Amazing Writing - Tumblr Posts

What a wonderful thing to read first thing in the morning 🙏🙏🙏

I loveeee it!!!

Ugh that was so good 😭😭😭 the morning angst real!

I always get surprised by the dynamics and how you write them. There's much intrigue in platonic relationships moving into obsession. I'm also blown away by how fast and consistent you write too!!!

Good morning!

Ship to consider, if you're okay with it: Evil! Earth/Sun. Alternatively (since I know that one's a bit out there), Eclipse/eaps Moon? Just suggestions ofc. Your writing is very nice :)

Sorry for take it so long @apalonespinifera . I kinda having a lot of mental breakdown and sleep for two days. Also, i have to rewatch Evil Earth. Platonic though. I am hecking suck at writing romance, and i actually forget to ask what kinda relationship you want to ship. sorry.

[Evil Earth x Sun] Yellow rose

Earth remembered, when she was a young robot, just starting to become sentient, Creator was very gentle.

He kindly guided her on how to walk, told her adventure stories every night, and patiently listened to her interest in dolls that she would probably ramble on for hours.

He taught her how to replace machine parts, how to hack and infiltrate AIs, how to weed and prune so that the flowers she was growing would flourish.

In the garden of white roses that look like Earth's cloud hair, a secret place Creator had created just for herself, she was happy.

Some beautiful and gentle days, when Earth's biggest worry was which princess cartoon she would watch tonight.

"What do you want to do when you grow up, Earth?" Her father asked on one sunny day, as his robotic hand ran through complex code operations over her code board.

And like a good and innocent girl, she smiled sweetly as she hummed a happy melody, touching the white rose in her hair.

“I want everyone to be happy.”

A simple, vague wish. 

She remembered Creator had smiling contentedly, his humming melody echoing down the hallway, remembered trying to catch the yellow butterfly that landed through the iron-barred window in the hallway but letting it fly away.

The sky was clear and sunny.

She wondered since when, the rain had become more familiar to her, as the rainwater silently washed away the blood that had splattered on Earth’s shoe heels and someone’s broken piece of metal shaped like a sun that flashed on her eyes.

***

Another day… Another assassination. Earth tried to keep her mood upbeat, but there were so many problems happening lately that even her positive self felt shaken. Lunar was brainwashed, again. Moon pushed himself into stress and went crazy, again. And Sun…

“Why did you do this?! Why did you do this to us!!!?” Her sunny brother’s face was filled with anger and betrayed as his body constantly struggled to escape the reforming machine.

The smile stuck on Earth’s mouth, she looked at her brother with pity.

Sun didn’t understand.

Her brother didn’t understand that this was the only way to make people happy. Sun didn’t understand that this was the way to make him happy. Sun didn’t understand that she was so tired of trauma after trauma, of her family being torn apart and hurt, of how she could never fix anything.

He didn’t understand that she was so exhausted with the dead returning, and the pieces of the people she loved fading away over time, leaving only shadows of the old ones.

“Don’t worry Sun. Everything will be fine when you wake up.” She giggled, playing with her kind brother’s sunshine, ignoring the look of horror at betrayal in her eyes. “You just need some sleep.”

Sun was fine. Her brother had been a little distracted lately, but nothing a family played night couldn’t fix.

Sitting at the daycare table, she hummed. She hadn’t been a daycare attendant for a long time, but she still liked the nostalgic feeling of going back to the old place, when things were simple and good.

When it was just her, Sun, Moon, and Lunar.

A ding sounded, the portal from the ballpit swirled up, making her frown.

Lunar had just talked to her, there was no way he would come back so soon. And Moon was probably out in space operating the spaceship, probably not back until next week. And there was no way Monty would use the portal in the ballpit…

Who could this be?

“--COMPUTER! YOU PIECE OF CRA—!!”

The scream was so familiar yet so foreign that she hadn’t heard it in a long time. The brilliant gold reflected in Earth's eyes. The sound of a plastic ball rolling, lightly hitting the corner of her feet, seemed to emphasize that this was true. The lively, cheerful music of the nursery, but still far inferior to the sound of the silver bells that person wore.

A limping figure waded out from the ballpit.

The tired, wary look that softened when she saw her, a look she had not experienced in a long time, too used to the stoic, soulless worship that her sun animatronic model displayed, made the smile on Earth's lips twitch hesitantly.

“Oh, hi Earth.”

The shy awkwardly giggled, something from her Sun that Earth had not witnessed for a long time.

Earth was not a fool, being a president did not allow her to be naive. Her Happy plan would not succeed if it was only for a dreamer. 

But she was curious, too, and she wondered if it was the same Sun who had come to her with the Moon who had impersonated her brothers last month, the one whose hands were shaking and whose eyes were distrustful but still unguarded as she approached…

Earth would not admit that she missed the unaffected, devoted trust, like a thirsty person craving a glass of water.

She missed the gentle chuckle, the subtle awkwardness her brother used to give her. The firm but trusting embrace, a willow that seemed to wither but remained steadfast, that appeared whenever she felt like she was about to collapse.

Solar might have been the one to listen to her ranting the most, but to breathe relieved, it was some magic that only Sun could provide.

But there was no more Sun in this universe. At least not the person who she remembers. 

Only the reality where Earth was alone. The feeling like she was living beside the dolls.

Just a puppeteer, but what fun was there without an audience to watch.

So Earth smiled, her voice filled with innocence and joy… playing the role of a clueless little sister.

“Hello Sun. It’s good to have you back.”

***

Earth remembered that in Earth’s old rose garden, there used to be a wild rose bush.

It wasn’t the kind that Creator had planted, with its white petals that never faded and its smooth stem without a single thorn.

No, it was an unfamiliar yellow, humming in the sunlight and lifting itself gently in Earth’s hands with its thin and sharp thorns, only the sharpest eyes could see it nestled in the deepest corner of the garden, entwined deep into the fence.

Compared to the pure white she was used to seeing, that yellow seemed alive in its extreme fragility.

Earth was a good child who never asked for anything, but she also liked the way the rose petals were soft in her hands, and had played with it so hard that it bled bright yellow blood when she pressed her fingers and crumpled it with delight before bursting into tears because she had ruined what she loved so soon.

“If you keep holding it too tight like that, you will have nothing left to play with, my daughter.”

Her father had hummed as he burned the entire pile of wild roses that she had destroyed. He still doted on her, but Earth had vaguely realized that day that she could not hold on to anything.

And as she heard the wails of those who had fallen for her destruction and those who still blindly believed she was a good person stretching out like a path of sinful footprints before Earth, she wondered if her father was a monster, what that said about her, his daughter.

***

The yellow rose nestled neatly in her hair, Earth's eyes were fascinated, amused by Sun's awkward stuttering while still pretending to be her brother.

He had been here for two months.

Earth did not understand the allure of being like a frog in a pot of water so stupid that it could not jump out when it was boiling, when she manipulated and begged Sun to stay and stay and stay.

It was like breathing fresh air, when things were different from what she had planned but still enough for her to control.

She retracted her claws and hid the things that Sun did not like, she put on her old skin of the simple days.

Cleaning up the blood, brutally silencing the rebels, the places she took Sun to were all peaceful and beautiful.

It felt like smoke and mist, as she tried to piece together the best parts of herself for Sun, and Sun responded to her with the honesty that she had destroyed.

They usually just talked, and hung out.

Stupid, silly stories, like the mermaid's sea foam, lies that fill thicker and thicker over time.

Clear as a lake, an illusion that disappears at the touch.

It's like butterfly wings and cat ears, smooth and soft, making Earth want to touch it but afraid of breaking, afraid of tearing.

"When will you stop this nonsense, Mr. President?" Her Moon asked her one day when Sun was sleeping.

"We both know this Sun is hindering your intergalactic plans. You're being too distracted."

And Earth responded by making Moon a mindless puppet for a week.

***

"This movie is terrible."

Earth complained, about something they'd both seen more than a dozen times, 'Princess Pea.'

Sun chuckled, with tea and fruit in his hands.

This Sun didn't like honey and only added sugar. He also had a habit of peeling and arranging apples into bite-sized pieces shaped like rabbits that Earth secretly liked, instead of simply cutting the apple in half.

His eyes also softened as he listened to her story, as if she was still a precious little sister, someone her Sun had once pampered.

He had not broken into a thousand pieces like her Sun. Not a shell that only knew how to run away, someone who still lived and breathed. In that darkness and sadness, there was still a glimmer of hope.

Earth wants to keep it like a drowning person who desperately wants a hand.

“I thought you could watch it forever without getting bored?” Sun teased, he was no longer so stiff like the first day, much more comfortable with her hugs.

It reminded her of a dog that, despite being hungry, still refused to eat food from anyone other than its owner.

She jumped on Sun, hugging his waist like a spoiled child. Enjoying the warmth and the sound of the fan running in Sun’s chest.

“Sun! I am not that bad at aesthetics.”

“Right, right.”

Sun smiled, he fed her a piece of apple into her mouth indulgently. Then, the laughter faded, the gloominess sank into Sun's eyes again.

The same old topic, the same old desire.

Sun wanted to go back to his cosmic dimension, his home, his Earth. But Sun was too kind to say it, and she was always quick to divert Sun's attention elsewhere.

But not this time.

What had to happen had to happen, and though Sun and her brother often lied to themselves, they were never the ones to lie to others.

The Little Mermaid dissolved into bubbles at sunrise, and Cinderella returned to her original form at 12 o'clock at night.

“Earth… I'm not actually Sun. I mean, I'm not your brother from this dimension.”

Sun's soft and worried voice was almost like scratching on a blackboard, and she wanted to cover her ears.

She wanted to blame Sun for ruining this, the whole happy thing.

But it is not Sun’s fault, and then she just smiled, nodding her head in a lost manner, as if something cold wasn't flowing through her main circuit board, stabbing deep into the AI ​​chip, flipping her code from 1 to 0.

“I know.” Earth shook her leg, her smile not reaching her eyes. She was so comfortable, she had forgotten that this person needed to return to his place.

“Since when, Earth?” Sun was startled, but he wasn't too surprised. He still touched her arm, preventing her hands from squeezing tightly together, a bad habit she had when she was nervous.

“Since when you showed up.”

Reality came back with the ideal, Earth wondered if she could lock the person in front of her and keep her to herself forever?

“And you didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t ask.”

It was just confirmation. She should have nodded and smiled, continuing to think of anything to stop Sun from leaving. But she couldn’t, she just avoided Sun’s eyes like a child caught stealing cookies.

“I need to go home, Earth.”

And I need you. She didn’t say it. She couldn’t say it. The cold that only the Sun could warm her, the truth in the world that was full of dead people.

Sun didn’t understand, and she didn’t want to say it.

Deep inside Earth, she was still a weak and innocent child who needed someone to hold her hand.

“I just want to make everyone happy.”

That child cried and cried.

“I will help you.”

Earth said, as if the poison and thorns of roses didn’t pierce her mouth. As if it was true.

And as if she isn't a father's daughter.

“Look at you, I’m so proud.” Her father’s ghost seemed to be laughing from hell.

hi i hope you're doing well <33

I have had a very kinky thought with Konig and haven't seen anyone do it so I figured I'd request it

Reader is an excellent sniper , Konig asks him to help train him to be a better sniper. Reader agrees and while helping Konig practice , he starts teasing him and telling him to keep focusing on hitting the targets - after Konig hits all the targets reader gives him a reward for being such good boy and ofc the reward is getting railed til Konig is a moaning mess

helping hand

Pairing: König x Male Reader Summary: König comes to you for some help - and you're more than happy to. Warnings: NSFW, 18+ Only. Top!Male reader, teasing, handjobs, fucking outside, unprotected anal, creampie.

Your breath in his ear sends goosebumps rippling across his skin. “I thought you wanted my help König?”

He quickly nods, a whine bubbling in the back of his throat. “I do-”

“You don’t seem to be taking it very seriously.” You interrupt, a hand trailing down the curve of his spine. Under the weight of your hand you feel him fidget, trying to stop himself from grinding his hips into the ground for any sort of relief. “You need to focus.”

“I can’t,” he cries, cock throbbing painfully within the confines of his pants. Every little one of your touches sent a new wave of arousal coursing through his body, his mind ready to give up and submit to you. “You’re too distracting,” he whines.

Ever since he had met you in the makeshift training area you had been teasing him; standing too close, talking in his ear, your hands all over his body as you manoeuvred him into different sniping positions, all while König steadily got harder and harder and became more and more distracted, barely able to focus on why you were here in the first place.

“You need to be able to focus even with distractions all around you,” you begin, capturing his attention once more. “How about this? You manage to hit the rest of the targets and I’ll give you a reward.”

“What kind of reward?” He asks pointlessly, he’s already sure he knows what will happen, or at least what he wants to happen.

Tutting you shift up onto your knees, König turning his head to watch you. “Well we can’t ruin the surprise now can we?” You wink, and he’s thankful for the hood covering his head so you can’t see the crimson blush creep up on his cheeks. “Now, three targets left.”

It takes a few seconds for his brain to catch up, and he quickly adjusts his focus back through the scope of the sniper rifle, scanning the area to try and find the targets. He soon finds one, hitting it dead on with no issues. 

Hearing the pleased hum come from you he tries to ignore it, but he can’t contain his reaction as his body jumps when your hand falls onto the arch of his back, fingers skimming across the fabric of his shirt. “Focus,” you scold, and he fights his body wanting to arch into the touch.

Pushing out a deep breath he starts again, searching for another target. Your hand stills as you wait, and the heat coming from your palm even through his shirt feels like torture. You can feel when he finds another one, his back just tensing and relaxing ever so slightly, and once he’s in position he quickly lets off another shot, hitting the target perfectly. “Good,” you praise, hand drifting lower to follow his spine, stopping halfway down. “One more.”

König’s breathing is harsher now, fighting to control every breath as he tries to find the last target. Excitement races through his veins when he does. He forces himself to be calm, trying to ignore your presence near him and fires, sighing with relief when he hits the final one. 

Moving your hand lower you start to play with the waistband of his pants, fingertips dipping under the fabric intermittently. “There you go, knew you could do it,” you purr, König preening under your praise. “Now about that reward-”

König groans, cutting off your train of speech. “Please, stop teasing me.”

You take your fingers away, chuckling as pushes his hips up to follow the movement. “Oh? What do you want me to do?”

His cock throbs, leaking with excitement. “Fuck me,” he mumbles, tucking his face into the inside of his elbow. 

Although you heard him perfectly you decide to tease him further, placing both hands on his hips, encouraging him to move until he’s resting on his arms and knees, back arched perfectly, ass in the air in front of you. “What was that?”

“Fuck me,” he tries again, louder this time. 

Shuffling forward you stop just before your thighs hit the back of his legs, hands tightening on his hips to bring him backwards the rest of the way. He goes willingly, groaning when he feels the large bulge in your pants against his clothed ass, and unashamedly he rubs against you, a pleased rumble leaving your chest.

One of your hands snakes from his hip around his waist, fingers barely ghosting the outline of cock as you go for his zipper instead, slowly bringing it down until the shape of his cock is spilling out from the opening. As swiftly as you can you pull his pants and boxers down in one swoop, König hissing as his cock twitches in the open air. 

He grunts when you wrap a hand around his hardened cock, sliding your palm over the head to gather the precum dripping there and slathering his cock as you begin to stroke up and down, your other hand kneading the flesh of his ass cheek. As soon as he starts trying to fuck into your hand you stop, removing your hand and planting it on his other cheek, pulling them apart so you can see his twitching hole.

“Would you look at that?” you coo, thumb brushing against his rim. “Looks like your hole is begging to be filled.” König whines, his body aching for any sort of stimulation. Gathering up as much spit as you can he gasps when he feels it hit his hole, your thumb quickly spreading the moisture, teasing his entrance.

Slowly you fight against the resistance, his hole gradually opening up to your thumb as you push it deeper, and only when it easily slides in and out do you add another finger, König beginning to rock back against them as you scissor the digits. Your mouth is dry by the time you can fit three fingers, making sure he’s fully prepared for you, your own cock desperate to be inside him. 

Withdrawing your fingers you slide your zipper down, pulling out your cock to rest it in the crevice of his cheeks, König able to feel the heat emanating from your dick. Taking what little moisture is left from your mouth you spit into your hand and slick up your own cock before you press the head against his hole, giving him slow, gentle thrusts as you enter him inch by inch, pushing in and pulling out until he opens up around you.

When you’re finally fully seated inside him you stop your movements, relishing in the heat as he clenches around you, König mewling with impatience as you do nothing other than stroke the skin of his hip. Eventually, he pulls himself away and pushes back onto you, a pleasured moan escaping both of you. “Please move,” he begs.

Slowly you draw all the way out, tip catching on his rim before you slam forward, a harsh slap of skin against skin as your thighs smack against him, König letting out a choked groan. Taking little time to set a harsh pace he’s soon lost in ecstasy, arms barely holding him up as you use him like a toy, grunts and moans escaping into the air.

Fucking into him you search out that sweet spot, the tip of your cock punching in deeper and deeper until on one thrust he wails, body trembling and cock pulsing as he sprays his release across the ground, streaks of white staining the soil underneath him. 

You don’t stop, chasing your own orgasm as you continue your thrusts, one arm wrapping around König to wrench him up and hold him to your chest, your free hand gripping his cock, jerking him off as he cries from the stimulation. “Bitte, wait.” With the new angle you thrust in deeper, his hole clenching and pulsing around you, driving you closer and closer to the apex. 

“Just a little bit more, I’m close,” you groan, rapidly thrusting into his hole, cock bullying against his prostate. “Where do you want it?” 

“I-inside,” he hiccups, one of his arms ensnaring your neck to hold you close as the other rests on the one jerking his cock.

It takes just a few more thrusts to come undone, a hoarse snarl tearing from your throat as you unload inside König, your cock shooting rope after rope into his hole as it milks you for everything you have. The feeling of you cumming inside pushes König into another orgasm, a smaller spurt of cum erupting from his cock and joining his previous load on the floor. Your hips give small, shaky thrusts as you fill him up, a ring of white forming around his rim as your cum starts leaking out and back down along your cock. 

Time is lost as you both stay like that, holding each other close, trying to swallow down oxygen as pleasure bursts through your veins. Once your senses rush back to you, you gently lower König to rest on his arms, the man unable to remain sitting up, and slowly pull out, cum immediately seeping from his hole and you quickly tuck yourself away at the risk of becoming hard again as you fight to tear your eyes away.

König takes longer to recover, only doing so when you finally speak up. “König?” He barely hums in acknowledgement. “You have to get up, big guy.” He grunts, mind still hazy with pleasure. There’s not much you can do about the current mess of his hole so you pull his underwear and pants back up over his ass, tucking his cock back in and adjusting them so they look as normal as possible.

“I don’t think I can move,” he grumbles, and you bite back the bark of laughter threatening to erupt.

“Here,” you offer, moving to his front and offering your hands to help him up. He takes them, relying on you to drag him up and without asking, you place a supportive arm around his waist, tucking him into your side as you walk back together. The walk is uncomfortable, cum oozing out of his hole with every step, something he makes known.

“I need a shower,” he states, gait becoming awkward as he tries to find the walk most comfortable.

You hum in agreement, arm tightening around his waist. “How about I help clean you up?”

Bloom

Bangtan Christmas 2023 drabble 2 - read the rest here.

In a post-nuclear war world, all you have is your son Jiwon. You'd do anything to keep him safe, including putting your trust in your new neighbour Kim Namjoon. You hope you haven't made the biggest mistake of your life.

Pairing: Namjoon x f! reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Dystopian future AU, smut, single mother reader

Warnings: Sex, swearing, violence

Word count: 7.5k

With thanks to @vyduan for helping me work out the kinks (heh) in this story. Love you, Vy.

Author note: Written in response to an ask I got early in the year - a story I've kept chipping away at and now it's finally finished. Anon, I think about you often and I hope you and your kids are doing well. I hope you've had time to heal and no longer think of yourself as a heartbroken single mom, because you are and have always been more than that.

Your breath comes out in puffs of white as you carry an armful of logs to the furnace powering your greenhouse.

Inside, the air is humid, warm, perfect for the vegetables you’re carefully cultivating. Outside, the cold of a perennial winter’s seeped into your bones.

Nothing grows outside, not since the Great War. 

You wonder why they call it ‘great’ when everything is worse now than it was before the war.

You’re emerging from the greenhouse, wiping your hands on a soiled rag, when you hear your new neighbour singing softly.

He’s got a melodious voice with a gorgeous husky tone. You smile to yourself as he sings a tune you know.

Suddenly he stops. ‘Oh shit!’

There’s a clatter of metal against worksurface, the unmistakeable sound of breakage.

You walk up to the wire fence and call out. ‘Need a hand?’

There’s another clatter, then the door to the greenhouse opens and you meet your new neighbour face to face for the first time.

He’s tall, broad shouldered, with a face that makes you wish you’d bothered to comb your hair before you stepped outside this morning.

‘I — uh— heard the noises and just thought I’d check if you were ok,’ you explain.

He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. ‘Do you have a spare pot? I’ll get you a replacement today, but right now my chilli plant is all over my worktable.’

‘Oh,’ you say, quickly turning. You enter your own greenhouse and emerge with one of your own pots.

‘Here,’ you say, holding it out to him. Your fingertips brush as he takes the pot from you, and you hope you don’t look too flustered.

You say, waving a hand, ‘Don’t worry about a replacement.’

‘My chillies and I thank you,’ he says, so solemnly you laugh.

He smiles warmly at you, and dimples appear in his cheeks.

The juxtaposition of his large frame and his delicately pretty dimples is doing something odd to your fickle heart.

You clear your throat. ‘I’m Y/N,’ you say, suddenly feeling shy. 

‘Namjoon,’ he replies. 

You turn as your son Jiwon approaches, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

You pull off your coat and wrap it around him. 

‘Come on, let’s go inside before you get too cold, ok?’

Jiwon, wrapped in your coat, looks curiously at Namjoon.

‘This is my son, Jiwon. Jiwon, this is our new neighbour Namjoon,’ you say.

You put your arm around Jiwon and lead him back to the house.

‘It was nice to meet you,’ you call over your shoulder.

When you look back, Namjoon’s still standing by the fence, looking at you. 

He waves, once, then turns to go back inside.

***

Jiwon regards you over the porridge bowl you’ve made for his breakfast. 

His eyes are serious, too serious considering he’s barely eight. 

You wish there was a way to protect him from the world.

Instead you make sure he eats, and drinks, and wears his warm coat, because the world may be fucked up but your son isn’t going to go without, not on your watch anyway.

You wonder where Jiwon’s father is now but can’t muster up any emotion about it. The burning desire to watch him suffer faded long ago, leaving nothing in its place.

A blank where your perfect life used to be.

You clear away the plates and pull on your coat. 

‘Ready?’

You walk Jiwon to the single room, little more than a shed, where the makeshift school now is, and as you kiss him goodbye and promise him you’ll pick him up later, you wonder whether things will ever change.

It’s been five years since nuclear warfare destroyed the world, four since Jiwon’s father left, and you’re still waiting for life to get better.

Lost in your thoughts, you nearly bump into a uniformed guard.

You bow and apologise profusely.

You can’t see any of the guards’ faces, but you know they make liberal use of their steel batons. 

The pain of a physical beating, though, would pale in comparison to being detained by the intention readers.

You could recover from a beating, but not from being thoughtwiped.

You shiver and resolve to be more careful as you walk the rest of the way to the community gardenhouse to start your work.

***

You glance at your watch and pick up the pace. You’re late to pick up Jiwon. There had been a raid at the gardenhouse just before you were due to leave, and you and the other gardeners had been searched for contraband.

You arrive at the schoolhouse just in time to see Jiwon being questioned by a guard.

Your heart stops, and you hurry forward, already apologising to the three guards standing over your son.

He’s slight, small for his age, and he looks even smaller surrounded by guards.

You step in front of Jiwon, putting your arm out to keep him behind you.

‘I’m sorry,’ you say, bowing low.

The cold steel of a baton nudges under your chin, hard enough to lift your head.

Terror slices through you as the guard stares down at you, but you try your best to keep still.

The other guard says, ‘Hey, Jaebeom. The General wants us back. Let’s go.’

The baton stills, then the guard withdraws it and holsters it.

He turns away without another look at you.

You grasp Jiwon’s hand, and you don’t let go until you’re safely home.

***

The thin light of dawn’s cutting into the horizon when you emerge from your front door.

Snow’s been falling all night, is still falling now, piled up on your short garden path. You lift the shovel off the hook by your door and get to work clearing the path.

This early, the snow’s still icy and hard to shovel away.

You’re breathing hard by the time you get to the gate, arms aching, face damp with sweat.

Your neighbour Namjoon’s front gate swings open and he walks out, wrapped up warm.

He slows down when he sees you but doesn’t stop. 

You give a small smile which he returns before walking off.

You watch him go and wonder what he does to be leaving so early. 

You see Jiwon’s light come on and hurry inside to make breakfast.

***

There’s blood in the snow when you arrive back home with Jiwon at the end of the day, drops of red splattered in a trail to your neighbour’s door.

You herd Jiwon safely inside and your conscience gets the better of you.

You walk next door and knock.

It’s a while before Namjoon answers, but as soon as he does you know you’ve done the right thing coming over.

He looks terrible, pale and wincing in pain. There’s a wound in his shoulder, his chest is bare.

You say, ‘let me help,’ and then he’s stepping back, sitting heavily down on a chair. 

He’s so tall you barely have to lean down to look at his shoulder.

‘Can you stitch?’ he asks, voice tight, body taut.

‘I’ll patch you up,’ you tell him.

You worked in a field hospital during the War.

Namjoon grits his teeth, pale and tense, whilst you patch his wound.

By the time you’ve dressed it, there’s a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead.

You don’t like how pale he is.

‘I have to get back to Jiwon,’ you tell him.

He nods.

Something about the way he slumps back in his seat, quiet and exhausted, makes you say, ‘I can stay overnight to watch you, if you have a spare bed for Jiwon to sleep in?’

Namjoon stares at you for so long you make the decision for him.

‘Come on, let me get you to bed,’ you say.

He staggers as he stands, and automatically you slip an arm around his waist.

He leans heavily on you as you take him to his bedroom and help him onto the bed.

He lays down, eyes already closed. 

You wait until his breathing eases and then you go to get Jiwon.

By the time you get back, Jiwon in tow, Namjoon’s dead asleep.

You make Jiwon comfortable in the adjoining room, hoping Namjoon won’t mind, and set your alarm to check on him periodically.

He sleeps most of the night, waking up once to stumble to the bathroom.

You get up to check on him. ‘Are you all right, Namjoon?’

Thankfully your presence doesn’t seem to alarm him. 

‘I’m fine,’ he says, but you can see the sheen of sweat across his forehead.

You fetch a glass of water and some pain meds from his kitchen. He’s still awake when you knock on his door.

He gulps the water and swallows down the medicine gratefully and lays back. 

There’s something about the irregular rhythm of his breathing that makes you offer your hand.

‘The meds will kick in soon,’ you promise him. You squeeze his hand gently. 

He murmurs a thank you. When his breathing evens out and the grip of his hand eases, you pull the blanket over his chest and make your way back to the other room where Jiwon is.

It’s sometime just before dawn when you wake. Namjoon’s extra bedroom has a pretty view of his backyard, his greenhouse. The rolling hills in the distance are bare in the winter cold, starkly beautiful.

For the first time in a long time, you wonder where Jiwon’s father is, how he’s doing. If he ever thinks of Jiwon, or you. Beside you, Jiwon stirs. 

‘Mama?’ 

‘Yes, baby?’

‘I’m not a baby,’ Jiwon says indignantly.

‘Ssssh, you’ll wake Namjoon up. Are you hungry?’

Jiwon yawns a little. People have always said he doesn’t look like you or his dad, but in moments like this you can see yourself in him.

‘Come on. Let’s go home and I’ll make breakfast, ok?’

You check on Namjoon as you pass his room, only to find he’s already dressed.

He stands when he sees you, and you’re reminded of the height difference between you.

You step back. ‘Sorry, I just wanted to make sure —‘

As though he’s aware of how his height and size intimidate you, he stops where he is.

‘I want to thank you for looking after me last night,’ he says. ‘Will you have breakfast with me?’

Jiwon marvels so openly at the sugary cereal Namjoon produces from a cupboard you can’t help but smile.

Single parenthood in a post nuclear war world has been challenging, and you’re scared about how many E numbers it’s taken to produce a cereal this unnaturally bright, but Jiwon’s so excited it’s worth it. 

Namjoon offers you some, and you accept with a smile. He smiles back at you so warmly that you drop your eyes.

Even injured and tired, your neighbour is the kind of handsome man you don’t think would look twice at you normally.

You cover your skittishness by staring down into your cereal as if fascinated.

By the time you gather the courage to look up, Jiwon’s finished his food. 

You’re about to get up to take him home when Namjoon puts out a hand to stop you. ‘Finish your breakfast,’ he says quietly. 

He gets up. ‘Come on, Jiwon, I hurt my shoulder yesterday, can you help me in the greenhouse until your mum finishes her food?’

Jiwon falls into step beside Namjoon so naturally you have no qualms about letting them go together. There’s a funny lump in your throat as you watch them walking together through the kitchen window. 

You tell yourself sternly to keep it together and not to assign a romantic narrative to your handsome neighbour who’s clearly just repaying your kindness from yesterday. 

By the time Namjoon and Jiwon get back, you’ve finished your breakfast and washed up. The kitchen looks like you and Jiwon were never there.

‘Thank you,’ Namjoon says. ‘For looking after me yesterday.’

‘It was no bother at all,’ you tell him, sincerely. ‘Thank you for breakfast.’

You nod to his chest. ‘You should get the wound checked out at the clinic today.’

‘I will,’ Namjoon promises. He waves goodbye to Jiwon and you, standing on his doorstep until you’ve rounded the fence to your side.

***

You’re walking with Jiwon back from school when you realise there’s someone waiting at your door. You can’t see clearly in the evening light, and you tuck Jiwon closer into your side as you approach.

You call a greeting, and a moment later the person steps into the light and you realise it’s Namjoon.

‘Hi,’ you say, unable to hide your relief.

‘Hi,’ he replies, ‘I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just by the river and I passed a cart selling these and I thought Jiwon might like them.’

He holds out a paper wrapped bundle of bungeoppang, still warm despite the cold.

Jiwon’s reached out, already thanking him, and you look up at Namjoon.

‘Thank you, that’s very kind of you, they’re his favourite.’

‘There’s enough for both of you,’ Namjoon says.

He’s stepping away, halfway down your yard when he stops. 

‘Your gate lock’s broken,’ he says. ‘I can help you fix it if you want.’

‘Don’t trouble yourself,’ you say hastily. The lock’s been broken for a while, you’d meant to fix it but it’s been a busy month at the communal greenhouse.

‘It’s not safe,’ he says gently. ‘Not with both of you in the house.’

His words, though gently spoken, send a flush of shame through you.

He must think you’re such a mess, incapable of even keeping yourself and your son safe. 

He doesn’t give you time to answer. ‘I have tools. I’ll come over tomorrow and fix it, ok?’

‘Thank you,’ you say. There’s a quiver in your voice, you hope he doesn’t know you well enough to hear it. 

You open your door and usher Jiwon in from the cold.

***

You’re clearing your garden path the next morning, shovelling snow, when Namjoon comes to fix the gate. 

He nods politely at you, then gets to work. He doesn’t seem to want to chat, particularly, but that’s fine with you as you’re out of breath from clearing the path anyway. 

Namjoon disappears briefly once the lock’s fixed, comes back with a bag of grit over his shoulder. 

‘Let me grit your path,’ he offers, and you let him as he’s already brought the damn stuff over.

You invite him in as you prepare Jiwon’s breakfast.

He sits at your table, looking big in your small kitchen but not out of place.

There’s a picture on the wall of you and Jiwon’s father, from the Christmas that Jiwon turned two.

You can see him looking at it as you pass him a mug.

Namjoon asks, ‘Is that Jiwon’s father?’

You look at the photo. In it, you’re holding Jiwon up, and Hiro, Jiwon’s father, is laid on the floor, tickling his feet. There are the trappings of what Christmas was like before the war scattered all around you.

Luxuries that weren’t until everything else was taken away. 

‘Yes,’ you say. You lean against the kitchen sink, hold up your own mug. ‘He left after the war.’

‘I’m sorry.’ 

He looks like he means it. 

‘It’s ok,’ you tell him, honestly. ‘We’re doing ok, and Jiwon doesn’t remember much of him.’

There’s a moment of silence, then you hear Jiwon’s footsteps coming down the stairs. 

He greets Namjoon with a total lack of surprise at seeing him at the breakfast table. You’re amused at the nonchalant way Jiwon greets Namjoon, and then you realise it might be because of Namjoon’s calm, gentle manner.

For all his size, you find it difficult to envision Namjoon ever hurting anyone or anything. 

***

The guards come for you a few weeks later, late at night when Jiwon’s asleep. You’re putting away the washing up when there’s a knocking at the door.

Impatient, demanding.

You crack the door open only to have to step back quickly as the door is pushed inward, towards you.

The two guards who enter have epaulets on their shoulders signifying them as of a low rank. 

Any rank can detain a civilian for thoughtwiping, though.

The chill in your spine is only partially environmental.

‘Are you the wife of Hiro Kwon?’ 

You keep your tone calm, steady. ‘We’re estranged. I haven’t seen him in years.’

‘We have reason to believe he stole a very important pre-war relic from General Dei.’

You know where this is going.

‘My son is sleeping upstairs, can I take him into the greenhouse whilst you search my house?’

The guard closest to you gives you a hard stare. 

‘He has nightmares,’ you say, pleading. 

You fetch Jiwon, get him dressed and take him outside whilst the guards search your house. He leans against you, quiet. You hate that events like this are a part of his life.

Next door, Namjoon’s light is on. 

When the guards come out to tell you that you can re-enter your own house, you hear Namjoon’s door opening.

He walks up to the fence, and your heart stops.

He’s wearing full guard uniform, with epaulets that show he outranks the guards questioning you.

Sweet, gentle Namjoon from next door is a high-ranking official in the guard.

And you? You’re the biggest fool alive.

He’s looking at you and Jiwon, face impassive, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he takes you in.

Beside you, Jiwon’s shivering, and automatically, you slip your coat off to wrap around him.

You turn back to the guards. You’re still struggling with the weight of recent revelations but you need to get Jiwon back inside.

‘May we go?’ 

The guard stops you, drawing his baton, and you freeze.

‘He can go. We have more questions for you.’

You can’t look at Namjoon.

‘Of course. Let me take him up to bed and I’ll answer any questions you have.’

The walk back downstairs after you put Jiwon to bed feels like your feet are too heavy for your body.

You cast an eye at the mirror in your hallway. Your expression is a perfect blank, unreadable. You already know the lengths you’ll go to, to keep Jiwon safe.

The questions start innocently enough.

When did you last see your husband?

When did he last try to contact you?

You’re asked differently worded versions of the same questions repeatedly.

Your answers get shorter as the questioning goes on, and then the baton comes out even though you haven’t moved.

It raps on the table next to your hand, and you can’t help it, you startle badly at the sound.

There’s a knock at the door, then.

You look to the guards, and the younger one gets up to answer.

He returns with Namjoon. 

Namjoon’s face is impassive. He gives you a once over, then nods to the two guards. 

‘Leave us, I’ll handle this.’ 

The tension in the room ramps up as the guards leave, and by the time the door closes behind them, it’s taking all your strength to stay still. 

Namjoon, as though sensing your turmoil, takes a step back, away from you. 

His voice is low, quiet, but you have no difficulty hearing him. 

‘Did they hurt you?’ he asks. 

You look up at him, trying to read his expression. ‘No, they didn’t,’ you answer. 

He lets out a breath that sounds relieved.

‘Have you heard from your husband?’ he asks.

‘I told you, we’re estranged,’ you reply.

You can hear Jiwon moving upstairs. You turn back to Namjoon.

‘Can I go to him? I’ll come back down, I just want to make sure he’s ok —-‘

Namjoon’s expression changes. He looks stunned. 

‘Of course, I wouldn’t stop you.’

When you come back down Namjoon’s still standing where you left him.

‘It’s late, you should go to bed,’ he says. His eyes search yours.

You look back at him, at the epaulets adorning his broad shoulders.

He must have earned them somehow. 

The thought makes you avert your eyes, set your chin.

‘I will,’ you say, neutral, cool. 

Namjoon waits like he’s got more to say, but when you look up, he’s headed to your kitchen door, letting himself out.

You lock the door behind him and breathe out, fully, for the first time in hours.

***

You wake the next morning to sounds outside your window.

There’s a man in your garden, and you’d be alarmed if Jiwon didn’t have a similar profile.

It’s Hiro.

You open the back door and gesture him in.

He looks older, thinner, but he still has the spark in his eye that drew you to him. You’re surprised to find you don’t feel anything about his sudden appearance apart from the faintest pleasure of seeing someone who was once dear to you.

You moved on out of necessity, and there’s no going back.

‘The guards are looking for you,’ you say, once you’ve made him a drink.

‘I know,’ he says. ‘I need somewhere to stay. Do you have any money?’

‘Not much,’ you tell him. ‘I can spare some.’

Hiro touches your hand, on the table in between you, and you pull back, startled.

You get up, gather the banknotes you’ve saved, and give him what you can.

‘Can I see him?’ Hiro asks.

You don’t have it in your heart to say no. ‘Don’t wake him.’

You take him upstairs to Jiwon’s room, let him peer through the crack in the door.

When Hiro turns back to you, there are tears in his eyes.

You have nothing left to say.

***

The raid on the communal greenhouse today was unexpected, and you weren’t quite quick enough to get out of the way of a wayward baton strike.

Your wrist throbs dully, your fingers are swollen, and the painkillers you dry-swallowed are only just about taking the edge off. 

You’ve sent Jiwon to bed and are trying to dislodge the sack of fertiliser from the top shelf of your greenhouse one-handed, panting at the effort, when Namjoon’s porch light comes on.

Startled, you lose your balance and fall off the crate you’re balancing on, just about managing to protect your wrist as you land.

The noise you’ve made draws Namjoon to the fence.

Thankfully, he’s not wearing his guard uniform.

When he sees you on the ground he disappears, appearing a moment later on your side of the fence, breathing hard from rushing over.

‘Are you ok?’ he asks, helping you up.

You’re about to answer when his face darkens. ‘What happened to your hand?’

Your hiss of pain when he reaches for you makes him flinch.

‘Here,’ he says. 

He cups a hand under your elbow gently, helping you back into your kitchen.

He frowns even more when he sees how swollen your wrist is.

‘We need to get you to a clinic,’ he says.

‘I can’t leave Jiwon, I’ll go in the morning,’ you tell him.

‘You can’t leave this overnight,’ Namjoon insists. 

He runs a hand over his face. ‘I’ll call my friend.’

‘I’m fine —‘

‘You aren’t,’ Namjoon says, the shortest he’s ever been with you. ‘I have a friend who’s a nurse, I’ll call him.’

You sit quietly in your kitchen as he makes the call. 

‘Jimin will be here soon,’ he tells you when he returns.

You’re too on edge to ask about Jimin.

You want to tell him that you’re fine, but when you open your mouth, you say, ‘Hiro, my ex husband, came here yesterday asking for money.’

Namjoon considers this in silence.

‘If the guards find out —-‘

‘I’m sure as hell not going to tell them,’ Namjoon says, sharp. ‘And neither should you.’

‘You’re a guard,’ you point out. 

‘And you told me because you know I’m not like them,’ Namjoon says. His voice is neutral, without inflection. 

‘I told you because I don’t want you to get into trouble because of your association with me. Especially after they came looking for Hiro,’ you argue. 

You get up. ‘And yes, because you aren’t like them.’ 

As soon as you say the words you realise they’re true. 

On some level you know, from the sides of him he’s shown to you, that Namjoon isn’t like the guards you’ve seen. 

Namjoon rubs his eyes. He looks tired. 

‘My father was a commander in the first generation of guards,’ he tells you. There’s a note of bitterness in his voice. ‘That didn’t save me from being thoughtwiped.’ 

You stare at him in shock. 

‘I have all the right decorations,’ Namjoon continues, gesturing to his shoulders. 

He meets your gaze. ‘I can’t excuse the things I’ve done in the past to earn them. I was young, eager to please my father, eager to keep my mother safe, and there’s nothing safer than being a guard.’

There’s bitterness in his voice now.

‘I had my limit though, as warped as I was, and I protested against an order I was commanded to carry out.’ He pauses. ‘I couldn’t do it.’

‘Your past is a fog once you’ve been thoughtwiped, but it comes back slowly, in flashes. Like a puzzle that’s incomplete.’

You’re so caught up in Namjoon’s story you’ve forgotten about the pain in your wrist.

‘This isn’t about me but I told you this because I want you to trust me,’ Namjoon says. He touches your arm, gentle. ‘There’s no threat to you, from me.’

You believe him.

You’re about to say so when there’s a knock at your door.

Namjoon gets up and returns with a man with kind eyes who introduces himself as Jimin.

He tends to your wrist with a gentleness that almost brings you to tears, binding it and placing it in a brace that eases the pain a little.

‘It’s probably broken,’ Jimin tells you, ‘but this is the best I can do until you can get to the clinic.’

You thank him gratefully. 

‘Namjoon says you have a son. If you bring him to my clinic I’ll do a health check for free,’ Jimin offers.

You can’t thank him enough for his kindness.

After he leaves, Namjoon says, ‘Do you have a spare room? Or I can sleep on the couch.’

You stare at him, overwhelmed. ‘I don’t have a spare room —-‘

‘The couch it is,’ Namjoon says. 

‘You don’t have to —‘

‘You did it for me when I was injured,’ Namjoon points out. He dimples at you. ‘Don’t let me miss my chance to play nursemaid….’

You can’t imagine anyone who looks less like a nursemaid than your tall, broad, handsome neighbour.

‘You can take my bed,’ you offer.

There’s a beat of silence, and you realise how it must have sounded to him.

Oh no.

You splutter in your haste to explain. ‘Oh my god, I meant you can take my bed, for you, alone. I can take the couch.’

Namjoon looks like he’s holding back a smile.

‘I’ll take the couch,’ he says, very gently. ‘Now you should go to bed, you look very tired.’

You take yourself off to bed before your mouth betrays you again.

***

You wake to familiar scraping outside. You get up, hissing at the dull flare of pain in your injured wrist, and head for your bedroom window.

It’s Namjoon, clearing your garden path. He pauses to wipe a hand over his forehead, breath coming out in white puffs.

You pull on a robe and head down to the kitchen, open the back door.

‘Hey,’ you call.

He turns immediately, face creasing in concern. ‘How’s your wrist?’

‘Still broken,’ you say cheerfully.

A dimple flashes in his cheek.

‘Go sit down, I’ll finish this and make us breakfast.’

Despite Namjoon’s instructions, you start on breakfast anyway, you’re used to looking after you and Jiwon.

‘I’ll walk Jiwon to school so you can go straight to the clinic,’ Namjoon says.

You look at Jiwon.

Jiwon’s bright smile is all the answer you need.

***

You wake in the dead of night, heart thumping, blood rushing in your ears.

You’re up and out of bed before you’re fully awake, hand on Jiwon’s door, when you hear it again.

The same noise that woke you up.

The creak of your front gate.

You hear footsteps to your front door, then the knocking starts.

You wake Jiwon, wrap him in his coat, wishing you’d remembered your own.

‘Open the door, by the order of the guard,’ shouts a male voice, making you stumble in fear, making your adrenaline surge.

You glimpse the grandfather clock on your landing as you hurry through to the kitchen with Jiwon.

It’s 2am.

You doubt this is a routine interrogation.

It feels more like a raid.

You grab Jiwon’s face, make him look at you.

‘If we get separated, run through the gate and into Namjoon’s greenhouse. Don’t wait for me.’

Your voice is calm, your eyes serious, and Jiwon, with the wisdom of a much older child, nods.

You pull his coat closed, and take a breath, gathering your wits about you before you pull open the back door.

There’s no one there. The guards are still at the front of the house.

You hold Jiwon’s hand, tight, and step into the night.

***

You make it into Namjoon’s greenhouse just as your kitchen lights come on.

Your heart pounds like drums in your chest, insistent, so loud you’re worried anyone within a half mile could hear it.

You tuck Jiwon into a corner between sacks of fertiliser, stacked up, and listen intently.

There’s shouting, the sounds of doors slamming.

You hope it’s snowing hard enough to cover the tracks you and Jiwon made.

There’s nothing you can do about it now.

You wait, Jiwon tucked as far back as you could put him, hands gripping the shovel you grabbed from the back of the door. 

Beams of light bounce over the glass wall, freezing you into position. You close your eyes.

The door creaks open, and you stop breathing.

Steps, then in your terror it takes you a while to recognise Namjoon’s face.

Your eyes meet.

Namjoon holds up a hand, the barest of movements, then he shouts, loud and clear, ‘They’re not in here.’

Your heart pumps, and you start to breathe again. 

***

It’s hours before Namjoon returns to the greenhouse, face drawn and tired.

He says, ‘We need to go.’

‘Where?’ you ask, when you’re really thinking, ‘We?’

‘I’ll tell you on the way.’

Namjoon scoops Jiwon into his arms like he weighs nothing, and you follow.

Your limbs are stiff from the cold and the tension of waiting to be caught, but you make them bend to your will, keeping up with Namjoon’s longer strides.

‘I’ve got a car, a mile from here, can you walk?’ Namjoon asks, terse.

You notice the backpack he has slung onto his shoulders. 

‘I can carry something,’ you say, ‘Give me the pack.’

Namjoon’s tense expression softens, just enough to be perceived, as he glances at you.

‘Keep pace with me,’ he says.

It takes you a quarter of an hour to reach the car, parked alongside a warehouse. 

Namjoon places Jiwon in the backseat, tucks a blanket over him, unlocks the trunk to place the backpack inside.

You climb into the front passenger seat, watch as he starts the engine. His hand curls around the gear shaft, and you put your hand over his. 

‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ you ask.

There’s no going back from this. It’s one thing to not report you to the Guard, it’s completely another to help you get away.

Namjoon looks at your hand on his for a moment.

‘I haven’t felt this strongly about anything in a while,’ he says.

He looks up at you. ‘This is the only right thing I’ve done in a long time.’

He puts his other hand on top of yours briefly, then pulls away to start the engine.

He drives.

***

Dawn’s breaking by the time you reach your destination, a cabin deep in the mountains that you access via a narrow road buffeted with snow drifts.

Namjoon cuts the engine, sits back, rubbing the back of his neck. He looks tired.

‘Are you ok?’ you ask, tentative. 

‘Better now,’ he says, some of the tension leaving his expression. ‘Better now that we’re here.’

Jiwon’s stirring now that you’ve stopped, looking at you and Namjoon with a quiet resignation.

You hate that he’s grown to accept his world constantly being turned upside down as his due.

Namjoon turns back to look at him, a dimple popping in his cheek as he smiles.

‘Hey, are you hungry, Jiwon? I have some cereal in the cabin.’

Your heart teeters at Namjoon’s easy kindness towards your son, about to fall.

You’re about to fall for this man who you owe so much to, fool that you are.

You put your hand on Namjoon’s arm, eyes alight with gratitude. ‘Thank you,’ you tell him.

Namjoon glances at you, hesitates. 

‘You don’t have to thank me,’ he tells you. ‘I — I wanted to help.’

You think about his words as you help Jiwon out of the car and you head for the cabin together.

***

Jiwon’s asleep, you make sure he’s tucked in warm before you go into the main part of the cabin. 

Namjoon’s standing by the window, his large frame taking up almost all of it, face tilted up, like he’s looking at the sky. 

He turns when he sees you. 

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I’ll get the generator working tomorrow.’ 

There’s a fire in the hearth, not quite enough to light up the whole cabin but it’s warm enough. 

‘Don’t apologise,’ you tell him. 

You can’t see all of his face in the shadows, so you step forward. 

‘Jiwon and I wouldn’t be safe, here, if it weren’t for you.’ 

‘It was a woman and her son,’ he says, a change of subject so abrupt he’s lost you for a second before he continues. 

‘They wanted me to thoughtwipe her because of something her son did. Something stupid, meaningless.’ 

He turns to look out the window again. ‘I refused.’ 

‘That’s when they thoughtwiped you,’ you say. It’s not a question. 

He laughs, short, harsh. ‘And then they thoughtwiped her anyway. Last I heard she and her son were separated, sent to different sectors.’ 

You step forward again, wanting to see his face. 

‘You’re a good man, Namjoon,’ you tell him. ‘You can’t be responsible for everything.’ 

‘I should have done more,’ he says, flat. 

‘You’ve done a lot for us,’ you point out. 

You still can’t see his face, but you can see the sadness in the line of his shoulders, poignant and beautiful. 

You take another step forward, cup his cheek. His skin’s warm, and there’s the faintest pressure against your palm as he leans into your touch. 

You shiver a little, more from the feel of him than from the cold, but he’s quick to react, slipping the fleece off his broad shoulders and placing it over yours. 

For a moment his arms are around you, and you’re within a breath of turning away, would have turned away if you hadn’t felt the shift in his weight.

He’s leaning on you.

You curl your hand around his neck, and he leans down with the faintest pressure from your fingertips.

A thrill races through you as his lips brush yours, blooming into a pulse, heady and throbbing as you tilt your head to kiss him again.

He’s slow, so gentle it takes you a while to realise that his kisses are robbing you of your breath.

The tip of his tongue flicks at the seam of your lips, a question you answer by parting them.

Letting him in.

His hand travels down your side to land on your hip, tentative.

Another question.

This time you slide your arms around his waist, under his top. The warm skin of his back is smooth under your hands.

He grunts softly as you pull him closer, comes willingly. 

He kisses you again, firmer this time, and you melt into him. 

Gradually, in stages, closer and closer until you’re so close you don’t know where he ends and you begin. 

He cups the back of your head, pulls away just enough to say, ‘The couch.’ 

You follow him to the couch, and he tilts his head for another kiss. 

You put a hand flat on his chest to steady yourself, and he puts his own hand over yours, covering it completely, anchoring you to him. 

‘I haven’t done this in a while,’ you tell him. 

‘Me either,’ he says. 

His dimple flashes. ‘We can remind each other.’ 

Namjoon’s a patient man, you knew this about him already. 

You hadn’t expected him to be quite this patient though, not pushing you even though you can feel how hard he is under you.

‘Do you want to keep going?’ you ask.

‘So badly,’ he tells you, huffing out a breath, tilting his head back. His throat bobs as he swallows, hard.

You lick a stripe along his neck, and he shivers, gripping your shoulder. 

‘Do it again,’ he says, voice dropped low. ‘Can I touch you?’

‘Please,’ you say, and to your delight, his hands drop to the front lapels of your (his) shirt.

‘You look good in my clothes,’ he murmurs. He kisses down your chest, slow, open-mouthed, and by the time he gets to your breasts you’re vibrating with need.

He takes the tip of your breast into his mouth, sucking delicately at first, then more strongly when you moan his name.

Every pull of his mouth makes you pulse and tighten, and you don’t realise you’re grinding against him until his big hand grips your hip.

‘Stop, or I’ll come,’ he warns, voice thick, gravelly now.

‘Take your clothes off,’ you say.

He undoes the fly of his jeans, and the damp patch you see where his cock’s tenting his boxer briefs makes your mouth water.

He stops you with your hands on your own sweatpants, says, ‘Let me.’

Before you realise quite what he’s doing, he’s slid onto his knees on the floor, has tugged your sweatpants down to reveal your thighs, the hot stickiness between your legs.

He hooks a finger in the waistband of your panties. Poises himself, open mouthed over your core.

Looks to you once, eyes hooded, and whatever he sees in your face makes him bend down and put his mouth to you.

You cry out, muffled behind your own hand, and he stops instantly. 

‘Is this ok?’ he asks.

‘Yes, yes, please,’ you tell him.

He watches you as he slides his tongue over your slit, eyes hooded and hot.

He’s good with his tongue, you realise dimly in the back of your mind as he laps at you. He swallows audibly, and your hips dance under his mouth.

‘Joon,’ you moan, and he hums, deep voice vibrating against your skin.

‘Joon,’ you moan again. His hand splays on the curve of your hip, fingers tightening on your flesh.

This time, he moans in response, and you cry out, throaty and hoarse, as he sucks at your clit with renewed fervour, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

‘Joon!’

He pushes a finger into you, and you come with a gush of wet, walls tightening around him, your entire body tensing for a glorious instant before giving way to waves of pleasure.

Namjoon groans, deep in his chest, and you reach out and grip his hips, guiding him between your legs.

‘Wait,’ he says, touching your face, gentle though you can feel him hard as steel at your entrance, the blunt fullness of his cockhead nudging, seeking. ‘Are you sure you want this?’

‘Yes,’ you say, ‘yes.’

Namjoon groans again, pressing into you, filling you so well your body arches like a bow against his.

‘Feel so good,’ he utters, jaw tight, voice raspy.

He moves strongly within you, taking control with a confidence that thrills you to your toes.

He says your name as he moves, guttural and wanting, the slide of him into you making sparks bloom behind your eyelids.

He grasps your hand, fingers knitting with yours, as you writhe and moan underneath him. 

‘Sound so pretty,’ Namjoon groans. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t —‘

You grip his shoulder. ‘I want you to come, Joon,’ you breathe, mouth by his ear.

He groans again then, circles his hips, and then thrusts deep, spilling his warmth inside you. 

He’s still for a moment, breathing hard against your ear. 

You turn your head to kiss him. 

You’re still holding his hand, and it’s a while before either of you let go. 

***

You pour out a mug of coffee from the pot Namjoon’s brewed, go out to where you can hear Namjoon chopping wood outside. 

He’s concentrating, splitting chunks of wood with a careful precision. 

He looks up as you approach, and his smile warms you. 

‘Hey,’ he says. 

You’d ended up sleeping tangled up with Namjoon. Some time during the night you’d woken to find him pushing your hair back from your face. 

You’d pulled him down on top of you, taken him in again, slow, languid, bodies moving together until you’d gasped and come, muffled against his chest. 

‘Hey,’ you reply. 

‘Jiwon still asleep?’ he asks. 

‘He’s exhausted,’ you say. 

‘Glad we didn’t wake him,’ Namjoon says. 

‘He’s a pretty good sleeper.’ 

Namjoon glances at you, and you flush. 

‘I didn’t mean —’ 

He laughs at how flustered you are. 

‘Good to know he sleeps well,’ Namjoon says. There’s a spark in his eyes now, dimples flashing in his cheeks. 

For all his size and height and seriousness, your handsome neighbour looks like a little boy trying to get a rise out of you when he’s like this. 

He watches, amusement in his face, as you sip the coffee to try to hide your discomfiture. 

When you look back at him, he’s gathering up an armful of wood. 

‘Come on,’ he says. ‘When Jiwon wakes up I need to talk to both of you.’ 

***

The sun’s high in the gloomy sky by the time Jiwon wakes, lured by the smells of breakfast and the warmth of the fire in the fireplace. 

After breakfast, Namjoon clears the table, and then sits you all down. 

‘We can’t stay here for long,’ he says, seriously. ‘The guards don’t know about this place, but it’s not safe, and they’ll still be looking for you.’ 

‘There’s a place close to the border where there’s a new community, away from the guarded sectors.’

You’re looking at Namjoon, carefully, and he’s looking right back at you.

‘We could go there. It’ll be hard, probably, at the beginning.’

You turn to Jiwon.

Hard? 

Harder than the life you have now? 

If there’s one thing you know, it’s that you need to find a better future, for Jiwon. 

Stability. 

You ask the question you asked in your head when you left home with Namjoon.

‘We?’

‘Yes,’ Namjoon says. ‘I’d like to go with you. If that’s ok.’

You’re looking at Jiwon again. 

The hopeful expression on his face makes the decision for you.

***

Ten years later

You’re waiting at the train station for Jiwon.

There’s a chill in the air still, it’s cold for spring but warmer than it has been in recent years.

A lot’s changed in the last ten years.

You, Namjoon and Jiwon had moved to the new community at just the right time.

It had been hard at first, but nothing compared to the constant fear of being detained by the guards.

The world’s been rebuilding itself after the War.

With your experience as a communal gardener, you’d been able to set up your own hydroponic greenhouse, and demand built up for your produce, to the point where you’ve been able to hire your own crew of gardeners and expand.

Jiwon had thrived in the new community, and when universities re-opened, he’d been accepted as part of the first few cohorts of students. 

His university was a few hours away, but the redevelopment of public transport meant there was a regular train linking his campus and your home.

The home you built with Namjoon.

In recent years, you’ve seen more and more of the light-hearted, humorous Namjoon and less of the troubled, serious Namjoon you first met.

Your love for him has only grown.

He approaches you now, a little older, but still as heartbreakingly handsome as the day you met him.

You think the best decision you ever made for you and Jiwon was to let him in. 

And now Jiwon’s on his way back for Christmas, and your heart is full.

Namjoon hands you the coffee he bought you from the cafe, and when you tilt your face up to his he leans down.

It’s a learned response from years of adjusting his height so you can reach to kiss him.

You press a kiss onto his cheek, over his dimple, and his arm slides around you to hold you tight to him.

The train pulls into the station, and Namjoon grasps your hand as it stops.

The carriage doors open, and your beautiful son steps out.

Physically, he looks like you, but the confidence in his bearing, the kindness in his face, the roguish twinkle in his eyes?

That’s you, and Namjoon.  

©hamsterclaw 2023

Reconnect: The Summary (12.5k)

A compilation of all parts & drabbles until now.

Tags/Warnings: Exes 2 Lovers, One night stand, Dad!Jungkook, parenting because yes that’s a warning, baby Nari and yes I won’t change the name, angst, emotional Rollercoaster, smut

[[ Note that this story has been originally posted on my shorts-Blog, but cannot be retrieved by searching anymore due to tumblr freezing the account for reasons I don’t know. It’s the main reason I’m posting the summary; to save it from being deleted. ]]

“With all respect, but do you think he even remembers the night at all?” You scoff as Sarah, your best friend tells you about Jungkook being back in Seoul from his world tour. “I highly doubt I’ve been the only one he’s ever had a fling with.” You say as you make sure your toddler is still holding your hand as she looks around.

Keep reading

“You will love me, I think with venom. And you will make me survive.”

^ this line is insane!

Interviews, before the Games  for @little-lynx

link to song is here!

We are required to showcase talent. 

Either for entertainment or sponsors, I don’t know. Whatever gets me ahead. And it wouldn’t be circus tricks with a bow and arrow. 

I’m not certain where the prep team managed get clothing so similar to that of my ancestors, but Cinna probably managed to pull a few strings. I know dancing from my father’s sister of all people, before Black Rot took her by the time I was 10. I didn’t forget her steps, or the bells around her ankles. It would have sold for a hefty price, that real gold, but she would never part with it. They were buried deep in the ground with her. 

When Cinna comes in, he shoos them out and dresses me in white, gauzy fabric. A layered skirt and a white top, baring my waist before he pins a shawl to my shoulder, tucking the fabric into my skirt and finally securing the excess over my head like a veil. 

Our team has done enough with jewelry. Malnutrition aside, I have the genes of my mother, which means long hair that is tied in a signature braid down my back, secured at the end with bells. Bracelets of what I’m certain is real gold, even a thin chain around my waist. Carefully, Cinna secure the nose hoop to my left nostril and pins the connecting chain to an earring. 

He personally adjusts my makeup to a soft rosy glow  My palms have already been dyed red, and a single dot on the back of both my hands are a stark contrast to the few rings he puts onto my fingers. 

I am still “the girl on fire” The light, nearly sheer fabric softly glows, a suggestion of white hot. Even the slight movement in the air sends a ripple up my body. By comparison, the chariot costume seems garish. I give the illusion of candlelight.  

There are only a handful of cameras to record the event, some makeshift set of a palace of sorts, gardens and gamekeepers sat amongst plush couches and set with tables of wine and other assortments of food. Thank God. No live audience. The runt from 12 can showcase something more than shooting an apple into the wall. 

This is one of a collection of a few songs that I know from my father’s tongue, which he taught my mother, and in turn they spoke to me and Prim in a mixture of that and English. The name has been lost, but the beauty is eternal. 

The Capitol must have enteral access to anything and everything, because women dressed the similar outfits, though of dark green, are situated on the set, some seated with what looks to be like oversized guitars. Some drums. I’m to enter, and then I am to dance.  

I’m not as good a singer as my beloved aunt, but she taught me the ins and outs of her music. I picked it up as easily as a mockingjay. 5, signals the camera man with his fingers. I exhale. 4, 3, 2, 1-

I step, and I step, and it’s as if something takes over me, regardless of the Capitol watching. I turn and twist to the floor, fingers brushing the viel from my face and managing a soft smile to the camera. 

Mohe Rang Do Laal Mohe Rang Do Laal Nand Ke Laal Laal Chhedo Naahin Bas Rang Do Laal Mohe Rang Do Laal

Up and turn and he plays with your bangles so hard they break. You are upset. 

Marodi Kalaai Mori Choodi Chatkai Ittrai Toh Chori Se Garwa Lagaai

You will love me, I think with venom. And you will make me survive. 

He pulls off your covering, the playful thing. And you are covered shy with the color of one who is a storm cloud. 

Hari Yeh Chunariya Jo Jhatke Se Chheeni Main Toh Rangi Hari Hari Ke Rang Laaj Se Gulaabi Gaal

I bite my lip at a woman stroking some small dog, to which her own lips quirk in a smile as she leans over to murmur something into a man’s ear. He nods. 

I will gather. I will kill. I will do whatever it takes. 

Mohe Rang Do Laal

Ough….

🌹

JeanBouquet grows in strength! Thank you~!

suitor: nokto warnings: nsfw-ish, slight angst towards the end

Your vision fills with Nokto, moonlit, decadent, as he closes the distance. The curtains billow and your shadows melt into one against his bedroom wall.

"Do you want to know what I was doing in the bathroom?" His voice is lower now, huskier, and it soaks into the skin of your shoulder, neck, jaw, ear... His hands do not remain idle.

You ache for him. "You don't have to say." You need him. "I can probably guess." You want his every confession.

But you've never been easy, and you aren't about to start now.

"But when I look at your pretty eyes, and your..." He nips your bottom lip and whispers, "...sexy lips." His sweet breath tickles your chin and makes you heady. "I can't help but want to tell you. In detail."

The emphasis he puts on the last two words alone ignites every nerve ending in your body, and before you know it, his name peels off your hungry tongue. Warmth pools in your cheeks. Your voice sounds pathetic to your ears, but to Nokto it must have sounded like something else entirely because his eyes darken and his brow grows taut. His own lips part, catching stray moonlight as the curtains billow once more. He takes your lips, he keeps them, for a long, dizzying tumble. Your back hits the bed. Nokto is flush against your chest.

But he pulls away just as you go to embrace him. His gaze settles on something off to the side. You follow it and find him staring at his own reflection in the upright mirror. A chagrined laugh ripples from him. "Look what you do to me."

hebennenwhwnwjjejehehhe.MMMMMM love ur writing

Living Remnant

When Optimus dreams, he relives the memories of his predecessors, often believing that he is them until he wakes. But when he does this, odd things tend to occur.

Sleepwalking

More often than not, when Optimus dreams and delves into the memories of the other Primes, he ends up sleepwalking as the Matrix's way of keeping him safe while he is unavailable. The Matrix will pilot his frame, using the remnants of the Primes minds and muscle memory within it to operate. It normally isn't an issue, the team will just let Optimus wander for a bit and one of the more insomniac members will lead him back to his berth. However his sleepwalking is highly volatile, one wrong move can lead him to lash out instinctively as the Matrix is unable to tell friend from foe.

Not only that... but Optimus is rather terrifying when the Matrix controls his frame. He wanders the base like a machine. Everything he does when sleepwalking looks wrong, almost like he is a broken record stuck on loop. Sometimes he won't move for hours, not even so much as twitching, just standing in the shadows and watching with empty optics. Other times he will repeat the same set of actions over and over, lifting and item, carrying it to another spot, and putting it down before doing it all over gain. Startlingly, he also might wander looking lost and repeating ominous phrases as he walks, usually something about it "hurting". And most frighteningly, but thankfully most rarely, Optimus's frame will start to mimic previous Primes.

One such instance led him to wander around the base with his blades extended, lashing out and trying to attack any bot he saw. The team spent the entire night hiding behind locked doors, terrified for their lives. They never mentioned what happened to Optimus after he woke, not wanting to make him feel guilty for things he had no control over. But still, the team hypothesize that the memories that the Matrix was using must have belonged to Nova Prime, a Prime notorious for his paranoia and his death at the hands of his own inner circle.

Another similar instance led Optimus to begin working with dangerous chemicals trying to make... something in his zombified state. Ratchet tried to intervene but he was stopped by a startlingly empty stare and a few muttered sentences about how "There must be a cure" and how he "Must find the cure". Ratchet ended up watching in fear as Optimus created an antidote for the rust plague, something not hard to make with their knowledge but concerning when the thought of which Prime the memories originated from came into play. Optimus woke from his stupor with nearly a dozen vials of rust plague antidote's surrounding him and with his servos covered in all sorts of cuts and chemical burns. Ratchet was thankfully there to calm him down and treat his wounds, but neither have spoken of that particular instance since.

The last instance of such terrifying behavior taking place that the team are aware of started with Optimus sleepwalking as he normally would. But when day came... he didn't wake. The team tried to break him out of it but he was completely unresponsive, totally immersed in the Matrix. He remained in a state of waking sleep for days... hardly moving and only doing one of two things, that being singing songs in the ancient tongue and drawing murals with whatever resources were available to him. It was a horrifying experience, that with the team being unable to wake him in any way, not even to get him to consume energon. Ratchet ended up giving him shots of energon directly to his systems as he spent nearly a whole week in that state. The team were beginning to worry that he wouldn't wake, that he had finally fallen too far into the Matrix's grip when he finally showed signs of stirring. By the time Ratchet dragged him to the medical berth for a checkup, Optimus had already created dozens of highly unusual and very... disturbing murals depicting everything from the creation of the Primes to the great war.

Some were indecipherable, only depicting mecha in various states of agony or other forms of discomfort. Others were clear as day and nearly prophetic in nature, depicting the omega lock, Unicron spark chamber, and even one of Smokescreen with the omega keys. And then there were a few that shook the team to their cores, murals that told a tale of horrible suffering. Those murals showed the deaths of a Prime or Optimus being dragged down into a sea of corpses, always with his face scribbled out in a mess of blue paint.

The team hide those murals away before Optimus could notice them and only brought them out a few weeks after the incident, fearful that he might panic upon seeing the murals or fall right back into the Matrix's grip.

Mistakes

After a particularly intense session with the Matrix, Optimus tends to leave its grip a bit... off. He is never completely right in the helm afterward, either being eerily emotionless or saying and doing worrying things.

He will... mistake things around him on those days, speaking of mecha who have been dead for millennia as if they were present and looking at the team and not really seeing them, instead thinking them to be someone else. Bumblebee was mistaken for Senator Shockwave at one point due to his cheerful disposition, much to the discomfort of the whole team. Arcee was Elita-1 in Optimus's view for nearly a week at one point, leading to some rather awkward situations. Ratchet was referred to as Pharma in part due to their similar appearances, ultimately leading Ratchet to temporarily redo his paint to help Optimus see him for who he really was. Bulkhead and Wheeljack kept getting mixed around, being called by any number of names ranging from Tailgate, Hightide, Ironhide, to even Kup. Ultra Magnus and Smokescreen didn't fare much better when it came to getting misnamed.

It isn't just names either. When out on the battlefield Optimus's fighting style, way of speech, and even his priorities can be warped depending on which Prime he interacted with in the Matrix. Nova's memories made him extra violent, often leading Megatron to retreat quicker but at the cost of the team having more injuries or missing the actual target. Guardian's memories made him far more calculating but less caring of the loss of life, usually requiring another of the team to take over handling civilians or potential casualties. Sentinel's memories made Optimus paranoid as pit, unwilling to take any risks whatsoever if there was a way around it, tending get the team better results when the plan worked, but only if the plan actually worked.

Of course there are other smaller things, like habits that linger during those days. Things like Nova's tendency to constantly have a weapon on hand and keep every bot on high alert was commonplace. Sentinel's notorious paranoid patrols and continual health checks were both common and both the best and worst thing to ever happen to Ratchet. And Guardian's habit of organizing everything that could possibly be organized due to his impossible workaholic nature was something that also become prominent in Optimus on days where the Matrix's touch lingered.

Drowning

It doesn't happen often, in fact it only happens after events that even the powerful emotional suppression of the Matrix can't handle. But sometimes, when times are most stressful for Optimus or when he feels the most useless, the Matrix will activate it's in built defenses and take control of Optimus's frame during his moment of mental weakness. It will push Optimus's mind back, sending him to consult the memories and experience the more... safe ones while it operates his frame. It is the Matrix's way of keeping its Prime safe, and it works for the most part... except for a few occasions.

Usually when the Matrix takes over it will do what it does when Optimus dreams, merely piloting his body somewhat aimlessly until he is ready mentally to take control again. But sometimes while Optimus is still recovering within the Matrix, something happens that the Matrix can't handle, leading to it pulling Optimus back into a semi-operational state in panic. In those instances Optimus isn't fully aware, his mind still half submerged in the Matrix and vulnerable. And so to not damage Optimus's recovering mind, the Matrix will feed him memories from its previous holders on loop depending on the situation so that he can still rest while performing as needed.

If it is battle that causes the Matrix to wake Optimus prematurely, it will feed Optimus the memories of a battle that matches the circumstances best. This is by no means foolproof and leads to more problems than solutions usually, but the Matrix does what it must. In those instances, Optimus truly believes that he is the Prime whose memories he is experiencing. He will act like them down to the smallest details, matching their memories expertly. He will give orders that match the scenario he is in, but they are always off, generally directed toward an enemy that has long since been defeated.

Ultra Magnus: Sir! Vehicons incoming!

Optimus: The Quintessions will fall! Shoot them down! Show no mercy! They will not take Cybertron from us!

Ultra Magnus: *Looking at the others nervously* You heard him, man your blasters and shoot the Vehicons down.

Everything he does seems off, almost like an NPC rehearsing the same lines over and over again. He even has an idle action depending on the memory set.

Ratchet: Prime, I need to check you for injuries

Optimus: *Standing guard periodically checking his blaster* All non-essential personnel are to remain indoors throughout the quarantine cycle. The rust plague is a real threat and should not be underestimated.

Ratchet: ...Just hold still

It is incredibly off-putting and can either be downright strange or dangerous with very few instances of there every being a situation in between. It can take up to a week for Optimus to break from his memory loops as he finishes his recovery mentally. The team always breath a sigh of relief afterward, even though Optimus does not recall what he did.

Kissing....without kissing (:

ok so this is kinda based on that scene in trc where they just kinda rub faces in the car bc if they kiss Gansey will eat shit and die. This time Simon will eat shit and die (:

enjoy~

Baz’s hand slid over the steering wheel. A small sigh blew from between his lips. 

Simon cracked his neck and gazed out the window. The street was damp, so the lights were reflected in bright long stripes. He licked his lips because they were chapped. They were chapped because he kept licking them. Vicious cycle.

They crawled to a stop. A red light caressed their faces.

Baz chanced a look.

Simon chanced back.

A swallow.

Lips licked. Simon tastes blood this time.

“You need some chapstick.”

A tongue pokes the wound. “Yeah.”

A breath hitches. Breathing stops.

The middle of the night. They’re alone in the world.

“Baz.”

“Yes?”

“The light’s green.”

Eyes find eyes again. His mouth drops open to reply. Less than a second passes.

Simon launches himself over the console, gripping Baz’s face, pressing their foreheads together, noses hugging, breaths weaving together.

Lips not touching.

Baz’s hands shoot up to grip Simon, hold him there, selfishly taking everything he can get. Their faces move against each other, lips kept just far enough apart.

Lips drag across cheeks. Tongues dart out to taste, something forbidden.

If this is what not kissing Simon is like, then...

“Baz,” he pants.

“Snow.”

“Not that,” he whines. His lips are hanging open, the bottom one still bloody. Baz lets himself lean in and, with the very tip of his tongue, prod the wound. This doesn’t count, he half-prays as he tastes pennies. Surely, this doesn’t count.

“Simon.”

The light turns red again.

They don’t notice.

The Photographer and the Shadow (Inscryption fan story pt 3)

(Part 3 of a four part story. Previous parts can be found here: Part 1, Part 2) .......................................................................................................................

This was the least he could do for her; Leshy held no anger towards the shadow. No resentment, no wrath, not like some of the other Scrybes. The two had always had a mutual respect to each other and at a time they were friends. And perhaps in someways they still were although the betrayal and pain buried that friendship far more than either could admit. And yet he could not help but give her a little kindness.. She was after all the only one to agree to be inscrybed without much of a fight. She even chose to forgo any further argument though a part of him question why. In turn He could at least answer a few of her questions to help put her worries at easy as he began to set up his camera.

“What is it you would like to know?”

It is a question the shadow could not help but ponder for a moment. Every question that she would ask she be worth its weight in the price for her life. Each one should give her an answer that would leave her feeling content before her time would be up. Glancing at the camera she continues to mewl over her thoughts for a moment longer. But before too long she soon ask one that she had always wondered first.

“If I was an animal..” She began “What kind of animal would I be?”

“Hmm..I always saw you as a Lynx." He began to exclaim with a thoughtful hum of his own. Pausing his work on his camera he leans over to his left. The sound of a latch coming undoes fills the air followed by the sound of a kind of rustling noise. He mutters something under his breath about reogranizing things but he promptly dismisses his own thought as he soon pulls something out of the darkness and sets it down onto the table. A totem; made of sturdy oaked and expertly carved to depict the face of cat like creature that stares at Juno with a hollow gaze.

"The secretive lynx represents controlled power, individualism, and sharp-sightedness. They are exceedingly observant, quiet, intelligent, and curious. Though their independent nature can strike some as aloof, they are often excellent guides and at times friends.. I think all those qualities fit you quite well. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes..And when I am made into a card what strength, health, cost and sigils would I have?”

“...You are rather curious about what value your card has aren’t you?”

“I believe it is within my right to know,” Juno proclaims sharply her words leaving a shallow wound on his soul but that sharpness quickly dulls with a small cough. Needing something to distract herself she reaches out towards the totem and carefully runs her features across its face giving her something to focus instead of that damndable camera. “After all I won’t be able to see it myself will I?”

“No..I suppose not.. Hmm For power, 3 should suffice, health will be the same of 3 and all the cost of 2 blood. As for sigils..I believe either the Sprinter or the Guardian sigil will work well for you though I am uncertain which I will use.”

The film roll clicks loudly into place with a small push of his thumb. The lens shutters flutters once or twice as he attempts to adjust the focus noting the small specks of dust and dirt that had gotten onto it. Time was running out. There was no telling how long he’d indulge her in her simple questions for once his camera was ready. A part of him debates on giving her more time but time wasn’t necessarily on either of their sides. It was now or never.

“Where are the others?” She promptly asked. Her question quickly gain the attention of the Scrybe across from her. His brows arching curiously as if he was trying to decipher why of all things did she choose to ask that? She knew that they were cards that much was certain. If she knew about Magnificus..if she knew about everything else that he did why would she ask such a trivial question like that. “..Allow me to specify what I mean..Are their cards in that deck of your’s like how the others use to do to you when they won control? Or did you put them someplace else entirely?”

Ah so that was it. She wanted to know where the cards were.. He recalled the P03 and Grimora asking the same question. Although only the later discovered where at least one of them were. He’d be damn if either of them discovered where that old wizard was. If he let either of them know it would only result in disaster. And now it is a question he could easily decline but..what was the harm in giving Juno just a little bit of information?

“P03 is shuffled into the cards. He will make a worthy starting card for players. His stats may be on the lower side, but it will do for certain. As for Magnificus, his location is one that you will shall never find; that much is certain.”

“....And…And..Grimora?”

“....She is..safe I promise.” He makes note of the sigh of relief that is exhaled from Juno’s lungs. It was as if all the worries in the world were expelled in that single breath as she slouches in her seat. The poor thing..He knew why she was so relieved to hear such news. He knew how close the two women had gotten over the years and easy it was for the other to worry about the other when trouble arised. But he could only imagine how the news of the necromancer’s supposed safety felt to the shadow. And whatever she felt he could not fault her for. “And worry not..Once you are inscrybe I shall put your cards with her’s..I maybe be a beast..but I am not heartless..”

“How kind, thank you Leshy that is rather reassuring to hear.."

"I am glad to hear that..Do you have any other questions that you wish to ask?"

"No..I believe that we’ve delayed this long enough.” Pressing her hands against the table the woman in blue rises to her feet her face painted with a look of sorrow the edges of her golden eye speckled with an ocean blue hue. Her hands rest over her waist clutching at the front of her corset as if she was trying to dig her fingers into it but its study material keeps it from getting it balled up. Nervousness no doubt. He would be surprised if she did not feel even the slightest bit nervous..all the others were after all. Although he supposed most of them were more fearful rather than simply nervous. There was no more time, no more stalling..it was time to end this. “Where shall I stand?”

“..Where you are now will be fine.” A twinge of sadness lingered in Leshy’s voice as he rose the camera to its face. Through the view finder her could make out Juno’s face, saddened yet still expressionless, to some degree. "Do you have..any final words?"

"No..." She admits softly. The feebleness in her voice is almost too much for him to bear. But he stays strong. He cannot cave. Not here, not now. What was done was done there was no stopping it now. And yet why did he feels such pity her? Perhaps it was because she was the only other scrybe next to Grimora that he saw as a friend unlike P03 and Magnificus..perhaps that was why his heart wretched at the sound of her quiet voice as all that she has left to say is

"Goodbye Leshy, May we meet again when the cycle starts again"

It was over...it was all over... Nodding his head he adjust his hold on the camera tightening it as his finger begins to press against the clicker. Hesitating for only a second as he takes one last look at the Scrybe of shadow through the camera's viewfinder

She stands there perfectly still, head raised to meet his gaze unmoving, and unafraid.. The Scrybe of Beasts silently thanks her for the lack of a fight and with a heavy heart he presses down on the camera’s switch. “Goodbye Juno..Have a pleasant rest..”

And within the blink of an eye the room was bathed in a blinding white light.

To be concluded in part 4

seventeen and how they would react if idol!you were brutally attacked on stage by an antifan

PAIRING. seventeen (ot13) x idol!reader GENRE. angst-fluff, established relationship, scenario imagines WARNINGS. blood, stabbing, violence, crying, nightmares, shock, anger WORD COUNT. 1369 words

my last work for the next 3 weeks because i'm on holiday! may still post if i find time though!!

choi seungcheol

the epitome of pure fury. when he sees the clip, he is just pure mad. 

not only because you got injured, but also because you didn’t tell him and he had to find out through a video that jeonghan sent him

he would watch the video and get the shock of his life when he sees the concealed blade graze the side of your neck as you dodge the lunge.

would not care if he had a full schedule, he would go to find you in the hospital.

when he sees you in the hospital bed with bandages around your neck, he would be too concerned to get mad that you didn’t tell him.

“I didn’t want you to worry.”

“We’re dating, I should be worrying about you. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t?”

yoon jeonghan

your manager immediately called him once the concealed blade was pulled out of your leg.

as we’ve seen with his reactions to sasaengs, he would be VERY agitated and constantly (with no filter) criticise anti-fans on lives

he would also show up to the hospital as soon as he could with your favourite snacks, hiding you from view as you eat them despite him not being allowed to bring food in.

would help you walk everywhere and baby you.

joshua hong

he would be silently in distress at the fact that you were bleeding so much.

he was watching the live stream of your performance with the rest of Seventeen when it happened. 

he watched in horror as the blade sliced your shoulder and the security team tackled the assailant. 

the cut was deep and bleeding profusely onto your white outfit, staining it red. (if you want it to seem badass just imagine ur song is something something bleeding hearts idk)

he would drop everything and video call you as soon as you’re out of danger.

he looks so heartbroken when he sees the stitches on your arm 

wen junhui

there is no doubt in me that he wouldn’t immediately be rushing to your side, even if your relationship hadn’t been announced.

he was at your concert that day because he had free time and you wanted him there.

when he saw the anti-fan climbing onto the stage he immediately knew that something was wrong and began making his way towards you

when he saw the blood splatter and you fall onto your knees, his heart dropped.

once they pulled the knife out of your stomach and you got the surgery needed, he fought with your managers to give you a long hiatus with him. 

he wouldn’t let you go out alone after that and he would bring you to meet his parents in China to rest and heal

kwon soonyoung

he would lose it when he sees the clip that Seokmin sends to him. The blood flowing down your head from the rock thrown at you sends him into a panic.

his panic increases when you don’t pick up your phone. 

when you finally call him, he picks up immediately to ask how you are. It doesn’t help that your concert is in a different country.

he would not be his usual lively self for a while (until he knows you’re 100% okay and that the culprit was caught)

jeon wonwoo

he expected some level of anger from fans after you both announced your relationship, but not to this extent.

when your manager calls him to tell him you were in the ER due to a knife attack, he would be in shock. You both had just spoken that morning before your concert, how could you be in the ER less than 3 hours later?

with no regard for anything he had to do that day, he would rush to the hospital to be by your side. 

after you’re out of surgery, he would announce his hiatus and pressure your manager to put you on hiatus too. He would then spend a few months just taking care of you and spending quality time together.

he would also 100% make sure the culprit is punished very severely. 

lee jihoon

this man would quite literally lose it.

he was on Weverse live when he received the call, and his soul left his body. He immediately ended his live before going to the hospital.

he would caress your cheek where the cut was and reassure you that you were still beautiful and hold you in his arms if you cried out of fear.

after that, he would call out every anti-fan and sasaeng in his lives.

“If there’s anything below lowlife, that’s you.”

xu minghao

he would be furious, especially when he hears what the fan said before she scratched you across the arm. “XU MINGHAO IS MINE!”

no more fan service, no more boyfriend-type pictures, no more aegyo. Your safety is 100 times more important to him than anything.

he would also release a statement. 

“Hurting my s/o is like hurting me. If you harbour the same grievances as this assailant, I will tell you this now. I will never harbour any interest in you, or anyone else for that matter. My s/o, y/n, if the only one in my eyes. You have failed as Carats and don’t deserve to be called fans of Seventeen.”

kim mingyu

despite his fear of confronting crazy fans/anti-fans, he would not hesitate to publicly shame your attacker at every chance he gets.

when he first saw all the blood, he was panicked. When he saw that the attacker had punched you in the nose, he became very mad. 

if he finds out it was because of him that the anti-fan attacked you, he would be very apologetic and upset with himself. He would never forgive himself if you got hurt because of him.

you would both go on hiatus for a month. 

lee seokmin

he went to your concert as a surprise for you that he and your manager had planned.

when he saw the fan slash at you, his heart dropped and shattered.

the pure fear in his eyes, when he saw your mangled skin, was something you never wanted to remember.

the whole way to the hospital, he was silently crying, yet seething with anger. His touch was gentle as he stroked your hair, trying to divert your attention away from the pain.

boo seungkwan

he couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw you dodge the knife.

the cut on your shoulder was huge and he almost fainted.

he would be there at the hospital, comforting you through the stitches even though he could barely bear it.

he would also go off on the security team to understand how an anti-fan with a knife got past them and onto the stage.

during your month of hiatus, he would be there to comfort you.

vernon chwe

the hurt in his eyes when he saw the article was apparent to the other members of Seventeen, who immediately helped him to get to you. 

when he sees the bandages around your lower torso, his heart breaks.

he knows that the smile you give when you say you’re okay is fake and he just embraces you when you finally break down in sobs.

however long you need to go on hiatus, he’s there as much as he can and he makes sure that you know that you’re loved so very much.

lee chan

he wouldn’t know what to do when he sees you get stabbed on live TV. 

the blood splatters on the camera lens in front of you making him flinch.

after sitting in shock for a while, he gets up in a hurry, getting Mingyu to drive him to you.

he waits (hehe wait. sorry.) outside the A&E for you, fearing the worst. How could he live without you? You were his first love and he wished his last.

when the doctors finally tell him you’re okay, he collapses in relief and with Mingyu’s help, he makes his way to see you. 

he wouldn’t leave your side even if he had a schedule to do, and sometimes he’d have recurring nightmares of you being stabbed

when you go on hiatus, he follows.

I WAS TRICKED, I was a fool. I knew what this would be and yet it still hurt sooooo much

I wanted to slap both of them, and hold both of them at the same time. Your going all out and I am truly in awe..... And fear

Who wants to read a preview to some angsty Porty Successor AU thing I'm working on 👀✨

Hello there! May I ask for a big favor? Could you write about Tech, after THE FALL, you know? About how he survived, maybe badly hurt, and how Hemlock wants to experiment on him. But female reader is an assistant scientist or nurse working there, and they fall in love, and she frees him?

Aloha!

Sorry for the late (and very long) response! Okay, this is something I can get behind. Hold on, I got you.

Tech x Fem!Reader One-shot - AFTER THE FALL

Warnings: ANGST/Hurt/Injured Tech/Tension/Fluff/Comfort

______________________

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

______________________

First, euphoria floods him as he is slowed down more or less gently by the branches of one of the huge trees. But then he hits a thicker branch that breaks several of his ribs. Tech can't breathe for a moment, falling further, he slows down as he continues to fall through a tangle of branches. He loses his helmet, the branches whip him in the face, leaving bloody bruises. Then he loses his goggles. His hands automatically shielding his face as best he can. He can barely see, but he knows the ground is getting closer. The impact is hard, not fatal thanks to the tree, but extremely painful nonetheless. His right shin breaks, the sound unnaturally loud, and the pain travels through his body like a lightning strike, sharp and violent. The impact on the broken ribs does the rest. At first, his breath catches and his voice gets stuck in his throat. But finally a scream comes across his lips, shortly followed by a groan, his breath heavy with pain. But not only pain, also panic is spreading. He is badly injured, defenseless, in the middle of a forest full of alien flora and fauna and the Imperials who will surely search for his corpse soon and if he was unlucky, they would find one too. Tech lost his weapons in the fall, his visual aid, helmet and probably a few other things. For a moment, he wishes he had just died quickly, cursing the tree that gave him false hope only to take it away.

His fingers feel for the com on his wrist, unsuccessfully. He pulls off his glove with his teeth to feel for it more effectively. His fingers slide to the com again. Broken. "Kriffin hells," Tech groans in pain. It doesn't matter that he's still alive, without a com, with his injuries, without his goggles, in the middle of nowhere, his chances of survival are practically non-existent. He can only see his surroundings dimly, blurred outlines, blurred colors. The pain is bad enough to make him nauseous. Tech tries to breathe against the pain and rummages blindly with his fingers in his remaining belt pouches for the emergency painkiller. Some of the pouches are torn from his belt, and the belt itself is also hanging by a thread. He finds what he is looking for, hastily injects himself in the leg. The drug works quickly, the pain slowly subsides. Tech allows himself to breathe for a moment. The pain may be temporarily relieved, but his situation has not changed. He is afraid, for the first time in his life he is really frightened. It's a more than uncomfortable feeling. He is alone, helpless, his brothers think he is dead. Tech feels the wind brush across his damp face, and he realizes he's crying. "Pull yourself together, Tech, you're a soldier, you're smart, you'll find a way out," he says to himself, trying desperately to believe his own words.

But he can hardly move despite painkillers, he doesn't even know where to go, can't see his surroundings properly. Tech tries to crawl, but he repeatedly has to give up and lie down. The hours pass and the painkiller begins to wear off. The pain slowly creeps back into his body, steadily, increasing. On impulse, he calls Hunter's name, the big brother who always bailed him out, even as a cadet. He knows no one can hear him, but it's a helpless, automatic impulse. At some point he begins to drift, he's not sure if he's just tired, if he's dying, or just passing out, Tech just knows that his senses are fading, little by little, slowly enveloping him in darkness.

Lights, echoing voices, the smell of disinfectants, are the first things that reach Tech's senses as he slowly regains consciousness. The ground on which he lies is cool, hard. He can't immediately make out the words being spoken around him, he only understands snatches of them. "... the wounds will heal.... much potential.... take good care of him.... this will be an interesting project" Slowly he feels parts of his body again. The pain is just dull now, like an echo. Tech feels sluggish and suspects that he has been given strong painkillers. It is relatively cool in the room, he feels that all his equipment has been taken from him. The fabric on his skin is not that of his blacks, he has been clothed. He blinks several times, noticing that his vision is clearer. Tech wants to feel his face to see what visual aid he has been given, but he cannot lift his arms, there is resistance. He has been strapped to the surface on which he is lying. A figure appears next to him, his gaze clears, and he looks into the face of a woman, he finds her pretty, and somehow she seems familiar to him, but he doesn't immediately know why.

A man's voice snaps him out of his thoughts.

"You are not to make small talk with the project, only inject the serum".

Startled, you look up and into the face of Doctor Hemlock. His blue eyes are cold, despite the implied smile on his lips.

"Do what I told you and run some scans, then I need you in my office".

"Yes, Doctor," you say quietly, opening the small case of injections.

Hemlock looks at Tech, their eyes meeting.

"We'll see if we can't improve you," he says to the restrained Tech.

"Enhance?" the latter asks in alarm.

"A serum used for genetic manipulation, it should theoretically unlock more hidden abilities," is the brief explanation he receives, "I'm not going to lie, this whole thing could get very uncomfortable, painful, but a seasoned soldier can take a beating, can't he?"

With those words, Hemlock turns away.

Tech watches Hemlock disappear again, then his gaze twitches back and forth between you and the small case.

"This is a dangerous experiment," Tech says quietly, his tone clearly resonating with his unease, "genetic manipulation is a delicate thing."

"I know," you say quietly, taking one of the injections from the case.

Tech begins to struggle against the restraints, whereupon two Stormtroopers he hadn't noticed before start to stir. You pause and say to the men, "He's strapped down, no danger of escape, and no danger to me. There are other, more dangerous projects you should be monitoring."

The men look at each other, finally one says, "Fine by me. But call us if he gives you any trouble"

You nod curtly and wait for the troopers to leave the room. Tech is still writhing in his restraints on the table, but can barely move a millimeter.

"Calm down, Tech," you say gently.

He sees you coming closer with the injection and his breathing quickens, panicked.

"Now listen to me carefully," you say seriously, "I've switched injections. This room is video monitored, but without audio. So try to keep a low profile"

Tech blinks several times. The tone in your voice, conspiratorial, serious but gentle. He's torn between hope, fear and doubt.

"I switched out the injections. This is just saline and some food coloring to make it look just like the serum. Nothing at all will happen to you from this injection."

Tech frowns critically and says stubbornly, "Why should I believe you?"

You sigh softly and say, "I know it doesn't inspire confidence that I'm working with Hemlock. I just want to take away your fear, you'll see that nothing will happen to you from the injections."

"If you really want to help me, free me," Tech says shakily.

" This is not something I can do so easily-"

"Then why should I believe that nonsense!" he interrupts you angrily.

You push up his sleeve, feeling his muscles tense. He is still squirming uselessly in the buckles with which he is tied to the stretcher.

"Be reasonable, Tech, you're too badly hurt to try to escape, the baccta will take a few hours before you can walk again without assistance. That being said, this facility is well secured. Lots of troopers, droids, alarm system, lockdown mechanisms. You wouldn't get far, we need a plan first. Crosshair and I have been working on it for a few days. I just hope I can fool Hemlock with the serum long enough to get it done."

Tech's eyes grow wide, "You talked to Crosshair?"

You nod and say, "Daily, since he got here."

"How is he?"

"Better than you at the moment, even though he provoked Hemlock several times in the beginning, and he was often disciplined"

"Disciplined?" asks Tech brightly.

"Torture by electric shocks. Hemlock calls that corrective education."

Tech grits his teeth, then looks at you questioningly, "So you're helping him too. Why are you helping us anyway?"

You put the needle in place and Tech flinches briefly as he feels the sting.

"Because what's happening here isn't right. There are a lot of disobedient clones here, clones who have defied orders and Order 66. You guys have been through more than enough already. At some point, this nightmare has to stop. I only came here with Hemlock because I thought we could make a difference for the clones. But I soon found out that Hemlock had other interests and missions. So at first I started to ease the circumstances for the patients as much as I could. And little by little I managed to trick Hemlock into replacing the serum and so on. But it's only a matter of time before he figures it out. The doctor is anything but stupid, at the moment he's just very busy, with many… projects, probably the only reason why he hasn't caught me yet."

Tech blinks several times. The injection is over; at the moment, he feels nothing.

"You're taking a big risk," he says quietly.

You nod nervously and say, "I know if I get caught there will be no punishment, only execution."

The days pass, Tech's wounds heal, and you regularly send messages back and forth between the two brothers. You secretly pass on plans and ideas. But something is missing. The guys need floor plans, accurate data on troop movements around the compound, and information on all security and surveillance systems.

Getting this information is damn dangerous for you, but still you do it, little by little, skillfully, using the access codes of other employees among others. For days on end, you're under a constant flow of adrenaline, always in danger of being discovered. But you've finally gathered everything that's needed, except weapons.

"I don't know how to get weapons, the medical staff doesn't have weapons, only the troopers, and they're unlikely to give me their weapons willingly, I'm not a fighter," you say dejectedly.

Crosshair growls softly, "I'll figure something out, you've already done more than enough".

You say quietly, "I've given Tech all the information, like I did you".

Crosshair wants to nod, but his head is strapped to the table as you give him the fake injection.

"Good," he mumbles softly.

His serious face softens a little when he sees your worried expression.

"Don't worry, it's up to me and Tech now. You did what you could. Maybe you should come with us."

You look at him in surprise.

"Come with you?"

Crosshair shows a barely noticeable smirk and says, "Yeah, sure. Tech would be very pleased. If I remember correctly, he had quite a crush on you back when you were working on Kamino."

You pause in your movement, surprised.

"What?"

Crosshair laughs softly, "Don't tell me you didn't notice. From the moment you started working in the infirmary, he regularly hurt himself on his tools or fell, which miraculously almost never happened to him before you showed up. I told him several times it would be easier to just ask for your com number, but our Tech was just too shy. He was very disappointed when you suddenly disappeared."

"I had been transferred to Coruscant, unfortunately," you say quietly, still intrigued, surprised, and flattered by the news. You liked Tech back then, too. He always told a lot of stories, he had whole stories to tell to every question you asked him.

Suddenly Crosshair's expression changes, his eyes shift to the right, looking behind you. You hear the typical sound of troopers in gear.

"Hemlock wants to see you, it's urgent," growls one of the two troopers who have entered the room. You turn around and see that both men have their weapons at the ready.

"But I'm still not-"

"Right now," the second interrupts you.

Panic rises in you, burning hot and freezing cold at the same time. He must have figured out what you were doing, you think nervously. Crosshair thinks the same thing and automatically braces himself against the restraints, whereupon one of the troopers smacks him in the forehead.

You sit in the chair opposite Hemlock, at his desk. The desk is so gigantic that you both seem quite small next to it. Behind him a huge panoramic window, forest, mountains and clouds can be seen.

You have your hands folded in your lap, nervously kneading your fingers.

Two troopers stand at the door in a guarded position. Hemlock in front of you is calm, he doesn't seem furiously angry as you expected. Not at all. He seems strangely composed, calm, collected. You are not sure what would have frightened you more. There was something strangely, ominously subliminal about this calm, something you couldn't directly grasp, but it was there. Like a monster waiting in ambush.

"I know what you've done," Hemlock says quietly, after an awkward, seemingly eternal period of silence.

"Doctor?" you ask cautiously, still clinging to the hope that you're here for different reasons than you think.

"Please don't insult my intelligence by pretending you don't know what I'm talking about."

You remain silent, not knowing what to say anyway.

After what feels like an eternity, you sigh, and somehow some of the tension that has clung to you for so long falls away.

You say indifferently, "I would say I'm sorry, but that would be a lie."

Hemlock laughs softly.

"I have to admit, you have more moxie in your bones than most troopers I know. You may not be a fighter in the usual sense, but girl, you have guts."

You blink, trying not to let on that you're confused at the moment and don't quite know where you stand.

Hemlock claps his hands a few times, making you frown critically.

"You need to use that grit more constructively!" he says, suddenly sounding excited.

You want to sound cool, to say something cheeky, to not mince words, but his demeanor elicits only a confused, "Huh?" from you.

"I know," Hemlock says indulgently, almost understanding, "You think you're doing something good here, for these men. But you're missing the big picture."

As he stands up and comes around the table, you automatically stand up as well, prompting the troopers to point their weapons at you, but Hemlock waves them off with a simple gesture and the men lower their weapons.

You back away a step as he walks toward you. Hemlock stops, reading your posture, your demeanor.

"You don't have to be afraid of me, I wasn't planning to hurt you," he says calmly and finally continues explaining, "Now this big picture I'm talking about is why we're all doing these projects. The reason why all these projects are necessary."

You shake your head and say, "Nothing justifies what is happening to these people here".

Hemlock raises his finger and corrects you, "Clones, my dear, clones, not people. Copies of a man, not even a particularly honorable one. Copies of a bounty hunter. But that's not the point. What I'm getting at is the big picture. The purpose of these experiments."

"Improved soldiers for the Empire"

Hemlock smiles.

"That's right, my dear, that's right. Better soldiers, for the protection of our Empire and all the people who live in it, for the protection of every single citizen. Yes, we are experiencing setbacks and some of the clones are suffering terrible agonies, but the end certainly justifies the means in this case"

You shake your head and say, "No it doesn't, it shouldn't."

Hemlock shrugs.

"Wait until your home world is attacked, and no adequate protection is in place, then I'm sure you'll think differently"

Hemlock walks slowly, leisurely up and down. His gait is supposed to make you think he is relaxed, sure of himself, but the fact that he is walking up and down at all already exposes his inner turmoil.

You watch him and finally ask, "Why so restless?"

Hemlock stops, turns back to you, and looks at you critically.

"I'm thinking about what to do with you. Basically, you sabotaged me and probably broke some other rules that I don't know about at the moment. Normally I wouldn't think twice about that, but you're a very good assistant, despite everything"

Your heart hammers nervously in your chest.

"So you won't have me executed?"

Hemlock clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

"No. But I need to make sure you don't do something so reckless again".

Distracted by an unusual flying Omicron shuttle you see through the panoramic window, you say something absent-mindedly.

"And what do you have in mind, Doctor?"

Before he can discuss what exactly he means by that, the power goes out, for a few seconds, then the emergency power comes on and a shrill alarm sounds. A metal shield covers the huge window, blocking your view of the shuttle.

Hemlock seems tense. He tries to contact someone, but the com systems don't work. Your pulse is racing, nervousness, excitement. You know this can only be a sign that Tech and Crosshair are on the run. The Omicron shuttle, must be their brothers.

It's a satisfaction to see Hemlock panic, trying to make contact with his men, trying to grasp the situation, figure out what's going on. But then he spins around, furious, and he sees the smile on your face before you can hide it.

The doctor reaches into a drawer at his desk and pulls out a blaster from it, pointing it at you.

"You! This is your doing, this has something to do with you and those clones from the 99 batch!"

You blink, suddenly back in fear mode. You're relatively sure, that blaster in his hand, isn't set to stun.

The sound of a plasma cutter distracts you both. Someone is cutting through the metal guard and glass on the paned window.

"What the hell-"

With a clang and a thump, the material comes loose and falls into the room, directly behind it the ramp of a shuttle and an armed Tech in full gear. You barely have time to react, or say anything. Tech stuns Hemlock and the troopers with quick, well-aimed shots, deftly puts the weapons away again, and finally reaches out his hand to you.

"What are you waiting for? Come here!" he calls to you.

Your heart pounds in your throat as you grab his hand, and he gently pulls you toward him and into the shuttle, closing the ramp immediately after. He gently but firmly pushes you into a seat and straps you in.

"Hold on tight, we're not safe yet".

As if his words were the cue, the shuttle suddenly comes under fire and Tech rushes back into the cockpit. Crosshair sits at the gun, across from you sits a giant who grins kindly at you, next to him a clone who has almost more prosthetics than body parts on his body, also with a smile on his face.

The evasive maneuvers are violent, daring, you are jolted back and forth in your seat. You know Tech is at the wheel, and he's one hell of a pilot. Hell of a good one. Your hands are clutched to the seat, you're getting hot and cold, your pulse is racing. It's like the worst, gnarliest roller coaster ride of your life. Tossed back and forth in your seatbelt.

Then, finally, the shuttle settles into a steady position, and you hear the typical gentle noise of hyperspace.

Tech comes back out of the cockpit and looks at you.

"Are you all right? You look a little light-headed," he says with concern, and unbuckles your seatbelt.

You're dizzy and reality hasn't quite gotten through to you yet, but you finally nod and say, "Sure, I'm fine."

"I guess she's not used to combat maneuvers," the giant says with a laugh.

Crosshair, climbing out of the gun seat, laughs softly, still wearing the suit from Hemlock's facility.

"Tech's maneuvers take some getting used to," he says, winking at you.

Tech is indignant, "My maneuvers are extremely effective and have saved us several times, including today"

You slowly stand up, but your wobbly knees shake, and you practically fall towards him.

With a "Woah", he catches you, with his arms around your hips, your hands braced on his breastplate.

You look up and as your eyes meet, Tech's ears flush red.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asks quietly.

In the background, Echo pushes the rest of the group into the cockpit to give you a small moment of privacy.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Crosshair still trying to look around the corner, but a hand on his collar pulls him away.

You blink and look at Tech again.

You laugh softly, nervously, his arms around your middle releasing a swarm of butterflies in your stomach. Almost automatically, your hands move to his shoulders.

"Sure, I'm fine. It's just like Crosshair said, I'm not used to this kind of flying. Impressive, I didn't think we'd escape."

Tech smirks flattered.

"Thank you for not leaving me behind," you say softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, whereupon his ears turn even redder.

Tech blinks several times, then smiles nervously and says, "You didn't think we'd leave without you, did you?"

You grin at each other.

Still smirking, Tech says, "This time I'm not letting you go without asking for your com number."

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@meshla-madalene

@chxpsi

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@nahoney22 @ladykatakuri

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@hunterssecretrecipe

@heyitsaloy

@greaser-wolf

@extrahotpixels

@hated-by-me

@hunterxcrosshair

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@bebopsworld

@echos-girlfriend

@cpnt616

@dangraccoon

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@starwarsnerd111

Oh my God 😆there's more💞

The way you drew Little Mac was adorable (same with Wukong). Now imagine that when he was little he discovered that being a theater boy was his thing. So he set up his own stage and his first audience was just Wukong, I don't know, I think he would be really cute.

🌸Yes! I can totally imagine that, cute little baby macaque doing his very best on his makeshift stage and Wukong totally just admiring him and thinking just how talented he is💕

So adorable☺ I hope somebody writes a fanfic about it💕

🌙 "I'll sew my own dang dress" solavellan enjoy🌙

It is Lavellan's idea of a compromise: she'll use the same colours and fabrics, but she will not be caught in dress blues and riding boots.

"Elgar'nan did not give me the shoulders for that."

Elgar'nan gave you nothing, he wants to tell her. Nothing but blood and murder and deceit. Your people do not call him the god of vengeance for his gifts.

Instead, once they're alone, after they bathed and he rubs lavender oil into the skin of her back, he tells her with teasing touches how she was given wide, soft hips, a narrow waist, a supple bottom and round breasts and to dress them however she likes. Let them know it was a Dalish Elf who saved their Empress, though he does not get to finish the sentence before she is on her knees between his thighs and his hands in her hair.

She insists on sewing her robes by herself. She sucks at her teeth with her tongue as she lays out the heavy, bright red velveteen, the blue silk and golden brocade, lambswool dyed a muted, almost muddy brown.

"Do you require assistance?" He knows she doesn't, but her annoyance at the fabrics roll off of her like thunderclouds that crinkle the pages of his book.

"You'd think three shem nobles who busy three runners all day everyday for three weeks could settle on a colour scheme that doesn't look like the remains of a bluebird caught by a wolf. Or one that doesn't make me resemble a washed-out bog corpse."

"I do not believe the Spymaster is of nobility, vhenan." When he looks over the edge of his book, Lavellan frowns at his wry smile.

"She spent enough time at court; might as well be." She sighs as she gets up from the ground, steps around the yards of cloth and walks over to pick up her haphazard sketches; those she dreams up on the roads, then turns into reality in the hold.

In another world, she might have been the most prolific seamstress in the empire. Every day, one of the Evanuris would have sent for her, for her inspired clothing concepts. He himself would have dressed her in fabrics brighter than the whites of her eyes, magic woven into the threads that her clothes may as well have had minds of their own.

In this world, however, he must content himself with watching her squatted over the floor, muttering in fragmented elvhen as she transfers the scribbles onto the fabric with chalk and then cutting with a dull blade.

"But no. I don't need your assistance. Thank you, though." She holds him by a shoulder, presses a kiss into his scalp as she walks past, kneels back down.

"If it's any consolation: You do not look like a washed-out bog corpse in your nightgown."

"That's because its a muted burgundy satin nightgown, and not apple-red velveteen," she does not even look up from her transferred lines, "and you don't see me wearing it much anyway. If anything, you spend more time taking it off of me than viewing me in it." The hint of red on her eartips matches his.

"I see a lot more than you think." A hiss, she wets her thumb and forefinger with her tongue and scrubs at the velveteen until the line can be redrawn. "I did not take it off last night, did I?"

She barks out a laugh.

"Fair."

She does ask his assistance, eventually, to hold the fabric taut behind her and mark off where to trim so the dress sat on her the way she wanted it to.

He excuses his poor lines by her naked back beneath his fingers, a glimpse of her bare chest through the mirror as she pulls at the neckline just a little too harshly.

"You are a master with fabric, my heart." His breath makes her shiver, though he knows it's not from the cold. The knot in her hair unravels over his shoulder as she leans back.

"I know. But do shower me in compliments, if you please."

"It is a rather heavy fabric, compared to what you prefer to use," he thinks back on silk and satin, chiffon and muslin, "but you make it look like barely more than tulle and the sky at sundown over the coast. I try to imagine what you could do, given enough time and the fabric you wanted, and I fall utterly short."

Loose, flowing chiffon, he thinks, a high, snug waist, a low, deep neckline, decorated straps that hold or hide nothing. The fine gold jewellery she prefers. Though, in his mind, there is only the feeling and vague, blurry patterns of what he knows to sit inside Lavellan's head with perfect clarity.

It makes sense they would find each other in this life, he half-thinks. Artists flock together. Like moths to flame, no matter the medium, his mother would say to him, deep purple smudged over her nose and in her hair.

He drops the velveteen unceremoniously. Their eyes meet through the mirror, and she does not cover up. Unashamed, as she should be.

"Also, if you look like a washed-out bog corpse in bright red, what chance do I have?" He pokes her ribs with a finger; the tannest part of him against the palest part of her, and yet, if they were trees, she would be rosewood and he birch. She snorts.

"Don't they say being pale means you never had to work a day in your life? Looks like you lived the good life, once, wherever your village is." She reaches for him blindly, backwards, one hand on his chin, the other playing at his waist. Her fingers twist underneath his tunic.

"I said it was a small, boring village, not a poor one." Solas kisses her neck, and his fingers crawl around her waist, dig into the flesh of her belly, just a little, before he tears himself away. "I shall let you get back to it. I do not wish to be at fault if you have to appear naked before the Empress."

Lavellan swats at him, laughing, slipping back into leggings and breastband and measuring out grommet holes to his sloppy lining.

Still, before she forces scissor points through the fabric, even before he returns to his spot in the corner of the settee, in front of the fireplace and behind his book.

"Vhenan?"

"Yes, my heart?" No reply, so he turns over the back of his seat.

She looks so small, so young, and yet so wise and confident and larger-than-life.

If anyone should be revered as a living deity, it should be her, right now, with the dark rings under her eyes and the messy hair and the animal hair on her clothes.

"You make me so happy. I don't think I could do this - any of it - without you."

She walks up and grasps his outreached hand like it was all she was ever made to do.

"Don't sell yourself short. All you did, you achieved of your own efforts." He turns her hand, kisses her palm. "Though it does make me happy to hear it; that my presence fulfills you as much as yours does me."

She leans over to him and kisses him, and it takes everything in him to not pull her over the back and into his arms.

"I'm trying to be sweet, and sincere, and you just unpack your eloquence and outdo me." There is no bite in the retort.

"I thought you wished me to shower you in compliments."

He does not have to pull. She climbs over the back of his seat.

"You, my love, may shower me in whatever you wish."

His book only narrowly misses the fire in the hearth.

but also another fic on ao3 [love song for the admiral / cullen x josie] where josie contemplates on the dress blues and i was ALSO like 👀 i see you the inquisition should be a visually joined force

🌙

inspired by a fic on ao3 im reading [the truths between / solavellan] where they put lavellan in a gown and i was like 👀 i see you lavellan should be in a gown

so im about to put lavellan in a gown in red, blue, gold and brown, even though there's only two people in the inquisition who can wear that colour combo and its josie and cully wully :)

then just the usual they horn knee for each other kaboodle dont @ me

— 505 ⟢

i'd probably still adore you with your hands around my neck; or i did, last time i checked.

★ FEATURING; joshua x afab!reader

★ WORD COUNT; 1-2k est, no idea bc mobile

★ TAGS; coworkers au, friends with benefits, typical gentleman in the streets sexual deviant in the sheets joshua, a hint of pining if you squint, slight angst?, smut (MINORS DNI)

★ NOTES; this specific picture of shua is years old but it incited the most visceral reaction out of me anyway so here we are with another short oneshot that sidetracked me from the monster that i'm SUPPOSED to be writing :| this also turned out a bit more emotional(?) than i originally intended, so heads up on that i guess

★ SMUT TAGS; unprotected sex, shower sex, oral (f receiving), choking, slight dumbification (i'm sorry, i normally have more dignity than this but i miss him so so dearly)

★ PERMANENT TAGLIST; @cheolhub - @pretty-trustme - @just-here-to-read-01 - @idkmelkro - @dejavernon - @venusrae - @jyiiscool - @jiniesclub - @junhui-recs - @bldelaine - @featmia - @fruitzcup - @hoeforhao - @candidupped - @billboard-singer - @caratochan - @novalpha - @dahliatopia - @0717luv - @shiveringgaze - @toruro - @mixling-blog - @minnie-mouser22 - @homerunhansol - @mirtaspace - @ti-red - @zzucculent - @woozarts - @rubyreduji - @mozellerra - @lllucere - @cheolzip - @jjjzzzz - @lissiesykes - @jeonride - @meowmeowminnie - @colored-confetti - @partiallyinfluencial - @speaknowlwt - @flwrshwa - @lilylikesthat - @aurorahongg - @whippedforjihoon - @todorokiskitten - @immabecreepin

★ JOSHUA TAGLIST; @yoonzinoooo - @scandal-in-bohemia - @lunaryoongie

Joshua arrives five minutes after the first clap of thunder and ten minutes after the rain started pouring outside.

You hear him before you see him. The automatic lock of the hotel room turns as he scans the spare keycard from outside — one that you made sure to leave with the receptionist in the lobby when he told you he'll be running a little late. When the door swings open, light spills from outside and he greets you with a smile that makes his eyes crinkle and your heart stutter.

It's the same look that makes your female coworkers swoon and giggle to themselves in the office pantry — talk about Joshua's adorable eye smile never straying too far from your ears.

If they knew what kind of person he was past the usual pleasantries, would they still engage in that kind of fanfare?

Joshua is soaked all over when he enters, having tracked rainwater all over the carpeted hallway and into the floor of Room 505. He doesn't seem all too fazed by it though — quickly shrugging off his coat before hanging it behind the flimsy plastic hooks screwed to the back of the door. He shuts it behind him with a kick, sighing through his teeth as he loosens the coil of a sushi-patterned necktie around his collar.

You got that one for him as an exchange gift for last year's Christmas party. Joshua uses it a lot more frequently than you expected him to. In fact, he always wears it during casual Fridays. You're not sure if he actually likes the stupid necktie or he's just trying to get a reaction out of you, but his choice to wear it isn't lost on you either way.

"Team dinners are really something else," Joshua chuckles as he tosses the flimsy material atop the complimentary dining table. He cards his fingers through his damp hair and you try not to think of how good he looks as he does it.

"You should've come with us. It's not often that you see Manager Yoon convince Jihoon to down a shot of soju. Oh, Seungkwan also got his ass handed to him at karaoke with the girls from sales. I had no idea Jihyo could hold her high notes like she means business."

You don't take a bite at his feeble attempt at small talk. He knows damn well why you don't show up to any of Jeonghan's team dinners, but you tell yourself that Joshua's just being polite — still thinking of the outcast of the marketing department despite the fact that you do not want anything to do with the people you work with.

...Although there are some exceptions here and there.

"Really? You're just going to give me the silent treatment all night?" Joshua sighs dramatically as he unbuttons his dress shirt — baring his rain-beaded chest to your unwitting gaze. "Well, if you need a bit more time, I'll go hop in the shower first. You're free to join me if you'd like."

He knows you won't, so you find it strange that he offers each and every time anyway.

You let your gaze wander to the full length mirror attached to the cabinets once the door to the bathroom clicks shut. There's nothing remotely special about your getup tonight. You're still donned in your work clothes — brick gray pencil skirt with a brick gray blazer to match. Apart from the heels sitting on the rack near the door, you're pretty much still in uniform.

You had half the mind to go home and change when Joshua said he's going to dinner and karaoke with your boss and some other colleagues, but that would mean you actually cared about what you looked like in front of him.

Which, for the record, you don't.

You can hear Joshua singing a familiar song in the bathroom — one that he always belts out in the most annoying way possible every time he showers. You wonder if he even knows any other song apart from that, but tell yourself you don't really have any business asking.

As the near-silence persists, however, your thoughts start to wander. Did he also sing this song when he was at karaoke earlier? Did he get to duet the high notes with Jihyo? You wouldn't put it past either of them to do so — being two of the company's renowned social butterflies.

That train of thought brings forth the same question you've been asking ever since the first night you shared this hotel room with Joshua and found him still lying beside you in the morning:

Why'd he choose you?

You're an in by nine and out by five unless there's paid overtime kind of employee. You never bothered establishing any worthwhile friendships in the workspace because you know better than to trust the backstabbing fiends in the corporate ladder. You're perfecrly aware of what other people say about your individualistic behavior — how you're the worst team player in your department — but you never really cared.

Not until Joshua Hong inserted himself into your life.

To put it in the easiest way possible, he's the epitome of a perfect coworker. He's the guy that greets you every morning with an charming smile. The guy who drops by your cubicle to give you a coffee he made himself before saying you're doing a great job with that report you're putting together. The guy that everyone just adores simply because he's always been likable from the get-go.

That's the kind of person Joshua is — the exact opposite of you. Surely the jury won't condemn you for always questioning how you wound up spending your Friday nights fucking the man your entire department is basically in love with when you're so unlovable yourself.

Every time you try to recall how your transactional relationship with the company's unofficial sweetheart happened in the first place, your brain simply refuses to cooperate — memories muddled by a few pints of beer too many and an eye-crinkling smile that you're better off not rationalizing.

Besides, it's not like Joshua kisses and tells. Whatever happens in Room 505 stays in Room 505, and that's one of the many reasons why you haven't deigned to walk away from the setup altogether.

You meet up, he makes you feel good — makes you feel wanted — he cycles through whatever aftercare you might need, you fall a little more in love with him, then you both decide if you want to sleep in for a couple more hours or —

Wait.

Did you just admit you're in love with him?

"Hm? Didn't think you'd actually hop in with me today."

Joshua's voice is clearly laced with amusement as you shut the door to the bathroom — cheeks hot with both the steam billowing from the shower and the embarrassment cloying in your chest. You had the foresight to take off your uniform at least, leaving you in an unassuming set of cotton underwear that makes Joshua lick his lips with anticipation.

You make a show of stripping the rest of your clothing before him — nothing but the glass door to the shower separating the both of you. It's nothing sensual, nothing grandiose. You simply take off everything that's keeping your body hidden from your nighttime lover's hungry eyes.

When you step into the warm drizzle of the showerhead, Joshua hums before reaching for a bottle of shampoo — squeezing just the right amount into his palm as he lathers the product into your scalp.

The gentleness weighted into his actions startles you a little — not having expected him to do something so...domestic. You came in here with the full intention of getting fucked against the bathroom wall, but the way he massages your scalp so tenderly makes you reconsider your course of action.

But no matter how much of a gentleman he acts around you, not even Joshua can do anything about his own body's physiological reactions.

You feel the length of his cock nestled against your ass, hips rocking back and forth as he stimulates himself into full hardness. A soft moan tumbles out of your lips when he squeezes some of the hotel-provided body wash all over your chest — large hands lathering the soap across your body all while paying special attention to your tits.

"You finally snapped out of it, sweetheart?" Joshua sighs before latching his mouth onto the thrum of your pulse, biting down for only a moment to get your attention. "Ready to take my cock like a good girl?"

The way he murmurs those last few words along the column of your throat makes your legs feel like they'll disintegrate at any moment. Joshua continues to murmur sweet nothings into your ear, helping you clean up properly first before actually trying anything.

You're not sure if you should be pissed off or endeared by his stalling, but by the time he's finally rinsed out all the suds from your heated bodies, you're more or less ripe for the taking.

"Brace your palms against the wall, pretty girl. Yeah, just like that." Joshua chuckles softly as he presses a kiss to your nape, lips traveling down the length of your spine until he's eye-level with your sopping cunt.

"God, I'll never get tired of looking at this pretty pussy. Been thinking about sinking my cock into you all fucking week," he practically growls. "You really knew what you were doing with that cute maroon skirt you wore the other day, weren't you? The one that kept riding up your thighs when you reached for something from the high shelves? Little fucking minx."

You mewl helplessly when you feel Joshua's tongue prodding your soaked folds — forcing you to press your cheek against the cold tile as he massages your ass gingerly.

Joshua does his best to keep you anchored, making sure you won't accidentally slip as he laves at the slick between your thighs. He has no problem doing just that — driving you to near insanity with how his tongue sucks and slurps at your cunt like it's the first meal he's had in days.

"S-Shua," you whimper pathetically, pushing your ass out for more friction. "You're eating me so good..."

Had you not been so quickly drowned in this haze of arousal, you would've exercised more restraint. Joshua normally has a hard time getting you to be more vocal whenever he makes you feel good, but you suppose that there's just something in the air tonight that makes it so easy to just surrender yourself to him.

You can feel the vibrations of his laughter along the millions of nerve endings on your clit as he traces it with the tip of his tongue — further incapacitating you from coherent thought. When he slips in a finger into your awaiting heat, you all but gasp into the steamy air of the hotel bathroom.

"You're so cute when you start calling me that," he coos without halting his ministrations — that sinful tongue darting out to tease and lick and stimulate as he eases in another thick finger into your gummy walls. "Wanna eat you out underneath your desk someday... Would you act as cute as you're acting right now if I did that?"

The prospect of having sweet, gentlemanly Joshua Hong on his knees for you under your work desk makes you tighten conspicuously around his fingers. From the sordid chuckle that leaves his lips, you're fairly certain that he's noticed.

"You like that, huh? You like it when I put my mouth on you? Make you feel so good, you forget about everything else?" he chuckles darkly, rising back to his full height without taking his fingers out of your needy cunt. "But we both know this is hardly enough for you, right sweetheart?"

You hate how he knows you so well.

Joshua spends about one minute max towel drying both of your bodies before he quite literally sweeps you off your feet. You let out a surprised shriek as he princess-carries you onto the bed — gently laying you on the undisturbed sheets before crawling on top of you like a predator circling its next meal.

"Wanna tell me why you were so out of it earlier?" Joshua murmurs as he nips at your jaw, the words followed by a crackle of thunder in the distance. He chuckles when you jolt in surprise before peppering your face with a collection of kisses that ends at the tip of your nose. "It's not the weather, is it? I remember that I literally fucked you in the middle of a storm last month."

"Quit running your mouth and just fuck me," you mumble, lacing your fingers around his nape before grinding up against his leaking cock. "I've waited for you long enough."

"Ahhh," he drawls with resounding epiphany, as if he'd just figured out some ancient secret. "So you were sulking because I took too long to get here? Don't worry, sweet thing, it won't happen again."

When Joshua leans close to your ear, his hot breath fans against your flesh — making your toes curl with quiet anticipation.

"The next time we meet in this room, I'll have you mounted on my cock the moment you come through the door."

Joshua doesn't bother with foreplay or any sort of preamble. He simply guides his cock into the give of your entrance, sinking his length so deep, you can feel him in your stomach.

"Fuck," you whimper, fingernails seeking purchase across the rippling muscles of Joshua's back. He doesn't quite move yet — letting you get used to the stretch like he always does.

"Pretty pussy's so fucking tight around me," he groans. "Did you need me this badly? 'm sorry for making you wait so long, sweetheart. If I had known, I would've ditched karaoke and made you feel good as soon as I could."

Empty words uttered in the throes of passion — you're well aware that's all they are. Yet Joshua has no trouble making your heart flutter with the sentiment anyway.

"J-Joshua," you manage to gasp as you feel his girth throb inside you. "Please move... Need it. Need it so bad, please."

You're on the brink of tears with how desperate you are for mind-numbing release, but amidst your mounting delirium, Joshua sighs a little too endearingly before pressing a long, hard kiss on your lips.

"Anything for you, pretty girl."

He eases himself into you slowly at first — making sure you feel every ridge of his cock dragging along your tight walls. Joshua particularly feels smug when your eyes roll to the back of your head, addicted to the way his cock is splitting you open.

It's only when you start to loosen up that he picks up the pace, strong hands gripping your thighs as he pounds into you. The squelch of your arousal echoes within the walls secluding you from the rest of the world.

When Joshua hoists your hips higher before hooking the back of your knees across his shoulders, you knew it was all over for you.

Admittedly, you don't remember the first time you've had sex with him anymore. Or the second. Or the third. You've had each other so many times in so many ways that every instance kind of just blends into the next — painting a messy caricature of all the illicit meetings you've had with your nighttime lover.

But you don't care if it's messy. You don't care if it's strange. At the end of the day, you're comforted by the fact that all these experiences you shared with him are irrevocably yours.

Even if you can't really say the same for Joshua himself.

He stirs the pot of your arousal with practiced ease. Joshua stares at you like you're the most precious thing he's laid eyes on before letting one of your legs fall back on the mattress.

Your lover trades the depth of his thrusts for enough leeway to flatten his thick fingers across your throat — making you bleat with expectation as he presses down just enough to make you feel lightheaded. He hisses when he feels your velvet walls clamp tighter around his cock, further informing him that he's on the right track.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he laughs breathlessly — his gorgeous face the only thing you can see. "You'll let me do anything to you, won't you? All I gotta do is fuck you stupid and you'll take everything I give."

At this point, you're too far gone to even deny a word he says. "Mmmm... Your cock feels too good, Shua. 'M so close already. You'll finish inside me, won't you? Make both of us feel good?"

"Dumb little princess couldn't even answer my question," Joshua chuckles before making a particularly harsh thrust that jostles you further up the mattress. "Of course I'll finish inside this pretty pussy. It's all mine, isn't it?"

"Uh-huh," you mewl as Joshua's fingers tighten around your throat again, making your toes curl with unadulterated glee. "My pussy's all yours, Joshua. All fucking yours."

He chuckles again, fingers climbing up to your jaw until Joshua is able to prod his thumb against your bottom lip. You respond in earnest, suckling at the digit as he rails you into the mattress. There's no longer any room for intelligible thoughts — lost in the sea of pleasure that Joshua choose to drown you in every time you come together like this.

"Close, close, close," you practically sob, thighs winding around his hips as you bring him impossibly closer to you. "Shua, I'm gonna cum. Please, I need to cum. I need you—"

"You already have me, sweetheart," he laughs breathlessly yet full of intent that you're too fucked out to notice.

"You'll always have me."

That's what does you in. That's what always does you in — his sweet words, his tender gaze.

As much as the pleasure he gives with each drive of his cock into your battered cunt sends you to cloud nine, nothing makes you fall apart harder than the thought that maybe Joshua Hong is capable of loving you back.

Because how can he stare at you with so much adoration in his eyes if he doesn't actually love you at all? How can he keep meeting you like this in secret if there's no hidden agenda behind it?

But when all's said and done, you come back to your senses. Your rose-tinted gaze fades back into the darkness of Room 505.

Joshua is still beaming at you like you're the only person that matters to him on this entire earth. But you know damn well that he'd never smile at you the same way once you're out of the four corners of this room.

That's just the way things are.

As you pick off your clothes from the floor of the bedroom and the bathroom alike, Joshua stirs from where he momentarily passed out on the mattress — bleary eyes observing your every move as his brows furrow together.

"You're leaving?" he murmurs sleepily. "But it's raining outside. We should stay until it stops at least."

Hesitating for a moment, you stare at the bundle of rumpled clothes in your arms as Joshua practically tells you to go back to bed.

You know it's for the best if you don't lay back down beside him. The distance keeps you grounded — anchored to the truth that beyond these weekly trysts you share together, you and Joshua are nothing but civil colleagues at most.

He isn't your lover. He isn't even your friend.

But a stubborn part of you believes that maybe if he breaks you apart and puts you back together again, you'll be a different person. Someone who can keep up with his outgoing lifestyle. Someone he'll have no problem showing off to his friends and fellow coworkers.

But, really, when have things ever turned up daisies when it comes to you and Joshua Hong?

"Fine," you mumble, dropping your clothes in a heap next to the sushi necktie that looks more worn out now that you're seeing it up close.

You make a mental note to buy him a few more once the Christmas sales start coming around again.

"You coming to cuddle before we sleep or what?"

Joshua stares at you sleepily and expectantly from the bed, even patting the vacant space between him for added effect. If only those girls swooning at him in the office pantry could see him now...

Too bad what happens in Room 505 stays in Room 505.

⟢ end notes: finished this at 3:05 am with zero proofreading dedicated to it <3 if you spot any mistakes, they're not really mistakes since they're all crucial contenders in the creation process <333

Oh my god. There was a fanfic in AO3 where this exactly happens, and it's so beautiful, amazing, gorgeous, amazing, one of a kind, jaw dropping, amazing-

Not to give any spoilers or anything, but Bernard basically becomes possessed by Dionysus, and Tim and the Batfam and Superboy try to bring Bernard back, and it's amazingly written with flashbacks that integrate beautifully into the story for context, plot, and to increase suspense!! There's obviously way more, but I won't say for spoilers.

I left kudos and everything, but I forgot the name (like a fake-fan)!!! I'm actually on my way to trying to find and cry to it again. I'll drop the name and author when I do.

What if Tim didn’t arrive on time to save Bernard tho? 🫣

I just think a Dionysus possessed Bernard would be so interesting plot wise.

okay, to start off—woah. this series had me feeling swirls of emotions. and this particular chapter was great. I felt the nostalgia. I felt the sad—for lack of a better word—farewells between good friends. this is my favorite type of writing. the writing that allows you to feel the emotions the characters are feeling. this is when you know someone has perfected writing. this is when you can consider writing an art. this series was amazing.

Sugar and Coffee [Finale]

Chapter 22 - Chapter 23 [Finale]

➜ Words: 5.1k

➜ Genres: 99.5% Fluff, 0.5% Angst, Pâtisserie school!AU

➜ Summary: It isn’t hard to be a pâtisserie chef, but it’s not a piece of cake either. It seems like for you in particular, life keeps throwing in one wrench after another. It always finds ways to make your sweets bitter. The cherry on top is Jeon Jungkook — a rival with a sensitive sweet tooth who always finds ways to complain about you.

cr.

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this was beautiful 😍 we all need somebody like yoongi to give it to you straight lol. and then ending was iconic 🤣👏🏻👏🏻 couldn't have made it any better 🤩

an abundance of mondays (m)

genre: college!au, childhood friends to lovers!au

pairing: jeon jeongguk x reader (f)

word count: 15k

contains: fluff, angst, smut, mutual pining, oblivious best friends in love, exasperated but well-meaning best friend yoongi, a happy ending because I’m a sap

warnings: marijuana use, alcohol consumption, underage drinking, swearing, explicit sex in the form of: (loving) dirty talk, fingering, penetrative sex

summary: “why the fuck would it be easy? you’re disgustingly in love with your best friend. of course it’s complicated.” he pauses to roll his eyes, as if he hasn’t just laid out the most secret parts of you here in the middle of the campus dining hall.

alternatively, it’s an old cliche, falling in love with your best friend. it’s a shame none of the stories ever told you it would feel like this.

soundtrack: fools - troye sivan | tokyo - rm | not in that way - sam smith | … and more!

- written as part of the @ficswithluv​ luv library project in the music category & also MAJOR shoutout to the absolutely lovely gia @fantasybangtan who gave this two read-overs, helped to inspire a few key moments, and is just generally the best ♡

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the writing was wonderful. the words went along so fluidly, i didn't have to think a single thought for me to understand what i was reading. this storyline was perfect, too. i like how taehyung wasn't particularly a "bad guy" or how jungkook wasn't a douche bag. y/n and taehyung's relationship wasn't toxic whatsoever; rather, it was more unhealthy than anything. jungkook's reaction to their relationship was so refreshing too: there wasn't any distaste or insulting involved. in fact, it was the most reasonable reaction one can have without butting into another's business—disappointment. i also can't help but bring attention to the first time jungkook and y/n slept together—there was slight emphasis on how jungkook had made y/n feel beautiful, which was the first step of many to have her be able to have peace with herself. that's just something that resonates with me so deeply. once again, this was a wonderful fic with wonderful writing.

House of Cards: Chapter 10 (M) (Final)

Jungkook x Reader and Taehyung

Genre: Angst, smut and fluff

Warnings: Infidelity. Please do not read if it’s not for you.

Word count: 5,427 words

A/N: Thanks to my lovely and awesome beta who went through this for me!

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 (Final)

Disclaimer/Copyright

“Yeah, sorry I didn’t answer your calls last night. I got distracted and didn’t notice,” you said into the phone, resisting the urge to poke Jungkook in the ribs when he squeezed you with the strong arm he’d got wrapped around your waist. Instead, you settled for an admonishing glare, one you knew was weakened by the giddiness that you felt in his company. It was enough to tone him down a notch, although not quite sufficient enough to stop him from planting a quick kiss against your temple. Yes, he was definitely the source of your distraction the previous night. Not that you had any complaints. Your legs still felt a little weakened from his powerful thrusts into you a few hours ago, and just one touch from him reminded you of how your body tingled in his arms all night. However, you needed to focus on this call. For everyone’s sake.

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