him, her hair falling wildly from her neat pins as she looks up at him.

And all he can think of is how much he loves her.

“Now…” she says smugly, running her thumb across his head again, making him moan. “Your turn.”

[alexdesigni]

You Can Have Entertaining News At Last

It's an easy task to believe that public relations are just about making the the majority of the news you've or 'creating' news stories that'll interest the press and media. When you can respond quickly and provide helpful comments then breaking news is a wonderful opportunity to improve your profile. Here are a few handy tips to get you considering making the most of breaking news.

Monitor the news headlines - it's necessary to keep track of the press and media for the stories which are being covered. It's unlikely that the week should go by without some sort of story appearing that you could contribute to. Meaning being on the top of news and stories as they seem and develop through the day. It's not so difficult to start to see the stories that are likely to get coverage over a few days.

Act quickly - the biggest thing is to spot a tale and then act on it. The quicker you're in contacting the relevant journalist with useful comments or material than the more likely it is going to be your efforts News Topics will probably pay off. The entire world of press and media moves quickly which means you need to do the same. You'll also need to consider the deadlines that journalists are working to. The 24-hour news channels mean that there's now much more scope for providing expert comments on the trunk of a news story. They've air time for you to fill and is going to be grateful if you can help them do that. Also, don't forget that most of the stories that can be found in the Sunday newspapers would be the week's stories in more detail with an additional comment - that gives you a good opportunity.

Help to push on the story - make certain that everything you contribute provides useful information, can consider the story from a different perspective, help to move the story on, etc. The audience desires to be informed and your job is to greatly help achieve that. It's no good approaching a writer about a company story by saying that you will be a company coach - you need to be very specific, with regards to the story, about everything you can contribute.

Make yourself available - if you wish to raise your profile on the trunk of someone else's news then you definitely need to place time aside to accomplish that. It could be disruptive because it's not planned. Before approaching any journalist be clear as possible contribute time to follow along with through. If you should be successful in your efforts, that could include visiting a facility, doing interviews, etc., and that takes time and effort. In advance of an interview, you may even want to seek the services of a media trainer to help you prepare. That is a good idea especially if you haven't done much press and media work.

Build relationships - approaching journalists on the trunk of breaking news also gives you a good opportunity to construct relationships with journalists covering your interest area. Discover the type of stories they're thinking about and whether you can help them with other accounts. Also, if you do a good job then it provides you with scope for getting them to place you inside their 'little black book' of contacts for future stories - that's everything you really need to achieve.

Become a specialist - you can find two methods to generate opportunities for comment and interviews on the trunk of news stories. One of the ways is to get hold of journalists. Another is in order for them to contact you. In a perfect world, you must probably do both. You will find databases such as for example Expert Sources where you are able to list your details for a paid-for subscription. Journalists utilize it to find experts to offer comments for the stories they're working on.

Commenting on the trunk of other people's news is a good way to construct your profile and get experience of key audiences. It can be an essential way to construct your profile while maintaining your costs down. When you can build a reputation for providing useful and insightful comments then you definitely will quickly realize that journalists will come back to you time and again.

[raplinesmoon]

Doom Boy (KNJ x F!Reader)

pairing: Namjoon x reader (also featuring hyung line) genres/au/rating: angst, smut, some fluff, mafia au, 18+ summary: Namjoon was a doom boy - he’d spent his entire life running from the ghosts of his past, keeping you and your son safe from the monsters that lurked on the city streets. He should have known that one day they’d catch up to him.

warnings: the mafia, attempted attack, drinking, mentions injury, mentions of past ab*se, brief mention of illicit subtances and money laundering, minor character deaths, choking, a great escape, Namjoon being an art hoe, smut warnings: sexting, dirty talk, brief daddy kink moment, explicit sexual content, soft dom!Namjoon, oral (f receiving), riding (it’s Namjoon duh), wrap it before you tap it pls

word count: 14.2k

a/n: happy Joon day (i hope i make the deadline) oh gosh, I don’t even know what this is like this was just supposed be some angsty yearning but it turned into this whole story bc Namjoon is the loml. i highkey think this is a huge mess and like cried outlining it bc i was feeling so many emotions, but it’s the first piece of writing in a month that i haven’t trashed completely (rip Yoongi, Hoseok, and Jungkook fics that shall never see the light of day). i really, really hope you like it! pls also excuse any grammar errors, i’ll go back and fix them soon!

Thank you to Ryen @kithtaehyung for the gorgeous banner!!

listen to the playlist!

By all accounts, it was a typical Friday. The sun blazed down on the pavement, rivulets of sweat making their way down Namjoon’s back on his commute home from the office. Shuddering, he loosens his tie, eager to let the shackles of his mundane office job fall away from his being. Combing a hand through the strands of his hair, he thinks that maybe he should get a haircut next week, but ultimately decides against it when he imagines your face in his mind, lips pursed in a pout and eyes shimmering with the glimmer of unshed tears.

I love your hair like this, he can hear you whisper breathlessly, his mind flitting back to the memory of your fingers tugging at the strands nearly a month ago, daring him to pull you into another kiss after what had already been an endless night tangled up in the sheets, making the most of the precious time Hyun had at his jobumo’s house. He’d never been able to deny you a single thing, not since the moment your hand had shyly slipped into his on the walk back from your college library, the comfortable silence between you two soon blossoming into a life he’d never dared to dream of for himself.

His steps become quicker as he grows more restless, pushing through the endless hordes of city-goers around him, the tall skyscrapers casting a grim shadow above the streets below. He’s suffocated by the heat as soon as he makes his way into the subway, descending multiple flights of stairs until he sees freedom within his reach, signified by the screeching of wheels against the railway track.

Stepping into the air-conditioned compartment, Namjoon lets himself breathe, shrugging the strap of his satchel back against his shoulders, his eyes surveying the crowded train compartment. The train comes to a halt at the next station, the doors hissing to let the next group of commuters in, and he pales when he sees the ghost of a reflection in the glass — someone he hadn’t seen for years.

For a moment, he thinks his eyes are playing tricks on him, the tall broad, shoulders and dark ebony hair of a man his height disappearing as soon as the train starts again, but Namjoon remains deeply unsettled, the acrid memories of his past coming back to haunt him the most in moments like this. Moments where he didn’t have you, or Hyun, to remind him that with everything he’d left behind, he’d gained something exponentially more wonderful and precious.

His phone pings, snapping him out of his daze, and he looks down at it, a notification from you lighting up his screen. A smile makes its way onto his face, the tension seeping from his veins when he swipes on it.

Only to go slack-jawed a moment later. Namjoon looks around, making sure no one can see the bright light of his screen, before bringing the phone up closer, his mouth gaping at the picture you’d chosen to send him.

You hadn’t changed yet, the silky dress you’d picked out and shown him last night lying in a heap next to you on the bed, your body clad in the most provocative mix of lace and cut-outs, beyond anything his wicked mind could have conjured up.

Come home, you said. I can’t wait much longer.

Namjoon looks up as the train comes to another pause, a faint smirk making its way onto his face when he notes that it’s now time for him to get off.

Date night could finally begin.

Under the dim lights of L’Etalage, you babble on excitedly about the latest gossip from the work week - two of your coworkers were potentially flirting with one another; another one would finally take their sour attitude with them and quit, your supervisor just learned he was having a baby. Your heart grows ten sizes when you think about how you’d gone through those same life changing moments years ago, falling in love with Namjoon, the intelligent, outgoing man who’d sat behind you in one of your science classes, and how now, you were happier than you’d ever been. Life was perfect with him by your side.

You talk, and Namjoon just listens, enraptured by the sound of your voice, his lips twitching into a small smile when he sees your eyes twinkle like stars under the candleglow.

“Namjoon?” You interrupt his thoughts. “What are you thinking about?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, baby?” He smirks back, and you falter, flushing when you remember the text you’d sent him earlier.

There hadn’t been enough time to do anything about it, of course. Namjoon had barely pinned you to the wall, his hot breath fanning over your neck, before the phone rang, an excited Hyun up from his nap, babbling on FaceTime to his appa about all the fun toys his halmeoni had given him. You’d sheepishly excused yourself to go change into your outfit, leaving a frustrated Namjoon behind.

“This meal cost $200, Namjoon,” you raise an eyebrow. “We’re not about to leave right before I get my matchamisu.”

You jut out your bottom lip in a pout, and Namjoon laughs. The only thing you liked more than sex was sugar, and he couldn’t blame you. The matchamisu was delicious. Still, he couldn’t resist toying with you after the tease you’d given him earlier.

“Who says we have to leave?” He folds his arms, watching you bite your lip at the way his muscles strain against his dress shirt. “The bathrooms here are pretty nice from what I remember.”

Your lips part in an “O”, eyes dilating to pools of black, only for the waitress to choose that exact opportune moment to swing by, placing the matchamisu and two spoons on the table in front of you.

“Please enjoy,” she flutters her eyelashes, speaking only to Namjoon, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. Your husband was an attractive man, but he was also oblivious to the way other women flirted with him. He acknowledges her presence for a split second to give a polite nod, before his hand is reaching for yours across the table. His fingers fit perfectly into yours, the twin bands adorning your hands glinting brightly enough to send a message.

You shouldn’t feel smug when she walks away with a scowl, but part of you feels giddy.

Namjoon presses his lips to your knuckles, his dimples making an appearance as he grins while watching you dig in, moaning in delight when the sweet, creamy dessert hits your tongue. 

“I thought you were only supposed to make those sounds for me,” he quips, yelping when you smack lightly him on the arm, lifting his hands up in surrender. 

You return your attention to the plate in front of you, but Namjoon’s sharp, intent gaze has already done its damage, surveying you hungrily, a pool forming between your thighs. Watching as he excuses himself to the bathroom, you realize you both needed to get out of here.

And fast.

Washing his hands in the sink, Namjoon feels sparks erupt across his skin, anxious to get you home and have his way with you while the night was still young. You played off his salacious flirting, but he could see the way it affected you, your breath coming out in heavy pants, skin glistening with sweat.

He makes his way to open the door, only for it to swing open right before he can reach for the handle, his shoulder bumping into another one. Namjoon reaches for the shorter man before he can topple over, but freezes when he sees the face looking up at him, the blood in his veins turning to ice.

“Yoongi-hyung,” he manages to rasp after many moments of silence, unable to fathom the sight in front of him. “What are you doing here?”

Namjoon’s head begins to spin, and he feels like he’s floating, suspended in the air and watching the scene unfold before him, face-to-face with a man he thought he’d never see again, a man he chose to never see again, when he’d left the life he’d had before you behind.

“Namjoon-ah,” Yoongi’s arms reach out in an embrace, and Namjoon dodges it coldly, watching his hyung’s smile falter, cat-like eyes surveying his tense figure. “It’s been a long time.”

“I’m going to ask you this again,” Namjoon spits through clenched teeth. “Why are you here?”

His thoughts immediately flit to you, sitting out there alone, and he realizes you both need to leave now. Namjoon had been running from the ghosts of his past for as long as he’d known you, swearing to himself to protect you from the danger that lurked underneath the paved city streets. And now it had found him again.

“She’s waiting for you out there?” Yoongi asks, and Namjoon resists the urge to say something he knows he’ll regret later. So he knew who you were. He shouldn’t have expected any different, and he silently prays that Hyun’s been left out of their reconnaissance. 

“Seokjin-hyung saw you today,” Yoongi continues, and Namjoon freezes again. So his mind hadn’t been playing tricks on him. He’d recognize Kim Seokjin’s broad shoulders and lithe body frame anywhere, remembering how it’d felt when they used to train together, tackling each other into hard concrete until one of them admitted defeat.

“Yoongi,” Namjoon abandons the honorific, and watches Yoongi’s face flicker in disappointment, before settling back into the stern, unfeeling mask he always seemed to have on. “You have to go.”

The older man opens his mouth to protest, but Namjoon pushes him aside, barely making it a few steps before he hears Yoongi call out to him.

“You can’t hide from who you are forever, Namjoon-ah,” he warns. “You and I both know that sooner or later, everything goes to shit.”

Resting your head on Namjoon’s shoulder, the two of you forgo a taxi home, walking hand in hand on the road, the pale moonlight casting everything in a soft glow. You lift your head gently to gaze at Namjoon, frowning at the way his nostrils flare and his brows seem etched in a permanent furrow. He’d been tense ever since he’d returned from the bathroom, and you wondered if he was upset with you for rebuffing him earlier.

“Joonie,” you whisper, turning his face to yours. The two of you come to a stop on a secluded street, and Namjoon’s face softens at the use of your favorite nickname for him. To everyone else, he was always Kim Namjoon, the prodigy from the south side of town, always crushed under the weight of expectations that weren’t his own. He’d hated the way his name sounded growing up, hollow and business-like to his ears, devoid of any affection or tenderness. 

But to you, he was Joonie, the name you’d randomly come up with one late night studying, the two of you drunk on a caffeine high and laughing deliriously about anything and everything but the exam you had tomorrow.  He’d fallen just a little bit in love with you that night, the way your smile shone brighter than the incandescent, artificial lighting of the library. It’d stripped him bare, piercing through the walls he’d built for decades, and Namjoon felt something with you he’d never felt before. He felt human.

“Talk to me please, what’s wrong?” Your eyes bore into his, searching for answers.

Answers that Namjoon could never give you if he wanted to keep his family safe. The lies felt like a stab to the heart every time he let one escape, but overtime, the wounds had begun to scar, leaving ugly marks in their wake. And it hurt a little less to keep the truth from you every time.

“We need a bigger house,” he says, stroking your temple with his thumb. It wasn’t wrong. “It’s about time we gave Hyun another sibling, don’t you think?”

The tension melts from your shoulders, and you flick him in the forehead.

“You idiot! I thought something was bothering you, like a life-and-death situation, and you’re just horny!”

“You caught me,” he wraps his arms around you, leaning to whisper in your ear. “Are you still wearing that little number you sent me earlier?”

“Who said I’m wearing anything underneath?” It comes out in a breathy moan, and you feel Namjoon go stiff beside you. “Now take me home.”

Namjoon doesn’t move, frozen in place, looking beyond you to a cluster of trees, his eyes becoming dark.

“___, hold onto me,” he chokes, his voice breaking, and you feel a chill run down your spine. “And whatever you do, don’t look anywhere but straight ahead.”

Namjoon’s hand comes to grab your wrist in a death grip, and you feel your hand go limp from the circulation being cut off. Your heartbeat speeds up instantly, blood pounding in your ears.

“Joonie? What’s going on?” A single tear escapes, running down your face, and Namjoon’s heart shatters down the middle. The fear in your eyes was something he’d told himself he never wanted to see, and he darkly wonders if running into Yoongi earlier had been an omen of what was to come.

You can’t see it, your eyes untrained, but Namjoon knows that the two of you are being watched. He can make out the faint figure of a human silhouette through the trees, and the gleam of something silver. And probably sharp. 

He had to get you out of here. 

“Listen to me, when I count to three, you have to run. Run as fast as you can, and don’t look back. Go to your parents’ house and find Hyun. You all need to leave the city now.”

“Namjoon, please,” you sob, and your wail echoes into the empty street. “What is happening?”

“____, that’s an order,” he says sternly, his face grim, and you cower in his presence. He’s shifted from your soft, loving husband into something far more menacing, his eyes narrowing in thinly veiled fury. “NOW GO!”

His voice snaps at you, and you break, turning from him and running as fast as your legs can go. Rounding the corner, you pause, peeking around just in time to see an unknown man in blank lunge at your husband, a silent scream lodged in your throat when you see the gleam of a knife in his hand. 

You don’t stay long enough to see what unfolds, terror striking your heart and goosebumps erupting across your skin as the wind howls, the quiet streets eventually giving way to busy intersections, until you’re at a bus stop.

Heaving, you crumple over, sobs wracking your entire body as you wait for the bus to come, to take you away from the horrors of what had started out as the most normal night.  

When it does come, you lean your head against the window, watching the city lights flicker outside, and a painful realization sets in one that leaves you completely numb.

Namjoon had never told you that he’d find you later, that everything would be okay. You should have stayed with him, should have protected him like he protected you and Hyun. But you’d let fear win, and now you’d lost him.

Namjoon shoves the man off of him, blood pouring from the stab wound he’d inflicted on his thigh. He wouldn’t be out for long. He’d been quick, but Namjoon was quicker. He’d been waiting for this moment for years, his instincts still as sharp as ever, honed from years of looking in the shadows, wondering if his demons would ever catch up to him.

But now you’d been caught in the crossfire - the way the blood escaped your face when he’d told you to run burned in the back of his brain. You were scared, and he knows for a fact it wasn’t just because of the unknown assailant. You were scared of him, finally witnessing the monster that Namjoon harbored deep inside.

Chest heaving, he catches his breath, tasting the bitter tang of salt before he even knows he’s crying, curses flying from his lips. He doesn’t know how long he sits there and sobs, shivering in the cold, but he hopes you’d listened to him, and that you and Hyun were far, far away from this hellhole. Neither of you deserved to rot with him.

He doesn’t hear the footsteps approach until someone is directly in front of him, their eyes taking in the sight of the unconscious man and the bloodstains all over Namjoon’s white shirt.

“Namjoon-ah? Shit, what happened? Where’s ___?”

Hoseok. The universe hated him, he was sure of it. Namjoon looks up, Hoseok’s worried face staring down at him, and relaxes when he doesn’t see a hint of anger. He wasn’t sure what to expect when they ran into each other again. Hoseok had been the one who took his leaving the worst; the loss of the only friend he’d had his age cutting deeply into him. 

I fucking hate you, the last text had said.

“I was running patrol on the area when I heard one of Ahn’s men had been spotted in our neighbourhood. I came as fast as I could.”

“Is he dead?” Hoseok’s boot prods at the man, who looks barely conscious. Namjoon musters enough strength to shake his head, still unable to say anything, when he sees Hoseok’s gaze shift to the knife beside him.

“Let’s go,” he offers Namjoon a hand. “Whoever they were, they knew you’d be here tonight. It’s not safe.”

Namjoon falters for a moment, unable to accept Hoseok’s offer of help. If he did this, he knew Hoseok would take him back to the compound, back to everything he tried so hard to leave behind. And away from you. He feels like he’s in limbo, watching the road ahead split into two paths.

Hoseok says nothing when Namjoon rises and accepts his hand, giving a silent nod of acknowledgement before the two of them head off into the night.

“Mama,” Hyun sobs into your shoulder. “Where Appa go?”

His tiny fists ball into your shirt, and you do your best to bounce him up and down, keeping your own tears at bay. It’d been three days since you lost track of Namjoon, and in those three days, there hadn’t been a single text, call, or sign that he was okay. That he was still alive.

After picking up Hyun from your parents’ house, tearfully telling them the whole story, the two of you had returned home last night. In the back of your mind, you knew you were going against the last thing Namjoon had told you when he ordered you to leave the city, but you had to be here. He’d find his way back to you. He had to.

Every few hours were like this - Hyun would suddenly remember Namjoon and his tiny whimpers and sobs made you consider if it was finally time to stop waiting and call the police. Yet every time you dialed the number, something made you reconsider. The last look on Namjoon’s face remained burned into your memory, the shadows casting half his face in darkness when he asked you to run.

Your husband was a simple man. He left for work at 7:05am every day, and came back around 5:43pm. You knew he had excess money to spare, but you never asked him where it went, his only splurge being on an expensive bike he liked to ride on weekends. Date nights were mostly full of ramyeon and sushi on the couch at home, the fancy dinner a couple of nights ago a rare occurrence for you both. Which is why you were deeply unsettled by what had happened. 

It was almost as though Namjoon knew trouble was waiting for you that night, as if he’d been anticipating things to blow up in his face, The way he’d been so prepared — his calm, collected demeanor through it all made you shudder. Like he’d had experience dealing with it before. And that was what gave you pause.

Namjoon never really spoke about his life growing up – he was an only child, and while he was sociable in college, he mostly kept to himself. That didn’t stop you from wanting to get to know more about him, his brown eyes glimmering with the depth of the man he hid from everyone else. Everything had been a whirlwind after, falling into bed just as easily as you’d fallen for him, eloping right after you’d both graduated, with Hyun coming soon after. 

He’d never gone into detail about his family to you — only that his parents weren’t around, and you could see the pain in his eyes when he went slack-jawed and silent, eyes misty with unshed tears. That was when you’d decided that Namjoon didn’t need his family - he had the two of you right there, and that was enough.

But whatever happened that night changed everything. You shivered thinking about how you ran so easily when he told you to, how you didn’t want to stay to see who came out on top - Namjoon or the other man. You had a feeling the answer would twist your stomach into more knots than it already had.

Putting Hyun to nap on the couch, you decide to make a cup of tea to clear your head. And that’s when the doorbell rings.

Namjoon stares up at the ugly brown ceiling of his childhood bedroom. He’d begged his father to paint it to complement the green walls, yearning for a taste of the outdoors that he never got to see living in the compound, with its cold concrete floors and stark white walls. In retaliation, Namjoon’s father had smashed one of his plant pots, screaming about how Namjoon needed to get his head out of the ground and finally start taking responsibility of his duties as the leader’s son.

So Namjoon had done what any 16 year would do. He’d corralled a snickering Seokjin, a skeptical Yoongi, and a spirited Hoseok and taken his father’s car for a joyride to snag a few cans of spray paint.

The uneven paint job stares back at him, and he smiles at the memory of the four of them running out of the hardware store, whooping in delight. Not a hair looked out of place, the room the exact same way Namjoon had left it seven years ago. And yet everything was different.

Stretching, he looks at the pots on the windowsill, each plant a former paragon of pride for him. Evidence that he, Kim Namjoon, was nothing like the slimy crooks he’d grown up around. He respected life enough not to turn it into a living hell for others. Fingering the withered leaves now, he remarks at how big a fool he’d been to think so.

“I tried my best to water them,” Hoseok appears behind him, setting down a glass of water. “But you were always better at the outdoor shit than I was.”

He feels the bed creak next to him, and it’s silent between them for a few moments.

“Hobi,” Namjoon croaks, and he feels Hoseok stiffen at the use of his nickname. “I’m sorry.”

Hoseok’s lips purse into a straight line, giving no indication that he accepts Namjoon’s apology. But he had to say it anyway.

“I sent Yoongi-hyung and Seokjin-hyung to check on her,” he says softly, and Namjoon’s heart sinks with guilt because he hadn’t been thinking about you, or where you were right now. All he hoped was that you were safe.

“You fucking bastard,” Hoseok chuckles, a tear slipping out. “You got married and you didn’t even tell us. I was supposed to be your best man.”

He’s unsure how much Hoseok knows about you, or even Hyun, but the bitter regret in the other man’s voice tells him that he wasn’t the only one with wounds who’d been festering for longer than they should’ve.

Namjoon knows he owes an explanation to him, to all of them, but tonight, he’s tired. The moonlight filters in through the windows, casting an eerie glow over the room, and he can’t help but feel that everything’s about to change.

“____?” The man outside the door has eyes that gleam like a cat’s, piercing through the darkness as he surveys the home you share with Namjoon. Behind him, a taller man, his face covered by the shadows, looms, and a chill runs down your spine. Hyun was still sleeping peacefully on the couch.

“It’s about Namjoon.” The other man’s voice is gruff, his impatient sigh echoing into the night, and you watch his eyes widen as the door swings open.

“Who are you?” you ask through gritted teeth. “How do you know my husband?”

They step inside, their dark suits casting a shadowy gloom over what was once your bright and cheery home. Hyun naps away, and you become ever more aware of every tiny breath he takes when you see their eyes flicker to him, a surprised look on both of their faces. 

“He’s yours?” The taller man asks, and you hate the way he looks at your son, a stone mask over his perfect features.

“Let’s talk in the kitchen, please,” you beckon them over, not liking the way they continue to study him.

Stepping into the space, it feels more cramped than you’re used to, Namjoon usually preferring to keep out of it lest he set the house on fire with his lack of cooking prowess. Thinking about him had you experiencing a pang of guilt.

“My name is Yoongi,” the cat-eyed man mumbles, and then gestures to his partner. “This is Seokjin.”

The other man, Seokjin, looks at you curiously, and you don’t like the way his eyes bore into you, as if he’s trying to convince you to unveil your darkest secrets with one glance.

“We were Namjoon’s friends,” Yoongi says calmly, which seems to set Seokjin off.

“We’re his fucking family, Yoongs,” he spits out.

You feel dizzy – Namjoon had never mentioned these strange men to you. As far as you knew, he didn’t have any siblings or cousins he was close to. Who were they, and what did they want with him?

“Is he safe?” You have a million other questions, but this feels like the most important one.

Yoongi gives you a nod, and you feel the tension seep from your body, only for your heart to stop at his next words.

“But he’s not coming back. Look, it’s not our place to tell you about Namjoon, and it pains me because you deserve answers that you’ll never get. But you have to listen to him and leave. It’s not safe for you or your family here anymore.”

Head spinning, you resist the urge to crash into the side of the dining table as you stumble, catching yourself quickly enough to take a seat. 

“What do you mean? Where’s Namjoon? Why can’t I talk to him?”

“Listen,” Seokjin hisses, cornering you. “If you know what’s good for you and the kid, you’ll listen to us. We may fuck with a lot of nasty things, things that would make your toes curl, but there’s enough psychos out there on the streets who won’t hesitate to fuck over a woman and her child. We’re trying to give you an out.” 

Yoongi looks you over, and you see his eyes flash with sadness at the tears that fill your own.

“Namjoon isn’t who you thought he was. I know it’s hard, but you need to listen to us. You’re young, you have your whole life ahead of you. You can still have a happy life, meet someone new, fall in love again.”

You feel delirious. 

“You’re lying. Namjoon is my husband. No one knows him better than I do. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. He literally rides bikes with Hyun and they pick flowers together, for god’s sake!”

You don’t know why you feel the need to defend the accusations against him. The fact that they were telling you this at all meant that your husband had caught you in his web of lies, that all the years you’d spent by each other’s side were a farce.

“Yoongi, let’s go,” Seokjin says darkly. “We’ve done what we needed to do.”

Turning to you, he spares Hyun one last glance before crossing the threshold.

“I hope we never have to see each other again ___. For your sake.”

“You have a son,” Seokjin says monotonously as Namjoon pads sleepily to the breakfast table, freezing in his tracks when he hears him mention Hyun.

He’d been too tired to think about anything last night, knocking out as soon as he hit the pillow, seeking reprieve from the mess of thoughts in his mind that wondered how he was going to get out of this. And back to you.

Sipping his coffee, Seokjin starts at him sharply, Yoongi looking past him at the paint chipping on the wall, and Hoseok’s mouth parted in surprise.

“For fuck’s sake, Namjoon, what else are you hiding from us? I don’t even know who you are anymore,” Hoseok’s voice rises, ignoring Yoongi’s warning to keep it down. 

“Kim doesn’t know he’s here,” Yoongi seethes, and Namjoon pauses. They hadn’t told his father?

Looking at Yoongi, he knows he can always count on him to be the voice of reason, to work through the hundreds of questions Namjoon has.

“Are they safe?” The most important thing.

Yoongi nods his affirmation. “For now.”

Looking at the three men, men who he’s known for most of his life, Namjoon finally lets himself feel the anger that’s been building inside of him. Everything had been fine, he’d been happy. Why’d they have to fuck it all up?

“Then do you mind telling me what the fuck I’m doing here?”

“Should’ve left his ungrateful ass on the streets, Hobi,” Seokjin quips. “Ahn’s man would’ve taken care of him when he came to.”

At the mention of Ahn again, Namjoon looks at Yoongi curiously. “I thought we had a deal with the Ahns. Why were they roaming around our territory, looking for trouble?”

Yoongi pushes the chair towards him, beckoning him to join them at the table. Namjoon takes the seat uncertainly, pleading with them to finally answer his queries.

“We have a lot to talk about.”

. . .

Your father is dying. Seokjin’s words have been echoing ceaslessly in the back of Namjoon’s mind, ever since he uttered them an hour ago. We need you.

The news brings Namjoon more relief than he’d cared to admit. Kim Yonghyun had never been much of a father to him anyway. His own mother had known better than he did, vanishing when Namjoon was twelve, never to be heard from again. She was still out there somewhere, hopefully where Yonghyun couldn’t find her.

Looking out the window, he looks out onto the courtyard of the compound, the bars on his window reminding him that this was the same prison he’d run away from years ago. Even if his room was still pristine and untouched, like it was waiting for him to come back. Even if Hoseok had still brewed him a cup of his favorite espresso after Namjoon had coldly refused to talk further about Hyun.

His own son was named after the monster who created him, and Namjoon wonders if he’d ever truly been able to let his past go. Or if it’d always remained, a black stain hiding under the disguise he’d created for himself, the false life he’d built. The one that was now about to come crumbling down.

He’s driven our organization to shit, Hoseok had said. Starting careless disputes with the other families, engaging in pointless violence. We need a better leader, a stronger one.

They needed him to finally step up to onto the pedestal they’d created for him, to accept his legacy with open arms. If you’d asked him seven years ago, Namjoon would have vehemently refused, convinced that there was a better life for him out there, one where he could live freely and be a normal kid who went to college, who fell in love, who got married and bought a house. Now, he wasn’t sure if those had been dreams or delusions.

He needed to talk to you.

It’s not even a day later when you hear the distinctive clink of Namjoon’s keys at the door, Hyun babbling at the table. 

The soft thud of his shoes at the entryway feels like the loudest sound you’ve ever heard, heavier than the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. 

“APPA!” Hyun screeches with joy, his chubby arms reaching out for Namjoon’s longer ones. 

“Hyunnie,” Namjoon’s eyes crinkle in adoration, lifting him up out of the high chair swinging him around. Hyun’s delighted giggles echo, Namjoon’s soft chuckles accompanying them, and for a moment, it feels like everything is back to normal. But it isn’t. 

You don’t lift your eyes to look up at Namjoon, and he notices. Pressing a kiss to Hyun’s hair, he sets him down.

“Hyunnie, go play with your toys. Appa needs to talk to Mama for a few minutes.”

“Hyunnie miss you Appa. Pleez don’t leave again.” And with that he waddles off, leaving the air heavy in between you both. 

Namjoon takes a seat next to you at the table, watching the way your throat bobs like you’re trying not to cry, and he feels tears of his own spring forth. 

“___,” he reaches for your hand, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb, and that’s when you explode into quiet sobs, praying that Hyun can’t hear you from the other room.

Namjoon’s arms wrap around you in an instant, stroking your back until the sobs subside, urging you to take deep breaths, and finally you’re ready. 

You reach behind you to grab for something, and Namjoon pales when you push a folder with a stack of papers his way, his worst nightmare coming true. 

“No,” Namjoon protests, refusing to open the folder. “Absolutely not. Why are you doing this?”

“You lied to me Namjoon,” you declare firmly, doing your best to overcome the wobble in your voice. “Or is that even your real name?”

All the blood rushes out from Namjoon’s face at your accusation, wondering what you found out, what you knew now, and he aches with the regret that he never got to tell you himself. 

He’d been thinking about this moment for years, about what he’d do if this ever happened, and despite the thousands of theorized and calculated ways he’d settled on going about his explanation, he chokes back a sob. A needy, desperate feeling overcomes him, one that tells him that this isn’t it, that this can’t be the end.

“What are you saying ___? Are you calling me a liar? Look at me.”

He lifts your face up to his, searching your eyes for a spark of emotion, anything that would convince him you didn’t mean what you said, but all he finds are hollow pools of emptiness.

“I’m still Namjoon. I’m your husband, I’m Hyun’s father. This, this is all real. What we have is real. I’m begging you, please, please don’t throw it away like this.”

You take a moment to respond, knowing that what you have to say will be the end of this, will probably drive a stake through the spectacle that had been your marriage, and you feel less guilty when you remember that he did this first. That while all you’d ever been was honest, loving him with everything you had, he’d kept secrets from you. He’d put you and Hyun in danger.

“Is it drugs, then?” Namjoon recoils, feeling his stomach drop. “Or do you fuck with people’s money instead, putting them in helpless situations just for a couple hundred dollars you need to survive? I always used to wonder, why it felt like even though I was your wife, I never knew you properly. Never knew anything about your past. I thought it was because you had some kind of unresolved trauma. But that’s bullshit. You’ve been the one traumatizing people for years. You and the rest of your friends.”

You knew who he was, the legacy he came from. He doesn’t even need to ask how you found out. You’d always been the smartest woman he’d every known, putting together the most complex mathematical formulas. All you needed was a hint. Yoongi and Seokjin had fed it right to you.

“This isn’t fair,” he chokes out. “You don’t know anything about the other side of things, ___. You can’t even imagine what I’ve had to go through, why I’ve had to do what I do. I did it for you!”

“Stop saying that!” you cry out. “Stop it, please. If you really wanted to protect me, if you really wanted to protect Hyun, you would have left. You wouldn’t have brought this darkness into our home. Do you know what could happen to him, Namjoon? He’s only three years old!”

At your outburst, Hyun comes running into the kitchen, his face falling when he sees his Mama’s eyes red with tears. 

“Mama,” he reaches out for you, and you pull him onto your lap, holding him in a death grip, because you’re afraid of what will happen to him if you let go.

“Mama, no crying peez, Appa came back,” he wipes a tear from your face, and Namjoon’s heart breaks into two. Hyun didn’t know that it was his fault. You gently stroke his dark hair, whispering in his ear to go up to his room and change, and that you’ll come by for a bedtime story soon. You say nothing when Hyun asks for Namjoon to come up too, and Namjoon knows tonight will be his last night ever spent in his home.

When Hyun leaves, he reaches back out for you, but you slap his arm away.

“___, please, there’s no need to overreact. I can explain everything, just please, please don’t push me away. I need you.”

The last sentence comes out in the form of a sob, and Namjoon wishes more than anything that you’d hold him right now, that you’d stay by his side while things fell apart around him.

“Do you know what the worst part of this is, Namjoon? I’ve been staring at my phone for days, trying to summon up the courage to say something, to call the police, to ruin you. But I can’t. Because there’ll always be some sick, twisted part of me that loves you. But I don’t want you to lie anymore. I want you to leave.”

Namjoon’s shoulders slump in defeat, and his voice shakes.

“Is there nothing I can say to convince you to fix this?”

“No.”

“Okay,” Namjoon accepts. “I’ll go.”

You don’t say a word to him as he pads out of the kitchen, slipping his coat over his shoulders and tying his shoes. He wonders if he should stop in and say goodbye to Hyun, but decides against him. His son would hate him eventually for what he did, and if Namjoon had learned anything from running away from home, a clean break was best. He hopes that the two of you can live peacefully now, no longer burdened by the demons he’s had to shoulder.

As he slips out the door, he hears your voice, so quiet that he’s almost not convinced it’s real.

“Thank you.”

Hoseok is awake when Namjoon returns, red-eyed and aching, drunk off one too many glasses of whiskey. He says nothing at first when Namjoon collapses onto the seat across of him, but eventually he can’t hold back.

“The old man wants to talk to you in the morning.” 

It feels like another punch to Namjoon’s gut, having to face his father after losing you. He feels like a laughingstock, hearing his father’s mocking words in the back of his mind, calling him weak, sentimental, a fool.

For the first time in his life, Namjoon agrees with him. When he was a boy, he’d dreamt of a life away from the city’s underbelly, one that wasn’t governed by the shackles of duty and tradition. His mother leaving had only fueled his desire to seek an out. Because Namjoon didn’t want to commit himself to a life of lies, violence, and deceit. 

He knew that Yoongi, Hoseok, and Seokjin operated outside of the frame and that the work they did was illegal. To them, the Kims had always been about being the shining paragon of the city’s scum. Their deals with the cops to keep trouble off the streets had worked for decades, but now it seemed like just like Namjoon’s own life, his father’s empire was collapsing. He knew Yonghyun was growing senile with his old age, and Namjoon shivers when he thinks of how bad things had gotten for them to come looking for him again.

As he ponders, Hoseok studies him curiously, remarking that the Namjoon that sat before him now looked nothing like his clumsy childhood friend who’d always raved about poetry and or school. Namjoon had always been the best of them, a bright star amongst a sea of dark mercenaries. But now, he looked completely worn, ready to submit to a fate he’d never wanted.

“Do you really hate us that much, Namjoon-ah?” Hoseok asks quietly, and Namjoon gulps, unable to answer him. His head was pounding. 

Hoseok knew Namjoon had snuck out to see you, and for the first time, he realizes how little he actually knows the man who he used to call his best friend. He assumed at first that is was some kind of magic pussy that kept Namjoon in a chokehold for so long, but seeing him now, he can’t help but think it’s something deeper.

Hoseok had never really known love growing up. He couldn’t even say he loved the fiancée his parents had chosen for him. But he had an inkling that love was what destroyed Namjoon’s life, what turned him into the shell of a man sitting before him.

He’d do anything to get his old friend back.

“Hyunnie, please let go of Mama, please,” you beg your screaming son, snot and spit soaking the side of your blazer as he balls his tiny fists into the fabric, refusing to go with the daycare teacher. 

He hadn’t understood Namjoon’s departure at first, asking you every day if he was coming home, if he’d been working too much. You didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth, so you lied, saying Namjoon was away on a trip. He’d believed you for a while, but Hyun was as smart as Namjoon.

Now, he realized his father wasn’t coming back, and it only meant he clung on tighter to you. It broke your heart that Hyun thought you’d ever leave him. You wondered if he’d hate you should he ever find out you sent Namjoon away. 

Summoning up the urge to peel Hyun off of you, you press a dozen kisses to his tear-stained cheeks, his tiny sniffles sending pangs of guilt through you. The daycare teacher smiles sympathetically at you, before luring Hyun away with a book, and you muster a tiny grin at his somewhat excited face. He was Namjoon’s son, through and through.

The thought of Namjoon sends a jolt of pain across your temples, and you resist the urge to cry in public, knowing you had a sea of tears stored. You thought you knew what you were doing, ending things between you two, but you’d never imagined how impossibly hard it would be doing everything alone. 

Namjoon had been your partner in every way. He’d shouldered every burden with you equally, and celebrated every happiness. To have it all stop so suddenly felt more overwhelming than you could put into words.

It felt like your life had come to standstill, the man you’d left behind taunting you, while the future remained dark and murky. You’d do your best for Hyun, of course, but you didn’t know if you’d every truly be able to recover.

You’re young, you have your whole life ahead of you. You can still have a happy life, meet someone new, fall in love again.

Yoongi’s words echo in the back of your mind, and you want to tell him just how wrong he was, but the sight of someone leaning against your car stops you.

Your shocked face stares into Namjoon’s dark eyes, and you feel the ground slip out from underneath you. Namjoon’s arms are out before you can even topple over, catching you. He looks taller, his hair longer, wearing what looks like an expensive designer suit, the fabric more fine than anything you’ve seen before.

He looks at you with concern, studying for any signs that you’re sick, or hurt. When he’s satisfied with your overall condition, he finally speaks.

“I’m not going to take up too much of your time, I swear. I have some things to do after this.”

You wonder what things he’s referring to, and decide you don’t want to know. 

“I just,” he starts, but pauses mid-way, shoulders slumping. “I just wanted to see you again. And Hyun. I’m sorry ___.”

You give a subtle nod, but no indication that you have any sympathy for him, and turn to leave. Before you can get into the car, he spins you towards him again.

“My real name is Kim Namjoon. Not Kang. I shouldn’t even be telling you this, but my father’s name is Kim Yonghyun. You don’t have to say anything, or respond, but you deserve to know.”

And then he lets you go.

Tucking a sleeping Hyun into bed, you sit down on the couch, the bright glare of your laptop hurting your eyes. Opening Google, you type in Kim Yonghyun, and your mouth gapes in shock. 

The articles about the Kim family go back for decades. They’re not just a lowlife gang, they’re an entire organization. Yonghyun was their current leader, and Namjoon was his son. Heir to a criminal legacy. Your gut twists as you click more articles, names popping up that were familiar to you - Lee, Ahn, Song. These people owned over half the city. They were everywhere, infiltrating your daily life. And you’d fallen in love with one of them. Suddenly, parts of Namjoon’s past begin to click for you. The way he’d been so desparate to have a normal college experience, dragging you out to a bar with him. The way he’d put his entire soul into doing well at his classes, interviewing for jobs. You’d always told him to slow down, that the two of you had many years to figure it out, but for Namjoon, figuring it out was difference between life and death. 

You wonder if your kind, gentle husband who loved books and stopped for tiny animals on the side of the road had ever killed a man.

Slamming your laptop shut, you curl up in the blankets of the couch, hoping that tonight Namjoon wouldn’t chose to visit you in your dreams again.

Namjoon frowns, looking over the stack of files that Seokjin had unceremoniously dumped on his desk. Unbelievable. His father had him reading through twenty years’ worth of documents on the organization, everything from the code of honour to the accounts. The old man didn’t trust him.

His glasses slide down his nose, and he rubs at his temples. Disappearing without a trace hadn’t been his finest move.

“This look suits you,” Seokjin snickers from across the table, and Namjoon scowls. “You look like a proper godfather.”

“Shut it,” Namjoon grumbles, and Seokjin’s smile only grows wider.

“Only like being called daddy, huh?” he quips, and Namjoon’s ears go red. Fuck Seokjin and his merciless teasing.

“Oh my god, don’t tell me—” Seokjin looks at him with wide eyes, and Namjoon holds up a hand to cut him off.

“One more word, hyung, and you’ll wish you kept your stupidly perfect mouth shut.”

“So,” Seokjin ignores him completely, spinning around in his office chair. “What’s the grand plan, Godfather Kim? You gonna take over for Yonghyun or what?” 

Namjoon doesn’t respond, and Seokjin leans over the table.

“Is it really that bad, Namjoon? Our org is more well-run than most of the other lowlifes on the streets. You have everything here - unlimited respect, unlimited bitches, unlimited money.”

“There’s more to life than bitches and money, hyung.” And Seokjin rolls his eyes.

“God, you and Yoongi are the exact same. You get married and turn into huge simps. So, tell me about her.”

Namjoon looks up, prepared to tell Seokjin that he’s not in the mood for his jokes, but the look in the older man’s eyes is sincere, like he genuinely wants to know.

“___ is,” Namjoon begins. “She’s everything to me. Before I met her, I didn’t know one person could change your entire life. After I ran away, I wondered if I made the right decision, about whether leaving this all behind was worth it. But she, she made it worth it. She and Hyun are the best things that have ever happened to me.” 

Namjoon closes the file, rising abruptly. Running into you had been an impulsive decision, and he hadn’t fully prepared himself for the rush of emotions he felt seeing you again. Your hair still smelt like the jasmine shampoo you used, the bags under your eyes darker and your clothes a little rumpled, but his body still responded in the same way it had when you’d shyly kissed him when he dropped you off after a study date so many years ago. And he felt guilty.

“Namjoon-ah, I’m sorry.” Seokjin’s words make him turn sharply. “We didn’t want to drag them into this, I swear.”

“What do I do hyung?” Namjoon holds back a sob. “I lost her.”

“You’re a smart guy, Namjoon-ah. You’ll figure things out. You always have.”

The knock on the door startles you awake, and you nearly fall out of bed looking at the time on the alarm clock. 12:03am. Quietly slipping into your house shoes, you check on Hyun, afraid something had happened to your baby. A deep sigh of relief escapes when you see him nestled in his crib, sleeping peacefully with one fist curled up into a tiny ball.

Padding down the stairs, you look at the various pictures on the wall - photos of you and Namjoon and Hyun throughout the years. Your graduation photos, your engagement photos, your wedding, Hyun’s first birthday. Memories that had been destroyed in the blink of an eye. The crushing realization hits you that you aren’t sure if you’ll be able to keep this house anymore. What’s worse is that you realize you may not want to either. 

You peek through the doorhole, paling when you see Namjoon on the other end, and you’re sure he knows you’re currently behind the door. Throwing the door open, you take in his disheveled appearance, suit rumpled and hair sticking up in every direction, Yoongi right behind him.

“I–, I’m sorry,” he stutters. “I just wanted to see Hyun. Five minutes, that’s all.”

“He’s asleep,” you clarify, wanting him to leave as quickly as possible. “Now is not a good time.”

“Please,” he begs, his eyes misting, and you move without thinking, stepping aside to let him in.

Behind him, Yoongi follows, back in your home for the second time in as many months, and you watch his eyes flicker to the various portraits that line the walls and sit on top of the tables.

Namjoon climbs up the stairs, and you don’t know why you decide to follow along, intruding on the private moment as he disappears into Hyun’s nursery.

“Hyunnie,” his low voice echoes into the emptiness of the room. “How are you buddy? You’ve grown so much since the last time I saw you.”

The heaviness in Namjoon’s voice makes it clear to you that he’s crying, and your arms itch to wrap around him, to comfort him. He wasn’t a terrible father.

Namjoon stares at the cot for a few moments longer, never making a move to reach for Hyun, and then he turns and makes his way out, stopping in the hallway.

“Thank you—”

“Do you want a cup of tea?” you blurt out. 

Nodding silently, Namjoon follows you down to the kitchen, Yoongi appearing shocked that he doesn’t seem to be heading straight for the door.

“Both of you sit, please. I’ll make some tea.”

You get to work, pots and pans clattering as you swear under your breath, trying to keep the volume down so you don’t disturb Hyun.

Yoongi’s sharp eyes peer across the table at Namjoon, and he nods, subtly willing Namjoon to break the not so awkward silence.

“My father, I mean, I, uh-, I have some money set aside for Hyun’s college fund.”

Yoongi’s neutral stare turns into daggers, and Namjoon grows even more flustered.

“I don’t want to take your money.” You set the tea mugs on the table, pulling up a chair, the only sound the be heard the occasional slurp of the hot beverage.

“___, is there nothing I can do to make this work? I want to fix this.”

His plea surprises even Yoongi, who turns to look at your reaction. You remain frozen, mouth agape, before firmly nodding your head.

“I can’t trust you Namjoon. You lied to them, you lied to me for so many years. That doesn’t just go away.”

“I know. It won’t go away, but it doesn’t have to. But maybe we can put these pieces back together, use them to build a stronger foundation. Like kintsugi.”

The mention of the golden seams fills you with a warmth you didn’t think was possible to feel again. You look down at the mug you’d picked out, and a small smile graces your face when you see that it’s the one he repaired for you in the same way right after you’d dropped it during your first week in the house.

The conversation suddenly feels too suffocating, to intimate for your weary-eyed self in the dead of the night. There was a lot the two of you had to work through, things that could take years to properly unpack. Could you condemn yourself to that nightmare? Could you subject Hyun to the pain of two parents who had a hard time being in the same room? You weren’t sure it was worth it. But you also knew that Namjoon would keep turning up, using Hyun as an excuse or blaming a coincidence, just so he could convince you again. 

“We should get some sleep,” you put the mug down, your soft steps echoing as you walk out, leaving the two men alone, but not before you hear Yoongi’s hushed voice.

“College fund? Really?” 

The recoil of the shot rings in Namjoon’s ears as he watches the bullet whiz through the air, missing the target completely and lodging itself into the wall. He lets out a heavy sigh, the empty weapon falling from his hands.

“Great job, Namjoon-hyung. You were so close! You’ll definitely make it next time.” The doe-eyed boy next to him bounces with pent-up energy, patting him on the back. Jeon Jungkook was every bit the son that Yonghyun deserved. He, along with new recruits to the Kim clan, his cousin Taehyung and Park Jimin, were the sons that Yonghyun always deserved. Never missing a mark. Never fucking up a mission. Never running away from anything. Namjoon doesn’t have the heart to tell Jungkook he missed on purpose. Not because he sucked, but because he was a coward. The pressure from his father had been mounting for him to finally prove himself worthy of the Kim lineage, and to send him out on a mission. Namjoon had accepted with reservations in his heart - no longer sure where his life was taking him.

The good news was you started to let him visit Hyun, Namjoon slipping through the door at the middle of the night to stroke his son’s hair. He could feel your eyes watching him from the nursery door, but you never came inside. 

He thinks back to his last visit a few days ago.

He’d been brave enough to press a kiss to Hyun’s chubby face, his cheeks puffing out as he stirred slightly, which was Namjoon’s cue to back away. Until he heard it.

Come back Appa, the tiny voice whimpered, and Namjoon had never walked faster out of Hyun’s room, tears clinging to his lashes until he bumped into your frozen figure outside. Your cheeks were wet with tears too, and Namjoon didn’t stop himself from wrapping his arms around you, sobbing into your shoulder, the two of you staying like that longer than he could count.

When you finally separated, a choked whimper escaped you, like you wanted to say something, but instead, you turned on your heel, sprinting towards what was once your shared bedroom. The soft thud of the door slamming shut had been the end of that.

“Jeon, can I steal him for a second?” Yoongi comes up behind him, clapping Namjoon on the back. He’s not alone. His wife, who Namjoon had known well throughout their childhood, is behind him, the two of them looking at him with a mischevious glint in their eyes.

“You’ll never believe who we ran into just now,” Yoongi’s wife laughs, and Namjoon tilts his head in confusion.

She launches into an animated discussion about how she’d seen ___ and Hyun while touring a a daycare for Hana, Yoongi’s daughter.

“She’s wonderful Namjoon, why haven’t you ever introduced us?” Namjoon looks to Yoongi for support, but the other man just smirks, placing a reassuring hand on his wife’s back.

“Don’t worry dear, I have a feeling we’ll see Namjoon and ____ together sooner than we’ll think,” reaching for his phone.

Namjoon’s own phone pings with the notification of a text, and he looks down to see that Yoongi has sent him a discreet picture of ____ and Hyun, smiling happily as they talked to his wife, and he breathes a sigh of relief. The way you talked to them with ease puts a small glimmer of hope in his chest, that maybe with time, with convincing, you could be okay with this. Okay with him. And that the three of you could be happy again.

He’d keep fighting for you both. He had to.

Shivering, you shake tiny droplets from your hair as you step inside, the stark, white walls of the gallery as uninviting as the outside climate. You chatter your teeth and rub your arms in an attempt to warm up. Hyun was at daycare, and part of you felt guilty for leaving him there when you knew you didn’t have any work meetings today, but you needed time alone. To think. 

The receptionist greets you with a warm smile, excitedly telling you all about their latest exhibit, and you smile and nod politely, eager to get away from her chipper presence, and to bask in your own gloom. You could have done anything else today - caught up on paperwork, tackled the massive pile of laundry that sat in your room, had a treat-yourself session at the mall, but something compelled you to come and see the new gallery that had opened in the city. Sighing, you realize it’s probably because Namjoon would have loved it, and you missed seeing the way his eyes twinkled when he saw a piece he liked, standing behind you and sending goosebumps all along your arm when he whispered the meaning into your ear.

Half the time, the comments would quickly stray away from the art, and turn to the way he couldn’t wait to get his hands on you at home, to tear your clothes off, to have you screaming under him while he made you forget your own name. Another shiver hits you, but this time, it’s not from the cold. 

Shoes clacking, you step into the open space, the paintings arranged neatly along the wall, and you pick one to study.

The interlocking lines and the bold geometric patterns kept you busy, your eyes flitting from corner to corner, head swimming with thoughts about the tricks the painting seemed to be playing. They looked like they went on forever, creating a grid, or a map, that careened off the canvas, trailing off into infinity. It made you feel even more lonely, a mere speck in this huge world, full of so many things you were unaware of. 

“It’s called Nucleus,” a voice calls out from behind you. One that you knew all too well. You turn to see Namjoon, his hair equally soaked and heavy coat dripping onto the floor. You should have known he’d be interested in the exhibit. It wasn’t like mafia bosses existed outside the realm of humanity.

You want to back away as he comes closer, but remain frozen in place.

“The lines and patterns are supposed to draw your eyes to every corner, make you study the entire painting, but it’s a trick of course. All that really matters is how they come together in the center, creating a focal point of attention. A nucleus. An omphalos. A heart.”

You look up at him, sucking in a sharp breath, and you want to be alone, somewhere private, somewhere he couldn’t see you break down from all the pain, all the hurt that you’d put the two of yourselves through.

Namjoon senses you’re about to leave before you do, and he already slips an arm around your waist, stopping you in your tracks.

“It’s raining. Let me drop you home.”

Gulping, you nod your agreement, his hand never leaving it’s place on your waist as the two of you step out into the deluge.

. . . 

Rain always scared you. You hated how dark it made everything seem, the eerie shadows it would cast through the blinds of your home, the loud crackle of thunder that would wake Hyun up with a sob. 

Namjoon, on the other hand, loved the rain. It reminded him that the world wasn’t monolithic, that it was ever-changing. It helped him realize that he didn’t have to be forced into a role he didn’t want to play, that while it poured outside, new life could be born and could blossom.

The two of you come to a pause outside the doorstep, Namjoon’s eyes mirroring the storm outside, full of uncertainty. You were sure you were the same, the two of you mirroring each other, but no longer having the same nucleus to pivot around.

Namjoon holds his breath, wanting a few more moments with you to remember, before fate would inevitably set you on your separate ways again. He can smell the dew collecting on the grass, but there’s also the fragrance of your shampoo, and he observes the way the droplets collect on the tip of your nose, before dropping down to wet your lips.

You surge forward, seeking his lips, and Namjoon stumbles for a brief second, before his arm comes up to wrap around you, meeting you halfway. You feel dizzy, clinging onto his warmth like it’s an anchor, keeping you from floating away from this moment.

The solid wood behind you falls away when Namjoon wrestles with the doorknob, the two of you slipping and sliding into the entryway, Namjoon’s tongue becoming more insistent, and a low whine escapes from the back of your throat.

The two of you part, soaked and trembling, and Namjoon rests his forehead to yours. You can feel his hot breath fan against your cheeks, now flushed from the cold, and you realize your fists are still balled into the heavy material of his jacket. 

Heat rises in your chest, and you feel like a livewire, tingling at the mere thought of having Namjoon so close to you again. You knew this was a bad idea, that it would complicate everything, but you didn’t have it in you to care, heart skipping a beat when Namjoon pulls you back in, seeking your lips once more.

The coat falls to the floor in no time at all, and you can’t stop your hands from roaming everywhere, Namjoon’s damp shirt doing nothing to hide the body you knew so well, the one you’d probably never forget.

His thumbs slip underneath the hem of your shirt, tracing circles into the top of your hips, you whine even louder.

Moments later, the scratchy sheets of the bed meet your back, Namjoon setting you down softly, reaching over his head to take off his soaked clothes. Sighing, you reach for his hands, the warm fingertips slipping through your cold ones easily, and pull him towards you, limbs tangling together in desperation. Your skirt slips up to your waist, exposing your soaked panties, and Namjoon’s hands settle on your thighs, gripping them hard enough to leave marks, and dips his head down to leave soft kisses on your core.

“Say it,” he begs. “Say you want me.”

“I n-need you, Joon, need to feel you, fuck–” 

You moan when he pushes the fabric to the side, flicking his tongue against your folds, and your hands reach for his hair, tugging at the strands while he groans underneath.

“Fuck, I missed the way you taste, always so good for me,” he groans, slipping a finger in to circle around your clit, and you writhe against him, unable to take the teasing. 

“Does my pretty girl want me to fuck her?” He groans into your pussy, arms flexing to keep you spread out underneath him, and you babble incoherently, unable to put your desire into words. All you knew was that you never wanted this moment to end.

When you feel yourself teetering on the brink, body flushing with anticipation, it all stops. Panting, you look at Namjoon, his dark eyes surveying you hungrily, and a shiver makes its way down your spine.

“Ride me, baby,” he orders.

Peeling the rest of your wet clothes off, you watch Namjoon settle into the pillows, like he never left at all, and it makes your heart lurch. His hand reaches for yours when you climb back over him, hips straddling his thighs, and he presses it to his chest, right above where his heart beats, hissing when he slips into you.

You rock against him slowly, gently, your heavy breathing the only sound amidst the backdrop of rain, and his hands reach for you, roaming over every bit of your body, light touches that drive you wild. Leaning back, you anchor yourself on the sheets, allowing him to roll his hips upward, the two of you moving in tandem.

“Mine,” he sighs, cupping your ass. “All mine.”

“Yours,” you echo, walls clenching around him when he began to slowly rub circles on your clit, tears stinging your eyes.

His other hand reaches for your neck, pulling you in to wipe the tears away with the pad of his thumb, his eyes never leaving yours as you fall apart around him, Namjoon’s thrusts speeding up as he groans into your shoulder, your arms drawing circles into his back as he spills inside of you.

Lifting you off of him, his arms reach around your body to press you against him, his lips ghosting your forehead, and you feel a wet trail of tears on his cheeks as the words spill out, and he tells you everything.

Tells you about growing up with a father who belittled and abused him for being weak, about his mother who left when he was a teen, about Seokjin, Yoongi, and Hoseok, his friends who he feels like he’d abandoned. He tells you that he’s not sure what the right thing is anymore, not sure who needs him more – the city or his family, and how he feels so fucking lost all the time. He rambles until his voice becomes thick with fatigue, slowly eventually to the deep breaths you’d come to know beside you for yours, and you wrap his arms tighter around you. 

When you wake up in the morning, he’s gone.

Namjoon’s head pounds with guilt as he follows his father into the car, the tinted windows obscuring his plight from the world around him. Behind him, Yoongi and Hoseok look on with sharp eyes, guns belted into their holsters, preparing themselves for the imminent shitshow that was about to arise.

The problem was, it had already begun the moment Namjoon kissed you last night. His mind runs through the countless memories he’d stored from that night, from your soft lips to the sharp cries of pleasure that he’d wrought from you, and decides that he’s even more fucked now.

Looking at his phone, his thumb hovers over the text you’d sent him, one that was definitely borne from anger at seeing an empty bed when you woke up.

I’m leaving with Hyun in a week. Please don’t come and see us again.

Sighing, he decides to focus on the car moving to quell his nausea, to keep back the bile that rises in his throat. He had to hold it together in front of Yonghyun. If he messed this up now, he’d have nothing left.

. . .

Taking the receipt from the bank teller, you survey the amount of money withdrawn, praying it’s enough for you to start somewhere new with Hyun, your heart breaking at the thought of finally leaving Namjoon for good. You’re one foot out the door when you hear a voice behind you.

“___? Is that you?” Turning, you’re met with the handsome face of Kim Seokjin, looking grim-faced in a black suit.

Ignoring him, you keep walking. You wanted nothing to do with him, nothing to do with Namjoon anymore. 

“___, please, please wait,” he stops you with a hand on your arm, beckoning you to sit with him. The two of you make your way to a secluded bench in a park, and Seokjin stares at you, before sighing in defeat, realizing you weren’t going to talk.

“Yonghyun is taking Namjoon to make a deal with the Lees today,” he looks out at the people strolling by. “It’s a test for him – if Namjoon does well, he’ll become the leader. These types of things usually go one of two ways - either we handle it, or becomes a bloodbath.”

“Good for him,” you grit through your teeth, ignoring the way your heart does a flip. “It seems like that’s what he wanted all along.”

“I’m not here to talk to you about Namjoon,” he says somberly. “Whatever happened is between him and you, it’s not my place to interfere.”

“Look,” you say with a clipped voice, “Can we cut this bullshit? What do you want Seokjin? You can’t convince me to go back to him.”

“I’m here to tell you about me,” he says, his eyes trained to the ground. “About my story.”

“What makes you think I want to hear anything about you?” you say, instantly regretting how rude it sounded.

“You probably don’t, but I always do this. Whenever I have this random feeling like everything might go to shit, I find the most random person I can think of, and tell them about Kim Seokjin. It makes me feel like less of a petty criminal, and more of a human, like someone people would want to remember. Sometimes it’s the ahjumma who runs a fruit stand, or the ahjusshi on his way to work. Sometimes it’s a bored kid. Today, I just happened to find you.”

He offers you a sip of his coffee, and you politely decline.

“I guess I should start at the beginning,” he chuckles. “I’ve known Namjoon since before he could walk. My father was his right hand man, but my parents were killed when I was young. Namjoon’s family took me in, and soon enough Yoongi and Hoseok joined our little circle. We were the best of friends’ thick as thieves, and for a while we were happy, but then Namjoon’s mother left.”

Your mind flits back to Namjoon’s hurried conversation in bed, babbling about how his mother had enough, about how she had to go.

“Namjoon was nothing like his father. He was everything like her, and the moment he saw that Yonghyun had pushed her away, had turned her into an unhappy shell, he grew restless. I always knew he’d leave us one day, that he’d try to carve out his own path.”

“Yoongi and Hoseok were bitterly upset, they couldn’t believe him. I couldn’t either. I mean, what kind of dork runs away from a multi-million dollar empire for a college education?”

You laugh hollowly at his joke, and he musters a small smile.

“It must have been about two weeks after he left. Or maybe it was a month. I’m not sure anymore. When you’re as old as I am, the days all start to blend together.”

“You don’t look a day past thirty,” you quip, and he snickers.

“It started with a girl,” he sighs. “Most things do. Contrary to what you think, even members of the mafia need our old wake me up call, and I stepped into a random coffee shop, and there she was. I flirted with her like an idiot, cracked my silly jokes, and it felt different from all the pointless hook-ups I had, from all the missions I’d spent with a gun strapped to my back chasing money. We started seeing each other.”

You look past him out onto the park, guilt permeating your body at his words. Was this how Namjoon had felt when he met you? Were you really worth leaving behind everything to him.

“A month later, she was dead. Shot outside the coffee shop after locking up one night. All because they knew she was associated with me. All because I was selfish, and only thought of myself. That’s when I realized there was no way out for any of us, except Namjoon.”

Shuddering, you think back to the years Namjoon spent shrouding the dark side of himself from the world outside, how difficult it must have been to carry this black mark on his back for so long.

“I fucking hated everything in that moment. I hated my family, I hated my friends, I hated this life, I hated her. But most of all, I hated myself for being a walking target on the backs of those I cared about the most. I couldn’t console her family, her co-workers, I couldn’t do anything. They all would have seen me as the monster who caused her death. All I could fucking do was go back to doing what I had always done.”

He rises suddenly, telling you that he has to go soon, but that he needs to finish, that there’s something you need to hear.

“There was one night, where I was wandering around, recklessly drunk, probably in a park like this. I felt like doing something stupid – maybe killing someone, maybe shouting into the void. And I saw him. Namjoon. With you.”

You freeze. You and Namjoon had gone to the park hundreds of times, sometimes walking through it at night, other times riding your bike through the day. A chill runs down your spine when it hits you how close the two of you had come to meeting, Namjoon’s two worlds colliding.

“I wasn’t spying on you, I’m not an asshole. But you guys were being all cutesy and shit, and it finally struck me that he was in love. He hadn’t run away out of some misguided sense of fear, or superiority. He just wanted to live a normal life, one that was full of happiness. I never told anyone I saw you two because I knew it’d blow up in his face. And mine too. But I guess it did anyway, huh?”

Tapping his foot anxiously, his hands begin to shake as he grows restless.

“I gotta go. But even if you don’t take Namjoon back, and I’m not telling you that you have to, I’m telling you there was something there worth fighting for. Namjoon’s not a stupid man, he knows how to set priorities, and he chose you. And Hyun. That has to mean something.”

He turns on his heels, and you feel your head throb, eyes misting with tears.

“Seokjin!” you call out to him, and he turns, looking at you curiously. Smiling at him, you let a tear trickle down your face. “In another world, do you think we could’ve been friends? All of us?”

He smirks, crossing his arms.

“Maybe. But we’ll never know, will we?”

And with that he walks away.

Sweat trickles down Namjoon’s back as Yonghyun’s face grows redder, his screams becoming shriller. He can tell the Lees aren’t amused with his proposition to buy up more of their territory. His heart thuds in his ears, and he looks down the line to Yoongi, Hoseok, and Seokjin, who’d joined them recently. They all remain stone-faced, like they’d been through this before.

“Kim Yonghyun, you bought from us years ago and promised you’d double our investments,” Mr. Lee says calmly, and Namjoon fears him. “Instead, you’ve driven our businesses into the ground. Our partnership isn’t working anymore, we see no reason not to forfeit it.”

Every one of the Kims tenses around him, their shoulders slumping in defeat, mournful at the ruination of their empire. Namjoon, on the other hand, sighs in relief. This was it, he could finally be free from everything tying him down, he could make it right with you.

“You can take the boy,” Yonghyun says, nodding towards his son, and Namjoon’s blood runs cold. “Marry him off to one of your daughters. He’s of no use to us anyway.”

“NO!” Namjoon interrupts him, and Yonghyun cackles at his panicked face, his withered arm reaching for Namjoon, offering him up to the Lees.

Namjoon squirms in his father’s tight grip, the Lees looking on in horror, and Yonghyun groans.

“God, shut up, you stupid boy!” he howls. “I’m sick of you.”

And his arms close around Namjoon’s neck.

Namjoon’s lungs burn as he squeezes, the blood rushing out of his head, and the sounds around him become muffled, his father’s screams of delight the only thing he can hear as his vision becomes spotty.

Until a shot rings out,, followed by another and Namjoon feels his father slump forward, choking on blood as the two of them thud to the ground.

“Namjoon-ah,” Hoseok screams. “Are you with us, shit, shit, shit! Yoongi, help me, goddamnit.”

Together, the two of them pry Yonghyun off of him, and Namjoon regains enough clarity to see Kim Seokjin in front of him, smoke coming from the end of his pistol while he clutches his chest, the white of his shirt seeped in blood. Seokjin gives him a nod, and turns to leave, his footsteps echoing on the concrete stairs.

“We need to get you to a hospital, fuck,” Hoseok sobs, clutching Namjoon for dear life, and they carry him out. 

Stirring, Namjoon rubs his eyes sleepily, the beep of a heart monitor and the IV attached to his arm telling him he’s in the hospital. Blinking, he focuses enough to figure out he’s alone, the only other person in the room the nurse who charts down his vitals.

“Are you feeling better, dear?” the kind voice asks, and Namjoon’s heart drops to his stomach. He’d know that voice anywhere.

“Eomma?” he croaks, turning to look at a face he hasn’t seen in years. She looks the exact same as the day she left.

“Namjoon-ah?” she whispers, her eyes looking him up and down like she can’t believe it. “Is it really you?”

She lets out a sob, coming to hug him, and he winces when she presses into his body.

“Oh I’m sorry, I forgot your arm was sprained,” she blubbers, and he doesn’t say anything, surveying her.

“You were here this whole time?” he says, voice breaking. “Why didn’t you come back to us? Why didn’t you find me?”

“Because I never wanted to see you like this, Namjoon-ah. I was afraid, and I was scared. I left because I knew what your father was capable of. He made it his personal mission to turn the lives around him into a living hell, to the point where people didn’t even want to live anymore. I didn’t want to one day cradle your lifeless body in my hands, either because he’d had enough or because you’d had enough.”

Namjoons eyes fill with tears at seeing his mother, the only other woman in his life who’d shown him what it was like to chose himself, to chose happiness. Everything that he’d been through, everything he’d had with you, had been by her example.

“I kept tabs on you, though, I’d always look in the charts of nearby hospitals, looking for your name. It was a sign of relief every time I didn’t see it.”

“Will you stay with me, Eomma?” Namjoon asks, and she smiles sadly.

“Namjoon, I can’t—, if your father ever got word of me, he’d—”

“He’s dead,” Namjoon declares. “Seokjin killed him.”

His mother’s eyes widen in surprise, a tear leaking from them, and she collapses into sobs, shaking at his bedside. Her body is so withered, frail from so many years of abuse, and Namjoon holds her in his arms, whispering reassurances into her ear.

“You’re safe, Eomma. We both are.”

Namjoon looks nervously at Yoongi and Hoseok, their nods encouraging him to go on, and he straightens the tie his mother had picked out. Making his way up the path to your door again, he prays that you and Hyun haven’t left yet. 

The door opens before he can even knock, Hyun’s tiny figure looking up at him with wide eyes, and Namjoon resists the urge to sob at how much he’d grown up in the past couple of months. 

“Hyunnie?” you call out to him, sounding exhausted. “Who’s at the door?”

When Hyun doesn’t answer, you decide to come check, only to find him wrapped in Namjoon’s arms, your son sobbing into his father’s shoulder. You freeze when you see his arm in a sling.

“Never gonna leave you again, bud,” he says, muffled into Hyun’s tiny shoulder.

“Namjoon? Why are you here? What’s going on? The Kims—”

“There are no Kims, ___. Not anymore. It’s over.”

You throw yourself against him, sobs wracking your body.

“I missed you, god I missed you so much, I was gonna go insane.”

Taking your hand in his, you look up at him, lifting them to press a kiss to his knuckles, and he smiles at you.

“Don’t leave me again, okay? Whatever you need to say you can it. I promise I’ll listen, and we can work through it.”

Gesturing for Hyun to come join you, he wraps you both in a tight hug, savoring it, until you lean close and whisper in his ears.

“You’re our nucleus, Namjoon.”

Namjoon realizes he’d never really been weak at all. Not like Yonghyun had seen him. And now, as the autumn leaves crackled on the lawn, and Hyun ran excitedly outside, jumping through them with Yoongi and Hoseok, he realized that there may come a time in his life where he’d have to choose again. And for all the times he could have committed himself to a life of doom, times that sought to tempt him with his worst nightmares, he’d come out of it choosing you every time. 

Epilogue - 3 months later

“What do you mean he’s gone?” you look at Namjoon brows, furrowed in worry. Across the kitchen, Namjoon paces back and forth, feet clacking against the tile, as he resists the urge to rip his hair out.

In the distance, you can hear Hyun giggle, his halmeoni chasing him around the living room, and your eyes crinkle in a smile.

“Jungkook told me they haven’t been able to get a hold of him. Yoongi and Hoseok are up the wall.”

Rising from your seat, you try to calm your fretting husband, pressing a peck to his lips. You pout, and he sighs in resignation, knowing that it isn’t his problem to worry about. His hands come up to rest on your stomach, running over the tiny, firm bump that had brought forth new change into his life just two weeks ago.

“He’ll be fine, Namjoon,” you reassure him. “I know he will.”

“How?” Namjoon croaks out with worry, and you can’t blame him for his freakout.

“He’s Kim Seokjin, duh,” you deadpan, and Namjoon chuckles at your expression. “Now, stop this worrying, okay? I was promised matchamisu tonight, and I’m holding you to that.”

Accepting your hand, he lets you lead the way. Time for another date night.

a/n pt. 2: thank you for joining me on this crazy ride! for reference, the artist Namjoon and OC are talking about is Lee Seung Jio, and his series called Nucleus. As always, any comments or feedback are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi <3

[elvendorx]

Hi! First off. I love your blog and how you write about James and Sirius they are✨everything✨

But, I was wondering what your views and opinions are on each of their individual relationships with Remus and Peter.

Firstly thank you! It’s my mission to put more j/s out into the world so I’m glad my particular brand of it resonates with other enjoyers <3 I love this question but unfortunately various deadlines and then me just being a messy, inconcise writer have delayed it to the two months mark 💀 so hopefully you’re still interested & it was worth the wait! I’ve edited it to death and it’s still this long so buckle in & multiple apologies 

~

The little that we do know of James and Remus’ friendship gives the impression of a really genuine, nurturing, trusting one, and helps to bridge that gap between the arrogant bully we see in SWM and the good guy Sirius and Remus tell us that James becomes later. James supported Remus financially post-Hogwarts, became an Animagus for him, and then there’s the “furry little problem” comment that Remus bursts out laughing at and looks “slightly more cheerful” at the memory of. 

I think that one line says a lot about James and Remus and establishes a shared sense of humour. It’s a very “raised by older parents” thing of James to say, it’s weirdly gentle and tactful from someone who doesn’t show that in any of the memories we see of him but it’s also quite light and optimistic about Remus’ “little problem” as something they can solve together. James, like Remus, probably spent a lot of his childhood with his parents so I think they’d both have had quiet evenings in by the Wireless with biscuits and hot chocolate before bed and homemade jumpers and grandad slippers so despite James being very loud and Remus not knowing how to really interact with other kids despite wanting to, they would ‘get’ each other on a home life level that would bridge the difference in wealth and with the werewolf thing.

I think that James makes Remus feel more normal and his brand of carefree, casual, cocksure acceptance would make him Remus’ main source of support in terms of friends. The time that Remus knows James (meeting him in first year to James’ death) directly correlates with the happiest, most stable time in his life. When James dies he has lost all of his friends and James’ financial support so James is a literal stabilising force in his life, so James would have been Remus’ go-to when he wanted to talk serious werewolf stuff. I see James plopping down next to Remus on his bed being like “talk to me, I’m listening” and Remus finding it easy to open up that way. They’d be familiar enough to have little in-jokes that are just the two of them whereas I think Remus and Sirius wouldn’t have that closeness. (Not a j/s post but I also like to think of Remus just giving James this wry eye-contact re:Sirius like ‘lol u got it bad’ and James being all ???!!! back at him).

OTOH I see Sirius and Remus’ friendship as more distant and a friendship of two halves. On the one hand there’s a consistent mutual respect.  Remus includes Sirius in his praise of him - “your father and Sirius were the best in the school at whatever they did” - and Sirius evidently regards Remus more highly than Peter because he engages and jokes with him in SWM which shows a shared sense of humour. I think Sirius would respect Remus’ magical abilities as being close to his and James’ in the same way that he doesn’t respect Peter for his lack of relative magical ability. I think a lot of their discussions would about wizarding politics and the technical possibilities of magic so they’d probably get on quite well with the Marauder’s Map project (but also lol at Sirius being like “Remus, just let me do it, I know what I’m doing and I’m quicker” and taking over and Remus going all mutinous). However, Sirius also rebuffs Remus’ attempts to engage in SWM, showing an element of impatience and a sense of tension, instability and misunderstanding to their friendship (more on this in a separate post bc this one is Long).

A big thing for me that inhibits me from reading Sirius and Remus as particularly close is the mutual distrust and suspicion of the other as a traitor. I have always thought that this was a gradual thing that built up over years. To suspect a friend of ten years of being a spy is huge so I think the prank intensified and maybe accelerated it but it wasn’t the origin of the breakdown in trust. Notably it was a spy in the Order, not a spy just out of the Marauders, yet both Sirius and Remus suspected each other out of everyone else. I think that the tension would be unspoken but mutually felt and it would come from fundamental differences like their different backgrounds, and on Remus’ end a resentment of Sirius’ freedom to be reckless and impulsive and get nothing more than a detention for it when Remus being reckless could lead to dangerous consequnces (even though that didn’t really stop him being reckless on several occasions). 

I also feel like Sirius would have a more clinical, less tactful, though still very supportive, approach to Remus’ lycanthropy and he’d discuss werewolf issues from an intellectual/social/political perspective rather than really engaging with Remus’ experience (at least until he actually sees him transform) which might seem dismissive to Remus. I also think that Remus would question Sirius’ support because of the Black family’s reputation, enough so that when the prank happens that background suspicion would be vindicated. It’s said a lot that Sirius would never have sent Snape to the Shack if it was James who were the werewolf, and that’s an important distinction between James and Sirius’ close relationship & Sirius and Remus’ more neutral and separated friendship.

At the same time there must be genuine friendship there somewhere because they reunite very easily in the Shrieking Shack, hugging like brothers and calling each other “old friend” and they sense/assume capability to kill Peter and the desire for revenge in each other which suggests that they know each other well. I do think that a lot of that comes from the adrenaline of the situation, and that the combination of relief, familiarity, nostalgia, revenge, desperation, grief, etc, would heighten that joy at being reunited. I think that they experience those emotions alongside each other rather than because of each other, routed through James and their experience of knowing and losing him rather than an especial attachment to each other specifically, though. Their joint venture of avenging James positions him as a central touchstone in their friendship. When Harry goes to them for reassurance after SWM, they’re both just remembering James and Sirius’ acknowledgement of Remus is all about separating him from himself and James. The main thing they have in common is James, imo. The discovery of Peter as the traitor removes the main internal conflict of their friendship, as well as external conflicts (i.e. impending war, Harry’s chaotic life) superceding any personality differences or annoyances. 

Convenience also plays a big part in their post-PoA friendship. They’re a mutually beneficial, easily accessible source of familiarity and nostalgia for each other, a parallel reminder of James and their youth when they were both happier. Things like “lie low at Lupin’s” and Remus living at Grimmauld Place are measures of convenience rather than closeness when scrutinised. Grimmauld Place is Order HQ and Remus is single and unemployed, obviously he’s going to choose to be around people and have free food and shelter (plus Tonks is there a lot). Before that Sirius that lives in a cave eating rats even though he probably could live with Remus because at this point it’s not widely known that he’s an Animagus but he doesn’t. (Would Remus even want him there?)

It doesn’t seem like they’re in touch at all until then either? Dangerous, etc etc, but these are supposedly the kids who snuck around school as animals undetected for years and one of them has escaped Azkaban so it would have been feasible to be in contact if they’d wanted to. It’s also significant to me that Sirius didn’t leave Remus anything in his will despite him struggling financially (vs James actively helping Remus out) and Remus is like..fine after he dies. It’s understandable because they were separated for longer than they initially knew each other. They were obviously friends, but different and more distant in comparison to their individual friendships with James. It all culminates for me in a friendship that is based on a shared youth, on the memory of freedom, on love for a mutual friend, on existing in the same place at the same time, on mutual respect for magical ability, on curiosity for the constraints of magic, on holding the same values but still being fundamentally different people.

I don’t think that the Marauders were a particularly equal group anyway but with Peter specifically I think it was more an illusion of equality and inclusion that James and Sirius think is ‘enough’ for Peter but that Peter finds it lacking. James and Sirius definitely don’t view him as equal with Remus, but they also spare him from the kind of bullying we see Snape get, despite Snape being more capable and logically worthy of their respect (were he not interested in dark magic or ugly, I guess).

I think that James and Peter’s friendship was the most mutually transactional. Peter’s inclusion in the group was social security for him first and foremost and James’ ego also got stroked a lot from having Peter around. James would pat himself on the back for being friends with someone like Peter lmao. All we see of James and Peter’s dynamic is James saying to Peter: “How thick are you, Wormtail?” and Peter openly adoring James when he plays with the Snitch and James lapping it up. Despite the derision and harshness, Peter actively feeds James’ ego, which isn’t a sustainable dynamic for a genuine friendship and it clearly irritates Sirius. I think that’s more Peter performing a role for his own continued benefit rather than him being stupid enough to not notice that James is being a dick though.

The combination of Peter’s capabilities being underestimated by his friends and James’ sense of duty and love towards his friends would foster a lowkey mentor/pupil, big brother/little brother dynamic but it would boost James’ ego while treating Peter as less intelligent than he actually was. I’m sure Peter benefited from it (Animagus transformations) but I can see James playing into it more heavily than necessary. However James and Peter are the two with the most typical childhoods and upbringings, so I think it would be an easy casual one-on-one dynamic, they’d have a lot of common experiences, a lot of the same reference points that Remus missed out on and Sirius’ family didn’t approve of that would make them feel close but they’re just opposite ends of the spectrum in terms of confidence, wit, popularity that beyond that I don’t think they’d have a lot in common except their shared high opinion of James (!) and there would be a lot of James talking at Peter and Peter agreeing. I don’t think Peter would be that into Quidditch beyond maybe the glory of it and James overlooks this with Sirius and understands why Remus isn’t into it but with Peter he’s like how what why ?? 

Ultimately unequal but I think James has that ability to make you feel like you’re the only person in the world when it’s a one-on-one thing and that would be something that Peter would strive for all the time but never quite get. I definitely think that James thinks he loves Wormtail but whether he actually does or treats him like he does is an entirely different thing.

With Sirius, we only see him treat Peter with contempt and I don’t think it’s oversimplification to accept this basically at surface level. I don’t think Sirius ever really respected Peter and generally regarded him as weak. Even Sirius’ irritation at James showing off with the Snitch is diverted through Peter in a way designed to humiliate Peter and relieve James of responsibility and to distance James from Sirius' reproach whilst giving Peter the full force of it and I think that shows how disposable and irrelevant he was to Sirius. (It’s not that far off some of the comments he makes about Snape and Kreacher.) 

This is a relationship Sirius would have had to work really hard at. Peter is the friend he is always irritated at and is mentally like "god just go away just fuck off". Sometimes he'd be like "aw he's not that bad I should be easier on him" but he mostly never is. Sirius likes Peter most as a rat, unironically, because for Sirius that’s probably when he sees the most potential in Peter. The way Peter works so hard to please James (and James’ acceptance of his attention) would irritate Sirius. Sirius loves James and makes a lot of allowances for him but he would find Peter’s sucking up degrading and embarrassing and think less of him for it, like “I like James more than you but you don’t see me pissing myself over him”. 

Peter I think was scared of Sirius, because of Sirius just being openly hostile but also because of his family. Peter would suck up to Sirius in the same way he did James but it doesn’t work on Sirius and Peter is like “well idk how to act then” so he’s constantly trying to find ways to get Sirius to like him and falling short so eventually he plays into Sirius’ underestimation of him (very successfully, clearly). I think Sirius’ whole “nobody would suspect him because he’s so stupid” sentiment grew in hindsight but existed somewhat at the time of choosing Peter as Secret Keeper. Sirius would never knowingly do something that he thought would even slightly risk James' safety so I completely believe that he trusted Peter and believed in a vague mutual understanding of friendship despite his lack of patience and respect for him. 

(Sorry this is SO FUCKING LONG, esp the Sirius & Remus bit bc I always feel I have to justify that one more, plus there’s way more in-text stuff for them. Once again ty for the ask! <3 Loved answering it, hate myself for being inarticulate but oh well)

[healerelowen]

YO! I’ve got a writing idea! It be very fluffy my fellow simps! Btw I might just get as many of the ask prompts out as I can in one big load rather than very slowly getting to every, single, one. It’s probably going to be much quicker. That doesn’t mean the event isn’t over, it is. I’m just god awful at deadlines. Anyways, I hope you enjoy and have a good rest of your day/night! 

-Headpats-

        You had been experimenting with some new music tracks P03 had made via playing Inscryption with him. They all had unique characteristics to them, making it quite an enjoyable experience. “Hmm, maybe that one could go with The Archivist.” P03 said, an ellipsis present on his screen as it tapped its claw on the table. “I think it’ll suit her well!” You said as you looked up at him, eyes sparkling. P03 let out a hum and nodded, “I’ll be sure to add it then.” You suddenly piped up, “You should take a bit of a break, we’ve been playing for what, two almost three hours now?” 

He looked up at you with slightly narrowed eyes, “Not that I’m not enjoying it of course! I’m just a bit concerned about you, is all.” You spoke frantically, worried that you may have offended the bot but it simply shook its head. “No, I know you are enjoying the game. And I understand your concern.” You ease yourself a bit as P03 continued, “However, I don’t see the need for a break-” You cut him off slightly, “Come on, just one break? Please?” You said as you gave it the puppy dog eyes. 

He looked like it was trying to bring itself to say no, but after a while of small sputtering it simply sighed, “...Fine, one break.” P03 said as it hovered higher up from the table to seemingly resemble standing up. “Yes!” You mutter to yourself with pride as you stand up from your chair. “So, any ideas as to what we’re going to do?” P03 said, his all too familiar smug face present on its monitor as you realized you hadn’t thought of anything.  

“Well, I suppose we could just hang out for a bit.” You said averting your gaze. “Sounds good to me.” P03 said as he shrugged (Can he shrug though?) and hovered to your shared bedroom. You followed close behind it, closing the door behind you once you both entered. As P03 got closer to the bed, you crouched down slightly and leaped, colliding into him and sending it straight onto the bed with a loud beep. 

You snickered to yourself as P03 shoved you off screeching, “YOU, ABSOLUTE MENACE!” You didn’t take his words to heart only giggling as it huffed at you while sitting up, “Oh yeah laugh it up why don’t you? You stupid idoit gamer.” It muttered that last part. “But I’m your stupid idiot gamer, right?” You asked teasingly as he averted its gaze away from you in response. You giggled a little more as you gave him head pats on the top of its monitor. 

However, just as you were pulling your hand away, P03 suddenly grabbed it, preventing you from placing it back down. You blinked at him in surprise as it very slowly placed your hand back onto the top of its monitor. He let go as you started to pet its head from side to side, and you noticed its body starting to relax as you continued. You smile warmly at him as a small smile made its way onto its display, with it starting to purr loudly at the unanticipated affection. 

You pulled your hand away and P03 looked up at you, “Why’d you stop?” You smiled, “So I could do this! C’mere!” you said as you scooped him up into a hug and fell back onto the pillows. Once you both landed, you found yourself laying down with P03 laying on top of you. Before P03 could do anything else, you start petting him again. He began to purr once more as it nuzzled closer into your embrace. Oh how glad you were that you managed to get him to take a break.             

[forcefulkitten]

bare my burden

[illumi zoldyck x fem! reader]

summary: feeling powerless and out of control due to his mission not going as planned, Illumi makes you feel the same way.

warnings: 18+, nsfw, rough sex, deepthroating, face-fucking

word count: 1,956

It had been a week since your husband, Illumi Zoldyck, left the estate to complete a mission. He said he’d be back two days ago, and he wasn’t back yet. Punctual as he is, he normally arrived before he estimated. You liked to lie to yourself by thinking he did this to surprise you by his early arrival, but you know that he actually used his timeframes as a deadline and made sure to complete things before then. 

The weather out was gloomy on this evening.. Storm clouds filled the sky and heavy rain fell right onto the buds of the beautiful flowers in the Zoldyck Estate. It was always such a sight to see. You had just finished taking a relaxing bath, enjoying a cup of tea and were laying down under your warm comforter when you heard a familiar knock at the door. This knock was Illumi for sure, his signature way to let you know it was him and not one of the butlers. As unapologetic as he was, he always made sure to knock before entering. Two days after his predicted arrival, you were thrilled to finally have him back after missing him and being so worried that things had gone awry.

“Illumi~.” You sang in a tired voice when you heard your door open. Turning around to face him while laying in your bed, your eyes followed his muscular build walk straight into the bathroom as he closed the door behind himself. You thought nothing of this since Illumi loved to jump straight into the shower after he returned from a mission. As you lifted the comforter off your legs, you heard the bathroom door lock. ‘That’s weird’ you thought to yourself. Illumi never locked the bathroom door, since you two always showered together upon his return from a mission. It was routine that you’d jump in and help him clean off and unwind. You then heard the shower water start, and decided to lay back down. He was 2 days late and locked the door behind him, perhaps he needed some time alone. The sound of heavy rain hitting the windows, the warm comforter over you and the subconscious protected feeling of having Illumi back home quickly lulled you to sleep.

“Get up, Y/N.” 

“Wake up. It’s too early to fall asleep for the night right now.”

“Y/N.”

You were woken up after hearing Illumi speaking sternly beside you and feeling his grip on your arm shaking you back into reality. You sat up rubbing your eyes and looking over at the time. It had only been an hour since you’d fell asleep and were grumbling that Illumi wouldn’t allow you some rest especially since he needed some as well.

“Illu.. I missed you. You were gone longer than you predicted. Did everything go as planned?” Finally opening your eyes completely and meeting Illumi’s glare, you took note of the scowl on his face. His glare was colder than normal, and if looks could kill then you’d be dead. This could’ve meant a million different things but you assumed it was regarding his mission and attempted to slice the tension in the room by leaning over to kiss Illumi. He leaned back and grabbed you by your chin. “No. It didn’t. But you already knew that, didn’t you?” Illumi’s tone was sharp and full of annoyance. He knew that you could pick up on his moods and were always analyzing him to figure things out because the nature of his personality. It was going to be a long, merciless night. Illumi rarely became stressed out about his job. Years of torture masked as “training” subjected him to so many different scenarios that the man could quite possibly survive and endure anything. But when he felt powerless or out of control, you were the one person who felt that wrath while things were temporarily out of his reach. Illumi would always be sure to complete the job even if he has to restrategize, but not before subjecting you to the same feeling he has at the moment.

Illumi leaned back against the headboard and sighed. You crawled over and onto his lap, looking into his eyes that could burn a hole in hell if he wanted to. You wished he would melt into your touch but his frustration engulfed his tense body just like your desire to help him feel better. You fell into his hands so easily all the time, making it your number one responsibility to always ease Illumi into feeling like the human he never got a chance to be. You began to straddle his waist and wrapped your arms around Illumi’s shoulders, leaning your breasts against his chiseled chest. Threading your fingers through his hair while kissing and licking his neck, Illumi didn't give in to your ministrations. “Y/N,” Illumi spoke out, voice void of any emotion like usual and you leaned off of him to meet his gaze. He grabbed the back of your neck and pulled your lips into a harsh, needy kiss which made you moan out at the unexpected force. His tongue delved into your mouth aggressively, tongues dancing and heavy breaths eliciting from you that filled the previously strained room with lust. Illumi’s free hands grabbed your ass, playing with your cheeks before spreading them and bringing his hand to your already soaked pussy. He swiped at your wetness and brought his deft fingers to play with your clit. His fingers swirling perfectly, the coil in your stomach began to build while you moaned his name out desperately. Your hips grinded harder against his hand and you leaned in to make out with him, needing something to ground you from your growing orgasm. A few more ruts onto his hardened cock, swollen lips fighting each other and his fingers precisely rubbing your swollen bud made your orgasm hit quicker than you hoped and you rode out your high as much as Illumi allowed.

Your face was flushed, mind clouded and full of desperation for him to make love to you but you were snapped back into reality when he wrapped his arms around you and picked you up while scooting himself off the bed. He took his briefs off, long slender cock springing out while you positioned yourself on your knees. When he looked down at you it was with dangerous eyes. You knew the pleasure you felt previously was only a build up for whatever merciless fuck he wanted to put you through right after he used your throat.

You began swirling your tongue around the tip of his length before attempting to take him in fully. Illumi’s cock is big, and you always had to focus on not hitting the back of your throat too quick. Before you could even bring Illumi’s sex fully into your mouth, he weaved his fingers in your hair and began bucking his hips into your mouth. Drool spilled out the sides while you’re focusing your breathing through your nose & bobbing your head back and forth. Low grunts left his lips and hearing his husky, lust filled noises made your entire body feel warm. You didn’t understand how gagging on his cock could bring you such euphoria. Bracing yourself to deepthroat him, you repositioned yourself to get the best angle and began slipping your mouth further onto his cock. You wanted to send him over the edge. This was a dangerous game to play with Illumi. His fingers that were laced in your hair found their way to your scalp and he then moved one hand to the back of your neck before slamming his cock all the way into your throat, your nose touching his body. Illumi’s quite literally fucking your face at this point, and you’re trying so hard not to pass out, squeezing his thighs with your fingers in hopes that he’ll notice you’re nearly past your limit. He continued his ministrations, bucking into your mouth hard just to chase his release. Black is starting to encompass your vision and you think you’re going to pass out before he pulls you off his cock. A slick line of spit from your mouth to his penis breaks and falls onto your chest and you finally bring air back into your lungs. Illumi looks at you with a dangerous, cold look, before grabbing your soaked chin and making you look at him. “Up, now.”

Illumi began kissing you while guiding you backwards onto your comfortable bed. Pushing your shoulders down once you fell seated onto the bed, he crawled above you, caging you between his arms. You leaned up, sucking and biting Illumi’s neck, trying to mark him up. Much to your surprise, he wasn't complaining or resisting even though he always verbalized how much he hated the look of hickies. Humping you slowly, you feel his aroused length prodding your inner thigh and shudder. You want him so badly. He can see that you’re practically begging him to have his way with you, release some tension, you want to feel close with him, you want him to know that he can let go of his frustration with you.

Illumi lined his cock up with your wet slick, rubbing the tip against your clit deliciously before inching himself all the way into your cunt. The stretch always so pleasantly painful. He began thrusting at a slower pace, lifting one of your legs over his shoulder and hitting the perfect spot that made you moan out his name incoherently. Illumi leaned towards you, kissing and biting your neck, repaying you for leaving marks on him. You can hear his breathing hitch in your ear and it sent more arousal to your core. “Fuck.” Illumi moaned while continuing to thrust into you with perfect precision. Physically you were there with him, mentally you were on cloud 9. “You’re, squeezing me, so tight.” Illumi emphasized every word with a hard slam into your pussy, all of which threw you back into reality.

Grabbing both of your legs and folding them onto your body as far as they would go, Illumi brought you into a mating press. Using your ankles as leverage, he slammed into your abused cunt with all of his body weight. Each thrust forced a whimper out of your mouth and Illumi loved the helpless look on your face as he overpowered you. You could do nothing but enjoy the onslaught in this position. The room was filled with your wanton moans, his heavy breathing and it felt like everytime his cock hit your cervix that you were about to be sent over the edge. A few more heavy and hard thrusts caused the coil to break again, your orgasm coating your inner walls and spilling all over Illumi’s cock. He continued fucking into you as you came down from your high, so overstimulated at this point. His orgasm hit soon after, and his grip on you became even tighter. Desperate to ride out his orgasm, he continued plunging into you, slower and gentler while he filled your core with every drop of his seed. The feeling of his dick twitching in your cunt was amazing. Pulling out of your cunt, you missed the feeling of him inside you already. He released your legs from his hold, your legs falling onto the bed as he looked at you all fucked out and beautiful for him. Chest heaving, heavy lidded eyes, you stared back at him with adoration. “Feeling better, Illu?” Your words sounded desperate, almost sorry, and definitely vulnerable. Illumi leaned forward and kissed your forehead, rubbing your cheek with his thumb. “A little, but I’m not done with you yet.”

[sugarsymphonyy]

alright, akaashi taking care of his catgirl!reader while shes in heat,, I've been thinking about this for a week straight I loooove the idea teehee

YES ! THIS !! I LOVE YOU !!!

Akaashi x Catgirl!reader in heat

Warnings : NSFW, catgirl(duh), edging, overstimulation, Dom!Akaashi, squirting, very very light degradation, PRAISE, orgasm control, oral (receiving), dacryphilia, fingering, toys

I'm so certain that when he's dom, he's soft with his words and a huge meanie with his actions

Like- he's gonna be so sweet with you, tell you how well you're doing for him, call you his good girl, his sweet little princess, etc...

But then edges you for hours, makes you make yourself cum on his cock, then when you finally beg enough to cum, he'll let you cum again and again and again

Also- I'd like to take this time to point out the fingers on him

His hands are canonically bigger than Bokutos simply because his fingers are so long 🥵

Thank him, you know how to use your manners, use them

SO NOW

IMAGINE

You and Akaashi both knew your heat was coming soon. It was nothing new, but he had just a little bit more work to finish up for his job, and his deadline was soon. You agreed to wait a little bit, you knew this was super important, and he promised it was just a little work anyways.

So naturally, after an hour and a half of waiting patiently for his help, you decided to go check on him. Face red, panties already half soaked, you strutted over to him.

"'Kaaasshhiiii~" you whined, running your hands over his shoulders then down his chest. Your tail flicked softly back and forth, lightly wrapping around his neck.

He looked up at you, "I know princess, just wait a little bit longer for me, okay?" He had kissed the back of one of your hands and smiled softly. "Just be a good girl for me a little bit longer princess."

You whined and then sat down on the ground next to him, rubbing your legs together, allowing him to work again. This didn't last long. After a couple of minutes, you get up and move to sit on his lap, then started grinding.

"Fuck... baby, I'm almost done, wait just a little longer." He still your hips with his hands, holding on tightly to be sure you stopped. "Just a little longer, then I can help you all night."

And as tempting as it sounded, you were already such a horny mess that all you could do was whine back at him and tried to grind again. "I need you now~" was all you could get out. "Pleaseee! I need you to make me cum~"

He tightened his grip on you and looked you dead in the eye, "Not yet" he hissed out, slightly agitated, "now be a good little princess, and wait"

You whimpered and got off his lap, deciding to go back to sitting on the ground where you were before. Akaashi smiled down at you, "good girl, now, I'm almost done. Wait just a little bit longer, I promise I'll make you cum if you do."

You nodded, not really as agreeing, but more as acknowledgment, you had your own plans. "Okay, 'Kaashi~"

...Like hell you'd wait any longer for pleasure, so you decided to take matters into your own hands and slipped off your now fully soaked panties. "Mmng~.." you whined, bringing your hand down to your folds and running your fingers along your slit, then up to circle you clit.

Akaashi just sighed, saved his work, then got up and look down at you. "You just couldn't wait, huh?~" You whined and whimpered, moving the fingers on your clit a bit faster.

He picked you up and took you to your bed, then laid you down softly. "Really are such an impatient, slutty princess~" He pinned your legs open, holding your thighs down. "Just so eager to be fucked stupid, hm?"

You nodded quickly, "pleaseee!~" Your tail was flicking all over sporadically, completely out of your control. Akaashi just smiled down at you, then went between your legs and sucked your clit. "Ah!~"

He chuckled against you, the vibrations adding to your sensitivity and only making you louder, encouraging Akaashi to keep going. "Fuck... you taste so good~"

You grinded down on him more, gripping his hair tightly and moaning loudly, needing more of his tongue. He only sped up, shoving a couple of fingers in, only for you to yell out pathetically, already trembling.

"So sensitive, hm? Already trembling for me" he said against your cunt, then curled his fingers to hit that soft, spongey part right inside you. "Fuck!~ 'm gonn.... 'm gonna cum 'Kaashi!"

He pulled his mouth away from you, stilling his fingers inside you. "Not yet, you don't get to cum yet... you were so impatient earlier, gotta teach you how to wait now" he softly rubbed the inside of your thigh, then slapped it, making you cry out with pleasure.

He softly planted small kisses along your thigh. "Be a good girl and wait to cum a little longer" He flattens his tongue and licks your pussy again, causing you to jolt, before he pulled away again. You whined pathetically at him, wanting more. "Be patient for me baby" he insisted.

You nodded and whimpered, trying to grind your hips against anything, to get any sort of stimulation. Akaashi gripped your hips tightly in one hand, stilling you, "I told you to be patient, or else you will have to wait a lot longer" he warned. You nodded and stayed still for him.

He slowly started to move his fingers in you again, pumping at an agonizingly slow pace, "There's my good girl~" His fingers curled to hit inside of you just right to make you scream.

You tried so hard not to move your hips, but its starting to get impossible now. "Please.. please more..!" All he did was kiss and bite the inside of your thighs, still moving his fingers slowly in you.

You really were trying not to move much, but it was starting to get too difficult after 5ish minutes of slowly being fingered and every once in a while having a tiny bit of clit stimulation. You kept begging and whining throughout the entire thing, but all of it got you nothing more than what you already had.

He only smiled a little bit at your attempts for more. "My precious little princess wants more? Look at you, such a crybaby~" and you really were. Fat, hot tears were rolling down your face, leaving Akaashi to wipe them for you. "You're so pretty when you cry for me..." he punctuated it with a sharp thrust with his hand, making you yell out in pleasure.

He kept up a quicker pace this time, only to have you moaning out loudly for him and how good it felt. "Awww, listen to yourself princess, you sound like the sweet little bitch in heat that you are~" he sucked on your clit, driving you insane. You were already dumb, humping against his tongue subtly, trying not to get caught. But, of course, it wasn't subtle enough.

He laughed at you lightly, vibrations going right to your core, making your mind hazy. You were clenching around his fingers harshly, making it hard for him to even move. "My good girl wants to cum?" You could only nod quickly, trying to string together coherent words, but failing miserably. He pushed his fingers even further in you, "cum then, cum like the needy little thing you are.."

You shook violently as you did, gushing around his fingers that didn't stop moving, driving further into madness. "Such a messy little thing... my pretty, messy girl" his tongue worked smaller, faster circles on your clit, licking down to your hole and his fingers then back up again every so often.

Your mind was blank, clouded by pleasure and pain from being so overstimulated, back arching and screams coming from your mouth. You were being sent hurdling into your next orgasm, and Akaashi could tell. "One more for me, just like this, then I've got a surprise for you"

He knew you wouldn't be able to respond with anything other than frantic nods and loud moans due to your heat making you much more sensitive than normal. You squirmed against him, the pleasure too much, and had your second orgasm. This time, it racked your body even harder, making you choke on a small sob of pleasure.

Akaashi slowed his fingers and mouth to a stop, kissing your thighs lightly, praising how well you've done. "Stay right here, I have to go get my good girl her surprise, okay?" He stood up, softly planting kisses up your torso, across your shoulders, then to your lips. You nodded to him, "m'kay..!" still a bit out of it, but excited to see what he was going to get.

When he came back, he was holding something behind his back. He walked to you, lightly slapping the inside of your thigh, making you whimper loudly. You tried to focus your eyes on him, but failed. He went back down between your legs, taking the small bullet vibrator out from behind his back and turning it on, trailing it along your thigh, getting closer and closer to your twitching cunt.

You whined and squirm, already feeling overwhelmed with all the previous and current stimulation, but still needing more. He circled around your clit, then down to your hole, gathering slick and pushing it in. Even on its lowest setting, it's still almost too much. "Such a sensitive little thing you are" he said softly, licking and biting at your clit again.

He turned up the vibrations slowly, getting more and more intense with his mouth on you. You looked absolutely fucked out now, and he loved it. "You look so pretty when you're all dumb for me, my good girl~" He pulled the vibrator out of you, swirling it around your clit, then pushing it on you roughly.

You thrashed against his arms, babbling out nonsense, incoherent thank yous leaving your mouth as your cum splashed against him. Akaashi chuckled deeply, not removing it until you were sobbing and pleading for him to slow down and to give you a break. He did so, turning off the vibe and putting it next to you both, standing up between your legs and leaning you over you. "So pretty for me like this.." he kissed up your torso and chest, to your lips softly.

"Feel good?" You nodded in response, still not able to fully form words. "You did so good" you whined lightly in response, on the verge of passing out from exhaustion. "Sleepy, baby? How about we get you cleaned up first, yeah?" You shook your head no, gripping his forearms, wanting him just to stay there with you as you fell asleep.

AHHH THIS TOOK SO LONG FOR ME TO GET OUT IM SORRY!!! But I hope you liked it! I really had fun writing this one❤

Send in more requests if anyone wants to!

[bbykpoper]

𝕿𝖚𝖗𝖙𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖊𝖈𝖐 𝕾𝖜𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖗🐢

Inspired by this post 🍂

Pairing: student!minho x professor!reader

Song recomendation: Maple Syrup by The Backseat Lovers

Index: Jisung // Changbin // Chan // Hyunjin // Jeongin // Felix // Seungmin

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭ 。.・

Pens scribbled along the papers as you walked through the rows of seats closely observing the students as they wrote their paper for the next 40 minutes of your English lecture. Unbeknownst to you, one student finished his paper in the first 20 minutes and continued to stare at you as you went around helping some of the students translate Korean into English.

You were a well known novelist who taught English at the local college to students who either majored in this language or chose it as an extra curricular. You were a kind hearted professor who was beloved by the students because you took the extra time to help your students and even make your lectures more interesting.

And even now, you were holding extra classes to help some of the students who were struggling with the language write their papers which will bring them a grade higher if turned in by the deadline.

“Professor y/l/n!” A student, Han Jisung, raised his arm calling you over. “Can you please help me make a sensible sentence out of this part.”

You walked over to his table which he shared with one more student, Lee Minho. A fourth year who is exceptional at English sitting in every single one of your classes, extra lectures or even presentations and book signings. Something which you found odd, but never really voiced concern over it.

“Which part is giving you trouble Jisung?” One more thing which you loved doing is call your students by their names, erasing any family advantages the surname could bring. “Ah, I see. You can translate it...”

To Minho your voice blended with the night breeze of his first day back for his last semester of uni. He was just coming back to his dorm, dreading the whole sharing his room with a freshman episode, when he heard you crying and yelling at a man who sported a pretty heavy hand print on his cheek. That was the night Minho fell endlessly in love with you and your soft demeanor but beautiful crying face. The color purple forever associating him with you, your purple sweater which you haven’t worn since.

“Minho?” Your question broke him out of his lovesick staring and he blinked, acknowledging you. “I asked are you finished?”

“Yes, I’ve already sent my work over to you.” He spoke, his voice an ice cube how cold it sounded.

“Great, then you are excused if you wish to leave.” You smiled walking down to the front to get your laptop.

“Dude, the drool is dripping on your laptop.” Jisung snickered beside him, quickly shutting up when Minho gave him the death stare. “You know that even if you pursue a relationship with her, you can destroy her career or even yours before it began.”

“I know. That’s why I’m not planning on doing anything while I’m a student here.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭ 。.・

The end of the year came quicker than you imagined. The graduating students running around to finish their thesis papers while the rest ran around finishing up their exams. You sat at your desk going over some papers when a knock sounded at your door and you called out to the person to come in. 

A hot muffin placed next to your working hand as dark obsidian ink poured from your fountain pen. You raised your head up to see Minho, the boy who seemed to follow you everywhere with his 

Minho walked in, a diploma in hands a nervous shake in his movements.

“Hello Minho, how did your presentation go?” You asked him with a smile.

“Good, I officially graduated 15 minutes ago.” He nodded. 

“Congratulations.” Your smile grew wider. “May your future be bright and fruitful with success.”

“I want to take you out on a date.” He suddenly bursted out which caught you off guard. “On a proper date, without the fear of destroying your reputation or career.”

“Minho, I’m your professor... I don’t exactly think that’s appropriate...”

“You’re not anymore. I graduated.” He argued back. “I’ve liked you for a while now, and I’d like to take you out on a date.”

“To be honest, I’ve known that for a while now. That’s why I haven’t reported your weird behavior to the Dean.” He furrowed his eyebrows, knowing that he controlled his facial expressions and sudden urges to show any emotion in your vicinity. “Jisung has a pretty big mouth on our consultations.”

Minho’s face promised murder.

“I can spare one date, but I can’t promise a second one.” You sighed. “I’m not entirely fond of relationships anymore.”

“What if I prove to you that I’m serious professor?” He asked, hope filling his bones. “And that I truly am head over heels in love with you.”

“Then I guess a second date could happen.” You shrugged your shoulders smiling at him. “I finish at 5 p.m. If you want, we can go today.”

“Yes!” He smiled widely, the first you’ve ever seen up close. “I’ll be sure to come pick you up.” He turned to leave, scrambling to get ready and plan everything.

“Oh and Minho.” You called out just as he was about to leave. “It’s y/n, not professor anymore.” You looked him in the eye. “Remember, you’ve graduated today.”

“I’ll be sure to pick you up at 5 p.m. y/n.” He smiled softly as his cheeks burned, leaving you with a little dance of butterflies in your stomach at the way he said your name.

One date couldn’t hurt much right?

Too bad that one date would turn into two, three, and eventually a proposal and marriage, with a small family of successful novelists at your back end.

[amysteriousmessenger]

have you ever done rfa headcanons with a stressed out mc? because of like deadlines and stuff? cause that's the state I'm in rn and I need comfort ;-;

this is my second time writing this because my laptop deleted it ;-; I hope this is okay and I added V and Saeran because I’m a saeran simp <3 

RFA + Saeran and V with a Stressed Out Reader Headcanons

Yoosung Kim with a stressed out Reader Headcanons

Yoosung’s in the exact same camp as you, screaming. He spent the entire semester in front of his PC playing LOLOL and getting bullied by Seven, so now his deadline has creeped up on him. Yoosung absolutely understands the stress of a deadline coming at you fast and not being sure as to whether you can complete it in time.

The best thing that Yoosung can do for you is to do his own work. The two of you spend a straight 48 hours in the library, only taking breaks to go home and sleep and get food. You book out a private room and just mutually get your heads down. 

 Yoosung’s actually really smart, he just doesn’t apply himself. If you’re stuck on anything, he’ll try to help you even if he doesn’t know anything about your course. He’ll also run around the library finding you specific textbooks you need if he needs a walk or if he’s on his way back from getting you both a coffee. 

The life of a student is a hard one, but the two of you just keep reminding each other than you just gotta get through this one deadline and then you can sleep and play to your hearts content once again!

Zen/Hyun Ryu with a stressed out Reader Headcanons

It’s times like this that Zen thinks maybe he should have applied himself more in school, or at least got his qualifications, because he feels a little deflated at the fact that he can’t really help you with your work when you need it. He just looks at your laptop and textbooks and draws a blank. He hates seeing you so stressed, and he hates that he’s useless to help even more.

He figured that, if he can’t help you work, the next best thing would be to help you relax afterwards. He tries to keep out of your way, the best he can, but he gets a little sad and feels neglected, so he’s a bit like a puppy when he can sense you’re close to finishing up for the day.

 Zen thinks a nice, hot bubble bath would help you relax best. He’ll run you one when you close your laptop, leading you to the bathroom where he’s already sprinkled some rose petals and sweetly scented body oils into the steamy water. 

He’ll help you in, and then sit on the side of the bath and give your shoulders a rub, commenting on how they must ache after sitting at your desk for so long. It’s no secret that Zen has ~Magic Fingers~ and he massages away the tension in your neck as you melt into the soothing water. 

He’ll hum and sing little songs to you as he does this, finally happy that he can help you in his own special way. Ignore his comments about stress ageing you quicker, he’s just saying it as a pre-emptive measure rather than implying you have stress lines.

Jaehee Kang with a stressed out Reader Headcanons

Jaehee exists in a permanent state of stress, so she entirely understands what it’s like to have to meet deadline after deadline after deadline. If you tell her that you want to sit with her so you can share her concentration and get work done, she’ll put on a fresh pot of coffee. She’s also ready with the eye drops and painkillers for when your eyes get strained, but she’d really rather you not get to the point of needing them. 

Jaehee reminds you that you need to look after yourself, make sure you’re taking breaks and eating enough. She doesn’t want you to follow in her steps of pulling an all-nighter, so she doesn’t disturb you so you can get as much of your work done as possible. If you want her to, she’ll also gently reprimand you when you’re getting distracted or off task. She doesn’t like telling you what you can and can’t do, but she knows it’s going to help you in the long run. 

She’ll aim to get all of her work done at the same time as you, so the two of you can at least have some time to unwind together afterwards. She’ll put your favourite musical (of Zen’s) into the DVD player and you cuddle up with one another in recovery. She’ll also try to pull you in for an early night of sleep since you’ve been staring at a screen all day and doesn’t want you to get a headache. 

Jumin Han with a stressed out Reader Headcanons

Jumin never really gets stressed out over anything. In fact, the only things you’ve ever seen him get stressed about are you and Elizabeth the Third. He doesn’t really have the need or see the point in getting stressed over things, especially deadlines. Jumin will absolutely go off on a speech about correct time management and planning before you have to interrupt him and tell him that that’s not the problem. 

Having a Mensa-level IQ, Jumin’s probably already decently knowledge on your area of study, or offers to pay for you to have a tutor. Jumin’s honestly not the best person to be around when you’re stressed by deadlines because he really can’t relate to the panic, he’s too good at being a businessman that he gets everything done on time or, most usually, early. 

You do have to remind Jumin that not everyone can function and organise themselves as well as he can. 

However, it displeases him to see you stressed so he’ll at least try to help with that since you won’t let him help you academically. He’ll share a bottle of wine with you in the evening after you’ve finished for the day to help take your mind off of your deadline for a bit and will plan a small weekend getaway for the week after your assignment due date to reward you for getting your work done in time and to help you relax. He’ll also book you a spa day in one of C&R’s own establishments so he can guarantee you’re getting the best treatment. 

Saeyoung Choi with a stressed out Reader Headcanons

This man lives with more existential fear than anyone. He knows what it’s like to be Stressed TM. Seven’s an absolute genius with an IQ that could rival Jumin’s if he cared enough, so he’s never had to worry about academic worries, even when he was in University. 

If you ask him to, and maybe even if you didn’t, he’d be willing to hack your college or University’s database in order to either get the essay questions in advance so you know what to revise, or just straight up get the answers. He knows what frightening deadlines are like and he doesn’t want to see you suffer.

If you say that you don’t want him to hack your university because that’s, y’know, illegal, he’ll earnestly take a look at your paper and try to help. Seven has such a weird widespread collection of information in his head that he can just straight up tell you the essay or directly get the research essay that best fits your argument online. You said he can’t hack your university database, you didn’t say he can’t hack other databases for information. 

If you passed out asleep at your desk, you’d absolutely wake up to find your work finished and submitted. Seven will deny doing it, claiming that the alien mothership must have taken your laptop and completed your work, but he has a shit-eating grin plasters on his face and he’s oh-so-innocently fluttering his eyelashes. 

Saeran Choi with a stressed out Reader Headcanons

Saeran never really went to school, so he doesn’t have much experience with academic work but he picks it up very quickly when it comes to helping you!

He brings you hot chocolate and snacks and gives you a kiss on the side of the head every now and then to spur you on. He’ll also try to help you with reading through documents and essays for important information and anything that might be relevant to your course. From his time at Magenta, he’s very good at skimming through large quantities of work and compiling it into shorter documents so he’s absolutely a great person to have helping you. He has a similar IQ to Seven and is a genius in his own right, but he has to apply himself more to knowing about different topics because he’s never really had the opportunity to, but he’s always very interested to know about what you’re studying!

He’s very good at not disturbing you if you need peace and quiet, so he’ll busy himself with cleaning, cooking or going out in the garden so he can leave you without a distraction whilst occasionally dropping in to see how you’re doing and make sure you’re not getting too stressed out.

When you’re done for the day, Saeran will arrange the time to give you a little comfort evening with movies and a snack to make you feel better and help you unwind. 

Ray would absolutely just do your work for you, if you’d let him. He just wants to please you and see you happy, not swallowed up in stress in the same way that he has to be. He’d go without sleeping or eating if it meant helping you. Of course, you’re not going to let him do that, since you want him to rest properly, but he still wants to help. Ray would send you documents and essays when he’s supposed to be working and then exit the tab whenever anyone walks passed his room so he didn’t get caught. He just wants to ease your burden!

V/Jihyun Kim with a stressed out Reader Headcanons

He’s also incredibly smart, but probably wouldn’t have any major knowledge on what is it that you study but he’d help the best way he can. He’s the kinda person that would encourage you to read through the questions several times before you start answering and to not write anything down until you’re fully sure that you understand the source material and what is being asked of you.

He doesn���t like seeing you stressed and he’s helpful by nature so he’d ask if you needed help, and if you say no, he’ll give you space to get on with your work without interruption. V will make you food and bring your lunch with a coffee when it’s time to eat.

Like Jumin, he’d offer to share a bottle of wine to help you unwind when you’re getting too stressed in the evening, and if you can afford to take a break, he’d encourage you to do something creative like painting with him in his studio in order to take your mind off the analytical stuff. It doesn’t have to be good, it just had to help you relax and vent your frustrations!

V gets stiff shoulders when he’s been in the same position for long periods of time painting or waiting to capture a particular image, so he understands the usefulness of a good back rub and he’ll offer you one to loosen up the pressure in the back of your neck when you’re sitting at your desk. He’ll massage his thumbs into your shoulders and plant a little kiss on your lips when you lean your head back to look at him.

[shysneeze]

phases of falling in love (ginny weasley x fem!reader)

Description: the painful process of reader falling for her Ginny Weasley, her best friend.

Warnings: angst af, I can’t think of anything else specific but please let me know if you come across anything and I’ll add it

Authors note: in love by khai dreams and she by dodie fit this in my head and are worth a listen.( edit, : i have a playlist here that fits this entire fic) . 

 ...

(Y/N) has decided that falling in love comes in three distinct phases: realisation, denial, and acceptance, though with various forms of panic in between.

No one’s ever boasted that falling in love is easy, the bitter angst of doing so the subject of too many pieces of literature to be doubted. Yet, no one’s ever told her it would be this hard, but she supposes the stakes were always going to be higher when it’s your best friend.

Realisation came first during a party, sat in a small group by the fireplace as the cheers and laughter so typical of a Gryffindor victory party raged on around them. They weren't much different from the others, talking loudly and laughing with their heads thrown back dramatically. They were discussing the game, (Y/N) thinks, though she can hardly remember now, nor was she particularly invested at the time. 

How could she be with her just across the from her, fair freckled skin aglow from the fire, who's light danced across her face with each flame’s flicker. Her hair tumbled down her shoulders effortlessly, as if it was pulled straight from the ponytail she wore during the afternoon's match.

That was the night she looked at Ginny  Weasley and felt something in her heart, longing perhaps, that went beyond mere friendship, the first night Ginny's smile made her chest tighten and her eyes finding hers with a wink made her gulp. 

It was the first time she looked at Ginny and saw her best friend but longed for more. 

Denial was easy after that, the whole thing flippantly dismissed as a fluke of the evening, blamed on the giddy feeling that accompanied the house’s victory that Ginny played such a vital part in securing. It was nothing more appreciation, awe.

Weeks later though, and the tugging in her chest still lingers, holding her hostage and controlling her every move.

It flares up unexpectedly, from a smile at lunch, a wave during matches or a laugh hidden behind textbooks during classes. There is an endless array of quirks and habits that (Y/N) has never once before paid attention to that now leave her stomach victim to butterflies and her heart to palpitations.

Yet the denial continues, excuses ranging from the outlandish to the self-deprecating. Perhaps an insensitive prank, a love potion slipped regularly into her morning orange juice, or maybe it’s just all in her head, a crush manifested from loneliness, from the desire to be loved by someone.

Excuses are easy to provide, yet even easier to disprove and it soon becomes clear that every attempt to deny her own feelings is fruitless. Acceptance looms over her, unmindful of the heart it’s about to break.

Acceptance comes reluctantly during an evening’s study in the library. There’s no blame to place on atmosphere this time, hidden together at the end of an aisle of shelves, sat across from one another at a desk most certainly made for one.

The characteristic smell of old books lingers in the air and speckles of dust are illuminated by a dim lamp as they float aimlessly around them. The light does nothing to highlight the red in Ginny’s hair the way the flames of the fire had during the party, or to draw the warm brown from her eyes,  yet (Y/N) is enamoured. 

(Y/N)'s quill hangs limply between her fingers, ink drying on the tip with a word half-finished on her parchment. Across from her, Ginny bites her lower lip in concentration, deep brown eyes scanning each word she writes, occasionally lifting her hands to fix the loose bun holding her fiery red hair from her face, ridding her eyes of the messy stray strands with a frustrated rush of air from her pink lips. 

(Y/N) gulps and panics slightly that in the quiet of the library, her best friend might hear the hammering of her heart in her chest. They're so close that their knees touch under the desk and (Y/N) is left unsure on whether to move her legs or not from fear of only drawing attention to it. 

She's trying to convince herself to act normal, that this is all normal, a scenario they've been in so many times before with procrastinated essays and last minute deadlines, that she has no reason to act any different, yet her heart races, and she can hear it in her own ears.

It’s terrifying.

She's mid inner quarrel when Ginny lets out a loud sigh of surrender and lets her quill clatter against the desk. (Y/N) blinks out of her daze, dropping her own quill in surprise and frowning at the red head. 

"Snape is asking for one of the twin's puking pastilles in his tea." She grumbles.

"They'd give you them for free if you tell them it's for Snape." (Y/N) manages a laugh. "How much more have you got to do?" 

Ginny peers at her own parchment, then at (Y/N)'s with a questioning frown, reaching over to snatch it into her hands. She examines it with arched brows and stifles a small laugh at whatever she's read. 

"Better than you- You've neglected to finish the word 'assignment', (Y/N)." She snorts softly. "It just says 'ass'." 

(Y/N) stands abruptly to grab it back from her amused friend with a quiet 'oi' and a flustered wide-eyed expression that only adds to Ginny's laughter until she's clasping her hand atop her lips to muffle the sound. 

"I got d-distracted." She explains embarrassedly. "It's just the first draft." 

"Oh no, I think you should hand it in as is." She grins. "I want to see Snape's face." 

"I'm not getting detention just so you can get a laugh." She argues. 

"Aw, come on." Ginny pouts. "Not even for me?" 

A part of her, a shameful part, almost instantly concedes to the offer, despite its teasing nature, just for Ginny's puppy dog eyes, which (Y/N) has until now been immune to. She falters for only a second before fixing her friend with a frown. 

"No, not even for you." She decides firmly. "Lets hear yours then, Gin." 

Ginny dramatically clears her throat with a grin, something that eerily reminds (Y/N) of her elder brothers, and begins to read aloud before (Y/N) stops her with an eye roll, cautious of the pacing click of Madam Pince's heels as she roams the aisles for the opportunity to evict noisy teens. 

"You'll be surprised to hear I finished all my words and never once spoke about my arse." 

"Sod off." (Y/N) rolls her eyes again. 

"Well, what’s got you so distracted you felt the need to conclude that you 'learned lots about counter curses from this ass'?" 

"You memorized it all ready?" 

"Of course." She beams cheekily. "How else am I to tell the rest of our friends?" 

"You are the worst." 

"You love me really though." 

(Y/N) worries when she can't laugh that off, when she falters for only a second, but enough to remind herself of this new and scary situation. She forces on a smile and hope she's been quick and convincing enough to seem normal, though something in Ginny's eyes tells her otherwise. 

"Are you okay, (Y/N)?" 

"Fine." 

"Hmm, you look nervous." Ginny hints. "What are you hiding? Is it a girl?" 

(Y/N) is exposed instantly by the involuntary widening of her eyes and Ginny grins menacingly at her from across the tiny desk. She leans over, palms flat against the desk and head so close to (Y/N)'s that their foreheads almost touch. 

(Y/N) forgets to breathe. 

"Who is it?" 

"No one." (Y/N) manages, edging back as subtly as possible. "It's not anyone." 

"Aw, c'mon." Ginny rolls her eyes. "Tell me." 

"You're going to make Madam Pince kick us out again." 

Ginny tuts, rolling her eyes and returning to her seat, allowing (Y/N) to drop her shoulders in relief. She sighs as she picks her quill up again, soaking the tip in ink with a rejuvenated intent to write, motivated by the chance to change the topic of conversation. 

"You're no fun." Ginny mumbles. "I'll find out." 

“There isn’t anything to find out.” (Y/N) exhales, not daring to look up from her parchment, knowing once again her expression will betray her. “Or anyone.”

“Oh, but there is.”

(Y/N) doesn’t need to look up to know the red-head is grinning, it’s evident in her voice. All she can do in response is take a deep, calming breath and continue with her work.

It’s not long before she can feel Ginny’s eyes on the top of her head and she freezes again, not sure when this became a talent of hers, to tell just from some new sixth sense that Ginny Weasley is staring at her.

“Can I help you?”

“Is it Willow Kings?”

“Been there, done that.” (Y/N) mumbles with a sigh. “She’s nice but talks about her owl too much.”

“Hmm.” Ginny hums in contemplation. “You’re not crushing on Pansy again, are you?”

In every single way, (Y/N) wishes that was her current shameful crush, rather than the girl currently interrogating her. When (Y/N) denies it, Ginny begins to hum again in thought.

“Luna?”

“Luna’s just a friend.” (Y/N) sighs, distinctly trying to convince herself the same thing about Ginny at this exact moment. “I’m not telling you, Gin.”

“Ugh, why not?” Ginny grumbles loudly.

The red-head’s face pales when the methodical clicking of the Librarian’s heels halts, wincing at what is soon to follow. The sound begins again, quicker and sharper as it approaches the pair.

“Shit.” Ginny curses, already gathering her work into her arms. “Here we go.”

“You two.”

The girls turn sheepishly to the other end of the aisle, where Madam Pince stares them down, one hand on her hip, other extended outwards to point at them with a disapproving look.

“We’re just leaving.” Ginny assures.

Ginny stands, reaching out innocently for (Y/N)’s hand and clasping it in her own to drag her to her feet as she splutters out protests, flustered instantly by the action. Ginny only gives her enough time to gather her things before pulling her towards the exit.

“S-low down, Ginny.” She pleads. “Sorry, Madam- “

The librarian scowls at them with an icy look as they squeeze past her towards the exist, Ginny’s laughter barely concealed as they go. (Y/N) can barely focus on anything other than the hand in her own.

Once in the corridor, convinced of their own escape from the strict librarian, Ginny flings he rhead back in a laugh, bun bouncing on her head at the action, cheeks flushed from the excitement of it.

“Every time!” She exclaims. “We get chased out every time.”

“I-“

(Y/N) is too stunned to form a sentence, stunned not by their actions, one’s regularly performed to avoid Madam Pince’s wrath, but rather how suddenly loud her heart is in her own ears.

She could blame adrenalin, it would be so easy to do so, but she knows it’s not. It’s many things, but not adrenalin. Instead Ginny’s laughter, her free and proud laughter so cheerful on her ears, it’s the baby hairs framing her face, endearingly messy, and it’s most certainly the hand still clasped in her own, warm and soft.

Acceptance, that final phase. No amount of excuses in the world could hide it now, that (Y/N) (Y/L/N) is undoubtedly, and most terrifyingly, in love with her best friend.

In this moment, watching Ginny’s grin, that infectious smile that has (Y/N) own lips pulling into a smile of her own, she’s about ready to risk it all for her, to tug her closer and ask, even beg, to kiss her.

“Ginny- “She starts

“Harry!”

Like that, the spell is broken and Ginny’s hand is slipping from (Y/N)’s and her feet carrying her towards the red faced boy-who-lived at the other end of the corridor, flinging herself eagerly into conversation with him and leaving (Y/N)’s smile to drop.

The tugging feeling in (Y/N)’s chest returns, and she finds herself back in reality. Ginny likes Harry, she always has, it’s been the topic of so many late-night teasing, how could (Y/N) possibly forget. It hurts though, in a way it never has before, a painful stab of reality sent straight to her heart.

(Y/N) has just learned for herself that falling in love is never easy, even if her heartbreak isn’t one likely to be documented as a great tragic romance in future. No one told her it would be this hard, but as she watches Ginny grinning up at the boy across the hall, her heart twists with the reluctant acceptance that, not only is she in love, but that her best friend is in  love with someone else. 

[ninzied]

fire lines

based on a prompt for distracting work kisses.

for @myletternevercame. special thanks to @heidiamalia for the brainstorming session!

rated m.

Frank usually works through his lunch breaks.

He used to take them as far away from—well, everything—as he could, finding himself a lone edge on the roof or some corner of a vacant floor to eat his meal in relative quiet. But ever since Curt roped him into this management job, everything’s always coming to him whether he likes it or not.

And he doesn’t not like it, as it turns out.

It’s a small construction company, a kind of in-between place for hard-up vets to get work, either settling there or to steady their feet for something else that’s more suited to them. The work feels meaningful in that way. Karen had recently coerced a beat reporter from the Bulletin’s local business section into writing up a piece on them, and the glowing review brought in more and more jobs for his guys. Frank has found it surprisingly gratifying, minus all the paperwork.

So much goddamn paperwork.

He’d never pegged himself for an office space kind of guy. He prefers to be out there, in the midst of things with the others—so he spends most of his days doing just that, saving all that bureaucratic bullshit for his lunch breaks in his office trailer.

He’s heading there now, after a rougher-than-usual morning spent on some stubborn electrical wiring. He thinks of all the other kinds of work waiting for him in his trailer and groans, half-wishing he’d packed a beer with his sandwich today.

He shields his gaze from the midday sun, and then he turns, and he sees her.

She’s in her kitten heels, a pencil skirt and cream-colored blouse. It’s so unusual to see her at his place of work—their schedules hardly ever seem to align these days, and he spends a lot of them just fucking missing her. For a second he thinks he could almost have imagined her there, waving goodbye to one of his workers, and smiling.

Frank allows himself another moment to give her a once-over from afar, his gaze moving up her body and lingering. Her blonde hair is pale in the sunlight, flashing golden when a breeze sifts through the strands. And then he lets out a laugh, because there, perched on the top of her head, is a bright yellow hard hat.

The name PETE comes into focus as he quickens his step, sharpied onto the back of the hat in his own familiar scrawl. Karen turns to give him a fondly exasperated look as he comes up to her, sliding a hand over the small of her back in greeting.

“Shouldn’t you be the one wearing this?” she asks him.

“Looks better on you,” he says, kissing her cheek as she rolls her eyes good-naturedly at him. He takes her hand, tugging her up the steps to his trailer. “Everything okay? You never take lunch.”

“Neither do you,” she counters, and he has to concede her point. “And everything’s fine. I just thought we could eat together for a change.”

Her work bag is already tucked up against some filing cabinets—Christ, when did he become the guy who owned filing cabinets?—and there, spread over his desk, is lunch. A small charcuterie plate, two cups of coffee, and the sandwich that she knows he likes from Nelson’s, with the thick, crispy bread and extra sauces on the side.

“Shit, Karen.” He laughs, dragging her in for a proper kiss this time. “This looks incredible. Thank you.”

The meal he’d slapped together from grocery store cold cuts that morning pales in comparison. He tells her as much, opens the mini fridge behind his desk to show her, and finds a six-pack of beer stowed inside by his food.

“For later,” says Karen.

He squeezes her hand. “You’re a godsend, you know that?”

The pile of papers on his desk isn’t getting any smaller—in fact, he’s almost certain it’s grown since he last saw it this morning—but he figures it will have to wait. He’s starving, and she’s looking so irresistible to him, with her smile, and his hard hat knocked slightly askew on her head.

He kisses her again, pulling out an extra seat for her before walking over to the other side of his desk.

And then Karen picks up her work bag and pulls out her laptop.

“Is this okay?” she asks, seeing him blink in surprise at her. “I know you’re behind on your work—”

He scrubs a hand over his nape, feeling sheepish that she’s caught him out. “That obvious, huh.”

“I have a deadline anyway,” she tells him, with a rueful smile of her own. “But it would be nice to at least be in the same room as you.”

Fuck, if he wasn’t so damn in love with her already.

“C’mere,” he says gruffly, and leans over his desk, their mouths meeting somewhere in the middle. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“I’m not worried about it,” she says, nudging him gently away and powering on her laptop.

They settle into an easy rhythm, a silence that’s so comfortable he almost forgets they’re in his office and not at their dining table back home. He practically inhales his sandwich before chugging down his cup of coffee, and then he starts snacking on the charcuterie plate as he flips through a stack of ledgers and bank statements.

Karen’s typing away on her computer, brow furrowed together under his hard hat. She’s slipped off her shoes, resting her feet on the edge of his chair. They’re a little chilly, so he pulls them into his lap to warm them, massaging her calf as he works. She makes a small, satisfied sound, shifting forward in her seat. Otherwise, the only indication that she’s even aware of him being there is to reach across his desk and brush a few crumbs from his beard before returning to her keyboard.

At some point, though, she stops typing.

Frank doesn’t notice right away—she’s still staring intently at her screen, and he’s just managed to untangle some confusing orders for extra plywood. But he does notice when she presses her toes to the inner part of his thigh and starts rubbing small circles into the denim.

He glances up at her.

She’s still clicking around on her screen, a piece of fruit in her other hand. She hasn’t lost that look of intense concentration she always gets when she’s researching a piece, but then her foot ventures closer, and there’s nothing unintentional about that, either.

He scratches some updates into a ledger, and almost drops his pen when Karen sneaks her foot the rest of the way between his thighs. His blood rushes south, pooling heat straight through to his dick, and this was—fuck, if this wasn’t what she’d been planning all along.

“Karen,” he cautions her lowly. His voice sounds hoarse, even to him, thick and rough with desire that he hadn’t meant to give voice to.

She finally looks up at him then. Without breaking contact, she parts her lips around a strawberry, biting slowly down.

“Something wrong?” she asks him.

He moves his hand up her calf, cupping under her knee. His chair wheels slightly forward with the motion, bringing her foot that much closer to him. She curls her toes around his hardening dick, and he swallows.

“Thought you had work to do,” he says.

She smiles. “Just multitasking.”

And then she turns back to her goddamn computer, and starts scrolling.

Frank stares blankly down at his ledger, trying to remember where he’d left off. Plywood or some shit. Yeah, that sounds right. He retrieves his pen, poising it over the page. He blinks through the haze of desire, the clenching ache of his growing arousal as Karen kneads more firmly at his crotch. But the numbers continue to swim out of order before him, refusing to take any more enlightening form.

His other hand is somehow halfway up the back of her thigh now, gripping harder than he’d realized. As if he’s drawn to her, he wheels his chair closer, sliding his palm further, and further, and—

“Oh!” says Karen, her knee knocking up against wood when he winds up bringing his chair in too close, crowding her legs beneath the desk.

“Shit. Sorry.” The moment jolts him back enough to clear his head a little, and he’s wheeling away, putting some distance between them. “You okay?”

She crosses her legs and gives him an amused kind of smile. “I’m fine, Frank.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t seem able to manage out more than one or two words at a time. He’s hard as nails, jeans tight around his erection as he gazes across the table at her. Her cheeks are flushed pink, and she’s biting into her lower lip as she turns away.

She’s not unaffected by all of this. Not by a long shot.

Shit, if that doesn’t make him want her even more.

Her gaze remains carefully fixed on her laptop screen as Frank stands up. He walks over to the trailer door, turning the lock into place with a click. She still has her back to him when he turns around, but her body is poised as if waiting for him, the air between them thick with anticipation.

He bends his mouth over the curve of her throat.

There’s an audible hitch in her chest, and she sounds breathier than usual as she tells him, “Frank. Some of us have work to do.”

“Didn’t you say something about multitasking?” he murmurs, tonguing a kiss to her jawline. The hard hat takes some navigating around, but he’s loath to remove it just yet.

“Mm. I guess you have a point.” She inclines her head toward him, lips parting into his kiss. He tastes strawberry on her tongue, and the bittersweetness of their coffee. He half-pulls her up from her chair, and she rises to meet him, their bodies pressing fully together.

Karen pulls back for a second. “You’re sure no one’s going to—?”

“Nah,” says Frank in between kissing her. “They know not to bother me when I’m doing the, uh—” his throat bobs as she puts her hands on his belt buckle, Christ he is so hard for her “—the paperwork.”

“Right,” says Karen, teasingly. She undoes his belt before starting in on his jeans. “The paperwork.”

He kisses her back up against one of the filing cabinets, groping around her waist for her zipper. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s ruined one of her skirts by being overeager, so he tugs it off of her as patiently as he can manage before making quicker work of her underthings.

Frank leaves her blouse on—the fact they’re about to do this at work is not lost on him, so this seems like a fair enough compromise. He slides his palms beneath the silk fabric to glide over her ribcage, under her bra to cup her breasts as she gets his pants down past his knees.

A full-body shudder courses through him as she takes his dick in hand, stroking him up and down. He squeezes her breast, moving his other hand down to slip in between her thighs.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” he groans into his mouth, and eases two fingers inside.

She gasps, and the hard hat knocks back against the top edge of the filing cabinet. Her hand flies automatically up to adjust it, another soft, moaning sound working its way out of her.

“Here, I got it.” Frank replaces the hat and palms the back of her head instead, feeling the cool cabinet metal against his skin. “Really liked you in that, though.”

She hums out a laugh. “I could tell,” she says, and her breathing shallows as he rubs at her clit with his other hand, a quick, teasing stroke of his thumb that has her arching back again.

“You good?” he murmurs, kissing her neck and feeling her low, throaty yes in response. He removes his hand to take hold of his dick then, sinking the tip of it just between her folds.

He has to bend at the knees a little, and she stretches onto her toes as he presses in, and out, and in again. He rocks into her inch by inch, until he’s balls-deep inside her and halfway to breathless from the sensation of it. He adjusts his hold, cupping a hand around her bare ass to help brace her leg up before thrusting up inside her again.

The position is a little awkward at first, and it takes another few moments of adjusting their bodies to find a good rhythm. But then it gets—God, more than good—striking the perfect balance of movement between them, and Frank begins pumping into her in earnest, groaning softly against her skin.

She clutches at him with a sigh, pulling his mouth up to hers for a brief, tongue-filled kiss. The air goes thin between them as their lips part, and all they can do is gasp into each other as the pleasure between them mounts and mounts to something exquisite. Something that’s indescribably good.

Her leg starts to give just a little, and she grips at whatever she can for purchase, Frank’s body pinning her there to the filing cabinet with the weight of each thrust into her. The contents of the cabinet give a slight rattle behind them, in parallel with the other, softer sounds of their lovemaking.

Frank buries his face into the slope of her shoulder, feeling that telltale ache of heat spreading up through every nerve of his body. He pounds into her harder, listening for the snags in her own breathing, adjusting his angle until she’s clenching around him, tight, and hot, and close, so close—

“Frank—mm—oh, Frank—”

He braces his hand over her nape as she comes, her body stiffening and rocking back against the cabinet. Frank sucks a shaky kiss to her pulse point, thrumming with the need for his own release. He pushes into her once, twice, three times more before everything is splintering apart, and he’s coming with a goan, spilling into her.

He doesn’t know how long they stand there holding each other, hips still pulsing together as they chase those last few tingling moments of orgasm. Everything seems to stand still with them, including time itself. Frank leans half his weight into the filing cabinet, his arm still cradled around Karen’s head as their breathing finally slows together.

She eventually eases back onto both feet, and he bumps his forehead into hers, mouthing kisses over her skin while she retrieves a tissue from his desk and wipes them both clean. They help each other back into their clothes, Frank grazing a hand up the length of her thigh as he goes, reluctant to fully release her.

After they’re dressed, he reaches for her again, pulling her into his arms. “Hey,” he says.

Karen’s biting back a smile. “Hi,” she says back, touching his face, threading her fingers through his hair.

He lowers his mouth to hers, kissing her hard and slow the way that he does when they’re at home in bed together, when it feels like they have all the time in the world.

They could, he thinks. They do.

She sighs regretfully after a moment, putting a hand over his chest. “I should probably let you get back to doing real work.”

“Thinking about taking a half-day, actually,” says Frank, trailing his knuckles up her arm.

Karen tilts her head at him, unable to contain a full smile now. “Are you,” she says.

“Yeah, why not? Grab a beer, a patch of grass by the water…” He cups the side of her face in his hand. “You can bring your laptop, and uh.” He gives her a crooked smile of his own. “It can be my turn to distract you from your work.”

She looks at him with mock seriousness. “You say that like it would be so easy.”

“All right,” says Frank, stepping away, “well, I got a shit ton of paperwork waiting on me, so I better—”

Karen takes his hand firmly in hers, drawing him back for another kiss.

The paperwork can keep on waiting.