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oddinary4bts · 6 months

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Emotions of the Soul | knj

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

☆pairing: Kim Namjoon x artist female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

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

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

☆word count: 36.3k

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

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

☆☆☆☆☆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Could that have been Namjoon?

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

You hated Kim Namjoon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could leave immediately after your speech, right?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sooah could go to hell.

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

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

At least when he was a teen, he could.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do not remake pieces.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Maehwa,” he gently said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Both Sooah and Miyoung looked at the piece.

“Clearly,” Sooah sarcastically said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

Kim Namjoon offered you a tight-lipped smile.

“Are you Maehwa?” he asked.

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

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

“It really is you.”

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

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

You scoffed. “What do you want?”

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

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

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

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

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

The nerves on this man…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Namjoon had gotten really intimidating, after all these years.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t remember?”

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

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

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

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

You pursed your lips. “Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the hell had just happened?

*****

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

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

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

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

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

They were the easiest ones, after all.

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

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

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

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

“What do you like so much about painting?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He had been there after all.

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

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

“Everything okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I will,” he said.

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were pretty sure the purpose was to murder you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Both your friends threw you no-bullshit looks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They had allied against you, hadn’t they?

“Right,” you let out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did he say?” she asked.

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

Sooah shrieked as Miyoung grinned wildly.

“Consider it done!”

*****

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

Gosh.

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

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

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

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

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

He was an artist, too, after all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Were you?”

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

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

“Bangtan changed you, didn’t it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” he asked.

“Does this happen often?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Evidently not.”

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

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

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

“Trust me, it’s worth it.”

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

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

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

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

You smiled, relieved that he indeed liked your choice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh no,” he let out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ll have to show me the way.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want you too,” you replied breathily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, baby?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You okay?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Careful with the balls,” he warned you.

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

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

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

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

Focusing on pleasuring Kim Namjoon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck,” you told him. “Right there.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” you answered.

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

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

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

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

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

You cocked an eyebrow. “Regular.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lean back on your hands,” you ordered.

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

“Shit,” you cursed.

“You okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lie down for me,” he gently said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you pass me the shampoo?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Couldn’t paint,” you admitted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry about that,” Namjoon apologized.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded, not really knowing where he was going.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That, more than anything else, finished reassuring you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m fucked,” you said.

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

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

“Then we’ll use it as publicity.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

Almost.

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The smaller woman winced. “How high?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Busy night,” Namjoon said as a greeting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You highly doubted so.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Could he be the solution?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

“What for?” you asked, genuinely wondering.

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

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

“Yeah.”

“Is that what’s on your mind?” he asked, and he turned his head towards you.

From this angle, it was entirely too hard to avoid his gaze. Instead, you latched onto it, hoping it would make everything better.

“It might be,” you said. You sighed, wetting your lips before you added, “It is.”

“How have you been feeling?”

You weren’t sure there was a way to answer the question. Because you didn’t want him to know just how bad the anxiety had gotten, didn’t want him to know that your life changing so much in such a short amount of time was the scariest thing that had ever happened to you.

“Stressed,” you answered, deciding to use a lesser word in the hope that it wouldn’t hurt him too much. “Especially now that the anonymity is gone.”

He nodded. “I was expecting that to happen.”

You cocked an eyebrow, but found yourself unable to say anything else.

“I’m sorry I took that away from you,” he murmured, and a flash of pain in his eyes told you that he really was.

That Kim Namjoon felt guilty when it came to you, more than he had probably ever felt guilty about anything in life.

“You didn’t mean to,” you reassured him. Because it was the truth – you couldn’t be angry at him for what had happened. You had been part of it just as much as him.

“But it’s still my fault,” he added. “It’s because of me if the media has been after you.”

“It’s not because of you.” You paused, searching for the right words to convey the meaning you wanted. “It’s not you as a person, but rather what you mean to the world.”

You slightly winced, convinced that you had somehow landed on the wrong words after all.

“Possibly,” he said. He sighed, before once again sitting back on the couch. His fingers twitched before he clenched them on his thighs, visibly resisting the urge to do something.

To touch you, you assumed.

“Possibly,” he repeated. “But it’s hard to separate the person that I am from the person that I mean to others. To me, it’s just me, both of these.”

You nodded, because you already knew that. Namjoon was authentic through and through, with everything that he did and was. With every single one of his words – he was a cool-minded reflective person, and it was one of the things you liked the most about him. Maybe because it was such a stark contrast from when he was young, blood boiling at any minor inconvenience.

Maybe because it was an anchor in an otherwise stormy life.

“I know,” you said. “And that’s why I don’t believe it’s your fault. You didn’t mean for any of that to happen. And neither did I.”

“Still sucks that it did.”

You’d never heard a truer sentence before. And it was rhetorical, didn’t mean for a reply. All that you could do was nod, gaze escaping from his to find your wriggling fingers in your lap. A new silence stretched between you, still as heavy. Heavier than gravity – was it going to form a black hole between you and him?

“What’s that painting you’ve been working on?” he asked.

You glanced towards the art. Observed the paler backdrop, the painting that you had started in Ilsan. Your anxiety had splashed swirls of darker blue over it, adding melancholy to it that you’d never really visited in your art before.

“Something to get my mind off the edge,” you admitted. “I’ve been trying to pour my thoughts into it. To escape reality for a time.”

Maybe it had been the wrong thing to say. Weeks later, you’d look back on this moment and realize that it was the catalyst to the destruction. But right this instant, you couldn’t even think past the words.

“To escape?” he prodded.

You nodded. “Don’t you use music as an escape?”

“Yeah,” he said, but somehow his voice was flat.

It brought your attention back to him, and you noticed his eyes on you. Noticed the grief that your words had instilled behind his pupils, hiding somewhere in the deep brown of his gaze.

“So I assume you must understand.”

He didn’t answer right away. Held your gaze as if time had stopped, and maybe it should have. Maybe time should have been kind to you and him, in its chronology.

“If you need an escape from this,” he said, motioning vaguely between you and him, “maybe we shouldn’t be doing it at all.”

Your heart stopped in your chest, turning cold. Anxiety flooded in, washing away everything that you once were. You felt naked, young, as if you’d gone back in time and were watching him walk away again.

“I never said I needed an escape from us,” you said, and the venom in your voice surprised both you and him.

“Are you happy right now?” he enquired. In a whisper, as if it was the scariest thing. And scary words could never be uttered too loud – wouldn’t they just break everything in their wake?

“I’m not sure.” You saw the flash of hurt on his face, and you quickly rushed to add, “I’m just so anxious.”

“I’ve been making you feel anxious?”

You shook your head. “No. Not you. The situation. The sudden fame. The spotlight and my art being sold at crazy prices. The fact that I have to worry about paparazzi, about what I do or say. It’s so sudden.”

Namjoon didn’t reply right away. Instead, he looked at you, gaze heavy with feelings you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Maybe it was understanding – because of course he’d understand what you were going through. He was going through it too, though he’d known this life for years now.

“I’m sorry I brought this to you,” he eventually chose to say, carefully. As if he was aware you were fragile glass right now, one wrong move and you’d explode into a million tiny little shards. “I can take it away easily,” he claimed.

You cocked an eyebrow, because was he offering you salvation? You highly doubted he could.

“How?”

He pursed his lips, features turning apologetic for a time. “We break up. We go our separate ways, I get the rumours off your back. No one’s going to be after you anymore if they think I’m with someone else.”

The loudest sound in the universe was your heartbeat, in that instant. It was so loud even your thoughts became distant little specks, unable to break the wall of sound.

“What?”

He sighed, shrugging. As if he was giving up, as if he’d given up even before he’d gotten here. “If being with me makes you so anxious,” he started. “And by that, I mean not me as a person. What I mean to the world, or whatever it is that you said earlier. If it makes you too anxious, I’m just going to remove myself from the situation.”

Were you stupid, for being unable to reply anything other than ‘what?’ again? Perhaps you were. Especially as he scoffed this time around, and something started aching in your chest, differently than it was before.

“I think it’s better for you if we break up,” Namjoon explained. When you remained silent this time around, he slowly shut his eyes, head hanging low. “I don’t think I could reassure you enough when it comes to your anxiety for us to be able to be together.”

Your heart felt as if it had slowed down in your chest, so much so that the world surrounding you turned silent, soundless. You heard the breath of air that you took in, cringing as it did nothing to ease the slowly rising panic in you.

“I don’t want us to break up,” you said, murmured, though the moment the words crossed the threshold of your lips you realized that perhaps this had been what you were aiming for all along.

“I can’t date someone that gets so anxious just because they’re with me,” he answered, and he looked truly apologetic. Guilty too, as if he had committed the worst crime humanity could witness.

And perhaps breaking a heart truly was the worst crime out there.

It felt unlike Namjoon. You’d gotten the impression that he was someone reliable, someone cool-headed who’d be able to support you, to help you go through your anxiety. But as you stared at him, sitting there on the couch in your studio, you realized that he, too, struggled with his own anxiety. Had probably struggled with a lot of it in the past, so much so that he couldn’t afford to put himself in a situation where he’d only get bad again.

The only solution appeared like a dark cloud looming over the horizon of your conscience. You wished wind could blow it away, wished you were strong enough to manage your anxiety without losing him, but you knew it’d be easier once he was gone. Knew your sleep wouldn’t be as troubled, knew you’d be able to dwindle away into anonymity once more.

You had to let him go. For your sake, mostly, but for his too. Because he deserved someone who could shine with him in his spotlight, someone who’d be able to accept all of him, including his fame. And that just wasn’t you.

“Namjoon…”

“It’s hard for me too, you know?” he added. “To watch the person that I love getting worse every day, knowing that I’m the cause of it. Y/n…” he paused, and this time he was the one to look away. “I haven’t even seen you smile in weeks. Ever since the rumours.” He shook his head. “Even before that. I’m not sure you’ve been happy since we started dating.”

“That’s not true,” you declared, trying to put as much conviction in your words as you possibly could. “I was happy in Ilsan. I was happy when we came back, too. It really is just the sudden fame that’s been throwing me off.”

You were relieved you’d finally found words to explain your anxiety. And somehow, them slowly falling out of your mouth eased the anxiety, eased the fear.

But you knew you were going to let him go.

“Then we take a break,” he continued. “I don’t want to be the source of something negative in someone’s life. We take a break, let the rumours dwindle away, and when it’s safe, we can try again.”

Your eyes blurred with tears. If he saw them, he ignored it, instead focusing on the calluses in his hands again.

“If that is what you want, I’m not going to force you to stay with me,” you said, voice small in the enormity of what was happening.

He scoffed. “What I want is just impossible. This is just second best.”

“Breaking up with me is second best?” you asked, anger and bitterness swirling under the surface of your ache. “It’s that easy for you?”

He frowned, meeting your gaze again. “Who said it was easy?”

“You’re the one that claims it’s a good thing. Second best.”

At that, he rolled his eyes, slowly shaking his head again. “This is not what I meant.”

Maybe your anxiety was winning against you, maybe the knowledge that you had to let him go was stronger than anything else. Because you couldn’t watch him anymore. Couldn’t gaze at his deep brown eyes anymore, knowing that they’d become ghosts in your memory in just a few moments.

A few moments of breaking, of a glass heart dropped to a stone-cold floor.

“Then leave, Joon,” you said, voice unwavering even though you felt like ice was clutching your entire being. “Let’s take this break, let’s see if it’s better for both of us.”

The dark cloud rolled closer, engulfing you. Especially as he didn’t fight more. As he nodded his head, got up and motioned towards the stairs. As if that was enough when he was dropping you, giving up on you.

But weren’t you giving up on him just as much?

That night, you sat cross-legged in front of your canvas, watching the opened paint pots littering the floor around you. When your eyes slid back towards the canvas, a single tear escaped the confines of your eyelids, rolling along your cheek.

Deep brown eyes looked back at you, shining with their own unshed tears, reminders of where you failed in the timeline of your life.

*****

Thirteen years ago

You were going to kill Kim Namjoon. You would kill him, and be happy about it.

You’d heard from a friend of a friend that he had been hanging out with a certain Jeon Yuri, a beautiful, popular girl that had every reason to be liked by a guy like Namjoon. It was understandable – everyone loved Yuri.

Only, Yuri hated you. Always did, and took to insulting you in that covert way of hers that made people think she was complimenting them. But you saw right through her – you knew she was just a conniving rich girl. So you hated her back, with all the hate your little heart could summon.

To think Namjoon was hanging out with her? You’d kill him for it.

So you waited outside the gates of your childhood home for him to show up. You had been waiting there for a while already – partly because you needed to cool off, but also because you wanted to avoid your parents’ questions. Because obviously they loved Namjoon.

Everyone loved Namjoon, and everyone loved Yuri. You knew you were going to hate the both of them.

Namjoon arrived with a smile on his face, dimples flashing as if they’d get you to fold, to forgive him. To be fair, he did not know about your history with Yuri, as you never spoke about it to anyone. But when he saw your features, his smile immediately crumbled, replaced by worry.

“What’s wrong?” he instantly asked as he stopped in front of you.

“What’s wrong?” you repeated, before scoffing. “Why did I have to hear from Kim Haru that you’re hanging out with Jeon Yuri?”

His brows furrowed. “What’s wrong with hanging out with her?”

Your eyes widened and your fists landed on your hips. “Everything? She’s just a bitch.”

“Excuse me, what?” Namjoon let out, and you could tell by the reddening of his cheeks that he was already getting worked up too. “You told me to never call a girl a bitch and now you’re doing it?”

You rolled your eyes so far back you thought you could see your brain. “It’s not the same thing.”

He scoffed, in that condescending way of his that he always used when he wanted to win an argument. And you saw red. You saw blood red, scarlet like you were but a bull attracted to a flag.

“Don’t you fucking condescend me right now.”

“Don’t you fucking curse at me.”

“No seriously,” you continued. “I don’t want a guy who’s only after popular girls.”

“I am not,” Namjoon drawled. “I’m tutoring her and Park Seojin in maths. You already knew this.”

As a matter of fact, you did not. “You never told me.”

“Because you never listen to me,” he spat. “You’re always just drawing your fucking drawings as if that’ll lead you anywhere in life.”

“Kim Namjoon!” you burst. “And you’re always just going on about how you want to be a rapper. You’re a kid, dude, stop chasing after pointless dreams.”

He stepped closer to you, towering over you. You stood your ground, crossing your arms on your chest. “You’ll be sorry you ever said that. Oh, you’ll be so fucking sorry.”

“I don’t think I will. I don’t even think I’ll remember you.”

It was a low blow, and you could tell it hit him right in the gut. “You’re breaking up with me over such a stupid thing?”

“I’m breaking up with you because you’re a liar. You said you were with your friends, and then I learn that you were with Jeon Yuri?”

He sighed for a long time, shaking his head in frustration. “Oh, so this is really what it is about? Maybe there’s a reason why I didn’t want to tell you I was tutoring her.”

You scowled. “Why?”

“Because I knew you’d throw a jealousy fit. You think you’re entitled all of my time.”

“Fuck you,” you growled. “Fuck you. I have all the rights to be jealous when my boyfriend hides stuff like that from me.”

“Boyfriend? I thought you broke up with me.”

Your gaze slightly widened. “What?”

“I’m not your boyfriend anymore,” he said, adding your name like it was an insult. “Get over me already.”

“Do you even love me?” you replied, your anger suddenly dying down to be replaced with gut-wrenching pain.

But you knew better than to expect his anger to ever die down. It took forever for Namjoon to calm down, and you feared you had crossed a line tonight.

“Not when you get mad at me for no valid reason.”

His words hit like a slap to the face. “I just don’t like her. Can’t you tutor someone else?”

“No.”

The simple negation brought back a shade of anger to you, and you said, “Then perhaps we really should break up. Maybe I can find someone that actually respects me.”

“Because I don’t respect you?” he said, hands moving around his frame in anger.

“Clearly not.”

“You’re right then,” he continued. “I don’t respect you. I don’t love you either, apparently, so I’m done.”

“Joon…”

“No, Maehwa,” he said, and this time the nickname broke your heart in two, splitting it right in the middle. “You don’t say my name like that.” He slowly shook his head, seething. “As a matter of fact, I don’t want you to ever speak to me again. To ever look at me. I don’t want someone that acts like a fucking child.”

“You act like a child all the time,” you interrupted, but he ignored you.

He ignored you, in favor of turning around to walk away. You watched his back, before taking a step towards him, yelling his name again. He stopped, but didn’t turn to look at you. Instead, he said, “I’ll kill you if you follow me.”

You scoffed. “Oh please, as if you’d ever hurt me.”

“I’m serious, I’ll fucking kill you if I ever see you again.”

It felt enormous, to say such a thing. And perhaps youth was that – enormous in its drama. So you replied, “I hate you more than I hate anything in this world.”

He shrugged his shoulders, and then he walked away.

He walked away into the October night, and your cleaved heart shattered in a million tiny pieces.

☆☆☆☆☆

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nevernonline · 5 months

Text

✧.* he's not into you; hvc

synopsis: curious what the problem is in your dating life where you just can’t seem to get guys to commit fully to you beyond a second date, your work associate offers his help.

part of my ninety minute movies one shot series. ♡︎

paring: vernon x fem! reader.

genre: co-workers2friends2lovers (? lmao)

warning/s: mentions of substances (alcohol, weed, cig, vape etc.) swearing, very bad jokes!, sexy time (y/n has female genitalia!) pls no minors!!

word count: 6.3k

content: . non-idol idolings, some other svt members. y/n and vernon work at a bar.

note: our next stop in my fav little movie inspired writings is he's just not that into you!! a true classic in my eyes. and who better to be our male lead than bernon himself, a perfect silly goofy man. i acc tried to edit and be good?? for once.. lmao. love u xo. HAPPY NEW YEAR.

Waltzing around your co-workers behind the bar like a choreographed dance, handing out drinks to some of your familiar customers, soaking cherries in alcohol, and stuffing your tips inside of your folder for the night it was a perfect distraction from the thoughts running through your mind about that awful date you had gone on the night before.

You were convincing yourself all the guys you’ve been out with just weren’t for you, maybe to make yourself feel better, maybe just to put blame on someone else for the reasons you can’t seem to surpass a second date.

“Y/N, could I get two vodka martinis. One dirty and one with a twist, twice shaken please.”

“No problem, Som.”

Somi was one of your co-workers and someone you’ve become close friends with working with her over the course of a year when the bar first opened. standing by your side on the busiest night of the week, the other was Vernon, he was slightly newer and unfamiliar standing next to you behind the bar, girls flirting with him left, right and center hoping to crack open his quiet yet charming exterior.

Taking orders upon orders your body was craving a moment to yourself, being an introvert and working in a high volume environment with the type of company that spends hundreds of dollars a night just to sit at a table and feel important takes a toll on you.

“Vernon, would you be cool if I stepped outside for a second?”

“Yeah, no problem. I’m good.”

“Alright, thanks I’ll be back in five.”

“Sounds good.”

Nothing more than his simple answers, for the most all you know about him is he’s your age, in college not sure what major he could possibly be studying, and he lives decently close to the bar, coming in on his days off with groups of his friends to have a drink of his own made at your own hands.

Stepping outside the employee entrance into the back of the building, feeling the cool air light up your body, you decided to light up something of your own, a small perfectly rolled cigarette wrapped up in its signature strawberry flavored paper and vanilla tobacco inside.

Three minutes into your first break of the night, the door slid open revealing the quiet boy standing in its frame.

“Shit. I’m sorry, I actually need your help. A big group of finance dudes came in.”

“It’s alright, I’ll save it for later.”

Dipping the pastel candy like cigarette into the ashtray, basically kissing it and saying you’ll see it soon, you stepped back in with Vernon to your front strolling through the back room full of fresh liquor bottles.

“This is a weird question. But what were you smoking? It smells good. Actually, normally cigarettes make me nauseous as hell.”

“Oh. It’s a vanilla tobacco, but my rolling papers are strawberry so it’s kind of sweeter that way.”

“No wonder. I always thought you smelt like vanilla musk, but I knew it was something different. I just assumed it was perfume. I like it.”

“Thanks, Vern.”

“Yeah. Want to take the table? Or wait for them to come up to us?”

“I’ll go.”

“Alright.”

Cutting around the marble countertop, trying to avoid the patrons sitting at the end of the bar. You spot the group of men wearing their fancy suit jackets, and various colors of button down tops. One of them in particular was your date from a few weeks ago. The one who left you a post it note on your nightstand to wake up to basically telling you he wouldn’t call but thanks for the fuck.

Swilling your pride, you stayed walking towards them, now with the pretty smile usually wiped across your face lost and turned into a closed lip grin.

“Hey, what can I get for you guys?”

“I’ll take you with a side of bourbon on the rocks please.”

“Clever. I’m not on the menu. Anything for you.”

Your fingers pointed towards the rest of the helm just patiently waiting for more unusual comments and weird flirting tactics.

Your date though, kept his head buried in his menu, avoiding making eye contact with you out of his own embarrassment making you decide to fuck with him a little in front of his annoying crowd of friends.

“And anything for you, Chris? Jack Daniels and Coke with a splash of cherry I presume? Or are you going to write your order down on a post it note?”

His crowd erupted in laughter, clearly aware of his tactics when he leaves girls and decides to not call them back.

He muttered back it was fine as you walked off back to Vernon watching on with a smirk on his face.

“You know him I assume?”

“Unfortunately I do.”

“Can I ask how?”

You contemplated telling him a lie, just something simple like he was an old friend or an ex-boyfriend, but in order to keep him from opening up to you, you chose the real reason.

“Actually we went out a few weeks ago. In the morning I woke up to a note taped to my pillow saying how he wasn’t interested in seeing me anymore but thanking me for being a good fuck and being so accommodating and sexy.”

“No fucking way.”

“I’m not kidding.”

“Want me to spit in his drink?”

“Yes. But I don’t want you to lose your job. It’s alright, not the first time for me unfortunately and actually maybe one of the nicer ones.”

“Not the first time a dude you’ve fucked wrote you a note saying he’s not into you?”

“There’s been worse believe it or not.”

“You’ve piqued my interest.”

“I’m sure.”

“How do you meet dudes like that?”

“I’m a lucky girl, now do me a favor and take these drinks to them, because if I do I’ll probably say some shit I’ll regret.”

“Alright. What’s his name?”

“Who?”

“Asshole over there.”

“Chris”

“Cool. Thanks.”

“Vernon why?”

“No reason, keep working.”

“Don’t do anything stupid.”

“My whole vibe is stupid, be back in a second.”

Watching the boy out of the corner of your eye, you watched as he placed everyone’s drinks for them, reaching Christopher last, pretending to trip over his chair, spilling the alcoholic concoction over his pants.

“Dude what the fuck?”

“Oh shit, my bad. Let me get you a new one.”

“Why the fuck are you so clumsy, how am I going to get a girl here when I look like I pissed myself?”

“The girls that come in here don’t want some bitch who drinks cherry whiskey and Coke, they like real men. But I’ll be back in a second.”

“What the fuck did you just say?”

“You heard me, man. One second alright I’ll be back with your bitch drink.”

Chris’s friends seem to be enjoying watching his night being turned into a shit storm, assuming they maybe don’t enjoy his company much either.

“Why did you do that?”

“He seems like a tool, he’ll be fine.”

“Well thank you. It was funny, I had to hold my laughter in so he doesn’t think I made you do that for me.”

“Safe bet.”

Your night continued on until midnight when all the happy and drunk patrons exited the restaurant and you got to cleaning up the bar space, leaving you, Vernon, and Somi alone in the dimly lit room.

“Vernon? Want to stay and have a drink as a thank you for helping me out. Somi would but she has to get back to her ball and chain.”

“Are we allowed to do that?”

“Well my dad owns the place, I don’t think he cares much.”

“You’re dad? Wait what the fuck, I never put that together.”

“Yeah. Him and his friends.”

“Holy shit.”

Laughing along with Somi at his amazement, you bid her goodbye before sliding into a bar top table, holding the glass of vodka in your well manicured fingers.

Much to your surprise your more than shy coworker decided to stay with you sliding in next to you holding his own glass of beer.

“So wait. I’m confused. Your dad and his friends opened the bar. Why do you want to work here?”

“Easy. I always liked the idea of being a bartender and my parents would kill me for being a kid who didn’t have a job or work ethic and just using their money.”

“Got it. Aren’t you in school?”

“ I haven’t decided what to go for yet so I’m taking some time. Not sure yet. You?”

“Journalism.”

“For real? That’s cool as hell.”

“Yeah.”

Your phone lit up on the table blasting the ringtone really loudly in between you and Vernon, flashing the name Matthew on the screen.

“Hey. Yeah, this is her. Oh really? Can you hold on just ONE second. Thanks.”

Vernon waved you along letting you go on with the conversation with the guy who's been taking you on dates for the past week, curious why he’d be calling you late.

“Wait since I’m out of the loop, who was that?”

“You really want to know?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, so his name is Matt. We met at the coffee shop a few weeks ago. He was cute. He paid for my drink and we just sort of hit it off.”

“Have you guys slept together?”

“Yeah. The first day we met.”

“Y/N no. You’ve got to make these guys wait. Like they’re getting exactly what they want from you before you even know if they’re fucking idiots or not.”

“Really? Does that actually work though? I mean you heard him say he likes his ex there’s nothing I can change about that?”

“Did you ask when his last relationship was before you guys started dating?”

“Yeah he said he’d been single for two months.”

“Two months? And he’s already back with her? Or was he always seeing her when you guys were together? What kind of dates did you go on? Dinner? Or?”

“Coffee sometimes, then he’d just come hangout at my place most of the time.”

“So you never went to his?”

“No.”

“So he was cheating on his girlfriend with you?”

“What? No, he said he was single.”

Vernon ran his hands through his hair and let out a sigh before looking back at you.

“You guys met for coffee, you’d have him over to your place during the day, you’d have sex and he’d leave? You never saw his apartment? He just confessed that he’s been seeing his so-called ex over the phone the whole time you guys were quote on quote dating. He definitely lives with her and was fucking you for fun. You weren’t dating.”

“Speaking from experience, Vernon?”

“No. I’ve only ever dated one person seriously.”

“So why are you giving me advice about my dating life?”

“Because I had a successful five year relationship and you’ve had none? And you seem to need it.”

“Wow. I would normally be pissed, but you’re right. I can’t seem to tell what I’m doing wrong actually. Maybe I'm destined to be single.”

“Not true. You’re pretty, nice, and you’ve got a cool ass life. You’ll be fine, you just need some editing maybe.”

“So what? You want to be my relationship guru? Or?”

“Yes.”

You outstretched your hand to his and he shook it for you, confirming your now partnership where he would help you with your dating life.

“Wait, before we go further. Try this.”

Lifting the straw to your lips for you, Vernon offered you a sip of the drink he made.

“Wait, that's good, what is that?”

“That assholes drink.”

“I hate that I actually fucking like it.”

“Me too.”

You and Vernon spend the rest of your night together shooting the shit and getting to know each other more, once two am rolls around you both decide to head out and walk home.

“This is me.”

Much to your surprise Vernon swipes his key card to enter the same building as you.

“Wait, you live here? How come I’ve never seen you in the building?”

“I just moved in like three weeks ago. I spend most of my time in my apartment with my cat if I'm not at school or work.”

“What floor?”

“Seven.”

Pressing the number seven on the elevator button before you tapped number thirteen, you and Vernon rode silently up to your separate homes.

Before stepping off onto his floor, he pressed the hold door button.

“Come over tomorrow around six? I know you have the night off so we can hangout or whatever.”

“Okay. What should I wear?”

“You’ll figure it out. You always look nice. Casual is fine.”

Rolling your eyes to his back as he strode off to his front door, you yelled a goodnight out of the door before they clocked shit and ran you up to your own place.

Waking up the next morning you stepped out of your bed and pulled out all the ingredients to make a perfect cup of coffee, something that was like a religious ritual for you to clear your head before starting your day.

After the brew was finished dripping though your pour over carafe you decided to take in some sun on your balcony and prepare your mind for the rest of the day until you were set to get ready to hangout with Vernon.

The unexpected invitation to go on a quote in quote fake date with the boy had your head confused. What should you wear? What should you do with the little information given to you about what’s going on?

After spending a few hours outside with your coffee and disconnecting from your phone, you decided to head back inside and go through your closet in search of the perfect casual outfit.

Placing options on your bed, you hopped into the shower and spent time under the hot steam scrubbing your body from head to toe. After you were satisfied with your cleanliness, you stepped out and sat at your vanity, drying your hair and curling the front two pieces of your perfectly done up-do, painted your nails a perfect cherry red color, and put on your typical makeup look.

Sliding your slippers back on you stood now in front of the three tops hanging in front of you feeling them for the perfect vibe. Eventually selecting a simple white button down top to match your gray pleated short skirt, slipping up a pair of simple tights and black heeled knee high boots.

Finally the time came for you to run down seven floors and step off to find Vernon, knocking on the door to the left of the elevator a woman who you’ve seen around the building once or twice answered.

“I’m sorry, I think maybe I have the wrong apartment. Excuse me-“

“You’re y/n?”

“Yes. Hi.”

“Hi, I’m Vernon’s friend Chae. I like your outfit, it's super cute.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

Stepping into the similar shaped apartment to yours, you notice the colorful paintings all over the walls, the beautiful soft blue couch, and the cozy smell of fresh linen hitting your nose, as you walked in further you saw a group of various people sitting around in his living room, some pouring themselves drinks, some standing around eating snacks and talking.

“Would you like water or a beer or anything?”

“Oh no, I’m alright for now thank you.”

“No problem, I’ll just go see what he’s up to. Excuse me.”

“Sure.”

After waiting five minutes in the threshold of Vernon’s front entry, he peeled around the corner, dressed in an oddly similar outfit to yours, minus the heels and mini skirt.

His crisp white shirt and matching gray coat and pants, a black leather bag, carrying a pair of nice black sneakers in his hand.

“Hey, sorry I accidentally spilled cola on my other shirt, I had to change.”

“That’s alright. I like your outfit though, you look cool.”

“Thank you, I like yours too. I told you about casual dress though.”

“This is casual?”

“If you say so. Want a cocktail or something?”

“Uh, sure? Wait though I thought we were going out or something, I didn’t know you had company. I can leave?”

“No. Well, we’re going out a little later to a party, I wanted to invite you, come on.”

You stepped into his kitchen where he had various types of alcohol scattered on the counter, next to slices of pizza and a couple bags of chips.

You looked around the room at the new faces, some of them you recognized from Vernon bring them to the bar with him.

“Want the asshole special again? I actually made myself one.”

“Weirdly I do, yeah.”

Vernon laughed as he mixed you the same concoction he spilled the night before, handing it over to you gracefully.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem. This is a weird question, but did you roll any of your cigarettes or have any of those cute papers you use? I told my friend about them and he wanted to find some to roll a joint with.”

Digging through your bag you pulled out the small case full of tobacco and papers from inside, holding out the pack to him to give to his friend, someone who you’re sure you’ll meet at one point or another.

“Wow. Thank you.”

“It’s cool, I have a bunch anyway. So, what does this have to do with you being my relationship guru anyway?”

“Nothing actually. Just wanted to hangout with you more.”

“Oh, right.”

Something about Vernon being so kind to you and sticking up for you last night and today was making you see him in a different light almost like you were starting to have a crush on him. But he could never be into you that way, especially seeing how he interacted with his friend Chae.

Walking around his apartment and saying hello to his friends, you chose a seat adjacent to the couch, one that was unoccupied and slightly out of the way.

Some of his friends knew who you were without you even having to mention it. Talking and getting to know them. You excused yourself to the bathroom, but stumbled upon a room adorned with movie posters and music equipment.

“The bathroom is right here.”

Vernon pointed to the unlatched door down the hall, the same position as yours.

“I know. I live here too. I was just being nosy.”

“Oh. That's cool, you can check it out if you want.”

Stepping into his office space, you smiled looking around at his various media and collectables, staring at the framed record on the wall signed by an artist you like yourself.

“This is yours?”

“Yeah. I got it as a birthday present when I was like eighteen. I love it.”

“Sick.”

“Sick? You’re so weird. Do people say that shit still?”

“Fuck off. People definitely still say that.”

“Not cool people.”

“You literally told me I was cool yesterday?”

“I spoke too soon.”

As you and Vernon were standing in his room laughing, Chae appeared behind you both without your knowledge and gripped Vernon’s side, scaring the both of you with his reaction and finding her laughing her ass off.

“You should have seen your guys’ faces. It was too easy.”

“You’re such an asshole, I almost hit you.”

“I’d like to see you try, big boy.”

You just smiled, feeling a little awkward watching Vernon flirting with his friend.

“We want to head out, are you guys ready?”

“I’m good, I think Y/N had to use the restroom though?”

“Yeah. It’s okay, I think I might just head back to my place. I have a headache, but you guys have fun.”

“No way, come on, take some tylenol and let's go.”

“Chae. Let her leave if she doesn't feel good.”

“She obviously wants to leave because she found your weird collection of fucking disney vhs tapes, not because of her headache.”

“Not true.”

“It’s fine. I’ll come, just let me use the restroom fast. I’ll meet you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

Leaving you to do your business, Chae handed you two small white pills from her bag, and a swig of her beer to wash them down with before heading behind Vernon as they got ready to leave for the next location.

After a few minutes of walking you and Vernon’s friends pulled up outside a bar you’ve never been to but heard a lot of your friends enjoyed, amply titled Love Bites.

Vernon held onto your shoulders and walked you into the front door of the bar, pushing you towards a table where he told you to sit down and wait, as he walked away and left you with his friend to order everyone a round of drinks.

The seat next to you that you’d hoped Vernon would fill was taken by a dark haired boy you hadn’t recognized from earlier back at the apartment.

“Y/n? Hi, I’m Joshua.

“Oh. Hi, nice to meet you.”

“Vernon’s friend just so you don’t think I’m some random dude.”

“Right. I figured.”

“Actually I was the one who asked for the papers, thank you by the way.”

“Yeah, no problem. Do you smoke? Like weed or?”

“Yeah, just weed. I used to smoke cigarettes and vape for a while or whatever, but I stopped for a while. I just realized it was a boring habit.”

“How’d you know I had strawberry papers, did Vernon tell everyone?”

“No, no. He just said you were cool. Very friendly, but you didn’t talk about yourself enough and that you have nice smelling cigarettes that you smell like sometimes. Nothing too much really.”

“Oh. No dirty details about my weird dating life he pressed me about?”

“Nothing about that, but he knows about my awful habits too. He always tells me I need serious help.”

“Yes. Me too, I called him a relationship guru.”

“He thinks he is, but he’s had a crush on the same girl for a while. I'm not sure who she is, he never told me anything more about it. I’m not sure he’s the guy I’d trust to set me up that's for sure.”

“Oh really? Is it, you know?”

You pointed with your eyes across the table to Chae who was seated next to Vernon’s side.

“I don’t think so. She’s definitely been in love with him forever, they were friends when they were kids and rekindled a few years ago when she moved back to town. She's really obvious about it, but he never said anything.”

“Ah, I don’t know he seems to flirt with her alot.”

“He’s just like that with everyone, overly friendly, kind of dorky.”

“I see that.”

You spent the entire night talking and getting to know Joshua, surprisingly finding out a lot of things that made you more and more intrigued about him.

When the night finally came to a close, you left with his number and a plan to go out with just the two of you a few days later. Maybe Vernon being your friend was going to pay off more than you knew and his relationship guru advice brought you right into the hands of his very good friend.

In the next few weeks you continued working and getting to know the pervious shy boy you thought Vernon was and going on actual good dates with his friend Joshua, who much to your surprise wasn’t the type to fuck you and forget you on a first date.

Months passed by as your casual dating with Joshua went on and on, thinking that while it was good something with him was missing. But, you kept giving him a chance anyway. Unaware what that something was.

On a night where you were getting ready to go out for a date you found Vernon outside of your apartment door, knocking on it wildly waiting for you to come and answer.

“Is everything alright?”

“Y/n.”

“Want to come in?”

“No. Yes? Is that alright?”

“Are you okay? You’re acting weird as hell.”

Vernon just nodded his head and sat down on your couch.

“Are you getting ready to head out? You look really nice. I feel like I’m interrupting something.”

“No. I just got home from a date actually. Why?”

“Fuck. I’m sorry.”

“It would help if you stopped saying sorry and told me what was wrong.”

“Chae.”

“Oh?”

“She was over at my apartment. We were just playing video games and having some beer or whatever, but she tried to kiss me. And I let her at first, but I didn’t want to kiss her. I never have. I know she’s pretty and whatever, but like..”

“Wait. So why did you come up here?”

“Because I didn’t know what else to do? She’s still downstairs, she said she won't leave until we talk about what happened and she’s crying. I tried to tell her I wasn’t interested in her romantically and I liked being her friend, but she won’t take no for an answer. I just didn’t know what else to do. I’m sorry I interrupted your nice night like this.”

You walked over into the kitchen and poured Vernon a glass of water to hopefully settle him from rambling so much.

“Can I ask you why you aren’t interested in her? I always assumed you guys had something going on.”

“No. Never. She’s not my taste, I mean she’s really cool. But we’re really similar and I don’t want to date someone who reminds me too much of myself otherwise I’d get bored, but never break it off maybe because I’m too nice or maybe because I feel too comfortable. Does that make any sense?”

“Yeah.”

“Plus, I told her I liked someone else anyway and she got even more upset. She started accusing me of being a liar and leading her on.”

“I’ll be honest and when I first met her I thought you liked her too, but the more I got to know you I realized you pretty much act that way around everyone you’re comfortable with.”

“Right.”

“Want me to help you get her out of your apartment?”

“You would?”

“Yeah. I still owe you for spilling that drink a long time ago.”

“My god, no you don’t”

“Shh, in my heart I do. Are you staying here or coming?”

“I’ll come.”

Heading down the elevator still in your nice date outfit, you grabbed his keys and unlocked his front door to find Chae still sitting on his couch, waiting for him to come home.

Looking her up and down you found her dressed in shorts two sizes too small with Vernon’s T-Shirt draped over her body. Clinging to his pillow and looking you up and down.

“What the fuck is she doing here, Vernon? She’s not a part of this at all.”

“Actually, I’m here to ask you to politely get the fuck out of his apartment and stop making him feel bad for not liking you.”

“You’re such a bitch, he does like me. The person he doesn’t like is you, so maybe you should get the fuck out of here. He just feels sorry for you.”

“Chae, that’s not true and don’t talk to her like that.”

“You’re actually defending her? She hasn’t been nice to me once since she met me. She just acts like an entitled brat around me all the time, making me feel stupid. She’s not a part of this conversation at all, don’t you understand how insane this is?”

“She is a part of it actually, because she’s the girl I have a crush on and if I wasn’t so focused on making everyone else around me happy at the price of myself I would’ve been able to tell her that already instead of doing it like this.”

“Verno-”

“Her? You fucking like her? Seriously? She told me she never would date someone like you and that you’re dorky and a loser.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? That’s never happened. You’re the one who parades around making me feel like an idiot and that I'm not good enough to be friends with Vernon. You know who’s being an entitled brat? You. You’re kicking this poor guy out of HIS apartment for not liking you back like a child, you’re sitting on his couch in HIS clothes, waiting for him to come back to you to try to pressure him into being with you when he told you he likes someone else. If you’re such a good ass friend to him like you constantly claim to be, then maybe be that good friend and get the hell up, give him his shirt back and get the fuck out or you can talk to him like the adult that you are and try to understand how he feels and continue being his friend. If you don’t like either option I don’t know what else to tell you. So, what will it be?”

“If I talk to him, you need to get the fuck out of here, I don’t want you around.”

“Fine with me, but stop being such an insufferable bitch and maybe have some compassion. Goodnight.”

Not wanting to wait around for the elevator, you slammed Vernon’s door shut leaving them to have their conversation and walked up the seven flights of stairs back into your cozy home untainted by her bad energy.

Hours later after you were showered and ready to destress from the absolute chaos your night has been, you poured yourself a glass of wine and sat on your to smoke a nicely rolled joint as a treat to yourself, leaving your phone inside your room and out of your eyesight.

Suddenly mid-inhale another knock came to your door, half of you wanted to pretend you were asleep, but another part of you assumed whoever it was must have an issue with you smoking inside your home.

Looking through the peephole of your front door, you saw for the second time in the night Vernon standing outside, now in his plaid pj pants and a hoodie pacing around waiting for you to answer.

Taking in a deep breath you opened the door and took one look at his messy hair, realizing he must have been trying to sleep, but couldn’t.

“Yes?”

“Can I come in?”

“Be my guest. Sorry I’m smoking weed inside, it smells weird.”

“Can I have a hit actually?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks.”

Handing over the pink flower, Vernon took an incredibly long hit of the weed, exhaling it creating a cloud over the two of you.

“Wine?”

“Uh, not yet. Can I confess something to you?”

“Is it about the girl you like?”

“Sorry you had to find out like that. I was planning on telling you, but then you started seeing Josh and whatever else it just got away from me, it wasn’t the right time I know. I just let it slip.”

“It’s okay, Vernon”

“It’s not, especially when you’re not single. I feel like I ruined any relationship we had with saying it, even our platonic one.”

“When you talked about ruining my nice night before? Didn’t you wonder why I was coming home from a date at 7:00pm? It was because I actually just broke it off with Joshua. He was really nice about it of course, but I just felt like we were friends and nothing more.”

“Oh. So you’re not?”

“Dating him? No.”��

“So I didn’t ruin it?”

“My night? Not at all, it wasn't that great anyway.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

Vernon took the opportunity to steal your glass of wine and downed it right then and there whispering a small sorry to you for doing so.

“Okay, so. I knew I liked you the moment we started working together. I wasn’t sure how to tell you ever, I wasn’t even sure how to talk to you because you made me feel so awkward, not because you were mean or anything, just because I knew I’d sound like a fucking dumb ass. But, that night we first walked home together and had a drink. I found out so much about you, I liked you even more so I asked you to come and hangout with us at my place, I figured I could get some courage to finally ask you out, which ultimately I failed at again and it just spiraled out of control. It’s just gotten more and more bad for me, like bad in the sense I just can’t stop falling for you and you didn’t know. Until I essentially fucked it up further telling you I like you infront of Chae, which was a mistake too. I keep fucking it up.”

“You're doing pretty good if you ask me, but you should’ve just told me a long time ago then none of this crazy shit would have happened.”

“That's charming, no?”

“Only because it's you.”

“Look, I don’t need an answer from you now or ever, just know I wont be fucking weird about it anymore. I’ll let you go to bed. I’ll see you in a few days at work and everything will be good.”

Vernon got up and tried to walk towards your front door for an exit, but you caught up to him in time, grabbing him by his shoulders and spinning him around just in time to plant a perfectly placed kiss on his pink lips.

“I like that you’re fucking weird and for your information I admire your dumb vhs tape collection.”

Vernon took his opportunity to kiss you again, even longer this time than the first one, pushing his tongue into your mouth, making you moan as his hands snaked their way around your body.

“You taste like vanilla too.”

“Nice?”

“Perfect.”

“Would us having sex count as us fucking on the first date?”

“This would be considered fucking before the first date.”

“Ah, I see. Is that a no-no?”

“I’ll let it slide.”

Vernon lifted you up, prompting you to wrap your legs around his long torso, and carried you onto your couch, setting you down to be perfectly face to face with his enclosed penis, now beginning to grow inside of his pants. Dipping your fingers into the waistband of his pants you grazed the tips of your fingers over the head of his dick, making him shiver from the cold touch of your hands.

Unwrapsping him like a present, his penis flew from his waistband and you quickly wrapped your lips around the soft pink skin, slightly creating a suction cup with your lips as his hands found their way to the back of your head and he fucked your face gently.

As his speed picked up, the head of his dick was pounding its way to the back of your throat making him weak in the knees and unsure how much longer he could go on like this without relieving himself inside of your mouth.

In order to savor this moment further, he against his better judgment pulled you off of him and got on his knees in front of you, running a finger down your neck, placing soft kisses on your lips and all the way down to your sternum, his fingers following along.

Pushing over your panties to the side he ran those same fingers up and down your wet center, making you moan and push onto him, begging for him to put them inside of you without many words.

When he was finally done teasing you, he placed his first two fingers at the entrance and ran his thumb over your clit making you squirm and let out a small moan, trying to grind your way further onto him.

With the same speed as before he started pumping his fingers into your wet center, crawling his way into your body and making you overwhelmed with pleasure.

Suddenly he was four fingers deep stretching you out as a preparation for you to be comfortable fucking his much larger dick when suddenly you squirted all over his bare chest, slinking back onto the couch in a fit of heavy breathing.

Vernon didn’t let you off the hook though, he grabbed onto you hips, carrying you onto the floor under him. Finally fucking you through your previous orgasm, riding into the sensitive waters of your clit, softly sucking on your nipples as he slowly thrusted himself onto you, almost like it was the only way to cure the aching in your center.

As the sweat and your bodily fluids mix their way together, the heavy breathing slowed to near silence, watching him in ecstasy fucking into you, noticing the beauty of the way his eyelashes ran across his cheeks and the small light gold flecks in his eyes. He’s never been more beautiful to you than he was tonight.

Suddenly in your daze his lips came onto yours before he slightly lifted them off of you to whisper while they still grazed over the top.

“Can I come inside?”

“Please.”

And with your verbal confirmation Vernon filled up your body with his semen and rode into his very own orgasm as well.

Kissing you once again he got up and ran into your bathroom to grab a clean towel for you both to clean up with and laid back down next to you on the floor.

Suddenly the two of you erupted into laughter, just thinking about how stupid you both were to see chemistry between you was about as hot as the sex you both indulged in.

“I can’t believe you were going to leave.”

“I can’t believe I thought you weren’t into me.”

“Who said I wasn’t lying?”

“The way you were moaning and fucking into me told me all I needed to know.”

“Ok, hot shot.”

“So about that first date?”

“It’s on.”

386 notes · View notes

riverlikethelake · 1 year

Text

May the dead walk again

Summary: Your foster fathers, Max and Norm present you with an avatar, an early birthday gift and it feels like the weight of the world has been simultaneously lifted and placed on your shoulders. After running into a Na'vi boy, you're taken to the Omaticaya and given the chance to become one of the people, your friend's older brother being the one to teach you.

Pairing: Neteyam x Avatar!reader

Word count: 7.5k

Warnings/notes: mentions of death, depression, angst, fluff, development of platonic/familial relationships, Spider tries, Protective!Norm, foster family in the lab, the beginning was written when i was sleep deprived, slowburn, slight enemies to lovers, Neteyam and reader are in denial

series master list | Would stardust fix us? Part one.

The Na’vi say that everyone is born twice, it’s a metaphor for young Na’vi going through their iknimaya and earning their place in the clan, but sometimes you wish it was more than that. You pray to Eywa, a god, a mother you’ve never known, and doubt will ever feel, that when you die you will get reborn. Maybe you’re manifesting an early demise, but you cannot bring yourself to care.

You will die, everyone does, your death has just always been by your side, its weight enveloping you in a suffocating embrace, plaguing your life with its entire being.

So, you pray to be reborn, into a body with legs that will carry you across the planet you were born on yet never get to see, with a heart that will beat steady as you run, with lungs that will breathe in the deadly air that you crave to feel blowing on your skin.

You sit in one of the chairs, knees to your chest hunched over as you read one of Grace’s logs. You keep your eyes glued to the screen even as you hear the decompression chamber going off. You hear the chatter of your brother and friends as they enter the lab, you don’t have to turn around to know that the quick footsteps are Kiri running over to see her mother in the Amnio tank.

Large hands rest on your shoulders from behind as Lo’ak leans over to look at the computer you’re reading on. “Watcha reading about this time?” he asks, amusement in his voice. You rest your head against his forearm.

“Razor palm” you answer, you see him tilt his head in confusion out of the corner of your eye. “pxiut” you add. He thinks for a moment before shaking his head “px-iu-t" he drawls, showing you the correct pronunciation.

“pxiut” you state, correctly this time. He grins and pats your shoulder before pulling back and turning to lean on the desk. Spider walks up and glances at your screen, he leans in inspecting the image and shrugs. “My drawing was better” He grins.

You roll your eyes and smile “Oh definitely, the detail you had?” you tease, dramatically doing a ‘chef’s kiss’ motion. Spider playfully smacks the side of your head and backs away, turning to walk to Kiri. You turn your attention back to the screen, reading about the plant.

The world of Pandora always fascinated you, the plants and animals that resided on the planet captured your eye from a young age. You grew up staring out the windows of the biolab into the world beyond, once you learned to read, your birthday gifts were always wider access to all the files they had about pandora, from the process of its discovery to the day-to-day experiments Max runs.

You never stepped foot outside the lab doors though, you barely even stepped outside your room. When you were younger, you’d pester Spider about what he saw, making him describe each plant and animal in detail. He’d oblige you, staying up late telling you stories of his adventures, he even started drawing plants he found. It was the closest you got to the world beyond, your obsession with anything and everything Pandora growing with each moment you could feel the presence of what laid beyond the walls.

Lo’ak watches as you pay full attention to the screen in front of you, completely absorbed in your own world. He taps on the desk to get your attention. “So, the little hideaway is finally out of her room huh?” he teases, your eyes flutter to him before going back to the screen. “Don’t get used to it” you mumble.

He chuckles, “I haven’t seen you in a few weeks, what's new?” he leans forward, keeping his eyes on you. You shrug “Not much, I looked over the test samples Norm collected, nothing you’d be interested in though” you explain, leaning back into the chair as you looked at him.

Lo’ak scrunches his nose “It seems like that’s all you do now” you nod, he huffs “But you don’t even go outside, you’re so obsessed with the world, but you don’t even know what it looks like up close.” You give him a look before turning back to your computer.

You’ve heard him complain about your lack of interest in seeing Pandora many times before, it confused him how your brother couldn’t stay in the forest long enough while you were rarely seen outside of your room. Truthfully, all you wanted was to see the forest, touch the grass and soil like your brother does, climb through trees and hear the sounds of nature. It was something you desperately wanted but never let yourself indulge in, knowing that once you got a taste, nothing would ever be enough, limited by your very being.

But all you tell Lo’ak is you’d much rather research it than see it. He rolls his eyes and pushes off from the desk, you sigh in relief, assuming the barrage is over, but you yelp when Lo’ak grabs the back of the rolly chair and pulls you out and to the middle of the lab, spinning you so that you face Kiri and Spider.

“Sister! You cannot possibly be ok with Y/n living her life like a-… what does dad call it?” He leans over the chair, braids falling in front of you as he faces you upside down “A hermit.” he states. You frown swatting at his braids, beads clicking together as they collide.

“Lo’ak leave her alone” Kiri pushes at his head so he is no longer engulfing you, she places a hand on your shoulder for comfort. Lo’ak frowns “What? You have always been on my side about this”

Kiri rolls her eyes “Yes, and I still am, but this is no longer about Y/n going outside, this is about your pride and ego.” She states, pulling your chair forward, out of his grasp “seeing who can get the other to falter” Kiri was always a firm believer that you needed to see Pandora, but she took a much more careful approach than Lo’ak, telling you about it’s beauty and encouraging you much like a mother coaxing her child into taking their first steps.

You look up to Kiri who’s raising her eyebrows at Lo’ak, you hear Lo’ak grumble before she pulls back, satisfied with her victory. You look past her, making eye contact with Spider, you raise your brows, and he nods. He climbs off the tank Grace stays in and shoos Kiri and Lo’ak away, taking a hold of your chair and rolling you back to your desk.

Your friends weren’t unaware of your condition, but you didn’t like the faces they made when they saw it affect you firsthand, how they’d walk on eggshells around you. So, Spider would always cover you, finding some way to get the attention off you or get you out of the room.

“Just let Y/n do her thing, you’re gonna make her retreat back to her little hideout” he teases lamely, ruffling your hair. You stick your tongue out at him, but smile, placing your hand on his in a way to say thank you.

The past few weeks, whenever you stood up or walked, you’d feel like you were going to faint and would need several minutes to recover and stabilize, hence your lack of presence whenever the Sully kids visited. Of course Spider would brush off their worry and tell this it you were just being moody, wanting to be alone, or getting in a fight. But you could only be gone so long without raising suspicion.

You tune out your friends as they bicker, trying to read the rest of the report but your mind was flooded with thoughts. You glance to the corner of your screen, looking at the time. Norm and Max would be back at any moment, and they will throw a fit if they find you out of your bed.

You think for a minute, weighing your options. Norm wasn’t subtle about his worry for you, nor was he good at hiding your condition from others. If he came back now, there’s no guarantee he’d get the memo to keep Lo’ak and Kiri out of the loop. If you got up now, you’d no doubt cause worry, they’re already suspicious about your disappearance the past few weeks. But, Lo’ak and Kiri don’t actually know much about humans, you could always blame your adverse reaction on dehydration or not eating anything.

You thought for a moment before pushing away from the desk and standing up, you groan as you feel your head swirl, limbs suddenly feeling like jello. Within a second, Spider’s at your side, placing himself under your arm to support you.

You throw your head back groaning, Kiri and Lo’ak are at your side asking questions, running their hands across your arm and forehead. “M’fine, just dehydrated” you mumble as Spider starts to lead you away.

Kiri starts to fuss at you about taking care of yourself when you hear the decompression door opening. Before you can react, you hear Norm calling out your name. You groan at the loud noise, a lump forming in your throat. There goes your plan.

Norm and Max rush over, Spider transfers you to them, Norm fully picking you up in his arms. “What are you doing outside of your room? You know how unstable you are right now” He fusses. You groan “M’fine Norm” Your head is throbbing, your eyes screw shut and your tongue feels heavy and numb in your mouth.

“What do you mean unstable?” Lo’ak presses, stepping forward to inspect you. You open your eyes, frowning. “I’m fine Lo’ak, they’re just being dramatic” you swat at him, shaking your head.

“Y/n you look like you’re going to pass out, I don’t think you’re fine” he retorts, raising his brows. You look to Max hoping he’d help your case, but he just shrugs “You need rest Y/n” he explains. You roll your eyes and shake your head, pushing at Norm’s chest to be let down.

“I can take care of myself” you state, embarrassed at the commotion your foster fathers were making. Norm grunts and starts walking out of the room, ignoring the questions your friends keep asking. He makes it to the back of the building before you notice everyone following you, Spider catching up and telling Max something you can’t make out.

Before you know it, you’re being laid down on your bed and Max is making quick work of the medication and equipment kept by your bed. You sit up as Max wraps a blood pressure monitor around your arm, huffing as Norm places a hand on your forehead. He points Spider to the pack of water bottles they keep by your nightstand; he grabs one and hands it to Norm who quickly opens it and presses it to your lips.

“Ok ok that’s enough” you announce, leaning back away from the bottle. “I know you think I'm helpless but I'm not, I'm almost 18, not a baby” you state, glaring at the scientist. “Well Y/n when you can’t even stay in bed long enough to recover, what else are we supposed to do?” He retorts.

Your furrow your brows, rolling your eyes “I’ve been cooped up back here my entire life, I think one day outside of the room I haven’t left in three weeks is fine” you mumble, looking to Kiri and Lo’ak who are peeking in through your door. Norm follows your gaze, his expression softening when he lands on the Sully kids. He looks back to you as you avert your gaze, pursing your lips.

Sighing, he turns and walks towards the Na’vi kids. “Y/n is fine, she got sick a few weeks ago and we didn’t know what it was so it was a hard recovery” he explains “But we have a better handle on it now, she just needs some water and rest and she’ll be ok” he watches as they glance to each other, worry spread across their face.

They look to you before retreating, murmuring to each other. You bring your knees to your chest, burying your face into your arms. Spider crawls over you, sitting on your side, wrapping an arm around you.

You take deep breaths, pinching your eyes shut. After a moment Max takes the monitor off you and his hand takes its place. “Get some rest Bug, it’s the fastest way to recover” he squeezes your arm before standing up, he places a quick kiss on the top of your head and walks out.

Norm watches you for a second and sighs, ruffling your hair and walking out, closing the door behind him. You don’t lift your head even after they leave, so Spider rests his head on your shoulder.

Even as a kid you felt uneasy about others knowing your condition, there was no way to completely hide it so you settled with avoiding the topic all together. You were sick, yeah, but that doesn’t mean you’re gonna die if they breathe on you too hard or say something too loud. Hell, not even Spider knows the full extent to your condition. It already controlled every aspect of your life, the least you wanted was to have some sense of a normal social life.

After a moment you turn your head just enough to peak your eyes out to see Spider, he notices and makes eye contact, a soft expression passing over his face. “What did you see?” you mumble, barely audible. He chuckles, leaning back against your headrest.

“Well Lo’ak decided to ride a Pa’li, it was the first time i saw their resting place and there were so many pitcher plants, Pa’liwll Kiri says” he explains, quietly you repeat the name, running through the catalogs in your head for a visual. “Oh and we saw an ‘angtsik from above…” he continues, describing what seemed to be a once in a lifetime adventure for you when for him, it was every other day.

You listen as he laughs and gets sidetracked, making jabs at Lo’ak’s ability to ride a direhorse or shoot an arrow. You finally lifted your head to laugh when he told you about Tuk cursing in front of Neytiri, courtesy of Lo’ak not being able to keep his mouth shut. Spider took the chance to pinch your cheek, earning a slap on the hand.

“Oh and Neteyam was pissed at Lo’ak when he saw a scar on Tuk’s cheek” Your ears perk at the name, curious about the boy you rarely heard about. You had never met Neteyam, he had never come to the lab.

He was older than you but younger than Spider, and you had only ever heard offhand comments about him. Neteyam, the next Olo’eyktan and the golden child that outshined Lo’ak, the perfect soldier and a mighty warrior. He’s everything the first son of Toruk Makto should be, born with his life laid out before him.

You saw Lo’ak’s envy of him, how he slowly lost his desire to be like his brother, evident in the change from admiration to resentment when he spoke of him throughout the years.

You were once desperate to meet the brother your friends often spoke of, but as years passed and his presence stayed a ghost, you resigned yourself to only knowing him through word of mouth. When you were young, Lo’ak and Spider would talk about how cool he was, how fun and great he was with a bow.

Now, all you hear is how busy he is, how he just does his father's bidding and has abandoned spending time with his siblings for training. You take their word for it, how could you not? You’ve never met the boy and you can see the toll their strained relationship with their brother has taken on Kiri and Lo’ak.

But there's two sides to every story, you know that all too well.

“What does he look like?” the words slip out before you can have a second thought. Your voice is barely above a whisper, you hope that your foster brother didn’t hear you, but it’s crushed when you hear him hum.

“He looks like Lo’ak, but more like his mom. Ummm yknow yellow eyes and his hair is braided back, so it doesn’t hang down in his face like Lo’ak and Kiri.” He looks up to the ceiling, trying to recall the boy’s appearance as best he could considering it’s not something he actively takes note of. “he’s pretty tall, but then again all Na’vi are compared to us” he chuckles, nudging your side.

“Oh, and Lo’ak looks a little more human than him, his nose is flatter, and he has three fingers” he states, leaning against you. “uuuum yeah, he’s really stoic though, he doesn’t talk much and when he does, he’s so serious”

It makes sense, you think, being the Olo’eyktans first son and having a brother like Lo’ak, it wouldn’t be easy to be laid back. You tilt your head at the weak description your brother provides, he was never a great storyteller, even with years of experience, recounting every detail of his day by your bedside at night.

His words are interrupted by a yawn that escapes from his mouth, he continues on with his sentence, but you pat his shoulder, his words trail off. “It’s late Spider, you should get to bed” you whisper, a reassuring smile gracing your lips.

He searches your eyes for a moment, you haven’t had much time together lately and he always feels guilty about leaving you alone in the lab for too long. After a moment he nods, placing a chaste kiss on your forehead before leaping up and out of the room.

It’s been hours since the lab went quiet, the Sully kids long gone and your foster family asleep. Your eyes twitch, the lack of sleep weighing them down. You stare out the window, moonlight shining on your face.

For all your life you stared out this window, the shining stars burning into your skin.

You’ve memorized the stars, the patterns and the order, years of searing each star into your mind. You read about constellations when you were young, the ones visible from earth, it amazed you, the stories behind just a star. Every night you’d search the sky in hopes of finding a constellation, you found ones that were close but just not right. It upset you, you knew the story of Orion and Delphius like the back of your hand, you had drawn, and memorized Hercules and Perseus a thousand times so why could you not find them?

It all came a head one night when you tried to leave the lab, convinced that the glass of your window and the limited view were the source of your inability to draw the lines in the stars above you. Max caught you as you were trying to reach for the handle to the decompression chamber, oxygen mask thrown on flimsily and still in your pjs.

You whined about wanting to see the stars, insisting that the window was distorting them somehow, it took some prying, but he made the connection that you wanted to see constellations. You were upset to find out that those constellations aren’t visible from Pandora, but you were content, curious about what the skies of Pandora did hold.

You started to make your own, disfigured shapes and hours mapping out the stars. Each one was a story, a life you created, a life you wanted. Norm and Max knew of your hobby, even wanting to hear the stories you came up with, but you refused.

It was too personal.

It was something for you and just you.

You rest your head against the cold glass, eyes straining to the sky, avoiding the jungle that lay beyond the clearing.

You hear the footsteps, the way he hesitates to intrude before opening the door.

“Y/n...” His voice is modulated, quiet and clear. You don’t turn to look at him, keeping your eyes on the dots littering the sky.

Carefully, he walks over, sitting on the edge of your bed, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I was going to wait till morning to tell you but since you’re still up...” You move your eyes, looking at your foster father without making an effort to move your body, as if you’d crumble and break at any movement.

He holds your gaze, unsure of where you are.

“I’d like to show you something” He states, coaxing you out of your trance. Max stands in your doorway, making his presence known when Norm’s advances seemed to make no progress. You look down, fiddling with your fingers before leaning to Norm.

He takes your hand and helps you up. “It’s a surprise” Max quips in a sing song way as Norm places his hand over your eyes. Internally, you roll your eyes, your lips curling into a smile as you chuckle. You let the two lead you out of your room, you try to make sense of where you’re going but you get lost at just a few turns in.

You want to scold the two men, accuse them of purposely going slow when they come to a sudden stop.

you keep your eyes closed for a second, even after Norm takes his hands away from your face. “It’s a little early” Max breaks the silence “but we thought you’d like to put it to use sooner rather than later” Your confusion from his words quickly disappears as you open your eyes, your sight landing on an amnio tank.

You gasp as you take in the sight. An avatar floats in the tank, jerking and fidgeting. The face on the avatar was you. Your body, your face, molded into that of a Na’vi. You try to speak but your tongue falls short, mind racing and tripping over words.

“Happy early 18th birthday” they say in unison, amused by your shock.

“How” is all you manage to get out. A soft chuckle leaves the two men's lips. “Well, it took a long time, our tech isn’t as good as it was before the RDA left” Norm explained, patting you on the back.

“But we managed, your indifference to anything but your computer helped keep it a secret” Max added, chuckling.

Slowly you creep towards the tank, eyebrows furrowing as you take in the figure. It was surreal to see yourself like… that.

It’s you but it’s not, it’s a mindless avatar that you can take over, it will be you. You tilt your head as you circle the tank, taking in every last detail of the avatar. Max and Norm watch you patiently, expectant of the shock you’re feeling.

“Why?” You look up to them, you hand resting on the cool tank. They both walk over, Max standing on the other side of the tank, looking down at the avatar. “Well, you’ve been obsessed with Pandora practically your whole life” he says.

Norm stands next to you, placing a hand on your shoulder. “We also know how late you and Spider would stay up so he could tell you about the jungle and the Omaticaya” Max continues, Norm squeezing your shoulder.

“We’ll get it ready tonight and tomorrow you can take it for a test drive huh?” Norms voice barely cuts through the tension in your head. You didn’t know what to say, yes or no?

You’ve stared out your window your entire life, craving Pandora, reading and watching old logs over and over again to get a glimpse of what it might feel like. Now you’re presented with the opportunity, and you can’t bring yourself to say yes.

You don’t trust yourself to not give up everything for the world that lies beyond the walls of your home.

“I’m not 18 yet” you blurt out, coming up with any reason to refuse the gift. “Close enough” Norm shrugs. Max sends you a short smile “We’re sorry about freaking out earlier, you’ve been doing everything we said to recover, and it wasn’t fair to blow up on you like that”

You stare at him silently, hands itching. God, you have everything you’ve ever wanted right here at your fingertips, you’ve been obedient your entire life, content with what you have.

But now you have the chance to live.

Before Max can even finish his sentence, you’re throwing on the old avatar clothes they dug out and bounding out the door. The examination was grueling, the excitement and anxiety about to burst out your veins.

You feel the sun on your skin, and you close your eyes, basking in the light. Your breath hitches as you feel a cool breeze graze your skin. Fresh air fills your lungs, crisp and energizing.

“Now Y/n be care-“ Norm starts to warn you, but without a second thought you’re running through the field, jumping over railing and fallen logs. You can’t help the exhilaration that pumps through your blood, purging your mind of any previous anxiety or hesitation.

As you land you stumble, tripping over yourself. your heals dig into the ground and you throw your arms out to balance yourself, a second tics by and a laugh escapes your lips. You throw your head up and stare into the sky. Your lips hurt from how hard you’re smiling.

You look down at your feet digging into the ground, wiggling your toes into the soil. You whip your head around, smiling widely at Norm watching you from the door. You’re outside. Actually outside. Within seconds you're laughing, spinning around in an attempt to take in everything at once.

It was the same field and forest you had watched everyday, but it’s so different up close, so real. It doesn't take long for you to grow dizzy and fall flat on your butt, tripping over your own feet and loosing balance. It’s without a doubt embarrassing, later you’ll thank Eywa that only Norm and Max were watching you, but you can’t bring yourself to care as your sink your fingers into the ground below you, threading your fingers through thin patches of grass.

You bite your lip, giggling like a child with a lollipop as your swipe your hand across the ground, committing the course feeling of the dried up dirt to memory, how it sticks to your palms and how the path your hand took bears a faint mark.

You cant imagine how stupid you look to Norm as he walks up to you, you’re literally playing in dirt, but the look on both your faces show no proof that either of you care. He ruffles your hair, reminding you of how messy and unkept it is, before he hands you a choker-mic and earpiece. “It’s just the first day so I don’t want you going far, you know how badly that could have gone for Jake” his comment draws a giggle from you, knowing the story of the great Toruk Makto from the perspective of the science guys by heart.

“Check in every hour and keep an eye on your surroundings” He drones on with the safety speech he drilled into Spider as a kid, you listened but your attention is taken by the forest that lies just meters ahead of you, the edge just a glimpse of the world beyond.

It’s captivating, every movement and sound draws your attention. It’s so much bigger than you ever could have imagined, the towering trees pushing a subtle sense of dread in your stomach. You could get lost, lose track of time, fall in love, so easily.

You’re hypnotized by the sway of the leaves, the quiet movements and way the air shifts.

Can you do this?

You’re pulled out of your trance when he nudges your shoulder, you blink hard and look to him. “Were you even-? Whatever” he sighs “Just please don’t-” he hands you a knife “Don’t die, you’ll come back to your real body and it wont hurt you but it’s not a fun experience…” you take the knife, observing it.

It’s a common hunting knife, the netting wrapped around the handle is worn, basic weaving patterns. You look up to him, tilting your head. He smiles and nods to the forest “Be safe kid, I want you home before eclipse.”

You push yourself up and you take a moment to take in your sudden height difference. A smirk slips onto your lips and he rolls his eyes, biting your lip you turn to the forest. anxiously, you step forward, one foot in front of the other.

Before you can think, your feet are speeding up, pushing you forward into the jungle you stared at for 17 years. You break through the edge and you’re surrounded by trees and green, the forest envelopes you, the earthy smell sinking into your skin.

You slow down once you’re several meters past the edge, taking in everything around you. The leaves far above you sway in the wind, tiny critters crawl around on the trees and fallen over logs. The sound hypnotizes you, each noise and bustle piercing your ears. The forest envelopes you, every part of your being melting into the air, begging to become one.

You’re smiling so hard, your lips feel like they’re going to split, the ache in your cheeks forgotten before you can even bring yourself to notice.

You’re in the forest.

You take a moment to breathe in the air, the damp smell of wood and moss, soil and plants sprawling across the floor and trees. Vines wrap around branches, hanging down, some of the flowers move as if they were breathing, the sway of the grass in sync. Chirps and clicks echo, your head swiveling trying to find the source.

Your legs are moving unconsciously, your body in a trance. The feel of the ground beneath you is entrancing, the tickle of the grass on the bottoms of your feet, its disorienting how soft the soil is compared to the hard floors of your home. Except it didn’t feel like home anymore, it never did, this is what feels right.

The smoothness of the giant leaves you run your hand over, the flowers sprouting from vines and plants, leaves of plants grazing your legs, it all leaves you breathless. Names run through your head as you observe the plants, their names popping into your head, the properties and uses. Its surreal to see them up close, in real life.

I should take samples... You think to yourself but pack the idea to the back of your mind, another day perhaps.

The forest is enchanting, taking all of your attention, you forget Norm’s advice and just wander through the green aimlessly. You don’t even realize how far you’ve gone, how long it’s been, the pair of eyes that's been trailing you for at least a mile.

Neteyam doesn't understand you… you’re na’vi but wearing human clothes? Obviously, you must be an Avatar, but he’s met all the Avatar’s left on Pandora during the meeting with his father, and you’re careless, like a toddler who just learned to walk. Uncaring of where you are, where you’re going, clueless of your surroundings.

He considered you could be a Skyperson, the ones who returned, but his father and the scientists doubted that the RDA would fund an Avatar program after their last mission. You’re also defenseless, wearing old clothes and no gun, no soldier, no sign that you’re here maliciously. You’re not a threat. He still keeps his bow ready despite his certainty that you’re harmless, in case you make an unsavory move or a different threat makes an appearance.

He tilts his head as he watches you, you’re smiling and immersing yourself in the forest. The way you take it all in reminds him of his sister, but this is different. His sister has a natural connection, the forest being her home, you’re engulfed by it, if he hadn’t been keeping such an intent eye on you then you would have disappeared right before him.

Something about the way you walked, the delicate placing of your feet, the careful posture you kept to be able to turn and see all of the forest at any moment, he couldn’t just let you wander off. It’s his job as future Olo’eyktan to be vigilant and mindful, your presence, even innocuous, wasn’t something that could be acquitted.

So he followed you, tilting his ears to make sense of your whispers to yourself. He knows English, his entire family is fluent in it, but he still frowns when he recognizes you’re speaking it. He and his siblings will use it occasionally, but he often avoids it due to the distaste he feels about it, the association it has with skypeople leaving a bad taste in his mouth.

He doesn’t contemn skypeople as much as his mother or other members of the clan, but he never goes out of his way to speak or associate with them.

With a soft giggle, his entire attention locks onto your face. Your hand comes up to rest your fingers In front of your mouth as you smile at the bugs fluttering around a twirling plant after you tapped it.

Yeah… like a toddler…

He purses his lips to hold back the sigh that tries to escape his lips, how much longer must he watch you? The decision it up to him but he doesn’t know how to approach the situation.

He tilts his head, shifting his weight on his feet. He’s about to leave, deciding you’re not going to cause a problem, when an atokirina’ floats in front of his. It bobs through the air, seemingly aimlessly, before slowly descending towards you. His eyes follow it intently heeding Eywa’s mind.

The spirit drifts around you, catching your attention once it bobs around your head. You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips when you notice the spirit, you take your hand off the tree it was resting on and cup it with your other, biting your lip as the atokirina’ floats down into the cusp of your hands.

It tickles at your palm and fingertips, your smile grows wider, such a being coming to you and making contact brings you endless joy, even if you don’t know the full significance of it. Slowly you bend down to rest on your knees, keeping a slow pace to avoid disturbing the being. Once you're sat, you shift to rest on the side of your thigh, humming as you bring the spirit closer and observe it.

He watches you for a moment, considering you before shifting to get down from his hiding spot. You gasp when he drops down from a branch from a tree opposite of you, you had the sense that you weren’t alone, but you attributed that to the bustling forest.

Your eyes are locked onto the Na’vi boy several feet infront of you, mouth agape and body frozen. There’s a heavy silence between you, observing eachother, unsure of what to say. You decide to say something, he hasn’t killed you yet so thats a good sign, but he beats you too it.

“Who are you.” He states, hs voice gruff and thick. You open your mouth, words jumbled in your throat before you blurt out “Y/n” his eyes are biting, pinning you to your spot.

He doesn’t say anything, observing every part of you. “I’m from the labs, um with the science guys” you offer, he tilts his head, furrowing his brows. You panic, realizing that you could very well be taken as a RDA sky person “The ones who fought with you, loyal to the Na’vi” you add abruptly, hoping to withdraw any possible suspicions or misgivings.

His expression remains unchanging, it makes you nervous, unsure of what to do or say. Before you can try and add anything, “Come” is all he says, nodding his head in the direction he turns to walk in. Realizing the woodsprite is long gone, having floated away during the interaction, you scramble up to follow him.

He’s quick, knowing of where to go, experienced in the trek of the forest. You clamber after him, trying to keep up with his pace while avoiding any obstacles. Your efforts are unsuccessful, your foot tripping over a vine like branch that caught on your foot.

You hiss at the sting of your palms that caught you, pushing yourself up on your elbows. You start to get up when the boy is in front of you, grabbing your hands and inspecting them. His expression is unreadable, but the way his eyes soften when he sees the minimal damage done to you makes a smile pull at your lips.

He looks up to you, repositioning his hands to be holding onto your wrists, he stands up, pulling you up with him. “Must i carry you?” He asks lamely, annoyed at your unwieldy coordination. Quickly you shake your head, heat rising to your cheeks from embarrassment. He nods and turns to continue his path, his hand loosely holding onto your wrist as you both continue foreward.

You don’t know how long you walk for, letting the boys hold on you guide you as you study the forest you pass by. Before you know it, his pace is slowing and you peak over his figure to see the village. A pit grows in your stomach, you fiddle with your hands, wringing your fingers as you walk through the village, eyes following your every movement.

You really don’t want to be here, no doubt much farther than what Norm and Max would have approved, but there wasn’t much you could do. You didn’t want to protest or run, overly aware of how easily the boy could overpower and kill you, but there was also the curiousity of the forest guiding you.

The Na’vi know the forest better than you ever could, you’d no doubt be safer with a stranger than on your own, it’s a chance to see and explore the forest without worry of getting lost or running into danger. And now being in the village? It’s unexpected, but you can’t deny the ecitment that swirls with the anxiety in your chest.

He walks up to a particular tent, you notice its larger than the others, not by much though. Na’vi start to surround you, curious about you and the boy, the whispers and eyes on you causing you to bite your lip nervously. The boy calls out to the tent, after a moment the flaps open and out walks a tall man adorned in intricate jewelry spreading across his shoulders and chest, a tall woman and an older woman stalking out after him.

Their eyes fall on the boy, then you, the woman’s eyes narrow, tilting her chin up. The man just seems confused, looking to the boy for an explanation. They start speaking in the language, you understand some of it, but you’re not fluent. You pick up “Eywa’s sign” “Harmless” “daughter of the sky men” ect. You can interpret what they’re talking about, but you can’t understand specifically what is being said.

The woman narrows her eyes, studying you. You resist squirming under her gaze until the man turns to you and speaks “So, you’re Y/n, Spider’s sister, right?” his English is clean, almost as if you were talking to one of the guys in the biolab and you mind makes the connection.

This is Jake Sully

Your eyes widen at the realization, but you keep yourself composed. Carefully you nod “Yes sir, they gave me this Avatar as an early birthday gift and I decided to look around the forest” you explain, you bite the inside of your cheek “I’ve never seen it before” you whisper weakly, averting your gaze to the floor.

The woman, who you assume is Neytiri circles you, surveying your appearance and self. She stops next to you, brushing her fingertips against your loose hair. “You have never been outside of that tawtute vessel?” she muses, curiously watching your facial response.

Your eyes dart to her, biting your lip you start to nod but the attention is drawn away when a familiar voice calls out. “Y/n?!” to your side, Spider, Lo’ak, and Kiri stand startled. Spider’s mouth twists into a grin before stepping foreward, he looks you up and down “So it was viable huh?” he asks amused, you tilt your head in confusion, you're about to say something before he continues “and they gave it to you early? And they didn’t even tell me” He feigns hurt, his amusement growing by the second.

“Wait Spider you knew about this?” Lo’ak asks, stepping foreword and grabbing him by the shoulder, pointing at you. Your brother shrugs, explaining that it was an idea they told him about a few years ago but never confirmed. Kiri steps foreword, a smile growing on her lips.

Her hands graze your cheeks as she observes every part of your face and body “This is amazing Y/n!” her eyes lock with yours “this is amazing” her smile bleeds into yours, a shy grin forming as she takes your hands in hers and laughs.

“Yeah now you can actually hang out with us” Lo’ak roughly places his hand on your head, the height difference not as drastic as before but still there. You shyly tilt your head, biting your lip at the excitement of your friends and brother.

The buzz seems to die when their eyes are drawn to the figure that steps closer behind you, out of your peripheral you see the older woman, the Tsahik, stare at them, communicating through their eyes before they take their hands off you and back up a few steps. A lump forms in your throat as you turn to fully face the towering woman. Her gaze is unwavering, strong, it makes you want to say something, anything.

“What is your purpose, girl?” She questions, the weight of her words pulling down on your every limb. What does she mean? It’s such an intense yet vague question, her firm expression not giving any help to your attempts to decipher what’s the right thing to say.

To live.

You’re out of the lab, face to face with someone other than a person you’ve known literally your entire life. You’re not confined to those walls anymore, you can breathe the air, walk and run without concern, see and live among what you’ve been learning about your entire life, yearning for it.

It wasn’t your intention when you stepped into the forest, and you’re sure it was Max and Norms either, but the opportunity is right in front of you. This is your choice, completely and entirely your choice.

“To learn the ways of the forest” you say carefully “the ways of the people” you bite your lip as she slowly looks you up and down. She finally meets your eyes and you straighten your back, keeping her gaze locked with yours. You can’t explain the relief that washes over your chest when her eyes twitch, the slightest softness creeping into her expression.

She glances to the boy then to Jake and Neytiri, again silently communicating with their eyes. After a moment she turns back to you. “I trust my grandson’s judgement” She states, your mind goes blank for a moment before she continues “both my grandchildren and the Great Mother see something in you, it would be foolish to reject you.” She turns to Jake and Neytiri again, looking to the people surrounding you all now.

“She will be taught the ways of the people” She announces firmly, she locks eyes with Jake, then glances down to the boy who brought you here. Jake breathes in before stepping forward, placing a hand on the boys shoulder. “My son is to be Olo’eyktan, he must be able to lead and help the people” He looks to the boy, his son “It will be his job to guide her, a great way to gain experience and prove himself”

Whispers move through the crowd, the way the boys lips purse makes your tail flick against your ankles unconsciously. You lock eyes with him, you want to curl into yourself at the way he looks at you. The intensity of his gaze hitches at your breath, reviving the weight pulling the strings of anxiety in your chest. You feel a pair of hands on your shoulders and a voice speaks right next to your ears.

“You and Neteyam stuck together huh?” Lo’aks voice is riddled with amusement “This ought to be good” he cackles, your brother nudging your arm as he makes similar comments.

The boy stands in front of you, eyes fixed on you, you swear you see the hardness of his gaze waver.

Neteyam… he’s more than you ever thought he would be

#avatar #avatar: the way of water #avatar twow #avatar 2 #neteyam imagine #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam x reader #protective neteyam #spider socorro #angst #fluff #x reader #reader insert #writer #neteyam sully #neteyam #avatar the way of water #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x you

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penvisions · 10 months

Text

of beskar and kyber {chapter 3}

Pairing: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive! Reader (the Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader)

Summary: You begin to understand the dynamic between you and your new captor. But things aren’t always what they appear to be, and maybe that’s for the best.

Word Count: 7.8K

Warnings: talk of sexual favors, narcotics, reader was drugged previously, withdrawel, symptoms of withdrawel, light violence toward reader (very minimal and not detailed), nightmares, trauma, ptsd triggers, reader is in a survival headspace, readers hands are still bound, semi-nudity, moral dilemmas, morally confused din djarin

A/N: hello, hello! i initially planned to update twice a month, but this chapter flowed so easily once i began to flesh out the scenes i had outlined for this installment. it helps to set the dynamic between the reader and our dear mandalorian. i also am aware that my writing style allows for glimpses of his feelings and what he’s thinking, it’s still strictly set in the ‘reader knows x and acts that way’ and then some passages give way to how he’s experiencing the events as well (though reader isn’t privy to them). i like giving insight to him so he doesn’t seem so flat. please let me know what y’all think! ♡

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist

It was early morning, the sun just barely showing signs of peaking over distant mountain ridges. You hadn’t slept much, the chill of the desert and the close, heavy presence of your captor making the task difficult.

The familiar sound of your saber handle had you sitting up quickly, a warning on your tongue as the bright white of the blade formed with the push of a button by a gloved hand.

“Be careful!”

Glowing light cast from the blade illuminated the helmet of the Mandalorian, facing where you had shot up from your resting position. The fabric of your tunic swung as you reached a hand out, not thinking about the sudden movement inciting the man’s instincts. He leaned away from you, his legs pushing him up from his own seated position on a fluid movement, the blade coming in front of him in as a defensive shield. Your face was cautious, your outburst making you worried in the wake of the warning from the night before.

“Please be careful, jatne vod.” You spoke in a softer tone, not wanting the man to accidentally burn himself as he quelled his curiosity surround your weapon. Or wield it at you in defense, you were too weak to put up much of a fight, despite adrenaline that would pump through your system should the threat feel real enough. While it may not be particularly yours anymore, you wanted it to be cared for and handled with caution. “The crystal is very sensitive.”

“Crystal?” The man’s curiosity seemed to get the better of him. He experimentally twisted the handle in a mimic of how one would a blade to get the feel of the weight and balance. The handle moving from one hand to the other, the humming of the blade reacting to each minute swing and twist. It shouldn’t have but the vision of this strong, capable Mandalorian bounty hunter wielding your weapon so easily stirred something in your chest. You ignored the feeling, willing it to fade away and forcefully snapped your focus back.

“The energy of the crystal is harnessed by the handle, resulting in the blade. I mined the crystal myself, long ago.”

“A kyber crystal. Heard of it before, in passing.”

“Yes, jatne vod. A Kyber crystal, they are very important to jedi culture. Much like beskar to your people. It’s a living crystal, it’s bonded to me. It may not operate for everyone who attempts to.”

You didn’t mention that it meant a great deal that it had operated for him.

The Mandalorian didn’t respond, seeming to have the information he wanted regarding the weapon. His need to understand the weapon temporarily overriding the requisite of you being silent. The press of a button dimmed the blade, powering it down completely. A gloved hand reached up with a small flashlight in its grip and he flicked the beam on to point into the handle. The crystal reflected faceted light onto the front of his helmet, bathing his form in a mesmerizing display. The angle of the light hitting the bottom of his helmet giving you a faint glimpse of the shape of the man’s face. No features had been discernable, the darkness within the helmet keeping them hidden from you.

Your eyes traced the faint outline, searching for any hint of the man beneath the helmet even as your mind reprimanded you that it was an invasion of privacy. This man had sworn a creed, much like yourself, though his was different from yours. While yours forbade earthly attachments, his forbade revealing his face to those he was not bonded to. There was just something about him that you seemed instinctually react to…The reverent air that possessed him as he inspected the weapon, respect seeping into his gentle ministrations as he looked it over and got a feel for the way it moved and glided through the air.

You knew that Mandalorians put great worth on weaponry and armor. It was a part of their culture, of their way of life. For this man to take great time and care to figure out the logistics of your own weapon that was now in his possession, it felt like something. However misplaced it may be. The more sensible part of your brain was trying to argue that it didn’t mean anything, that the man probably collected every weapon from every quarry he’s ever captured. Inspected them, deemed them important enough to integrate into his own personal cache of weapons or store them upon the ship for when he may need them, if ever.

The sun was beginning to cast pastel orange rays that were bleeding into the dark navy of the fading night over the vast expanse of the open sky, painting the desert in a wash of golden light. Eclipsing the man standing before you, his back to the beauty of the day’s new beginnings.

Suddenly the silver helmet morphed into one that was all black, the visor disappearing. The quiet air of the early morning was filled with the sound of deep breaths being helped by a compressor, the figure of the Mandalorian shifting into that of one you’ve spent your entire life running from. A red blade sprang to life as the standing figure twisted the lightsaber and aimed it at you, stepping over you to hold it close to your throat.

The hum of it was loud in your ears, the heat of it setting your skin on fire even if it hadn’t touched you yet. Your name fell from the figure’s mouth, modulator making it low and it settled heavy in the air. It wasn’t the voice of the Mandalorian you had grown to recognize over the past day. A hand was raised and you felt yourself being lifted to hover few feet above the ground, your body hanging limply as the Force was worked against you. Chills rained down your arms and back despite the beads of sweat that were beginning to form along your skin, body freaking out even as your mind was utterly blank with panic.

The hand fell from its raised position, your body collapsing to the ground with a thump. Fear had you rooted in your spot, unable to do anything as the blade began to cut a line into your neck…

You shot up from where you had been laying, hand flying to your neck as a choking sound warbled from your mouth. You took a deep breath, blinking furiously to dispel the image of a dark cloaked figure with a black helmet as the light of day revealed to you that it had all been a dream. A dream of a memory that had morphed into a nightmare. The shade encompassing you had you stilling as you tried to mentally reign yourself in.

You whipped your head around, trying to get a bearing on your surroundings. You were down on the ground, a thick piece of tattered fabric separating your body from the coarse sand. The sound of metal on metal filled the air as you turned to see the Mandalorian and the Ugnaught working together to fit a final piece of siding back into place on the Razor Crest. The sun was setting but you had a feeling it wasn’t the same day as when you had fallen unconscious. The fuzzy feeling of your tongue in your dry mouth and the aching of your muscles were an indication of the time that had passed.

You watched silently, moving to sit more comfortably atop the fabric, as the two made sure the metal panel was securely in place. When the figure of the Mandalorian emerged from the shadows of the ship, you realized he was free of the mud that had covered him the last time you had been conscious, and he had fastened his cuirass back into place despite the large dents that still marred the metal. He was missing his cloak. Your middle dropped from you to disappear into the sand as you realized he had removed it and given it to you in your unconscious state to lay atop. That he had taken the time to clean it of the mud that had caked on it before doing so.

With frantic still bound hands, you brushed as much of the sand that had gathered onto it off, hoping he wouldn’t notice how careless you were treating something of his. Halfway through your ministrations, you realized you still had a layer of mud covering your own form, though it was dried and nearly baked into the fabric of your tunic and along your hair. Small bits of it crumpled off to land on the fabric. Your face had been wiped clean, though whoever had done had made sure to stop there.

“He told me of the powers you used to defeat the mudhorn, I’ve heard of them in passing.”

Your head shot up at the voice, suddenly realizing that the Ugnaught had approached you. You hoped he had been the one to wipe your face clean, unsure of how you felt about the Mandalorian taking the time to ensure you had something to lay on so you weren’t on the ground and to clean you. He had schooled his expression to one of slight curiosity, though you couldn’t read much else in his expression.

“Whispers of such powers have faded, but they still linger in the wind and minds of the galaxy.”

You just nodded, bringing your hands to rest atop your bent knees. Your eyes moved to the pod beside you, it was open to reveal the unconscious form of the Child inside. Worry stirred in your heart for him, he was so small and the Force took a lot of energy and concentration to direct, to harness. His moves to save the Mandalorian will have definitely hit him harder than yours had done to you. Memories of a similar figure in species and stature wove through your racing mind, though the one you were thinking of had been alive for millennia. He had been skilled beyond comprehension, his age allowing him the time to become one of the strongest people you had ever encountered. The Child had a long way to go and you’d surely be long dead by the time he was even ready to begin training himself.

“You must be stronger than the Child, he is still unconscious.”

You nodded again, not wanting to give anything away. The fleeting worry that the Mandalorian has recounted the events with the mudhorn grew in your chest and made it hurt as you fought your instincts to incapacitate the figure in front of you. That he had told the Ugnaught what you had shared with him in his native tongue, still so cautious about who you were.

No one could know what you were, what you possessed, you already had such a large target on your back. But this man had been nothing but kind to you in his own way, allowing you to share his farmed water, offer you transportation, and aid with repairing your captor’s ship. Surely he wasn’t a threat in any way, whether personally or by the sharing of information he’s gathered from the interactions of the past few days.

“You may speak with him, if you wish. Though I have not repeated what you told me,” The deep timbre of the Mandalorian’s modulated voice sounded as he approached as well. He pressed something along his left cuff and the pod beside you moved toward the repaired ship and up the ramp. Something stirred in you, quelling the panic and worry that had begun to consume your mind. But it was quashed just as quickly as it had begun to form at the next words to leave his modulator. “Word of what you told me would make it even more of a task to complete the job of returning you.”

You hoped none of the emotions that had washed over you had shown on your features, not wanting to be so easily read. You nodded again, the repeated motion beginning to cause nausea in the pit of your stomach now that you were conscious. You spied the handle of your saber secured in a spot on the Mandalorian’s utility belt. Hidden from anyone who didn’t know what to look for.

“Thank you for the kindness you have shown us while on your planet, sir. It is greatly appreciated. I don’t have anything to offer you in return.” Your attention snapped back to the man directly in front of you. His eyes meeting your own as he looked you over. It seemed as if he had more to say but had settled on holding the words back in favor of addressing your immediate response.

“I am in your service; you are my guests. There is no need to supplement me. I have spoken.”

The ship lifted into the air, and you gripped an arm of your seat tightly, both hands curling around it as you fought the rolling nausea in your stomach. You couldn’t tell if it was because of withdrawal or nerves at flying again. It had been so long since you’d been aboard a ship, and apparently the last time you hadn’t even been conscious enough to realize you were being transported. But this time you were, and you grounded yourself with that small notion. You were aware of what was happening at this moment, and it was all you could think of to comfort yourself even if you were being taken back to a place you never wanted to return.

Once the ship lurched into hyperspace, the mesmerizing colors wafting around the ship and displaying through the glass of the cockpit, you felt your nerves ease a little. The colors were beautiful, the light of them calming despite what they meant. Though the brightness of them could be felt behind your eyes as your head throbbed.

You climbed down into the hold once the course through hyperspace had evened out, taking in the space. It was small but enough room to allow the Mandalorian his sleeping quarters, space to store a good number of crates secured along the walls of the hull with thick netting and fabric straps with metal clasps, the small room that held the refresher that the ladder up to the cockpit lined, the cabinets that he used to hold his weaponry, and settled into the hull of the ship itself was the chamber he must’ve used to contain his quarries. You inspected the door, a slight confusion settling over you as you took in the control panel. With a start, you realized it was a carbon freezing chamber.

Backing quickly away from the doors that opened into the small chamber, you felt your back collide with something strong and solid, sending faint jolts of discomfort down your sore shoulders. Shifting on your feet with more energy than you thought you possessed, you came face to face with the Mandalorian himself.

You began to shake your head, fear growing hot in your body as you realized that your fate was to be frozen in this moment and roused once you were back in the hands of your cruel mother. No chance to put up a fight, no chance to scramble for freedom once in a place with more opportunities. You felt like a fool, thinking the armored man would allow you to occupy his space as he returned his other quarry, the one he had initially set out to capture. The job he had intended to fulfill when he happened upon you on the same planet. He said you had to be returned unharmed and the best way to do that would be to turn you into carbonate for travel.

But he didn’t activate the doors to open, he didn’t push you into the chamber. He didn’t move at all except to nod his helmet toward the other side of the hold space. There was a crate that had been taken from the netting and placed against the paneling that you knew opened up to reveal a condensed kitchen space. There was a small cooling supply unit and a hot plate. The cabinets around the immediate area housed a caf maker he had been adamant about retrieving from the Jawas and various boxes of nonperishable foods you weren’t too keen on. You preferred freshly prepared food, a product of your upbringing on a planet whose culture was rich with fishing and farming.

Two smaller crates had been set up next to it in a mimicry of a dining table and chairs. You looked to him before moving across the space and settling yourself atop one of the ‘seats’, him doing the same, sitting diagonal to you. His back was to the wall of the hull, while yours was open and exposed as you faced him and the paneling. It was quiet, the space filled with a weird tension you couldn’t explain when he moved to lean forward with something in his hand that you hadn’t noticed in your panic.

The ration pack placed in front of you atop the ‘table’ made you blink, the change of clothes that weren’t your own underneath it even more so. You glanced over to wall of armor that hide away the man who offered them to you. You stared at the pile of items in front of you, taking note that they were for a reason, one that you weren’t daft enough to ignore. When he reached forward again, this time to remove the binders still around your wrists, you stared at the visor, trying to gauge the situation to get a read on what he would prefer. Taking a breath, you stood and moved to face the man, your skin humming in hesitant anticipation like it always did before you were given instructions, no matter how silent.

You didn’t say anything as you stood from your seat and kneeled before him, hands reaching out to rest on his thighs. You couldn’t help the shiver that ran through you at the idea of touching the cold-looking armor decorating his form, but you would deal with it. You could deal with a lot if it meant you could eat and have clean clothes. You had thought that being taken by him only meant an exchange of who was handling your shackles, and you were correct. It didn’t matter if he claimed to be transporting you back to your home planet and mother, you were under his control in the meantime and you didn’t want to upset him. Didn’t want to run the risk of turning down his offer to trade and then ending up with nothing in exchange and him taking what he wanted anyway.

The harsh truth of the situation was that you needed the food. You needed something in your system to combat the waning drugs and the sensations they were leaving in their continued absence. Withdrawal had fully set it in, if your spells of nausea and dizziness were any indication. The sensitivity to light you were developing spoke of it even more so, accompanied by interwoven chills and hot flashes that had nothing to do with the planet’s environment. If you were to make it through, you needed something in your system to help counteract the energy it was taking from your already spent body.

The clothes looked soft, something that sounded like a blessing against your irritated skin. You needed those items. The fact of the matter was that you needed to trade for them with the man before you, nothing came for free. Not in this life, not in yours. Because underneath all that armor and the creed, he was just another man. Steeling yourself you began to reach out for him, to begin with something relatively tame. Hopefully it would be enough for the items…

You didn’t even get to lay your hands completely down on the armored plates over his thighs before there was a sharp sting on your cheek and you felt yourself crumble to the floor from the force of a hit.

You had been so focused on keeping your eyes on his lap that you hadn’t seen the twitch of his hand before it moved swiftly toward you. You didn’t move an inch from where you were on your backside on the floor, submitting completely to the man now standing. His hands were clenched into tight fists at his sides, the crinkling of leather giving away his irritation at the situation. You didn’t do anything, you didn’t look dare look at him, not wanting to upset him further. You waited for him to speak, to give you directions.

“What are you doing?” His voice was low and harsh, the same one he used when you had heard him talking to Jawas. It held no respect. It reverberated through your entire body, bringing you shame you hadn’t felt in a long time, having shut down feeling bad over the things you’ve had to endure. Shame at things you had to do to survive while being held captive for so long and on different occasions. “Answer me. Why would you think that’s appropriate?”

“Th-the food….and the clothes. Pay-payment, jatne vod.” You wanted to bring a hand up to your stinging cheek, the feeling of a cut underneath your eye bringing tears to your lash line as swelling began. You allowed your hair to shield your face from view, no one had ever struck your face before, and it had taken you off guard. It had hurt.

No one had dared touch your face, to leave marks on it, no matter who the captor had been or who had been watching over you. Your mother had wanted you to maintain the soft skin of your face in order to gain a husband someday, but as you got older the idea seemed to disappear from her mind. It became a silent way to hide the things they did to you. The same went for your captors, they wanted to keep anything they did to you covered. Easily hide the awful things they did to you should you need to be transported, avoiding as much unwanted attention as possible.

“Payment?” The Mandalorian took a step back, feeling his entire body go cold. He took in the way you were trying not to cower, your hands shaking where they held you up from being on the floor completely, your legs splayed out where you landed from the force of his panicked movement. He hadn’t meant to hit you, his mind urging him to push you away before you touched him had turned into a frantic swipe of his hand. You were a quarry, there was no need for touching unless he was fighting you.

You didn’t say anything further. He glanced at the items on the table for a second, his mind reeling at the idea of you having to pay for them when he had obviously placed them there for you to have. To make yourself somewhat comfortable aboard the ship. He may not have the best record of social interaction and had trouble accepting things offered to him without seeing the strings attached, but this? He hadn’t meant for you to take the items as something you had to earn, your puck instructed to bring you in alive and unharmed, he had just been trying to be accommodating to some degree.

You were covered in mud and dirt from the desert and your captivity. Even more so from saving him, taking out that second, raging mudhorn that had quite literally come out of nowhere. He had wiped your face free of mud, but hadn’t dared do anything further. It felt like too much, just what little he had already done. He’s intent on ignoring his betraying mind telling him he wouldn’t have done as much for anyone else.

The talk of the Jawas and the favors they had referred to when discussing wanting to trade his parts back for time with you echoed in his head. They had been talking about the way the guards of the compound had refused to give you anything lest you trade for them, but with no possessions to trade there was only one thing that could mean…

“I-if that’s not what you wanted, then do whatever you think is f-fair in exchange.” You turned to face him, though your eyes didn’t dare rise past his cuirass. You were kneeling once again, though instead of reaching out to him, your hands went up to untie the wrap keeping your tattered tunic closed and loosened the knot there. The fabric fell from your form onto the floor and puddled around you, leaving you in just your underthings. The fading bruises and cuts on your skin from your captivity on full display.

You rested your hands atop your thighs and waited for his instructions. You could feel your skin prickle in the cold air of the ship, your chest displaying the sensation through the fabric. “I h-have an implant, if that interests you, jatne vod.”

“It doesn’t interest me. Put your clothes back on and collect yourself. This isn’t a game.” Disgust at the insinuation dripped from his modulated voice. He looked at the wall just beyond your face, not looking at you but looking over your head. He could see the red line the plate of armor on the back of his hand had made underneath your eye, the trickle of blood that blossomed from the end of it. He hadn’t meant to strike you so hard, he hadn’t even meant to strike you in the first place. “I gave you those things, they’re yours.”

“But-“ You cut yourself off, as if realizing you were arguing with him. He didn’t see having a conversation as arguing, but he guessed you weren’t used to having a simple conversation. He realized that days ago he had snapped at you to remain silent, that he preferred if you didn’t talk. The sentiment carved into your every interaction with him since then as you spoke only when spoken to. Outside of when you had explained the diagnostics of your weapon. You had been missing for so long, no doubt having been captured for most of it. Obeying despite not wanting to instilled in your mind for survival. You remained unmoving, as if waiting for another strike to fall on you. “Apologies.”

He was quiet, taking in the way you sat before him. When he raised his hand to point at the items on the table, he took in the way you began to flinch. He had tried to abort the movement at the realization you were worried he would strike you again. Unfamiliar guilt stuttered through his chest, prompting a heavy sigh to sound through the modulator.

“Eat, then wash off. The refresher is through that door. The soap and towels in there are for you to use, do so. I’ll be overlooking the course.” He walked away from you, leaving you kneeled on the floor. His footsteps could barely be heard as he crossed the space and disappeared up the ladder.

The Mandalorian was overwhelmed with not knowing how to interact with someone who seemed conditioned to wait for commands but could take down an assailant and a raging mudhorn with ease. It made him uncomfortable; you made him uncomfortable. Strength and ability hidden away in favor of submitting; he didn’t understand. Even if it was a survival tactic. He’d just rather fight his way through threats than submit and bid his time. Shaking his head roughly to dispel his thoughts, he reached out for the last rung on the ladder and pulled himself up to the level of the ship that held the cockpit.

The sooner he could return the Child to Nevarro, the sooner he could get you where you needed to be and off his ship.

Your stomach protested the heartiness of the ration pack. It was too heavy, even if all you had taken was two bites before realizing. The waning of the drugs in your system paired with no other food or nutrients made it hard to swallow what you did dare to intake. You didn’t want the Mandalorian to think you were ungrateful, especially after giving you the ration pack. You just stood there, staring at the opened foil of it and frowned.

You had used the refresher, taking your time washing the caked-on mud and sand from the past few days journey. You were donning the rather large, long sleeve shirt and pants that had been given to you as well. You tugged the belt from your dirty clothes and cleaned it quickly to help hold up the waist. A sigh fell unbidden from you and you pushed up the long sleeves and began to handwash the rest of your stuff in the refresher sink, leaving the unfinished pack on the table. You had carefully folded the foil to conceal what you had not been able to eat.

You were about to hang your tunic and cloak on the top of the shower stall door when you heard faint footsteps in the hold. They seemed to pause before they redirected and a knock on the refresher door sounded. Jumping slightly at the loud sound, the fabric in your hand fell to make a wet smack on the tile of the shower floor.

You abandoned in to open the door, the broad figure of armor taking up the entire open space. His visor was turned down to look at you directly, though you hadn’t the faintest clue what expression was truly on his features.

“You didn’t finish your ration pack.”

“I am grateful for your generosity, jatne vod. I…may I speak plainly?”

The visor continued to stare at you, no confirmation or denial leaving the face behind it. You felt your face heat as you were aware of how close he was, that you were in his own clothing, that the steam from your shower was still wafting through the air. Embarrassment made you heat up even more so, hating the way that it affected you so. But you were beginning to realize how pathetic you must have appeared to the man before you and continued to so do the longer you were in his presence.

“It’s… too dense on my stomach. Food wasn’t a priority for me, at the compound. And the…stuff they used to keep me contained may have worked out of my system but it’s still affecting me.”

“They kept you drugged so you wouldn’t fight.”

“Yes, jatne vod.”

“They starved you and kept you drugged.”

“They starved me in order to make food something desirable, something I would trade…companionship for.”

A knot formed in your throat, the words physically hurting you to speak aloud, keeping your head bowed enough to not make eye contact with the visor. Your cheek throbbed where the armor on his hand had sliced you. Your body was sore, your muscles exhausted from the events of the past few days on top of the particularly harsh reality you had been living for however long you had been captive. You must’ve been shaking, or your muscles twitched, or you made a face when stab of pain reverberated through your stomach as it tried to digest what little you had eaten. The flinch didn’t go unnoticed.

“Do you require medical attention?”

“No. I would not want to waste your supplies.” The immediate response flew from you before you even knew the words existed. But you had no way of paying to supplement what he would use. You didn’t even know what would help beyond bacta spray for your cheek.

“Not a waste if you’re injured. You are to be returned intact.”

“…I would appreciate it, if I would be allowed to just settle somewhere and rest for a bit. If that’s amenable, jatne vod.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“You’re my captor, I’m your quarry. What do you wish me to call you? Because I don’t think you’d like the term I’m using in my head.” Your eyes flared in annoyance at the man in front of you as you straightened to your full height and gazed directly into the visor. His own eyes caught the flash of emotion through the visor. You were trying to be respectful, despite the circumstances. If it had been anyone else, you would’ve pummeled them and taken off with your freedom. But he was a Mandalorian, a rather extraordinarily skilled one despite his propensity for aggravated outbursts over mundane things. And you knew when you were outmatched, especially in your prevailing weakened state.

“What were you doing in here for so long?” He peered over your head, toward the damp clothing that was hung up and then to the piece that had been left forgotten on the floor at his appearance.

“Tending to my clothes, I did not want to anger you by being in your own for too long should you need them. Mine should be dry by the time I’m done resting.”

It was silent as he entered the small space, you shifting to plaster yourself against the wall that faced the small mirror above the sink. You could only watch as he gathered the damp clothing in his hands and walked clear out of the refresher. He opened up a panel along the side of the hold space and dumped the clothing in the dark space. You didn’t protest as he did so, nor did you apologize for taking up space with them as you had tried to dry them.

“Once the Child is returned, we will find a stall for a new tunic.”

With that he moved to the concealed door that led to his own, small quarters. He opened it and disappeared inside, the door closing nearly completely behind him. The pod containing the Child had floated into the space along with him. You allowed yourself to relax just a bit, the tension pulling your shoulders taut waned and you sighed in relief. You moved to sit atop the ‘seat’ he had occupied before, with your back leaning against the siding of the space you closed your eyes and hoped your head would stop hurting soon.

You were awoken some time later by the sound of ceramic on metal. You jumped, your hair swinging with the sudden motion and your body protested the tensing of muscles. Your eyes immediately took in the form of the Mandalorian seated across from you in your previous spot. His hand was still curved around the mug he had set atop the ‘table’ in front of you. Steam wafted up from it and the faint smell of something delicious had your mouth watering. Your stomach gurgled in response to the smell, loud enough to be heard in the silence.

“Bone broth, should be easy on your stomach.”

Eyes raked over the helmet, the dark shape of the visor in the low light of the hold space. He didn’t remove his hand from the mug, his gloved hand curled around it to display just how wide his palm was and how thick his fingers were. Your eyes snapped to the steaming mug and then back to him as he leaned forward slightly, his other arm coming to rest atop the ‘table’. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts, the silence getting heavy as you realized he was about to ask for something in exchange for the delicacy that had been placed between you.

“The Child. He’s still unconscious.”

Straightening your back, stifling a groan at the action you took in the way his own shoulders were tensed, the way his legs were firmly planted on the floor of the ship. He was carrying something he wasn’t accustomed to and it was a burden that could be read on him as if he had plainly told you. The Mandalorian was worried about the Child.

“He may be older than both of us, but he is still young for his species. The Force is…a complicated thing to wield and he may have hidden his powers in the time since we were first hunted. He will be okay, his mind is recovering and his body is allowing it to happen in the safety of unconsciousness.”

Your words seem to hold what he was looking for, as his large hand detangles from around the mug to leave it sitting in front of you in a clear display that it is now yours. You try to not greedily reach out for it, your stomach making more noises as the prospect of something that smells so enticing. You bring the mug to your lips slowly, the action of swallowing making you grimace slightly as you realize you may have been out for longer than you initially thought, once again. Your cheek throbbed at the movement though you visibly relaxed as the warm, smooth liquid flowed down your throat to settle in your stomach.

A somewhat comfortable silence hung in the air, until the man across from you reached into the box you hadn’t seen atop the ‘table’ in your distraction of the mug. He pulled out a small tube that looked too much like something that would house a needle.

The clatter of the mug on metal and your uncomfortable shuffling to make yourself smaller had the visor training back on you with a quick movement. Your eyes were wide, and your breathing shallowed as thoughts of him drugging you created a feeling of foolishness to swell in your chest. He didn’t say anything as he held the tube out to you in his wide palm for you to see the label on it.

‘Bacta’ in small, all capital letters spelled out in Basic.

“For your wrists,” He set it down slowly by the mug. “So they don’t scar.”

You had been rubbing unconsciously at your sore wrists, the angry red marring the tan skin around them irritating. You hadn’t noticed you had been doing so, had probably been doing so since your departure from the compound, even around the binders he had placed on you while in the desert. You watched with cautious eyes as he stood and took the box that must hold his medical supplies in it back toward his sleeping quarters. He returned to the ‘table’ and took the tube back in his hand, popping off the protective cap to reveal a squat spray nozzle. He held out his other hand in a silent request.

Hesitantly you held your arms out, palms turned up where the most damage had been caused. Dried, ugly looking scabs decorated your skin. The area around them irritated and painful looking. He hovered his free palm below your outstretched hands and proceeded to spray in small bursts over the circumference of them. Your heartbeat fast and painful in your chest throughout the whole ordeal. He pocketed the now empty tube before leaning back out of your space. You nodded your thanks as you moved to pick the half empty mug back up, your wrists tingling as the medicine began working to heal the damage to your skin. Quiet resumed.

Once you’ve finished the mug, the contents of it sitting comfortably in your stomach, you both move to the cockpit as he announced you would be leaving hyperspace soon.

Settling into the chair behind the pilot’s seat, off to his left, you spied the pod housing the Child resting in the one to both his and your right side. The Child was still unconscious, though his chest was rising and falling evenly. The ship lurched, pulling your attention from the small being toward the open windshield of the ship. A planet taking up the airspace directly in front of it as it exited hyperspace.

Turning, the Mandalorian reached out to grasp the open lip of the pod. He gently shook it, to gauge the figure inside. But it didn’t stir, not so much as a wiggle of adorable ears or the twitch of a small nose. He turned back to face the control panel, taking the handles of the power steering in his grip. The planet grew larger, the view of it expanding as you closed in on it.

Through the atmosphere you could make out the fluorescent reds and oranges that meant it was a volcanic planet. The realization striking panic to simmer low in your abdomen. The bases of most Imperials were hidden away on planets with volcanic environments, harnessing the energy and movement of the lava to create the weapons they had used during times of war. If the lack of response to your earlier question of the Imperials being the ones to contract the Child’s return was anything to go off of, then you were positive they were here on this planet.

Rustling drew your attention, you looked over to see the Child was awake, his head popping up over the lip of the pod as he peered curiously over the top of it. He clambered down from the pod, from the chair the pod was nestled in and walked over toward the side of the pilot seat. You couldn’t see him, but you did see when one of his small green hands reached for the handle of one of the controls. The shiny top of it commanding his attention. The Mandalorian was momentarily focused on a transmission he played as it dinged in.

When the transmission ended, his attention focused on the Child beside him. The small figure had climbed up atop the control panel, small hand gripping at the top of a lever in front of him. The shiny ball of metal atop it his goal. He removed it easily, bringing it to his mouth to chew on.

“It’s not a toy.” A gloved hand grasped the back of the Child’s clothing and lifted him up. A small noise left him as he was moved back to his pod and deposited back into the confines of it. They shared a look, a soft coo sounding before the Child looked over to you with his bright eyes. You smiled at him, wiggled your fingers at him in a motion that pulled a giggle from him in his cute voice.

“Remain on the ship. I’m going to lock it down and set access coding, attempting to mess with the panels or controls will send an alert directly to me.”

You watched as the armored man stood before his storage cabinet and donned what he deemed appropriate. The act of him fastening weapons and adjusting his armor and the underling padding over his clothing seemed an invasion of privacy almost, though he hadn’t told you to leave him be or leave the room. The intimacy of knowing where he had hidden blades and extra munitions seemed to be something you should not be privy to.

You hide away in the cockpit during his absence, spending the time watching the hustle and bustle of the city through the main archway that separated the open expanse from the landing area for ships.

The city was dirty, the streets full of people and trash. The buildings were crumbling in some places, blaster damage and dirt decorating the exterior of most of them. It was seedy and it was exactly the type of environment you had spent most of your life hiding in. You didn’t miss it, having been so young when you first took to a life on the run, forced to. You took in the way people didn’t linger their gazes on anything or anyone else for too long. As if they were afraid of inciting conflict. Too common a thing in places like this.

You watched the goings-on of the main street you could see that wound its way through the center of the small city. Losing track of time, it was growing dark as the day began to bleed into night. The time of twilight taking over the planet and bathing it in blue light. The light pollution from the city shields the stars and surrounding planets from view.

When the Mandalorian returned, you had tracked his path down the main street until he had gotten too close to the ship to do so. He was alone, the pod no longer trailing beside him. But that had been the end of this mission after all. It didn’t matter that he had asked after the Child’s wellbeing as it had laid unconscious for days. His task was predetermined.

His armor was different. The plates were still secured to the same places as his previous set, but this one was all comprised of the same silver metal as his helmet and his right pauldron. Of beskar. The spoils of his mission plainly on display for all to see.

It was beautiful, it was gorgeous. It made him look even stronger and more capable, if that was even possible. You wanted to skim your hands over the smooth expanse of the plates and feel the coolness of the metal underneath them. Even as you realized it was the very embodiment of the Child being no more.

Grief for another of your kind fallen was an old friend, one that was knocking to be let back into your world after such a long absence. It was not welcome. No words were exchanged, the air holding a sense of detachment as he entered the cockpit. He was holding tension in his entire body as he moved past you and settled into the pilot chair. He punched in the coding he had set and began to power up the ship for lift off.

When he reached over to pull the lever to begin take off, he paused. The ball that normally sat atop the lever had been placed on the control panel when he had removed it from the Child’s mouth hours ago upon arrival. He held the small piece of round metal in his gloved hand, and you could practically hear the gears turning in his head beneath the helmet. He slowly screwed the piece back onto the lever and he pushed it forward, his hand hovering over it after the fact.

He suddenly pulled the lever back, reached up and hit some switches. He was a flurry of quick, precise movements as he powered the ship back down just as efficiently as he had powered it on, making your heartbeat fast as you watched him do so.

He didn’t reset the access coding.

As he turned his seat around, the door to the cockpit opened. He stood beside you for the briefest of moments, offering you a curt nod that spoke volumes.

“As soon as you see me returning, ready the ship for take-off.”

“May the Force be with you, jatne vod.”

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writerwithnofreetime · 23 days

Text

Try Again

Pairing: Law x black!fem reader

College! au

You and Law were both willing participants in a summer fling that turned sour. You make it your life's mission (for three months) to make him regret tossing you to the wayside so carelessly. It all comes to a head at this party.

wc: 4.025k

cw: mentions of alcohol, inebriation, smoking (weed and cigs), i say vape smoke like once, shit gets angsty at the end, crying

a/n: this one is for my college girls :). I was planning on writing an Ace x reader, but I found a random draft and the spirit of Law took over me lol. I got way too into this, so I plan on turning it into a series (hopefully max 5-6 parts). Please please pleasee! Feel free to give me feedback and let me know how you feel about certain writing choices/ plot points. I hope you guys enjoy it!

Part 1- The idgaf War

He was not expecting to see you here.

You knew it. You were counting on it. Law most likely remembers you as the super introverted girl who’d much rather stay inside with a glass of wine and a good book than go out partying with friends. You knew he viewed you as a fledgling of a woman, too naïve to be taken seriously.

It should also be known that all the heaviness in the atmosphere that contained you and Mr. Trafalgar (is what you called him in your head, using his first name feels far too intimate than he deserves) was mainly his doing. You always knew that he existed, conceptually. He was a friend of a friend of a friend, and you would see him out now and then, but there was no reason to speak to one another. The two of you officially met at a train station during the summer. After a week of both of you sharing the frustration that train delays brought, he came up with the idea to exchange numbers. To- you know, let each other know about the status of the train. After a week of turning texts like ‘trains five minutes late’ into conversations about anything from tastes to relationship statuses, he suggested you guys catch dinner together.

Thus began a summer whirlwind romance, which swiftly swirled its way into a tornado as the fall semester's start was approaching. Law, who was interning at a hospital seemed increasingly busy at times he had previously allotted for you. He canceled plans he made. Phone calls went from once a day at lunch to twice a week- if you were lucky- at odd hours. You had no idea what to make of the situation, other than look at the optics and realize that you would be left in the cold if things went on this way. You made the call to end things, and to your dismay, he agreed. Although your fear had played a pivotal hand in the way fate fell, it could have been sated if the asshole had offered a sliver of reassurance at that moment. The two of you agreed to stay friends, but neither of you meant it.

Staying friends was code for ‘let’s still follow each other on social media and kind of act like nothing happened, though we’ve seen each other's bare asses.’ It would be much easier to play it cool than to explain to any of your mutual friends why the two of you might not want to be around each other.

The recluse version of you had played the front for 90 days so this plan would be most fruitful. To social media- and by proxy, Law- you were busy attending class, working, and studying. When you would post a selfie (semi-rare), Law would like it but never felt compelled enough to text you. Maybe the reminder of how gorgeous you were wasn’t enough for him.

There was the possibility the two of you would run into each other, yet you accounted for this. It pained you, but you avoided the quaint cafe you introduced him to that quickly became your guys’ spot. The cafe (Puddings’) was not your favorite- you were smarter than that- but a former safe space. You also passed up on several parties and random outings Nami or any other of your friends invited you to if you so much as got an inkling he would show up.

Only you knew that those 90 days you went unseen were preparation for this month. You planned for this night to be the season finale of the fiasco that was you and Law’s (situational) relationship, and you would go out with a bang. For 90 days, you planned, scrapped, replanned outfits, and worked out ferociously. You salivated at the thought of this night. Your objective was simple- you would pop out looking like a knockout and the realization that he fucked up would hit Mr. Trafalgar so hard he would spontaneously combust.

D-day was a party your buddy Luffy was throwing. Nami, one of your closest college friends was adamant that you made an appearance tonight, complaining about how long it’d been since everyone was together. You didn’t object. Luffy was known for throwing the best parties in the area, especially after winning a big boxing match. You knew of Luffy through Nami (his manager) who told you Law had recently become a part of Luffys medical crew for the biggest fight of his career thus far- against some guy named Doflamingo. He would be present for this party, even if only to stand on a random wall with his arms folded like Nami described on one of your Facetime calls a while back.

Since you were here, like this, Law knew that it only meant one thing: A declaration of war. The scales were already tipped in your favor. Your armor of choice tonight was the tightest little black dress in your closet and a pair of black Converse. The dress had a square neckline and showed just enough of your chest, and if anyone got close enough, they'd see the frills from the lacy white bra you wore underneath. Your hair was piled on top of your head in a perfectly picked puff, with face-framing coils on either side of your face, right in front of your ears. Your lips were glossed clear and your makeup simple- the embodiment of cute and casual. To others, it always appeared like you were effortlessly beautiful. Mr. Trafalgar probably thought you didn’t know how to wield your beauty like a sword, to make him kneel at your feet with an offhanded glance. But he was going to learn very soon.

The smell of weed, vape smoke, and booze slapped you in the face as you made your way into the function. The two Buzzballs you pre-gamed with hit you halfway into your Uber trip, so the flush of party wind was disorienting. You pushed- well shimmied, it was pretty packed- on. Clung to your left shoulder was a small black purse with your necessities- lipgloss, debit card, ID, and some dum dums (real bad bitches keep candy in their purse). In your right hand is the unopened bottle of Bacardi Tropical you promised Nami and Vivi to bring.

It didn’t take long to find them in the kitchen area of the party, with the usual crew- Luffy, whom you heard before you saw, solo cup raised with his signature smile. Sanji has a cigarette in his mouth, a blunt behind his ear (you would question him about that later), and a pretty brunette under his arm you hadn’t seen before (typical). Zoro is leaning against the counter closest to Luffy chatting with…. Law? Well, you couldn’t see the dickheads face, but you knew damn well that was the back of Law's head you were looking at. You smiled devilishly to yourself. This was just the situation you were expecting. You stride over and greet your friends.

“Y/n!” Luffy exclaimed as soon as you set the bottle on the counter by the other ones. “I’m glad you could make it!” He put an arm around you and smiled even wider. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages!” You giggled. Luffy is always great vibes when you’re around him.

“Yeah, I guess I have been a bit mia…” You trail off with a playful smile. Nami yanks Luffy’s arm, chastising him for almost spilling whatever was in his cup on you. Vivi laughs and greets you with a hug. Sanji introduces you to the girl you know for a fact he met no longer than a week ago as the ‘love of his life”. Her name is Viola and she has your blond-haired friend wrapped around her finger. Someone taps your shoulder, and as you turn to see who, your eyes transiently focus on Mr.Traflagar’s visage. It was hard to tell if he was looking at you, the brim of his hat was pulled pretty low tonight. His face was facing yours. It was pretty dark, but you noticed his lip twitch into a scowl as he took the joint from Zoro’s hand. Law clearly senses the bloodlust in your demeanor. You quickly adjust your gaze to the person who requested your attention.

“If I knew you were bringing more liquor, I would’ve texted you. We ran out of sake about thirty minutes into the party,” Zoro says, peering at you with an easy grin. You roll your eyes and display a cheeky smile of your own.

“Oh, please. You’ll drink anything you get your hands on so shut up, and let's take some shots.” You turn to face the counter full of liquor and grab a cup. Zoro moves past you and fills his cup with the Bacardi you just brought. Nami forces him to pour a shot for the girls before he makes off with the rest. The four of you cheer, then lean your heads back to take sips (in Zoros' case, gulps) of the vodka.

The burn produces heat in your throat, forcing you to part your lips and exhale. However, it seemed the side of your head would catch fire long before your windpipe. Maybe the incoming tipsiness had you imagining things, but you swear you could feel his eyes on you, dancing across your body and soaking up your frame. Still, you refused to acknowledge his presence.

No one has noticed that the area y’all are conjugating in had suddenly become a war zone, let alone the blaze emanating from Law’s stare. Your target was now to your immediate right since you and Zoro had traded places. Zoro and Luffy are going shot for shot, entertaining Nami and Vivi. Sanji and his new lover had quietly disappeared after you all took a shot together.

“Y/n.” He said it loud enough for you to hear it over the music, but it wasn’t like he was raising his voice. His tone was firm and even, and clearly laced with the influence of weed. It seemed to ring in your ears and vibrate in your brain.

You faced him and scanned his countenance with your eyes. He looked… okay. Fine, more than okay. He looked the fuck good. He wore a black hoodie with a white top underneath, his favorite pair of jeans, and black Jordans. There was a decent amount of space between the two of you, but you were close enough to see that he was, in fact checking you out, with his eyes trained on your ass in particular. Shit, it was poking in this dress, which was the defining factor in you choosing it tonight.

You quickly downed the rest of your cup.

“Trafalgar,” you replied cooly, not faltering under his punitive gaze. Seriously. Law looked genuinely bothered by your presence. He was squinting at you, almost as if you were some mirage. The look in his eye made your chest burn with feelings you were actively trying to suppress. Still, he would not win this battle of wills. Not when you knew that simply being here was enough to ruin his night. You craned your head to the side and gave him an easy smile. A smile that you know for certain would weaken his composure.

It strikes him, you’re sure—his right eye twitches.

“I…..” he trails off, scanning your figure again. You clear your throat and turn to face him. “I wasn’t expecting you to be here tonight.”

The statement stunned you because it was exactly what you wanted. It also seemed- dangerously honest? Law was never this forthcoming in the past. He’s the liar-by-omission, roundabout truth-telling type. What is he playing at? You glance at him, brows furrowed.

“Why wouldn’t I be here? Luffy and I are good friends.”

“You weren’t at the match.”

“I couldn’t make it. Besides, I’m here now, having a great time with my friends.” The two of you hold a gaze. Law parted his lips but quickly decided against whatever he was going to say. A chuckle escapes you. “Aren’t we friends, Mr. Trafalgar?”

He raises a brow at the use of his surname.

“No,” He says after a ten-second pause. He takes one step toward you, and you have half a mind to help him bridge the gap. “I’m not your friend y/n.” His tone is resolute and his eyes, though half-lidded, reflect the same.

The closeness of his voice resurfaces dangerous memories. Heat rose in your cheeks and the pit of your stomach, but you would not let that control you. You steadied yourself, remembering why you were in this position in the first place. How easy it was for Law to distance himself from you after the night the two of you almost crossed the line. How he responded to your rant at Zepplins with ‘ if that’s what you think is best for you’ then immediately left when you told him you wanted to end things. The text he sent you after saying the two of you would always ‘be cool’. He didn’t fight for you then, so he doesn’t get to make you horny now. You smile sweetly, but the sentiment turns sour by the time it reaches your eyes. He recoils at the look.

“Good,” you say warmly. There was more you could say, more you wanted to say, but you knew it would sting more if you kept it short. You spin around, not wanting to spend another moment looking into the asshole's eyes. You rejoin your friends' conversation as if you have never been missing.

Zoro pours too much tequila into your cup, and you can’t even be bothered to scold him for it. You immediately down half and chase it with a Gatorade, hoping that the electrolytes will be enough to save you from a hangover in the morning. Zoro glances at you, one brow raised.

“You okay there?” Your moss-haired friend has always been extremely perceptive. You press your lips together and nod your head.

“I’m great. I just want to make the most of tonight.” He looks at you again, straight-faced. Zoro’s not buying your shit, but he won't pry any further. Not tonight at least. His eyes focus just past you, then back on you again. “What?”

He raises his cups to his lips to hide his smirk as he nods in Law’s direction. You feel your cheeks burn and a finger at your shoulder, followed by the side of Law’s head. You refuse to move anything but your eyes. Zoro turns around to give the two of you as much privacy as possible.

“Y/n,” Law starts. His breath is heavy in your ears and his voice reaches every part of you. “I get the feeling if I don’t ask you to speak to me now, I’ll never hear from you again. Please, talk to me.” You lift your chin and pout in frustration. Law wasn’t playing fair. He straightens himself as you turn to face him, arms folded.

“You want to do this right now?”

“Not here.” You squint. “On the porch.” He adds. You shrug at him and Law visibly relaxes. Two gulps emptied the contents of your cup. You grab a water bottle and previously opened Gatorade and make your way out of the party. Nami and Vivi catch you on your way out. You tell them you were going to get some air. They ask if you want company, but you shake your head and stride out of the party into the night air. Not once do you look back to see if Law is following behind you, though you hear his footsteps once under the plywood of the porch.

Luckily for you two, there was no one outside- at least anyone who would care to listen in on this conversation. You move to the ledge and wait for Law to join you. You soak in the ambiance around you as you take sips of water. It was pretty, the audio blend of the bass and drums from the party mixed in with the night sounds. There was a light breeze you let wash over you as you closed your eyes. Law clears his throat, but you remain as is.

“Hey, you alright?”

“I’m fine.” You were not fucking fine. You’re racking your brain for a strategy, or any indication of how he would play it. This was a shocking turn of events. The Law you accounted for would never draw you out of a party to talk, where several eyes could witness. You played with the cap of the bottles you placed on the ledge.

“Is it too much to ask you to look at me?”

“Yes.” Law sighs. You place your hand on your chin and glance at him. He takes his hat off and runs his fingers through his messy waves before pinching the bridge of his nose. He looks up and his grey orbs widen, shocked that yours are staring back at his.

Fuck it, you thought. I’ll just do whatever I want tonight and pretend it never happened later.

You bit the inside of your cheek as the silence pressed against the two of you. The tension was so palpable you could see the air currents moving between you. You wish you could grasp it and throw it across the street.

“Y/n….” He straightens up and leans against a support beam.

You followed his movement with your eyes. “How many times are you going to say my name?”

He chuckles and looks up from the brim of his hat in his hands directly to you. The sincerity in his eyes softens your heart.

“I know what I’m about to say might be too late, but please. I need to tell you this.” His words made you straighten up and turn to face him, fingers awkwardly drumming at your sides. The both of you were clearly out of your element here. Law clears his throat and continues, his eyes never leaving yours. “I tried to push you away back then. I’m sorry. After that night when we almost-”

“You don’t have to say it”

He rubs his shoulder with this free hand. “Yeah, sorry. Listen y/n, it wasn’t your fault. I panicked. I don’t know. I knew then that I liked you way more than I felt I should have, and I didn’t want to. I don’t know why- maybe fear- I don’t know. I just,” he exhales. “I thought that if I let you any closer, it would devastate me if I lost you. I didn’t account for losing you when I was icing you out. I wasn’t thinking about how my actions would affect you, only about saving myself. Leaving without talking about it was a big mistake, and I knew it as soon as I got up. But I couldn’t let you in back then. I was…. terrified.”

The heaviness of the indignation boiled and anviled inside your bosom. Your hands were balled into fists at your sides. Tears prickled at your eyes, but you refused to let any fall. You refuse to hide your pain either.

“Law, I-” you started, unconsciously stepping towards him. “ I don’t believe you. This doesn’t make sense to me.” He raised his arms slightly as if to grab you, but lowered them again as his face studied yours.

“I- I know.”

“No, you don’t know.” you took another step. “Why didn’t you tell me this when I told you how I felt that day? Or any moment after that? You-” Your fist was raised, and two tears fell down one side of your face. “How dare you come and tell me you let me go because you were terrified! You? I thought you didn’t care about me. I thought you discarded me because we didn’t-” You were holding back sobs at this point, and your fists weakly hit Law's shoulders with every sentence. “You made me- I- I felt.”

He pulls you into his arms and you collapse—everything you held inside escapes you in the form of silent tears against his hoodie. The faint smell of his cologne and weed fills your nose. You were too overwhelmed by the release to be ashamed of yourself for crying in his arms like this. Law presses you tightly as he whispers a slew of apologies into your ear. You honestly don’t know if you believe him. Right now, it didn’t matter.

Laws hold felt like a steady anchor in the new waters that was the vulnerability between the two of you. He presses his lips to your forehead and you pull away slightly to look up at him. He grimaces and pulls away a little more, using his hoodie to dab at your eyes.

“Fuck, y/n. I-” He pauses. “I don’t want to keep apologizing. I know it doesn’t do much for you. But it’s tearing me apart inside that I made you feel like this. I fucked up.” You inhale sharply.

“Yeah,” you whisper. Law lifts your chin to his gaze. You could see that a few tears had escaped him as well. You lifted your hand to his jaw, which clenched slightly at your touch.

“I missed you so much, y/n.” You sniffled as you looked at his lips, suddenly wanting to watch his mouth formulate every word. You were soaking in this new side of Law, not caring about its potential expiration date. You ran your thumb over the outer corner of his eye, wiping away the wetness that gathered there.

The sound of police alarms pierced through the night and the tender moment. You jump away from each other as Lieutenant Garp slams his car door and walks up the porch.

“Evening, L/n.” He looks to Law and furrows his brows a bit. “Trafalgar.” His eyes train back on you, a bit of surprise mixed in them.

“Uh-”

“I suggest the two of you get ahead of the crowd that’s about to disperse and call for your rides now. This party is over.”

“Uh, okay.” Garp walks away from the two of you and into the party of unsuspecting youth. You chuckle and shake your head, wishing you could be inside to witness the conversation Luffy and his grandfather would have. You’re sure Nami will tell you the next day. You turn back to Law, who had jumped back a respectable distance at the sight of Garp. His hat was already back on his head and he tapped at his phone screen awhile before looking at you”

“I’ll call you an Uber home.”

“You don’t have to-”

“Correction,” he interrupts. “I’ve already called you an Uber home. It’s ten minutes out.” Your body temperature went up five degrees.

“Well, thanks.” He shrugs and looks off to the side, his jaw clenched again. Another five degrees. You pull at your dress and play with a pebble under your foot.

“Y/n,” Law starts, commanding your gaze back to his. “I know I don’t deserve it, but please, let me make it up to you. I want to try again. I want to do it right this time.”

“Law…” He shook his head.

“You don’t have to give me an answer now. Text me when you get home safe. Goodnight.” He plants a quick peck on your forehead. Before you can respond, you hear Vivi call out your name from the doorway as the crew approaches you. When you look back in Law's direction you find his spot vacant. He disappeared in the growing crowd. You pull your phone out of your purse and two notifications stand out.

The first is the Uber details.

The other- is a text from Law’s Number. You deleted his contact in anger in August, but that combination of digits is burned into your memory.

hey, it’s law. sorry for stealing a kiss. couldnt help myself. brunch on me at Puddings tomorrow to make up for it. text me when you get home. please

#one piece x black!reader #one piece x reader #one piece #trafalgar law #college! one piece #college!au #college!reader #law x y/n #law x reader #law x you #law x black!yn #one piece law #one piece fanfiction #ive been sitting on this for months

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nine-of-words · 18 days

Text

Something Borrowed (Part Eleven)

M Gargoyle x M Reader

PREVIOUS || STORY TAG

Wordcount: 7437

Content Warnings: Discussion of a Breakup, Brief Mention of Fantasy Catholicism

I’m not dead and here is another chapter! However this part ran way too long in the original plan, so I’ve decided to break it in two. It is somehow still more than 7k, so, whoops. Fittingly, we’re going with a baker’s dozen for this story rather than a dozen.

The anticipation is killing you.

You are in the back of a rented van, babysitting two comically large, magically chilled boxes full of partially constructed wedding cake. Your eyes are eagle sharp as you monitor it on the way to the venue.

It's something you've done hundreds, if not thousands of times before at this point, but it still makes you feel slightly queasy, watching the result of your hard work wobble and sway in its supported box with every little bump in the road.

But this time, you're an extra bit queasy for a different reason, as you hold your device out in front of you.

If you're going to call somebody, you need to have called them… at least twenty minutes ago, now.

Between working double time late into the night to remake this cake, and getting it ready for delivery today, you haven’t had time to make the call at a reasonable hour.

Until now.

…Or so you tell yourself.

You definitely waited until the last possible minute, at least partially out of fear.

You look down at the screen, the pixels composing the letters of Carlyle’s name starting to lose their meaning from staring at them for so long.

You suppose the second best time to call is now.

You finally swallow down the dread and start to mentally count down from ten.

Ten, Nine, Eight-

Ugh, what are you even doing? You’re just going to make a fool of yourself!

Seven, Six, Five…

What if he doesn’t pick up? What then? It’s the middle of the day on a work day! He's a lawyer, he's probably on a courtroom right now-

Four… Three… Two…

And what if he does pick up? You should’ve rehearsed what you were going to say better-

One.

You force yourself to hit the button before you can hesitate again. The sound of ringing on the other end is like a series of white hot pokers in your chest. Your eyes are screwed closed in anticipation.

It rings once.

You consider wrenching open the sliding door of the van and tossing your voci out onto the highway speeding by.

It rings twice…

“Hello?”

Even with just the single word, he sounds absolutely incredulous. You can clearly imagine the way his eyebrows arch up when he hears something particularly egregious.

“... Hi,” You finally manage to force the word out on a forceful exhale, but then immediately stall, the ghost of your next sentence leaving you in a near-silent rattle.

“...Hello. Are you… okay?”

“Yes- Well, no. Maybe?” You laugh nervously. “It really depends on what your answer to my next question is…”

“Hah, well- I’m listening, whenever you're ready.”

You take a deep breath of air, fist nervously clenching your apron hem, then swallow it down with your remaining pride.

“I know this is last minute and I know I don’t really have the footing to ask you a favor right now, but… I really need you,” You say, mouth already dry and your voice beginning to shake, the words harder to excavate the more you scrape out. “Do you think that you could… would you be my date to this wedding?”

“Of course. I’ll be there.” Carlyle’s response is more nonchalant and so much lighter in tone than you expected; relieved, even. You hear fabric rustling and what sounds like the subtle grinding of stone on the other end. “Send me the address. And the dress code- I'm assuming there is one.”

“R-Really?” You say in disbelief; you expected rejection, or at least much more pushback. You expected to have to beg for forgiveness. “Just like that?”

“Yes?” He lets out a soft, barely audible laugh. “Were you expecting me to turn you down?”

He has a point. What were you expecting, exactly? Bitter resentment? But no, of course he’s behaving in a kind and supportive manner- He’s never given you a reason to think he’d act any differently. You’ve never been happier to be wrong.

“I… suppose I was. I wouldn’t have blamed you.”

“Just so we're on the same page here,” The rustling of movement on Carlyle’s end of the line continues. “I’m going as your date, but is this a date? I'll still join you in a platonic capacity, of course, so there's no pressure, but I would like things to be transparent from the start.”

“A date!” You blurt out, but quickly clarify; “A, uh, not platonic one. A romantic one, I mean. I-If that's what you want.”

“You don't know how happy I am to hear you say that.”

“Sorry- I think I might know. Just a tick-” You’re overjoyed and devastated at the same time, struggling to blink back the sting of tears at the corners of your eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. Really. You don’t have to apologize.”

You try to convince yourself to get off the line, but it’s just so good to hear his voice again, you’re desperate to wring as much of it as you can out of this short interaction- to save it up in case things go south again. But you’ll need to unload this cake soon, and understandably, Carlyle can't stay on the call for much longer either, given the sudden need to pack and commute. So, after giving him the information he needs, you’re forced to cut it short.

You finally say goodbye and end the call, left sitting in the back of the van with the cake, the anxiety weighing on you laced with a bit of pleasant anticipation, now.

One look at the place when you get out of the back of the van, and you’re already intimidated. They certainly didn’t spare any cost, from the look of it. You push the feeling down and remind yourself you have a reason to be here- you’re here for work primarily, no matter what the self-critical voice in the back of your mind is trying to tell you.

The building is an old Elven palace nestled in sprawling gardens, situated on the northern edge of the city and repurposed into an event venue. The exterior is all tall, windy spires and iridescent panes of stained glass, with sprawling plant life tracing cracks where they’ve found purchase. Even from here, you can see that a massive tree growing from the same craggy base of the hill the palace is perched on has started to grow into a hole in the building’s stone facade who knows how long ago- now kept artfully pruned now as a feature, rather than a signal of disrepair, you have to assume.

You walk into the reception venue’s service door from the parking area, somehow even more intimidated by the inside. Fittingly, it’s the palace’s ballroom. Branches of the tree have slowly crept their way in here over the years, twisting through the stone and dotting the cracks with the occasional vine or flower. Long hanging pennants of silky cloth hang down between marble columns and the same rosy stained glass panels from the outside, the backdrop to meticulously set dining tables with live floral centerpieces, evoking what it likely looked like in the past. The high ceiling has some sort of eerie gloss to it, with multiple finely dressed banquet workers in the room seemingly running tests as the lights flicker and twinkle a different color occasionally- you can only imagine what this room will look like with the lighting fully set later.

In your line of work, you’ve seen a lot of wedding ceremonies, or at least the set up preceding them. Elven weddings tend to be showy and overdone, ostentatious in their presentation, and this one is no exception. Everything about the venue you’ve seen so far screams “I paid a lot of gold for this”, which given Trevor’s parents likely foot the bill for it, you’re unsurprised.

As usual when you arrive, your first order of business is to locate the wedding planner, to confirm where to put the end product of your hours of effort. This time, it's a stern looking elven woman in a flowy black and gold jumpsuit and sporting a tight bun atop her head- someone you instantly recognize and find yourself hit with a wave of dread, realizing you have to have this conversation, of all things, right now.

“Ooh, hello!” She says your name, but all you hear is being called up to the gallows. “What a nice surprise it is to see you here!”

This is the wedding planner you were talking to when you had begun to plan your own wedding, when you and Trevor were still engaged. You feel a little bad that you don’t remember her name- you could probably find her card somewhere in your files from the times you’d worked on the same wedding before you hired her, but so much of that time period is such a blur to you now. It feels like a whole different lifetime.

“Hi,” you say awkwardly, fingernails already digging into the strap of your bag of supplies. You force yourself to unclench your fingers. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“It has! We haven’t worked on the same event for more than… well, more than a year now, wouldn’t it be?” Her nails tap the datapad in her hands as she types away.

You can hear the question she’s being too polite to ask: It was when we were planning this wedding when it was going to be yours, wasn’t it?

“I changed location, so that might be why.” You offer an explanation.

“When Ms. Devinthal said she had a backup in mind when the groom’s first choice bakery fell through, I had no idea it was going to be you! I didn’t recognize the business name at all!”

Backup? First choice…? What’s that supposed to mean?

“Yeah, well, I changed my shop’s name too, so I imagine there just hasn’t been a lot of overlap in customers lately, hahah.”

“True…” She lowers her data pad and purses her lips, barely bothering to conceal her pity. It seems she’s able to piece together the reason as to why pretty easily. “If I can be purely honest with you? I thought you’d have quit the business. Spirits know I wouldn’t be able to keep working in this business after… well, all of that heartbreak transpired. I hope things have improved for you in that regard, dear.”

You can feel your eyes glaze over a bit as you vividly recall the day you had called this woman in barely-withheld tears to cancel her service; how you barely were able to explain through your weak voice, hoarse from crying, that there wasn’t going to be a wedding to plan anymore.

“Oh, they have.” You say, trying to keep your teeth from gritting, with a drawn on customer-service smile.

“Ohoh! Well, I should let you get to work! That cake isn’t going to stack itself, is it? However, if things keep going well, you’ll have to keep me in mind when you hear wedding bells ringing again, hmm? They say the second time's the charm!”

“Of course I will!” You lie through your teeth. “Thanks.”

Mercifully, you have your job to turn your attention to.

As soon as she’s out of earshot, you let out a long, withering breath, and resteel yourself. You’re not going to have a breakdown. It’s too early in all of this.

One by one, you bring the chilled boxes into the reception venue, fingers locked tightly, but not tight enough to damage the cake inside. You’ve never dropped a cake at the venue- yet- but given your luck lately, you’re not taking any chances.

Once all the necessary pieces are inside, you begin the work of extracting the cake tiers from their boxes and moving them to the obnoxiously broad cake stand. The cake will be set on a small table all on its own, pride of place of the banquet area of the ballroom.

Every tier you place as if you’re disarming a bomb; your life and the life of everyone in the building depends on it being undamaged. Dowel rods and cardboard circles are strategically placed as needed for structural integrity, each tier of cake perfectly centered in the middle of the one below.

Finally, you gingerly slide the last, petite tier on top of the whole thing.

…It’s secure. That’s most of the battle won. You let out the breath you were holding. Putting on the final aesthetic touches won’t be nearly as mortally terrifying as the potential of the cake crashing onto the floor into a heap of sweet mush due to an accidental slip of the hand.

You begin the process of touching up the sides and the seams of the tiers, dolloping buttercream from your container to hide any cracks like you're spackling a wall. Time both flies by and is somehow agonizing in how long it drags on. All the way through laying down the final buttercream decorations, up until you've meticulously placed the last sugary rose you spent so much time sculpting, there's only one thing on your mind, and it’s not the cake.

All that’s left is to seek out the wedding planner once again for final approval. To your relief, she's thrilled with your work and gives you the go ahead to clean up as she uses the datapad in her hand to send the rest of your payment to your account. It's always easier when there's no new demands or fabricated issues brought up at the very end. The tightly wound muscles in your upper back ease, just a little bit.

And with that- it's done, finished, out of your hands. The cake is delivered safely, and you feel lighter already knowing it's not your problem anymore.

… As long as it makes it through the night without exploding, that is.

You swallow dryly at the thought. Kirby enthusiastically assured you that there was basically no chance of it happening again so soon- that it happening to the first version of this cake was a blessing in disguise, since that explosion took place in your shop and not the venue, and there wouldn't be enough time for negative energy to accumulate again by now. You can't help but still feel the twinge of apprehension, despite you trusting their judgement.

The last of your supplies get neatly packed away just in time, as you're starting to see more elves dressed in their best formal wear filtering through by the passing minute.

Casting one last lingering look at the cake, you leave the grandiose ballroom for your hotel room to get ready. By nature of attending a wedding you've also delivered the cake to, the time you have to prepare is somewhat more scant than you’d like, so you’ve got to get moving.

After a walk down a particularly gilded hallway, you enter the frankly ostentatious lobby of the hotel portion of the palace. The high vaulted, ribboned ceilings are almost dizzying, and all of the small details on the architecture being gilded or inlaid with some other precious material is making it hard to look at anything for too long.

A bellhop takes your bags, leaving you less to fiddle with in your anxiety. So instead, you compulsively check your voci every few moments while you wait for the front desk agent to do her thing. Hopefully, she doesn’t notice how sweaty your hands are with nerves when you take the set of keycards from her. You want to get up there and get ready as soon as possible. You don’t want to hog the bathroom if Carlyle still needs to finish getting ready, too…

Since the guest rooms themselves are in the various high towers of the palace, the elevator ride takes what feels like forever. You’re left to look at your many reflections, scrutinizing the imperfections of your face amplified in the glass and regretting most of your life decisions up to this point.

When you finally get there, the hotel room itself is even a bit intimidating in how expensive and ornate it looks. You’re aware you likely got one of the most standard of rooms, as a low priority guest. You don’t even want to think about what the bigger suites must look like… And certainly not the bridal suite, which the front desk agent was happy to chirp about being at the very top of the highest spire.

Despite being what’s considered a standard room, it’s still more lavish than anything you’d ever buy yourself for the night by far, all gilded and crystal surfaces and the finest fabrics.

Of the most note is an incredibly tall window pane that reaches from the floor all the way up to the ceiling- at least double and a half of your height. The view overlooks the swathe of greenery and pastel color of blooming flowers below, and then eventual transition to the blocks of Windrise City proper in the far distance, past the gardens.

You may be in a time crunch, but the view from the window is so entrancing you find yourself opening the light curtains a little wider and staring out in awe for just a few moments. If you had time, you’d probably be out on the balcony right now.

Your delivered bags sit on the golden luggage stand in one corner, looking very out of place in their mundanity.

Hastily, you pick out the one suit you own from the top of your luggage, where it’s neatly folded on the hanger. You shake it out a bit before hanging it on the bar in the hallway closet.

Carlyle hasn’t shown up yet, which is both a relief and terrifying. What if he got stuck in gridlock traffic and he can’t get here in time? You’ll be here on your own anyway, after all of that. Somehow it’d make the whole situation even more embarrassing, seeing familiar faces while you stew in shame, left to endure pitying looks that cover up deep disdain for your presence…

But.. no. He’d definitely call back if he was running late.

You peel yourself out of your slightly sugar-crusted apron and hop into a hurried shower, starting the rush through your grooming routine.

Once you’ve bathed, you immediately move on to shaving; going through the motion of working a lather of soap onto your face. Thanks to your mother being an elf, you don’t have to shave that often, but she is a snow elf, so the stubble will still get out of hand if you let it.

The preening gives you a sense of comfort- a calmness that you’ve been sorely lacking lately.

You can at least handle this. You are fully capable of looking presentable. It’s part of your job.

While the momentary refuge from your dread is a comfortable diversion, reality quickly sets back in when you hear a knock at the door.

You look up and freeze, the razor still in your hand hanging inert by your jaw.

A bolt of terror courses through you, despite bubbling with joy. You want to see him, if the urge to run to the door and immediately throw it open means anything. But it’s going to be so awkward… What do you even say now?

Maybe it’s just room service, even though you didn’t order it. A maid with extra pillows, even though you didn’t ask for them? A maintenance worker coming to fix something, even though you didn’t report an issue?

You realize you’ve been standing here frozen for far too long, and scramble to get some semblance of covered, throwing open the closet and yanking one of the robes off the attached anti-theft hangers, then hurriedly putting your arms through the sleeves and tying a sloppy knot around your waist.

Finally at the door, nearly working up a sweat in your haste, your hands fumble with the chain lock and the door handle, but manage to open the door.

Carlyle is on the other side, of course, and not the random hospitality worker you were conjuring in your head. He has an overnight bag slung over one shoulder, and a smaller one held at his side in his opposite hand.

He looks as handsome as ever, clearly freshly groomed and put together himself; freshly pressed suit, dreadlocks neatly tied in a loose gather, and the warm, spiced scent of his cologne’s heart note.

You imagine Carlyle must own more than a few suits, given his job and the fact you’ve rarely seen him in anything less formal, but if this isn’t his best suit, it’s probably close to it. The fabric of the lapels is a silky, resplendent black, shimmering just enough when the light hits it that it’s nearly impossible to resist the desire to run your fingers along them. The rosy blush paisley pattern on his chosen tie is strikingly familiar…

His free hand is hovering halfway between his tie and the door, like he’s contemplating knocking again after fussing with his focus in anticipation. He lowers it to straighten his tie, and his face breaks into a smitten, amused smile at the sight of you.

“Good afternoon.” The way the corners of his eyes tighten and his voice has the slightest hint of wavering, you can tell he’s barely holding back laughter. “I’m truly flattered that you wanted to answer the door so quickly, but you didn’t have to rush.”

“H-Huh?”

He gestures to his face like he’s stroking a nonexistent beard. You move your own to mirror the movement, immediately regretting your choice when the fingertips find the shaving lather you still have on half of your face.

The accumulated tension is blown to smithereens.

You can feel your face heating up in embarrassment, running to answer the door like this.

A momentary silence falls between you- with you too dazed to access your proper manners, and Carlyle too patient to suggest you move out of the doorway and let him through.

Both on one side of a threshold, but neither being quick to trespass.

It’s a foreign feeling, knowing how close you’ve gotten, yet having this invisible, manufactured barrier still standing between you.

That evening in the shop when he came by late and you were in much the same circumstances comes to mind. There’s no extinguished neon shop sign barring the way now, though, just your own awkward behavior.

“Um. Well,” You cringe at yourself, trying to relax your wooden posture. “Come in?”

As soon as Carlyle has slid past you and inside the room, you scoop up your main layers of clothes that you had laying out within reach.

“Right, um. I’ll just. Be out in a minute-” You manage to blurt out before unceremoniously locking yourself in the bathroom, only catching half of his affirmative words before the door shuts.

Finishing shaving and getting dressed doesn’t take nearly as long as you’d hope- not nearly enough to think up something meaningful to say to him. You find yourself gripping the edges of the sink, staring yourself down in the mirror, desperately trying to plan your approach.

What is even appropriate here? Should you thank him for coming? Should you apologize again?

Anything is better than this. You can’t hide in the bathroom forever torturing yourself.

Right?

You close your eyes to splash your face with a bit of water, and take a long, drawn out, deep breath. Then you steel yourself and meekly emerge from your hiding spot.

You stall in front of the hallway closet, eyes turned away, and pick up your tie from the neck of the nearby hanger with your blazer on it.

But before you can make much progress with your tie, you’re hit with a pleasantly familiar, slightly sweet, slightly malty smell that calls you out into the room proper, despite your best attempts to keep hiding from your date.

You glance around for the source, quickly finding that there’s a neutral white mug sitting on the grotesquely ornate lacquer tray next to the brewing machine.

“Tea?” You identify, forgetting your task and taking the still-warm mug into your hands.

“I made you a cup. I thought you might need it.”

Carlyle’s taken a seat in the embroidered club chair in the corner of the room. Even in a place like this, he manages to somehow not look out of place. He peers out at you, one leg folded over the other. His spaded tail lazily whips the empty space below him.

“Ah. T-Thanks.” You say, trying not to let your voice crack, before taking a long sip.

Queen’s Breakfast Blend. He even put cream and sugar in it- a bit under what you would’ve, but that’s only to be expected from him. You’re sure to him, this was just as excessive as you’d like. It’s nothing like the authentic blend Devin brings you, but you’re touched that he remembered your preference.

“Can’t help but see the coffee’s untouched.” You sniff dryly and look into the beige, opaque liquid in your cup, extending a cursory bit of teasing. Testing the waters.

“Hah! Well. A man has to have some standards.” Carlyle quips in turn, clawtips drumming the fabric of the armrest.

Another long sip. You investigate the prepackaged coffees.

“...It’s the same store brand that I buy, though.” You snort. “You've been drinking it for months. Every time you turned up at the shop…”

“It’s different when you make it.” He shrugs with a knowing smile; a bolt through your chest. You can only huff out a laugh in response to prevent yourself from getting too flustered.

The mug clinks against the tray as you set it back down to focus on the fabric still hanging limp around your neck, waiting to be arranged.

You can feel Carlyle’s eyes on you as you fumble your attempts to tie it, but he’s not saying anything. Yet.

You try again. You fail again.

Your hands are trembling the smallest bit, but it’s making it hard to complete the fine movements. You don’t know if it’s your nerves about the event in general, or maybe the fact that you know if you look up, you’ll catch Carlyle’s warm, dark brown eyes shamelessly fixated on your movements.

“B-Blast it-” You hiss under your breath as you fail to form the knot once more, but clearly not as quietly as you think, and you seem to have fully spurred your date to action.

“Here. You look like you could use some assistance.” Carlyle laughs a sift laugh as he gets to his feet and clears the short distance between you. Though, he does hesitate a moment before touching you, despite his hands already raising to do so; “If you’d like it.”

“Please.” Your voice comes out an exasperated groan, weakly throwing up your hands in defeat.

He moves in closer now that he has expressed permission, untwisting the mess of a tie and laying it flat against your flipped up collar. The room is so silent, you can hear the faint sound of the cotton brushing against this stoneskin.

“I know how to tie a tie,” You insist in your own defense, fighting no one but yourself- not angry, but more so particularly exasperated. Of course you’re failing this task while someone’s watching you do it. “I just. Don’t do it as often as you do, probably…”

“I’m sure you’re perfectly capable.” Carlyle says in a reassuring tone while his hands deftly maneuver with the finesse of someone who has absolutely done this way, way more often than you have. “Though, I’m not complaining about getting to do it myself.”

His movements are delicate but still firm, just like you remember.

His stone fingers brush the sides of your neck in the process. You simultaneously fight the urge to melt into his touch while your heart hammers in your chest so hard that you’re starting to feel it in your throat.

…You’re fairly sure he’s dragging this out on purpose, but you, similarly, are not complaining- you’re too busy savoring the feeling.

“Is this okay?” He speaks barely above a whisper, and secures the tie at the base of your throat with a gentle tug. He’s asking about the tightness of the knot, surely, but with the way his hands linger, it’s also serving the purpose of re-confirming where your boundaries for physical closeness are, in your still undefined standing.

Your anxiety on the matter can't stand up to how badly you want him.

Your hand rises to gently touch the side of his jaw, but you hesitate, still unsure of yourself despite the clear look of invitation in Carlyle’s eyes.

Then, there’s a slight pressure on your neck from your tie, still in Carlyle’s hands, as he gently pulls you closer by it. He does it slowly, almost agonizingly drawn out, giving you time to back out or stop it. But you don’t- you only lean in to close the gap, taking his lips in your own.

His kiss is warm and slightly rigid, just like you remember. You flinch, second guessing yourself- but his grip on your tie is still there, holding you firmly to him, clear that he has no intention of letting you go this time.

So, your hesitance melts away. Your other arm snakes around the yoke of his shoulders as you embrace him, the way you’ve been dying to do since you saw him standing at the threshold. You feel his tongue and the tips of his fangs, remapping the shape of them with your tongue.

Your kisses grow more heated by the second, barely keeping from gnashing teeth, desperate to get more of this feeling; there’s a pit of lacking in your chest needing to be filled from the time you spent apart.

When he finally releases his hold on your tie, you pull back just enough to part your lips, you’re a glutton for air and blinking back the moisture rimming your eyelids. Overcome with emotion, you lay your head on his shoulder, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes, but not ready to break your touch for the fear that you’ll wake up and it won’t have been real.

“I missed you.”

Your voice is barely audible as you speak into the padded surface of his suit shoulder.

“I missed you, too.” He responds in a breathy, almost half-laugh, stroking the back of your head with his claw points.

Several moments pass with you unmoving, entwined with your head resting on him. None of what was bothering you seems to matter much now.

You could stay like this forever- if only there weren’t things you had to do…

As if on cue, you hear the rumble of Carlyle clearing his throat, sounding particularly hollow from your ear’s position on his chest.

“We should be going if you want to make it to the ceremony on time.” Carlyle finally says quietly, checking his watch behind your head, but doesn’t budge yet himself, either.

“Right...” You sigh wistfully, still basking in the heady feeling of having your arms around him and his lips on yours again. You manage to somehow pry yourself away and slip your blazer on, but it’s the most difficult thing you’ve done in days.

Carlyle watches in approval as you straighten the lapels, a warm smile on his face.

“I have to say, you look stunning this evening.”

“My, what did I do to deserve such flattery?”

“Well- you see me in a suit regularly, but this is the first time I’ve gotten the pleasure of seeing you in one. It feels like a rare treat I should savor while I can.”

“I’m sorry but you’ll need to wait to do much more savoring, I’m afraid.” You say, unable to resist touching his face one more time, gently running your finger over the smooth stone surface of his bottom lip.

He kisses the tip of your thumb in response, looking you straight in the eyes as he does so.

You feel your face heat up immediately, and quickly detach your hold on him and open the door to the hallway before you give into the temptation to miss the event entirely.

“Sitting through this wedding is going to be difficult enough already- for completely other reasons now.” You quip, your voice coming out a slight rasp as you pass through the threshold of the hotel room.

“Look at this way-” Carlyle follows closely behind you, pulling the door closed with a soft click. “It's an excellent incentive.”

You manage to make it into the ceremony space just in time to not stand out as rude, sliding into the carved wooden benches at the back row, amongst the hushed pre-ceremony conversation.

The ceremony venue itself is just as extravagant as the reception area you got acquainted with while setting up the cake.

The tree is most present in this room. Huge branches reach in through the partially open roof of the area, clusters of blossoms covering the whole left side, suspended high over the altar and reaching past over the rows of wooden benches.

If nothing else, the pictures will be fantastic…

A small band of classic Elven musicians are in one corner, playing the equivalent to faerie elevator music on their antique reed and string instruments, to fill the room while people file into their seats.

Every attendee seems to have pulled out their best gown or set of robes from their wardrobe for the occasion, desperate to win the coveted and definitely real title of ‘best dressed wedding guest’. Swathes of Aurelian fabrics dominate your vision- shimmering flowing silks and light, twinkly sheer voiles, some likely literally enchanted with magic to float or gently shift like an aurora. You do see a handful of suits, as well as several more numan-standard cocktail dresses, but they are far outnumbered by the sheer amount of Elven finery in the room.

It’s suffocating.

You can already feel your back muscles tensing and your jaw setting, looking out at the gathering of rich people dressed in formal wear. Even knowing you’re well within the dress code, you can’t help but think you’re underdressed somehow.

Every time a set of new eyes glance over you with brief curiosity or hazy half-recognition, you’re hit with a new small wave of panic and disgust. You sure recognize many of them- all extended family members and acquaintances that you’ve encountered over the several years of large, overblown functions for every Elven holiday with Trevor’s family that you had to endure.

You’re sure none of them recognize you in turn- after all, why would they bother to remember you? You were only present for eight years. You were only engaged to be married. Why bother to remember something as trivial as what you look like or what your name was? At the very least, if any of them do remember who you are, they don’t dare acknowledge it.

You weren’t enough before, why would you be now?

The only small mercy is that the people closest to Trevor are far at the front, without a clear view to the back where you’re seated…

“So, how many crystal chandeliers do you think that lovely lady’s gown is worth?” Carlyle leans to the side with his back straight, just enough for his words to be audible to you but not likely anyone else, nudging your knee slightly with his own to direct your line of sight. You can hear the smirk on his lips without even turning to seeing his face. “Or do you think perhaps she robbed the baron’s bank vault directly?”

“That would be a difficult heist.” You reply, barely keeping a straight face, somehow no longer able to dwell on the occasional, real or imagined scan of familiar eyes on you. “Three, maybe four.”

A few minutes pass with Carlyle pleasantly distracting you from the impending ceremony with silly chatter. It works marvelously, until you catch sight of Trevor, dressed in uncharacteristically formal elven robes, taking his place at the altar. He, as always, looks as bored as he could probably get away with looking, though he’s standing at attention with his hands joined in front of him, rather than leaning on something.

A particularly bitter thought- that he looks far too overdressed for his face to look like he’s waiting for the bus- crosses your mind. He can’t even muster the effort to look excited on his wedding day, of all days? Typical.

Bile rises in your throat. You could vomit, and being in a crowd of people might be the only thing that keeps you from doing so. You want to yank the circlet off his head and wing it like a frisbee across the room.

Your teeth grit, and it takes all you have not to scowl. He’s attractive, and it makes you angry how good he looks in his stupid robes. Of course you find him attractive, you dated him for eight years. But any sense of thinking he’s good looking now comes with the added footnote of him leaving you when you needed his support the most.

You don’t want him anymore. You’re well aware of that. But you still can’t let go of the fact he’ll never own up to the pain that he caused you, or the fact that closure from him will stay out of reach-

The fact that you weren’t good enough.

Before you can spiral too far, however, you feel the familiar sensation of a stoneskin palm gently slipping into yours.

Carlyle doesn’t say anything, clearly not wanting to be disruptive during a ceremony, but he looks over at you and gently squeezes your fingers in a firm grip when your eyes make contact.

You don’t really need him to speak, because you can hear the message loud and clear-

I’m here.

He doesn’t take his hand back, letting it rest on your leg indefinitely. The feeling of the weight is comfortable and reassuring.

Warmth spreads in your chest. Maybe you can make it through this ceremony.

The music slows, then immediately shifts into a recognizable, though mellow composition of a wedding march. Heads all turn in expectation.

The bride finally appears at the end of the aisle, and despite your feelings around the wedding itself, you find yourself a bit stunned by the sight. Devin is pretty anyway, so it’s not surprising that she’s also pretty on her wedding day of all days. Even if her face wasn’t obfuscated by a shifting, translucent veil, she would still be almost unrecognizable in the sheer amount of layers of fabric in varying levels of opacity she’s clad in, between the veil, train, and the full body of the gown. The bodice is fitted, with slim sleeves that start at the elbow and go down all the way past her wrist into delicate closures on her middle fingers. But the rest of the gown is simply the most ornate sea of cloth you’ve ever laid eyes on. It’s so foreign to anything you’ve ever seen her wear before, and you have to imagine it must be heavy, if the squadron of flower-clad elven children in white dress, barefoot and nymphlike, holding the train of her dress behind her are any indication.

It’s definitely still Devin under all that finery though, because she can’t hold the emotionless countenance of a demure elven bride at all- she’s too overjoyed, a permanent grin on her face as she tries to lock eyes with each and every person in the rows and give them a tiny, hurried wave from behind her bouquet- starting with you. You can’t help but smile sheepishly and return the quick wave. A small child abruptly and enthusiastically throws a fistful of flower petals at your row as soon as the bride passes by. A single petal clings to your blazer.

Trevor manages to smile in what looks like an almost genuine manner, but not after a moment of thought.

She finally reaches the altar, and the gaggle of blonde elven children are dismissed, seemingly barely restraining themselves from dashing back to their seats.

Devin is already visibly struggling to keep her composure, even through the veil, the sniffling audible in the gaps of the music.

Like most elven ceremonies, the wedding itself is elaborate and a bit drawn out. It involves multiple phases, the first of which involves both of the betrothed’s parents, even before any actual marriage vows are made between the couple. You of course are familiar with this, given the research you had started back when it was going to be you up there. This is the closest thing that an elven wedding ceremony has to a typical numan bridal party, instead focusing more on the couple themselves.

Trevor has always looked like a perfect mixture of his parents, almost like he was purposefully created in a lab, selected from their best features. They never quite warmed up to you, so you simply try to avoid making much eye contact with either of them. Devin, on the other hand, looks like a carbon copy of her mother, with her father having a more neutral complexion and dark brown hair- likely a grey elf, rather than a dawn one. As you let your eyes wander to avoid looking at Trevor and his parents too much, you follow Devin’s parents back to their row. Your eyes settle on a curiosity in the front row next to them; what certainly is the back of the head and shoulders of an orc, towering above the svelte people around them.

And of course, such a culturally important ceremony is completely performed in an archaic Aurelian dialect of Elvish. You struggle to follow along with the small amount of basic Elvish you learned from your mother, but it is a battle you’re slowly losing. Even Sunday mass for the Burning Lady doesn’t take nearly this long, and that might as well be a standard measure for what constitutes “too long” back home.

Several more observances go by, from what you can tell: A cleansing ritual with pastel colored clouds pouring from a small rose gold censer, Another chanting rite performed by the priestess for longevity and fertility, A spell performed to dissolve the bride’s veil with a sparkle of magic. Then, what you assume must be their vows, given that either of them speak following being prompted by the officiant. And after that, finally, is the actual handfasting.

A set of hazardously long ribbons are secured around their joined hands and the priestess says the last of their spiel. The music slowly starts to build back up.

Bride and groom kiss.

After all of the anticipation, you thought it would’ve felt worse- a twinge of jealousy, or even disgust. But you don’t really feel much at all, apart from a strange, deja-vu adjacent sensation that it might’ve been you up there, if things were different.

And finally, somewhere, in the back of your mind… there’s relief.

You can’t say you mind that it isn’t you. Not anymore.

It’s not you. And that’s a wonderful thing.

You squeeze Carlyle’s hand.

Mercifully, after a one more short closing verse of Elvish, the new couple walks back up the aisle, fastened together, hand in hand.

If nothing else can be said- at least Devin looks happy. You can’t bring yourself to feel sour at the moment, regardless of how wary you are for her, given who the groom is.

“Well, that was enlightening.” Carlyle rises to his feet and moves to the end of the row, where he stands, straightening the buttons on his blazer. “Very… thorough.”

“Reminded me a bit of going to mass back home as a kid, to be honest.” You chuckle as you scooch to the end of the bench after him. “But much less kneeling.”

“Oh? We must’ve gone to different types of mass, then. I haven’t been since I was a child, but I clearly remember ours was always very succinct.” He holds out his hand to you with an amused smile, giving you a flash of fang. “If we ever find ourselves on the Queen’s Isle, maybe you can instruct me on the finer details.”

“I’d like that.” You grasp his hand and he helps you to your feet.

You don’t even need to plaster a smile on your face after that, and head to the reception area, hand in hand with your own date.

All that’s left now is to see the cake through to the cutting.

>> ✨ MASTERLIST >> ☕ KO-FI

#exophilia #monster lover #monster romance #monster x human #monster x reader #gargoyle x reader #gargoyle #male x male #mlm #mxm #male reader #series: something borrowed #oc: carlyle #oc: declan #nine of words

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gimmehyuck · 1 year

Text

lungs like a garden series

✿ series synopsis.

hanahaki.

the disease everyone has heard of.

the one that doctors only know how to treat by one surgery or one returned confession.

no other cure.

everyone has heard of it. but what’s less spoken of… is how it feels to simultaneously be both in love and in pain.

the question is in the end… will it always be worth it?

✿ genres. strangers to lovers // friends to lovers // enemies to lovers // friends to lovers

✿ warnings. angst // fluff // possible? smut? // mentions of dying/death // sickness // vomiting (of flowers) // tags will be more detailed for each story, these are the general ones for all // synopsis of each story may change/evolve as i continue to write them lol

✿ something to note: each story is connected but can be read alone!

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

✿ to drown in you | n.jm (coming soon)

“i’m… i’m scared.”

“don’t worry, i’ve got you. nothing will happen if i’m here.”

✿ summary. jaemin didn’t think twice about diving in to the water to save you, you needed his help (but couldn’t ask).

he also didn’t think twice about the befriending you and helping you out of a tough situation, you wanted his help (but wouldn’t ask).

and he definitely didn’t think twice about falling in love with you, he didn’t need any help in doing so (but he should’ve asked, it would have made things easier).

✿ pairing. swimmer!jaemin x yn

✿ words. est 10k+

✿ genre. strangers to lovers… or is it?

✿ warnings. angst!!!, fluff!!!, mentions of dying/death, vomiting (of flowers), yn is in a toxic relationship at the beginning, eventual smut, more to come as i write

✿ patient progress: symptomatic

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

✿ denialism at its finest | l.jn

“i don’t think falling in love is all that bad.”

“i do, and i refuse to do it.”

✿ summary. there were a lot of things that jeno was sure of. for example, he was sure that his schools hockey team would win the championship (not just because he was the captain). he was sure that he had a job to go to once he graduated (that he’d absolutely hate because it had nothing to do with his major). lastly, he was absolutely sure that he’d never fall in love, and he definitely wasn’t in love with you…

(reality hit him at the same time the petals hit his palm.)

✿ pairing. hockey player!jeno x yn

✿ words. tbd

✿ genre. maybe friends to ???

✿ warnings. angst, fluff, jeno is generally in denial, mentions of dying/death, mentions of vomiting (of flowers), divorced parents?? if that needs to be warned, more to come as i write

✿ patient progress: symptomatic

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

✿ distance between us | l.ty

“what didn’t you realize until now?”

“how much it hurts to love you.”

✿ summary. taeyong was oblivious, he had to be (or so you thought). there was simply no way he had to know how you felt about him (could he..?). and for a long while, you were content feeling the butterflies in the pit of your stomach (the feeling made you giddy). but then the butterflies changed into petals… and the petals changed the meaning of it entirely (the feeling made you sick).

your innocent crush, what you thought were simple feelings… it had changed somehow.

(and it hurt.)

✿ pairing. brothers best friend?taeyong x yn

✿ words. tbd

✿ genre. friends to ???

✿ warnings. fluff?, angst!!, minor age gap (not by much), taeyong is a bit… what’s the word… he leads yn on kinda?, vomiting (of flowers), mentions of blood (it’s roses what do you expect), more to come as i write

✿ patient progress: symptomatic

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

✿ biology of love | q.kn

“why do you push people away like that? it’s cruel.”

“what’s truly cruel is when they leave.”

✿ summary. kun knew how to be friendly, he swore he did (you can ask anyone). he was friendly to everyone who worked on his floor, (maybe a little distant but never unkind). he was well liked but his friend circle was limited, (he didn’t mind that). until you came along, someone who seemed to hate his very existence; you were the new doctor on the floor, he had been a nurse working there for two years (seniority counts somehow, right?).

he truly didn’t care if you had friends or not, or if you were just always miserable, he couldn’t care less… (but then why did seeing you slowly getting sick bother him?)

✿ pairing. nurse!kun x doctor!yn

✿ words. tbd

✿ genre. enemies to lovers… possibly?

✿ warnings. angst, fluff, age gap (a bit more than a couple years), mentions of death/dying, mentions of vomiting (of flowers), discussions of what comes next and the existential crisis that follows, yn is Cold because Sad (that she says is ambition)™, possible? smut?, more to come as i write

✿ patient progress: symptomatic

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

✿ falling for the sun (you) | l.dh

“why are you acting this way?”

“i’ve realized i’m like icarus. i’ve loved the sun’s warmth so much, but now it’s only killing me.”

✿ summary. you can pinpoint the moment you wanted to study psychology as a career to the moment you walked into your high school class (thanks to your best friend that agreed to go to the same university as you). you can pinpoint the moment your life’s trajectory changed to the exact moment you met lee donghyuck, (you blamed it entirely on mark). you can even pinpoint where your major mistake in all this started (it was the moment you moved in).

what you couldn’t pinpoint, no matter how hard you tried, was the moment you officially fell in love with him (you only really found out after the first yellow petal appeared… and then you knew you were fucked).

✿ pairing. roommate!donghyuck x yn

✿ words. tbd

✿ genre. best friend/roommates to ???

✿ warnings. angst!!!, fluff!!!, hyuck and yn argue a bit, hyuck is kind of a player??, mentions of death/dying, mentions of vomiting (of flowers), mentions of blood and choking (sunflowers are huge okay), eventual smut, more to come as i write

✿ patient progress: symptomatic

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

tag list: @byungbyungbaek @ficrecnctskz @shwizhies

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darlingshane · 2 years

Text

under your spell

Joe Teague x F!Reader

Rating: 18+

Warnings/Content: Explicit. 1950s. Smut. Vaginal Sex. Oral Sex. Safe Sex + Unsafe Sex. Smoking. Smoking Weed. Getting High. Breeding Kink. Mention of War. Mention of Murder. Mention of Jasmine. Free Spirited Reader.

WC: 4,5k

Summary: When you woke up a few hours ago, this is the last thing you'd thought you'd be doing. You're always open to adventure, however it presents itself in your life, and today it came in the form of Joe Teague. A beautiful quest you welcome between your legs.

-- Read below or at AO3.

A/N: I feel like this was going great until I decided to have them smoke a joint, then it got weird, sorry! Still, this is one of my favorite pieces I've ever written.

Detective Teague takes his job back on robbery-homicide after three miserable years dealing with the aftermath of his actions. It's a new decade and Joe is determined on making something better out of himself when he's sent to the boardwalk in the afternoon to investigate a series of robberies that have been happening for a few weeks. The file just landed on his desk and today a new thread of pickpocketing has been reported since early this morning. After taking the statement of three victims and a few witnesses, he lights up a cigarette and leans against a bench, keenly observing the busy activity of the boulevard, checking out the new businesses and houses bringing life to the coast.

You’re the last person Joe expects to see there, mostly because he’s only seen you in the little, gloomy office you work at in the basement of a restaurant. Not the prettiest place to keep a girl like you during the day; it’s what he thinks anyway every time he goes by the office to talk to your boss. You light up the place, though, unlike that little yellow tinted window above your desk that goes directly into an alley. He’s liked you since the moment he set eyes on you. As strange as you could be sometimes, you’re not like anybody he’s ever met. You’re quick to laugh, tease, and speak your mind regardless of consequences, which has gotten you in trouble several times. A real maverick, that’s what he called you once.

Joe is friends with your boss, a private eye. Friends might be a strong word, they've helped each other a handful of times, and they’ve always been friendly. In those few times Joe's been in the office, he’s built a rapport with you while he waited at the reception where your desk sits. A good rapport, he'd say.

Out here, by the beach, as bright as the sun is, you steal its shine, making his day brighter in your skimpy outfit made out of short shorts, a blouse tied at your waist with the top buttons open, showing some cleavage, and a pair of wedges. He has to check you out twice to make sure that’s you. There’s a camera strapped around your neck, and you're very concentrated in taking pictures of your surroundings. A tiny dog on a leash interrupts you when its owner stops nearby and the little thing starts licking your ankle. It puts a smile on his face, seeing you laughing out loud and crouching to pet the dog.

When you come back up, your head swivels, searching for something else to shoot, and you start pushing one foot after the other, aimlessly.

Joe puts his cigarette out on the pavement and watches you delighted as you walk in his direction, albeit unaware of his presence.

“Say, sweetheart,” he utters as you get closer, “did the boss finally let you out of that dingy office?”

You stop in your tracks, snort, and glance at the detective as he takes off his hat.

“It's my day off, detective,” you shrug and close the distance between you and him, “I can do whatever I want. What brings the likeness of you here?”

“An investigation.”

“Hmm.”

“You know how to take pictures?” he points at your camera

“Uh-hmm.”

“Come here often?”

“Not really. Why?”

“There's been a series of robberies. Though I ask if you've seen anything.”

“I wouldn't know… I've only been here a few times,” you pause, and quip, “but who knows, maybe I like to rob people in my free time. Have you thought about that?”

Entertained by your idea, his lips curve up shyly, “with that outfit? I doubt it. Where are you keeping your stash, sweetheart?”

“What’s wrong with my outfit?” You huff, quickly glancing down at your body.

“Nothing, but it doesn’t have much space to tuck anything other than that set of keys you got in your pocket. And I don’t see you carrying a bag.”

True, he has a good eye, you only have a set of keys in your right pocket.

“So you’re saying you like my outfit, Detective Teague?” You playfully raise a brow. You really can't help yourself. Teasing him like that comes out so easily that you don't even think about the words your mouth produces.

“It suits you better than those pantsuits you wear for work,” his eyes run up and down your body.

“Didn't know you were such a fashionista. Why do you care about what I wear?”

His little smirk gives away part of his thoughts. He is utterly taken with you and would rather see you with no clothes at all.

“You always bring your camera with you?” he changes the subject.

You nod. “Are you going to put me to work on my day off?”

“No, sweetheart, but maybe you could show me your pictures? See if you've captured the perp? I got a description, but it'd really help to have his face. You take photos of people?”

“I do… I guess you could see them, but I have one condition.”

“Of course, you do. What's going to cost me this time?”

“Nothing. You just have to let me take your picture.”

“Why?” He scoffs, turning his head bashfully to the side for a beat.

“I like your face,” you respond without hesitation.

“This old mug with a broken nose?” he gazes at you, raising his brow.

“It's a good nose,” you assure him, and as you do you check him out using the viewfinder of your camera to figure out the best shot of the defined edges of his face. It's very characteristic, you believe; a rough kind of handsome. He has texture on his cheekbones, deep creases on his brow, a sun spot below his left eye, and a small healed cut at the bow of his lip. All of it is just equally beautiful, but not as much as his brown eyes that bleed war, compassion, and mystery. They sometimes spark up when you quip, and crinkle at the corners when he laughs. He doesn't do it often, but when he does, it makes your heart flutter.

Joe swallows nervously and turns his head to the side, showcasing his profile. He has the ocean at his back now, framing the picture perfectly.

“Stay there, detective,” you order, and he stays still as you center your shot before capturing him in film.“That's it. See, it wasn't so bad,” you finish, covering the lenses of your camera.

“Guess not,” he scoffs, placing the hat back on his head, pulling the brim low.

“It's gonna be a great addition to my wall, you'll see,” you add, casually hooking your arm around his elbow, holding his bicep with your opposite hand.

He lets you guide him through the crowd, heading towards the parking lot.

His car follows yours as you take him to your apartment downtown. Then he climbs up the staircase behind you, watching the slinking of your hips and the beautiful shape of your ass, hugged by the fabric. He notices a little birthmark at the back of your thigh that looks like an anchor. He wants to reach out and touch it, just for the sake of feeling your skin on his palm. Something tells him, you wouldn't mind if he did.

“I'm not a slob, I swear,” you excuse yourself for the mess of your apartment when you open the door, “I had some friends over last night for a little soirée.”

It's not even that messy, but lived-in, and bohemian. Unlike Joe's apartment, that's all white and grey basics, yours is like stepping into what he imagined your mind would look like— disorganized but honest, vibrant, and full of wonders. The air smells like incense. There are colors everywhere, pillows on the floor around a coffee table, over a huge green rug. There's a few empty glasses and a bottle of wine almost empty. A dirty ashtray. A guitar on the armchair. A few plants in the corner underneath the window. Strange pieces of suggestive art, from photos to paintings to all sorts of trinkets, to a bust of a woman sculptured in a metal alloy as a centerpiece on the dining table. Behind that table, there's a wall displaying a wide selection of your photographs. It's mostly a hobby, but you’ve sold some to a few publications.

“It's not that bad,” he glances around with wonder as you take off your wedges, “where did you get all this?”

“Flea markets, rummage sales, traveling souvenirs… you name it,” you explain as you take his jacket and hat from his hands, and tuck them in the closet, “some are gifts. You like them?”

He shrugs, lacking a response. He's still taking it all in. He does like it, but he doesn't quite understand it yet. It's like he just traveled into another country and is taking his time adjusting to a new culture.

You let him stare while you tidy the place a little, picking up the dirty glasses and ashtray from the table and taking them to the sink. Afterwards, the pillows are stacked on the couch.

Your mouth curves into a grin, seeing him thoroughly scanning the painting of a semi-naked woman riding a crescent moon across a starry sky.

“You like that one, huh?”

“I've never seen anything like it,” he utters under a heavy breath, without looking at you.

“You need to go out more and work less, Joe,” from behind, you prop your chin on his shoulder to stare at that same piece of art.

“I go out plenty. I've gone to a burlesque twice.”

“Business or pleasure?”

“Business,” his head sinks into a shrug, “okay, maybe you're right. I need to get out more.”

“You didn't come here to look at pictures, did you, Joe?” you gather.

He turns around slowly, as you move your head away from his shoulder.

“I uh, no, I don't know why I said that. I just… I wanna see what you do anyway.”

“You could've just said you wanted to get some trim,” you express boldly, “I wouldn't have minded.”

“It's not just that.”

“No? What feels better than having sex with someone you like?” you dangerously tighten the distance, intimidating the broad detective a little.

It's fun to see him shaking in his boots at your hauteur. You knew you’re one of Joe’s weaknesses, you just didn't know how badly he wanted you.

“Guess I thought I could take you out for a date first,” his head leans to the side, quickly running his tongue over his bottom lip.

“Oh, I don't date. I'm way past that. You don’t have to butter me up, detective. You want me? Just say so.”

“You're not like any girl I've met,” he smirks, cupping your face, eyes darkening by the second.

“I bet. What kind of girl do you think I am?”

“I’m not sure… but you're bold and honest. You're not afraid of saying what's in your mind. You're not scripted like every damn fool in this town. You're passionate and smart. I love how you can laugh without any worry in the world… looking at all this, here, it seems that you've lived nine different lives, like a cat,” hearing him say that makes you brightly smile, “and you're so, so beautiful, sweetheart. It hurts looking at you. What kind of girl do I think you are, you ask? I don’t know. I didn't think someone like you existed.”

“What are you gonna do about it?”

He mumbles some sort of “dunno” in between breaths, and gazes at your lips before having the tip of his nose nudging yours as he leans closer to steal a kiss from your lips to prove that you're not something his imagination has concocted. You must be real, cause his mind doesn't expand that far to create something as exquisite as you are. Even in his travels during war, he never got to see the wonders of the world like some of his fellow soldiers did. He stuck to his task, and that kept him and his platoon alive. If he hadn't, he wouldn't be here on this particular day, getting to explore the warm surface of your delicious red lips. It’s your tongue that misbehaves after a moment to poke at his mouth. He welcomes you with hunger, massaging your tongue as you blindly undo the knot of his tie with practiced ease.

This is far better than he ever imagined. The taste of your kiss and the way your hands tug at his clothes makes his cock swell and twitch in his pants harder than when he’s left to his own devices. Joe can’t help but sigh heavily against your mouth, and you smile to yourself at how easy it’s having wrapped around your finger like that. You want him wrapped around your legs instead. So, you part from his lips and order him to take off his shoulder holster and shirt, and he obeys. He carefully places his weapon on the table, and tosses his shirt on the chair along his tie. Left with a white tank top, you smooth your palm along the USMC tattoo adorning his bicep.

“Wanna see my tattoos?” You ask, and his head quickly responds with a nod.

Across the beaded curtain hanging over the archway separating the living room from your bedroom, colors flow naturally from one space to another as you turn to him and start unknotting your blouse under his most curious stare. His Adam’s apple bobs as you reveal the stunning Goddess tattoo that guards your rib cage. She’s kneeled right between your breasts, wearing her signature headdress, with her arms and wings spread wide, highlighting the shape of either of your boobs. There’s no bra covering your chest, just her and your skin turning into goose flesh as you toss your shirt aside.

“Now you,” you stand determined, in front of him, half bared and excited for what comes next.

He swallows, taken by the beauty of your body, and resumes revealing the rest of his torso, pulling his undershirt over his head.

Piece after piece, you unveil each of your bodies like an unspoken invocation between your sex and his. He’s already hard, you’re already wet.

He reaches gently to brush his thumb across the second tattoo he discovers printed on your hip of a small rose.

His gaze, pulled low, is drowned in lust and warmth that spreads over the surface of your skin as he asks, “and who is this lovely lady?” touching softly the beautiful companion inked to your skin.

“That is Great Mother Isis, ancient Egyptian Goddess of fertility and motherhood,” you let out a shaky breath, as he traces the lines across your stomach, “protector of women, bringer of magic, healing, death and rebirth…. Among many other things,” you state facts, half shivering at his touch, “some believed she was the queen of the universe.”

“Do you believe any of that, sweetheart?”

“No. I just like what she represents. She makes me feel strong and capable and beautiful.”

His eyes are lifted to yours, “you’re all that and more, you know?”

“Oh, you have no idea, my sweet, Joe,” your face splits into a grin before having him laying down on your mattress.

You climb on top of him, extending his arms above his head, pinning his wrists beneath your palms as your sexes meet in the middle. He groans at the slickness of your folds covering the hard velvet of his hefty length. Holding his hands and leaning closer, you rotate your hips– grinding, rubbing, and stimulating that little, hard nub tying your folds with passion.

In sex, you like taking charge, at least the first encounter, and discover how men respond and grow weak to your irresistible charms. Some resist your dominance and prefer showing you who's boss instead. Not Joe Teague. He's already under your spell, and welcomes anything you wanna do with him. You could eat his heart for all he cares.

There's a red box of Trojans tucked in one of the drawers of your nightstand. Extending one hand, you open the drawer and collect one rubber. Joe glances at your hands as you straighten your torso, and free the condom from the beige band keeping it folded.

“You don't wanna tempt the Goddess of fertility, huh?”

“Not just yet,” you scoff, and scoot backwards to sheath that alluring full length that Joe shows with pride, throbbing in your hands.

When you woke up a few hours ago, this is the last thing you'd thought you'd be doing. You're always open to adventure, however it presents itself in your life, and today it came in the form of Joe Teague. A beautiful quest you welcome between your legs. You brace your palms to his chest, after letting him breach your opening, and move your hips tentatively, exploring how deep he can reach as you sink slowly onto his stately erection that fills you up to the hilt. It's a strange sensation at first, and it takes you a moment to get used to his size before letting your hips rock back and forth.

Joe holds your hips, and watches you, enraptured by the sensuality of your moves. He's never seen or felt anything quite like it. Not even at that burlesque show, yet again he wasn't paying much heed. Unlike now, you earn his undivided attention. It's surprising to him, he hasn't spilled out yet after months without getting his cock wet. He doesn't wanna disappoint you and focuses on your beauty instead, trying to commit to memory the way your body curves, arches, and chases that thrill stuck in your center coiling like a serpent, wanting to get out of its trap.

He adores the way your mouth turns into a perfect O, and the symphony of moans that freely escapes that same shape between curses and pants. He loses his mind when you bring your hands to your breasts and touch yourself with unrestrained devotion for your own body. God, if only his mouth could be one of those hands, he'd suck on your perfect puckered nipples until there was nothing left of you and him.

Lust consumes you, and as you reach that sweet point he watches your fingers trail down your stomach and slip between your folds to massage the crucial spot that takes care of having your walls flutter around him, and force a strangled moan out of your throat. As you hold yourself from crashing on top of him, he ejaculates in the rubber with a deep grunt, shutting his eyes, squeezing the hell out of your hips as he's overcome by one of the best orgasms he's ever experienced.

Joe doesn't register for a moment when the weight of you moves away from him to lay by his side. He’s in cloud nine, basking in the joy that freely runs through his body. It's only when his eyes open that he finds you resting on your back, staring at the ceiling with one satisfied smile.

He catches his breath before framing your chin and kissing your cheek, warmly and sweetly. No one has ever made him feel this way, not even his ex-wife. As you pointed out, he doesn't get out much these days, let alone date. He wants to, though. He’s been alone for way too long. Three years since he put Jasmine on a train. One year since that hookup with that waitress from the diner near his apartment. And now you. Wonderful, Goddess, you, that easily tore apart that wall and took him to a higher place.

“I'm gonna get some water. Want something to drink, hon?” You prop yourself on one elbow and caress his jaw, “I got coffee, tea, juice, wine…”

Joe clears his throat and nods, “water's fine. Thank you, sweetheart.”

As you leave the bed to gather your much-needed refreshment, he removes the rubber of his softened length, ties it up and lets it fall on the floor near his side to pick up later. Unable to move much from that position, he drags a sheet to cover his lower half, bringing one of the corners up to his nose to inhale the scent of you left on the fabric.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he raises his voice slightly for you to hear from the kitchen, “can you get the pack of smokes from my jacket?”

You decide to go against his request to have him try one of yours instead. You hand him a glass filled with water and ice as he slightly reclines against the headboard. Then, you collect a small metal case from your dresser. It's half filled with a very special kind of cigarette made out of weed.

You light one up, and pass it to Joe, “try this.”

“Is this a reefer?” he pegs you a stern look, holding the thing as if it was about to explode in his hand, “you know I'm a cop.”

“Shoot, sometimes I forget that you are,” you crack up, kneeling on the mattress between his legs, “c'mon, try it out. It's better than that crap you smoke. Besides, you work on robbery, right? What does it matter? Are you going to narc on me?”

He shakes his head, amused, “you're full of surprises, sweetheart.”

“I know,” you shrug nonchalantly, then lean closer to his hand and take a slow puff from the joint to show him how it's done, “hmm, are you going to join me or not?”

His brow creases, looking at the cigarette between his fingers one more time as the distinctive smell infiltrates his nose before bringing it up to his lips.

“You're a bad influence,” he exhales after a moment, letting the smoke out.

You press your teeth to your bottom lip, watching him take another hit.

“How does it feel?”

“Dunno. You tell me, how’s it supposed to feel?”

“It’s meant to relax you and make you feel good,” you take it from his hand and have another puff.

“I feel the same.”

“Give it a moment.”

You adjust your position, ending up straddling his lap, with a sheet shielding his body from yours. You pass the reefer back and forth, sharing the same breaths and smoke from one mouth to another in between kisses, until he’s high as a kite.

He’s having a moment of intense joy as he brushes his lips along one of your arms, inhaling deeply the scent of your skin, intoxicating himself further from you.

“I wanna marry you,” he hums, reaching the crook of your neck, making you laugh.

“You’re high.”

“Yeah, but I’m still going to wed you, so I can kiss you, and fuck you, and eat you, every day. What do you say, sweetheart? Do you wanna marry me?”

“Hmm, no. I won’t ever ever be tied to you or anyone, Joe.”

“I thought you wanted me?” his head pulls back to look at you with a dopey smile.

“I do want you, but I don’t wanna belong to you.”

“You won’t.”

“Yeah, that’s how marriage works, hon.”

“But I love you more than anything in the world,” he insists, gripping to that fixation his mind is latching to.

“You don’t, baby. It’s the love weed talking. Ask me again tomorrow when you’re not high, okay?” You prop your forehead against his, and his stare saddens the longer you say no to him.

You know the sentiment quite well. It takes longer to affect you, but it’s starting to get a grip of you, too. You’d have said yes, had he asked three minutes later.

“Tell me a secret, Joe,” you whisper, trying to get out of that marriage trap he’s set.

“I uh… I don’t know,” he swallows, floating between the sea of thoughts tangled in his brain, picking up the first one he sees, “I killed somebody in cold blood.”

“Did they deserve it?”

“Probably not.”

“Why did you do it?” you wedge his ears between your fingers.

“He was going to get somebody killed. Somebody I cared about.”

“Then he deserved it.”

“Yeah, he did,” his mind changes. “I’d kill for you, too.”

“I know you would,” you breathe out, enticed by the passion in his statement, “wanna find out how good it feels to fuck like this?”

“Yeah,” his lips beautifully quirk up, “yeah, I wanna.”

You let him take the reins this time, and he places you down on your back, so he can worship your body with his hands and lips. He bathes you in kisses and caresses, licks your nipples with ardor before having his tongue deeply exploring every inch of your center. He then sucks your clit between his lips and steals an unexpected orgasm that has you floating even higher than you are right now. The ceiling spins as he climbs to your side, and claims your lips with such hunger it almost hurts.

“I wanna put a baby inside you,” he breaks the kiss and places a palm on your lower abdomen.

“You can’t ask me that,” you snort.

“I’m not,” one of his fingers points at the tattoo between your breasts, “she’s the one asking. The Goddess of motherhood is telling me you should carry my baby, that I should protect you both with my life.”

You shake your head, remembering the first time you got fucked up like that, or parts of it at least.

“Listen,” he utters quietly, “she’s saying it again.”

You look down at your stomach, that magically swells under his palm. Oh god, you’re totally out of it right now.

“You hear her?”

You nod, and press your nose against his cheek for a long moment, feeling your heart racing, before letting your lips meet again.

Navigating those feelings that come attached to smoking weed usually come easier than today. It could be the effect Joe has on you. He was already in your heart, the drug is just enhancing that emotion, making you feel things strongly the longer he kisses you and touches you like that.

This you might regret in a few hours when it passes, but as you get lost in the depth of his mouth you let him nestle between your legs, slip inside you without a rubber, and he slowly makes love to you with such raw intensity you tear up, seeing how desperately he needs this right now.

“Are we really doing this?” he pants over your lips, “are we making a baby?”

“Yeah, hon, we are,” you moan at how good his bare length feels inside you.

“Oh God, I love you so much, sweetheart” he says back, overcome by the rush of procreating with you.

“Love you, Joe,” you close your eyes as your walls start fluttering again.

“I promise I’m gonna take care of you.”

“I know… I know…” your breath comes out strained as you give into the third orgasm that runs wildly through your body. You shudder and cling to him harder than before as he coats your tender walls with his seed, “shh, don’t move Joe… stay right there, honey,” your palms are gripping on his butt, keeping him deeply buried inside you, letting yourself soak in his load.

#joe teague x reader #joe teague #mob city #jon bernthal #jon bernthal smut #fanfiction #darlingwrites

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kaleidoscopewritings19 · 1 year

Text

Bruce Wayne x Reader

Title: “Secrets will be told” SERIES PART 3

Part 1

Part 2

-TWO YEARS AFTER THE EVENTS OF PART 2-

Pairing(s): Bruce Wayne (from the show Gotham) and Female reader. BOTH BRUCE AND READER WILL BE 26-28 in this part.

Warnings: Mentions of smut, other than that, none

Summary of series: Bruce Wayne was captivated when he met Y/N, and the feeling was mutual. Dating turned into being engaged and engaged to married. They knew each other’s secrets and told each other everything; they confided in one another. But once Y/N follows Bruce back to Gotham, he begins to change... He becomes secretive, is he having an affair? Y/N needs to find out the truth.

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

The Day after the Wedding

We chose to go to Bora Bora for our honeymoon. Bruce had rented an overwater Bungalow. I haven’t seen him this calm in almost two years; not since he proposed. He has not been calm since Jeremiah Valeska escaped Arkham. Jeremiah has been running loose for two years, and there has not been an encounter with him yet.

But being here, being surrounded by a big body of water and by a literal jungle, he has been at peace. I was lying out enjoying the sunlight, and Bruce was across from me doing push-ups. For the last two years, he has bulked up a lot; he worked out every single day, sometimes twice a day.

I brought down my sunglasses, and I watched the newly formed muscles tighten with every movement. But what caught my attention, was the scars along his spine. I stood up and walked over to where he was, and my fingers gently pressed against the faded red and white colored marks. “Bruce, what happened? When did this happen?” I asked, and he sat up.

“I don’t know years ago, maybe?”

“No, some these are recent. Why do you have scars, Bruce?” I questioned again, and his hand went to my cheek. “Baby, when I do jiu jitsu, and other things like combat training, I tell the guys to not go easy on me. That’s all they’re from.”

He pressed a kiss to my forehead and helped me up off of the ground. “Do you want to join me for a swim, Mrs. Wayne?” he asked, and I smiled. My heart fluttered at his words, Mrs. Wayne. I was now Mrs. Wayne. He turned to look at me, “What? Oh-- do you like it when I call you Mrs. Wayne?”

Another smile broke across my lips. Bruce pulled me by my hips, and he brought a gentle, yet hungry kiss to my lips. He kissed down to my jaw, and then worked his way to my neck, “You so gorgeous, Mrs. Wayne.”

It wasn’t too long until we were back in the bed again, and I never thought about his scars again. Two full months of honeymoon bliss; being married to Bruce has its perks. He was able to stay away on a vacation for as long as he liked.

---------

-TWO MONTHS AFTER WEDDING AND HONEYMOON-

When we got back home, Bruce became tense all over again. I wasn’t even sure how to begin to help him at this point. He started to become distant and more quiet than usual. Hours were spent at the gym in the mornings and we would pass each other by as I was going out the door for work.

After our honeymoon, things changed-- he began coming home late at night, and then he would disappear in the middle of the night. The first few weeks, I did not really pay any mind to him leaving. But after a month of him leaving our bed at midnight, I decided to follow him.

I waited until he was out of bed for five minutes, and I grabbed my robe and quietly made my way down the stairs. He was not in his study, nor was he anywhere else in the house. All of his cars were parked in the garage, and when I came back inside, I bumped into Alfred.

“Oh, Mrs. Wayne, you are up late.” Alfred said, and my hand went to his shoulder. “Please, call me, Y/N, Alfred. I was looking for Bruce. Do you know where he went?” I asked, and he hesitated.

“Sometimes Bruce has nightmares. Caused by the death of his parents; it still troubles him deeply. Sometimes he will go out for a run to tire himself out.” Alfred rambled, and I sighed.

I whispered a quiet: “Thank you” and made my way to the kitchen. Pouring myself a glass of wine, I waited for Bruce. I was sitting at the kitchen island, and I looked down at my wedding band and engagement ring. Shaking my head, I picked up my cellphone and tried calling Bruce. Each call went to voicemail, and each time he didn’t answer, my heart would drop. But an all too familiar jingle was playing across the room. With the phone to my ear, I walked over to the stove and Bruce’s cellphone was sitting next to it. He left his phone. Why? I hit the “end call” button and slammed it on to the counter. I brought my glass of wine to my lips and took a long drink.

The wine must have been making me emotional, because my thoughts began to wander. Bruce leaving every night at the same time, and not coming back until four or five in the morning. That led to one explanation: Bruce was having an affair. Two months into our marriage, and he wasn’t happy? It didn’t make sense. Was I doing something wrong?

Before I could finish that thought, Bruce crept through the hallway across from the kitchen. I wiped the tears from cheeks, and quietly went into the living room. I did not have the energy to deal with this tonight; I had to find out more before I accuse him of something he may or may not be doing. But I also could not face him tonight, and I grabbed a blanket and laid down on the couch.

When I woke up the next morning, my head was throbbing, and I was back in our master bedroom. Bruce was buttoning up his shirt, and when caught glimpse of me in the mirror, he smiled. “Good morning, babe. I put some Tylenol and a glass of water on the nightstand.” Bruce said as he nodded towards the nightstand.

I gave him a small smile and took the pill along with the water. A small bruise adorned Bruce’s jaw, and I cocked my head to the side, trying to get a better glimpse of the purple and blue bruise.

I threw the covers back and my hand went to his jaw, “Did they have to hit you in the face?” I questioned and his eyebrows drew together. “What- what do you mean?” he asked.

“Your jiu jitsu group... That’s who hit you, right?” I questioned and he sighed. “Oh. Yes. Practice got a little rough; that is all.”

I folded my arms up to my chest, “Was that after you left at midnight? I thought you went on a run. At least that is what Alfred suggested you were doing.” Bruce turned to me as he tightened his tie.

“I went on a run. Then after that I went to the gym. I couldn’t sleep.” he said, and before he could walk away, I shook my head. “Your cars were in the garage. Surely you didn’t run all the way into the city.”

“I called a cab. And I came home in a cab.” Bruce grabbed his suit jacket, and he walked out of bedroom. Tears brimmed my eyes, he was lying. There was no cab. He never calls cabs. His cellphone was on the counter.

Bruce lied to me and that was enough evidence all in itself. He got the bruise from somewhere else, and I was going to find out. I picked up our bedside telephone and dialed the number to the gym Bruce frequented.

“Hello, Donnie’s gym, how can I help you?”

“This is Mrs. Wayne. I am calling in regard over my husband Bruce Wayne’s account. I’m paying bills this month and was wondering what I owe you for this month, Donnie?” I asked.

“Ah Y/N! It’s good to hear from ya. Now, Bruce hasn’t been to the gym since before you guys tied the knot. He hasn’t been in uh--- maybe two years? I do appreciate his donations though. Keeps the place running.” Donnie said, and my grip tightened on the phone.

“Oh. I see. Well, how much does he donate? I can fill out a quick check and mail it to you.” I say, and Donnie sighed.

“Usually $2,000.” I scribbled down the amount on a sticky note, “Well, thank you Donnie. Bye-bye now.” I say before hanging up the phone. I leaned back in my chair and stared at the diamond ring on my finger.

I wiped the tears away before they could fall. I was going to Wayne Enterprises, and this was getting sorted out now.

-----

When I walked into the building, I was greeted by multiple people. “Mrs. Wayne, would you like me to call up to Mr. Wayne and inform him that you are here?”

I shook my head, “No, I am here to surprise him.” I say before the elevator door closed behind me with a ding. The elevator door stopped at the top floor, and I walked out of the elevator. Bruce’s main secretary Sidney looked up from her computer screen: “Oh! Hi, Y/N! How are you?”

“I am great, thank you. Is Bruce in a meeting?” I asked, and she shook her head. “No, a matter of fact, he just went back into his office.” I thanked her and walked over to Bruce’s office door. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door, and a woman was standing next to Bruce looking out the big glass window.

They both turned and looked at me; Bruce’s eyes widened, and the woman’s eyes trailed over to look at Bruce, and then her attention went back to me.

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

Hey guys! Sorry I didn’t post this sooner; I got super busy with school and studying. I know these chapters are fast paced, and I apologize for that. But I hope you enjoyed, Comment if you want to be added/removed from taglist.

TAGLIST: @rl800 @auspicious-lilana @theclassicvinyldragon

#dc comics #dc heroes #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #gotham #the batman imagine #batman x reader #alfred pennyworth

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asshlyyyy · 1 year

Text

Fairytale

Series Warnings: Language, fake relationship, lying, drinking, major depressive disorder, mommy issues. Mentions of occasionally sexula interactions/ wording. Maybe eventual smut. Individual chapter warnings will appear as needed.

Masterlist | Previous Part | Next Part

Chapter 5: Meltdown in a Dress

Everything has been going smoothly. Too smoothly in fact. Someone had to know… you had that feeling like someone knew. They had to have known you and Austin were fake. Who? You had no idea… Your mother and father were falling for the fake relationship. Your sister seemed to be buying it. Your brother only met Austin once or twice, but he seemed to be going along with it.

You and Austin were going great. You two got along still which was good. You were worried once you were next to each other twenty-four-seven, you both would have gotten tired of each other. Today was the first time you two were actually apart, and part of you missed him. It seemed silly, but when your hip and hip with someone for the past month or so… you grow to need each other.

So when the day came that you and your sister needed to go dress shopping, and part of you was dreading it. You didn’t know if it had to do with the fact that you weren’t the one getting married… or if it was the fact that you were going to be away from Austin-

“Y/n! Please get off your phone. Austin can wait, I need your opinion.” Mia called from the dressing room.

“I wasn’t on my phhonnneee,” you whined softly and put your phone down. Okay, maybe that was a tiny lie, but to be fair… you were with your sister and Austin was with Nick. You didn’t know what kind of questions were going to come out of either of their mouths. You had to make sure the other stayed true to the story.

Mia was on her fifth dress right now, and it has been well over an hour. Who knew getting into wedding dresses and then picking them could take so long. You had a feeling that you were going to be here for quite some time.

“All right, I’m coming out,” Mia commented and walked out. You looked at her and examined the dress. It was pretty, but it wasn’t your choice. You were mostly here for moral support.

“Beautiful,” you complimented with a smile. She smiled back and looked at herself in the mirror. You could tell she wasn’t feeling this dress. It’s like every dress she found cute just wouldn’t look cute on her. Her words, not yours. You were just hoping that Austin was having a better time than you.

“Yeah… but… it just… it doesn’t look good.” Your sister groaned in frustration. “It isn’t fair. I feel like I tried on the whole store.”

“You tried on five,” you mumbled under your breath, but she heard you.

“Not the time, Y/n.” She sighed and shook her head. “I need a break. How about you try on one?”

“I’m not the one getting married.” You pointed it out to her.

“Maybe not, but maybe it will help me… please?” She smiled. You let out a sigh. There could be no harm in it, right? You’re just trying on a white dress. Nothing more to it than that.

“Fine fine… I’ll go pick one out while you get changed out of that.” You pushed yourself up onto your feet. You walked over to the dresses and looked through them. How do you even go to pick out a dress? There is no clear answer to picking a wedding dress.

Just pick it until you find one you like. That was the best way to describe it. A dress may look a certain way on someone… but it does not mean that it will look like that on your body. You just try and try and eventually you might find one you like enough o get married one.

You didn’t really care which one you tried on. You just wanted to get it over with. So, as you picked off a random one you went to the changing room to get changed, and… it really was hard to get it on. It can be its own Olympic sport. Imagine putting doc martins on… but times it by fifty and you will not have the answer.

You had to make sure you didn’t rip anything. You had to make sure everything was perfect. You had to make sure you had it on the right way… which is more difficult than you would think. However, once it was on you made your way out toward the mirror. As you made your way over you heard your sister gasping behind you.

“Now why can’t I look that beautiful in a wedding dress.” She lightly complained. You chuckled lightly and finally looked at yourself. She was right… you looked absolutely beautiful. Now you weren’t one to call yourself beautiful, but you gave yourself credit when needed.

You felt yourself get overwhelmed. It was like your brain realized something and was erupting all of your emotions out at once. It was the fact that you knew this would never happen. You would never be the one buying a wedding dress for your own wedding. I mean hell, you had to lie to your family about having a fake boyfriend!

No one wanted you, and no one wanted someone who could barely leave their house. You shook your head to try and stop the tears but you quickly made your way back into the dressing room. You wanted out of this goddamn dress.

“Everything okay, Y/n?”

“Go away!” You called out to her and tried to get out of the dress, but you just grew more and more irritated. You couldn’t get the goddamn thing off and you were about to rip someone’s head off.

“Come on, let me in. Let me help.”

“I said to go the fuck away, Mia!” You yelled at her and fell to the ground. You covered your face with your hands and let the tears fall. You couldn’t believe yourself right now. You were sitting on the ground of a wedding dress shop, crying your eyes out! You looked so pathetic.

You could barely hear Mia anymore due to your sobs. She had to be talking to someone because she wasn’t talking to you. At least she stopped bothering you. That was at least one win. The second was… well… it was trying to get out of here. You couldn’t stay there for hours. You would be kicked out eventually and have to deal with the embarrassment.

At the tuxedo shop, Nick saw that his soon-to-be wife was calling him. “Hey, everything going okay?” Nick answered.

“Well, it was going pretty good… but Y/n... she won’t come out,” Mia explained from the other end of the phone.

“Uh- sweetheart, you’re going to have to give me some context here.” He told her.

“Oh right, sorry. So, I’m trying on dresses and none of them are doing it. So, I told Y/n to try on a dress. So that I could get a break and cleanse my pallet. I don’t know what happened. One second she’s looking in the mirror and the next she’s crying in the dressing room. She won’t let me in, she won’t even listen to me.” Mia explained the situation. Nick let out a sigh and rubbed his face.

“Did you happen to trigger anything?” He questioned. He wasn’t stupid. He knew that you were going through something. Hell, anyone would be able to pick up on that.

“No. At least I don’t think I did. She’s a very private person you know this.” Mia tried to stand her ground. She really didn’t think she triggered something. However, who’s to know what does and doesn’t trigger someone?

“I know… I know… Okay, Austin is getting his measurements, I can see if we can swing by once we’re done here.” He told her.

“How long will that be?” Mia questioned in return.

“Uh… Twenty, thirty minutes.” He tried to figure it out. It took a while to take measurements, so there is no set time that it would take.

“I only have this place until two, Nick. You guys have to come now.”

“If we leave Austin is left without measurements.” He pointed out to her.

“We’ll worry about that later! Just get here please!” Mia begged her fiancé.

“Fine fine fine, we’ll be right there,” Nick said and hung up. He stood up and made his way over to Austin. “We got to go.”

“How come?” Austin asked as he looked over at Nick.

“Some girl drama, your girlfriend is refusing to leave the dressing room,” Nick explained. Austin raised his eyebrow in confusion. Why would you be hiding in a dressing room? Did you run into an ex?

“Right, well I’m almost done here,” Austin reassured him, but that clearly was not enough.

“We got to go now,” Nick said and looked over at the tailor. “We’re really sorry about this. Could we come by later after we figure this out?”

“Yeah, that’s no issue. Just give me a heads up.” The tailor pulled back his measuring tape. “If you give me a call I can make sure I grab the right measurements before you guys come back.”

“Great, thank you so much, I’ll pay you when we return?” Nick questioned. He doubt the tailor would agree, but it didn’t hurt to ask. Apparently, he was in a rush and had to leave right this second.

“Yes, that’s okay.”

Back in the dressing room you still sat on the ground. Your knees up to your chest, the best you could at least. You were overreacting. Just get up and dust yourself off. Calm down, take the dress off… and then leave. It can’t be that hard.

Just push yourself up… come on, you got this. You pressed your feet flat against the floor and tried to push yourself up. Even if you wanted to, your body wouldn’t let you. You were hurting… inside… everything hurt. You felt just insanely tired and you didn’t understand. One thing you’re saying yes and no, and the next you’re being a brat.

There was a light knock on the door followed by a soft voice. “Y/n, honey…”

“Au-Austin?” You whispered out. What was he doing here? He was supposed to be with Nick getting their tuxedos fitted.

“Yeah, can I come in?” He asked. Should you let him in? Allow him to see you at your worse? Tears running down your face, trembling from the hurt… You rather no one see you like this, but you knew you couldn’t stay like this forever.

“Yeah…” The door opened and Austin walked in and looked down at you. He closed the door behind you and sat down next to you.

“Hey, what’s wrong? What happened?” He asked softly.

“Nothing, just… going through it is all.”

“Come on, we know everything about each other. You can tell me.” You let out a frustrated breath and shook your head.

“I just told you, I’m going through it.” You reacted yourself.

“But I know there is more to it.” Austin looked at you.

“Why do you care? It’s not like you’re my boyfriend. You’re my fake boyfriend. There’s a difference.” You snapped back at him. Austin let out a sigh and shook his head.

“You’re right, but you’re my friend. I care a lot about you, and I want to help.”

“There’s nothing you can do to help,” you said softly and leaned your head against the wall. “You’ll end up falling in love and getting married. Being out there… staring at myself… the truth hit me. No one will ever want to marry me. No one will ever get to see me in a wedding dress.”

“Honey, you can’t say stuff like that.” Austin wrapped his arm around you, “life has a weird way of working. You may feel as if no one wants to marry you… but trust me… people want to marry you. People look at you with love and you just don’t realize it. Give it some time, and you’ll be in a happy relationship.”

You turned your head and looked at him, “you don’t know that.”

“But I do,” Austin whispered and brought his thumb up to your cheeks. He wiped away the loose tears that fell from your eyes. Austin smiled and caressed your cheek lightly.

“How do you know…?”

“Just trust me,” He closed the distance between the two of us. His lips fell on mine, and the next thing I knew we were kissing. You didn’t know if it was for show, or if it… or if it was true. That he wanted to kiss you, and not just play the part of a fake boyfriend.

God, this was going to be a hard couple of months.

Mutual Taglist: @babyhoneypresley, @emmymaehereeeeee, @venus-haze, @austinstyles

#asshlyyyy writes #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler imagine #austin butler fanfic #austin butler #austin butler angst #austin butler fluff #austin butler x reader #austin butler x y/n #austin butler x you #austin butler imagines

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havin-fun-imagining-twd · 1 year

Text

Invisible, tugging strings, Pt. 2

Happy Easter Monday!

When - Right after Invisible, tugging strings Part 1, which you gotta read first

We’ve made it to the Chupacabra episode of Season 2, y’all!

What - our mangy hick does his best to make it home after falling down the ridge twice and hallucinating You and Merle. Back at the farm where you are, you just want him back safe and want to know why. You. Are. So. Worried. About. Daryl?

Who - The Slowpoke Series means a slow cooking, canon-compliant Daryl x Reader. Daryl and Merle’s scenes take place in this one, and I can only hope I was able to do it adequate justice. I admire how the show did that part of the episode. We also have platonic Glenn, Dale, and big bro Shane.

Perspective - 2nd you, 3rd Daryl

Pronouns - neutral again, why not?

TWs - cussing, injury (and pictures from the episode showing Daryl looking nasty as well as some where Rick and T-Dog were sprayed with so much water to show sweat), and Merle’s dialogue is left word for word; he says the n-word. Two asterisks were used instead of spelling it. I ain’t writing that word.

Word count - same as Part 1 (give yourselves 15 minutes, 4,000ish words)

Stuff to read first - gotta read ’em all! It would help contextualize to first read A measure of reverence Parts 1 and 2, but you’ll be okay so long as you’ve read souls stripped bare and Invisible, tugging strings Part 1.

Why are so many of your stories two-parters? - it’s how it be, slowpokes

Are there many lame screenshots this time? - too many

Can I check out the Masterlist? - please do! There’s the official Masterlist here in purposeful nonlinear publishing (which also includes the Reader Requests), and the purely chronological one here. They both have the same Slowpoke stories, just in a somewhat different order :)

This is the third time uploading this one, y’all, and the maturity label (updated July 2023) was cleared about 8 times, but the algorithm keeps insisting it’s mature and reverting it back lol. When I got a human response from the help desk, they mentioned it was a glitch. C’est la vie, it’s kinda a bummer not more people will read this chapter, but it was still fun to write!

Happy Easter Monday!

As always, feedback in some way is very, very welcome.

...............................................

It felt so much better to keep his eyes closed, but someone’s standing over him now. Must be whoever Y/N said would help him get up.

What was that they said about ‘missing’ and ‘bully?’

He strains to get his eyes open so he can see whoever is above him. His eyelids feel so damned heavy, man, he just wants to close them again.

All he can see is the green of the treetops at first. The outline of a person’s head come into view once his vision stops being blurry. Then it clears.

A smile finds its way to the corners of his mouth. He’s missed him. Felt so lost and out of place without him. His own blood.

“Why don’t you pull that arrow out, dummy? You could bind your wound better.”

Yeah, that was him alright. He’s missed him so much.

“Merle.”

...........................................

And Merle’s got that grin that means he’s about to rib him. “What’s going on here? You takin’ a siesta or something?”

“Having a shitty day, bro,” he croaks back. If he was able to, he’d full-on hug his brother right now. Nah, for real, he’d hug him!

Merle smirks and shakes his head slightly. “Like me to get you a pillow? Maybe rub your feet?”

The comfort or whatever it was that Daryl had upon seeing and hearing his brother again starts to twist, only a tiny bit. He’s not super serious when he offers back, “Screw you.”

His big brother ain’t taking no lip, though. “Nuh-uh. You’re the one who’s screwed, from the looks of it.”

Ha, ‘screwed.’ Because the bolt is screwed in his side, funny stuff.

Daryl starts to grin through the pain at the stupid joke when his big brother lets this fly: “All them years trying to make a man out of you, this what I get?”

The tugging in his chest tries to pull him up as Y/N’s words come back and echo in his mind. “As lost as you’ve felt without him—when he bullies you, if-if you can’t stand up for yourself, please try not to believe the lies, okay? Cruel don’t mean true, a lot of the time it’s the opposite.”

Merle’s stare works its way up and down. Daryl feels like trash.

Gets called it the next second; “Look at you. Lyin’ in the dirt like a used rubber. You’re gonna die out here, little brother, next to your own puke. And for what?”

“A girl,” is all he can answer at first, it’s all that comes out. Before Merle can tell him he’s a whipped retard being lead by the dick if he was doing all this for some chick, he explains, “They lost a little girl.”

See, Merle? It’s worth it, it’s worth all of this. She’s just a little kid, her mama needs her. Remember her, the little scared girl, with the scared ma with buzzed hair? How much you wanted to shiv the dad’s potbelly?

But all his brother tosses back is “So you got a thing for little girls, now?”

“Shut up.” Joking about stuff like that ain’t funny, it’s messed up.

Then, he remembers it’s all in his head; Merle isn’t really here. Which means he’s the asshole dreaming up his big brother mouthing off like this. But the imaginary knee doesn’t wham his nards about it, because it’s…stuff his brother would say.

Doesn’t mean the guilt doesn’t knee him good regardless when his own blood reminds him, “’Cause I noticed, you ain’t out there looking for old Merle no more.”

That ain’t fair. “Tried like hell to find you, bro,” is all he can manage to voice out loud. But you were gone. Merle, I came back for you—where’d you go? Why’d you split, didn’t you know I’d come?

“Like hell you did,” his brother grates. “You split, man, lit out first chance you got.”

What? “You lit out. All you had to do was wait.” You didn’t trust your own kin. Is it that I’m not good enough or not smart enough? I could have saved you, and your damn hand. “We went back for you. Rick and I.” He finds himself nodding as much as he’s able, because he knows he did right. “We did right by you.” Even T-Dog tried to save your ass, bro. Even him, even Glenn.

“This the same Rick that cuffed me to that rooftop in the first place?” Merle points out. “Forced me to cut off my own hand? This him we’re talkin’ about, now?”

Daryl lowers his gaze as best he can – to see his brother’s hands both still attached. As he stares him down, Merle wiggles his pinkie as if to remind Daryl that he’s just part of his imagination, not real. Then his brother’s glare turns mocking. “You his bitch now?”

“I ain’t nobody’s bitch.” He loves his big brother, but goddamn, there’s no one else that can make him feel so small.

“You’re a joke, is what you are. Playing errand boy to a bunch of pansy-asses, n**gers, and Democrats.”

Another sharp tug in his chest. That word never really bothered him before, but it kinda does now.

And he can’t help but think of how much red Y/N would see at hearing Merle use it. They’d probably huff, start clawing, then after they’d calmed down, start griping about how damn cartoonish Merle sounded spouting that stuff. He can almost hear it now: “That whole sentence sounded like some lazy Hollywood type wrote a script for a ‘stereotype, blue-collar, Dixie racist,’ to make themselves feel good. Nobody talks like that, good Moses.”

Their words from earlier repeat in his mind again. “As lost as you’ve felt without him—when he bullies you, if-if you can’t stand up for yourself, please try not to believe the lies, okay? Cruel don’t mean true, a lot of the time it’s the opposite.”

Then, he remembers again that it’s all in his head; he’s the piece of shit cooking this up. All of this weird shit, it’s all from his messed up, trailer trash excuse for an imagination.

“You’re nothing but a freak to them,” his hears his brother tell him.

Maybe Y/N’s words were “cruel don’t mean true,” but that doesn’t mean ‘cruel’ is ‘dishonest.’ At least cold, honest truth is truth.

“Redneck trash. That’s all you are,” Merle goes on.

And Daryl knows it. It ain’t cruelty, it’s honesty. He’s got balls big enough to handle it.

Y/N’s words grow softer, sadder. “As lost as you’ve felt without him—when he bullies you, if-if you can’t stand up for yourself, please try not to believe the lies, okay? Cruel don’t mean true, a lot of the time it’s the opposite.”

His brother’s voice is louder, angrier. “They’re laughing at you behind your back. You know that, don’t you?”

Daryl knows that, too. No point in denying it.

…Except maybe a little. ’Cause Y/N wouldn’t, they’re an actual friend. “We make a mighty good team, just sayin’.” “Daryl, may I hug you again?” Nah, two-faced ain’t their style.

Carol wouldn’t neither, the woman’s too gentle for her own good. “Please be safe. I’ll be praying for you.”

Even T-Dog, that dude’s always been decent to him. So has the old man…and the boy…Andrea…Glenn…Lori, Rick, even Shane…

…And it’s as if Merle can hear those doubts. “I got a little news for you, son. One day, they gonna scrape you off their heels like you was dogshit.”

Merle’s right, he knows. He knows that he’s dogshit, he knows…he…he just needs to close his eyes, it all hurts less when his eyes are shut. His body feels so heavy…

The blessed dark takes over, and a voice that makes him feel safe hushes, “Honey, don’t die, don’t get bit.”

“Hey.” Merle jostles him back awake.

Wanting to do nothing less but knowing he’s got to, Daryl strains to open his eyes again. When his vision clears, he sees disapproval warping his brother’s face, just like he’d feared.

“They ain’t your kin. Your blood. Hell, if you had any damn nuts in that sack of yours, you’d go back there and shoot your pal Rick in the face for me.” With a nod, his big brother then bends down and takes Daryl’s chin in his hand. His glare turns worried and his eyes turn sad, even if the words coming from his mouth don’t match it.

“Now you listen to me: ain’t nobody ever gonna care about you except me, little brother. Ain’t nobody ever will.”

He knows. Without Merle, Daryl was always alone…he can’t keep his eyes open, they keep falling shut…

But his brother stops him from falling asleep again by gently tapping his chest.

In his tough-love way that Daryl’s missed, he finally sounds like he cares. “No, come on. Get up on your feet, before I have to kick your teeth in.”

Merle is standing over him now and gives his feet a light kick. “Let’s go.” He crouches back down and pulls at Daryl’s feet. “Let’s go.”

His brother goes too low for Daryl to see him without craning his neck, and something weird begins happening to his big brother’s voice. It’s fading.

Soon, all that Daryl can make out is a rasping sound almost as if there’s a dog by his feet. Maybe there is a dog at his feet, because something keeps pulling at them.

What if it’s a chupacabra?

Mild fear grips him and he manages to swing his head down enough to see what’s going on so he can close his eyes again.

And he’s met with a geek trying to gnaw through his goddamned shoe.

......................................

You

Back inside, you get another dose of dread so strong you feel like you’re hooked up to an IV line like Carl was a half-hour ago.

Daryl needs help.

“Y/N, are you gonna faint again?”

You smile and shake your head as you get a hold of your emotions and send up a prayer. “The caffeine crash after the espresso thing this morning is throwin’ me for a loop.”

“What’s it doing?”

“I just got sucker-punched in the gut with this random sense of dread.”

“Creepy,” he muses.

“Very.”

“And coffee tastes so gross.”

“Bitter, blackish-brown water tastes gross?”

He giggles, and the dread within you eases.

Keep him safe and get him home, please. Get our mangy hick back home.

......................................

Him

He’d fought off the one, then another made its way to him. He ain’t sure how he got the strength to do it, but he’s still breathing. No bites, neither.

He’s back on the ground, laying there and staring at the leaves and branches and clouds as he catches his breath.

Thank you, he offers to whatever might be up there. Thank you.

He doesn’t stay that way too long, the warm trickling from his side urges him to get up. Something in his head had shrieked at him to rip the bolt out. It ended up saving his life.

His fingers are numb and shaking from the adrenaline, but he’s able to sit up and re-tie the his ripped shirt to get the wound bound tight. He remembers how Merle’s (or were they his own?) first words to him were about getting it out.

“Son of a bitch was right,” he grumbles to himself.

Next, he stumbles over the the doll and secures it in his belt, then he stomps over to where he sees the green little walkie chilling on the water, slides it into his pocket after clicking it off and on and getting nothing.

Guess he’s on his own.

He’s so damned woozy, man, and his stomach’s ready to lurch again.

Food. He, um, he just needs food, yeah. He needs to find him a fucking, uh, something—a squirrel or something. Yeah, squirrel’s got blood in them, and he’s lost a lot of blood by the looks of it.

How does he do that again, get one of them teeny guys? Does he make a snare or like, shoot—wait, yeah, he’s gotta shoot one. Gotta shoot one of them slippery ’lil sumbitches.

Oh shit, yeah, first he gotta rinse off the bolts, haha. Hot damn, he feels so weird like he’s on a bad trip or hangover or some shit right now.

As for those two undead, poxy bastards what tried to do him in? Up theirs — he’s gonna slice off their ears like they was bounties and wear them, see if any more wanna mess with him!

......................................

You

“That was risky.”

“We did it for them,” you remind your brother of your middle sister’s family and the way you’d put them down given them their final rest, then buried them.

“They was family, and it was risky.”

“Today was just one last measure of reverence for a family who’d been put through hell at the end.”

“And now you’ve got an arm out of commission,” he states, clearly displeased. “Did you bury the ones who broke in, too?”

“Yes.”

Shane’s reaction to your affirmation isn’t what you are expecting. You were expecting more disapproval.

Instead, his eyes get wet and he pulls you close to kiss your forehead and says nothing else. He just curls his arm around your shoulder and gazes into the fields.

Your brother seems more like himself, now. You can see him again.

In the quiet, you listen to the mooing of cows in the distance, the flies buzzing, the chickens, the faint murmur of voices from the campsite and house.

“Shane? Tomorrow, teach me how to fight back even with my dominant arm out. So long as you button your dang shirt up tomorrow.”

Cracking up, he floofs out his (ugh) unbuttoned shirt to rub it in. “Deal, you got it. First reasonable thing I done heard all afternoon.”

“Now, be on your best behavior when I tell you somethin’, loser.”

Half-worried, half-teasing, he asks, “Well, what’s the somethin’, weirdo?”

You’re almost nervous when you quietly share, “We found something might could’ve been a sign of Sophia.”

He makes a sigh. “What might that could’ve been?”

“The shed had a small, hidden, makeshift sleeping area?”

He shifts. His brows push close. Turns his head to look at you. “You serious?”

“Dead seri—no, no, wrong phrase, wrong phrase!”

He just cracks up and shakes his head.

Then he says what you really wish he wouldn’t. “You sure it wasn’t from the kids who lived there?”

Shane, stop, please stop. You shrug his arm off. “There weren’t spiders in it, spiders would’ve holed up in there right quick, like within three days.”

“It’s something, I’ll give it that.” There’s a ‘but’ coming. “Y/N, even if she was there a day or two ago, it still don’t mean she’s still alive now. It’s been four days.”

“I know.”

Shane does a double-take as if he’s struggling between how to respond. “I mean, I hope she is, you know that, Y/N, I ain’t—” He licks his teeth and rubs his peach-fuzz. “But let’s be clear: riskin’ our necks for this will lead to more of the same. Carl was shot, Y/N, he almost died and you got bullet fragments right along with him, Otis is dead, you’re injured, T-Dog is injured, I’m injured—” He stops himself from whatever else he was going to say.

There’s a flock of birds soaring overhead. You gaze at them, them stare into space as you rub your chest again to dispel the fear that Daryl will be the next statistic.

“Y/N, I’m glad you got home okay.”

“I’m glad you did, too.”

He hums and looks over. “Where’s Daryl at?”

“He dropped me off. I-I wasn’t able to climb up the ridge, not with this.” You nod at your slinged arm and feel a twinge of guilt that you’re hiding your resewn sutures from him.

“Fool idea to go back by himself,” he mutters.

You don’t disgree. “I keep worryin’ about it.”

“Nah, don’t.” Shane wraps his arm back around you. “That sumbitch will outlive us all.”

At that, you can’t help but grin. “Probably.”

......................................

Him

This ridge is about to be his bitch! Just a few more feet, and he’ll make it to the top! (So long as he don’t screw up at the finish line like last time.)

All he needs to do is catch his breath, get some strength back. It’s like he’s floating in air but is made of lead at the same time. Weird shit, right?

Daryl turns to face out. The light kinda hurts right now, but he sees some birds. Almost smiles at them. If it were only that easy to get up and go huh? His body just ain’t doing what he wants it to right now.

“Please. Don’t feed the birds,” sounds from above him, snapping him out of it.

He turns to look at who—shit, Merle’s back. Daryl’s caught between wanting him and wanting gone.

Of course Merle would catch him taking a break and staring at birds like a little sissy instead of powering through, great. Real fucking great, now his brother’s laughing at him.

Go, go, go, get your lazy ass up there and show him — ow, goddamn, it hurts so bad!

“Aw, what’s the matter, Darylina? That all you got in you?

He tries to climb all the faster and harder. Screw you.

His big brother isn’t done. “Throw away that purse and climb.”

As Daryl does his best to get a strong grip on the roots so he can hoist himself up, something within him breaks and reverses. He’s just so tried, so dizzy, so nauseous, in so much pain and so angry. “I liked you better when you was missing,” he rasps.

Merle just snickers. “Come on, don’t be like that. I’m on your side.”

Bullshit. “Yeah? Since when?”

“Hell, since the day you were born, baby brother. Somebody had to look after your worthless ass.”

The string in his chest tugs, hard. “As lost as you’ve felt without him—when he bullies you, if-if you can’t stand up for yourself, please try not to believe the lies, okay? Cruel don’t mean true, a lot of the time it’s the opposite.”

If there’s one thing he hates, it’s lies. And he sure as shit knows Merle did not look after him or his worthless ass, he’s got the scars to prove it. “You never took care of me,” he grits out, using a root as a foothold and a thick, woody vine as a grip to climb. “You talk a big game, but you was never there.” Then, he remembers, “Hell, you ain’t here now. Guess some things never change.”

“Well, I tell you what: I’m as real as your chupacabra.”

“I know what I saw!”

“And I’m sure those shrooms you ate had nothin’ to do with it, right?”

“You best shut the hell up!” Daryl shouts back, so angry and he-doesn’t-know-what-else that the searing pain in his side and head meld into a dull thumping.

His brother who isn’t even there starts to mock him harder, laughing at him and mimicking his voice. “Or whaaaat? You’re gonna come up here and shut my mouth for me?”

Damn right, I will. Gonna kick your teeth in.

“Well, come on and do it then, if you think you’re man enough.”

Stop laughing, jackass.

“Hey! Kick off them high heels and climb, son!”

Come on, climb! Get your ass up there, shut him up!

“You know what? If I were you, I’d take a pause for the cause, brother. ’Cause I just don’t think you gonna make it to the top.”

He keeps laughing, make him stop laughing. Daryl lunges upward and reaches for the summit so enraged he can barely think straight.

Or maybe he just can’t think straight right now?

“Come on, come on, little brother,” Merle coos, holding out his hand as his strange, creepy laughter abruptly stops. His expression turns icy. “Grab your friend Rick’s hand.”

For real, maybe Daryl can’t think straight.

Or see straight. Because he finally got his ass over the ridge, but where the hell did his big brother go? Did Merle light out again, run off? Huh?

Fucking typical!

He can’t seem to keep his balance as he screams into the trees, “Yeah, you better run!”

......................................

You

It’s sunset, where the heck is he? All around the treeline and road where he’ll most likely be riding back, you scour through Dale’s binoculars. The walkie has still proven useless, he hasn’t answered.

“Daryl’s spent a night out by himself before.”

Not since the quarry, though, Andrea. “You’re right. He’s prolly fine, I know, I’m-I’m in a weird mood today.”

For some dumb reason, you want the med bag. Cautiously climbing down the RV one-armed, you reason that maybe you’ll feel more in-control of you’re holding it? And you’ll grab Andrea the bottle of sunscreen while you’re in there.

You begin to knock on the door, but the door as well as Glenn bang into you before you’ve knocked twice.

“Ow!”

“Shoot, sorry, Y/N! Did I—did I just make your stitches worse?”

“Shh!” you hiss as quietly as you can. “Shane’s right over there!”

“Kiddo, are you alright?”

Pressing your finger to your lips to tell Dale it’s fine, please stop, you mutter to Glenn, “The door rammed into my bum shoulder, which is directly over them.” And it smarts bad, like, what the hell, man? “You really stormed out of there without noticin’ a body in front of the door?”

Your friend covers his face with his hand and whispers several apologies within the course of a few seconds.

“Glenn, why does Dale look like he’s trying not to look upset?” you challenge. You’re still roiling after he whammed into your bad side, and seeing Dale upset was even worse.

“I was just returning that crappy book and I—” Glenn gets quiet. “—I-I told him about Maggie,” he confesses under his breath.

Great, more drama. “Well, I’m just here for the med bag and to grab some sunscreen for Andy,” you mutter. It doesn’t come out remotely friendly, not when your injuries just got whammed in the exact spot they ache.

He apologizes again, you check yourself and forgive him (and call him a buttface). He calls you a bumpkin, which makes you snort even while you’re feeling huffy, and he walks toward the tents.

Rubbing the tugging part of your chest that hasn’t let up for at least 20 minutes now, you accept the med bag Dale was kind enough to grab for you. “Should you be carrying that, Y/N? It’s on the heavier side.”

“I just feel like I should be holdin’ it, I dunno.”

He raises his brows but doesn’t protest. Then they furrow very low on his face and he asks, “You seem like you’re becoming friends with this Maggie.”

“It’ll be okay, Dale.”

His brows lift again briefly before resting in a normal position. “I’m simply glad that you seem to have a kind of rapport with the family here, a, um, mutual friendliness.” He gestures out the window. “It is a very good thing when our situation, however short-lived it may be, is somewhat delicate.”

“We’ll all turn into friends soon enough. You’d really get on with Mr. Greene.”

“Because we’re both old men?”

“Mhm, antique.” You shoulder the med bag on your good side and catch eyes with your brother. Shane mouths “Why do you got that?” but you’re unable to respond because Andrea suddenly shouts, “Walker. Walker!”

The surge of adrenaline shivers into your body and you peer at the treeline where she’s pointing.

This hasn’t happened here yet.

Then the words Patricia asked a few hours ago come to mind. “Any walkers you find on our property, tell us. Don’t do nothing, just tell us first.”

“Shane, don’t put it down, we need to get Mr. Greene.”

“Huh?” is his only response as he limps toward the pickaxe resting against the tree.

“Just the one?” Rick you hear call to Andrea.

“I bet I can nail it from here.”

“Andrea, don’t! The Greenes have a rule about it,” you shout at the same time Rick is telling her, “No, no, Andrea, put the gun down.”

“You best let us handle this,” Shane calls with too much cockiness confidence as he limps away.

“Shane, wait. Hey—” The kettle starts to simmer inside you.

Rick places his hand by you in support. “Shane, hold up! Hershel wants to deal with walkers.”

“What for, man? We got it covered.”

“Shane!” you shout one final time before saying to Rick, “I’ll run and get Mr. Greene. Go with them.”

“Thank you, Y/N!” he breathes, and takes off like a shot to join your brother, T-Dog, and Glenn as they run toward it.

So much unnecessary drama over one walker, good Moses. The host says let him handle it, why is that so complicated?

You book it to the house, regretting it immediately because pain seethes with every step. But you and Glenn are the fastest, so you’re using what you have in order to help.

“Miss Patricia!” you yell as you sprint closer to the porch. “Mr. Greene? Maggie, Jimmy, Beth, whoever can hear me!”

Lori and Patricia hurry outside, you tell them what’s going on, and immediately point and start racing even faster to catch up to where the others are charging.

As you plow through the pain, med-bag still on your back, you get a horrible flush of terror.

The tugging in your chest wrenches forward.

That’s Daryl.

That’s the way he moves his arms when he walks, there’s the tattoo he has on his inner arm, there’s his crossbow!

He’s, he’s got on just his undershirt, now, but — oh my God — “No, stop! It’s Daryl!”

......................................

Him

Why are those assholes stampeding over? The hell they want? They wanna mess with him? Huh?

But—the fast one who’s taking their sling off, racing up behind the four in front…

Is that the one who just shouted his name?

He knows that voice. He likes it.

Psht, but look at the shirtless chest-shaver over there, limping with a pickaxe. And the big, tall, black dude? Homeboy planning on playing baseball, or what?

And was it the scrawny Asian kid with the wrench thing who just asked “Is that Daryl?” There some other redneck here who looks like me, or what? And why do you care, huh? You gonna laugh at me, Data?

But the one he likes looks into his eyes and says “Honey, what happened to you?” in a way that makes his chest feel all—what the hell is happening with his chest, it’s like it’s being pulled. Makes him lose balance even more than he was, shit. And why is the one he likes all teary eyed, too? Who messed with them? ‘Cause he’ll straight knock down whoever messed with them.

Goddamn, why are these guys here, what the hell is going on—they want a show or something? And what’s the deal with the curly-haired, pale pretty-boy with the extra-long revolver? Three guesses what he’s trying to prove.

Wait—Rick. That’s Rick. The one who chained Merle. He’s reason Merle’s gone.

Daryl notices that fast one, with the voice he knows and likes, who made his chest go funny —oh, that’s Y/N!— has a hand on Rick’s shooting arm, but that’s because fucking Rick is aiming a gun straight at his head again.

Already chased off one Dixon, now going for the set, huh? Do your worst, bitch.

“That’s the third time you’ve pointed that thing at my head,” he barks at him. “You gonna pull the trigger, or what?”

What’s weird is how before he was even done barking at Rick, Y/N exhaled all heavy and started grinning all big and coming toward him.

It’s okay, though, Y/N can come closer. He knows they’re safe. He doesn’t get why they’re teary and smiling at him, but he likes them.

The strong guy with the baseball bat is smiling at him, too. Hold it, why are—why are all these dumbasses smiling or hunched over and catching their breath, what the hell’s the ma—

......................................

You

The bullet went through your chest before it hit his head. The pain was so intense and your horror so deep, that you weren’t able to make a sound.

Or was that your own cry you heard so loudly right before Shane yelped your name, then Andrea’s?

It’s strange how despite being shot, you were still able to crawl to Daryl.

Rick’s screaming “No! No!” blends with your pulse in your ears while you beg and pray and demand that Daryl did not just get shot in the head and killed.

There wasn’t the familiar numbness that took over you this time, it’s-it’s rage.

This morning, you’d seen Daryl’s very soul. All afternoon you’d been filled with a horrible dread for his safety because he wasn’t with you and that felt wrong for some reason.

Then, when he finally came back, you’d all thought he was a walker, and for those gut-wrenching moments as you ran toward him, you settled yourself for the worst.

Was all of that to prepare you for this moment?

To be filled with relief that he was back and alive, only for you to have a hole ripped through your chest as he got shot in the fucking head in front of you?

No. That’s not how this goes, that’s not how this works, no, no, no, he needs to be alive!

......................................

Him

What the…hell…

That was a gunshot he heard before he fell back and felt like the spot above his temple caught fire, right?

What’s weird is Daryl saw the sumbitch stop aiming...

There’s a gentle, warm thing on his chest and on his cheek. He can sense someone bent next to him, someone familiar. They smell good. He feels whatever landed in his mouth being taken out, some kinda string? Now it feels like a hand on his cheek and his arm.

Something then presses against his forehead. He’s pretty sure it’s the safe person again. There’s warm air, too, he can feel their breathing. Feels weird, but an okay weird. Some drops of warm, wet stuff then fall on him, the thing pressing his forehead lifts off, and a soft, squishy thing pushes against it for a second.

The voice he liked that made him feel safe, um, Y/N, that was Y/N’s voice, they’re saying something but he can’t make it out.

Now he’s being—ow, ow, he’s being lifted up, shit, it hurts!

He open his eyes.

Sees an angel his friend. Y/N.

The tugging in his chest stops. He’s home.

The rush from getting shot aside, he can finally let his eyelids droop shut.

There’s a whole bunch of commotion. Footsteps running toward him in the grass. A higher pitched voice shouting “Oh my God!” and another crying, “Rick!”

As the two people who lifted him get their arms under his shoulders and start to support his weight, he hears the voice he feels safe around say “Careful with that side, Shaney, he’s got some kind of bandage there, it’s soaked,” and “Rick, I’m gonna lean his head on you, okay? It’s opposite the graze and the other side feels like he got smacked already, there’s dried blood.”

Well, if Rick is here, Daryl figures he might as well joke, “I was kidding,” to make up for barking at him.

Y/N’s giggle that they make after hearing a dumb jokes is that last thing he hears as h……

......................................

You

“Oh, buddy—guys, he just passed out,” you tell Rick and Shane, the thankfulness and pure relief within you making you feel like you could burst or float away. Between every thought of what care he needs is thank you, thank you, thank you! He’s home.

You press another kiss to his forehead before Shane and Rick start moving too fast.

Andrea’s distraught cries reach your awareness, and she stops repeating “Oh my God!” to ask “Is he dead?”

“Unconscious. You just grazed him,” is what Rick answers, and angrily, too.

“Y/N, did you get grazed, too? I saw you fall!” she panics.

Which is when you realize the pain in your chest has vanished. You forgot all about it, in fact.

You look down.

Dude—okay, you aren’t bleeding? That’s good, but what just—you could’ve sworn you’d been shot when he fell. Seriously, you figured the bullet went through you, too. But, looking down, no. You aren’t shot, aren’t bleeding, you have no more sensation that your chest was cracked.

All you feel now is, well, the burning ache where you’re restitched, and your darn shoulder that you undid the very tricky-to-untie sling that Patricia secured that was specifically to avoid you taking it off (hey, you needed both arms when you reached Daryl).

You have no idea what happened to have made you imagine it, but you don’t care. He’s back and breathing. He’s home.

“But look at him,” Glenn pants. “What the hell happened?”

You wish you knew. “We’ll find out when he wakes.”

“But what about—he’s wearing ears!”

Oh, Moses, those are ears on the string around his neck. Ew! What the fuck?

You catch eyes with Rick and glance at it to relay “get it off!” then look away because your stomach won’t let your eyes linger on it, it is so vile. “I’ll hold his head steady.”

He nods, and once you’ve got Daryl’s head cradled in your hands, he rips it off. “Let’s keep that to ourselves,” Rick stresses to the group.

“I’m gonna run and tell Mr. Greene and Miss Patricia what’s goin’ on,” you say, then hurry toward the family, Lori meeting you halfway and taking the med-bag off your shoulder.

“Guys,” T-Dog speaks up from the back.

Lori makes a small gasp. You turn.

He’s holding up — Eliza’s ragdoll. The one she gave to—

“Isn’t this Sophia’s?”

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

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