#YOU MANAGED TO MAKE THIS A THOUSAND TIMES HOTTER THAN WHAT I IMAGINED

[love-toxin]

i dunno if you care about my gushing about leon being infected but.

god the remake made it so much hotter and i don’t see anyone talk about it and i don’t know how they don’t! i personally can’t stop thinking about it and i need infected/normal leon carnally.

:) my time to revive plagas leon has come.

(cws: gn! reader, plagas!leon + a lil yandere, post-canon divergence, needles, drugging, nc groping/kissing under the influence, leon has dirty thoughts, biting, blood, reader gets tied up)

Normal Leon is flirty, playful, maybe a little bit saucy at times if the mood is right. Plagas!Leon is a complete and utter menace, and possibly the most perverse thing you've ever encountered.

At the very least, he's not a complete puppet for Saddler's machinations. He has moments of clarity here and there, but they make way for a deep, unconscionable shift in personality when his mind finally accepts that his body is no longer the same. It's difficult to deal with, you can imagine--or you could, if Leon wasn't relentlessly tracking you down and hellbent on not letting you leave the village.

Could he try to talk to you? He could, if you would listen. But every time he faces you with those piercing carmine eyes, you start backing away, and that pretty face twists in fear and disgust at what he's become. Every time you shoot at him, you try to reconcile it as putting down the monster in him and not putting down Leon. But your sweet, gentle conscience can't accept that there's no difference anymore. This is all him, good, bad, and ugly.

Oh, but you're still so cute. You're so mad at him for the way he is, you throw things at him and grab Ashley's wrist to hurry her away when he comes walking up. He was angry when you managed to slip out of his grasp despite feeling that urge to kill you rising, but when Saddler was finally taken out, Leon felt his free will return and realized he had the chance to make his own fate.

And that's why he's waited. He waited day, after day, after day for you, having had to watch you leave with Ashley and Luis in tow and replaying that scene in his mind a thousand times over. The island is gone now, but the rest of the area needs tending to. He spends his lonely days ridding the castle of pests, disposing of bodies, clearing the village away and getting rid of any remnants of Los Iluminados. They don't belong here anymore because they couldn't leave anyways, and since he can't either, he has to cull the ones who might get in the way of your arrival.

Because he knows you. He knows you're certain of his abilities, but even if there was a shadow of doubt about his survival, you won't be sleeping well wondering whether Leon is still alive. If he can be saved, or if he just needs to be put down properly. He doesn't much care where your reasoning lies, so long as you do what he's sure you will and return to the village to find closure.

It barely takes any time at all--in less than a month, you're standing at the edge of the village by a newly-repaired bridge, a local police car parked anxiously by the entrance for fear of what lies ahead. You've got your gun, a map scribbled out from memory, and his jacket over your shoulders. Adorable. You missed him.

There's really nothing to fear, but he won't let you get much further than that village. There are a few Ganados stationed there as plants to relay information to him, but aside from feeding your fury as you take them out they really don't serve much purpose. Leon can feel you here, your feet hitting the ground as you run and the breath burning your lungs as you hurry away from the mob, booking it straight for the castle gate.

How sweet of you to visit him at home. He can't help but stalk you for a bit, watching you wander about the immense palace and search for clues, flip through his notes and break down into tears when you realize he's still alive. You have so much hope, and it's all stored in that little bottle of pills and a needle filled with sedative.

It all falls away when you neglect to notice the latter missing from your belt, only to thrash and scratch wildly at his arm when he comes up from behind to restrain you. A little pinch in the neck, a choked up sigh, and you collapse so limply in his arms like a doll.

Oh, he missed you. It's so much easier to kiss you when you're unconscious, you don't run away or shove him or shout at him that he's a monster. He wants to kiss you in other places, but...not now. He can be gentle and intimate with you like that later. You barely even flinch, you don't even kick at him when he gropes your thigh and brings his mouth to it to bite down. You taste so sweet, he just wanted a bit of your blood to satisfy the craving--he won't make it a habit, that is unless it ends up turning you on when he does it in bed like he's planning to.

And he is planning. You have a future together but it doesn't include anyone else--he's been given an escape from that depressing life he never wanted, but he's not finding a new one without you, the only good thing he's got in this world. Even if he's got to tie you up so you don't attack him the moment you wake from your stupor.

"Let me go! I'll kill you!"

You don't mean that, sweet thing. You're just tired, and scared, and you missed him. That's why you came back--not a force on earth could've made him revisit the site of Raccoon City after what happened there, but you came all the way back and threw yourself into danger for him, even knowing all that you know. The rest of this ugly world isn't worthy of you.

"I'll fucking shoot your brains out for taking him away from me!"

So feisty and cute. Is he really the one that's obsessed? Because watching you cry in desperation and struggle against your bindings is pretty telling, especially since you stop the moment his cool hand touches your chin. You know what he is, and yet you still look up at him like he's the same he always was.

"L-Leon, if you're still in there, I can get you out. There's a facility in Arklay that agreed to help--you can come home!"

It's a shame you're so hopeful. You even grace him with a relieved smile when he backs off, his brow softened at the sight of you practically begging for him. But it's in that darling, naïve way that shows you have no idea you're already being dragged down with him. And you'll only see that once his hand hovers over your lap, and he gently peels back the jagged fabric you thought might've ripped on your way over a fence, or maybe in one of the many struggles against the villagers for your life.

But you understand, he thinks you do, when you finally follow his eyes and peer down at the exposed skin. The bite mark still glistens with blood and saliva from where he sucked hungrily at the wound, but webbing out beneath your skin around the site are thin, black trails that move along your flesh like veins. And they grow as the seconds pass, spreading out deeper within your body as the infection begins its process.

You look up at him so frightened, and yet so angry, that he can't help but kiss you then. You don't have unbound arms to beat at his chest, or breath in your lungs to scream or cry at him for what he's done to you. His tongue swallows all those muffled curses up, sliding wetly between your lips to taste that effervescent warmth he knows you won't lose in your transformation. You're simply too radiant to become as cold as he is, although he's sure it'll add an exciting thrill to the sensations you'll share when you let those locked desires of yours flood out of you. Who knows, you might get so enthusiastic about your newfound power that you don't let him leave the bedroom for days--Leon would certainly welcome that after all this wretched time apart.

"Just get some rest, sweetheart." He whispers barely a hair's length from your mouth, tongue flicking out to trace your bottom lip and indulge in a delightful shiver up your body. "Let Las Plagas give you strength, and I'll show you how to handle the power. And...welcome home, darling."

#no cap i kinda wanna write a series of this ehe #leon kennedy #plagas!leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #plagas!leon kennedy x reader #yandere #yandere!leon kennedy #mild writing #resident evil #re4make #resident evil 4 #ellie writes #anons

[citrusreadstoa]

Reading The Dark Prophecy: Chapter 11 (SPOILERS)

Sorry for the pause in updates. (I feel like I'm jinxing myself because every other time I say that or see someone else say that, a much longer pause in updates or an indefinite hiatus immediately follows.)

So far, Leo and Calypso feel like Disney Princesses in crossover merchandise. You know that thing where Disney Princesses aren't allowed to look each other in the eye or speak to or acknowledge each other whenever they are featured together in merchandise or media? Leo and Calypso have hardly talked to each other in the ten chapters so far. I hope it's tied into the fights they've been having so there's a canonical reason rather than just author neglect. I'm here for Caleo content! Eleven-year-old me wants to see her OTP!

Admittedly, I don't remember reading too many rocky relationships in the previous series once the couples got together, so this is getting interesting to watch. Preteen me might have to cry in the corner while I break out the popcorn, 'cause if any relationship's gonna be rocky, it's going to be the one that started as a whirlwind romance that jumped into a six-month-long action adventure starring The Guy Who Was On The Run His Whole Life and The Girl Who Hasn't Left Home In Four Thousand Years.

"Four beheaded dudes" I thought we just had the one?

"flecks of feldspar glittering like stars." FELDSPAR (n.): an abundant rock-forming mineral typically occurring as colorless or pale-colored crystals and consisting of aluminosiliactes of potassium, sodium, and calcium

"It was Trophonius. My son." Fuck. Okay, that makes sense why he'd have the gift of prophecy, probably having inherited it from Apollo. Is Brieanna his half-brother or whole brother? Imagine if you were a ghost and your dad doesn't even know you or recognize you (admittedly a difficult task without a face or a head present). Speaking of the cheese ghost, someone needs to get Nico or Hazel here to exorcise him and lay him to rest. What's he been doing hanging out in the living world all this time? Do his deeds as a ghost count when being judged in the Underworld? So many questions.

"Agamethus--Trophonius's half brother. He was no son of mine." He said that so maliciously! I'm sure it wasn't meant to come out that way, but at least we have an answer now. "The poor boy had the misfortune of being the actual offspring of King Erginus" No need to insult him like that, holy moly!

"We built the temple at Delphi." Y'all're princes and famous architects. You're doubly rich. WHY DO YOU NEED TO STEAL.

"Make sure my body can't be identified." Awwww so Trophonius didn't behead him to kill him or have any malicious intent. This is heartbreaking. "You brought this upon yourself." Tbf he did, but that's no reason to let someone else die. They both brought it upon themselves. After all, Trophonius says "we" when talking about architecture and the temple and they both are princes. Still, thievery and wasted potential are not good reasons for the death penalty.

"video clips of a bearded man with curly brown hair, perfect teeth, and brilliant blue eyes . . . Not many emperors can look imperial wearing only lion-skin swim trunks, but Commodus managed." My friend showed me Commodus's character art and lemme tell you he is HOT. No, like, seriously. I'd simp. He might be hotter than Britomartis is pretty.

"very close to threatening his nearest advisor's anatomy." threatening ___'s anatomy is a good phrase. Might borrow it in the future.

"I still found Commodus attractive after so many centuries" And you'd be right. "we had a, er, complicated history" *sigh* Add another lover to Apollo's Bad Decisions Box. Apollo's "complicated histories" seem to always involve some sort of betrayal and at least one death.

"a portly man in a crimson business suit" I wanna know who this advisor is. It would make sense for it to be Trophonius, especially with his gift of prophecy, but that doesn't sound like him. The way he's described is similar to Nero, but it's obviously not him, though we can't discount relatives. "capable servants of the Triumvirate lost a little girl." Meg or Georgina? Probably Georgina 'cause Meg wouldn't run away again so soon.

"Lord Cleander" Nvm, never heard of this guy and his name doesn't sound Greek or Roman at first glance.

"any sort of plant" Wait, it could be Meg! I wonder if she had a plan all along. It doesn't seem like it. "You let a daughter of Demeter near a plant?" Jeez, they're literally, like, everywhere. What did you expect him to do, blowtorch every inch of the sidewalk before they stepped on it? Even in the city, plants are everywhere.

"Which is all she needed to teleport away!" ...Can Meg teleport? Like Nico? Honestly still not as OP as Percy, so we're all good.

"Gods only know where she is now!" "Actually . . . I'm a god. And I have no idea." I love this guy. He has my heart and soul and he has spoken nine (9) words so far.

"If she reaches Indianapolis" Are they not in Indianapolis? Are they maybe on the outskirts around where the caves are, then?

"And you're boring me . . . which is punishable by death." Okay, maybe Trophonius and Brieanna's thievery was a more severe crime by ancient standards. If this is what Cleander and Commodus are like, I truly wonder how Cleander has stayed alive so long. He isn't the most entertaining fella. "Do it, then." Oh, I guess we have our answer. He isn't lasting long at all.

"That was very entertaining, Lityerses!" LITYERSES! Midas's kid! I saw character art of him after reading The Lost Hero and I was like, Why does he have character art? He was there for less than a chapter??? So I figured he must be in TOA somehow and HERE HE IS MY BOYYYY.

"Manage all that for me, and I won't kill you. Fair?" Some pay would be nice.

"Unless you want to wait around here for morning chores." Now that's a threat that will get him moving.

I just realized the four beheaded dudes are the combo of Brieanna, Lord Cleander (Does that mean Lityerses has been promoted to Lord Lityerses?), Marcus, and Vortigern. An uncanny amount of beheaded people in one chapter. New record.

#reading trials of apollo #reading the dark prophecy #reading toa #reading tdp #toa spoilers #trials of apollo spoilers #trials of apollo #the dark prophecy #percy jackon and the olympians #apollo pjo #apollo #lester papadopoulos #caleo #team caleo #brieanna the cheese ghost #agamethus pjo #agamethus #trophonius pjo #trophonius #commodus pjo #commodus #emperor commodus #meg mccaffrey #lityerses pjo #lityerses #pjo #toa #pjo hoo toa #rrverse #riordanverse

[cobaincreates]

eyes on fire

warnings: angst, smut, 18+

count: 9k+

i went ham on this because i personally needed it & yeah. wow look i actually posted something!!! love that for me & you if you enjoy this. feedback wouldn’t hurt love ya :)

listen to this

not my pic— but like imagine him with tHAT hair & fake blood on his face???? cya!

— — —

“woah, woah, wait…you’re telling me you didn’t cry at the thirteenth year?” you asked incredulously, trying not to run the car off the road. you saw the quick shake of the head of the person sitting beside you and tried not to gape. “ryan, we were together for a year and you’re just now telling me that you, not only lied to me, but that you did not cry at the thirteenth year?”

“why is that so shocking? it’s a cheesy movie.” ryan shrugged, lifting his hips in his seat to put his phone back in his pocket.

you rubbed your eyebrow exasperatedly. of course one of the single times you had recommended a movie to him— and he didn’t cry. you couldn’t believe it. “he gets to go back to his mother! how can you not shed a few tears?”

“i don’t know what you want me to say.” he laughed, annoyed.

“you have no heart.” you shook your head and turned your blinker on.

“you already knew that from dating me.” ryan poked you in the side, making your body jerk as you took the turn. “otherwise, you’d still be up my ass.”

“i think you’re mistaken. it was you who was up my ass.” you pointed between the two of you, keeping your eyes on the road.

ryan scrunched his face up and you caught a glance at it, giggling to yourself. it was so easy to mess with each other, even after breaking up. you were glad of that though since ryan was one of your best friends.

college was weird for anybody, especially someone like you who moved all the way across the country to go. california was like a fever dream now that you were back home, on an island. it was only for the weekend since that was about all you could take. it was halloween, although you hadn’t realized until ryan reminded you while on the plane.

now here you were, heading to a halloween party with ryan where he would inevitably meet your friends and people you went to high school with. it wasn’t that you were dreading it, you just had the idea of staying in for the night. especially a night like halloween when you could’ve handed out candy. as if ryan would want to do that in a new place.

“i swear if you throw up on my shoes this year, i’m removing you from my life.” ryan said as he shifted in his seat.

you flashed at another car to go before pressing down on the pedal. “i don’t think i’ll be drinking and driving this time. just don’t puke on my shoes otherwise you’ll be stranded.”

“i knew i shouldn’t have come with you, knowing that you would willingly leave me stranded on a fuckin’ island.”

“don’t test me, ry.” you sang just as you slowed the car along the crowded street. a couple of people dressed up walked in between the car in front of you and yours, heading toward the lively house.

multicolored lights lit up the windows and the outside of the house, the front room bathed in a deep red. you started to feel excitement bubble up in your stomach as you and ryan unfastened your seatbelts. a handful of trick or treaters passed on the walkway, some running around to scare others. you smiled to yourself as you put your car key in your pocket.

ryan’s arm settled around your shoulders as you walked up the driveway, a cool ocean breeze brushing over your face. this was something ryan still continued to do even though you had been broken up for months. it comforted you to know he was still just as protective of you as you were of him. it sort of became an unspoken pact of yours to just keep each other safe at parties or whenever you went out with friends back at school.

“i think we’re a bit underdressed.” ryan’s arm tightened around your neck, pulling you close so he could talk into your ear.

“only a little.” you hummed as you passed multiple people outside who all wore costumes. some zombies, some witches, a clown, even a whoopie cushion. at least you hadn’t come as that.

once inside, ryan’s arm slipped away from you as you both scanned the area. ryan was just curious while you were looking for your friends. the house was big so they’d be anywhere. the voices were much louder than the music, but you could still hear the halloween playlist playing. you stepped out of the way a couple times in the crowded entryway and eventually took ryan’s hand to bring him into the kitchen.

“y/n!” you heard and turned around to find ally, dressed as the infamous annie.

“you look ridiculous,” you laughed, ruffling her red wig and pulling her in for a hug.

“i always commit, don’t i?” she grinned before looking beside you at ryan. “hey! it’s so nice to finally meet you!”

they exchanged a quick hug, ally having seen ryan plenty of times through a phone screen. it was odd seeing them in the same room, right in front of you, but you smiled nonetheless.

“come with me! everyone else is in the front room.” she grabbed ahold of your hand quickly and started to pull you out of the room.

ryan touched your shoulder, making you and ally stop. “i have to pee.” he said, looking from you to ally in question.

“right over there.” ally said, pointing to your left. you could see down the hall that a few people were waiting, leaning against the wall.

moments later you were in your small alcove of friends, checking up on small talk and whatnot. ally was talking in your ear about some gossip in town and you really were listening, but also wondering if ryan would find his way to you or vice versa. your eyes scanned the room curiously, deciphering everyone’s outfits and costumes. you sort of loved halloween for that prospect, getting to be someone else. or something else— you supposed some people just really wanted to be a shark at times.

“she totally snubbed her!” ally said.

“are they talking anymore?” you asked, trying your best to continue the conversation.

“i haven’t heard anything, but the last time i saw them they were totally going at it!” her excitement grew drastically. her hand came down over your wrist. “i think she was saying...”

you were nodding along to ally’s reenactment, her words coming a thousand miles a minute. you completely lost track of what she was saying as you looked across the room at rafe cameron. without even thinking about it, your stomach twisted up and it felt like you couldn’t breathe. maybe there was too many people in the house.

rafe was tilting a bottle against his lips, head leaned back on the wall. he seemed to fit into the empty space beside a large entertainment area, but looked like he didn’t belong at the same time. he was staring right back at you, which in return only made your pulse quicken and your blood run hotter. from what you could tell from his costume, he had fake blood around his mouth that dripped onto a fine pressed white t-shirt. the fabric molded to his chest nicely and you swore you blacked out because the next moment, you saw ally peering at you.

“what?”

a shit-eating grin spread across her face. “you weren’t even listening, were you?”

“i was,” you said abruptly. you were glad of the red lighting as you felt the tips of your ears warm up. “the beginning anyways.”

ally laughed and nudged your side. “i get it, rafe cameron is much more interesting to pay attention to.”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

ally gave you a knowing smile, peering past your shoulder. “come on, let’s go find ryan. you know how these people can easily swallow him up.” her hand grabbed yours again, pulling you directly through the crowd and in the same direction of where rafe was.

you kept your head down as you pushed through the mass of bodies, willing yourself not to make eye contact with him. it was a little difficult given that you had to pass right by him in order to get into the next room. topper, his best friend, had joined him now and he seemed to be talking into rafe’s ear about something. rafe was looking at you instead as you went by and you let out a big breath once you were by him.

there was no history between you and rafe cameron. absolutely nothing. maybe you had passed a paper to him in high school or were put into a group project with him, but that was it. you had never spoken to the infamous boy one-on-one. in high school, rafe was untouchable and you knew you weren’t even in range of his inner circle, or outer for that matter. frankly, you hadn’t even thought about him until now, seeing him again. growing up around someone like him and his family, you knew all of the stories. rafe was a complete and total heartbreaker.

ryan had managed to make some friends while only being at the party for a total of 20 minutes. really, you weren’t all that surprised seeing as that ryan could make friends with a horse. it was just in his nature to connect with people.

you found him in the entryway, sporting a drink in his hand and talking to a girl you recognized from gym class senior year. you couldn’t put a name to her face, but you gave a subtle wave and found a place on the other side of ryan. without looking at you, he put his drink out and you took a few sips before giving it back to him. ally had gone on her own path once you found him, saying she needed to find someone.

leaning against the wall, you pressed your hands against the cool surface. you didn’t bother listening in on ryan’s conversation, not wanting to intrude just in case he was trying to do more than talk. instead, you people watched, your eyes flitting across the party and the red room. the entryway was a deep blue, coating everything completely. you almost felt like you were in a movie of some sort.

you landed on rafe again, this time he was engaging in conversation with topper. he was off the wall, his finger against topper’s chest as he spoke. you swallowed and looked away just as he started to turn his head. part of you hoped he hadn’t caught you.

without thought, you pushed off the wall and went into the kitchen to finally get a drink. your mind felt like it was going 90 miles an hour and you needed to do something to busy yourself. you couldn’t just be a wallflower and people watch all night.

stirring up some concoction in the kitchen, it wasn’t rocket science to figure out who stepped into the room and came over to you. your stomach twisted up, which was a prime indicator. you kept your eyes on your cup and continued making your drink. it wasn’t like you to ignore someone’s presence, but you wanted to prove to yourself that you could handle it.

“y/n y/l/n.” a wave of shivers went up your shine. you had never heard him say your name before.

“rafe cameron.” you said in return and picked up your cup, taking a sip and turning to look up at him over the rim.

he gave you a smile. “long time, no see. you look good.”

your drink went down the wrong pipe, causing you to cough. rafe only smiled more. you cleared your throat and lowered your drink to your side.

“you look...messy.” you noticed the fake puncture marks on his neck, just under them was a lipstick print. you then looked at his mouth, red as red could be, and your ears warmed.

“what are you supposed to be?” you didn’t miss the way his eyes traveled up and down your body and you could’ve sworn they darkened. the kitchen had the normal yellow lights on, so there was no way any lighting altered his irises.

“didn’t have time to dress up.” you shrugged a shoulder. taking another sip, you kept eye contact with him.

“not even for halloween?” he teased and reached over you for another beer. you didn’t even flinch, watching his face move closer to yours. you stared right up into his eyes and help a gasp in. why was he getting you so flustered?

“i got in later than i thought.�� you said simply, now breathing easier as he moved away and opened the beer.

rafe nodded, never once looking away from you. now you knew why some people saw him as intimidating. he looked like he would pounce on you at any second.

the next moment as people chatted and moved around the kitchen, rafe was gesturing with his head toward the entryway. “who’s the guy?”

you looked in the direction he meant and found ryan, smiling big while talking to the girl in front of him. he was leaned over her now and you knew that as a good sign. “ryan,” you told rafe.

“boyfriend?” he asked, and you held back the smile, wondering just why he wanted to know that.

“ex.” you didn’t miss the way he seemed satisfied with that answer, the smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

“interesting.” he said and took another sip. he glanced at ryan while you continued looking at him. his hair was disheveled from its usual slicked back look and you kind of liked it better this way. to put it simply, he looked sexy.

“rafe!” you both looked over at topper who was making his way into the room. he pointed over his shoulder, cup in his other hand. “we’re going down to the beach, come on.”

“yeah, i’ll be right there.” he said and turned back to you, smiling again. topper met your eyes once until you looked up at rafe. “come with me?”

you thought about it, nearly saying yes until you remembered ryan. you didn’t want to leave without telling him, but you did want to see what they were doing on the beach.

“you go,” you nodded toward topper. “i’ll see you around.” with that, you turned and secretly hoped that rafe watched you go.

—

a game of flip cup never hurt anybody. you were well under way in your second round, on the opposite team of ryan and totally kicking ass. ally was beside you, currently downing her drink and proceeding to flip the cup perfectly. it was an innocent game that you had practiced back at school and ryan knew it all too well.

“see you on the floor,” you joked with him and held your cup out to him in cheers. his team was slacking, a current senior at your old high school having trouble flipping the cup.

ryan rolled his eyes, impatience seeping into his features. “i’ll be the one picking you up from the floor, y/l/n.”

you laughed while trying to keep all of the liquid in your mouth. you pushed it down swiftly, setting the plastic cup on the edge of the table and pushing up the bottom with one finger. it landed perfectly.

“fuck yes!” you threw your arms up in victory, high-fiving ally next to you. the game had gathered a group of on-lookers and they cheered for your team. ryan sulked.

a breeze blew over your shoulders, the salty smell filling your senses, as you stood outside. the night went on in full swing, the moon high up and the trick-or-treaters still out, wreaking havoc on the town. a fire in the small metal pit burned steadily, but you weren’t too far away to feel the pulsing heat. after this game, you planned on taking a break.

you had acquired a buzz so far, taking it slow so you could enjoy the party. for the most part you were and honestly, the little glances you caught from rafe were adding to it. he wasn’t trying to be sneaky about it at all and you liked that. it didn’t feel like he was following you around the party, but you did see him wherever you went. you supposed that small conversation in the kitchen had stuck with him, oddly.

standing at the table, you didn’t have to look to know where he was. maybe he thought he was being stealthy, standing near the back door, relaxed, hand in his pocket. all it would take was for you to look slightly to the right, but you held back for the sake of your own sanity. his stares had been driving you crazy. all you wanted to know was what the hell he was thinking. you could guess a couple things with the way he smirked or the way his eyes traveled over you, but you pushed those thoughts deep down. this was rafe cameron.

“my god, ryan you suck!” ally teased beside you now. you looked across the table at ryan who was struggling to flip the cup. ally laughed, holding her gut.

“since when can you not flip a cup?” you asked.

“shut the fuck up!” ryan said, trying to focus. you shook your head at him, grinning stupidly. it took him a couple tries before he finally got it and the turn went to someone else. he looked at you, huffing out a big breath.

“that was sad.” you said, crossing your arms over your chest.

“that was hilarious!” ally said.

“i need a fuckin’ drink.” he sighed.

“don’t quit now! we have to see you lose first.” ally brushed her hair out of her eyes, her annie wig now off and sitting somewhere in the house. just then you caught a glimpse of it through the window, someone trying it on for size. your eyes quickly swept over rafe, still in the same spot.

“i'm not playing anymore games after this.” ryan stated.

“no, come on! you said you’d be on my team for cornhole.” ally whined, the alcohol surely overtaking her senses. she wasn’t usually whiny.

“fuck cornhole.” ryan said just as your team cheered, having won the game. ryan gave you a nod and walked away, heading inside past rafe.

ally caught your attention before rafe could. “i'm freezing. let’s go sit by the fire for a little.”

you happily followed her, licking your lips and still tasting the beer. you both sat down on the cushioned loveseat, ally quickly throwing her legs over your lap. you took them in, setting your hands atop them. the heat was quick to run up your own legs and warmed you up instantly. burrowing yourself further into your sweatshirt, you let your muscles relax.

“i'm not a lightweight, am i?” ally asked.

you looked over at her from the sky, admiring how the fire illumiated the trees. you laughed lightly, patting her shins. “of course not.”

“you fucking liar.” she grinned and kicked your thigh. “i totally am. it’s fine, at least i always have a good time, right?”

“right.” you agreed. “you don’t make a fool of yourself, not at all.”

“shut up.” she laughed. “oh my god, you weren’t there!” she suddenly remembered. “topper had a party at his place a couple months ago and of course, knowing me i willingly went, not having anything else to do nor was my best friend here to entertain me or look out for me…” she eyed you teasingly.

“get on with it.” you rolled your eyes. deep down, you knew ally wasn’t that upset about you being so far away. sure, you had hoped to go to the same school, but she was the only person here who was pushing you to go further away.

“i think i had, maybe, two white claws—”

“oh god.”

ally laughed loudly, her back arching off the couch. “they’re so good! anyways, two in and i start crying about brie larson.”

“what about her?” your body started to shake with laughter even though you had no idea where this was going.

“have you seen her? have you seen that woman? she’s so goddamn beautiful, i can’t cope.” ally said exasperatedly. “it’s not fair that she doesn’t know who i am.”

“maybe someday.” you patted her knee. she started to roll her eyes, but you were quick to stop her. “you never know! crazy shit happens these days.”

ally didn’t say anything, reaching for an itch on her thigh. you looked back up at the sky above and relished in the warmth. suddenly, you felt ally tense up. you lifted your head and looked at her worriedly. she was looking past you and she lifted her legs to sit up.

“crazy shit, indeed. rafe is coming over here. act normal.”

you opened your mouth, no words coming out. she sat up quickly and tidied herself as rafe stopped beside you. you looked up at him, finding that same dumb smile. his fake blood hadn’t even come off yet— what the hell was it?

“hey, rafe.” ally said, way too high pitched.

“hey. mind if i steal y/n for a little?” he brushed his hair back and pointed at you.

“not at all.” ally said too quickly and stood up. “i was just going to get another drink.”

rafe nodded and let her pass. he moved to take her seat beside you as you looked after her, bulging your eyes. she opened her mouth in a fake excited scream, no sound coming out. you swallowed thickly and looked over at rafe. his elbows were perched on his knees, giving you a nice view of his back, muscles tight under his shirt.

“what’s up?” you half-whispered, getting your voice back.

he smiled at you, slightly turning into a smirk. “i was just wondering if you wanted to play a game of beer pong with me. top’s almost finished with his game.” he gestured to the kitchen inside where you could see the boy in question’s arms shoot up as he cheered.

“what’s the catch?” you asked, looking back over at him. why would rafe cameron ask you, specifically, to play a game of beer pong with him if there wasn’t a catch?

“does there have to be one?” he inquired, lifting a brow.

“with you, yes.” you said confidently, not having a clue where it came from. you had never talked to him this way— or ever, you reminded yourself.

rafe stared at you incredulously then let out a small laugh. he breathed in, glancing at the fire. you watched the side of his face, seeing how the fire flickered over his features and showed off how smooth his clean-shaven cheek looked. you wondered what it felt like.

before you could wonder anything else, he looked back over at you. the smile was partially gone, all teasing now. “if i win…you come down to the beach with me.”

you searched his face, a heavy feeling pooling in the bottom of your stomach. you shivered slightly and sat up to be a bit closer to him. his eyes followed you carefully. “and if i win?” the confidence came easier now.

you didn’t miss the slight lean he made toward you, the fire catching in his eye. “name your terms.”

you didn’t once look away as you thought about something you could get, had you won the little game. it took a lot in you not to let your eyes stray further down his face, no matter how distracting the fake blood was. you had never had such intense eye contact with anyone and if you had been thinking about it, you knew you would surely look away. now, experiencing it, you didn’t feel the nervousness or desire to look away.

“hm,” you hummed, willing yourself not to press your lips together once he let his eyes flicker down to them. “if i win you give me a piggyback ride to the beach.”

it struck you then just how beautiful his smile really was. the way his eyes lit up, crinkled a little. he laughed and nodded. “deal.”

—

“i know i won, very fairly might i add, but i am sorry for completely wrecking you in that game.” rafe said.

“god, it’s like your ego grew ten times bigger.” you teased, crossing your arms over your chest to warm up from the breeze. it picked up much more as you grew closer to the beach. the waves were loud as you anticipated feeling the sand on your now bare feet, your shoes left on the back patio. it was cold once you reached it.

you stopped a ways away from the water, closing your eyes for a moment. you missed this, you missed the wind, the smell, the sand. you could see a flash of memories across your eyelids, days spent at this very beach, sand getting in places it shouldn’t, and building monster sandcastles with your family. sure, california had beaches too, but nothing like the ones at home.

when you opened your eyes, you couldn’t see rafe in your peripheral view. you turned, finding him standing a few feet from you, his hands in his pockets. he smiled softly and gestured with his head. “you want to walk?”

“is that what you brought me down here for? a walk?” you said, a playful smile pulling at your lips.

“well, it’s much too cold to swim, unless you like getting hypothermia.”

“shared body heat prevents that, you know.” you turned back around, watching the water reach the sand and smiling to yourself at your remark. you hugged yourself tighter against the wind and took a seat on the sand, pulling your legs to your chest.

rafe appeared next to you a moment later as he sat. you didn’t look over at him or say anything, not knowing what exactly to say. you had a faint idea of why he wanted to be alone here, it was partially secluded, and dark enough to see the person in front of you. you wondered what he was thinking.

“back in high school i used to think i'd never get off this island. but being back now, i don’t want to leave.” you said, unsure of what it was that made you do so.

“i still haven’t left.” rafe said, laughing to himself. “at this point, it seems like i never will.”

your eyebrows furrowed and you looked over at him. “what do you want to do? with your life?”

he met your eyes, then looked back at the water and shrugged. letting out a breath, he threw a bit of sand in front of him. “no clue. i think i just need to get out and go somewhere for a little while. maybe that will help me figure it out.”

“i'm sure you will.” you said. “sometimes, that’s all it takes, is leaving. hell, if i didn’t leave and go to california, i wouldn’t have realized how much this place is in me. like, i'm meant to be here, you know?”

rafe fumbled with the sand in front of his crossed legs, then brushed it off on his pants. you watched him for a moment then looked the opposite way, biting your lip. your stomach was twisting again.

“how come we didn’t talk in high school?”

you forced yourself to blink a few times, questioning reality and if he actually asked that. you looked at him, confused and accusatory. “you never gave me the time of day.”

“so it’s all on me?” he laughed, giving you an odd look now.

“well, no. actually yes!” you said rather harshly. “you were the king, rafe cameron. i mean, not much has probably changed since i've been gone so you probably still are.”

“what does that mean?” he questioned.

“it means,” you sighed, becoming frustrated. “that everyone flocks to your beck and call. i certainly had no desire to do so back then, no matter how popular you were.”

“popularity doesn’t mean anything.”

“well, it certainly did to you, otherwise maybe we would’ve been friends.” you chided. he looked away from you, quite shocked at your words. you wanted to roll your eyes, of course he hadn’t changed since high school. he still expected everyone to fall on their knees for him.

you both sat in silence for a few minutes. the energy had changed and you wondered if you ruined the night. then again, why would it matter if you did? you were going back to california in a couple days anyways and you probably would forget all about this. but it still bugged you.

“what’s so different now?” you asked, the wind howling.

“what do you mean?” he asked, less annoyed. his features were smoother, now genuine curiosity in his eyes as you looked at him.

you gave him a look, one to say that he should know better. “sure seems like you’re interested.”

“what makes you think that?” he squinted, teasing. you were glad of this change.

“oh, i don’t know…you did a lot of staring.”

“so did you.”

you bit the inside of your lip, trying not to smirk. “why, i have no idea.” you said quietly to yourself, but rafe had heard you loud and clear over the wind.

you sighed to yourself and stood up, brushing the sand from your bottom. rafe looked up at you curiously and almost sadly. you looked back at the house, very much alive.

“i should go check up on ryan.”

—

ryan’s arm hung loosely over your shoulders, your body shaking with his as he laughed. he seemed to be getting on really well with complete strangers. you were happy for him.

if a stranger walked in right now, saw you sitting on the couch, surrounded by laughing friends and people you knew of, they would probably wonder why you looked like you didn’t want to be there. to be frank, you looked completely miserable. you were completely detached from reality, going over and over in your head the conversation you had with rafe on the beach. it wasn’t even eleven o’clock yet, and you were now begging the question, when are we leaving?

“did you want to leave soon?” you asked ryan when he looked over at you, smiling happily. you bit the inside of your lip, scolding yourself for even asking the question when he looked so elated.

“i'm alright.” he shrugged. “are you not having fun?”

the conversation still went on without him, it now feeling as if it was just the two of you. you shook your head quickly and put on a subtle smile. “no, no, i'm okay. just checking with you.”

“okay,” he nodded and squeezed you against him.

you let the smile slowly disappear once he engaged back with everyone else. you looked down at your lap, playing with your fingers. maybe you should find ally, you were sure she was doing something fun and time-consuming. that’s what you needed, was something to do to pass the time until ryan wanted to leave.

placing a hand on his knee to push you up, you told him you were going to find ally. he gave you a nod, taking a sip from his cup. you excused yourself past some people and started to look around for ally in each room. you didn’t spot her inside after a few minutes of looking so you wandered outside, maybe she had fallen asleep near the firepit. when you didn’t see her, you figured she was down at the beach. you could hear some distance screams of joy and laughter from that direction and could immediately imagine ally running around crazily.

giving up on your search for now, you took a seat at the fire again. you leaned close to it, watching the flames move. picking up the poker beside the sofa, you poked and prodded at the charring wood, sending little embers floating up. you watched as they disappeared, looking as if they would join the stars in the sky.

you weren’t sure how much time passed as you lost yourself in staring into the fire and feeling its radiating warmth on your cheeks. before you knew it, rafe sat down next to you.

you snorted. “you again? it’s like you’re obsessed with me now.”

“i came to get warm, i don’t know what you’re talking about.” rafe said, holding his palms out to soak it in.

“sure,” you hummed with a nod.

“you have a nice smile.”

you stared back at rafe, the smile in question dropping. speculation brewed in your mind.

“you’re staring again.” he said, the corner of his lips curving upward.

“what do you want from me, rafe?” you asked.

his smile dissipated as well before reappearing, trying to lessen the tension growing. “do i have—?”

“just be honest with me.” you interrupted. you were growing impatient and you could feel yourself starting to close up. no matter how much you enjoyed that lustful feeling for him all night, you wanted answers. “tell me what you want.”

never had you seen rafe cameron at a loss for words. it only boosted your confidence and you held the teasing giggle down. you never broke eye contact as he opened his mouth, searching for words. you raised your eyebrows at him, waiting.

“do you want to fuck me? is that it?” you prompted.

rafe swallowed very noticeably, the fire catching on his adam’s apple. “you don’t seem the type to be so straight forward.” he said as you put the fire poker down and turned to him, leaning over on your arm.

“you barely know me, remember?” your confidence was coming back as you placed your hand on rafe’s mid-thigh. he looked down at it then back up at you in surprise, his mouth ajar. you didn’t try to hide looking at it now as your heart raced.

“i've been wanting your mouth all night, rafe cameron.” you licked your own lips hungrily, your pulse picking up. you moved your hand to his face, feeling the smoothness you so craved to feel earlier in the same spot. you ran your thumb over his lips, gauging his reaction.

“fuck.” as if he hadn’t been wrapped around your finger before, he certainly was now. his hand appeared on your thigh, moving up to your waist to pull you closer.

your lips met suddenly, catching rafe off guard as his hand went to your face, holding it steady against his own. you instantly tasted the corn syrup of the fake blood coating his lips. you didn’t particularly enjoy the taste, but you liked the taste of him. he groaned at the contact of your tongue, opening his mouth for you to tangle with his. his jaw was strong in your hand, his skin soft. his thumb brushed your cheek roughly, trying to pull you closer. you smiled against him and pulled back in competition.

“y/n?” you pulled away abruptly from rafe, looking over your shoulder at ryan. you tried to steady your breathing as he awkwardly looked from you to rafe. “uh, ally is inside and she kinda hurt herself.”

of course, you thought. you licked your lips, your heartbeat pulsing under the surface of the sensitive skin. you felt rafe’s hands slip away as you stood up and started to follow ryan inside. you didn’t look back in fear of running back to jump his bones.

“who was that?” ryan whispered to you, not yet through the back door. “sorry i interrupted such a good moment.” he laughed.

“shut up,” you elbowed him and walked inside.

ally was sat in the kitchen, bleeding from her leg. you quickly aided her, inquiring what happened and what she did to be such a klutz. apparently, she thought it would be a good idea to live up to her dancer dreams and get up on the counter. obviously, it didn’t end well.

“totally worth it.” she slurred. you shook your head with a smile as you cleaned her up on the bathroom floor.

you wiped the blood off her skin, throwing the toilet paper in the waste bin next to you. rummaging for band aids as she drunkenly yapped on about her endeavor, you pulled the plastic wrappers off one by one and applied them to the long cut on her leg.

“i think you’re down for the count tonight,” you told her, smoothing the band aid down.

“okay, mom.” she dramatized, making a snide face at you with her eyelids closed.

“you can’t even keep your eyes open, dude. you’re done.” you laughed and helped her up. “good thing you live here.”

pulling her arm around your shoulders, you left the bathroom and brought her upstairs. her bedroom door was closed, along with all of the rooms, and thankfully no one was inside. you pulled her shoes off and didn’t bother with her dress.

“i want to go back downstairs.” she whined.

you rolled your eyes and pulled the covers over her. “the sun will come out tomorrow, annie. sweet dreams.” you kissed her forehead, noticing already how she started to drift off.

making your way downstairs, you watched as a group was heading out for the night. they closed the door behind them, the people in the entryway saying goodbye like a chorus. turning off the last step, you ran right into a very solid body. hands grabbed ahold of your waist to steady you and you looked up, seeing ryan.

“hey,” he said. “is she okay?”

“yeah. i put her to bed.” you nodded up the stairs and took a step back from him.

“i'm ready to go whenever you are.” he said.

your stomach dropped. you instantly thought about rafe, wanting nothing more than to find him and kiss him again. just as you thought this, he appeared in the entryway behind ryan. you glanced at him then back at ryan. “i'll meet you at the car?” you said and pulled out the key to give him. he nodded without a word and walked around you to the door.

“hey—” you started to say, meeting rafe halfway until he maneuvered you up against the wall, his lips quick to get to yours. you moaned softly into his mouth, reaching around him to pull him against you. he reciprocated this action, pushing his hips flush against yours. you broke away from him, breathing harshly.

“i have to go,” you said quietly, looking directly at rafe’s lips, feeling your eyelids weighted with lust.

rafe didn’t look pleased about that, rather annoyed really. his hand rested just at the side of your neck, his other under your top to grip your waist. “can’t you stay for a little while longer?”

you shook your head, smiling softly. “guess you should’ve made your move sooner.”

rafe grunted and pulled you back to him, his tongue slipping into your mouth. you welcomed it, running your hand over his chest, feeling how fast his heart was beating too. that alone was nearly enough to pull you in and make ryan wait, but you pushed on the firm chest, breaking apart from him once more.

“i really do have to go, rafe.”

—

picking up the jar, you read over the label. organic honey. now that you thought about it, you didn’t have any back at school. one jar wouldn’t hurt.

“i’ll take this please.” you said, setting it down on the table. the man on the other side nodded and took the few bills you held out to him. you thanked him for it, picking up the jar and your change and moving to the next stand.

ever since you could remember, you had gone to the farmer’s market every year. it was something you liked to do, something that involved the community you grew up in. there were so many selections and stands and things for you to look at that you could spend hours there. if you weren’t with ryan, you just might have been there until closing time.

ryan was across the way, checking out some older books that the library was giving away. you stopped beside him, peering into the crate he was looking in. eventually you moved on to the next stand, neither of you finding anything worth picking.

“so, what are we up to tonight?” ryan asked on the way back to the house, your jar of honey in his lap.

you felt your ears grow warmer, opening your mouth. “i was thinking of going over to a friend’s house.”

“ally’s? that’ll be fun.” he looked over at you, smiling slightly.

you glanced at him, opening and closing your mouth a few times. “no. uh, rafe’s. just me.”

“oh,” ryan drawled out, nodding slowly.

“i'm sorry. if you really don’t want me to go since you’ll be alone and have nothing to do, i can stay in and we can figure something out. you know what, let’s just do that?” you decided, waving it off.

“y/n, breathe.” ryan laughed. “i'm fine staying alone. you go to rafe’s.”

“are you sure? i can stay in, we can go eat at the wreck. you haven’t tried it yet!”

“we’re not leaving until tomorrow night. we can just get food then. it’s not a big deal. don’t stay in on my account, please. go to rafe’s.” he encouraged.

you couldn’t tell if he was really okay with it or if he felt differently. you had been thinking about it all day, replaying the kisses from last night and the way it felt to have rafe’s hands on you. your heart beat in other places now as you thought about it again. you shifted in your seat as you pulled onto your road. you thanked ryan as you got out of the car and went into the house.

—

dinner passed quickly. you pushed yourself to eat slowly, to actually spend time with your family and have them get to know ryan. a part of you still felt bad about leaving him alone there, no matter how many times he kicked your foot under the table.

now you were staring at yourself in the mirror, killing time doing nothing. you hadn’t done anything different about your appearance, you just showered and sprayed a bit of perfume. and you brushed your teeth. god, what was wrong with you? where was the confidence from last night? maybe it went out the window at the very prospect of driving to rafe’s house and going to see him. you had never done that before, you’d never been there, you’d never seen what it was like. plus, what if he wasn’t home? what were you going to do then? you didn’t have his number, although ally could easily get it for you.

no. no. you needed to stop. you had to do this before you left for california and regretted not going to rafe’s house. taking in a deep breath, you straightened yourself up and huffed. you said goodbye to ryan in the spare bedroom across the hall and he gave you a thumbs up, resulting in you rolling your eyes.

it didn’t take that long of a drive to pull up to the cameron’s estate. it was huge, you thought. you stared at the white exterior and felt not at all intimidated. turning off the car and willing yourself to get out, you walked up to the front door in determination and knocked. you practiced breathing to calm your nerves as you waited. it took a few minutes until the door opened and you breathed in sharply.

expecting someone completely different, you were met with a small girl no more than 14. you couldn’t recall if rafe had two sisters, you just knew of the one.

“can i help you?” she raised her eyebrows under the black rimmed glasses.

“hi.” you paused for too long and breathed. “uh, is rafe here?”

“he’s out. and you are?”

you lifted your own brows at her territorial posture, arms crossed. “i'm y/n. a friend of rafe’s. um, do you know when he’ll be back by any chance?”

her shoulders loosened as she grabbed onto the door handle. “sometime soon, i think. you’re welcome to wait.” she stepped aside, letting you in. you gave her a thankful smile, wanting to tell her that she was calming your nerves considerably.

“thank you. what’s your name?”

“wheezie. i'm rafe’s younger sister.” she closed the door solidly, pulling a phone out of her back pocket.

“it’s nice to meet you. i appreciate you letting me wait for him.” you rubbed your hands on your thighs, trying to get rid of the sweat.

she nodded with her eyes locked on the screen. “yeah, no problem. i actually have to leave, so…” she said and grabbed a coat from the chair behind the door. she opened it again and went to leave, but poked her head back in. “don’t steal anything.”

opening your mouth to protest, the door closed with a satisfied thud, echoing through the empty house. you glanced around, not knowing where to put yourself. you took a few steps and poked your head around the doorway, finding a huge kitchen with a few lights left on. you turned back around and looked up the stairs, figuring that was your best bet. just before you stepped onto them, you took your shoes off.

rafe’s room was pretty obvious what with the posters of random semi-naked women. you rolled your eyes at the typical male and wandered further in. his walls were a dark blue, black bedding messy on the mattress. some clothes were thrown on the floor, a desk with a monitor set up on it and some old dishes. you itched to clean it, but that would’ve been weird.

just as you were looking at the little knick-knacks on his dresser, you heard a door shut. you placed one of his rings down and waited expectantly in the center of his room, still not knowing where to put yourself. his footsteps were fast on the stairs, almost as if he were skipping two at a time. your stomach twisted when he appeared in his doorway.

“how’d you get in here?” he asked first, closing the door slowly behind him and switching on the overhead light. you took in his appearance, enjoying the backwards hat paired with a sweatshirt and sweatpants. you snapped out of it, realizing he was still waiting for an answer.

“uh, wheezie, was it? she let me in. and then she left.” you stated, twiddling your fingers against your thighs.

rafe nodded and moved away from the door, taking his hat and sweatshirt off. turning back to you, he brushed a hand through his hair then set them on his hips. “what are you doing here?”

“i think you know.” you refrained from rolling your eyes, letting out a laugh to lessen your nerves and to mask how much you were hoping not to be turned down.

rafe pressed his lips together, looking behind you for a second and taking a couple steps forward. you looked up at him, feeling the soft puffs of his breath on your face. “tell me what you want. be honest with me.”

you laughed at your own words from last night and looked at him under your lashes. you took a brave step forward, feeling his body heat. “i want you to kiss me like last night.”

rafe looked down at your lips, moving his face closer. you watched him, anticipating it and closing your eyes. you didn’t feel anything other than his hands lightly touching your waist. you opened your eyes to look up at him, to see what he was doing and why he was making you wait when you just told him what you wanted. he smiled lightly and looked over your face.

“and then what?”

you moaned and pulled him forward by his shirt, grabbing fistfuls of it in satisfaction. his mouth was warm and inviting against yours and you tried to think of what he smelled like, like salt and clean laundry. he tasted much better now that you could only taste him and not that god awful corn syrup.

you pulled away for a moment, sticking your tongue out to lick at his lips teasingly. his fingertips poked into your sides, pulling you closer and back against his mouth. you smiled against him and let go of his shirt to pull it off. instead of returning to your lips, rafe put his against the side of your throat, lightly nipping at the skin. you pulled your jacket and shirt off, rafe helping you swiftly. he continued his ministrations on your neck, holding you upright while you let your head fall back.

a gasp escaped your lips as rafe grabbed your hand from his stomach and placed it over his bulge. you hadn’t realized how prominent he was in the past few moments. you looked over his face as he pressed his forehead against yours, guiding your hand over him.

“do you feel that?” he huffed.

your legs practically turned to mush as you felt him, growing stiff in his sweats. you hummed, nodding against his head. without asking you or prompting you, you slid your hand from under his into his pants. the warmth radiated like the fire from last night, your own pooling between your legs. rafe let out another breath as you wrapped your hand around him, exploring.

“that feels good.” he whispered and tugged your body closer, a hand cupping your backside. you reached to press a kiss against his jaw, his head moving to give you more access. you made a quick trail and pressed a final kiss to the base of his neck, right over his clavicle.

as much as you didn’t want to, you pulled away, your own need growing by the second. you pushed his pants down with his boxers, trying to hold yourself together from not jumping on him then and there. he watched your face closely as he stepped out of his pants. swallowing, you pushed your own bottoms down and just as you were reaching for your underwear, rafe pushed you onto his unmade bed.

starting at your mouth, rafe kissed you fully and hungrily, sparing nothing. you wanted to hold him there, especially when he rutted his hips against yours, eliciting a high moan. you quivered at the feeling of him so close and you would’ve reached for your underwear then if he hadn’t left your lips and slowly started to make his way down.

“keep making those noises, y/n.” his breath blew over your chest and you obliged as his lips pressed against one of your breasts.

“rafe, please.” you touched his head and lifted your legs around him.

he lifted from your stomach with a smile. “what?”

“hurry up.” you begged, out of breath. he chuckled, kissing you lightly on the lips and moving back to what he was doing. you groaned but lifted onto our elbows to watch. he pressed a few more kisses to your stomach and just as he was going to the next spot, you raised your hips, teasing him. he laughed, his breathing tickling your sensitive skin.

his hands took ahold of your hips and held them down on the bed, his fingers warm and strong. you swallowed thickly, your eyelids nearly closing as a kiss was pressed directly over where your excitement had pooled. you let out a whine, low from your throat, and met rafe’s dark eyes.

“you’re so wet.” he said, letting go of one hip to replace where his mouth just was. you lifted your hips again, letting your head fall back at the pleasure that shot through you. rafe pressed his fingers firmly, moving slowly in circles. “is this how you were last night?”

“yes, yes.” you sighed, dropping onto your back. “fuck, rafe, please just take them off. please.”

he pushed against your clit abruptly, practically pushing the breath out of your chest. he obliged though, you felt his fingers slip between the material and your hips before he tugged them down. you opened your eyes as the bed shifted. rafe held himself over you, reaching into the nightstand and pulling out a condom. you leaned up to pull your bra off as he opened the small package and put it on.

“how do you want me?” you asked, still out of breath, reaching for him.

rafe smiled, his hands coming down on either side of your head to hold himself up. “just like this.”

his hair tickled your forehead as he lined himself up and took your mouth against him. you broke the kiss, moaning as he pushed in slowly.

“fuck.” you gasped, holding onto his hip.

“are you okay?” he asked after letting out a low grunt.

“yes,” you nodded, reaching up to kiss him. “i need you to move.”

rafe did as requested and moved slowly, starting a rhythm. his hand closed around a breast, your legs opening wider for him as his hips met yours continuously. you tried your best to keep your lips against his, reveling in the warmth and taste, but you found yourself pulling away and getting lost in what he was doing to you. you started to focus on his breathing, his low grunts, his moans that sent shivers up the back of your thighs. you relished in it.

“i'm glad we didn’t do this last night.” you laughed to yourself, out of breath.

“fuck,” he said. “i was pissed when you left, i ended up coming here just to jack off.”

you laughed again, reaching a hand up to his hair to tug at. you pulled his mouth to yours momentarily until he broke away and moved to your chest. “rafe, harder.” you pleaded, tugging on his hip.

he moaned against your chest, the vibrations going all the way to where he was pushing into you. you let out your own noise, louder than any before, as he picked up the pace and tried to hit you deeper. it wasn’t quite working so you lifted your knee up higher, digging your heel into his backside.

rafe softly bit down on your nipple, massaging the other one. it lost the warmth a second later as rafe let go and grabbed ahold of your leg, the smacking of your skin becoming louder. letting go of his hair, you held his other hip, digging your fingernails in.

“rafe,” you panted. rafe’s hips were going at an alarming rate, but you had never felt so good. he knew exactly what he was doing. “rafe, i'm close.”

rafe let go of your leg and moved his hand down your stomach to find your clit. his thumb brushed it, causing you to cry out. his breath was coming out in pants now too, with each stroke. he looked down at you, your expression of pure bliss as your eyes screwed shut and contorted. you bit your lip, something you didn’t realize drove him crazy. he moved his thumb in fast circles with the pace of his hips and soon enough, you were squeezing  his hips and crying out in high pitched tones. the sound alone brought rafe closer.

“fuck, fuck.” you felt him twitch as he grabbed onto your hip, his steady thrusts now stuttering.

you were still riding out your own high, but you reached up with a shaky hand and touched his cheek. he opened his eyes then at the new contact, his mouth ajar, lips swollen.

“rafe, cum. i need you to cum.” you pleaded, licking into his lips with a kiss. he groaned, hips stuttering again then stilling completely as he emptied into the condom. you moaned at the sound, wishing that he was emptying into you. you wished you could feel how warm he was when he coated your walls. god, just the thought had you ready to go again.

rafe moaned as he slid out of you and flipped over onto his back. you licked your lips, still tasting him as you caught your own breath. your skin was sticky and sweaty, but you liked it knowing who it was from. looking over at him now, he was spent and tired, his chest moving with gulps of breath.

“well, i know you better now.” he said, making you laugh.

“right back at ya, rafe cameron.”

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #outer banks #fanfic #fanfiction #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x fem!reader

[storiesforallfandoms]

he’ll never see this ~ noen eubanks

word count: 1994

request?: yes!

“Hi can you do one imagine of Noen Eubanks, like, the reader is a tik toker or influencer something like that and they have a crush on each other,and they Fans are Shipping them.

Thanksss💖🖤💖🖤💖”

description: in which she admits her feelings for a fellow creator during a stream thinking he’ll never see it

pairing: noen eubanks x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist (one, two)

The sound of a new donation message coming in pulled you away from your game for a split second. The automated voice read the message out to you: “are there any influencers that you are totally crushing on right now?”

You chuckle to yourself as you turn back to your game. “You guys really wanna start something, huh? You realize this will be trending within an hour if I say anything.”

You glanced over at your chat to see they were begging you to tell them who your influencer crush was. You had mentioned a few times that there was a fellow influencer that you had a crush on, but you refused to admit who it was (for obvious reasons). Your viewers, however, were determined to find out who this mystery man you liked was.

“We promise we’ll keep it a secret,” you read, managing to catch one message before it disappeared into the void of never ending messages. “I don’t believe you guys at all.”

You laughed as you watched the chat blow up again. You finally paused your game and made your face cam bigger for the audience. “Okay, you know what? Fuck it, there’s no way he’ll ever see this and I’m not big enough of a content creator to have articles written about me. My influencer crush is Noen Eubanks. If you don’t know who he is, look him up on TikTok and you’ll totally understand why I have such a crush on him.”

Your chat went absolutely wild at this. You went back to playing your game, smiling to yourself as you did so. It felt nice to get that off of your chest, and you knew you were about to get a kick out of your fan’s reactions to this.

Like you said, you had no fear of Noen actually finding out what you said. You had a bit of a following, but it was nothing too big. Just enough that you could be classified as “Internet famous”, but not enough that admitting you had a crush on someone else who had a much bigger following than you would be a big deal.

Or so you thought.

After your stream, you decided to go right to bed. You were feeling tired and had to get up early to edit the video you were planning on uploading. You weren’t awake to witness the internet absolutely explode over your comment, but lucky for you it was still happening when you woke up the next morning.

When you checked your phone for the first time that day, you noticed that your notifications had blown up over night. You figured it was just your fans teasing you over your crush on Noen, which it partly was, but you noticed that it was also YouTube news Twitter accounts and internet tabloid accounts tagging you in their articles about your crush on Noen.

“Oh no,” you said, your eyes widening as you read through article after article, tweet after tweet.

Before you knew it, you had spent nearly two hours sat on the floor, reading through everything that mentioned both you and Noen. All the articles were the same: an brief introduction to you and your small Twitch/YouTube following, talking about you admitting to having a crush on Noen the night before, and asking whether the reading audience believed that you and Noen would make a good couple or not.

The reactions from fans were as entertaining as you figured - with many of your fans trying to come up with ship names for you and Noen and tagging him in clips from your stream - but then there were the less than entertaining reactions. Many people, whether they were Noen’s fans or just people who wanted to hate on you you weren’t sure, were saying you had mentioned Noen’s name just for clout, or that your “crush” was nothing more than an infatuation over his looks.

It wasn’t until your phone rang that you were finally pulled out of your trance and back to the real world. Your friend’s name lit up on your screen, and it took you a moment to collect yourself before you answered.

“(Y/N), have you been online yet today?” she asked.

You sighed and nodded, then remembered she couldn’t actually see you. “Yeah, I’ve been scrolling for the past two hours on Twitter.”

“You haven’t checked your Twitch page, or YouTube account yet?”

Your eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. “No? Should I?”

“You definitely should.”

You put her on speaker and switched to your Twitch app. You were shocked to see that you had skyrocketed in subs overnight, same with your YouTube page. You had gained a solid ten thousand subscribers on both platforms, and it was still rising by the second.

“So this situation has gained me more subscribers, who cares? That’s not why I talked about Noen on stream,” you said.

“Oh no, honey. It isn’t just the situation that has given you new subscribers. Go check Noen’s Twitter.”

You knew what she was implying, but you had to see it for your own eyes. You immediately opened the Twitter app again and typed in Noen’s name. You were brought to his Twitter page, where his most recent tweet was a link to the clip from your stream along with a caption that read, “When your internet crush calls you *their* internet crush”.

You covered your mouth in shock. You were sure you were about to start screaming, but you were so speechless that you couldn’t force any sounds from your mouth.

“I’m assuming by the silence that you’ve seen it,” your friend said after a prolonged moment of silence.

“D-Did he just c-call me his...?” you trailed off, unable to finish your sentence.

“He did,” your friend confirmed. “And both of your fans are going wild. They’ve already come up with a ship name for you, which isn’t the most clever name but I admire their spirit.”

You could barley hear what your friend was saying. You were still staring at the tweet in disbelief. Your mind could barley comprehend anything else besides the fact that your online crush thought the same as you. You were trying to tell yourself not to get too worked up, as it was most likely that nothing was going to come from this besides some gossip for a week or more, but your heart was still racing with excitement.

You gasped as a notification popped up on the top of your screen: “@/eubanks_noen is requesting to message you”.

“He’s trying to DM me,” you whisper, so silently that you could barley hear yourself.”

“What?”

“He’s trying to DM me! On Twitter!”

“What are you doing talking to me?! Go answer his DM!”

You were too focused to laugh as you hung up the phone and went into your DMs. The familiar profile picture that you saw almost every day on your timeline was the first thing you saw in your message requests. Your whole body was shaking so much that you could barley see the screen as you pressed to open it.

“hi :)”

It was a very simple message, but it was enough to make your heart race even more.

You were debating on messaging back, wondering if maybe this was a fake account or something. But you knew there was only one way to find out for sure, so you took a deep breath and responded.

“hi! :)”

His response came near seconds later: “so...we’re the internet’s hottest power couple, huh?”

You chuckled to yourself. “i guess we are. sorry if i ruined your mentions last night. i didn’t think it would blow up the way it has. i’m not all that famous online.”

“are you kidding me? you’re like one of the best twitch streamers. i’ve watched every single one of your streams, including last night’s”

You felt your face heating up, but a slight groan of embarrassment came from your lips. You were thinking of all the embarrassing things you had said and done on stream, and now wished you could just melt into the floor or erase the entire internet.

“oh that’s embarrassing. i’d say i’m not that awkward and dumb in real life, but i’m actually more so”

“i wouldn’t say you’re awkward or dumb at all. i think you’re adorable”

“Oh my God!” you exclaimed to no one in particular. If your face got any hotter, it would be on fire.

“you really know how to talk to a girl”

“i really don’t, but i’m glad you’re enjoying my attempts to flirt”

“so you’re flirting? never would’ve known”

“i know, it’s hard to tell. i’m trying to be subtle”

You continued to message Noen for a while. It felt so natural, as if you weren’t talking to someone you had been crushing on for about a year now. You were extremely glad you weren’t coming off as awkward as you normally felt.

Finally, after having been sat on the floor for a good three hours, your back began to ache and your stomach was growling so loudly in attempts to get your attention. You realized then that you had put getting breakfast on hold in order to fall deep into the hole of internet gossip that had surrounded you overnight.

“love talking to you and all, but i’m gonna have to go for a little bit. i’ve been sat on the floor basically since i woke up and i haven’t eaten yet today so my stomach is very upset with me”

“why are you on the floor? 😂”

“when i’m stressed i tend to sit down no matter where i am, and i was very stressed to see my name plastered all over social media this morning”

“why were you stressed over that?”

“it’s not something i’m exactly used to. like i said, i’m not overly famous online. i just have a small following. i’m not someone who has an article written about every little thing she says. also like i said, i didn’t expect you to see me admit that i have a crush on you last night, so i was so worried about what your reaction was going to be”

“i guess i can understand that. i haven’t had a lot written about me. i’m not a big tiktoker like some of my friends are, but i guess that’s a blessing”

You started to type another message, but paused when you saw the three dots from Noen indicating that he was typing something else.

“for what it’s worth, i’ve had a internet crush on you since you first started streaming”

Your jaw dropped at this. You had started streaming months before you even knew about Noen, which meant he had known about you before you knew about him. Just when you thought this day couldn’t get any better.

“wow! that’s quite a while. you must be one of my first subscribers then”

“i’m up there i think. i’ll wear that badge with pride”

The three dots again. You waited anxiously to see what he was about to say.

“i liked getting to talk to you today, though. maybe we could talk offline sometime, like through text or phone call. maybe meet in person eventually”

Your smile was so wide that it hurt your cheeks. “yeah, i’d really like that”

You exchanged phone numbers and added his to your contacts. You finally pulled yourself off the floor and started making a super late breakfast while also starting to edit your next video since you had also gotten such a late start on that.

You were putting your food on a plate when your phone chimed, indicating a new text message.

“btw, it’s nice to finally get to meet you internet crush :)”

“it’s nice to get to meet you, too, internet crush”

You sat at the table, your heart feeling warm. And to think, it all came true thanks to one nosy donation.

Not sure how much I like this imagine, but I hope you enjoyed anyways!

#noen eubanks #noen eubanks imagine #noen eubanks x reader #imagine #one shot #request #tiktok #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

[mammons-sugarbaby]

The bros reading MC’s diary Part II: Romantic!

Lucifer ⦁ He'd started giving MC piano lessons after their RAD classes, they'd requested it and he wasn't going to pass up a chance to show off his talents. ⦁ After MC leaves he notices they forgot their things, namely a few schoolbooks and notebooks ⦁ He also notices when he gathers them up that one notebook seems different than the others and opens it to see what it is ⦁ It's a daily journal of their time in the devildom ⦁ He flips through a few more pages and lands on a page that, to his surprise, is about him ⦁ He goes to the beginning and sees where it becomes less about general happenings and more about him

Diary Content ⦁ "Lucifer agreed to teach me how to play the piano! I've already been practicing a little so he would be impressed at how quickly I learned. I feel bad for lying but... It's a chance to be close to him, to get him to notice me. Sometimes it's hard to concentrate with him right next to me, and when our hands brush against each other...It take everything in me to keep my composure!"

⦁ "I'm so excited! Lucifer is taking me to Restaurant Six tomorrow! He says it's to reward me for my hard work, both for my RAD classes, and how well I've done in our piano lessons! My heart was beating so fast when he asked if I would like to go. I'm going to go shopping later for an outfit to wear, it has to be something special! I know it's just a treat but....I'm just going to pretend we're on a date."

⦁ "I'm so embarrassed! I was waiting for Lucifer in the music room and I started daydreaming about us sitting next to each other. Lucifer turned to me and our eyes met and I confessed my feelings and....then he leaned in and kissed me! So I was shocked when Lucifer was right in front of me suddenly asking if I was okay. For a second I thought the kiss had actually happened...But he just said we had better start lessons...and I was too nervous through the whole thing I kept messing up...I think I irritated him because he said that I I obviously wasn't able to pay attention and that continuing would be a waste of time..."

His Reaction ⦁ He had been surprised at how quickly MC had learned and suspected they knew more than they let on, and though he wanted to be mad or disappointed about the lying, he was actually impressed with the lengths they went to get his attention. He made a mental note to be more....attentive during their next lesson.

⦁ Lucifer recalled his shock at how well MC had dressed for the occasion, he hadn't expected them to go all out. At the time he felt a little guilty for not putting more effort in his attire, but seeing how MC stared at him and how they blushed when he looked at them or complimented them, he doubted they cared. He would ask them again when he had some free time, this time he would specify that this time was more of a...romantic occasion.

⦁ He recalled that day well, he had entered the music room and saw MC staring at nothing, a hint of a blush on their face. It had taken a few moments for him to get their attention, and now their reaction when they snapped out of it made sense. He felt bad now because he had snapped at them, but he would make it up to them in the future. He looked forward to teasing them, and....he'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about kissing them at times.

Mammon ⦁ He was looking through MC's stuff to sell for quick grim ⦁ Finds an intricate looking book, it's looks expensive ⦁ He opens it and notices its a scrapbook ⦁ He soon realizes that there a lot of cut outs and pictures of him ⦁ And there are full pages of writing ⦁ Of course he's going to read about what they have to say about him, The Great Mammon!

Diary Content ⦁ "Managed to sneak in another magazine that featured Mammon without anyone noticing, I'd be so embarrassed if anyone found this book. I feel like a kid with a crush drawing hearts all over everything but...it's fun, and it's not like anyone is actually going to see. I'm almost embarrassed at all the times I've written about confessing to him."

⦁ "He makes my heart stop sometimes I swear, every time he looks at me, my mouth goes dry and I feel like I can't breath for a minute. He's just so damn hot. And he's funny too! And even when he's hyped up about another plan to make quick grim, even if it makes absolutely no damn sense, I can't help but nod along and want his plan to succeed."

⦁ "I know it's dumb but I just want to march over to him one day and demand to know how he feels about me. Sometimes he acts all flustered around me and his face looks like he's blushing, but then he says something that dismisses everything and just...crushes me a little. Today we were hanging out and one of his brothers teased him about being around me all the time and he told them it wasn't like he wanted to, he was just helping me with classwork. Which he was, and poorly at that, but it hurt a lot, I had to get out of there before he saw me cry. He apologized later but....he just gives off such mixed signals...I wish he'd just say how he actually felt."

His Reaction ⦁ He's floored, he had absolutely no idea they felt this way. At most he just thought they were a fan of his. But they were right, they had written what seemed like a hundred different ways of confessing their feelings to him. He felt his get hotter and hotter with each page he read.

⦁ He had just figured MC was kinda shy and was supportive towards everyone. He even thought they were fake laughing at his dumb jokes to make him feel better, especially since everyone usually groaned and said his joke was stupid. But the fact that they actually found him attractive and funny? He wanted to run to MC and wrap them in a bear hug.

⦁ Mammon hadn't realized he'd been hurting MC all this time, making them feel like he was stringing them along. He just got so embarrassed and didn't want anyone know how he felt about MC. He already got so much shit from his brothers, teasing him about falling for the human wasn't appealing. But he'd take their teasing over continuing to hurt MC this way. He couldn't bring himself to admit his feelings outright, but he wouldn't deny them anymore. 

Levi ⦁ He'd gone into MC's room to retrieve some games and manga he'd lent them ⦁ He saw a pile of books near a neat stack of games and assumed they'd left it on their desk for him. ⦁ It wasn't until he got back to his room and was organizing them that he realized he grabbed a book that wasn't his. ⦁ He opened it then quickly shut it after realizing it was their diary. ⦁ He argued with himself to read or not to read, but he saw his name! ⦁ Deciding, he opened the diary again, he just had to know what they were writing about him

Diary Content ⦁ "Hung out with Levi in his room today. He was watching a new show, as usual, and I asked if I could join him. He said sure, but there wasn't a whole lot of space to sit, so I tried clearing away a few things so I could sit beside him without being too close. But I guess I was still nervous being so close to him because I kept fidgeting and bouncing my legs. Eventually he got annoyed and grabbed my legs and put them in his lap!! I was so shocked my brain felt like it short circuited."

⦁ "While I was playing co-op mode with Levi tonight, he got in a rough spot and I ended up saving him. You would have thought I'd saved his actual life! He threw his arms around me and told me I was the best player-2 ever!! My heart was pounding, he usually wasn't so...hands on? I'm probably weird for thinking about it, but I imagined him kissing my cheek."

⦁ "Every day I feel like it gets harder and harder to be around Levi, I get so....tongue tied! And my heart feels like its beating a thousand times a minute! My face gets so hot and i feel like I can't even look at him or I'll confess on the spot! I haven't been hanging out with him as much because....I really like him but I'm sure that he'd think having a 'normie' crush on him would be lame and gross. And he seems so down lately I just want to cheer him up and see him smile again! Maybe I can give him head pats to cheer him up? It would give me an excuse to touch him at least..."

His Reaction ⦁ He remembered that night, mainly because when he had realized what he'd done, he got so embarrassed. MC had been really quiet and would barely look at him, of course they'd be disgusted by a gross otaku like him...

⦁ His brain had to take a moment to process the last sentence. They wanted him to....KISS them??? He hadn't thought about it when he had hugged them because he was so happy, but afterwards he couldn't stop thinking about it, how he wanted to wrap his arms around them again, to hold them..

⦁ So THAT'S why they had been avoiding him!! He thought after the previous two events, they were grossed out by him but....they liked him?? Like liked him?? He honestly couldn't wrap his head around it, he wanted to think it was some trick but....this was MC's diary, why would they lie about something that was only meant for their eyes?? MC liked him....as more that a friend....He couldn't get them out of his head for the rest of the day.

Satan ⦁ MC returned some books he'd lent them ⦁ While putting them away, Satan realized they'd accidentally given him one of their books ⦁ They'd already left though, he opened it to see what the book was about ⦁ It was a thick journal and he realized it was specifically a diary ⦁ And the page he'd opened to was about him ⦁ Intrigued, he sat down and flipped to the first page.

Diary Content ⦁ "Satan offered me a few books today that he enjoyed and suggested we start reading together so we could talk about them. I pointed out he's a much faster reader and he said we could limit it to a few chapters a week. He's so considerate and I really would love to share something like that with him! I know he gets a bad rep for being the avatar of wrath but he's surprisingly gentle most of the time. And I like a lot of the books he reads, so we have that in common. And if there's something I liked but he didn't personally find interesting, he still talks with me about it in detail and lets me be excited. Usually people ould just brush me off because they didn't care."

⦁ "I went to Satan's room earlier to hang out but he was so engrossed in reading I don't think he noticed me come in. I just found a spot to sit and started playing on my d.d.d, but I couldn't help but get distracted by him. I love watching his facial expressions while he reads, if he's around others his face gives nothing away, but when he's alone, or with me, that mask falls. He finally noticed me when I giggled at his shocked expression and seemed embarrassed, but I told him it was something on my phone. I would hate for him to put that mask up around me, I like seeing him openly himself."

⦁ "Today I almost pulled a huge pile of books on myself by accident. I didn't realize when I was trying to get a book from the top shelf that there were books piled on top of it! Luckily Satan was there to catch it before it fell and warned me to be careful. But when he stepped in to stop the books, he'd grabbed my shoulder and pulled me against him, like he was trying to shield me. Then when the books had steadied, he turned me around and asked if I was okay. The look of concern on his face...I can tell he cares about me. I know he didn't mean anything by it, but I swear my heart fluttered for the rest of the evening. I know I liked him before that but...is it cliche to say I think I fell in love? Maybe not that serious but....I definitely have strong feelings for him."

His Reaction ⦁ He was touched at MC's words, he already felt like they were a kindred spirit, but this really made him feel even more drawn to them. He loved being able to talk about a story with them; and realized soon after they had arrived and started reading together that they weren't as fast a reader, which made sense he'd been reading for much longer than they had been alive. He knew how it felt to be dismissed, and even if he didn't find a particular book to his liking, hearing MC's thoughts and feelings on it somehow made him see it in a different light.

⦁ He hadn't realized he let his guard down around MC so much, it almost made him embarrassed to know they had seen him make all sorts of silly faces, but reading that they enjoyed him being comfortable around them made him smile. He did trust them, more than he realized. And it didn't appear that they were aware that they too, made silly faces while reading. But they didn't hide it when they were around everyone else, in fact the only time he'd see them have a blank expression while reading, was when they were reading something erotic. He laughed because when he asked what they were reading to make their face so intense, they immediately turned red and they got embarrassed.

⦁ He remembered that day, how he saw the books teetering on the edge, that sharp worried feeling, and the way they felt against him when he pulled them back. He was able to stop the books from falling, but he was actually prepared to shield them with his body. And seeing their face, wide-eyed and a light blush across their cheeks, he was surprised at the restraint he had; because right then he had wanted nothing more than to lean in and kiss them. But he didn't think that they held the same feelings for him and didn't want to make them uncomfortable. But now he knew they felt they same way, and reading about them falling in love, even jokingly, left him smiling for the rest of the day.

Asmo ⦁ He went into MC's room to show off some new beauty products he'd bought ⦁ They weren't in their room, so he texted them, they replied they'd be there shortly ⦁ he takes a seat on their bed and notices a notebook on their nightstand ⦁ He opens it and sees it's their diary ⦁ And more importantly, they're writing about him

Diary Content ⦁ "I almost managed to flirt back at Asmo with a straight face today. Almost. He's too good! Whenever I do manage to flirt back, the next thing he says leaves me a stuttering mess...I know he flirts with everyone so of course he's going to be amazing at it, but I wish I could fluster him at least once! I think he would look really cute being a blushing mess."

⦁ "It's hard not to take him seriously with the things he says sometimes. It's too easy to read into things. I know he's just teasing me and he doesn't mean the things he says, but sometimes....like today, we were sitting next to each other and he just! Put his arms around me! And said I was one of the cutest humans he'd ever seen!! He's seen thousands of humans, I don't see how I could possibly compare. I even said so and he took my face in his hands and had this really serious look on his face. He told me I shouldn't be so critical of myself and he knows cute when he sees cute! Then he told me we need to have a self care day soon."

⦁ "Asmo!!!! Kissed my cheek!!! Then whispered in my ear!!! All he said was "See you later~" but!!! I swear I couldn't speak for a solid 10 minutes. I sat there and daydreamed about kissing him back, and wrapping my arms around him, and holding hands, and going on cute dates, and all that during class! I missed everything!! And there's a test coming up.....The boy is going to be the death of me, especially if I fail this test and Lucifer finds out....Still...as pathetic as it might be to actually have a crush on the avatar of lust, knowing full well he doesn't feel the same way, it's just how he acts...I might just tell him how I feel so he can shoot me down and I can get over this silly little crush."

His Reaction ⦁ He loved when MC tried to flirt with him, loved seeing their face and seeing them try so hard to act unphased. There was a time or two when they actually had said something that caught him off-guard and made him blush, but he's well practiced at  hiding his feelings. 

⦁ He remembered that day! MC was wearing such a cute outfit and looked absolutely stunning, he couldn't help himself! And then when they put themself down it made his stomach drop. He couldn't believe they actually tried to compare themself. He wanted to go on a who lecture about how everyone has something about them that shines and they shouldn't compare themself, but them again he technically compared them to all the other humans he'd seen....He still meant what he said though, yes physically they were cute, but they sounded cute, acted cute, just....everything about them he found endearing. Even when they were angry, or sad, he thought the were one of the most attractive beings he'd laid eyes on. It threw him off when he thought about it too much, so he did what he did best and deflected, and pushed those thoughts and feelings down. But he couldn't just let them continue to think that they couldn't compare! So he suggested a self care day to try and lift their spirits.

⦁ Oh honey....he wasn't joking. More and more he found himself being serious when he flirted and asked after them. After a while he realized he was pursuing them, it was shocking because usually he was the one being pursued. He had figured MC had developed a crush on him, who wouldn't?? But it made him feel strange because he reciprocated their feelings. He started to plan to ask them on a date under the guise of studying, since they were...distracted during class. He didn't want them to get punished if the failed a test. Lucifer would blame him and tell him he wasn't allowed MC. He wouldn't follow the rules of course, but it would be a pain to try and sneak around to see MC. His thoughts wandered and he imagined kissing MC, something he'd done plenty of times before, but this time it made him blush and he felt giddy and nervous.

Beel ⦁ To be fair, MC told him he could borrow their study notes, but didn't tell him where in their room they left the notebook ⦁ He sees what he assumes is the notebook on their bed and grabs it and heads to his room ⦁ Once he gets settled, he opens it and reads half the page before it clicks that these are definitely not study notes ⦁ This is their diary, and they were writing about him ⦁ He shuts it so fast, super embarrassed, but he can't stop thinking about what he'd read ⦁ Guilty, he opens it to read more

Diary Content ⦁ "Beel asked today if I wanted to go with him to Hell’s Kitchen, he heard they had one of my favorite foods back in stock. I was surprised and asked him how he knew it was one of my favorites, I had only eaten it twice. He told me he notices how my face changes when I eat something I particularly like, and how I make a little humming noise. I was really embarrassed and it made me a little self conscious, so I told him I'd get back to him about it. I hated seeing his face fall...Then he apologized and said he'd see me later, which made me feel even worse!! I just... the thought of someone paying that much attention to me, to notice what I like and how I act when something makes me happy...I'm not used to it. Of course I found him later and asked him if his offer still stood and I swear his smile made me forget for a moment that there wasn't a sun in the devildom."

⦁ "I failed a test today!!! Lucifer is going to kill me...I told Beel about it and he asked if I would be okay if he helped me study. I told him I would be so grateful! I was so happy I hugged him without thinking and I swear I saw him blushing, I mean I was too but then he told me I could always come to him if I ever needed anything. I swear my heart jumped in my throat. He's always looking out for me, I know he's nice to everyone but....he always makes me feel like I'm special to him. I'm probably looking into it way too much but I might have a small crush on him. Not that he feels the same way, and I'm okay with that, but it's nice to know I have someone I can always count on."

⦁ "I want a black hole to open and swallow me!!! I'm going to hide in my room until I go back home I'm so embarrassed!! I was eating lunch with Beel and I was eating a  jelly pastry and he noticed I had some on the corner of my mouth so he asked me to hold still for a second, and wiped it off with his thumb then licked it! I just...couldn't stop staring at him and his mouth....He thought I wanted some of the food he was eating so he offered to let me have some, then held it out for me to take a bite. Then!! Asmo walked by and said how we were so cute together, feeding each other and acting like a cute couple! Beel was confused and told him we weren't dating, and Asmo looked surprised and told him that I had a crush so he thought I had asked him out. I haven't been answering my phone and I've been hiding out at Purgatory Hall for a few hours now. I don't think I can face Beel after this...."

His Reaction ⦁ Beel had seen Hell’s Kitchen had a dish that MC really enjoyed back in stock for a limited time, so he wanted to surprise MC. He thought he'd made them uncomfortable, in a way he kind of did but for a different reason. Maybe it was because food was his thing so he noticed how others reacted when they ate foods they did or didn't like. So he was really surprised when they found him later and apologized and asked him if he still wanted to go. At the time it made him really happy, even more so now. He felt his cheeks flush at the last sentence, did MC really feel that way?

⦁ He had seen how distraught MC was that day and when they told him what had happened, he offered to help. He usually got good grades and didn't think anything of it, but when they threw their arms around him out of the blue, and how happy they were, he got a little embarrassed. They just looked so cute and he found himself wanting to see them more so he told them they could come to him for anything. In a way they were really special to him, and he too liked them in more that just a friendly way. He felt really happy though, that they trusted him so much.

⦁ Things had gone back to normal since that day, mostly anyway. By the time dinner came around and MC still wasn't home, he went out and looked for them. Luckily when he texted Simeon and Luke, Simeon replied that they were at Purgatory Hall baking with Luke. He still wasn't sure how he felt at the time, since learning that MC also had feelings for him, but he didn't want to make things awkward so he asked if Belphie could go for him and bring them home. He replayed the events of the day over in his head, but this time from MC's point of view and how he would have felt had they acted as he had... He didn't want to make things awkward again since things had mostly gone back to normal but he also didn't just want to ignore the fact that they both had mutual feelings for each other.

Belphie ⦁ MC texts him asking if he could bring their notebooks they forgot ⦁ They were supposed to have a study session in the planetarium but MC had forgotten their things in the attic ⦁ He opens one of the notebooks to quickly scan over the notes they were supposed to study ⦁ These are not school related ⦁ This is their diary, and what’s more, there's a lot about him in it ⦁ His eyebrows furrowed and he settled in to read what MC had to say about him.

Diary Content ⦁ " Beel asked me today if I was mad at Belphie, if we had a fight. I was confused and told him no and asked why. He explained that he noticed when I would see Belphie, I'd usually try and leave the room, or I'd avoid trying to look at him again. I hadn't realized I'd been so obvious about it, but I couldn't explain the reason why to him. He told me Belphie was starting to get depressed, and mentioned that I might have had a change of heart due to the incident. I told him that wasn't the case at all! This is a mess....I'll either have to get over myself or tell Belphie the truth...It's not fair to him I'm acting like this."

⦁ "Belphie's noticed I haven't been coming over for naps as often, I always tell him I've got stuff going on. I used to be fine with cuddling for naps, was totally okay with waking up and having his arm slung over me. I don't know when it changed but I started feeling shy, I was less comfortable with him touching me. Not in a bad way! Just....I got hyper aware anytime he touched me, my heart would start pounding. And in the cases that I couldn't come up with a good reason to say no to a nap, I kept as much distance as I could. Saying I felt too hot to be all wrapped up has been a good excuse so far, and it's not a lie."

⦁ " Ugh! Everytime I try to talk to Belphie about why I've been acting so weird, one of his brothers comes around! Or Simeon...or Solomon...or Luke...It's like now that I'm trying to confess, everyone can sense something is about to go down! I just...want to tell him that I like him as more than a friend and if he can just bear with me so I can get over it, I mean he obviously doesn't feel the same and I don't want to make things more awkward and lose my best friend. Part of me wants Belphie to like me back, as more than a friend, but the other part knows that'll never happen and I need to just get over it."

His Reaction ⦁ At one point he barely spoke to MC aside from meals and in passing, they either didn't reply to his texts, or they took forever. He thought maybe they had finally come to their senses and realized that they actually hated him, and for good reason. Even though he knew they had every right, it still made him feel depressed and lonely, angry even sometimes; and one day he'd vented to Beel. While it irritated him that his twin had told MC, he was relieved to read that MC's behavior wasn't in relation to the incident. But now he was curious about what it WAS about.

⦁ He had noticed MC had been avoiding him in a sense, and at the time he wasn't sure what he'd done. But in the times that they had stayed over for a nap, they would practically be hanging off the edge of the bed, or as far from him as they could get. They told him they were hot, which given the red face and sweating, he believed. He had actually planned to get a fan and a mini air conditioner so they would be more comfortable, he still planned to, but now he had a different reason in mind.

⦁ Belphie remembered the various times MC would ask to talk with him, only to change their mind whenever someone else was around. He was actually going to ask them to meet him at the planetarium tonight and demand to know what was going on. But his brain stopped working when he read MC liked him. Like liked him. He laughed because he was doing the same thing, but he was much better at hiding his feelings. He'd had centuries to master it after all. He was tempted to let MC go through all the embarrassment of a confession after what they'd put him through lately, but right now all he wanted to do was find them and wrap his arms around them and tell them how dumb they were for crushing on a demon. A demon who was just as dumb for having a crush on a human.

#obey me #long post #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me belphie #msb writes #obey me imagines #obey me scenarios #obey me headcanons #obey me diary

[tiffdawg]

Keep Quiet | A Paz Vizsla x Reader Oneshot

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x Reader (fem; no y/n)

Word Count: 3.3k

Rating: E | Warnings: NSFW – explicit sexual content, sex, public-sex, dirty talk. Mild language. 18+ only.

Request: The first fic request from the 500 Celebration! @huliabitch requested 72 (We’re in public, you know?) from this list with Paz Vizsla. Thank you, Julia! 

A/N: I’m a sucker for this big blue bitch... so this accidentally turned into a whole oneshot. Oh, and can you believe after all this time LF finally fixed the spelling of his name? Guess it’s officially Vizsla now.

Read on AO3

My Masterlist

… . …

Keep Quiet

He was late.

You’d been pacing the length of that skinny back alley in between the shop where you toiled away your days and the neighboring warehouse for what felt like hours. Really, it had hardly been longer than thirty minutes. But they were thirty excruciating minutes. The two of you met there once a week at the same exact time. Never earlier. Never later. It was a perfectly timed routine – more for his safety than yours – and he was never late. 

“Where the fuck are you?” you murmured to yourself. You glanced to your right and then left, double checking both ends of the passage. Still, there was no sign of him.

Another ten minutes of pacing passed. In your frustration, you kicked a piece of scrap metal, sending it flying towards one of the empty plasteel containers from the warehouse that were scattered throughout the alleyway. It struck true and you grimaced at the noise it made, not expecting it to ring quite so loudly in the quiet night. Luckily, the only place still open in that neighborhood at the late hour was the cantina a few buildings over – and those patrons were well-occupied. 

“This is supposed to be a covert meeting, mesh’la,” a deep voice rumbled behind you. Turning on your heel, you found the man you’d been waiting so impatiently for. A deep breath you hadn’t realized you were holding escaped you at the sight of him alive and unscathed. “Do you want all of Nevarro to know what we’re up to?” 

“You were taking forever, Mandalorian,” you said with an overdramatic roll of your eyes, feigning nonchalance. “I can’t help it if I get bored when you make me wait.”

“Bored?” he asked, amusement lacing his voice even through the vocoder. He stalked towards you, slow and measured and only stopping when he was directly in front of you. He moved leisurely as he dismounted the blaster cannon on his back and leaned it against the exterior of the warehouse, acting as if the two of you had all the time in the galaxy. “Are you sure it was just boredom?”

“I might’ve been a little worried,” you admitted, pointedly refusing to look at him as you said it. “Where were you?”

“Do I look like someone who needs to be worried about?” he asked, ignoring your question. He drew closer until the edge of one of the cargo containers dug into your lower back. His massive form took up most of your sight, completely blocking out the rest of the world.

“No,” you sighed. You ran your hand across his blue chestplate, feeling each jagged scratch and scar marring the armor beneath your palm. He’d clearly managed to best his opponents in battles and brawls of the past. You had some faith that he would always do what was necessary to return to you. “I just can’t help myself.”

He regarded you for a long moment. His dark visor gave nothing away about his expression underneath. Sometimes you liked to believe you knew what was going on inside that man’s head, but more often than not he was unreadable to you save for what he wanted to share with you. Everything else remained hidden. 

“I didn’t mean to worry you, mesh’la,” he said quietly, lightly tracing a gloved fingertip across the lines of your face. He followed the curve of your lips to the round of your cheek and down along your jaw. It was something he did sometimes in the rare gentle moments you shared with him. You wondered idly if he was memorizing your likeness with his careful touch; it seemed too deliberate to be without purpose. “I don’t have long tonight, but I think I can make it up to you.”

Slowly, his hand moved lower, down your neck and across your chest. And his sweet caresses turned into something else. Something hungry and needy. He palmed at your breast, kneading it harshly and easily tearing a heady moan from your throat as you arched into his touch. 

“We’re in public, you know,” he admonished cheekily, clearly enjoying the effect he was having on you. From anyone else it would’ve sounded condescending. From him, it only sent a rush of arousal straight to your core. 

You scoffed at him. “Like that’s ever stopped us,” you simpered as you reached for his belt.

That was the truth of the matter. Your meetings, hidden only by the blackness of the planet’s short night, were always a passing thing in that same dark alley. Once a week, he dared to leave the safety of his covert – where they were hiding, you could only guess – to run out to the lava fields to meet the smuggler who supplied his people. You assumed the credits came from the one Mandalorian that was allowed to walk freely through the streets, only ever stopping in the cantina to collect payment and pucks. There was an entire tribe of Mandalorians living in the city, but he was the only one that anyone ever saw on Nevarro.

Until you.

You’d caught your Mandalorian one night as you were locking up the shop. The shop owner had asked you to stay late and take inventory for him, knowing you couldn’t turn down a chance for extra credits when you were perpetually short on rent. When you’d stepped out into the alley and accidentally ran into a wall of blue armor, your eyes went as wide as one of the infamous thousand moons of Iego. Really, you shouldn’t have been there, and, considering his first impulse was to kill you, he hadn’t intended to find you either. 

It was sheer dumb luck that you dodged his vibroblade. And nothing more than your loneliness-induced horniness that saved you after that. 

In what you knew even then was not an act of self-preservation but rather your own troublesome curiosity getting the best of you once more, you’d flirted shamelessly with him. Your effect was disarming; both the blade and his inhibitions were abandoned. The next thing you knew, he had you pinned against the wall, skirt hiked to your waist and a leg hooked around his hip, as he pounded into you.

Apparently, he was lonely too because your illicit rendezvous became a regular occurrence. Now, it was the highlight of your week. 

“I hate this stupid thing,” you grumbled as you struggled to free him. That godsforsaken codpiece was the literal bane of your existence. “It’s ridiculous.” 

“You want me to be able to breed you one day?” His words sent an electric shock through your system, exciting you in a whole new way. The implication was not lost on you. You nodded eagerly, eliciting a low rumbling laugh that reverberated in his cuirass. With your chest pressed against him, you felt it more than you heard it. “Then you’ll thank me for wearing it.” 

“Fine,” you conceded, “But right now, I really want your dick inside me, and this is getting in my way.”

He graciously helped you and you made to kneel in front of him, intent on tasting the pearl of precum already leaking from his head. He’d clearly missed you as much as you’d missed him. But a firm hand wrapped around your wrist and hauled you back up before your knees could even touch the ground.

“I told you we don’t have long. It’s not your mouth I want tonight,” he growled as he turned you around, bending you over the container and knocking your stance wider. 

“I can work with this,” you said, throwing a smirk over your shoulder. You hastily undid your own belt and he pushed your trousers down your thighs, baring only was necessary of yourself to him. It didn’t matter that he always fucked you in a dark alley. He still seemed intent on protecting your modesty. Or what little was left of it.

Although, if you were being honest, you didn’t think you needed to worry about anyone catching you. Any creature that walked down that alley would certainly meet the end of his blade or blaster. His mercy for you was exceptional.

But one day, you hoped it would just be the two of you. No threat of strangers finding you. No layers of clothing and armor barring you from each other. No clandestine meeting in a seedy passageway. Just you and him finally alone together. Granted, it was little more than a fleeting fantasy. Just because the two of you shared that indulgent illusion, whispering deep desires in the heat of the moment, didn’t mean a damn thing. Dreams didn’t come true in the Outer Rim.

Fortunately, you didn’t have long to dwell on the notion, as the blunt head of his cock pushed through your slick folds until he was fully sheathed inside of you, knocking the air out of your lungs and every last thought from your lust-riddled brain. 

“So wet for me and I hardly touched you,” he mocked. He landed a playful swat on the swell of your ass before squeezing it with a greedy hand. He was clearly in a mood that night and it lit fire in your belly, igniting flames that licked across your body. It burned even hotter as he slowly pulled out only to push deeper into your dripping cunt. He let you feel every inch of him drag against your walls as he stretched you out and filled you completely. It was the sweetest torture, reducing you to a whimpering mess.

But it wasn’t enough.

“You said we had to be quick,” you implored him as you ground back against him, begging him to move. 

One of his gloved hands ran up your body to wrap around your jaw, holding you in place and forcing you to look back at him. “I still want to have my fun with you, mesh’la,” he drawled. You could almost imagine the mischievous grin that surely pulled at his lips.

“Well, when you’re done, maybe you could actually fuck me,” you challenged.

He answered your provocation by driving into you and setting an unforgiving pace. His strength and size were impressive – even more so when he used it to fuck you senseless. He was a man that was rough around the edges. A hardened warrior. And he fucked you like it. You expected nothing less. You didn’t want anything less. Even after the initial attraction gave way to a deeper affection, he always had his way with you.

“Is that what you wanted?” he snarled.

“Harder!” you demanded in response. Your desperation burned you from the inside out, threatened to overwhelm you in the best possible way. You wanted to feel him in every step, every turn, every movement, long after you parted. It was your favorite reminder of what took place between the two of you. Of course, he obliged you.

“Fuck–” he panted, his breath crackling through the vocoder, “You take me so good. You were made for this cock.”

“I’m all yours,” you sobbed as you clenched around him. “Always wanna be yours.” 

He leaned over you, caging you in against the container as his heavy build pressed into you exquisitely. His palms covered the backs of your hands as he pinned you to the crate, trapping you beneath him so that you were entirely at his mercy. You gasped for breath, mouth agape as he pounded into you. At that new angle, he hit that soft spot deep inside of you that made you see stars even behind closed eyes. 

“You’re splitting me in two,” you whined deliriously. 

“You like it,” he grunted, punctuating each word with a thrust. 

“Yes! Please– Please, don’t stop!” 

“Not until you cum on my cock,” he promised. “Can you keep quiet for once?” 

You nodded even though you both knew if was pointless. Still, he held out a hand and you knew instantly what he wanted. You tore off his glove and his bare hand slipped down the front of your body. His fingers circled your swollen clit with fevered intent.

Your whole body went rigid beneath him, every muscle pulling taut, until the pressure building in you finally shattered and your orgasm tore through you like a blinding white light. Your wobbling legs practically gave out under you and you would’ve slumped to the ground if it wasn’t for his weight against you holding you in place.  

“It’s too much,” you babbled, pushing his hand away as a few stray tears ran down your face, “I can’t– It’s too much.”

“You’re doing so good for me,” he rasped darkly. His normally even voice had an unsteady edge to it. It was a reminder of the hot-blooded man under the cool armor. With the way you pulsated around his cock as he fucked you through the aftershocks of your release, you knew he was getting close. “Gonna reward you with my cum. You want it?” 

“Yes!” you mewled.

His throbbing length stilled inside you as he filled you, painting your pussy with hot ropes of cum. As you both recovered, he rested against you for one indulgent moment as if loath to leave you. And despite the fact that you could hardly draw in a breath with his weight pressing into you, you would’ve stayed like that for hours, luxuriating in the feel of him. His movements were almost gentle as his hands skimmed up and down your sides, feeling what you would give him. You wondered if he knew the answer to that was everything. 

When he finally pulled away and slipped out of you, you felt much too light and much too empty. He hiked your pants back up, leaving you only to secure the fastenings, before growling low in your ear. “Keep it in you.”

You hummed an affirmative response, unable to utter a single word in your euphoric state, as you listened to the clink of his belt as he adjusted himself behind you. You could picture him rearming himself without even needing to look. It was, after all, routine.

“I have some things for you,” you announced, gesturing lazily in the general direction of a few small containers full of rations near the shop door. When you could, you liked to put a little something aside for him to take back to his people. The shop owner had yet to notice, and you justified your skimming based on the fact that he overcharged every customer who walked through his doors. And severely underpaid his best employee. “It’s not much this time.”

“It’s always too much. I can’t accept this.”

“If you don’t take those rations, the Jawa’s will,” you reasoned. You finally righted yourself and moved to stand beside him. “Maker knows those greedy little scavengers get more than their fill around here.” 

“I don’t want you in trouble,” he murmured as he inspected your offering.

“I’m the one who always has to do the inventory, so one will ever know.” This was a familiar conversation, repeated almost every week. You stepped closer to him, trying to get him to look at you again. “Please let me help you.”

“In your dishonor, you are honorable, mesh’la.” You thought he might’ve meant to tease you, but there was something sincere in his words. And when he held out a hand to you and pulled you into his chest, only to touch his helmet to your forehead in that unique gesture of affection, you knew his appreciation was genuine. “You spoil me,” he whispered. It was only just loud enough for you to hear. 

“I care about you, Mandalorian,” you said, leaning into his embrace. You wrapped your arms around his middle as best you could, unbothered by his armor. That was him, after all.

“I’m going to take care of you one day.”

“How about we just take care of each other?”

“Always so stubborn,” he grumbled, but there was no menace to his words. A quiet moment passed between the two of you as you both savored the other person’s presence. When he did pull away, you swore you felt his reluctance. He gently cupped your chin as if to ensure you were paying attention to his next words. “I’ll see you next week, mesh’la.”

“Try not to be late.”

“You’d still wait for me, wouldn’t you?”

“Always,” you answered with a soft smile before tilting your head to place a kiss on the palm of his hand. He nodded once and took his leave. 

You remained stuck in your place as you watched the man you loved disappear into the darkness, knowing full-well that your desire for him could never be satisfied by a hurried late-night tryst. Only when his figure was gone from your sight did you finally start the long walk to your empty apartment.

… . …

You’d given up on your agitated pacing weeks ago. The incessant wringing of your hands had given way to idleness shortly after. And you’d all but stopped listening for the sound of heavy footfalls. Now, you just sat slumped against the shop door creating your own constellations with the stars hung in the sky above.

You still waited in that alley every week at the designated time, usually lingering for hours. You vowed freely to continue to do so. If you didn’t, you feared he’d never be able to find you. You certainly had no idea where to look for him. You didn’t even know his name. So, you did what you could; you waited. You waited and you tried not to count the days since you saw him last.

Fifty-six. 

And it’d been fifty-two days since the showdown between the Bounty Hunters’ Guild and the Mandalorians. You knew he would be counted among them – he didn’t strike you as one to shy away from a fight. He was someone who lived for the action. 

You’d heard the battle from your apartment. Blaster fire woke you in the dead of night, but like the countless other occasions a fight broke out in that city, you’d dismissed it as just another day on Nevarro. It wasn’t until you heard the gossip in the market the next morning that you’d learned what happened.

While the city had quickly repaired itself after the bout of violence, your heart wasn’t healing so easily. That night marked eight long weeks – two whole months – since you saw him last. You knew what that most likely meant.

He wasn’t coming back to you.

And yet, you waited. Your worry for him that last night when he was late was almost humorous to you now. Now, all you did was wait for him. Patience was a virtue you learned the hard way.

As the moon passed its zenith, you reluctantly pushed yourself to your feet, slung your pack over your shoulder, and started off. At least for that night, it was time to give up.

Of course, it was probably time to abandon that futile exercise completely. It only caused your heart to break all over again week after lonely week. That was a cold truth to accept. As you tried to blink back the tears pooling in your eyes, you lashed out, kicking a piece of debris littering the alley. The old binary motivator crashed into the warehouse wall with a bang.

“Mesh’la.”

You froze in place at the sound of the one word you wanted to hear most, certain that you were imagining the sound of his voice.

“What have I told you about keeping quiet?”

... . ...

Mando’a Translation

Mesh’la: beautiful

... . ...

Thank you for reading! 

Forever Tags: @leo-moon @readsalot73 @frietiemeloen @huliabitch @jerusomeeno @benedrylcumbersnatch @b0n-chann @scapricciatello @liadamerondjarin

#500 celebration ⚡️ #paz vizsla #paz vizla #paz vizsla x reader #paz vizla x reader #paz vizsla x you #paz vizla x you #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfic #fic: keep quiet

[dreamcatcherjiah]

Part 9

💞Tight Hearts (Idol!Hoseok x Reader)

Plot: The red string of fate was visible when our grandparents were children. They would play around, following the strings from one person to their soulmate and laugh happily when these two people inevitably found each other. It was a reason for happiness. But little by little, people stopped seeing the threads. In bad times, it was dangerous, it was a liability, so people stopped seeing them to protect each other from harm. When I was born, nobody saw them anymore, they just felt their soulmate. Anxiety, happiness, sorrow, love, the hearts of the soulmates are one, feel the same things, but it is almost impossible to find your soulmate, now that the threads cannot be seen.

Tight Hearts Masterlist

Part 9

A/n: Here is part 9!!! With this part, I’ve come to realise that guilt does play a nice part in the creative process, lool. It’s taken me centuries to get to a point where I felt like writing at all, I can hardly believe I managed to take this chapter into the four thousand word mark! I hope you guys like it. It is not so much where I wanted it to be, but I’m getting there!

Love you guys and I missed you a lot!🖤

As consciousness was claiming you back, your heart settled in your chest with a feeling of contentment and happiness you hadn’t felt before. Hoseok’s arm was flung over your waist and his hand was moving against your spine in soft caresses. You hadn’t moved from the position you fell asleep in and, waking up but still with your eyes closed, you could feel his soft breath against your eyelashes. Your heart jumped in your chest as his arms tightened against you, snuggling you closer to his chest. With a smile, you slung your own arm over Hoseok’s ribcage and settled your head in against his throat. It wasn’t long before sleep claimed you again. 

You heard Hoseok’s little yelp before you actually opened your eyes. He tensed for a second and tried prying his arm from under your neck. He was making small distressed noises trying not to wake you up but achieving totally the opposite; make you laugh. It started slow, as a small chuckle at the back of your throat that escalated into a full giggle when you opened your eyes and saw his startled expression. His eyes were open wide and his mouth was hanging open forming a heart-shaped half smile that began morphing into a full grin the longer you laughed. Instinctively, you tightened your arms around his torso and hid your face against his chest to try and calm yourself. 

“And here I thought you were going to flip and send me flying from the bed,” he laughed, draping himself back around you and settling back in the bed with you in his arms.

“I haven’t felt happier than I am feeling now, I don’t ever want to let you go,” you whispered, more relaxed than you remembered ever being, letting out a calming sigh as you looked up at his smiling face, “I do know this feeling is the bond messing with our pheromones but I just don’t want it to end.”

His smile grew the biggest you had ever seen it and he dropped a kiss to your forehead. Laying back down on the bed, the both of you spent the morning talking about your lives, how you had started feeling each other through the bond at such an early age. Hoseok told you many things about his grandmother, how she had been the one to break the news of the bond to him when he was not older than two. He could still remember, he told you with a wistful smile, how the old woman would cuddle him to her chest and create new stories for him, how she would, as he grew older, talk about her meeting with Hoseok’s grandfather through the Red String of Fate. 

“You must have been fascinated by those stories,” you whispered, while your hand absentmindedly drew patterns over his chest, with your head moving up and down as he drew breaths and exhaled, “I can just imagine a little Hobi smiling and listening to her telling him fairytales.”

He startled and turned his head so he could look at you. A small frown was present on his features and you wanted nothing more than touch it with your fingers and make it disappear.

“Well, not so much fairytales, since we know for a fact it is real, don’t you think?” That settled the mood into something more sombre than when you woke up. All the things, all the meetings and responsibilities waiting for you outside that room rushed to the forefront of both your minds and the blissfulness dulled to a warm sense of wellbeing around your heart. “I can’t believe how comfortable I feel with you, just like this. Do you think it has to do with us sleeping together?” He asked and you watched as his features morphed into mortification when he realised how the words that just left his lips may have sounded, “I only… I meant sleeping— as in, you know, just sleeping… no, hugging you in your sleep— wait, no, that sounds creepy… you know—.” 

You giggled against his chest just as you had done that same morning as you woke up. He was an adorable mess when he was flustered.

“I do know what you mean,” you responded, deciding to take him out of his misery, “in fact, that’s what I wanted to tell you last night, but my brain was too fried to form a coherent thought.”

“Is your brain okay now?” He asked, looking intently at your head, as if the answer would somehow just jump out of it and he wouldn’t have to look you in the eye.

Pushing against his chest to get into a more comfortable position, you rested your head in your hand and watched as he changed his position, half laying, half sitting against he headboard with an arm supporting his head. His other arm, as if neither of you noticed, was still resting on your shoulder blade, drawing small patterns. 

“My brain is much clearer now,” you smirked, “mind you, it still thinks you’re extremely hot and can’t stop thinking scenarios, but I can control it,” only seeing how red his ears got made you regret having spoken too freely. After all, you two were still strangers, you were a fan at that and that kind of comments were highly inappropriate in any sort of situation. “Too soon?” You asked, avoiding his eyes, which wasn’t too difficult to do as he was busy himself examining the pristine ceiling as if he would find a blemish there if he focused intently enough.

With a huff, he scoffed and tightened the hold of his arm around your shoulder. “No, it’s just— I think the bond is producing the same thoughts both ways…”

That sure was an effective way to shut you up. You left your head fall from where your hand was supporting it and felt how Hoseok’s heart hammered against his ribcage on your cheek as it lay on his chest. With the way he was behaving, you would have bet and lost on him not being as affected as you were by the bond. It was time you admitted that the bond went through both of you, it would be the fastest way to get used to it and stop feeling awkward every time something escaped your mind. 

“Hey,” he called, lifting your face from its hiding place and placing another sweet kiss on your forehead, “I can feel you getting ashamed and I’m not going to let you, okay?” His eyes were completely focused on yours, no trace of that semi-permanent blush that had been there since your first meeting, “We’re in this together, we’re both learning and it’s gonna take it’s sweet time, but just think about it. One day, we’ll be comfortable together, it will feel as if it’s the most natural thing to wake up in each other’s arms, even if it doesn’t now, okay?”

“It does feel like the most natural thing in the world…” you whispered, too shy to voice your thoughts aloud.

“What does?” Hoseok asked, making his lips turn into a small pout with his confusion. 

Battling your shame and feeling how your cheeks got hotter and hotter as the blood rushed around in your ears, you wondered what he would do if you lied, if you made something up, other than what you had actually said. His eyes were still wide open, looking straight at you, and maybe that was it, or maybe was the way his body fit perfectly with yours and how your always screaming rational side had chosen that specific moment to shut up and bask in the wellness your soulmate was radiating to you. It may have been a spur-of-the-moment thing, but you told him the absolute truth.

“Waking up in your arms,” you answered while looking him straight in the eyes. 

They got even wider as his brain registered the new bombshell you had decided to drop on him and then, they traveled all over your face as if they were looking for any sign of you lying. Obviously, he couldn’t find a lie anywhere, everything you’d said was the pure, even if a bit embarrassing, truth. Then his eyes dropped to your lips and the temperature in the room rose to an unbearable extreme. Your heart, somehow dormant after the relaxing morning, did a somersault in your chest and started beating at an alarming speed, pumping blood to every crevice of your body, alerting you of every movement of your soulmate’s body, the way his breathing had also increased and he seemed unable to let go of you, bringing you closer and closer to him as the seconds ticked away. If you hadn’t been paying attention to him, you may have missed the way his pupils dilated and almost covered all the deep brown surrounding them, the way his mouth slightly opened as if the wind had been knocked out of him and the only thing he could do was try to breath. Your bodies were melting into the mattress, a mess of taut muscles and electric shocks, intertwined and beating in unison. In the back of your head you could feel a warning, something telling you that you would regret whatever happened if you gave yourselves to the bond. You would later thank him for his kindness in dealing with your messy feelings in the moment, but when his words were uttered, a frustrated sigh left your lips.

“Y/N…” he exhaled, his breath ghosting over your cheeks and sending a shiver down your spine, “Y/N, take a deep breath. Close your eyes, focus on…” his voice cracked and he cleared his throat, “breathing.”

Listening to his voice, you followed his instructions and turned your head away from his face. The situation had nearly gotten out of hand and you should thank your lucky stars he at least had kept some of his mind working, because the mortification that would have come out of such situation could have lasted for longer than you cared to admit. Both his hands were going up and down your back and he was whispering to himself to get his act together. You focused on his voice. Only his voice and rested your head on his shoulder looking away from him. 

Little by little, sanity came back to you. As soon as Hoseok felt your uneasiness, his hold on you tightened and his hands stilled on your waist; he wouldn’t allow you to feel ashamed of what had happened. You could feel determination and affection coming out of him in waves and you decided right there and then that you would give back just as much.

“Let’s do something,” his voice, still affected, whispered into the shell of your ear, “we go at our own pace, okay? Let’s go with what it feels right for both of us.”

You smiled. Somehow he had voiced one of the hundred thoughts going around in your head: is this going too fast? He was right, you had to admit. What may be fast for the rest of the world, felt like a walk in the park for a pair of soulmates; the emotional connection was a given with the likes of you and, if the episode you experimented minutes before was anything to go by, the physical connection was there as well. The only thing missing was knowing him. Really knowing him. And he had gauged your reaction to him to perfection. 

“We don’t have to answer to anyone else,” he kept saying, getting more and more relaxed, “as long as you and I are okay, then that’s all I want.”

Not needing an answer, he hugged you to his chest once more and kissed the crown of your head. He untangled himself from the mess of sheets and walked into the bathroom. It looked like the small bubble you had been enjoying most of the morning was about to burst. You rolled until your head was resting on Hoseok’s pillow and, with his scent surrounding you and overwhelming all your senses, you felt how your brain began to go back to normal. Something had clicked into place that night while you slept next to him. Your head, the rational you, that had been screaming bloody murder the prior night, completely refusing to loose its independence, had somehow recognised Hoseok as something good and essential to you. Your mind was now completely blank, not even registering the fact that Hoseok had moved away from you, the furthest you’d been since you met last night, and neither of you had even flinched. 

You sat on the bed and stretched, your muscles relieving tension that had been building for years but that now was useless. Looking around, you saw your bag resting against a bookshelf next to the window and didn’t even think twice before getting up and going to get it. You were reaching down to lift it from the floor when the door to the bathroom opened and you pivoted only to see a still-wet Hoseok jumping on one foot as he tried to straighten his shirt with only one sock on.

“Oh! Are you okay?” You asked, worried he might have fallen in the shower and hurt himself or something, not even realising you would have felt or heard something if that was the case. 

“I just—” he groaned as his knee nocked against the corner of the bed as he hastily approached you, “I was completely fine until I felt you moving away and I just… moved,” he looked incredibly confused, with his shirt now on and both socks in place, his hands were on his hips as his eyes shot daggers at the bed, “I didn’t even realise I could stand away from you until I could only think to get back to you.”

You smiled. The sweetness of his puzzlement moved you to the core. He was so fast to reassure you and yet, he walked on eggshells whenever he thought he might be overstepping his boundaries with you. Again, you were going to make sure he felt just how much you appreciated everything he had done for you since you met. 

“Do you trust me?” You repeated your words from last night, making his head turn to you like lightning and his eyes analyse everything about you with a calculating focus that made you suddenly realise how intimidating it was to be the sole focus of Jhope’s attention. Carefully, he nodded but still his eyes didn’t stray away from you. 

Without even thinking, you travelled the length of the room in two strides and threw your arms around is waist, your ear right above his heart and your hands resting lightly on his back. The sudden wave of euphoria you were expecting didn’t come, just like a mere shudder of warm honey bathing your skin, the familiarity that was already Hoseok didn’t phase you a bit. He chuckled and drove his arms around you as well, his hand caressing your hair and settling there, basking in the feeling of being together. 

“It doesn’t feel invasive now, does it?” You asked, your bodies swaying side to side, “like you said before, our own time, Hoseok.”

“I love it when you say my name like that,” his voice sounded less affected than you’d ever heard it, you were wondering. He followed, “do you want to shower before breakfast? We’re supposed to be at BigHit in three hours, how do you feel about brunch?” If the mention of the impending meeting at his company phased you before, it didn’t even register as something negative in your mind now. He’d be with you.

“I think I’ll grab a shower before we leave, it’s a bit warm in here and I don’t want to shower twice if I sweat…” he nodded, tapping your head with his chin in the process, “and brunch sounds heavenly! I’m quite a bit hungry.”

As if on queue, both your stomachs growled at the same time, prompting the both of you into yet another round of giggles. If your future was going to be anything like this first morning, you were ready to laugh next to this man.

The kitchen was in pristine condition. If you didn’t know for a fact that seven men lived in the apartment you could have sworn that kitchen just came out of an IKEA catalogue. You sat on one of the chairs while Hoseok moved about between cupboards and counters. He was making salad and pulling huge containers out of the freezer. Cutting some kimchi and preparing some rice. If your calculations were right, that was too much food for only two people, but it was his house, his kitchen and his food, you weren’t about to contradict him. Maybe you could finish all that food, you were nearly starving after all. 

So focused you were on ogling how he moved about the kitchen, with his hair getting fluffier as it dried, that you didn’t notice the sound of feet approaching the kitchen or some chairs being occupied next to you. You were forced out of your daydreaming by someone cleaning their throat to your right.

Turning in your seat, you were startled to find Kim Namjoon sitting next to you, his elbow on the table and his chin resting on his hand, imitating your same position. Were you really looking at Hoseok looking like that? Mortifination, here I come, you thought.

“How are you feeling this fine morning, miss Y/N?” He asked. He didn’t seem to be joking, even if his words may look like it, his eyes were serious and he sat, patiently waiting for you to answer. Looking around the kitchen, you noticed that Seokjin and Yoongi had also entered the kitchen and were busy pretending not to be paying attention at your conversation with Namjoon while preparing coffee and some kind of omelet. Hoseok wasn’t even being subtle at it and just smiled at you encouragingly only to turn and scoop a good amount of rice into a pink bowl. With a slight tilt of your head, you greeted them, thinking that introductions were long overdue but not knowing how get them out of the way without looking awkward. You decided to hold onto the lifeline Namjoon had thrown you and, looking back to him and finding him in the same position, smiled and answered his question.

“I am great, thank you very much,” your shaky smile turned into a genuine smile just as his did, and his dimples showed up, “Hoseok has been wonderful and I feel rested for the first time in years.”

A windshield boast of laughter interrupted the quiet calm of the kitchen as Seokjin threw his arm around hoseok and ruffled his hair.

“Did you all hear that? She calls him Hoseok and he’s been wonderful!” His laughter was contagious and even Yoongi ended up laughing along with the three of you as he settled in the chair across from yours. Hoseok brought over all the food and placed some of it under a small umbrella, for the little ones when they wake up, he told you. The four of you did a faster job of the food than you could have imagined. Apparently after Hoseok and you retired for the night, the rest of them had had a few celebratory drinks and had woken up hangover and hungry.

“It’s always like this, Y/N,” was telling you Yoongi, becoming quickly comfortable with you as Hoseok found more and more in common between the two of you, “we wake up early after we drink, make huge amounts of food and then, when the other three finish polishing up the plates, they clean. A nice symbiosis we’ve got here,” he finished, chuckling along with you at the image of the other three members of BTS finishing off the huge dishes the other four had set aside for them. 

“Now, let’s talk business,” started Jin, after sharing a meaningful look with Namjoon, “what are we going to do with BigHit?”

Silence reigned in the kitchen then. You felt Hoseok tensing beside you and immediately relax. His feelings were a mess of nervousness, anticipation and apprehension, but on the outside he was calm and collected.

“Bang PD was okay with me having a soulmate, we’ll just go and talk to them, the PR team as well. But they should know things are changing. Y/N is here to stay,” he said as his hand got a hold of yours under the table. You had a feeling his brothers noticed but none of them did anything but nod at Hoseok’s words, as if taking it as fact.

“All of us will be there with you, of course,” was saying Namjoon, drinking his Americano with a metallic straw that reflected the light from the windows into your eyes. The whole thing looked just surreal to you, sitting in the kitchen table with Seokjin, Namjoon, Yoongi and your Soulmate Hoseok. How had your life turned into this? You wouldn’t know, “Y/N’s part of the family now. Someone will have to wake up Jimin, Tae and JK, but we’ll be ready to go when you guys are. I just need to know how many cars we’ll be needing to text Sejin.”

The other three seemed used to this complete 180 degree personality change, from the Namjoon who nearly stabbed his eye with the straw, to Kim Namjoon, RM, leader of BTS. You, on the other hand, were getting whiplash.

Sensing it, even before you did, Hoseok moved your hands from under the table and placed a light kiss on yours. His eyes connected with yours and as if he was speaking out loud for the whole house to hear, you heard his whisper: “This is normal, Y/N. I’m here, okay?”

You nodded. You just needed some time to get used to the new life thrown in front of you. You prided yourself in being a fast learner and quick to adapt to new situations. You would just have to floor it and get used to it faster. 

As if you needed something else to get used to, just as Hoseok was lowering your hands back to the table, another pair of feet were heard entering the kitchen, followed by a sleepy Jimin, rubbing his face. His eyes glossed over the kitchen, seemingly taking notice of the people there and realising there was one too many.  

“Hey Y/N, I’m very glad to see you looking alive again! I got very worried yesterday! I’m gonna like having you around! Please tell me there’s some mul-naengmyeon left!”

He examined the dishes as if nothing had happened wishfully ignorant to your wide eyes and the way your legs were hammering a whole into the marble floor. The older men were found in varying degrees of amusement at your nervousness, but all of them found it hilarious. It was Jin who, this time, took pity of you and smiling brightly, set a piece of kimchi in your spoonful of rice.

“That’s our Jiminnie for you, very excitable!”

Smiling, Hoseok pushed you up to your feet and reminded you to take that shower you were talking about earlier. He tidied up both your places on the table and, promising to come back quickly so you could leave for the company, he guided your shocked self back to his room. He stopped to check one on the rooms in the hallway, telling someone to get ready fast and to wake the maknae while they were still ahead of schedule, continuing later on his way. Once inside of his room, he produced a nice pair of jeans and a huge orange hoodie from one of the drawers and, putting them in your hands, gently guided you to the bathroom and smiled at you, closing the door behind you.

SOOO, WHAT DID YOU GUYS THINK? TOO FAST? TOO SLOW? SHOULD I RETIRE?🥴

Send me an ask if you want to be added to the tag list.

Love 💜🌙

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#hyunglinenetwork #bangtanarmynet #bts jung hoseok #jung hoseok #jung hoseok soulmate au #hoseok soulmate au #jhope x reader #jhope x you #jhope #bts jhope #bts soulmate au #jhope soulmate au #hobi x army #hobi x you #hobi x y/n #hobi x reader #jung hobi #bts hobi #hobi fanfic #hoseok angst #hoseok fluff #hoseok fanfic #bts namjoon #bts seokjin #bts yoongi #bts jimin #bts taehyung #bts jungkook #hoseok red string of fate #bts red string of fate

[honeyandhondewberries]

steam needs a sequel owo

wish granted 🧞 tbh i was sweating when i wrote this plz enjoy.

(You don’t need to read part 1 to read this one, but you like, can if you want. I’ll reiterate that this isn’t explicit (& still follows my Rules of no NSFW), but i’ll give it an unofficial T+ rating since the imagery is more vivid than some may be comfortable with. If you don’t like reading about non-explicit suggestive themes/or being the focus of some champion fantasies, don’t read past the line :) )

Part 1: Steam

~~

A Few Degrees Hotter (LeonxReader)

Why the bloody hell was it his job to tell you that you can’t run around with your rubbish athletic wear that was much too tight in all the right wrong places? Your clothes were too tight in the places that they shouldn’t be too tight for when you were at your job, and he was the bloody Champion, not the secretary at some Galarian prep school.

‘The image of Wyndon Stadium is reflected by your trainers, Leon,’ Oleana had said coldly. ‘It is your responsibility to deal with such matters.’

What was he supposed to do? Slap your ass wrist?

So here is Leon, storming across the pitch, fuming with each stomp at the fact that he is the one who has to tell you that you can’t dress so provocatively for your evening training. You knew what you were doing, he knew you knew, because ever since he stupidly confessed how attracted he was to you in the public showers, you had been eyeing him like he was your favorite type of candy and it had been too long since the last time you tasted sugar.

You’ve been unbearable this entire week. No, you haven’t spoken since Leon’s mortifying shower confession (Leon made sure of that), but it’s the way your gaze latches onto him, the way you unabashedly drink in every inch of him, the way you stare into his eyes like you haven’t eaten in days – it’s all he can think about at night.

Every night.

Every single night he fantasizes about he’s plagued by the memory of your eyes and your lips and your body. And, what he didn’t see in those showers, his imagination eagerly unfortunately fills in.

Every single night.

The tension in him has been building dangerously, unfortunately unresolved no matter how hard he trains, no matter how hard he clenches his fists, and no matter how vehemently he ignores you. Perhaps by the time he finishes stomping towards you, he’ll feel as tension-free as the steam in the showers that night.

You’re waiting for him, and even though you’re facing away (purposefully showcasing one of your greatest assets, and Leon knows you’re doing that on purpose), your head is tilted enough that he knows you know he’s coming. That’s when you stretch, when your shirt lifts a few inches, and frustration spikes in his jaw.

And a little lower than his jaw. 

And the tension within him grows.

“You know that is not uniform regulation,” Leon barks. You turn, sweetly batting your eyes at the fuming Champion before you.

“Pardon?” you ask. “What’s not?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Leon spits. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” you say, still gazing up at him with big, innocent eyes. Bullshit, and yet no one knows it but him.

“Cut it out,” he growls dangerously. He is not in the mood to play these games with you, although you have every intention to play and to win.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong with my outfit?” you ask.

Leon glances around to see a few other of your fellow trainers snickering, raising their eyebrows, and one even has the gall to wink.

“You all want to stay late tonight?” he barks at them. “Since I don’t think it’s in your contract that we pay you to stand around.”

The handful of chuckling trainers dissipate, and Leon realizes that your unfortunate shower run-in was not kept secret between the two of you.

“You can’t wear that,” Leon says again. “It’s too… you’re too… you can’t wear it.”

“Fine,” you say in return, and you start to peel off your shirt. Leon quickly lunges at you to catch your hands before you lift them any higher, and you offer him a smile. His fingers tremble against your hips, and memories of his fantasy from a few nights ago flashes in his mind.

Just the two of you.

Alone on the pitch.

He would peel your shirt off for you, press his thumbs into your hips.

Leon’s hands unconsciously squeeze a little tighter.

He’d straddle you, let his hair drape over your bare skin, let the strands tickle the most sensitive parts of you.

Even with the stadium lights glinting and the empty stadium watching, you would beg him to-

Leon yanks his hands off of you and jolts backwards.

You grin, he scowls, and quickly reaffirms that showering next to your stall that night was the best worst thing that’s happened to him recently.

“Wear something appropriate tomorrow,” he growls, unable to meet your eye. He quickly turns, hoping that you didn’t catch the blush that’s creeping into his cheeks. How do you have this effect on him? Why do you have this effect on him? You haven’t spoken in days, and yet a brief conversation with you has him reeling.

Despite your teasing, he ignores you for the rest of training, and it isn’t until he’s packing up his things that you approach him again.

“I’m off to shower, if you’d like to join me,” you say.

Your voice isn’t teasing, but rather low and meaningful. When Leon meets your gaze, something dangerous flares deep in his stomach. Everything in his mind is screaming not appropriate not appropriate not appropriate but everything else in him is craving you you you.

He waits for you to leave.

He waits for everyone to leave.

Then he gathers his things and lets his body move past the rationale of his mind in favor of you in the public Wyndon showers.

You.

Wet.

Dripping.

Panting.

His fantasies from each and every night this week are swirling in his mind, fogging his senses, beating his heart harder and his pulse faster with each step towards the showers.

He hates loves it.

He loves how you’re genuinely surprised when he comes in, how you’re wet, dripping, panting from the steam of your shower, how your towel is loosely wrapped around you. You motion to make some sly comment, only for your breath to catch when Leon pushes you against the lockers and his fist slams beside your head, rattling both the doors behind you and the air around you.

“I’m sick of your attitude,” he growls, low and gravely. “I’m sick of what you do to me.”

You take a moment to process, to pause, and your smile returns.

“What’re you going to do about it?” you risk, coy as ever. “Didn’t think the Champion was so timid.”

Leon’s fists clench beside your head and he leans in, just as you were hoping he might. His golden eyes are murky, his chest rising and falling with each breath. You’re sticking to the lockers behind you from the steam that’s wafting in the room. It’s like an adhesive in your lungs, thick and warm.

“Are you calling me a coward?”

“Not outright,” you hum.

You risk it. You reach out that inch, delicately press the tips of your fingers against Leon’s stomach. He’s firm, or perhaps he’s just tense, and your eyes flick back up just in time to see Leon clench his jaw. Your gaze trails down his jaw, to the line of his throat, the sharp crease of his collarbone, his chest, down his stomach, then even lower. It’s as if your gaze is a magnet, and each inch lower your eyes travel, an inch closer Leon leans. He’s pressing you against the lockers until he’s the only thing in your line of vision.

“And if I think you’re wrong?” Leon whispers in return. His voice rumbles through you, low and dangerous.

Your eyes flick to his, dark and lidded.

“Prove it.”

You had every intention to be in control of this situation, but the second those dangerous words slide from your lips, something in the air shifts.

Another clang reverberates through the room when Leon pushes his knee between yours, then up between your thighs, and you let out a squeak of surprise. He’s gripping your hands, slamming them beside your head, intertwining your fingers together. His body pressing against yours is the only thing keeping your towel up. You only have half a second to process those things, because Leon is suddenly pressing his lips against yours, hot and desperate, frustrated and hungry, all at the same time.

Your cockiness is overrun by shock at how Leon quickly takes control of the situation, and you wonder for a split second if he was guiding it the entire time. Your distraction takes precedent when he kisses you deeply, sliding his tongue across your lips, pushing it between them and into your mouth. You let out a ragged breath, a soft moan slips, and Leon pushes his hips against yours.

You gasp at the sudden pressure, and again when Leon snaps his hips against yours again. The lockers rattle and shake at the force, as do you.

“Shit, Leon,” you manage out, but his lips are slamming against yours. He doesn’t grind on you again, and instead focuses on your lips and your tongue. Either he’s done this before or he’s imagined doing this before at least a thousand times, because each kiss and each movement is tinged with a desperate heat you didn’t think possible.

He kisses you and he kisses you and he kisses you, deep and intense and much too hot. You’re trembling and quaking beneath him and the tension that’s coursing from him to you, barely relieved even though you’ve both wanted this for so long. There’s lips and teeth and tongue and heat again and again and again, and longer you kiss, the greater the tension grows. He’s pulling an embarrassing amount of moans and gasps from you, as if he knows exactly where to touch to make it happen.

“Does your offer still stand?” he whispers against your skin. You’re both already breathing hard from the mix of the heat of the room and the adrenaline between you.

“What offer,” you breathe in return, unable to process anything other than how Leon is desperately trying to kiss and nip and suck every inch of your skin. He leans up, and his breath is hot on your ear.

“I know that shower is your favorite,” he breathes. “But mine private one is fixed. You should come see for yourself. I guarantee you’ll like it more than this one.”

He nips your earlobe, your neck, your shoulder, and it takes you a few breaths before you can respond. His teeth leave indents in your skin like a hot and desperate branding iron, and he seems intent to litter you with as many as possible. You guide his hands under the hem of your towel and you lean your head against the lockers behind you when he takes the time to explore wherever he wants. His hands are rough, warm, and much too slow compared to what you were hoping. You try to quicken their pace and Leon’s chuckle slips out between his kisses.

“Eager, are we?” he barely whispers into your skin.

It’s your turn to blush, not something you were planning to do tonight.

“What made it obvious,” you mumble. “I was ready to strip on the pitch for you.”

“How about we do that in my private shower,” he suggests.

“I’ve already showered,” you say stupidly, and Leon kisses you again anyway.

“I haven’t,” he says against your lips. “You can help me get all the spots I can’t reach.”

You quickly nod, rush to grab your things, and Leon leads you by the hand to his personal shower. The spots you helped him reach – you had a feeling he could have gotten them himself, but you didn’t mind offering him a helping hand.

#alrighty im sweating #hrrrnnnnng #i hope no one i know irl reads this #if you do #we will not discuss this ever #yeesh #fic #fanfiction #reader-insert #readerxleon #leonxreader #pokemon #pokemon imagines #pokemon swsh #pokemon sword and shield #pokemon sword and shield imagines #pokemon swsh imagines #drabble #showering #tension #leon #dande #champion leon #gym trainer #wyndon stadium #honeyandhondewberries #part 2

[ve1vetyoongi]

Mic Drop | myg

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: smut, angst, fluff

au: rapper!yoongi, photographer!oc

summary: when underground rapper min yoongi uncovers the dirty secret behind his biggest rival, your brother and hip hop champion kim namjoon’s success, he is determined to take home this year’s mic drop contest trophy no matter who he hurts along the way. you’re behind the camera, content with capturing namjoon’s picture perfect persona from the sidelines but when his hard-faced enemy Gloss, makes you realise you could be more than just the point and shoot, you start to feel your loyalties shifting.

warnings: multiple smut scenes, dirty talk, dry humping, penetrative sex, fingering, oral sex (both m and f receiving), lots of orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, cum play, cum eating, but also tender fucking lol, very brief mention of death.

word count: 29k (rip)

rating: definitely explicit

playlist: visit my playlist page and select “mic drop.” (all links to be added later)

a/n: ahhh you don’t understand how happy i am to finally put this out into the world!!! i started writing this fic back in july and after a few rewrites (more on this at the end of the post if anyone sticks around until then) she’s finally finished eee <3 also!!! this fic is brought to you courtesy of the love yourself collab! this project has been super fun to be a part of n i wanna say thank you to everyone involved who made it such a welcoming experience! you can check out the masterlist here (link will be added later f u tumblr) to read all the other amazing fics from the incredibly talented authors in this project (literally so talented??? it’s sickening???) (im so excited to finally read them all now im done w this monster lol). all the love as always <3

Introducing Runch Randa!

The host is barely audible over the chants of your brother's name as the lights dim and the arena is sent into a haze of strobe lights.

The air is already heady with body heat and fragrant with sweat from the thousands of bodies smushed together in the pit and beyond that thousands more seated in the stands, phone lights twinkling in the darkened arena like stars. A girl in your peripheral clutches a sign with MARRY ME RUNCH RANDA scrawled in sharpie, torso clad in one of the cheap merch hoodies with your brother's face printed on the front, just like hundreds of others around her.

It's a full house. No one's surprised. The Mic Drop semi-final always creates a buzz of anticipation within the hip hop scene. But this year, with your brother Namjoon returning to compete for the trophy again, there isn't an empty seat in sight.

A buzz pulses through the crowd when the bass kicks in. It makes hearts beat faster, blood run hotter, a crescendo of screams crashing violently through room, the sheer volume enough to make the walls shake in time with the stamp of impatient feet.

It's infectious. Almost. If you hadn't been here a hundred times before, countless nights the same as this one that all started to blur into one somewhere along the line. Different crowds but the same energy, the same hum of anticipation that used to get your bones rattling, your skin hot with suspense. Now it's just routine. Now you feel nothing.

Besides, you're just here to do your job. The photographer. To take pictures, not to enjoy the show. Just like always.

Five seconds. You know Namjoon's set list like the back of your hand by now. Five seconds until he takes the stage and the crowd goes wild.

One, two, three, four...

Like clockwork, the stage lights up and there he is, face blown up in painful detail across every screen. Runch Randa. His stage name pulses through the room, a mantra, chanted until throats turn sore and mouths run dry.

Dark framed glasses cover his eyes but his stance is enough to tell you that he came here to win, his presence immediately filling the empty stage with an energy that makes it impossible to look anywhere else, even for a moment.

He is already damp with sweat, neck glistening beneath the white lights. Like routine you snap a few shots when he taunts the camera with a smirk, brushing a hand through his immaculately gelled hair teasingly, mouth turning up into a grin when the audience roars.

Runch Randa walks across the stage with the ease of someone who lives and breathes for moments like these. Grabs the microphone with two hands, shiny silver rings glinting on his fingers beneath the harsh strobe lights.

You can see his opponents in the front row, nothing but rookies, the intimidation etched into their features visible even from where you stand side stage as they swallow the bitter pill that they stand no chance against him.

Once upon a time you were the same as the wide eyed fans in the pit, filled with an admiration for your brother. He was everything you wanted to be; a whirlwind of fearless, brazen passion when he got up on stage. But things changed once Namjoon won Mic Drop, claiming the trophy at the tender age of seventeen. After that he started filling arenas. Then stadiums. And you were left behind in the ruins of his whirlwind, feeling the Namjoon you once knew slip further away as Runch Randa took center stage, viewing his perfect persona through the lens of your camera with the same sour resentment as the rookies.

Because when a familiar beat permeates the arena, you can't help but close your eyes and imagine the name the crowd screams is yours. That it's you out there instead of him. It's you pouring your heart into the lyrics that you find yourself whispering unconsciously in time with your brother.

Your lyrics.

The lyrics you wrote especially for this performance. The same lyrics that would be streamed by millions, top charts and win Namjoon another stupid trophy to add to his already elaborate collection.

The only reason Namjoon still kept you around was because he couldn't write them himself.

The track ends and the Mic Drop host crosses the stage with a grin. Namjoon's arm is thrust into the air triumphantly.

"And our first finalist is...Runch Randa!"

You snap a picture of your brother smiling victoriously.

"He's gonna win. I know it."

Namjoon's manager Jimin sidles up beside you, grin plastered to his face. It's nauseating.

"Does he ever lose?" You murmur

Runch Randa! Runch Randa! Runch Randa!

--

Mic Drop. The most highly anticipated event in the music industry for its ability to make hip hop artists stars; as well as its tendency to break them just as easily.

Fame. Money. Glory. Just a few of the reasons why rap rookies from across the globe are desperate to compete in the ruthless battle of blood, sweat and rap that is Mic Drop.

They all think they have what it takes. That they have that special something the judges are looking for. Unfortunately, most don't even make it past the auditions phase.

When your brother, Mic Drop legend Runch Randa, announced he would be ditching his celebrity status and stadium concerts to return to his underground roots and compete for the trophy again, it raised a series of questions

Why now? What did he have to prove?

Once the press got wind of the fact that your parent's, CEO'S of the most prestigious record label in the industry Big Hit Entertainment, had run into a spot of financial trouble, everyone assumed your brother's re-entry was a master plan to win the lavish cash prize afforded to competition winners. Sure, you couldn't deny that it was partly true --- Big Hit's stocks were plummeting and a lot was at stake.

Truthfully, though, you knew your brother well enough to see that Namjoon's motives were far more selfish; to put it simply, he was greedy. Fame was his drug. Once he got a taste he could never get enough.

Of course, a cheque signed and delivered by your father's hand shut any rumors down very quickly. Your parent's were good at silencing people if it meant protecting Namjoon's reputation.

Even you, their own daughter.

The name tag labelled OFFICIAL PHOTOGRAPHER was nothing but a cover up for the true reason you spent so much time at Big Hit -- writing each and every one of Namjoon's hit songs. A secret you were forced to keep as you watched your brother through a camera lens.

Which is how you find yourself as his strictly-invitation-only after party, an attempt at building momentum for the big final in just a few weeks time, with a camera in hand.

You're sat in the corner of the A-list club Jimin rented out for the event, swirling the deep red liquid in your glass with a bored disinterest as you watch your brother shake hands with company investors and big buck producers, most of which you'd never even heard of.

These things always seem to drag on, the clock ticking slower with each agonising second spent smiling courteously to uphold the supportive sister persona. Your feet are starting to hurt in your heels and all you want to do is hide away in the Big Hit studio and scribble down the lyrics floating aimlessly in your mind. That's the only good thing about these events -- they give you time to think, a rare relief in between your brother's busy schedules.

"Well, well. If it isn't my favorite lyricist."

A cheerful voice jolts you from your thoughts and when you blink up through the flashing lights you're met with a lazy grin belonging to Hoseok, one of the producers at Big Hit. He's an ex Mic Drop contestant himself, coming fourth and just missing out on the semi-finals three years ago. He never had the stomach for it anyway, he always says, but you never miss the rejection in his eyes.

Hoseok is also one of the only people who knows about your secret. He was hired to help you work on tracks for your brother once he made it big after all, and although he would never admit it you knew he probably had to sign a hefty NDA. Still, you were grateful to have him around — you couldn't deny you made something of a dream team together.

"Mind if I sit?" He gestures with his glass towards the empty space beside you, and you move your purse so he can squash in on the leather couch. "At least some of us are having fun, huh?" You follow his gaze to Namjoon on the dance floor, hands all over some vaguely recognizable celebrity's hips.

You grimace and swig back the remaining alcohol in your glass. "Too much fun, apparently."

Hoseok snorts, wringing his hands. "Y'know, we could get out of here if you're as bored as I am..." His words slur just slightly and you figure his confidence is a result of the amber liquor in his glass. The shy Hoseok  you know well returns quickly though as he averts his eyes when you raise a brow. "Not like that! I just thought maybe we could get a drink or something...if you want to?"

You shift awkwardly, having to shout over the booming club music for him to hear you. "I should really stay here. People might ask questions if the sister of the host just...disappears."

"Right!" Hoseok smiles sheepishly then slaps his own forehead. "Right. Forget I ever asked."

You shake your head fondly and turn back towards the dance floor just in time to see Namjoon whisper in the ear of the DJ, music cutting as he takes the mic and hops up onto the small stage to address the party.

Finally! A sign he was going to wrap up the evening for good!

He clears his throat and the huddle of mingling bodies below him fall into an expectant hush.

"Uh, so I'm not usually very good at these speech things --" He pauses and the crowd laughs. You tap your knee impatiently. "But I just wanted to say thank you. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for your support. So, the next round of drinks are on me! I haven't won — yet — but its never too early to start celebrating, right?"

Namjoon raises his flute of champagne and the party-goers cheer just as a flurry of confetti drops from the ceiling. The music starts again and you're too busy picking the brightly colored paper out of your hair disgruntledly to notice the way the room suddenly quietens and the guests part down the middle like prey from a predator.

"Y/N. Look." Hoseok elbows you sharply and flies forward in his seat, whisky sloshing over the edge of his glass. "Shit! Is that--"

Is that really him? What is he doing here? He's back!

You look up just in time to see the commotion as a figure in a black hoodie weaves effortlessly to the front of the room. You don't recognise him but something about his presence gives you chills.

Namjoon is too busy throwing back his drink to notice as the man climbs the stage, his skinny jeans and high tops sticking out like a sore thumb against the sea of dress shoes and cocktail dresses. He clearly wasn't invited.

By the time your brother senses the change in the air, it's too late.

You feel your face pale, choking when the figure finally turns and lets down his hood, revealing a head of blue hair and a venomous smirk.

"Gloss?"

Namjoon turns and his smile dissolves. He just stares stiffly at the person in front of him like he's seen a ghost. In a way you suppose he has -- the ghost of his past. After all, the last time anyone saw this face was five years ago at the Mic Drop final.

It is him! It's Gloss! Why is he back?

The night that changed all of your lives. When Namjoon claimed the Mic Drop trophy and Gloss, his opponent, lost everything.

It's been years since the last time you saw Gloss but you still recognize the distinctive confidence in his gait, the way his eyes flash with something dark as he looks your brother up and down with a breathy laugh.

Namjoon is frozen, breathing heavily.

Gloss' voice is husky when he finally speaks. It makes you shiver.

"Runch Randa. Long time no see, huh?"

A beat of unbearable silence.

"What are you doing here?"

Gloss's chuckle makes Namjoon snarl. You see the way his jaw tenses and his fists clench. He's too wound up; he'll snap if you don't do something and fast.

You get to your feet but Hoseok pulls you back down sternly by the elbow. "Don't." You protest but his grip is too tight so you just fidget helplessly instead.

Something settles in the atmosphere; a nervousness that makes you itch, makes your heart pump into overdrive as you watch them draw closer, eyes narrowed like boxers in a ring, waiting for the other to make a move. Hoseok covers his eyes.

"I wouldn't start celebrating just yet, Runch. The competition has only just begun."

The crowd gasps when your brother's clenched fist swings at his smug opponent. The rapper ducks but not quite in time and you can't remember which comes first — the crunch that crackles through the speakers when Namjoon's ring-clad knuckles collide with Gloss' face or the ear splitting thump of his mic dropping to the ground.

--

The party ends abruptly. Your head spins with confusion as you watch the guests leave in shock. Seeing Namjoon up on that stage opposite his biggest opponent again makes your stomach sick, like you were reliving the events of five years ago all over again.

Deep down you had always expected this moment to come. For Gloss to return looking for revenge or something. After all, Gloss didn't just loose Mic Drop to anyone -- he lost to Namjoon, his former best friend and music partner. Namjoon and Yoongi. They were supposed to win together. But for reasons still unknown, even to you, Yoongi was disqualified moments before the final commenced, plummeting your brother into the world of fame alone.

After that, Gloss all but disappeared, his pitiful downfall nothing but a hip hop legend to those who heard it. No record deals or sponsorships or stadium tours like your brother. A legend in his own right, but for all the wrong reasons. Mic Drop banned duos from competing thereafter.

Eventually you gather the courage to head into one of the back rooms where the rappers had been hauled by security guards in hi-vis jackets after their scuffle. You can hear Jimin babbling before you even reach the door.

"What were you thinking? Punching him? You better hope the press don't get ahold of this or else you're in big trouble—"

"Let me go!" Namjoon grunts to Jimin whose face is almost as red as his own. "I'm gonna end this once and for all."

"You'll do no such thing," Jimin tuts, pushing him firmly by the shoulder so he slumps into his seat with a roll of the eyes, other hand pressing his phone to his ear. "Do you even understand the amount of damage control I'm going to have to do to? — hold on, yes, this is Park Jimin speaking..."

The room smells of disinfectant and medical gauze and you spot Namjoon instantly, surrounded by an abundance of medics. His breathing is still ragged, the vein on his neck standing to prominence, knee bouncing as he impatiently waits for his ruby knuckles to be bandaged, too engaged to notice your arrival.

To your left you're surprised to find Yoongi. He's the epitome of composure despite the heavy tension in the air. He grabs a roll of bandage and begins to patch up his own fist, eyes lighting up with something you can't put your finger on when you slide into the room.

"Well, look who decided to turn up. If it isn't Namjoon's little sister. Long time no see, Y/N."

You freeze. It's been years since you heard him say your name. It makes you feel funny.

"Yoongi." You swallow. "What are you doing here?"

His shit eating grin makes your blood boil. "I take it you haven't heard yet, then."

You roll your eyes. You should be checking on Namjoon not humoring whatever stupid motives his opponent has. "Heard what, Yoongi?"

"I'm re-entering the competition, too."

You stagger backwards. Yoongi? Re-entering the competition? Mic Drop?

"But--you were disqualified--I don't understand?"

"I was disqualified. Disqualifications are only valid for five years, according to the rule book. Who knew?" He smirks when your eyes widen. "And I think you'll find that my sentence is up. I'm gonna win this time, once and for all."

"I don't think you know what you're doing, Yoongi—"

"There's more." He licks his lips. "I know your secret."

Your heart stops, mouth running dry. You throw a glance over your shoulder. Namjoon is still engaged, swatting away a medic's ice pack with a scowl, thankfully too busy to notice when you draw closer, voice a harsh whisper. "W-what secret?"

Yoongi lets out a dark chuckle, wincing just barely when he touches a damp cloth to the cut in his lip, a red splotch forming on the fabric. "You know exactly what secret I'm talking about, Y/N. Wouldn't it be ironic if someone slipped a tip off to the judges panel about Namjoon's ghost writer—"

"Shut the fuck up Min Yoongi or I'll break your nose for real this time!" Namjoon's voice bellows behind you, making you jolt. He charges at Yoongi, lip quivering like he might make his threat a reality. "Leave her out of this!"

Yoongi's nostrils flare. "Everyone knows she's a part of this, Namjoon, whether she likes it or not!"

All eyes look your way, as if expecting you to say something, but Yoongi's words fall cluelessly on you. You hadn't so much as thought about him in years. What did you have to do with this stupid ongoing feud with your brother that he refused to let go?

You glance between them, settling for sending a blank look at Yoongi and shuffling over to Namjoon instead. Your brother seems prideful at your show of allegiance. Yoongi scoffs.

"Namjoon?" Your mouth is dry with the shock of the situation and it comes out sounding funny, like you're wary of him. A gash above his eyebrow starts to dribble crimson. "Shit, you're hurt..."

"Get off me." Namjoon shakes his shoulder violently and you gingerly remove your hand, brows furrowed at his rejection. He directs his attention to Yoongi. "And you. You want a fight? It's on."

"Joon!—" He waves you off. It's pointless anyway. When he gets this rash there's no changing his mind.

"You want to end this thing once and for all? Then let's do this. You and me. At the final."

Yoongi raises a brow. "Deal. I'd shake your hand but you might try and knock me into next week again."

Namjoon doesn't laugh.

A hoard of security guards bust into the room and head straight for Yoongi. "Finally. What the fuck do I even pay these people for?"

"Get off me!"

You place a hand on Namjoon's shoulder and find that he's trembling. Rage? Nerves? Adrenaline? All three, probably, if the vacant blackness behind his eyes is anything to go by.

You're already trailing behind your brother when you hear Yoongi's voice carry down the hall. "I'll see you at the final! When I win. Secrets always find a way to come back and bite you in the ass, Runch. You should know that better than anyone!"

--

Namjoon begs you to come as his plus one to some scummy gig Gloss is rumored to be performing at tonight. To check out the competition, he says, but you recognise the way he nibbles his lip as he does.

Fear. He'll never admit it but Namjoon is scared he’s going to lose.

You agree to join him because you think it may put his mind at rest.

As Namjoon's manager, Jimin has all sorts of connections, mumbling thank you's into the head set sitting around his ears like a permanent accessory and scribbling down the address of some club down town.

The driver your parent's hired to escort Namjoon around as a paparazzi safety precaution drops the three of you a block away; the car's black tinted windows and shiny number plate would be out of place in such a scummy part of town. The plan would only work if you went unnoticed. Namjoon couldn't risk running into a Runch Randa fangirl tonight. It was technically against the Mic Drop rules to have any intel on your opponents, after all.

You don't like to tell Namjoon that his disguise won't do much for blending in. He dons a designer cap pulled down low over his face, long black coat drowning his figure and expensive leather boots crunching against broken glass and cigarette stumps as you near the club. It's too put together to seem natural, a dead give away that he doesn't belong here among the sea of ripped jeans and septum rings and tattoo sleeves around you. Even with a patterned bandana covering half of his face, the sculpted cheekbones and piercing eyes smudged effortlessly with black eyeliner poking over the top scream celebrity.

Luckily for you, the plain dress and knit cardigan hugging your body doesn't alert the suspicions of the bouncers cross armed at the entrance.

Namjoon wrinkles his nose and prods a half empty solo cup discarded outside with his toe, Jimin practically jittering with nerves and barely avoiding a stumbling drunk as you approach the men who stand at nearly double your size. Namjoon said it was best that you acted as spokesperson tonight — the only reason he even brought you along was because nobody would know your face and your position at Big Hit allowed you to pull some strings.

Your fingers shake as you produce a photography license from your bag, heart pounding as one of the menacing bouncers raises his eyebrow beneath the deep red hue emanating from a tacky neon sign posted above the door.

Luckily the breath you're holding is leaving you in a relieved thank you as he nods, moves to the side and gestures for your entourage to dip inside with the rest of the crowd. Namjoon charges ahead into the darkness and you follow him with an awkward smile to make up for his rude demeanour.

No turning back now...

Music hits like a deafening wave, blasting from the speakers at a volume that makes the walls shiver and your head throb. The club is alive with reckless anticipation, a sea of sweaty bodies gyrating on the dance floor in time with the pulsing beat. The energy swallows you whole, knuckles turning white as you cling to Jimin's sleeve, letting him elbow through the throng of indistinguishable faces that glitter beneath the tacky disco ball dangling haphazardly from the ceiling.

The crowd eventually spits you back out in a quieter corner of the club, Namjoon already making a beeline for the seedy bar. "There's a whiskey sour with my name on it and it's the only thing that'll get me through this shit." He murmurs as he crosses the room and occupies a bar stool beside a couple mid heavy make out session, pulling the hat closer around his face.

With a sigh, you turn back to Jimin who is eyeing up the strip pole and the exotic dancers nearby with wide eyes. "I still don't think this is a good idea."

The italian leather couch you slump into is suspiciously sticky beneath your bare thighs. "He needs to get the apprehension out of his system," you counter. "Once he sees that there's no competition he'll be able to take him down."

"I hope you're right." Jimin is wringing his hands, not knowing what to do with them now his headset is sat on the backseat of the car a block away. "I'd hate for this to knock his confidence."

"What?" You snort. "You think Gloss might actually beat him?"

Namjoon is the best rapper around, there's no debate. Nobody could beat him. Not even Gloss.

"No." His pursed lips say otherwise. You raise a brow. Jimin lowers his voice. "Maybe. Namjoon's rash. Gets ahead of himself. If he doesn't pull it together he'll play straight into Yoongi's hands..."

"Shows starting." Your open mouth snaps shut when the cushions dip beside you and Namjoon throws his arms over the back of the couch, swirling his half empty glass with an overconfident smirk.

Jimin averts his gaze. He knows he probably said too much. Sure, you're technically his colleague but you're also Namjoon's sister, the daughter of his boss. If Namjoon had overheard his position at Big Hit could have been called into question.

You would have to grill him more about Yoongi's motives later. Namjoon was right; the show really was starting.

Lights send the club into a dizzying purple haze, a new beat rumbling through the club that makes your skin prickle. It's almost drowned out by the electricity in the air, the frantic stamping of feet, the brazen chants of a single name over and over that fills you with a funny tingly feeling.

Gloss! Gloss! Gloss!

Something about it feels dirty.

The crowd is packed tightly together in the pit now. Even from where you sit, avoiding club goers eyes on the opposite side of the room, you find your attention glued to the stage. The set up is nothing like the one your brother occupies every night; just a wooden structure, painted black at one point but scuffed and scratched by the soles of shoes that boast the history of the place. The speakers are propped on broken crates, no big LED screens or back up dancers like your parents hire out for Namjoon.

Though none of that seems to matter when your gaze falls on the sole microphone stand placed centre stage beneath a blinding spotlight. It's the only familiar parallel between the two performers. It's a symbol of an artist, of the passion that comes with being up on that stage — any stage. It belongs to a performer.

You have to peer through a sea of frantic waving hands on your tiptoes to catch a glimpse of the combat boots taking the stage in time with the music rushing in your ears, mouth dry at the silver rings glinting under the harsh lights as fingers curl around the microphone.

"Yoongi." Namjoon grunts beside you, back stick straight and alert now. The traces of his previous smirk have been erased, a line appearing at the bridge of his nose. "There he is."

Yoongi throws his head back, breathes in the stuffy air that carries the shouts and whistles of the crowd like it's the sweetest oxygen money can buy.

The stench of beer burns your eyes but you're scared you'll miss a glimpse of his messy blue hair, or the eyes drunk on the fierce energy pulsing through the club to stop watching even if you tried.

When his voice permeates the room it's husky, burning through you like a shot of dry whisky. Namjoon stiffens, loosens the bandana around his face so he can see better.

Is that Runch Randa?

"Namjoon..." You hiss. "People are looking."

"Shut up." He grits, jaw tightening as Yoongi's lyrics cut through the tension like a serrated knife.

The way he moves across the stage like he owns it is exhilarating, makes the blood in your veins pump hot, limbs turning to lead as the crowd hangs off his every word.

He's good. Great, even. His lyrics give you goosebumps and you realise you haven't felt like this about a performance in a long time. Passionate. Yoongi is exhilarating to watch and it shakes you to the core.

It's then that it dawns on you. The reason Namjoon feels threatened is because there is a real chance that he might loose everything.

Gloss might take the trophy once and for all.

You only rip your eyes away from the stage when you feel Namjoon stand up beside you, his body disappearing into the crowd.

You get up too. "Leave him." You watch Jimin mouth. "He's just angry, he'll calm down—"

You don't care about Namjoon, not when the air is suddenly too thick, too heavy to breathe. Not when your hands sweat and you heave with a desire to run from reality and the suffocating smell of stale cigarette smoke that made your throat burn, like you can't get your body to breathe.

"Y/N? Where are you going?"

You swear you're floating, feet never seeming to quite touch the ground as you battle against the hazy dizziness that makes the room spin, ignoring Jimin's exasperated shouts of your name as you push through the gaps between bodies and pray your sense of direction is still intact enough to pull your outstretched arms towards the exit.

--

It's dark outside when you spill out of the exit, spluttering and heaving for air.

The brick is cool against your back when you slide down a nearby wall, hugging your knees.

A deep breath. In then out. Your chest loosens, lungs begin to feel full enough again.

Until a gravelly voice rings out into the night, clearer than the thump of unintelligible music from inside the club that makes your head pound.

"So it was you I saw back there. Good to know I'm not seeing things."

Even before you lift your face from between your knees you know who it belongs to. The single person you want to see least in the world at this very moment.

"Go away." You grumble but all that follows is a low chuckle as Yoongi slumps down next to you, ensuring to leave a safe distance between your crouched bodies.

It's funny. You had been preparing yourself to see him all night but now he's actually here in front of you, your mouth is dry.

He looks the same as he always did; dark eyes that burn hot as they scan your face, cocky smirk turning up the corners of his mouth. His brow looks wearier than you remember though, too weary for a man of twenty three. The only indication that time has passed since him and your brother were best friends.

"I assume Namjoon sent you here, then?"

The mention of your brother's name offers you the courage you need to look at him directly. His forehead still gleams with sweat in the dim moonlight, hair slicked back with a red bandana. There's a ring around his eye now, black and bruised. He must have taken off the black hoodie he donned on stage, left now in only a white vest which exposes his arms and to your dismay makes your blood run a little hotter.

"He's inside. I just came along because I had to." You mumble. "I'm not his spy, you know."

"Sure as shit seems like it." Yoongi spits with an amused chuckle, head lolling on his shoulders to face you. "He worried I might tell everyone about his little secret? Or was he trying to find his own leverage?"

A hot anger boils beneath your skin, rising all the way to your cheeks. Namjoon wouldn't do that would he? He didn't play that way. He didn't need to get an upper hand on Yoongi. He just wanted to see what he was up against.

"What's your problem, Yoongi?" The smirk on his mouth never falters, something glinting behind his eyes that tells you he wants to get a rise out of you. Even so, you can't help the way your voice raises, staggering to your feet. He chuckles darkly in response. "You get off on being an asshole or something?"

"You're too naive. What's so bad about telling the truth?" He closed the space between you until he's hovering above you, breath warm against your cheek. Your heart starts to race."What's so bad about taking back what is mine?"

Your breath hitches when his hand presses into the wall beside your head, effectively cornering you beneath his chest. "You could ruin his career."

Yoongi snorts. "What? Like he ruined mine?"

A few beats of silence. His eyes scan your face and it makes your stomach feel funny. You push at his chest, sucking in a shaky breath when he backs off a little and you realise part of you is weirdly disappointed that he did.

"Yoongi I don't know what happened between you and Namjoon—"

"No. You wouldn't know." He scorns, slinging his hands in his pockets, face darker now at the mention of his feud with your brother. "Because Namjoon loves secrets right? Namjoon likes to use people, Y/N. Just like he's using you now, to get to the top. And then he'll throw you away just like he did with me, sweetheart."

"Namjoon wouldn't do that." You bite your lip, the words leaving your tongue sounding a little less sure than you intend.

"Why? What makes you think you're any different?"

"He's my brother."

"I was his brother once too, remember?" He swallows, shaking his head in disbelief at your denial. "The only blood that matters to Namjoon is the blood shed to get him to the top."

You wrap your arms around your torso instinctively. Yoongi's words cut too deep. Maybe something inside of you thought Yoongi was right?

No. You came here to protect Namjoon yet here you were allowing his enemy to get inside your head.

"Fuck you, Min Yoongi." You spit, enjoying the way his eyes widen at the venom lacing your tone. "I made a mistake coming here."

Before you could brush past him and escape the heat  running through your blood stream which feels fuzzier than hatred should, a hand curls around your wrist.

"Shit. Looks like someone's on your trail."

A quick glance over your shoulder reveals none other than Jimin, face hidden by the visor of his black cap but recognisable none the less. He speaks a few words to the bouncer, probably asking if they saw you come out.

"Oh no."

The bouncer gestures in your direction. Jimin's eyes pause for a second as they skim across your form stood rigid with shock and your heart falls out of your ass when he starts in the direction of where you stand way too close to Yoongi unable to move a single muscle as you brace for discovery. To pay for your betrayal of your brother.

"You coming or what?" Yoongi snaps you back to reality with a tug on your arm, feet stumbling over each other as he drags you behind him further down the alley and around a nearly pitch black corner, too far away from the street lights to be basked in their orange glow.

"What the fuck, Yoongi?" You try to shrug out of his grasp, heart beating faster when you see the flat look on his face. "Let go of me!"

Yoongi comes to an abrupt halt. "Listen, I'm trying to save your ass here. You want to get caught? Go on then! Not my problem."

You nibble your lip, glancing one way at the dark alley and the other at Jimin pacing up and down the street with furrowed brows.

"Just trust me, Y/N."

Jimin's footsteps get closer and closer. It's now or never.

Tightening your jaw, you turn back to Yoongi and nod. The words feel foreign as they pass your lips. "I...trust you."

With that, Yoongi grabs your hand and breaks into a sprint

Turning the corner, the alley meets a dead end. The back of the club is just as run down as the front, littered with cracked beer bottles and cigarette stumps. The sign above the door labelled NO ENTRY doesn't offer any light and apparently Yoongi doesn't listen to directions because he fishes in his back pocket for a key, sliding the bolt and pushing on the bar to hold the door open with a small nod for you to go inside first.

With a deep breath, you do.

The door closes behind you with a jingle of chains, cutting off the slither of moonlight it provided and sending you into complete darkness. You hear Yoongi slide the bolt back across and then he fumbles for you in the darkness, your body pulled down next to his with a yelp so that you're out of direct view of the window which looks inside the room.

"I think they followed us." His voice is silk but there's an underlying insinuation. Be quiet.

Yoongi's eye level now, knees squeezed up against yours in the cramped space beneath the window ledge. Your eyes slowly adjust to the darkness, able to see the way he scans your face when he thinks you aren't looking. The way he grumbles and looks away when you catch him.

There's not time to dwell as you hear footsteps turn the corner, tracking all the way to the door where the bolt rattles, a sleeve wiping the window and pressing a cupped face to the glass.

"She's not here, man. You must have seen someone else."

It was Hoseok. You'd recognise his voice anywhere. Countless all nighters in the studio together does that to a person. Had Jimin called him all the way down here to look for you?

Jimin chimes in quickly. "I could have sworn it was her..."

The voices trail off as they retreat back down the alley, around to the front of the club.

A sigh escapes you, head falling against the wall in relief. When you open your eyes Yoongi is looking at you again. There's something pained in his expression, unspoken words visible in the way he bites his cheek to stop them from spilling out into the darkness.

His fingers are still wrapped around your arm, an electricity buzzing through your veins when you feel him lean in closer, pulling you towards him just barely.

His lips. Chapped and so close to yours. God. You think you want to kiss them. Just to know how it feels. You've never seen them up this close before. Not close enough to feel his hot breaths puffing against your forehead. Not close enough that if you just lifted your chin a little bit...

Yoongi lets out an embarrassed cough, jolting you out of your thoughts. "That was a close one, huh?" The spot where his hand resided feels cold when he rips it away.

Yoongi's face is wiped of any emotion again. He's not completely slick though as when he finally speaks again he sounds husky, the betrayal in his voice surprising even him.

"Are you okay?"

What were you supposed to say to that? I almost got caught with my brother's enemy and then thought about kissing said enemy. No, I don't think I am okay.

"Fine. Thanks."

Yoongi offers you a hand, getting to his feet and pulling you up after him before he leans across your body to flick on the lights.

The yellowish stream burns your eyes but allows you to take in the room around you. There's a keyboard in the corner, piles of sheet music strewn across the wooden desk beside it. A pair of speakers hooked up to a worn looking sound machine. A mic and a pair of headphones slung over the back of the mismatch wheely chair tucked beneath a desk.

A studio.

He must notice the way you look around with wide eyes, redness creeping up his neck as he busies himself by kicking some of the clutter on the floor behind the desk. "Wasn't expecting guests."

It definitely wasn't the high tech producing set up you were provided with back at Big Hit, no hifi system or fancy computer programmes. The furniture was mismatch, like someone had collected a bunch of spare puzzle pieces and shook them up in the box until they made a picture.

Somehow of the pieces still manage to seem somehow inherently Yoongi; the basketball tee with GLOSS on the back draped over his chair, even the empty water bottles overflowing in the trash can. The tiny framed picture of a younger looking Yoongi next to a woman you think you recognise but can't quite put your finger on.

"Genius lab?" You snort, nodding towards the sign hanging haphazardly above the monitor.

Yoongi shrugs. "What can I say? It's true."

"Confident." You muse.

You share a smile. It's strange. Familiar. The way his eyes crinkle and even the husk of the chuckle that follows reminding you of when things were good, back when you considered Yoongi to be a sort of friend. Before things got fucked up.

"You'll take it back when I win."

Old habits might not die hard but the rational part of your brain registers the implication of his words, even beneath his playful facade. The studio suddenly feels cold. Nostalgia dissipates. You remember why you're here.

"Why didn't you just let them find me?"

"You know as well as I do that Namjoon risks getting disqualified if Jimin causes a scene and gets himself caught snooping around here."

You huff an exasperated breath. For all Yoongi's talk of  having the upper hand he sure did seem reluctant to use it. "Isn't that what you want? What's stopping you? Want to drag it out or something?"

Yoongi lets out a breathy laugh, crossing the room and ducking into a drawer in the far corner. He returns with two glasses and a murky bottle of something strong, already a quarter empty as he pours some out. He offers the second glass towards you but you wave it away.

"Suit yourself." He takes a swig of the dark liquid, squeezes his eyes shut. "Because I want to win fair and square."

You shake your head. "All of this. Just for a stupid trophy?"

He eyes you over the rim of his glass, swirling the liquid with an overconfidence that makes you grit your teeth in annoyance. "So Namjoon knows how it feels to lose something he loves." He looks you up and down then, coughing and turning his head when you notice it. "Yeah. I guess it's for the trophy."

Yoongi is despicable, you think. Is he really so fame hungry that he will destroy anyone standing in his way to get it? Even Namjoon? Sure, your brother has his faults but if there is one thing you know it's that he loves being on that stage. What happened between them that makes Yoongi think he deserves it more?

"So its a revenge thing, then. And what if you lose, huh?" The way your voice raises makes you wince. Yoongi slams his glass down and flashes you an are you serious face.

"Y/N don't you see? I have nothing to lose. Namjoon already took everything. My life, my family, my fame. Everything. You know how it feels to have it all dangled in front of your face? And then get it ripped away like it was never yours to begin with?"

Yes. You'd never tell him that, of course. But you did know. You had to watch Namjoon perform your songs every night through a camera lens. Snapping shots of him in his element and wishing those picture perfect moments were yours. What did Yoongi know?

"I see him on the big screen, on stages I dreamed of. Crowds screaming his name. It was supposed to be me, Y/N. Meanwhile I'm sat here," Yoongi gestures to the shabby studio you find yourself in, liquid sloshing over the edge of his glass. "In clothes I printed myself, making music in a shitty club for free because nobody will even listen to my shit."

He's panting by the end of his spiel, knuckles pressed to his eyes as he tries to regain his composure before he lets too many of his weaknesses show. Something resonates inside you, softening the anger towards him with what you recognize as sympathy.

"Then why do you still do it? Make music?"

"Because it's the only thing that never left me alone."

You sigh. While you're collecting your thoughts something catches your eye — a Polaroid picture, tacked onto the plasterboard behind his computer. It's of a smiling Yoongi and much to your surprise, a smiling Namjoon, arms wrapped around each other like nothing could ever break them apart. You briefly wonder why he kept it, if he hated Namjoon so much.

You turn to him again.

"Don't make me regret saying this but you're good, Yoongi. Like really good. Your performance earlier it was...amazing. I mean that."

Yoongi's stern eyes soften with surprise. He almost seems pained, like the simple compliment means more to him than you expected.

"So, you don't have to do this. Big Hit has connections, I could get in touch with a couple record labels--"

He stiffens again. "What? Are you my manager now? As if any record label would take a chance on the biggest Mic Drop loser in history, Y/N, don't talk shit."

You trail off. It's true and you know it.

He swallows hard. "You know what I think? I think you're here because you know that I might actually win this thing. As much as Namjoon knows how to play dirty he doesn't have the talent. He never did! That's why he's using you to write his material." His laugh makes you shiver. "How can he even call himself an artist? It's pathetic."

That's all it takes for your patience to snap. Is the way your blood boils with a sudden and insatiable rage because of the way he bad mouthed your brother? Surely you didn't actually believe him? No, everything he said was a lie -- it had to be.

Your hand curls into a fist, anger spilling over as you charge at him full force. Yoongi barley flinches, his fingers deftly curling around your wrist before it can meet his jaw and pulling you into him at the waist so he can slot his bottom lip between yours.

"Fuck yo— hmf?"

Your eyes widen as you register his slightly chapped lips moving against your own, remnants of the amber liquid he poured down his throat earlier sour on your tongue, a surprised gasp leaving you when Yoongi flips your bodies and slams your back roughly against the wall, settling himself between your legs.

"Gonna finish what Namjoon started, sweetheart?" When he pulls back you're panting, eyes trained to his parted lips with wonder.

He kissed you. Yoongi kissed you. For real.

His warm breath still mingles with yours as you try to choke a response, anything. Yoongi's eyes have a dark glint to them and god you should hate him for winding you up like this but being this close to him just feels too good.

Then, before you can think better of it, you grab his collar with your free hand and smash your lips together in a tangle of teeth and tongue that makes your entire body burn with relief.

The groan he lets out against your mouth tells you he wants this too. "Fuck, couldn't help myself." He pants. "You're driving me crazy."

You feel a dampness throb between your legs when his hands tangle in your hair, lips never leaving yours as he pulls you across the room and drops into his chair.

A whimper is pulled from your lips when his palms cup the flesh of your ass beneath your dress, though it's not in protest, dizzy with desire when he pulls you into his lap and bucks his hips so that his half hard cock brushes against your clothed heat.

"See what you do to me?" He pulls back to smirk at your swollen lips, a much needed breath entering your lungs, filling you with another bout of restless desire as Yoongi's eyes scan your face hungrily. It feels too good even though it should be so wrong.

"W-we shouldn't." Your mouth is dry, words coming out a little unsure which gives away just how much you want to keep going. "What if--"

A particularly harsh thrust of his hips makes you moan softly, head falling into the crook of Yoongi's neck. He growls when he catches sight of the growing wet patch on the front of his jeans, testament of his effect on you as much as you hated to admit it.

"What if Namjoon finds out?" His hand shoots between your legs, pads of his fingers tracing your clothed core, the coarse lace of your panties adding a delicious layer of friction against your folds. The delicate touch sets your body alight, skin burning to let go and submit to the feeling despite the voice in the back of your mind screaming no!

"What if Namjoon finds out that I make you this wet?" Your panties are sticking to your heat by now so it would have been futile to deny it. He smiles smugly when your legs shake and you throw an arm around his neck to keep your balance.

"S-shut up." It's meek and it only makes him laugh darkly, the husky sound sending shivers down your spine as he leans in closer to nibble on the lobe of your ear.

If you didn't know any better you would think he was unaffected by this. Your chest heaves with desire and your hands itch with a yearning to touch him but Yoongi appears the epitome of composure, maintaining sinful eye contact as he pulls your panties to the side. The only give away is the way his cock twitches against your leg with each jerk of his hips, a funny sense of pride erupting in your chest knowing that he wants you too.

Open mouthed kisses drag down your jaw, lingering at your neck. His teeth nibble at the sensitive skin, tongue laving out to soothe the sting and it feels too good to worry about the bruises his sinful lips leave behind as a reminder of your weakness Namjoon could never know of.

"Look so pretty marked up, sweetheart." The pet name makes your clit throb, head throwing back as his mouth attacks the sensitive spot on your neck like he knew it was there all along. It's almost concerning how quickly he has you falling apart in his lap. How easily he turned you into a shuddering mess, barely able to form coherent sentences in between breathy gasps at the sensation of him making you his for all to see. "Show everyone that you're mine, hm?"

When Yoongi removes his hand from your core you slap a hand over your mouth to stop a whine of protest from escaping. Yoongi's eyes narrow, palming his bulge through his trousers as he watches you writhe in his lap with amusement, every twist of your hips falling short and providing no relief for your pulsing clit, already missing the feeling of his hand cupping your mound and considering how it would feel skin on skin—

Oh god. What am I doing?

You let out a groan, but not the good kind.

"What?" Yoongi seems to read your mind, snapping you back to reality when he pulls your panties to the side. He circles your entrance teasingly and you can't help the way you whimper. "Don't act like you don't want to sink down on my cock, Y/N. You could ride me right here and nobody would ever know."

"H-how can I trust you?" It would ruin Namjoon if he found out. He was already stressed, already growing distant from you. This had to stop before it went too far. Before there was no going back.

"Because I can make you feel like this." A lithe finger slides into your heat, easy because of how you drip over his hand. "Think about how much better my cock would stretch you out, hm?"

Each drag of his finger against your velvety walls has you squeezing your eyes shut. The sensation is overwhelming, and when he adds a second digit  you feel your repose crumble. Lust seems to crash over you like a wave, clouding your thought with a hazy desire to just give in and let Yoongi take you, uncaring about the repercussions now as you push down to meet his thrusts so he hits deeper than before.

"Fine." Your words are slurred, too busy chasing the feeling between your legs to see the way it makes Yoongi's eyes light up. "J-just hurry up and fuck me Yoongi."

"Well well," Yoongi settles back against the wall, looking between your bodies to watch the way his fingers disappear into your soaking cunt with an expression almost primal, his own breathing ragged now as he tries to resist turning you over and fucking you into tomorrow then and there. "Never thought I'd actually get to hear my name on your lips like this. Say it again."

A sharp flick of his wrist has you falling against his chest, pulsing around him. "Yoongi!"

"That's right," He licks his lips, free hand unzipping his jeans to relieve the pressure on his length. "Me. Yoongi." The way he mimicks your breathless tone makes a hot blush rise in your cheeks, aware of just how fucked out you must seem right now but too horny to care. "Been waiting for this. Ah shit!"

You take it upon yourself to hurry along the process by reaching into the waistband of his boxers to wrap a hand around the shaft of his cock. It pulses at your touch, the pace of Yoongi's fingers in your cunt stuttering as he flies forward, knuckles on the hand gripping your thigh turning white as he tries to regain some control while you stroke him firmly.

"Fuck your hands. Sinful. Knew they would be. God you're going to kill me if you keep this up, I swear." The worlds tumble from his mouth in one heaving breath as you twist your palm around his sticky head, enjoying the way his thighs twitch with a want to buck into your fist and his nose flares with the effort it takes to resist.

His cock feels girthy in your palm, hot and heavy as you help him shimmy his jeans around his thighs. When his cock slaps back against his stomach, impossibly hard and leaking with anticipation you feel your mouth water.

"Like what you see?" He almost taunts.

You bite your lip. "I don't think you're gonna fit."

It must have brushed his ego because the tip seemed to flush an even deeper shade of red. "Wanna sit on it and find out?"

A nod is all it takes for Yoongi to slide your panties to the side, slapping your hands away to grip the base of his cock and line it up with your entrance.

You both groan in unison when he pushes into your heat, the stretch burning with every inch, fingers clutching the fabric of his tank top at the sensation of finally being full.

"Fuuuck." You see his tongue snake out to wet his bottom lip when his hips finally join flush to yours, hair sticking to his already damp forehead as he allowed you to adjust. "So fucking tight for me, princess."

His cock throbs impossibly deep inside you when you unconsciously clench around it, feeling your face flush as you whimper for him to get on with it and fuck you already.

"Shh, patience." His thumb pulls at your bottom lip, setting it free with a pop. "Move."

At his command you do, bracing yourself on his shoulders. You raise up, feeling every ridge of his length until just the tip remains inside your heat. Then you are slamming back down and flushing at the groan which tumbles from his chest.

"Such a slut, taking my cock so well." His palms feel hot on your hips, dragging you up and down through the motion that has you panting.

Yoongi looks utterly amazed at the visual of you sinking down onto his length, unable to stop the satisfied grin settling into his features when you cry out after a particularly deep thrust. "Imagine if Namjoon could see you now. Falling apart on my cock?"

"Can we — hnng — not talk about my brother when you're in my fucking guts?"

"Why?" A whine leaves you when he slips out of your cunt, grabs you by the ass, and hoists you to your feet, roughly bending you over the desk until your cheek presses against the cold surface. Yoongi tugs your hands behind your back, cock already sinking back into your heat before you can protest at the emptiness. "Worried he'll think you're a slut for taking my cock when I'm the one whose going to fucking end him?"

"Yes!" You cry, unable to hold back now as you feel his cock hit deeper than before with every ram inside you that fills the room with the slapping sound of his pistoning hips, brushing your sweet spot each time and making the coil in your stomach tighten.

God, this is so wrong and you know it. You know it shouldn't feel so good when Yoongi's hands tangle in your hair, pulling you so that your back arches flush against his sweaty chest. Know how many people would be hurt if they knew how much you love it, how you push back into his thrusts, eager for more.

"Shit, you're squeezing so tight." His voice sounds strained now, thrusts turning sloppy as you feel him shudder. "Close, shit. Where can I—"

"Inside me. Want you to f-fill me."

"Holy sh— always wanted to hear you say that. Okay, fuck."

A few more pumps of his cock and he's spilling inside you, the feeling of his release coating your walls enough to have you falling over the edge unexpectedly too, vision turning black as you cum with a cry.

The only sound that fills the silence is your heavy breaths mingling with his as your arms give out. You're silently grateful, as much as you hated to admit it, for the strong arm around your torso that holds you to him when your legs turn to jelly.

Yoongi slips out of you, admiring the way his cum leaks down your trembling thighs. The emptiness makes you keen, clenching around nothing.

"Made such a mess of you, kitten."

The sound of his zipper makes your heart sink, stiffening as he tucks his spent cock back into his pants. For a second you think he's going to leave you like this, shame caressing your cheeks as you envision how fucked out you must look.

But then, Yoongi's palms are back on your thighs as he kicks the chair from under his desk and pushes you roughly onto the cushion. "Think you can go again for me, princess?"

"Wha--?" His swollen lips make you loose your words, the way his tongue tantalizingly caresses your bottom lip drawing a choked whine from your throat instead.

"Fuck, always thought you'd make such pretty noises." It's mumbled gruffly under his breath, like he's confirming it with himself rather than addressing you. He pulls back to stare at you spread out for him, lidded eyes widening at the visual of your skirt pooled around your waist, legs kept open by the rough grip around your thigh that exposes your swollen slit. The way your arousal drips down your inner thighs along with his own release has him swallowing thickly. "Like being filled with my cum, huh? Such a slut."

Yoongi traces his fingers up your inner thighs, thumb applying a gentle pressure to your clit, legs struggling to fall shut around his hand to escape the over stimulation. "P-please Yoongi, I can't."

"You will." It's growled against your neck, hot breath making you shudder. "I know you can take it."

A knee slips between your thighs, holding them open so his fingers can deftly continue their brutal attack on your sensitive folds. Each drag of his knuckle up your slit makes you whimper, the way the pads of his fingers rub firm circles into your clit making it pulse. The feeling is more intense than before, borderline agonizing as a warmth builds in the pit of your stomach again.

Eventually the pain starts to dissipate, turns into something closer to pleasure when you feel a single digit slip into your heat, the slide made easy by the fact that his cock had already stretched you out and his release lubed you up nicely. Each pump makes a lewd squelching noise that has you biting your lip to stop from groaning unabashedly, Yoongi's gaze fixed to the sight of his knuckles disappearing inside you.

When you buck up into his touch again, desperately circling your hips to try and grind your clit against the heel of his hand, Yoongi lets out a dark chuckle. The muscles in your cunt tighten, skin damp with sweat as you fuck yourself on his hand in search of a second high that burns ever closer.

"Look at you, all needy again from just one finger. All fucked out again even after I stretched you out."

With that Yoongi removes his hand from your heat all together, leaving you gasping and clenching around nothing as your release falls farther away, unable to resist the groan of frustration that passes your lips.

"Don't stop!" Your head lolls back against the chair, thighs trembling with desperation to feel his touch again. "I was so close--"

"Suck." Yoongi raises his fingers to your lips. You notice the way they gleam, sticky and white in the studio lighting. The pads of his fingers smear the wetness across your swollen lips as he pushes for entry which you gave to him eagerly, humming around the digits. "Be a good girl, hm?"

He all but groans when your eyes flutter open and lock with his, tongue swirling around his fingers teasingly, enjoying the taste of your own arousal mixed with the saltiness of his cum, almost in sensory overload at the thought of how much better his cock would feel in your throat.

"That's it." A knuckle drags down your cheek possessively, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "Good girl."

A sticky trail of spit follows Yoongi's fingers when they leave your mouth with a lewd pop, your breaths coming out shaky and desperate as you watch his eyes zone in on your aching core.

The sight of him dropping to his knees is enough to have you squeezing your eyes shut in anticipation, whimpering when his hot breath grazes over your throbbing clit. "Wanna taste you for myself."

And with that his tongue runs a rough stripe up your slit, eyes falling shut as he hums against your folds contentedly.

"Fuck Yoongi!" Your eyes roll back as he laps a few teasing licks across your bud, body turning to putty when his hands roughly pull you down the chair so that he can attach his mouth to your mound fully.

A guttural moan rises from his chest when you grind your core against his face, knuckles turning white as you clutch he chair like it's the only thing keeping you grounded, stopping you from floating away and losing yourself to the feeling of Yoongi's tongue teasing your already wrecked hole. An impatience rises in your stomach every time his nose grazes your clit, pushing your hips more forcefully to chase the relief it brings.

"So eager." You knew he'd have a smirk on his face if his lips weren't already occupied, wrapping around your clit and sucking with just the right amount of pressure to have your fingers tangling in the blue locks that spill loose from his bandanna now, holding him to your core so that you can rock against his tongue easier.

"Close sweetheart?" The way your chest heaves and little gasps spill past your lips as you chase your high must give away the effect he is having on you. You nod breathlessly and to your surprise Yoongi places a chaste kiss to your folds before pulling back all together, leaving you writhing and desperate for him to make cum for the second time. "Did I give you permission?"

Your heart beats furiously as your release slips away once again. Yoongi only stares at you intently. His lips glisten with a mixture of both of your releases and the thought alone makes your core ache. A loose shake of your head makes his eyes darken, licking some of the dampness from around his lips. "Gotta use your words, baby. Did I say you could cum?"

Dizzy with arousal, your words sound slurred and alien to your own ears. "N-no."

"Good. Now ask nicely."

"Please." It comes out whinier than you anticipate but Yoongi's hands twitch against the flesh of your thighs, giving away the fact that he likes it despite the way his mouth presses into a tight and unforgiving line. "Can I cum? Please?"

A deep laugh leaves his bitten lips. "I don't think you deserve it." His head dips back down between your legs, sloppy kisses pressed to each of your thighs as he edges ever closer to your dripping core. "I want you to count, okay?"

"O-oh, okay." He attacks your clit again, tongue swirling where his teeth graze across the pulsing bud. You're so sensitive that you're sure just the light brushes of his lips will send you over the edge if he keeps going.

"G-gonna cum if you--"

"Don't." The authority in his voice makes you gasp. "Didn't I say to count? One."

"Fuck!" Hot tears streak your cheeks when he pulls back so just his hot breath ghosts across your glistening folds. "I..I was so close!"

"Hey, hey." His hand reaches up to stroke your cheek, a strangely gentle action in comparison to the bruising grip on your thigh. "You're doing so good. Trust me, okay? Wanna make you feel good."

For the second time that night you nod, putting all your trust into him for reasons you are too fucked out to dwell on there and then.

When his tongue snakes out to tease your clenching hole again it draws an agonizing cry from you, the coil already tightening in your belly. You shut your eyes.

"Don't" The hand on your chin tightens, forces you to look down at where his face is buried between your legs, authority lacing his words again. "Keep your eyes on me."

As soon as you lock eyes he gets to work again, humming out a "good girl" before you're losing yourself again to his tongue and he has to plant your feet down roughly to stop your hips from bucking too much.

Before you know it your clit's throbbing again and you're about to fall over the edge but before you can even let Yoongi know he's pulling back with a pant, practically gasping for air but still flashing you a shit eating grin. "Didn't think I was going to let you, did you sweetheart?"

"Two." You manage to breathe. "Two!"

By now you're sick of the teasing, a hand coming between your own legs to finish yourself off, ready to come undone whether Yoongi likes it or not. Before you can get your way, Yoongi's swatting your hand away. "Desperate slut. Wanna cum that bad huh?"

"Please!" You practically whimper.

That seems to do it for him, his eyes glazing over with what you recognise as lust. As if the last of his self control just snapped. Anticipation makes your blood run hot.

"Then make it to three and we'll see if I'm feeling nice."

"Shit!" Yoongi's tongue plunges into your heat with a new found eagerness, thrusting in and out like a man deprived. You manage to maintain eye contact this time, falling apart at the way he groans in appreciation when he tastes himself, fucking your hole with his tongue mercilessly like he wants to get every last drop of his cum.

His thumb finds your clit and the coil in your lower belly tightens too rapidly for you to comprehend, tugging on his hair as you cry out. "Yoongi!"

"Cum for me."

His permission is all it takes to have you falling over the edge into a shattering orgasm that makes your vision turn black, mind wiped of any hesitation and guilt and replaced with a single word, over and over again: Yoongi.

When you finally take a gasping breath, he's there, rubbing encouraging circles into your hips and leaving kisses across your stomach that makes something in your chest warm, heart beating a little faster and not just from your orgasm.

"So fuckin' pretty when you cum." You're sure that's what he murmurs against your damp skin. "Can't believe I had to wait this long."

You furrow your brow. Yoongi sits back against his heels, wiping your arousal from his mouth with the back of his hand and flashing you a lazy but satisfied smile, looking awfully pleased with himself. Like this was his biggest dream come true.

It dawned on you that it probably was in someways -- what better way to get back at an old friend than by fucking his sister?

You suddenly feel like an idiot for letting him charm you, guilt washing through you, flying forward when your chest aches with regret.

Yoongi notices how you pale. "Are you okay? If that was too much then I'm really sorry--"

"Too much?" You suddenly feel exposed beneath his gaze, shuffling around to pull your skirt around your thighs, eyes roaming the room hurriedly for your panties so you can get out of here and quick. "This is all too much, Yoongi."

"What?" He puts a hand on your shoulder to stop you as you brush past him but the way you jolt at the touch makes him rip it away like he touched a live wire.

"I...shouldn't have come here. This was a mistake."

Namjoon's face was embedded in your mind. The way his eyes would crumple with betrayal if he found out you came here at all -- let alone let Yoongi take you so intimately. And you hadn't even tried to stop yourself from falling into him, gave in to your emotions too easily and allowed Yoongi to use you as a swipe at your own brother.

"Why? Didn't seem so upset when you were coming on my tongue." The scoff in Yoongi's voice makes you freeze.

"I can't stop you from hurting Namjoon," Your lip quivers and you have to press your nails into your palms to stop the tears spilling over. "But do you really have to hurt me, too?"

"Y/N, wait--"

Your hands shake as you grab your bag and head for the door. "Shit happened between you and my brother, I get it. But we were friends once, Yoongi. Doesn't that mean anything to you? We can't see each other again."

Your tears are warm in contrast to the cold evening air as you take off into a run, needing to get as far away from Yoongi and the evidence of your own betrayal as possible.

By the time you stumble back into the Big Hit company building, the studio is empty. To your surprise, words seem to flow out of you easier than they ever had before, a heart shaped stain appearing on the formerly empty page of your notebook.

--

Sleepless nights were becoming your norm. You had barely slept a wink since that night, not when every thought was plagued with guilt, the same name running circles around your mind, the same dark eyes and swollen lips and messy hair tauntingly appearing in your mind whenever your head hit the pillow.

Yoongi.

That night with Yoongi felt something like a dream, a hazy memory, the only evidence of it being real the fact that every time you closed your eyes you could feel the way Yoongi's hands burned your skin, how his lips moved perfectly in sync with your own.

As much as you knew it was a mistake, something that should have never happened, you couldn't help the way your heart throbbed every time you replayed it over and over in your mind, repeatedly, until you felt like you were going insane with guilt. It was eating you alive. But sometimes you would remember the way you felt when he was pressed up against you and every ounce of regret felt worth it.

You hated yourself for it, and you knew your brother would hate you to, if he ever found out.

He could never find out.

So, you take to avoiding Namjoon altogether. It wasn't that hard really, you knew his schedule well enough to be a step ahead of him at all times, and it wasn't as if he was enthusiastic about your company to begin with.

Of course sometimes your paths have to cross, but you still can't look Namjoon in the eyes when you slip into one of the Big Hit practice rooms where you know you'll inevitably find him.

The music hits before you even open the door. Namjoon is dressed in casual clothes, cap pulled down low over his face as he raps into a mic, the way his voice husks a tell tale sign that this was not the first time he'd gone over the same verse.

He seems stiffer than usual, all elbows and knees as he scrutinises his own form in the wall to floor mirror. You've seen him perform this choreography flawlessly hundreds of times so your brow furrows with confusion each time his feet miss a beat or his knees literally buckle under the pressure.

On the far side of the room sits a row of men and women in formal suits. Investors, brought in to bet on the contestant most likely to win. They watch Namjoon with intent eyes, some shaking their heads in disapproval, others whispering insults below their breaths.

Is that really Runch Randa? Pfft, he'll never win with footwork like that.

Jimin stands close by, hopping from one foot to the other and wincing with every mistake Namjoon makes. He's been making desperate phone calls for the last week, pleading with any investor he could get ahold of to take a chance on Namjoon which was hard to come by after the royal media fuck up the other day at the after party.

This was Namjoon's only chance at a do over — he needed their money if he wanted to win this thing. The judges were expecting a show from him. Smoke machines and good lighting are expensive, after all.

Namjoon, however, only seems interested in the reactions of your parents sat in the back row, expressions grave. He's chastising himself, self loathing evident in his eyes every time he stutters over a lyric. He knows how hard they worked to establish Big Hit and the disappointment in their eyes as it slowly slips through Namjoon's fingers like sand makes even you feel jittery with nerves.

For a brief moment you're grateful that you are practically invisible in this room, no eyes even glancing your way as you join them. You're glad that Namjoon takes the brunt of the pressure. You never were the strong sibling after all.

The music cuts, Namjoon coming to a stand still. He crumples at the knees, forehead pressed against the polished linoleum floor as he tries to catch his breath.

Jimin slumps into a chair, head in hands. That tells you all you need to know.

Investors leave the room, some sending apologetic looks towards Jimin with a shrug. Others deposit their cheque books back into their briefcases, taking pity on the pleading smiles and firm handshakes from your parents when they apologise for Namjoon's lacking performance. One even pats Namjoon on the back, following the small crowd as they leave the room. "Take a break, buddy."

Nearly everyone has filtered out before Namjoon gets to his feet shakily, slumping down into a seat beside you. You don't acknowledge him, afraid of what you might let slip if you do, fiddling with your camera as a distraction.

It's him who breaks the silence.

"How's the song coming along?" He seems disinterested, clicking his knuckles with no real intention of listening to your response.

"Fine." Another lie. It wasn't coming along at all, really, but now is probably not the best time to tell him when his nerves are already heightened by his failure to gain any crucial investments.

His eye is still slightly swollen from the fist fight a few days ago, a permanent line forming at the bridge of his nose that wasn't there before. You almost didn't recognise him. He stares at his own broken reflection in the steamed practice room mirrors vacantly, like he doesn't  even recognise himself.

A few moments of uncomfortable silence pass. Namjoon's heavy breathing slows to a regular pace.

"I know you went to see him."

It echos menacingly through the room and you stiffen, clutching the floor beneath you for support. Namjoon's hard eyes still don't look your way but you see him analysing your reaction in the mirror. The way your mouth gapes speechlessly tells him everything he needs to know.

"Not even gonna try and deny it?" His head shakes in disbelief.

You throb with guilt. "H-how did you find out?"

"I have people everywhere keeping an eye on him, Y/N. You're lucky the paparazzi didn't catch you, because it sure as shit looked shady. My own sister," He scoffs around the word, as if it tastes bad in his mouth. "Siding with him?"

You place a hand on his forearm, surprised to find him shaking beneath your touch. "I'm not siding with him, Namjoon."

"Then what are you doing?" He roars, ripping his arm away.

What was I doing? You don't even know yourself.

It takes everything inside you to keep the expression on your face neutral, to wipe away the regret and the sadness and the fear that makes your voice wobble.

"We just talked." You had to avert your gaze, scared that somehow your disingenuous eyes would give away what really happened with Yoongi — a little more than talking to say the least.

"About what?"

"The secret, okay? I wanted to protect you—"

"Protect me?" Namjoon pinched the bridge of his nose. "How is meddling in business that doesn't even concern you protecting me, Y/N?"

"Have you forgotten that what you're — we're — doing is against Mic Drop rules? That you could be disqualified or...worse! Get your trophy revoked?"

"Pfft. Yoongi won't say anything.."

"What makes you so sure?"

"It's me he wants to hurt. I know him, Y/N. He'd never forgive himself if you—" He eyes you carefully. "If anyone else got dragged into this. It's between me and him, that's it."

Your head is spinning. You remember a time when things weren't this way, back when Yoongi and Namjoon were friends. Partners. What happened between them that made them so hell bent on destroying one another?

"There are things about Yoongi that you will never understand, Y/N. Things he did that can never be forgiven."

It briefly crosses your mind that if Namjoon could cut Yoongi, his best friend, out of his life, just how easy it would be for him to do the same to you if he found out just how unforgivable your betrayal was. A funny feeling pools in your stomach, a distance settling between you and Namjoon as, to your dismay, you realise just how much you have in common with your brother's enemy.

"But what about you, huh? Why should he forgive you? You took everything from him! I'm not surprised he's back to kick your ass. If you ask me it's him who should be holding a grudge—"

Namjoon's hands clamp onto your shoulders and you recoil from the contact. You're breathing hard, the tears welling in your eyes threatening to spill over any second.

"Listen to me. He's trying to get in your head. You need to stay away from him Y/N. He's bad news."

"Tell me why! Help me understand!"

Namjoon's face is grave. "Some secrets are best kept that way. It'll only make it worse if I tell you."

Before you can protest he's striding across the room and hitting the play button on the boom box in the corner, music blasting from the speakers again.

"Joon—"

"Just stick to taking pictures and stop getting involved in business that doesn't concern you."

Then his body is twisting across the room in time to the music with an intensity he didn't possess before. Like a machine on autopilot.

You shove your camera into your bag and let the door slam shut behind you.

--

"We were a mistake."

The cursor flashing on the empty document on your computer screen feels like it's taunting you.

"Please don't tell my brother what we did."

You've been like this for the last week. Holed up in one of the tiny studios at the Big Hit company building, head swimming with beats and melodies and lyrics that just won't seem to fit together. Not when your mind is preoccupied with a more pressing issue.

"Are you thinking about me as much as I'm thinking about you?"

Yoongi.

God, how are you supposed to write this song for Namjoon when all you can think about is his enemy?

You don't know why you're still so hung up on Yoongi. It's not as if what happened between you meant anything. It was just a spur of the moment mistake. You were both tense and needed someone to help blow off some steam. That's it. Nothing more, nothing less.

Right?

You'll never admit that deep down, a part of you wants to see him again. To check that he's real and that you didn't imagine the whole thing. To see if he is going as crazy as you feel.

That's when the answer hits you. The only way to make this right is to end things once and for all. Tie up all your loose ends and tell Yoongi that you and him were a one time thing. Make sure you were on the same page.

Then maybe you'll be able to concentrate on helping Namjoon beat his ass.

A sudden confidence grips you, standing up abruptly from your desk, alerting the attention of Hoseok who up until now has been quietly engrossed in the track he's producing.

"Where are you going?" He asks.

There's an address burning at the forefront of your mind. You have the route committed to memory. How long it'll take to get there. How long it'll take to get back before anyone else at Big Hit notices your absence.

The only place you knew where you might find Yoongi.

"I won't be gone long. Cover for me if anyone sees I'm gone, 'kay?"

Hoseok eyes you curiously and pulls his headphones to sit around his neck. "O-okay but don't you think you should take an umbrella? It's raining and you might catch a cold — oh."

You don't hear him, the door already slamming behind you.

--

In hindsight, Hoseok was probably right. You're soaked before you even get half way to Yoongi's studio.

Not that you care. Not when there are so many things you want to say to Yoongi. So many questions only he knows the answer to.

Not when you're about to see him again and you're giddy and nervous and scared of the way your heart feels like it's about to bust out of your chest.

You don't really know why you're doing this. For Namjoon's sake? To ease your own guilty conscience? Both?

You shake your head before your confidence can deflate and focus on putting two feet in front of the other instead, trying to take your mind of your destination by focusing on your surroundings. You always liked this part of town, with it's bustling roads and street vendors and buskers. Here it's easy to forget, to just close your eyes and let the buzz of cars and the melody from a nearby street guitarist and the torrent of ice cold rain whisk you away, like life is operating at double the speed but you're too caught up in your own thoughts to care.

So caught up in your own thoughts that you don't spot the guy handing out flyers on the side of the street until your face is colliding with his shoulder.

"Shit, I'm so sorry!"

The guy lets out a groan as you helplessly watch his flyers flutter to the ground like autumn leaves, disintegrating on the rain dampened street.

"Does nobody look where they're going any more? My boss is going to kill me..."

The guy gets to his knees and starts grabbing as many flyers as he can by the handful.

"I'm so sorry, at least let me help?"

You hear him sigh deeply but he doesn't stop you when you drop down beside him.

You stamp on a flyer before it can be whisked away by the breeze. It's ruined. The rain makes the ink bleed into a black blotch in the center of the sodden paper, but if you squint you can just make out the barely legible print.

Live Classical Piano - 7:30 - 9:30 Every Wednesday At The Coffee House!

A throat clears, shaking you back to reality, and a nimble hand thrusts towards you, palm up, waiting for you to deposit the pile of flyers you collected.

"Just gonna stand there all day, sweetheart? Some of us have a job to do."

Shame heats your cheeks. "I wasn't looking where I was going, I'll pay for these —"

Its then, as you let your hood fall down, that the boy stiffens. You look up slowly, meeting a widened pair of piercing grey eyes for the first time. The very same eyes you haven't been able to get out of your head all week.

"Wait...Yoongi?"

It's him. He's here? A coincidence surely but it sure as shit doesn't feel like one.

Just seeing him knocks the breath out of your lungs.

Yoongi blinks a few times, eyes wide with disbelief. Then he's ripping the flyers from your slackened grip and grabbing you by the wrist, dragging you behind him to the side of the street where you're just out of view from passerby's.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" He deadpans.

You take in the way his mint hair clings damply to his forehead, shirt darker in places where droplets of rain soak into the fabric. He's wearing one of those traditional pianist outfits with the funny tuxedo jacket and a little black bow tie strung around his neck that looks like it came from a bad Beethoven Halloween costume. It catches you off guard. No wonder you didn't recognise him before. Not exactly hip hop.

"What are you doing here?"

Yoongi glances over his shoulder warily. "Look, you can't tell anyone you saw me here okay? Did Namjoon send you?"

"What? No--?"

"Just leave, Y/N. Before someone sees you here and tells your precious brother that you've been hanging around with scum like me." He spits, drops your arm and starts in the direction he came from.

"Yoongi, wait!" You blurt, throwing your hands up in frustration. He freezes."Can we...can we just talk?"

Yoongi nearly does a double take. He's usually full of jibes but this catches him off guard. "Talk?"

He backtracks, though you notice the way he keeps a safe distance between you. It feels silly considering how much...closer you were just a few days ago. You wonder, as his eyes look you up and down, if he's thinking about it too. If you crossed his mind as much as he crossed yours.

"Listen, I don't have time for this, I need to go get some more of these flyers..."

Your heart drops, embarrassed for even entertaining the idea that he would want to see you again.

"Please?"

He hesitates. You're sure he's going to blow you off again but then his eyes fill with something scarily close to concern. "Shit, you're shivering."

Your hair hangs in heavy tendrils around your face, droplets of cold rain caressing your cheeks. Your knees knock, arms wrapped around the damp hoodie clinging to your torso to retain some warmth.

Yoongi shrugs off his jacket, despite the way his own teeth chatter. "You're going to catch your death dressed like that."

You stand there dumbly as he holds it out to you. He kicks a stone with the toe of his sneaker awkwardly when you finally wrap it around your shoulders.

"I thought you didn't want to see me again." It's almost accusing but you're sure you hear a trace of a pout in his voice.

"I...I didn't want to." Yoongi looks up. "But I think we should talk about you know...us."

Yoongi bites his lip, like he's having an inner debate. Like he's about to do something he knows he shouldn't.

"Fine. Let's talk. I, uh, guess I have some things I need to say to you too." He scratches the back of his neck. "But not here. Could I—would it be weird if we got coffee or something?"

Definitely weird. That's what you should say. But you don't.

"Okay."

You don't miss the way Yoongi's cheeks turn a little red.

--

The coffee shop Yoongi takes you to is a quaint little place, definitely not the sort of establishment you expected rough-around-the-edges Min Yoongi to frequent with its exposed brick walls and mint green espresso mugs with smiley faces on the side that give it a somewhat cosy appeal.

"I work here," He explains when he sees your eyes roaming. "Needed some extra cash."

You nod. Makes sense. The smell of pumpkin bread and coffee beans is still a welcome relief from the bitter chill outside.

The guy at the counter nods in greeting when Yoongi approaches, already grinding up coffee like he knows his regular order. Yoongi flashes him a tight smile. You figure they know each other, not that Yoongi seems the type to mingle within barista social circles but then again he is full of surprises today.

They share a few hushed whispers, staring not so subtly in the direction of where you sit hunched in one of the corner booths, but you just ignore it by watching a rain drop crawl down the window with rapt attention.

Words barely pass between you and Yoongi until you're both seated, him with a coffee you learn he takes black and you with a much too sugary frappe which you take to stirring with your straw nervously, chin in palm.

It's Yoongi who finally breaks the silence.

"What are you thinking?" He looks at you expectantly over the rim of his mug. For some reason it makes you nervous.

Guilt niggles at your repose. The cafe is alive with indistinguishable chatter, a coffee machine whirring loudly nearby. In reality, you merely blend in to the hubbub. But as you watch Yoongi fiddle with the rings on his fingers in anticipation of your response it's like a hush has fallen and all eyes are on you. Judging, like they know how wrong it is for you to be here.

He's been the only thing on your mind all week but now you're here in front of him it's like your mind is blank.

"Did you tell anyone?"

Yoongi blinks. "Namjoon's secret? I said I wasn't going to say anything—"

"No. Our secret. Us..." It feels foreign, referring to Yoongi and yourself as a unit. You hate to admit it makes your heart beat a little faster. "Namjoon knows."

Yoongi's coffee cup clatters to the table and words rise like bile in your throat, everything you've been bottling up inside tumbling out before you can stop it.

"Namjoon knows! He found out about us somehow and now everything has gone to shit and...I shouldn't even be telling you this! God I'm an idiot! I just don't know what to do—"

Your wailing is interrupted suddenly by a warm hand covering your own. Yoongi's hand. The touch is gentle, comforting, something about the squeeze of reassurance it provides calming your hyperventilating. It feels right.

Why does it feel right?

Yoongi must misinterpret the puzzled look you flash him as a warning he's crossing a boundary because he retracts his arm jerkily, a flush creeping up his neck.

He glosses over the weird moment hastily.

"Slow down, go back. He knows?" There's a lilt of surprise to his voice. Either he's a really good actor or he is just as panicked as you by this news. "And you think I told him?"

"Well, not exactly. He knows some of it — not everything! — he thinks that I just spoke to you after the show...I assumed you would have filled in the blanks by now."

Yoongi laughs breathily. Relieved. It flummoxes you. Shouldn't he be satisfied that his plan to get under Namjoon's skin was a success?

"Y/N, there were hundreds of people at the gig, anyone could have seen us. Jimin and Hoseok probably told him. You act like I tried to seduce you just to get revenge, or something." He gulps back the last of his coffee and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before his expression suddenly turns serious. "You don't think that right?"

"Isn't that exactly what you did?"

Say no.

Yoongi opens his mouth and then shuts it again. He doesn't deny it.

Something in your chest twists with disappointment. It scares you shitless and you know you have to end this — whatever this is — before there's no turning back.

"Look, it — we — were a stupid mistake okay? I need to know that you're not going to use this against him. It would kill him."

"Mistake?" Yoongi's face drops. "Didn't I say you could trust me?"

It sounds somewhat pained, like he wasn't expecting you to think so lowly of him. His eyes soften with a certain gentleness now and you almost feel bad for thinking they could ever look at you with sinister intentions.

"Do you regret it? What we did?"

You hesitate. You want to say no so badly. But that's not why you came here.

Pull yourself together!

"Yes."

He raises an eyebrow. "You really believe that?"

"Do you regret it?"

"No." His eyes glint. You can't breathe. "Which is exactly why I'll never say a word. I don't play that way. Fair and square remember?"

You're speechless. All you can get out is a measly oh as you stare at the coffee in your cup and process.

"What did Namjoon say anyway?"

Your fingers find the patterns carved into the surface of the wooden table top, feeling the grooves as a distraction from the embarrassment flushing your cheeks. "He told me not to come back and find you."

A wry smile creeps across his face. "But you did?"

Even Yoongi is accusing you now? God, you played right into his hands. He's probably enjoying this. That you broke Namjoon's trust again, all for him.

The worst part is that you can hardly bring yourself to care. Sitting with Yoongi still feels deliciously indulgent — seeing his face again, feeling the heat of his body where your knees brush under the table finally satisfying a craving that had been growing inside you since that night in his studio.

"He doesn't control me."

He just nods. "I get that." His fingers tap in time with the sickeningly happy radio tune that plays overhead, eager to change the subject, like he's aware that he already said too much. "How is Namjoon anyway? You written him a song yet?"

Not allowed. If any information gets leaked about Namjoon's Mic Drop stage the first person he'd blame was you. You had to keep your lips tightly sealed.

You shrink back into your seat. "You know I can't tell you that."

"Okay, then." Yoongi throws his arms over the back of his chair, a cheekiness in his voice, like he's testing the waters to see how you'll react. "Ask me something instead. I'll tell you whatever you want to know. Shoot."

That's allowed, right? Where's the harm. If it doesn't involve Namjoon then it can't hurt him...

"Okay..." You purse your lips, eyes travelling around the dimly lit coffee shop. "Why do you work...here?"

Yoongi nods to the stack of damp flyers beside him. Live classical piano. "I play piano here sometimes." He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. It's kinda cute. "Needed some spare cash and this was the only place that could take me at such short notice."

"You play piano?"

He nods and you follow his gaze to the grand piano stood unoccupied in the corner. You imagine how Yoongi would look bent over the keys. How his fingers would move across the instrument with concentrated precision. How the tune would mingle with the warmth of the coffee shop on a cold evening.

"I didn't know you like classical music?"

"I don't. Not really." He cocks his head, finding the right words. "Namjoon has investors right? People who just throw money at him?" You nod, somehow ashamed. "Teaching me to play piano was my mom's investment in me. She always said it might come in handy some day."

You nod. "And do you have to wear that stupid costume every time?"

"This?" A snort leaves you when he shoots you a look, a shy smile finding the curve of his lips. "Don't mean to brag but it's a huge hit with the older ladies."

You can't help but laugh when he smugly tugs at the bow tie around his neck, unable to miss how his eyes light up. You share a smile that makes you feel light headed.

"I'd have to see it to believe it."

"Well, you know where to find me if you're ever bored and need a good laugh on a Tuesday, Wednesday or Friday evening." He shifts in his seat. "Or you could just come back to my place, y'know if you wanted to —" You frown, the easiness that had settled between you dissipating as you both sense the inappropriateness of his suggestion. "I know I shouldn't ask, it's just I have a piano and—"

For some reason the rational part of your brain taps out and your heart says fuck it.

"I'd love to."

--

"So, where do you live?" You ask when you finish your drink and nervously copy Yoongi who is already getting to his feet.

"Oh about that...I live in the apartment upstairs actually." He chuckles sheepishly."Cheap rent, you know?"

It takes you by surprise but you don't press.

"Oh. Right."

Yoongi extends a hand towards you. The thud in your chest gets faster when you slide your palm into his and he pulls you behind him to the foot the stairway you had disregarded upon entry, the distressed baby blue door at the top labelled RESIDENTS ONLY seeming strangely inviting.

Yoongi gestures for you to go first and you've barely ascended three steps before a voice rings out behind you, making you freeze like a child caught in a mischievous act.

"Use protection you two! And close the door so that Odengie's innocence isn't compromised this time!"

The barista from before rounds the corner, a tray of empty mugs in his left hand and a cloth for wiping down tables in the other.

You suppress a laugh. "Odengie?"

"His goddamn sugar glider—" He says it more to himself rather than in response to your query, flashing the tousled haired boy an exasperated look. "Really, bro?"

The other man either doesn't notice or doesn't care. "What? He's too young to learn how baby sugar gliders are made." His eyes suddenly flit to you and, as if remembering his manners, he deposits the cloth onto a nearby table and reaches a damp hand through the staircase to shake yours with a friendly smile. "I'm Jin, by the way."

You take it cautiously, wiping your now wet hand on the back of your jeans. "Nice to meet you?"

"Come on," Yoongi is flushed red as he pushes you up the rest of the stairs with a pressure at the small of your back. "We'll be back down in a minute, chill okay?"

Yoongi shoulders his way into the apartment, pulling you across the threshold alongside him, but not before you catch a glimpse of Jin's teasing grin poking around the staircase, words reaching your ears before Yoongi could slam the door shut in time.

"Oh, so it's a quickie? Have fun!"

A laugh escapes your lips, Yoongi pressing his back to the door with a sigh of relief. "Sorry about him. He's my roommate. Kind of came with the apartment, you know?"

You glance around at the small maisonette that unfolds before you curiously. It feels more like a dorm room, a mismatch pile of shoes piled at the entry way, a pair of beanbags substituting a couch surrounding a small gaming set up littered with empty pizza boxes you presume belong to Seokjin.

"Ah. He's part of the furniture then."

The other corner of the room is littered with an assortment of vinyls strewn out beside a pair of speakers and a record player, the needle still hovering over the grooves of an album by an artist you don't recognise. Yoongi's touch to the decor, you suppose.

"Guess you could say that. He's not so bad once you get over the uh...small rodents."

You trail behind Yoongi into what you assume is his bedroom, if the frameless mattress which lay on the floor in the corner beneath the window with sheets unmade and strewn across the floor messily was anything to go by.

He flicks on the set of fairy lights tacked to the wall, a surprisingly homely touch that makes you think Yoongi isn't as cold as you believe him to be.

Yoongi approaches a clothes rack stuffed with a variety of stage outfits. "Here." He pulls an oversized hoodie from one of the hangers, throwing it at you from across the room. "You're clothes are still wet. Wouldn't want to catch a cold. You can wear this until they dry."

"O-Okay." You stand there dumbly. He isn't expecting you to strip right in front of him, is he?

He seems to sense your hesitance, turning around so his back is to you with wide eyes. He plays it off by grabbing a selection of clothing for himself, shuffling past you with eyes trained to the ground. "I'll use the bathroom. Tell me when you're done."

You are soaked through to your underwear but you leave them on since Yoongi probably didn't have a spare pair of panties laying around you could borrow. The fabric of his hoodie is soft and warm when it slips over your otherwise bare skin and you breath in the woody scent that seems to embrace your entire body, ignoring the way it makes your head dizzy, and roll up the large sleeves to free your hands before calling to him that you are done.

When he re-enters the room, pulling a grey beanie over his head haphazardly to match the much more Yoongi appropriate outfit of a simple white tee and sweats, his breath hitches at your bare legs peeking out from the bottom of the garment. His lingering stare makes you hug your torso self consciously, eyes never leaving you even as he grabs the pile of sodden clothing you discarded earlier and lays them neatly over the radiator to dry.

You practically hear the way he swallows awkwardly when his eyes lock with yours, caught in the act. He's quick to lighten the mood.

"Well...here she is."

You turn as he moves across the room to the piano occupying the opposite wall, wood stained dark but bleached slightly in places by the stream of sunlight which washes its surface from the opposite window. The stool beneath it scrapes against the scuffed floor boards when Yoongi makes enough space to seat himself on top of the blue velour cushion.

"I know it's not much — nothing like you're used to I mean, but it makes music just the same."

He must take the way you hang back near the door frame as a sign of your distaste which couldn't have been further from reality; it's simply to allow you to study the way Yoongi sits with his back perfectly straight, fingers lingering over the keys like he knows the piano as well as an old friend. And, though you'll never admit it, the way your heart thumps at the thought of being in Yoongi's most private space.

"Where did you get it?"

"It was my mother's." The breath you suck in is slightly too harsh. "Like I said earlier, she liked to play, before she..."

Died. The word never passes between his lips but it sits heavy in the air like a weight.

Yoongi's eyes avert yours so you don't press any further, instead focusing your attention to the pattern of scratches embedded into the piano's lid, unable to help the way your fingers trace the coffee cup rings littering the surface like rugged halos. "It's beautiful."

The side panel is littered with lines, carved deeply into the wood with a penknife; a makeshift height chart like the one you had on the back of your bedroom door as a kid. Your drop to your knees to squint at the nearly illegible words scrawled next to the markings that ascend almsot to the top of the instrument.

Yoongi aged 3...Yoongi aged 4...Yoongi aged 5...

All the way until Yoongi aged 7 where they stop completely.

You frown but he lets out a soft laugh, somewhat pained. "That's when she got sick. I grew up quickly after that."

Straightening up, you swallow thickly, unsure what to say, so you just settle for changing the subject instead.

"So, what can you play?"

Yoongi fiddles with the open sheet music book on the piano stand. His fingers tremble slightly as he turns the worn pages before finally settling on a sheet that is lightly crumpled and ripped around the edges and coffee stained and ferociously dog eared at the corners. Tell tale signs that he had played this piece before, over and over again.

His favourite, you perceive.

Sure, he had literally fucked you into next week already but your hands get clammy at the knowledge that Yoongi feels comfortable enough to share such an intimate tidbit about himself with you. Music means a lot to him after all. Anyone can see that.

You catch a glimpse of the piece over his shoulder.

Romeo and Juliet - Love Theme.

Yoongi notices how you raise a brow at his choice.

"I know I said I don't like classical music but this arrangement is different. You know the story right?"

High school had given you enough general knowledge about Romeo and Juliet for you to nod in confirmation.

"It's like you can feel the passion they have for each other in every note, you know? Like nothing could ever come between them."

His words are so earnest they make your heart ache. You hadn't put him down as the hopeless romantic type.

"I mean not really. They still die in the end." You counter. He frowns.

"But only because of their fucked up families. It's their feud that comes between them in the end. This piece comes before all the shitty parts. If you play it over and over again it's like they never stop loving one another."

His hands fold in his lap and he sucks in a bashful breath, nose scrunching with embarrassment at his dramatic outburst. "It's stupid. I know. Forget I said it."

"No, no I understand completely. Maybe if they weren't so busy fighting they could have listened to their hearts. Right?"

"Right." He scoots across the piano stool, patting the empty space beside him with an encouraging look. "Sit."

Like a magnet you find yourself drawn to his side, shivering when his shoulder brushes yours. His arms hover over the piano, poised and relaxed, concentration etched into the hard lines of his face.

"Ready?"

You can only nod. And then he starts to play.

Yoongi's fingertips eagerly caress the keys of his piano, eyes lifting from the sheet music to gauge your reaction while his hands carry the melody on autopilot, the pretty silver rings he dons glinting with every movement. His neck is bent slightly, allowing his head to bob and sway along with the rise and fall of the rhythm, eyes screwing shut as the composition reaches its most pivotal sequence.

He's practically raking the keys now, pure passion and violent emotion splashing every inch of the room. You shut your own eyes, hands clutching the bottom of the stool until your knuckles whiten, like you might float away with the beautiful tune if you don't ground yourself.

When he said you could feel passion with every note he wasn't wrong. You could feel his passion clear as day.

Slowly, he comes back down from his high, wrists coming to a standstill. All he can do is take in heaving, ragged breaths, body slumped down, spent with the sheer effort expelled in his performance. Oxygen is lodged in your own lungs as you take in how how his bangs stick to the beads of sweat prevalent on his forehead

You recover before he does, unconsciously fumbling around in your tote bag, hands curling around the Polaroid camera you bring everywhere just in case a photo opportunity arises.

They never usually do. Until now.

"Stay like that." The viewfinder raises to your eye and you snap a shot of him with precision, the soft click that emanates through the room making Yoongi's eyes snap open.

The picture dispenses from the camera, black square fading out to reveal a hazy image as you shake it back and forth. Yoongi, face relaxed, lashes pressed softly to the tops of his cheeks with a lazy smile.

It's the Yoongi you remember. Your Yoongi.

He smirks when you slide it into the back pocket of your jeans, cheeks glowing with a contentedness you hadn't seen for a long time. "You always did like taking pictures of me."

"Shut up."

When your hand tentatively closes over his where it still rests on the piano, it's his turn to shoot you a curious look. With a shaky breath you flip his palm, slotting your fingers together perfectly, and lean across the piano to press your lips against his.

His mouth is softer than you remember, not attacking with the rich taste of lust but rather caressing your lips gently, sweetly. Taking your time to commit each tickle of breath against your nose, each slide of his bottom lip between yours, to memory. Everything other than the dizzying sensation of his tongue tracing your bottom lip disappears. All your worries, reluctances, regrets,  just dissolving like the setting sun.

Everything feels safe here with him. Everything feels right.

It barely lasts a minute, not much more than a delicate brush really, but when he pulls back you are already breathless, immediately starved of the satisfaction that came from finally feeling him against you again, tasting the spearmint mixed with something so inherently Yoongi you didn't quite realise how much you were craving.

Yoongi sighs blissfully. You need more.

Your hands tangle in the front of his T-shirt but before you can pepper his mouth with a series of further eager kisses, his free hand plants on your shoulder and pushes you back carefully.

"About what you said the other night." His eyes are wide with concern, trained to your lips, resisting the urge to capture them again with all his self control. It made your heart flip. "I don't want to hurt you Y/N. We don't have to do this—"

"I want to. So bad." His thumb caresses your knuckles. "I trust you."

In that moment, it's true. You trust him more than you've ever trusted anything in the world.

"But Namjoon..."

His words fade out when you lean in for another reassuring peck. Namjoon's name falling from Yoongi's lips doesn't make your skin crawl like it usually did. In fact you feel nothing at the mention of your brother.

"To hell with Namjoon. I'm a big girl. I know what I want."

Yoongi grins, hand coming to cup your cheek tentatively, eyes crinkling with what you could only describe as liberation. "And what's that?"

Your eyes narrow in on his parted mouth again.

"You."

His eyes darken and then his hands are tangling in your hair and pulling your chest flush to his in a kiss that is far rougher than before. No more beating around the bush. Just passion as you crawl into his lap and kiss him like it's the first time — or perhaps, more accurately, the last time. Like the world will end if you part for a single breath.

Fingers find the hem of his shirt and you're pulling it up his torso greedily, heart beating a little faster when you feel his warm skin beneath your fingertips. His chest is softer than you expect, a perfect contrast to the strong arms wrapping around your waist to pull you back to his lips.

It's not long before you feel his pants fill out underneath you. The feeling is all too familiar, reminding you of how it felt to be above him like this in his studio. That night feels like a life time away as his hands grab your hips and press you roughly down onto his crotch.

You both groan out at the feeling, something intense, something primal, heating up between your legs as you circle his clothed length, want and need blending into one as your core dampens with every twist of your hips.

Yoongi breaks away from your lips with a gasp when your fingers reach between your body and find the sensitive head of his cock, a wet patch forming on his sweats. His eyes are shut, head thrown back against the piano top as he bites into his thumb to stop little moans tumbling from his swollen lips.

He shoots upright when you slide down his torso, hardwood cold against your bare knees, fingers fumbling with the strings of his pants. When you finally get them open and slip your hand beneath the waistband, Yoongi all but groans at the feel of your cool palm grabbing his hot cock skin on skin.

You shimmy his sweats around his thighs, mouth practically watering as you eye up his pulsing length, unable to resist stroking it firmly with your fist. A hand covers yours.

"Wait!" A strangled noise of agony rips from his chest when your grip loosens, desperate to buck up into your touch but managing to stay firmly planted to the stool in favour of gaining your consent. "Are you sure?"

You scoff teasingly. "Would I be on my knees if I wasn't?"

His laugh is breathy, half a moan as you pick up your pace again. "Just nervous — ah!" A soft kitten lick to the reddened tip of his cock has him flying forward, knuckles white as they grip your shoulder.

"Min Yoongi gets nervous?" The precum that coats your tongue is salty, makes you itch to take him into your mouth fully.

"Shut up." His breathing is ragged, hands hovering over your hair. "Didn't think this would happen again. Needs to be perfect — holy fuck Y/N."

You give no warning before you sink down on his length, his hands finally tangling in your hair and tugging lightly when your nose presses to his pubic bone, groaning around him when you feel the head of his cock pulsing in the back of your throat.

"So warm, shit."

You come up for air, lips wrapping around his head and enjoying the way his thighs trembled when your tongue runs teasingly along the underside of his cock. His hand pushes at the back of your head, forcing his length further down your throat than you're expecting until you gag around his girth.

"Shit, sorry."

The groan that follows doesn't sound very apologetic though. The visual of your drool coating his painfully hard length mixed with the sensation of your warm mouth engulfing him whole nearly has him blowing his load then and there, utterly fucked out and oblivious to the string of groans leaving his lips when you finally come up for air. Tears streak your cheeks and Yoongi wipes them away with his knuckle tenderly.

"God, look at you." He's breathless, amazed. "C'mere."

A hand cups your elbow, pulling you to your feet so he can connect your lips again, humming when he tastes himself on your tongue. His hands are all over you now as he wraps you in his arms and stumbles backwards your back is pressed to the mattress in the corner. It dips in the middle when he crawls over you, tucking away strands of hair that fan around your face like a halo before his mouth is on you again like he can't quite help himself.

A series of open mouthed kisses caress your jaw, then your neck, all the way down your chest. Yoongi's eyes flick up to watch your face, lips parted with want as his hands fiddled with the hem of his own much too big hoodie swaddling your body.

"Can I?"

Your hand threads into his hair encouragingly. "Please."

A gasp passes his lips when he finally pulls the fabric over your head, eyes following his curious calloused hands as they explore the expanse of skin exposed to him now you're left in just your bra and panties.

"So beautiful." He traces his fingers down your shoulders, down the valley of your breasts, across your stomach. The light and delicate touches have you shivering, writhing for more. Almost as desperate to feel him everywhere as he is to worship every inch of you.

His touch stops at the hem of your panties. You're already working on the clasp of your bra, a violent nod the only permission he needs to drag the fabric agonisingly slow down your legs, unhooking them from your ankles carefully.

When he looks back up you are completely bare, laid out beneath the stream of half-sun-half-moon bathing the room.

Yoongi pounces, lips wrapping around one of your nipples greedily, tongue swirling around the hardened bud until you're gasping his name over and over.

"Can't believe you're letting me see you like this."

Hands wrap around your thighs, legs falling open, the way he licks his lips as he takes in your glistening heat not going unnoticed.

Yoongi's head shakes in disbelief, mumbling words which sound an awful lot like so pretty and fucking gorgeous as his head dips and he continues his trail of earlier kisses, tongue laving over your inner thighs and edging ever closer to your aching core.

"W-wait." Yoongi freezes and comes up to meet your face. His breath is hot against your cheek, eyes scanning your face for hesitation.

"What is it? Are you okay?" He's frantic, swallowing nervously as his palms cup your face. "Want to take care of you this time. What is it? Tell me."

"I'm fine. More than fine." You brush your noses together. It makes him smile. "Just want to feel you, that's all. Now."

Yoongi lets out a dramatic sigh, voice high and whiny. "But I've been dreaming about how you taste for days, Y/N. Literally. Dreaming about it."

You don't mention how you've been replaying the visual of his lips wrapped around your clit and edging you over and over again since it happened, just stroke his cheek in mutual understanding.

"Too bad. You'll just have to wait until next time." His features light up at the promise of a next time. Another moment like this, just you and him.

His face falls into the crook of your neck, nibbling the sensitive skin teasingly as a hand trails between your legs. When the pads of his fingers circle your entrance you whimper, clit throbbing with want when his hand pulls away nearly as quick as it came.

The want only intensifies when he brings two of his arousal coated digits to his mouth with closed eyes, guttural moan vibrating your flush chests when he savours the taste of your arousal coating his fingers.

"Next time." He hums and you are sure you nearly came untouched.

"Need you. Now."

He wastes no time taking his achingly hard cock into his fist, placing a supportive hand on your hip as he lines himself up with your entrance. You whine when he drags the tip up and down your slit, giving some brief but much needed stimulation to your clit.

Before he can push inside though you place a hand on his chest to stop him. He doesn't have time to dote on you again though because without further ado you're whipping off the beanie that still sits snugly around his head, throwing it across the room with a smirk.

His eyes glint fondly. "Whoops."

The room has grown darker by now, only lit by the gentle sparkle of the fairy lights and Yoongi has to feel around in the sheets to find your hand. In the same moment he tangles your fingers together beside your face, he pushes inside with a gasp.

Unlike the first time in his studio, Yoongi is in no rush. He wants to savour it. He fills you slowly, so that you can feel every ridge of his length dragging against your velvety walls. When he finally bottoms out and your hips press flush together, you squeeze his hand. Tight. It's this small action that tells him everything he needs to know. Explains the funny feeling in your chest without ever saying the words.

Your legs wrap around his back automatically when his hips begin to rock, angling your body so that he hits so deep with every thrust it steals the breath straight from your lips. Arousal drips from your heat down onto the bed sheets, making each slide deliciously smooth.

"Yoongi I.." It almost slips from your lips. The deepest, darkest secret that you haven't quite admitted to yourself yet.

Yoongi just ups his pace, exchanging words for actions to show you he feels the same. Fucking you a little harder, a little deeper. More sincerely. It compensates for the words neither of you know how to say.

"I know." You feel so full, so warm when he places his forearms at either side of your head to press you into the mattress. "I know."

All the yearning inside you disappears. All that matters is you and Yoongi now, nails scratching up his back, his forehead pressing to yours so that your moans mingle together until you can't tell whose was whose any more.

With a fucked out moan against your lips he's spilling inside you, sending you over the edge with him, hissing as you clench tightly around his cock.

All thoughts are wiped from your mind. Apart from the sensation of his cheek pressed to your chest, hot breath against your collar bone. How you can't believe you lived in a world without Yoongi in it. How you never want to go without him again. How you don't think you can deny how Yoongi makes you feel anymore even if you tried.

The stars behind your eyes fade, and when you come back down, Yoongi is hovering over your body, lips parted and eyes blown out, mesmerised. He's sweaty and smiling and you can feel the way his heart beats in time with yours.

"You okay?"

"Never better." His smile stretches into a grin when your words slur together. "—'m so happy."

A soft, chaste kiss is pressed to your forehead and before you know it Yoongi is tangling your legs together and wrapping the sheets around your bodies, entwined as one.

Me too. You knew that's what he meant. You'd dwell on it another time. For now your eyes are falling shut, satisfied as you inhale Yoongi's scent on the sheets...

Before a blissful slumber could take you away, you're interrupted by a series of knocks against the bedroom door. Both you and Yoongi shoot upright, exchanging a puzzled glance.

"I thought you said it was gonna be a quickie. Come on man, I need to use the bathroom!"

Yoongi groans into the pillow.

"That's it. I'm getting a new roommate."

--

As the weeks go by you start spending less and less time at the Big Hit office, turning up late to your shifts or clocking out before they were up. The perks of being employed by your parents is that they can't fire you in good conscience, you suppose.

Instead you increasingly find yourself at Yoongi's apartment, writing lyrics at the piano when he was around (sometimes even when he wasn't) or down in the coffee shop, helping yourself to hot chocolate refills on your work breaks. Jin joked that you'd need to start paying rent soon.

Just like how you were able to pick apart each of the boys' influence on the apartment the first time you went there, your own presence was becoming ever apparent.

In the way you spilled sugar on the counter when making tea and always forgot to clean it up, much to Jin's dismay. How some of your own hoodies and pyjama pants had begun to smell like Yoongi's washing powder, ending up folded neatly in his laundry basket and stowed away on his clothing rack like they belonged there. The way his piano top was littered with open notebooks filled with your messy scrawl and pens with the caps lost and half empty mugs stained around the rim with your chapstick.

Yoongi seemed wary at first, cautious to let you get too comfortable around him, dropping you home late at night once the lights in your house switched out and you knew it was safe to go inside.

But eventually he started to crave the little things that reminded him of you, unable to stop the smiles which crept onto his face as he loaded the dishwasher with the mugs and carried you to bed when you fell asleep at the piano stool.

Your bed. That's what you'd taken to calling it now.

Yoongi hated to admit that he was weak. When he got up on stage he was Gloss, hard faced and brazen and ruthless. But here with you, the facade he tried to uphold seemed to crumble into nothing. And the worst part was that he loved it.

Even when he was performing at the club or practicing for the competition, his thoughts always ended up wandering back to you. There were times when your schedules clashed or it was too risky to see each other or times you were simply too exhausted once you got home, falling into bed as soon as you crossed the threshold. But the knowledge that you were always there waiting for each other became the only safe place he knew and that was enough.

Of course you still had to oversee Namjoon's Mic Drop stage, it was your job after all, but that never seemed to come up when you were together. Just watching movies on his laptop or laughing at ungodly hours while you filled each other in on anecdotes that happened in the time you were apart, retreating beneath the sheets when Jin banged on the wall because it was four in the morning so would you please shut the fuck up.

For the first time in a long time you felt happy. Like you belonged somewhere that was all your own. No more answering to Namjoon or your parents. Just your own heart. And it always seemed to lead you back here to Yoongi, straight into his arms.

And as much as you hated yourself for it, you could feel your resentment for Namjoon growing. You'd be damned if you let him take this away from you, like he'd taken everything else.

Eventually, you stopped crawling through your bedroom window like a goddamn teenager and your parents stopped questioning why you never came home anymore. The cracks between you became a chasm. And right now, Yoongi was the band aid holding you together.

--

When Yoongi returns home later than usual, he's not even surprised when he ascends the stairs and find you and Jin laid out on the bean bags, already tipsy on red wine and giggling at his disgruntled expression.

That is until you take in the weary lines that had etched their way into his forehead, how his eyes look sunken and puffy. How his hands tremble against your waist when you pull him into your arms, body swaying back and forth lightly in your grasp like he could topple over any second.

You know what overworked looks like — after all, you had tended to Namjoon plenty of times when he refused to stop at his limits, barraging through them instead, a habit Yoongi also seemed to possess.

Ordered to stay on bed rest, Yoongi slumps face down into his pillow, letting out a long groan of relief when the mattress cushions his aching limbs.

You're already tucking him in, half way to the door to prepare him a hot cup of honey and lemon to soothe the husk in his throat from rapping too aggressively when his arms loop around your waist and pull you down to snuggle into the crook of your neck contentedly.

"Yoongi, let me go." It's futile, his grip is firm and he is already kicking the sheets over your body and pressing his cheek to the left side of your chest where you're sure he can hear how your heart races, a pout evident in your voice. "I want to take care of you."

"Mmf you are.." Words already slurring with the beginnings of sleep, he smiles groggily when you fall slack in his grasp and press your cheek to the top of his head in defeat. "Stroke my hair please?"

As soon as your fingers tangle in his blue locks he lets out a sigh of relief, like he'd been waiting to feel the touch all day.

Watching his face relax as he drifts off, you bask in the warmth of fulfilment singing your very nerve ending and silently wish that you can stay like this forever.

Just you and Yoongi against the world.

At some point your own eyes fall shut.

--

You're awoken by the sounds of muffled sobs.

The dark room momentarily disorientates you, heart quickening as you realise you're not in your own bed. Eventually your eyes adjust to the blackness, taking in the piano stood sturdily in the corner, breathing in the scent lingering on the pillow beneath your cheek and you're washed with a wave of comfort.

"Yoongi?" You croak.

The sheets are ripped from your body as Yoongi's form shoots upright. His bare back is damp with sweat, visible in the moonlight creeping through the slanted blinds, mattress rocking slightly with every sob that wracks his frame.

"Go back to sleep." His voice is gruff , but forcibly so and you hear the tremor lurking below the surface.

You sit up beside him. His face is buried in his palms. The sight makes your heart ache.

"Are you okay?" You're still new to this. Sure you're tangled up in his sheets most nights but you're still learning the ropes, unsure how best to comfort him. You settle for gently patting his shoulder, wincing at how cold and distant the action feels.

"I said go back to sleep." When his face emerges from between his hands you see the tell tale tracks of tears streaking his cheeks. Even when he wipes his face with the back of his palm there's a steady stream of them dripping down his chin.

"Is that what you really want?"

Yoongi presses his mouth together in a tight line, eyes black and empty as he tilts his head back and takes a shaky breath. That's when he crumbles. "Please stay."

"Oh, Yoongi." It's barely a whisper, afraid that if you speak too loud he'll shatter into a million pieces. He's like a scared kid, knees hugged to his chest as he wipes the hot tears from his eyes with a hard rub of his knuckles.

Yoongi stiffens when you fumble under the sheets to find his hand. You think he might pull away as you link your fingers with his but to your surprise he pulls your interlocked palms into his lap and squeezes so hard you feel the circulation in your fingers cutting off. The way he chokes back another sob stops you from complaining though, already cupping his cheek and tilting his face towards yours with your free hand.

"Why are you doing this?" His eyes squeeze shut, fresh tears sliding down his face and doing nothing to hide the slight tinge of red beneath them that tell you he's embarrassed to be seen like this. Vulnerable, so unlike the hard faced Yoongi you had come to know.

"Because I want to." You squeeze his hand and feel him squeeze back weakly. "You can tell me anything, you know."

Pressing his forehead to yours, Yoongi leans down and captures your lips between his own. I know, it says.

This is different to the way he usually kisses you. There's no hunger, no hands on your neck and your thighs that set you alight with desire. Just a sense of yearning, like he wants to be closer to you, the plump flesh of his lips slotting between yours like a perfect puzzle piece, slightly salty from his tears. It makes you ache all over, like you're somehow connected and sharing his pain.

He pulls away, sharp exhales tickling your face as he scans your eyes for any sign of hesitation, any sign that you're going to leave him here alone. This is side of Yoongi that you have never seen before. He always said he isn't good with words and you know better than anyone that he hated admitting that he needed someone. This was is his way saying he needs you.

And in that moment you feel a piece of your heart flutter into his hands.

"Nightmares." He mumbles, swallowing thickly and tipping his head back against the headboard, expression pained "Just nightmares."

"Want to talk about it?" You sit back next to him, and when he rolls his neck to face you. He looks unreadable again. Eyes void. You half think he's going to push you away, turn over and fall back asleep and leave you to stare at the ceiling alone with the silence.

But he doesn't. Instead he lets out a deep sigh, shaking his head at himself as he pulls you into his arms, stroking your cheek fondly when your head comes to rest on his chest, burying his nose in your hair.

"Why can't I say no to you?"

"Guess I have that affect on people."

He snorts lightly, the first proper reaction he'd given you and you're pleased at his amusement. Pleased you were able to comfort him somewhat.

Unspoken words cloak a heavy silence for what feels like hours, just tracing mindless patterns on his arm and listening to the way his heart slows to a normal pace beneath your cheek, grip around your torso never faltering. When his breaths dwindle to soft puffs against your temple you think he's already drifted off.

Until, "Do you remember when I convinced Namjoon to sign up for Mic Drop the first time. The day after my mom died?" His voice is gravelly, both with sleep and a sign of his withheld tears.

"Of course I do." You swivel in his arms to blink up at him curiously. Sure you remembered. After the funeral, your parents had taken Yoongi in — a repayment they called it. For helping Namjoon achieve his dreams. Of course, that was before you realised just how much Yoongi would help.

Yoongi became a part of the family for a short while. An extra seat at family dinners. Another pair of shoes by the front door. Another bed in Namjoon's room.

"Back then, I was too trusting. I thought that they wanted to help me...I thought that they saw me as their son." He spits the word with the bitterness of a man who was stripped of the title of 'son' before he knew what it really meant.

You think back to how Namjoon and Yoongi used to be. Joined at the hip, everyone used to say. Brothers.

"I think they did—"

"No." He stiffens. You bite your lip. "Namjoon never cared about me. He just saw me as a way to get to the top. And it worked."

You feel a pang in your chest.

"I'm sorry, he's your brother. I shouldn't be talking about this with you."

Yoongi almost turns away but you stop him by pressing your lips to his briefly. Telling him its okay. You understand.

"The nightmares." You say with an eagerness to change to subject before you could dwell on it too hard. Before you could admit to yourself that Yoongi was right. "You didn't say what they were about?"

"I'm getting there." He lets out a strained chuckle and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. The action makes you shiver.

"The last time I saw my mother she said that she wasn't scared to die. She was just scared that she'd miss seeing me on the stage. She was the only one who believed in me." The next words come out choked. "She said that if she couldn't be there to see it then I needed to make as many goddamn people watch me lift that trophy as I could."

Mic Drop was never about the fame for Yoongi after all. It always ran deeper than that; a need not a want. A vulnerable promise left unfulfilled.

The realisation makes you blanch. All this time, all these years, you hadn't been able to see the real greed right in front of your eyes; your own brother.

The image of Yoongi, crumpled and broken on that fateful day all those years ago makes its way to the forefront of your mind.

The same anger flashes across his face now. "Namjoon took that from me. I don't care about the fans or the money or the trophy — none of that shit! He took my dream Y/N. Do you understand how that feels?"

You find yourself nodding, slowly at first and then with vigour as the dam inside you breaks and your own tears flood. "I do. I understand."

And you do. You understand why Yoongi is so determined to win Mic Drop. You understand why he hates Namjoon as much as he does. You understand how it feels to always fall second best to Namjoon, to be outcasted.

"I keep forgetting her face. I can't hear her voice in my head anymore." Yoongi's crying again now, heavy sobs no longer able to be contained. "But in the dreams she's so clear. The disappointment in her eyes, its so clear, Y/N." His words are interrupted by hiccups that leave him gasping.

"I'm sorry." You whisper once he calms. It's all you know how to say.

"Not your fault." He flashes you a watery smile, wiping away the tear on your cheek with his knuckle. It makes your heart flutter, even despite the guilt weighing on your shoulders.

You feel useless. It wasn't your fault directly but you couldn't help but feel like you wronged Yoongi. All of this happened right in front of your eyes but you were too blinded by Namjoon's broken promises to see it. All this time you had let Namjoon make you think Yoongi was the enemy.

"I'm here now." Hands plant on either side of his face, eyes meeting his. "I believe in you."

He doesn't need to say anything. The way he kisses you speaks louder than words.

All you can do now is hold him, tangling your legs with his and pulling the covers over your intertwined bodies, stroke his cheek with your thumb and pepper kisses to his strained forehead which relaxes beneath your affections.

"I'll make this right." You whisper into his hair after his eyes flutter closed and the sun starts peeking through the window, watching dust particles floating in a stream of light in the room's golden glow through lidded eyes. "I promise."

--

"I like this." Jimin nods enthusiastically along to the track playing through the headphones Namjoon placed over his ears. "Sounds like a hit to me."

Namjoon's face contorts into a scowl. He disagrees, obviously, if the disgusted shake of his head is any indication.

Mic Drop is just a few days away and Namjoon had decided to scrap his entire stage after Jimin scored a couple big last minute investors who suggested he do something new, something exciting. Something that pushed Runch Randa's limits.

It was a bold move, this close to the big day. But Namjoon was cocky, said that he had enough experience in the industry to win in his sleep. Practice was a waste of time anyway.

"Next one." He waves his hand, barely even glancing in your direction as you press a button that cuts off the track and makes another one start playing.

The bass is louder in this one and it makes Jimin startle backwards, the headphone jack slipping loose so the music plays through the speakers instead.

"Hoseok and I still need to put the finishing touches on this one but it's pretty catchy—"

Namjoon cuts you off with a sharp no, it was too upbeat for his Mic Drop performance. Said he needed something with grit, something that would make the judges feel something.

"Let me see that." He gestures for you to get up, slumping down into the chair you occupied and slotting himself beneath the studio desk to scroll through the open folder on the computer screen.

He skims through countless tracks, demoed and ready to be recorded at Namjoon's disposal — you were something of a writing machine, always scribbling down lyrics on receipts from the store or on the back of your hand and paired with Hoseok you were a dream team; he always seemed to find a beat that fit perfectly. Unfortunately Namjoon's straight face gives away his disinterest in any of them.

"None of these will work." Namjoon throws the keyboard down with a force that makes you wince, jaw tightening as he presses his knuckles to his eyes in frustration. "I'm going to fucking lose."

You are about to tell him to write the fucking track himself like everyone else if none of yours were good enough for him but Jimin flashes you a glance. Don't make things worse.

You settle instead for a hand on his shoulder. He tenses at your touch. It had been a while since you'd been in the same room for longer than ten minutes and when you take in the gauntness of his cheekbones you briefly wonder if he's been eating properly. He always did forget when you weren't around to remind him.

You suck in a breath to give you strength. "There must be one that you like."

His lips purse and he disgruntledly goes back to scrolling again, clicking on a couple titles that draw his interest. You and Jimin let out simultaneous sighs of relief.

"What's this?" Namjoon's eyes narrow as he presses play on a track that sends you flying forward, heart in your mouth and colour leaving your face as a song plays that you swore to never show to anyone.

Yoongi's song. The one you wrote after that night in his studio. Probably the best song you had ever written.

"That's not — I was supposed to delete that one." The heat in your cheeks as you push him aside roughly to wrestle with the pause button has you hiding behind your hair, as if he would somehow know this wasn't just an ordinary song. That it was a song about his enemy, for god's sake.

Namjoon's slaps you away from the computer, head bobbing to the beat and you fall back into your seat in defeat, fingers crossed behind your back that he would hate it as much as the others.

"I love it."

Oh no.

"This is the one!"

Shit shit shit!

"A-are you sure?" You're rambling now, words slipping out way too fast and Jimin seems puzzled at your lack of elation at Namjoon's decisiveness. "I'm sure I could write something much better if you just give me some more time—"

Namjoon's arms pull you into a tight embrace before you can finish, your nose ending up smushed against his chest as he practically vibrates with excitement. Your body goes stiff, hands dangling at your sides awkwardly. Considering Namjoon's coldness towards you as of late his sudden display of affection takes you by surprise. Mostly because despite your physical closeness it only makes you feel even more distant from your brother.

A sigh of relief escapes when he finally sets you free, only to be replaced with pure horror as you watch him stick a USB drive into the computer and load up the song before sliding it in his back pocket with a grin while you have no choice but to stand there helplessly.

"I'm totally gonna win!" His change in attitude is abrupt but seems to soothe Jimin who nods enthusiastically. You feel sick. "I can't wait to see the look on Yoongi's face when he hears this shit."

The smirk on his face washes you with dread. If only he knew.

Yoongi was right. Secrets always find a way to come and bite you in the ass.

--

Every rap of your knuckles against the run down studio door seems to echo ominously through the alley like an omen.

"Y/N?"

As soon as the bolt wrangles across and the wooden panel flies open to reveal a disgruntled Yoongi, a warmth seems to thaw through the icy evening chill that, along with your nerves, is making your knees knock together.

His chest is warm against your cheek when he pulls you into his arms, the smell of cologne and black coffee consuming your senses. It's enough to make your tense limbs fall slack, curling into his firm frame instinctively. Finally. You can breathe again.

"Hey." He mumbles sweetly against your temple, a trace of a smile in his voice like he was happy to see you. You silently wonder if he'll still be so happy once he hears what you have to say.

The studio is basked in darkness, the contours of his face barely visible in the blue glow emanating from his desktop monitor. There's a dent in the cushion of the adjacent chair, Yoongi's hair sticking up at the back where the pair of headphones slung around his neck had sat moments ago.

"I can go if you were working, wouldn't want to interrupt." As the words are leaving your lips you cross your fingers, selfishly hopeful that he would send you away and you could avoid the conversation that was about to follow. Blame it all on circumstance, leave saying that you at least tried.

But that would be keeping a secret. It would make you just as bad as the rest. And the thought of him finding out from someone else was enough to make your palms sweat and enough to keep your feet planted against the carpet determinedly.

Yoongi's hands find you like he can't bare to keep them away, dragging you across the threshold without hesitation. "S'fine. Work better with you here anyway." He smiles and you try to return it but your lips are pressed into a permanent line, like they're scared the daunting words you have to say will come spilling out before you were ready -- if you ever would be ready. As you slump into a chair and watch him wheel another one around to face you with his arms slung lazily over the back, you realise there is no going back.

Considering the countdown to Mic Drop was nearing its end, less than twenty four hours to go before Yoongi would be stood opposite Namjoon on stage in front of thousands, he looked the epitome of relaxation, unlike the nerves in your chest making you jitter.

"Jin's on his way with takeout, I would've asked him to get more if I knew you were coming but I'm sure we can share— babe, are you alright?"

Babe. The endearment had started slipping from his lips frequently recently. At first he tried to cover it up with nervous laughter but now he was brazen, enjoying the way the word tasted on his tongue. It would be so easy to force a smile, to push "the right thing" to the back of your mind and let the selfish part of your heart accept his affections, even knowing you're about to hurt him.

But the clock ticking away on the wall sounds deafening with every beat of silence that follows, twisting the rings on your fingers until you could no longer distinguish the sound from the sinister thrum of your heart.

You can't hold it in any more.

"I need to tell you something." It comes out a hoarse whisper, nearly unintelligible beneath the stream of hip hop from the hifi system in the corner.

"What is it?" Yoongi's concerned eyes never leave you as he reaches over to switch it off, the room now draped in a shroud of quiet. The reality of the situation seeps into every dark corner and right into your bones.

"It's about us. Kind of."

Yoongi rolls closer, stopping your teeth from nibbling your cuticles by slotting his fingers between yours like a perfect puzzle piece. It seems to ground you, like you're filled with helium and he's the weight stopping your feet from floating off the ground. For a second you think everything will be okay. Nothing, not even this betrayal, could come between what you had.

"Did Namjoon find out?" Even in the dim light you see the panic stricken raise of his brows. When your head shakes in a violent negative they smooth back down, relieved, as if nothing you could say next would be worse than that. No matter how hard you try to meet his eyes you can't.

His hand squeezes gently then. You muster up the courage to squeeze back. Perhaps it would soften the blow that was about to follow.

"His song. The one I wrote for Mic Drop...it's about you. I thought you should know. Before you hear it for yourself."

Nothing but an immeasurable silence followed. "Oh."

Yoongi is unreadable, almost as if he didn't hear the words hanging like heavy storm clouds over your heads. You expected him to be angry, to shout -- even cry, maybe. Not knowing how he was feeling was even worse than any scenario you had imagined. Made you feel like you were back to square one and he was shutting you out of the window into his soul you'd worked so hard to wriggle through.

For a second you think the sudden cold against your palm is a result of the numbness coursing through your veins like you were dunked in ice water, but then you see his hand retreat to his lap, eyes wide and staring at it in disbelief like he'd been scalded.

"I...I don't understand." He sounds choked, face contorting with pain. Like it does when he wakes thrashing in the night with a bad dream. Unlike those times though, he doesn't levitate towards you for comfort, just stares at you vacantly like he's far, far away despite being physically close enough for your knees to brush.

"It was written after the first time we...y'know...here--" You glance around, convinced your mind is playing tricks when you see a vision of you in Yoongi's lap across the room, lips attached like nothing else in the world mattered. It feels far away and out of reach when the real Yoongi gets to his feet, creating a distance between you that is foreign, his form staggering across the room so that you could see the way his back tensed beneath his t-shirt when he grips the edge of his desk for support, processing.

"I don't understand."

"I was emotional. It just happened--"

"No. What I don't understand is why you're letting him perform it?" Fists send a stack of sheet music flying to the ground. His lip trembles, face red, with anger or affliction, you can't tell which.

"Yoongi--" You reach for him, fingertips barely grazing his arm before he's smacking you away with a violent shake of his head. He'd never resisted you before. Not even in the beginning.

"You expect me to just sit back and listen to Namjoon of all people rapping the lyrics my girlfr-- that you wrote dissing me? This has to be a fucking joke."

"It's not that kind of track!" You hug your body pitifully. It's the only thing you can do to stop yourself from falling apart as his mouth spits a venom that makes your heart shatter. His eyes fill with one thing. Betrayal. "I'm sorry. I just...I can't keep choosing between you anymore, Yoongi. He's my brother."

"And what am I, huh?"

Every second that passes, every stutter or attempt at explanation that leaves your mouth makes Yoongi crumple. You see it in the way his adam's apple bobs, how his shoulders slacken.

For some reason you can't open up. Tell him he means more to you than anyone ever had. That you thought your heart might really break and bleed out on the carpet if he didn't feel the same way.

Instead you settle for, "Why are you so mad? It's my job! I had no choice."

Without warning he's rushing at you, trembling palms capturing your face and pressing his forehead to yours. His breaths shake, chest heaving as he battles internally with the words flying from his lips like a ghostly breath across yours.

"Because I fucking love you, Y/N! Can't you see it? I fucking love you and your bastard of a brother always finds a way to ruin things between us!"

His admission stuns you, the tears welling in your eyes spilling over in a silent stream down your cheeks.

He loves you. He loves you.

"Yoongi--" Words just won't come. Nothing feels right.

Because you love him too. It had taken you this long to admit it to yourself but it was clear now. Every breath, every beat of your heart, every fucking song you would ever write was for him. It scared you before but now, stood here in front of him, you know it's true.

Something hopeless niggles at the back of your head, stops you from spilling everything to him. If he loves you, how can he expect you to choose?

If words couldn't make him see the truth then you'd just have to show him the only way you knew how. Straight from your heart.

You're crying as you dig around in the bottom of your bag to retrieve a USB, pressing it into his curled fist firmly and begging him with your eyes to understand. "Just listen to the song. Please. It'll explain everything. I promise."

You begin to back up and his hand shoots out to stop you, pulling you roughly into his chest which only makes you cry harder, tears creating a wet patch on his T-shirt.

"Please don't leave me. Not again." It's a fragile whisper.

It's all too much.

"I can't choose any longer, Yoongi. This has to end."

With one last look at his crumpled face you flee from his studio with eyes just as watery as the first time you'd walked down this very alley. Except this time it takes all of your strength to resist running back into his arms.

Yoongi can only stand there and watch you go, the USB hot against his hand.

This has to end. The words make his chest burn and he hates it. Hates feeling weak. You always make him feel so fucking weak.

If he can't have you then he had no choice but to do everything in his power to make sure he got the next best thing.

Suddenly it all seemed clear. Yoongi knew what he had to do.

--

The arena is almost desolate when you creep inside.

Just a sea of empty seats stretching out from both sides of you where you sit in one of the stands, nibbling the skin around your thumb and watching Namjoon pace the stage below.

It's gone midnight by now. Most of the crew went home hours ago. Not Namjoon though. He stayed to practice some more. Said he couldn't get the choreography quite right.

You tried going home but you couldn't get the fight out of your head. Everything reminded you of Yoongi and your thoughts started to wander. Did he hate you? Was he listening to the song right now? Why hasn't he called? Why is your own bed not as comfy as the one you shared with Yoongi?

It all got too much eventually. Something told you that you weren't welcome at the apartment so you ended up heading towards the only other place you knew, surprised to find your brother had the same idea.

A single spotlight illuminates the stage as Namjoon twists his body in time with the one, two, three, four he unconsciously mumbles under his breath, face contorted with a stark concentration that flits to impatience when his foot slips and he misses the beat. Again. It just about sends him over the edge.

"I can't do this anymore!" A microphone squeals and hits the ground with a thump. It reverberates through the arena, your hands flying to your ears as you watch Namjoon let loose all his anger on an innocent amp stand before collapsing into a heap at the edge of the stage. "Fuck this shit!"

You're flying down the stairs to his aid before he can do any serious damage to the stage equipment — or worse, to himself.

Namjoon scoffs when he hears the stage creak under your feet. "Nice of you to show up."

It stings. You snap.

"What happened to you, Namjoon?" You look at his sunken cheekbones, his curled fists, the blackness behind his eyes. "I don't even recognise you anymore."

He just sniffs and says nothing. The distance between you feels bigger than ever.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

A secret? Since when did Namjoon abide by a policy of honesty?

He takes your shocked silence as a yes.

"I'm calling first thing and dropping out of the competition."

Your world stutters to a standstill, breath knocked out of your lungs.

Dropping out?

"Shit Joon...if this is about Yoongi—"

He waves you off.  "No. This is about me."

You can't breathe. This can't be real. "I don't understand..."

"I've made up my mind. I can't do this any more. I used to love being up here you know?"

You follow his gaze, out over the empty arena. The last time you were here every seat was filled. You were down there, part of the crowd, packed into the cramped space with barely enough room to breathe.

Imagining how it must feel to be up here comes easy. If you close your eyes you can hear the screams, feel the body heat. Smell the sweat and the anticipation. See thousand faces looking up in awe. At you. It makes your blood run hot.

You much prefer being up here, you decide.

Namjoon brings you back down. "Now it just feels like a chore. I look out and all I see is disappointed faces. I can't pretend for them anymore."

"People travel miles to see you Joon! No one is disappointed."

"Not the fans. They love me. Well, Runch Randa, at least." He cracks a half smile. "It's me whose disappointed. In Kim Namjoon."

You always thought your brother was sure of himself. He's cocky, confident and above all fearless. It's his biggest strength (and his most irritating quality sometimes) but it's what you always admired most about him.

Clearly you didn't know your brother as well as you thought you did.

You bite your lip. "Why?"

He turns to face you, leaning back into his arms while he searches for the right words and, little to your knowledge, gathers the courage to confide in you.

"Because I re-entered Mic Drop for all the wrong reasons. I just wanted to prove myself, you know? Win for real this time, not just by default." He swallows. "But then I saw Yoongi perform. And to be honest? I saw you. I saw how much you care about the music. How you come alive when you're writing lyrics or when you're in the studio." His smile is woeful. "Im supposed to feel like that. But I don't. I never did. It's like I'm always asleep, y'know?"

You did know. Every time you lifted a camera. Every time you pressed the shutter and snapped another shot of Namjoon on stage you felt your soul grow exhausted.

It makes the distance between you and Namjoon close a little. For once you understand each other and you don't have to hide how you feel any more.

"I can't stop thinking that it's your name the fans should be screaming. Not mine. They deserve better than me."

"But you're the best performer I know!" You rush. It always seemed like he wanted to keep you out of the spotlight at all costs. "Why now?"

He lets out a deep sigh. "I'm a selfish person, Y/N. I thought I was protecting you from... all this." He gestures around him. "The late nights and the paparazzi and the criticism and a fucking manager on your back all the time." His eye roll makes you snort, sharing a brief smile at the image of hardworking Jimin mumbling into his headset like a man posessed.

He's quickly serious again though. "Fame comes with a price. But I realize now that the price is worth it if your hearts in the right place and...what I'm trying to say, Y/N, is that mine never was."

You let your chin fall into your palm. Huh. "So that's the big secret?"

"Actually...there's something else." He shifts nervously. "I know about you and Yoongi."

You freeze, scrambling to your knees with wide eyes. "Wait, Joon, let me explain—"

"Let me finish!" Namjoon brushes you off with a breathless laugh, nodding to himself, as if finally coming to a solid conclusion about coming clean when his eyes meet yours. "He's in love with you."

This time it feels like the whole world goes into overdrive. You forget how to breathe.

"What...how...huh?"

It's Namjoon's palm squeezing your knee reassuringly that brings you back down.

"He always was. Even back before things got messed up." A deep breath. Something was coming, you could tell by the way his eye twitched nervously. "That's why me and Yoongi fought. That's why I...I lied and said that I wrote the song the night of the Mic Drop final...accused him of plagiarism—" Your mouth gapes. "I know! I know. Don't look at me like that. I can see the irony."

It all makes sense now. She's a part of this, Namjoon, whether you like it or not.

The reason Namjoon sacrificed his best friend wasn't for fame but for your sake?

You want to fly at your brother, scream at him for keeping this from you for so long. For turning you against Yoongi. For keeping you from the only person to make you feel safe. Feel Happy.

But his eyes are void of anything other than regret and you can tell his betrayal had been playing on his mind all these years.

"Point is, I didn't want you to get hurt." He shuffles awkwardly, not knowing what to do with your silence. "That's not an excuse, I know. Do you hate me?"

"No." Your voice sounds small. His chest heaves with relief. "I just wish you had been honest with me before. Saved us a ton of trouble."

"I thought I was doing the right thing. But I was a shitty brother in the end anyway."

It's strange. Even after all the fights and the resentment and the goddamn secrets, you don't think Namjoon is a shitty brother. Sure, his actions and intentions were shitty there was no denying it. But now it's like the puzzle pieces finally click into place and the full photograph comes into view, crystal clear.

All this time, he just wanted to protect you, when you should have been protecting him. He was hurting too, you just never knew it.

"It's not too late, Joon. Just be happy for me okay? I think..." If Namjoon plucked up the courage to tell you his secrets then it was only fair that you did too. "I love him too."

A pinkish tinge caresses your face when you finally admit it, both out loud and to yourself.

You love Yoongi. And now all the cards are on the table there's nothing holding you back from it.

Now you just need to tell Yoongi.

"I know. You think I don't know who that song is about?" The grin that spreads across Namjoon's features is sincere."And I am. Happy for you, I mean."

Now the truth is out in the open it feels like your wounds are already beginning to heal. You place your hand over his and squeeze it tight. It was time to forgive.

A thought suddenly strikes you. "So what are you gonna do now?

Namjoon fumbles in the back pocket of his jeans, thrusting something towards you. A polaroid picture. The same photo you'd seen at Yoongi's studio.

He kept it, too?

"This kid." His finger jabs at the innocent face of a younger Namjoon, arm wrapped around the shoulders of his best friend. "I didn't get enough time to live as him before I became Runch Randa. I think it's time to just live as Namjoon for a while."

"But what about Big Hit? It'll fall apart and mom and dad will kill you—"

"No it won't. They have you. I already talked to them, in fact. There's a stage with your name on it right here." He pats the ground. "If you want it, that is."

You blink, stunned. You? "I...I don't know if I can."

"I believe in you." Namjoon says. "And I'll be cheering you on from the front row."

You'd have to think about it long and hard but you can't help the grin that appears on your face. Things were going to be okay.

An urge rises in your chest to tell Yoongi this news. To see the way his face would light up as you started the journey to following your own dreams, like he always said you should.

You and Yoongi were going to be okay.

"Hey! Maybe I should try photography now I have some free time." Namjoon tugs at the camera strap around your neck, lifting his eye to the viewfinder and laughing when you cover the lens with your hands. "Damn I'm kinda good!"

You bump his shoulder teasingly, the belly laughter that spills into the arena feeling like the most natural thing in the world.

You're only interrupted by approaching footsteps. Jimin bursts into the arena.

"Namjoon," he pants. "I have some bad news."

--

It's compulsory for all competitors to attend the crowning ceremony. Even those who get disqualified.

RUNCH RANDA BLACKLISTED FROM COMPETING IN FUTURE HIP HOP COMPETITIONS AFTER PLAGIARISM SCANDAL SURFACES.

Just one of the devastating headlines that hit the media after the judges panel received an anonymous tip in the form of a USB stick that exposed Namjoon once and for all. The same USB that you pressed into Yoongi's hands just hours before Namjoon's disqualification.

RAPPER GLOSS TO SNATCH MIC DROP TROPHY IN SHOCKING REVENGE FOR HIS BRUTAL DEFEAT.

Namjoon reads it aloud in the back of the car. He laughs at the end but it does nothing to lighten the mood.

The windows are tinted but you can still see the hoards of fans lining the streets, eyes steeped in betrayal.

You should hear the way they boo as your brother drives past. You should hear the way they chant his name instead.

Yoongi! Yoongi! Yoongi!

But you don't. You don't hear anything. You don't feel anything. All you can think of is the same three words, throbbing in your chest over and over again.

I love you.

Did he mean them at all?

"Y/N? Did you hear me?"

"Hm?" You look up. Namjoon's staring at you with concern.

"Your phone's ringing again."

It's no surprise when you pull out your phone and see a contact picture of yourself and Yoongi gracing the screen. He's been calling all morning. It takes every strength inside you to tap the red decline button.

"Aren't you gonna talk to him?"

Another call lights up the screen.

"Not like this."

With trembling fingers you shut your phone off all together.

--

Paparazzi cameras flash brazenly as you step out of the black company car, following Namjoon with your hood pulled tightly round your face. A hoard of body guards usher you through a back door to the arena. The main entrance is reserved for notable guests only, you learn.

While Namjoon's presence usually makes the room buzz with an electric energy, there's no excitement when he enters now. An awkward hush falls like a shroud as he elbows his way past pitiful stares. It's like someone died. In a way it's true; there's no trace of Runch Randa in Namjoon's hunched stance. Here, the dead still walks for everyone to see.

Jimin's waiting by the stage door. No words are exchanged as he slips passes into your hands. Namjoon's has a big red strike through the word TALENT, "guest" scribbled all too generously below it to match your own.

It's nearing show time. They're just waiting for you to take your seats, Jimin says, though you barely hear him. You're too busy imagining what you would do if you bumped into him right now, heart pounding whenever you catch a glimpse of blue or hear a laugh you're convinced you recognise.

Deep down you know exactly where you have to go to find him. To find Yoongi.

"I'll join you in a second, okay?"

Namjoon looks nervous, the first time you've ever seen him with such a severe case of the jitters. His smile is empty when you rub his forearm reassuringly. "Don't be too long. If I'm gonna do this I want you by my side."

You manage a smile. "Always."

With that, Namjoon takes a deep breath and pushes out into the life of the arena and you find your feet numbly carrying you down back corridors you know by heart until you reach his dressing room.

Your heart is blind, you think. Even now the shattered fragments ache for him, beat a little faster knowing he's just behind this door.

Why can't you go back to hating him, just like you did before? Deep down you know it's because you never really hated Yoongi. You don't think you ever could.

Forgiving him, though? Some wounds never heal, no matter how badly you want them to.

You pause outside the door. The stupid gold star that used to be there has been scraped off, replaced with a new name tag. Gloss. You put your ear to the wood. Nothing.

A deep breath and you find the handle. Should you burst in and give him a piece of your mind? Knock and enter politely? You can't help but scoff. Shouldn't he be the one coming to find you?

He calls your name before you can do either.

"Y/N?"

Fuck. Is hearing his voice supposed to hurt this bad?

You don't know what you're expecting when you turn around. Something different about him perhaps. A sign that he isn't the person you had grown to know. Grown to love.

But there he is. All messy blue hair and bitten lips and eyes a little red around the edges. Your Yoongi.

Your arms curl around your body like a band aid, holding you together. You can't crumble. Not now.

He looks stony but his eyes flicker with tender remorse when he sees the tears staining your cheeks.

His hands reach for you instinctively. The same hands that make love to his piano in the shitty apartment above the coffee shop. The same hands that could make you fall apart with even a delicate touch. You want to run into them so bad it hurts. But now they're stained red with betrayal and he chokes when you recoil.

Seconds feel like hours as you just stand there taking each other in like it's been years. It's only been a day or two. Maybe three? You can't remember. They all rolled into one meaningless blur of angry tears and insomnia.

You had a whole speech prepared for the moment you finally faced him again. But there are no words that feel right. You just need to know. If he meant every touch and every inside joke and those three words that make your heart soar despite how badly you want to hate him. And there's only one way to find out.

"Why did you do it?"

Your voice sounds timid and scared, like you feel. He winces.

"Y/N, let me explain—"

"Explain what?" Your voice raises shakily."How you lied to me? How you used me?"

He rushes towards you and it takes all of your strength to draw back, especially when his eyes look so frantic, so desperate. Like he's having one of his nightmares. It tugs at your heart because this time the nightmare is real and you're living in it.

"It's not like that—"

"Did you ever even want me? What about all that fair and square bullshit you told me huh?"

"Of course I wanted you Y/N...want you." His eyes fill with pain. "This wasn't meant to happen. I know how this looks but I just panicked!"

You rush at him, fists curled like that day in his studio except this time he doesn't stop you when you start hitting his chest, vision blurry.

"He was going to pull out! Namjoon was going to let you win! So that I could -- we could be happy!"

"What I...I don't understand?" His mouth gapes, processing. "But you didn't..." He swallows, like remembering is painful. "When I confessed, you didn't say it back. I thought we were over! I thought I had nothing to lose, Y/N. He had already won..."

You remember your words. I can't do this anymore. A misunderstanding that would never have happened if he just—

"Did you even listen to the song?"

His face drops at the mention of the song. "No." He looks like he might cry. "I was angry! I...I acted impulsively. I never got the chance..."

You bared your soul in that song in ways you never thought you could. He wasn't supposed to find out how you felt about him this way. Not here, when you're falling apart and there's nothing you can do to stop it. But it all comes tumbling out before you can change your mind.

"I wrote that song because I love you, Yoongi!"

Silence. He has to grip the wall to steady himself.

"Y-you love me?"

"I love you." The words feel indulgent on your tongue and even now as they hang heavy in the air and you're overcome with an indescribable combination of grief and longing, you mean them with every bone in your body.

You rush at him. You can't help it. Can't resist how your head falls into his chest and how you cry harder when you breathe in his scent one last time, sobs muffled by his hoodie. But he hears them, you know he does, because his hands are trembling when they pull you closer like you're fragile enough to break.

"I love you. So fucking much it hurts, Yoongi."

You're weak. You're so so weak.

You don't know why you do it but you grab his face with both hands and then you're kissing him. Showing him how much you need him, how much you mean your words. His hand cups your jaw like always and his lips press back with a tender desperation and you believe him. You believe that he loves you. Whole and true. Because in that moment, with his lips on yours, everything is okay. He's your Yoongi and you're his Y/N and he loves you.

But then you pull back and he's crying too and everything's broken and your heart goes numb.

"I'm sorry. God, Y/N I'm so sorry. If I could take it back I promise I would."

You muster up all the strength you can. You know what you have to do.

"I'm giving you a choice, Yoongi. You go out on that stage and pick up that trophy and we're over. For real."

He tries to kiss you again, grabbing at you frantically when you turn your cheek.

"Y/N, don't do this. We love each other. That's all that matters right?" He musters up the closest thing to a smile he can manage, like he's convincing himself more than he is you. "You don't have to—"

"No." You pull away from grip. It feels cold and wrong. "I have to do this. If you love me like you say you'll...you'll understand."

You turn but he grabs your wrist, pins you in place.

"I can't lose you to him again, Y/N. I...I already lost you once and I don't think I..."

The hard faced Min Yoongi you once knew is gone. All that's left is the vulnerable man in front of you who holds your heart in your hands with a grip so tight it scares you.

"He can't win...please."

You suck in a final breath.

"Please what? Don't make you choose between me and that stupid fucking trophy? You did this to yourself, Yoongi." You turn and this time he lets you. "The only person pushing me away is you."

"Y/N please, wait!"

You don't dare turn to look at him as you walk away. Not even when he pleads or you hear him fall to his knees, a strangled sob echoing down the hall. You're scared you might run back to him if you do.

You don't let yourself break down until you turn the corner. Yoongi doesn't follow.

--

"I'm okay." You assure Namjoon as you take a seat beside him inside the arena. It's a lie, of course. No amount of cold water splashed on your face in the bathroom could prepare you for this moment.

You're just in time. The ceremony is already starting. The host is taking the stage and the lights are dimming but you're too numb to care.

You go out on that stage and pick up that trophy and we're over.

Your decision is final. There's no going back. You've cried all your tears. You've said all that needed to be said. All you're left with now is a sickly feeling in your stomach as you look down at the trophy sat in a display case center stage.

We love each other. A slither of hope tugs at your heart strings. You barely manage to suppress it.

"Sorry! Excuse me!" The empty seat to your left sinks under the weight of Hoseok as he clumsily stumbles into the arena, late as always.

He offers you a smile which turns to a frown when you only stare past him vacantly, straining your neck to keep an eye on the stage.

A hand covers yours. You freeze at the contact, only relaxing when you peer through the darkness to find Hoseok staring at you gently. His voice is a whisper. "Whatever happens I'm here for you, okay?"

A wave of emotion crashes through you and you think you might cry again. You can't make your lips sound out a response but Hoseok understands and you feel a little stronger when you turn your attention back to the ceremony knowing you have someone by your side.

"As you all know there have been some...complications with this year's finalists." The host coughs and fiddles with his tie awkwardly. "But we are glad to announce that we do in fact have a winner here with us today!"

The crowd chants Yoongi's name again. Namjoon stiffens. Your free hand grabs his and he squeezes it tight.

"So without further ado, I would like to welcome this year's winner, Gloss!"

The crowd goes wild but the sound is drowned out by a ringing in your ears. It's like you're underwater, holding your breath as you wait and wait for him to take the stage and all the oxygen to slip away.

One...two...three...

You get to ten seconds, then twenty seconds and then thirty and by the time you get to forty you feel yourself break the surface, take a heaving breath.

You're floating. He chose you.

He loves you! Yoongi loves you! He—

No.

You're seeing things. You must be. That can't be Yoongi's face lighting up every screen in the room. That can't be him crossing the stage and taking the trophy from the hands of the host with a smug grin. That can't be Yoongi holding it up in the air like a martyr.

That can't be your Yoongi. This is a stranger.

You crash back to reality when Namjoon wraps his arms around your waist and you realise your sobbing. Sobbing so hard it hurts your chest and your lungs burn with misuse and you're sure the tears will never stop.

"It's okay! Shh."

Nothing is okay. Nothing.

Yoongi's face is still blown up on the big screens in painful detail. The smile on his face falters when he looks out into the crowd and spots you instantly. Sees you crumple.

There are two things Min Yoongi ever loved in this world.

His music and you.

The trophy feels cold in his hands. The crowd gasps as he rushes to the edge of the stage and calls out to you.

"Y/N wait! I'm sorry—"

You hear his voice through the speakers but it's too late. You're already running.

Yoongi's mic drops to the ground.

--

Yoongi's nightmares are back. Except this time they're different.

When he closes his eyes you're there. Smiling and laughing like you used to. His heart warms and he reaches for you...

And then he realises it's not you. Just a picture, blown up on the big screen as you cross the stage at the front of the room he's suddenly aware he's in.

He glances around at the indistinguishable people around him, all smiling and clapping ferociously. Why isn't he happy?

The bottle in his hand is half empty. He's realises he's screaming. So hard his throat burns and his lungs beg for air but you don't even look his way. He screams your name, over and over again. Nobody seems to hear him.

Namjoon's there too. Bouncing a baby on his knee, maybe one or two years old if he has to guess.

"That'll be you one day," He whispers, but its deafening to Yoongi. "Only the very best for my niece." The baby giggles up at him, stubby fingers wrapped around his thumb.

She has your eyes. The very same eyes Yoongi would look into like they held everything in the world. The very same eyes Yoongi saw fill with pain on the last day he saw you before things got messed up.

She has Hoseok's nose. And his mouth, too, small and heart shaped. The resemblance is uncanny as Hoseok appears beside Namjoon, takes the baby girl into his arms and places a sweet kiss on her forehead.

Then there you are. The same old Y/N. The same smile that makes your eyes crinkle and the same laughter than makes his heart melt. The same girl who used to love him.

Though it's clear that that much is no longer true. Not when you lean up to kiss Hoseok on the cheek, Namjoon drawing you into a hug when you present the trophy in your hands to them with an elated laugh.

A family.

It feels like he's been punched in the stomach.

Yoongi always thought winning Mic Drop would mean he had everything. Fame. Money. Glory.

He didn't need family. He always got by on his own.

It took holding the whole world in the palm of his hand to realise none of it meant anything if he didn't have you by his side.

You were his everything. But he was too stupid to see it and he let you slip away.

It's too late now.

A hand appears on his shoulder. It's cold, grip bruising. The voice that comes next gives him chills every single time.

"So was it worth it?" Namjoon asks.

Yoongi tries to answer but his vision is blurred with hot tears now and he's on his hands and knees and he's screaming.

And when he wakes up at ass o clock, sweaty and gasping for air, he still finds himself reaching for your warmth beside him.

But all his fingers find are cold sheets and bitterness.

extended a/n: okay so if you have reached this far then you are a TROOPER. a trooper who i love and appreciate endlessly for reading 30k of my waffle lmao im so sorry <3 ksksksk so this fic has been in my head for the longest time and in my drafts for almost five months so im super attached to it and putting this out is like the scariest ever?? i really put my heart into this piece, like y’all don’t understand how many times it’s cropped up in my dreams and I’ve woken up like MUST WRITE. it’s far from perfect but i tried my best!! i can’t tell you how many scenes had to be rewritten until i was happy enough with them bc this fic is literally my baby in every sense of the word and i wanted to get it right :( although that just made the ending even more SOUL DESTROYING to write for me ugh i had the ending set in my mind before i even started writing but there were moments where i jus wanted yoongi and oc to be happy ever after :( but alas, I feel like this ending was far more realistic for them and i couldn’t go against my gut sigh. there may be a few drabbles planned in the future tho to make up for the angst :) Anyway!!! I’ll stop rambling. Thank you for reading this far, if anyone has. TROOPER. love you <3

updated 12/01/19: drabble #1 | drabble #2 | drabble #3 

#ksmutclub #bts #bts smut #yoongi smut #yoongi fanfiction #yoongi imagine #btswriterscollective #btsguild #kwordsmiths #thebtstown #yoonkooknetwork #yoongi scenario #my writing #fic: mic drop #love yourself collab

[blancheludis]

@whumptober2021 Day 1: Bound / Gagges / “You have to let go.”

Fandom: Batman, DC Characters: Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne Tags: Dick Grayson Whump, Kidnapped, Emotionally Repressed Bruce, Trauma Words: 2.874

Summary: Dick remembers vividly how all he wanted to do as a child was to fly. He is all grown-up now, though - becoming an orphan does that – and he wants nothing more than solid ground beneath his feet and the memory of snapping bones scratched out of his mind.

But when Bruce tells him to let go and jump, he tries. Right until he is shot out of the air.

---

The first rule of working with the trapeze is to never let go unless he is completely sure he will land again safely. Dick’s parents told him that long before he was ever allowed to even begin training with them, before he made his first longing steps on the high wire, already imagining himself soaring through the air with them.

So, when Bruce tells him, “You have to let go,” the first time he is dangling mid-air over a rooftop because nobody told him that working with the grappling hook would throw him right back to his first trapeze trainings with his parents, it is all he can do not to curl up into a ball and hope someone will catch him.

“What’s wrong?” Bruce asks, somewhere below him, gentle in his own way, even if he has nothing on Dick’s father.

Dick remembers vividly how all he wanted to do as a child was to fly. He is all grown-up now, though - becoming an orphan does that – and he wants nothing more than solid ground beneath his feet and the memory of snapping bones scratched out of his mind.

“Is it safe?” Dick asks, his voice too high and too thin. If he had ever sounded like this at home, his mother would have pulled him to their trailer and hugged him close, feeding him cookies and hot cocoa.

“Yes.” Bruce’s tone is gruff, not impatient but like he is wondering why Dick cannot see the obvious. No explanation, no reassurance, no gentle guiding through the motions.

Dick never wanted too many instructions as a child, too eager, too fearless. His parents had to teach him patience. And life taught him fear.

What if I fall? Dick does not ask. He has always known what falling meant, even before it claimed his parents. He just never thought it would ever be an issue for him. The Flying Graysons – it is in the name. Flying, not –

“Robin,” Bruce says with a sigh.

His mother’s nickname for him jars Dick enough that he lets go abruptly, curling up to cushion his fall. This name has no place here, even though Dick proposed it himself as his alias. He is not brave anymore.

“Good.” Bruce is already turning, ready to return to patrol, but he briefly lays a hand on Dick’s shoulder.

Something in Dick’s mind screams. Never let go unless you’re sure. Never jump blindly. Never rely on somebody catching you. But the rules have changed.

When Dick gets to his feet, Bruce has already moved on.

---

The bat signal lights up and Dick knows this night will be an unpleasant one. Their slow patrol has just now changed into a chase. Bruce never said something out loud, but after Dick’s almost panic attack the first time he was using the grapple, they have been taking longer routes, travelling from rooftop to rooftop instead of rushing at neck-breaking speed through the night.

Dick is not sure whether to be grateful for that. In small doses, fear is a useful tool, life-saving even. But his entire life has changed and safe does not really have any room in it anymore.

“Keep up,” Bruce calls and then he is off, vanishing into the night without any more directions. Well, it is clear where they are going, Dick just has to follow.

Perhaps he is a coward, but he keeps going slowly, at first, walking when he could fly, but he has trusted his parents for longer than he has trusted Bruce, if he does at all. Gotham does not have any safety nets, no helping hands. Worse, he is the helping hand and Bruce trusts him to keep up.

The first two times he uses the grappling hook, everything goes well. He knows the motions, has the needed strength and agility. It is just his head that is the problem. But he manages it. Grapple, jump, fall, land. Grapple, jump, fall, land. Grapple, jump, fall –

Something hits him in mid-air, hard enough to loosen his grip. Years of practice make him cling to the line, knowing his life might depend on it. Breathing heavily, Dick chances a glance around, suspended in the air. The city is dark and nothing is moving. Bruce is long gone by now and –

Another hit, this one needle-sharp in his upper arm. Burning spreads across his skin, jolting him from his stupor. He still does not see where it is coming from but Bruce’s voice sounds sharp and clear in his head. You have to let go. Because right now, he is nothing but a target. Bright green and yellow, a beacon in the darkness.

Sweat covers Dick’s forehead as he stares into the dark, trying to see where he will land. Only his vision swims, going blurry from more than just adrenaline. And his skin is burning even hotter now and – he feels his hands slipping and then he is falling.

 ---

When Dick comes to, he remembers the fall but not how he landed. Just that terrifying, exhilarating moment of weightlessness before the crash. His entire body hurts, so he guesses he is not dead.

There is something wrong, though, he notices as his sluggish mind tries to make sense of what happened. He is sitting upright, too upright for having only woken up, and his eyelids are heavy. He has to put serious effort into lifting them. And then he wishes he had not.

He is not out on the rooftops anymore but in what looks like an abandoned workshop. Metal floor and metal tables, a lone lamp giving light somewhere behind him. He is sitting on a chair, pressed against the hard surface.

“My, my, look at what the cat dragged in. A little birdie,” a voice calls out as footsteps come close.

Dick barely notices that. All he can do is stare at his hands, bound to the metal chair with barbed wire. And there, around his chest, another piece bound several times around him. The pain does not even register over the pounding behind his eyelids. It is the blood that gets him. A dozen tiny trails of crimson run down his skin, reminding him so eerily of his parents bleeding out.

What happened? He was trying to follow after Bruce when he was hit by something. And now he is bound – with barbed wire – in a strange place with someone who does not sound like he is here to help-

Focus, his father’s voice sounds, if you let your mind wander, you’ll get hurt.

Dick has already broken one of his parents’ rules today and see where it got him. So, he takes a deep breath and tears his eyes away from his hands, trying his best to stay utterly still.

A man steps into his sight. Average height and build, small eyes that light up when he notices Dick looking at him. If he strains his ears, there are a few more voices talking quietly in his back, and Dick does not know what to make of that. It only makes his situation worse, but at least he was not taken out by a single opponent.

Considering the position he is in and how little care they have taken with his body, like they do not care if he ends up broken, it might not matter. Bruce will not bother to lecture him, if he is dead.

Dead. Dick might die today. All his life he has done things defying death. Soaring through the air with only ropes and his parents’ hands to save him. But it never felt like he was in any danger. His mother taught him to respect the height, and his father trained him to trust himself. He always knew the danger before he gave himself over to it.

This is different. This man does not care for Dick’s life. If the way he shot him out of the air and bound his battered body to a chair is not enough of a hint, the manic condescension in his face as he looks at Dick definitely is.

“Let’s see how long it’ll take for Batman to come for you,” the man says, his tone almost conspiratorial like he is just a concerned citizen trying to help Dick find his way home.

Dick knows Batman will not come, because Dick was supposed to keep up but could not. The rules here are very simple if not as clearly communicated as they were at home. But Dick was always a quick learner, even if it takes him some time to forget old lessons.

He only realizes he must have spoken some of that out loud, when the guy in front of him grins, full of crooked teeth and malice. “Then we’ll have to make you scream for him.”

The first punch hits Dick square in the jaw and the unexpectedness of it is probably worse than the pain. At least until Dick instinctively wants to shy away, trying to raise his hands in defence. The barbed wire bites into his already raw skin like a thousand tiny teeth hungry for blood. It starts as something sharp and then it burns, worse than anything Dick has experienced before. An entirely too rational voice in the back of his head that sounds suspiciously like Bruce tells him to relax, that it will only get worse if he fights against the wire. But he does not know how. He just wants to get away, but it follows his movements, digging deeper until it feels like it is clawing right through his core.

“I wouldn’t struggle so much if I were you,” the man says, caressing Dick’s face as if he had not just hit him. “You want to keep those pretty hands, right?”

Blind panic floods through Dick. Surely the barbed wire is not enough to cut through muscle and bone. Right? He is nothing without his hands. He cannot be Robin anymore and Bruce will not have any more use for him. He will have to leave, live out on the streets because what does anybody want with a circus brat without hands?

Despite his best intentions, Dick tries to free himself, fights against the bindings even though that only makes the pain worse. His breath comes in gasping bouts, barely enough to fill his lungs with air, but he cannot calm down. He is burning up from the inside.

He jumped before he was ready to and now he will die just like his parents, cut loose and with nowhere to land. This is not how this was supposed to happen. Bruce wanted to give him a second chance but Dick could not even do that.

Distantly, he hears the guy laughing, a full-bellied sound that belongs anywhere but here. “Scream, little birdie,” he taunts. “Scream or I’ll make you.”

Dick tries not to. It is not a matter of pride but merely that he is fighting to hold still despite the futility of it.

“Oh, well,” the man says, stepping closer. “This way will be more fun.”

The next punch hits Dick right in the stomach and he doubles over – or tries to if not for the barbed wire around his chest. And then he screams.

---

It is over as quickly as it began. Bruce arrives without noise or warning. One moment, punches rain down on Dick, a sickening drum-beat of pain, the next there is only cold air and burning skin.

Later, Dick will be ashamed by how easily Bruce dispatched of the men who took him while all Dick did was panic. Later, he will think he is not ready to fly again and yet he will jump with less caution. Because falling is surely better than being left behind.

He can barely concentrate as Bruce frees him from the barbed wire, peeling off the metal teeth with an unreadable look on his face. Dick can imagine what is happening beneath the mask. Disappointment. Anger at having to double back to get Dick out. Doubt he did the right thing when taking Dick in.

For all that Dick does not have much experience with disappointing other people, he is catching up on it very quickly. Perhaps his parents were simply wrong about him.

“Let’s go home,” Bruce says, not letting go of Dick after he helped him up to his feet. He looks like he is contemplating carrying him.

“What about the signal?” Dick asks, making sure he is steady on his feet before he pushes Bruce’s hands away. His mind is in disarray, but pain is still filling every corner of it. It leaves him strangely calm. The panic is sitting right beneath the surface but it cannot reach him and Tim really wants to keep it that way. Even without another full-blown panic attack is he afraid this might be the last time Bruce wants to take him home.

“Gordon will take care of it.” Despite the dismissive sound, Bruce is clearly frustrated.

The bat signal is explicitly for the cases where Batman is needed. If Gordon wanted to handle it on his own, the signal would not have been lit.

Guilt rises in the pit of Dick’s stomach, almost more powerful than the thousand tiny wounds marring his skin. “I can get back on my own,” he says, even though the world is threatening to tilt to the side, still blurry at the edges.

That must be the drugs. But they will wear off, and he can really take his time now. It will be fine, certainly.

Bruce does not look like it will be fine. He puts an arm on Dick’s shoulder as he turns. “Come.”

Dick wants to protest, wants to do at least one thing right, but he almost falls as soon as he takes the first step and only Bruce’s hand keeps him upright. The back of his eyes burns but he blinks furiously, desperate not to make this night any worse. He keeps his gaze down so Bruce will not see and concentrates on walking.

“You make a target of yourself if you stay too long in the air,” Bruce says while they are walking slowly, one step after the other. He does not make it sound like a reprimand but what else could it be? “You have to let go.”

“What if I don’t know where I’ll land?” Dick asks quietly. He does not want to bring his parents into this, because they are dead and will not be able to catch him.

“We’ll practice until you do.”

That sounds as if Dick will not be thrown out as soon as they get back, as if he will get a third chance. It does not reassure him as much as it probably should. His entire body is throbbing with pain and someone just used him as a punching bag for no other reason than to attract Batman’s attention. All his life, he was taught safety is the most important thing. If this is what the alternative looks like, he is not sure he wants to unlearn that.

But he nods anyway, because all he wants right now is something for the pain and Alfred’s hot chocolate and a warm bed. He wants to forget this night ever happened.

“Are you all right?” Bruce asks later, once Dick is bandaged up and out of uniform.

Dick bites the inside of his cheek. No is not the right answer here. He is not a child anymore, not a son. He is Robin, whose task is to assist Batman.

Living here with Bruce and Alfred in a mansion where all his needs are taken care of – that is his safety net. This is perhaps not the kind of safe his parents wanted for him, but it is the only thing he has left.

Not trusting his voice to hold steady, Dick nods. He keeps his head up while Bruce studies him, searching for any doubts.

Finally, Bruce says with that barely-there smile of his, “Next time, keep up.”

And Dick does.

---

Much later, when falling has become second nature and Bruce has found himself another child to teach self-destructive skills to, Dick composes a list.

If you need something, tell him, because Bruce won’t ask. If you’re feeling unwell, get Alfred involved, he’ll know what to do. If you’re hurting, stop. Never jump unless you know where you’re landing.

There are a few points at the very bottom of the list that he crossed out again. He has learned by now not to make promises he cannot keep. He won’t throw you out, even if you’re not perfect. Your home in the manor is not dependant on being Robin.

The first time Dick meets Jason, he knows he will never hand that list over. This is a boy with a chip on his shoulder if he ever met one, eager to prove himself, with already too many scars.

“Call me, if you need anything,” Dick still says when it is time to go, tone as insistent as he dares with Bruce hovering in the background. “Anytime.”

They all need to learn to jump, but Dick still thinks they still should have someone to catch them.

#whumptober2021 #no.1 #barbed wire #dc #fanfiction #whump #dick grayson #bruce wayne #my writing

[hoodoo12]

Even The Best Intentions

Dewey Finn appreciation is still happening, of course! This one touches on something that is rare in fanfiction: safe sex. I fell back on the old adage, “write what you want to read”, because safe sex just isn’t found in fanworks regularly. 

NSFW, Dewey Finn/f!reader. Smut, mentions of oral sex, PIV sex, safe sex practices . . . then angst

Enjoy!

@turtlepated @thewolfisapartofmysoul @go-commander-kim @strange-n-unbluusual

*

Sometimes accidents happen.

Sometimes accidents happen, and it’s not noticed in the heat of passion.

It was a night, like so many others, in which Dewey brought you to orgasm on his mouth until you were fatigued. But he still hadn’t gotten off, despite rutting into the mattress while he was between your legs, and when you came out of it enough to realize he was very slowly stroking himself, you grinned through your panting breaths and grabbed his wrist. 

“Come on, Dewey, I’d love to help you with that!”

You hiked yourself up on an elbow and kissed his chest, just over his heart, then tipped your head to look him directly in the eye.

“What would you like?  Behind me?  You want to just lay back and have me do all the work?  I know you like it when I’m on top of you,” you said suggestively, licking your lower lip because you knew he couldn’t help watch the movement.

Dewey’s teeth flashed with his characteristic smile and he slid down the bed enough to be face to face with you.  Entwining his fingers in the hair at the back of your head, he pulled you closer for a deep kiss.

There were times when kissing and teasing could last a long time.

This was not one of those times.

Even as his hands continued to roam over you, pinching sensitive spots and making you push closer to him, you managed to pull your mouth away from his.

“Tell me. Tell me how you want it,” you demanded throatily.

Dewey chuckled. “Why don’t you tell me how you want it, baby?”

You licked your lips, more in thought than to be provocative this time. When Dewey turned the tables, when he looked directly into your eyes and took a little more control in the bedroom, it made you flush even hotter than typical.

Dewey dropped his voice to a level of indecency.  “Would you like me to go slow? Just easing my cock into you and then dragging my way back out, so slow it’ll make you’ll be sobbing for more? When I was going down on you, tasting you, feeling you twist and squirm, hearing you moan until your voice gave out . . . every time you tipped your hips further into my face I could just imagine my cock so hard in your pussy . . .”

You watched him with rapt attention, your mouth slightly gaped to allow you to pant. Dewey reached forward to cup your breast, rolling your nipple. You gasped in surprise, even though it wasn’t unexpected. 

“Or do you want it fast?” he asked, reaching out to pinch your other nipple as he continued tweaking the first. You gasped again and involuntarily arched your back.  “I could fuck you fast and dirty.  Not soft and sweet and aching, just hard and rough—“

Your breath came even faster and you interrupted him.  “Hard and rough. Dewey—oh god, fuck me hard!”

With a chuckle of a growl Dewey immediately flipped you underneath him, then paused as you stretched to reach the condom you’d already strategically placed at the head of the bed. A few frustrating moments later you passed it to him, unopened. He didn’t waste time: using his teeth he tore the package open and spit the bit of foil he’d gotten in his mouth over the side of the bed. 

He rolled the rubber over himself, hurrying due to the desperate sounds coming out of your throat, and positioned himself between your legs.  Without a seconds’ hesitation, he drove himself into you as you’d asked: hard and rough.

His cry as he did so rivaled yours. This was the most sublime fuck; you were sopping wet from the multiple orgasms wrung out of you, but although he had used two to three fingers in you, you were tight. Your pussy clenched around his cock in incredible friction, and even though the condom dulled a little of the sensation, Dewey knew he wasn’t going to last long.

Marathon sex was for another session. Dewey complied with your request, fucking you fast. Your fingernails dug into his waist and ass as you worked to get a grip on him to encourage him to bury himself deeper. 

He felt you tilt your pelvis just as you had with his face between your thighs and felt you spasm underneath him as you called his name, and knew you’d climaxed again.

That was enough to send him to his own orgasm. The building pressure accumulated in a burst of release; Dewey suddenly couldn’t catch his breath and gave a wheezy moan as he came. You continued to rock your hips to milk the pleasure from him. He shuddered and rested on top of you to find his breath again.

By the time he was with it enough to move, you were murmuring and kissing the side of his head tenderly. Dewey didn’t consciously ignore your talk; after an intense orgasm sometimes his ears rang and it took a few seconds for it to stop.

He eased off and out of you. You groaned as he did so, and he flashed you a quick grin.

“Hope that wasn’t too short, baby,” he said, going back on his heels between your lower legs.

You groaned again in agreement.

Dewey grinned to himself at the sight of the splayed, sated woman before him, his fingers finding the bottom edge of the condom to begin pulling it off.  He glanced down as he worked and his smile disappeared as he blanched—

The condom was torn.

Not just a little tear—as if that would make a difference!—but a whole goddamn rip over the top down the side.

Rolling nausea filled him.

⁂

In a haze he finished taking off the soiled—useless!—condom. You had your eyes closed, and hadn’t noticed anything was amiss, although you held out a tissue without looking at him, showcasing your preparation again.

Dewey took the offered tissue without saying a word, and cleaned himself up.  His mouth was dry and he wracked his brain to try and figure out what to say or do.

He was clean. He thought. He wracked his brain to try and remember the last time he was actually tested for anything, but in his mounting panic, he couldn’t remember. Not that he’d had a thousand partners or anything, as if that meant something! 

You’d had never explicitly asked about his STD status. He’d never asked about yours! It was just a given that condoms were produced and he wore one. That’s just the way it was. The end.

It dawned on him in another sickening wave that he didn’t know if you were on some other type of birth control. Maybe you weren’t able to get pregnant? Oh god, he’d been so stupid. How could he have been so stupid?! He had never thought to ask and was under the assumption that the condoms were enough. 

Dewey groaned internally.

He could not tell you. That surely was an option, but that was a hell of a lie to keep proper maintenance on. Somewhere along the line he’d slip it up—if not by you being pregnant then subconsciously by his own guilt.  

That meant the only other option was to kick himself into gear and man up.

He gulped and cleared his throat.

“Uh . . . h-hey, uh . . .” As it tended to do when he was nervous, his voice cracked. 

Coming down from a blissful drift, you finally opened your eyes halfway and held your hand out to him, to pull him back up to you.  “Come on, Dew, get up here!”

“Uhmm . . .” He wanted to take your hand, but couldn’t.  His odd behavior finally registered with you and you turned your attention to him fully.  “I, uh.  I have to tell you . . .”

A concerned expression wrinkled your forehead. “What is it, Dewey?”

For a second, Dewey lost his voice. He rubbed his hand over his mouth and then through his hair—

“Seriously, Dewey!  What is it?” you demanded in a less bewildered voice and one that was closer to panic. You’d become familiar with your boyfriend’s unconscious tells of anxiety, and the combination of mouth covering and stress grooming set you on edge. “Dewey!”

“I’m sorry, baby—I’m sorry.  I need to tell you . . . that the-the condom broke.”

Even though he’d wrapped it up, he held the worthless piece of rubber out in his hand.  He couldn’t seem to open his eyes. Dewey imagined a hole opening in the mattress and him falling through. In the silence that followed, he wished it would actually happen.

The mattress shifted around him, making him work to not topple over.  He felt longer hair brush over his arm and shoulder and knew you were beside him.  You plucked the wadded tissue and condom from his hand, kissed the corner of his mouth, got off the bed. He heard you leave the room.

Then he didn’t know what to do. He felt an inch tall. He should go with you, right? He should talk to you and talk about it and and and and--

Before he could slow the ugly swirl of thoughts and unglue himself from the mattress, you came back into the room.

“Dewey?”

Your voice didn’t sound angry, but Dewey didn’t know what to expect. He opened his eyes slowly. You were watching him in concern, your eyes serious under pursed eyebrows.

He swallowed and found his voice. “I’m sorry, baby.”

You shook his head.  “Did you do it on purpose?”

“W-what?” Dewey sputtered, horrified.  “Of course I didn’t do it on purpose!”

You stopped shaking your head. The lines on your face relaxed and a very faint, reassuring smile lifted the corners of your mouth. “Then it was an accident.  I’m not gonna say, ‘nothing to worry about’, but I will say it’s okay.”

Dewey ran his fingers through his hair again.

“It’s okay, Dew.  I promise.”

He chanced a look into the your eyes again.  

“How can it be okay?” he asked miserably.

You shrugged.  “I took care of some of it, just now. There was always the possibility of getting pregnant—“ 

At the word Dewey sucked in his breath; you sank back onto the bed and slipped an arm around his waist in comfort. 

“—but the likelihood is pretty slim,” you continued quietly. “So we’ll deal with whatever comes, yeah?”

Dewey swallowed again.  “You’re seriously this calm about the whole thing?”

“It was an accident.  It’s a little scary, sure.  But there’s not much to do about it now, right?”

With duress, he nodded slowly.  

“We’ll just have to roll with it, okay?”

He had a hard time believing that—any pregnancy scare he’d ever heard a friend go through with their girlfriend was a stressful, tear-filled, screaming experience—but you were right. There was nothing to do but wait and find out.

You pulled him back down onto the mattress, tugged the bed linens back over you both, and made him the little spoon, cuddling him, telling him it’d be okay, kissing his shoulder and the nape of his neck. You told him that you’d keep track of things, but you didn’t really think it was going to be a problem. 

It was still a hard to wrap his head around, despite your reassurances, and the rock of guilt and worry that settled in Dewey’s stomach made it hard for him to fall asleep.

fin.

#writing #fanfiction #Dewey Finn #School of Rock #Dewey x reader

[waokevale]

The "DARK" Secret - Chapter 3

[Sorry guys, I don't really have the time and will for there to be a fanart under each and every chapter...! :/ ]

Time had has passed pretty quickly for Dee.

Both of the Young twins grew.

Too fast for his liking as he didn't even get to turn around and the twins now both turned 15 as they were now full-time Dark Sides.

Them and the Light Sides weren't much of friends though...

The Dark sides did despised the Light sides a lot, but Roman....He didn't despise them.

He hated them. 

He hated the way they acted, especially Patton. He seemed so...fake and suspicious.

Something seemed so fishy about this guy....He couldn't quite figure it out, yet.

Though Roman did like his host, Thomas. He wanted to get on his 'good' side and also to keep an eye out on those....other sides, just in case they were planning to do something ever.

Then...And idea struck him.

Maybe he could blend in with them and spy on them! Yes!

That way he could get the attention of Thomas and one day...maybe even free his brother, Ethan and Remy!

But he also needed to tell Deceit about the whole plan....

But first, Remus.

When he told his brother the plan, the other started energeticly clapping with an impressed and hopeful look on his face.

-"Wow! That's a great plan bro! Maybe it would work if those idiots were dumb enough-"

But then he was cut off by Deceit himself.

-"Who are those idiots you are talking about, the light sides I suppose?" Ethan plainly asked.

-"Ummm, yeah. I sort of have.... ugh..."

Roman stuttered.

-"Ro-Ro wants to spy on the Light sides to see what they are up to and maybe soon enough snuck us in Thomas's life!" Remus finished, still very excited, while Deceit's jaw basically dropped in either shock or surprise before loud:

-"WHAAAAAT?! Why would you- Roman! Do you know how dangerous it is?! What if they'll caught you?! What if something bad happens to you?! Oh god, I couldn't imagine what Patton would do if he found out...." Ethan seemed very paranoid or rather scared of the idea Roman just gave him.

-"Calm down, Dee-Dee. I'll be fine, I promise.

Besides, I've played acting with you guys thousands of times to actually be skilled enough to not get caught."

Deceit signed heavily before saying:

-"Roman...This is not theater or some sort of a game, this is much more serious and dangerous, I'm not sure If you could actually manage to do it...."

-"But Dee! I know what I'm doing! I'd be just fine, I swear!

Besides I'm the more good-looking twin anyway so they might let me in!" Roman of course then added the last part on purpose.

"WAIT WHAT?! Who said you are hotter than me?!"

Remus argued and soon enough it became a silly quarrel they had.

It was never too serious, neither was this time.

-"Guys, guys YOU ARE BOTH EQUALLY HOT SO SHUT UP ALREADY!"

Ethan yelled tiredly, not thinking 'straight' ahead of what was he saying.

The twins both imidiately turned their heads in the Deceitful trait's direction before smirking, as Ethan slowly realized what he had just said, his human half turning red from the embarassment as his snake half was painted with equal amount of dark green blush.

He already knew they won't stop teasing him about it for the next month at least.

-"So you think we are hot?" - Roman laughed while playfully winking back at the snake side.

-"Awww Dee-Dee. I see your two D's are getting turned on by the both of us?" Remus added while they started laughing and soon enough ended on the floor, as Deceit's embarrassment turned into anger, there could be heard two loud slaps in the air.

-"Bastards!" He yelled, frowning and running out of the room.

Then there was a queit, barely possible to hear sob from the snake-looking side.

Both of the twins faces from hysteric turned into sad one's in no time.

They had clearly upset Ethan, forgetting he was fragile about this topic specifically.

They decided to form Dee's favorite cookies and some juice out of thin air and go apologize.

They weren't just any clueless teenagers after all.

As they knocked on the door there could be heard a miserable voice saying:

-"What do you want...?" 

Which made the twins even more sad and guilty.

-"Ethy we came to apologize...Please forgive us, we're sorry. They said in unison like they always did, when they thought the same thing, which wasn't rare.

After a little while of silence they decided to give up and put the board with food outside his door and as soon as they started walking back, the door opened.

-"Okay, I forgive you, you goofballs." Ethan smirked playfully which made the other two start beaming again with happiness as they both threw themselves at him as he gave out a shocked yelp.

They all collapsed on the floor, laughing after a few seconds.

As they did, Roman decided to boop Deceit on the nose receiving a small *blep* from the other as he began to get "angrier."

Not seriously angrier this time though, it was like a "tantrum anger".

But it was all a trick because as soon as Roman closed his eyes he was being attacked by tickles from the other side.

His brother was on Dee's side this time and soon enough they defeated Roman who was currently hysterically crying from the so called "torture".

-"H-h-ow d-d-ha-ha-re y-you b-bropff-brother! I-I thought we- hahaha-were-on-the-haha-same-t-team!"

-"I changed sides to help Dee-Dee!"

After the little bonding, they got up as Roman's face got serious. Remus knew what he already had in his mind so he frowned a little from ruining the moment.

-"Dee? About the earlier topic-" Roman started.

-"You can go." Deceit replied before the prideful side could finish.

-"W-wait, really?" Both creativities looked very surprised at the snake's answer.

-"Yes....Just please, be careful. I will never forgive myself if you'll get hurt or manipulated" he said sadly.

The twins tucked him in more tighter hug this time and tried making him feel better.

-"Thank you Dee so much! Now I know that that's a lot of trust to put in someone, I love you so much!" Roman exclaimed happily.

-"No, thank you guys, I'm so lucky I have you here." Ethan smiled softly as he always did.

Hearts of the both of the twins had already turned into jelly.

It even worked on Remy.

This one smile could bring peace to the whole world!

How couldn't the light sides just see it?!

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #deceit sanders #ts deceit #remus sanders #ts remus #ts roman #roman sanders #ts janus #janus sanders #ts roceit #roceit #ts demus #demus #kingceit #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction

[heartbeatan]

Damned Royalty (Chapter 7)

Return to Chapter 6.

Return to Table of Contents.

Return to Desperado Series.

Return to Jimin Fanfictions.

Return to Masterlist.

Chapter 7

You should have been afraid – and perhaps somewhere inside you, you were – but elsewhere, you were on fire. 

He pressed his lips to the flesh above your collarbone, then began to make his way north, tilting your head up to expose the length of your neck.

You hummed as he did, you couldn’t stop yourself when it came to him. His lips, his kisses, his hands all made you crazy.

“I love those little sounds you make,” his voice rumbled into your ear. “I bet you’re really something when you come.”

“I wouldn’t know,” you whispered before you remembered to say nothing. Jimin froze.

Shit! You thought to yourself as your cheeks began to red.

“I mean…” you began, but you didn’t know how to cover up your secret. Jimin pulled himself from you. He cocked his head and those eyes of his pierced into you.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” you replied quickly. Too quickly. Quicker than you could come up with a plan to wave off your remarks.

“Are you a virgin?” he prodded.

“No.”

He looked you over again, from top to bottom, then bottom up until he reached your eyes.

“Has a man never made you come before?”

You averted your gaze to some obscure corner of the room. Your fingers fiddled uncomfortably with each other. You didn’t know what to say. You were so embarrassed. You had been lusting over this man… this dangerous man… this man you knew was no good for you… and at the same time he was so far out of your league you were surprised you could even see him standing before you.

“Answer me,” Jimin said softly as his hand fell from your cheek and dipped into his pocket. He shifted his weight so he could look at you better - it was as if he was sizing you up, like you were some sort of lab experiment.

“No,” you answered him, barely audibly.

“Speak up.”

“No!” you raised your voice and octave, now fucking pissed as you knew he was going to laugh at you. But he didn’t laugh.

“Oh… princess,” he whispered.

You breathed heavily through your nose. You had never felt this exposed before. You had always managed to hide your flaws… hide your secrets well… it was what you had been trained to do your whole life. But since the day you met him, Jimin could see right through them… right through you. And now he knew one of your biggest.

“Do you touch yourself?”

Your eyes widened as they snapped up to meet his, and somehow your face burned even hotter.

“What?”

“I asked, do you touch yourself?”

“I… I… that’s none of your business.”

He took a step forward, closing the gap between you again. When he was in your space, and you were sure his body heat was warming your skin, he raised his hand and drew a strand of hair off your face.”

“It’s okay if you don’t, princess. But that’s going to be the first thing to change.” His thumb drew a line down your jaw to your chin. He then pulled at your lower lip and let it bounce back into place. “I’m gonna make you feel good. But I need you to be ready.”

“I am ready,” you whispered. His proximity was intoxicating, and you couldn’t hold back your words.

He leaned in and pulled your lips into his. Once again, the heady sensation that flooded your system took over – just like the first and the last time he kissed you. Once again, you couldn’t stop yourself from sinking into him; from drinking him in; from moaning into his mouth. You reached up to thread your fingers through his hair, but he grabbed a hold of each wrist before you could, pulling your arms back down to your sides as he pulled his face from yours.

“I need you to trust me, Y/N. I need you to do as I say.” He kissed your cheek and you closed your eyes. “Can you do that for me?”

I would do anything you asked me to do, you thought - this time managing to keep it to yourself.

“Hmm?” he prompted you.

“Yes,” you choked out.

“Good,” he stepped back from you and you shivered at the rush of cool air that took his place. He sauntered across the room, pulling a chair from the desk and placing it to face the foot of the bed. He sunk into the chair, crossing one ankle over a knee and smoothing out his shirt. He then looked up to you, standing confused and blue-balled before him. “Now, take off your clothes.”

You jerked your head up to look at him, unsure if you had heard him right, and unsure of what game he was playing – but he was serious, stoic even, as he waited for you.

When you had imagined sex with Jimin, you suppose you had imagined it to be… romantic. Passionate, but romantic. That he would undress you – take his time – worship your body with his hands and his lips. But you were now realizing it was foolish of you to have wanted that. This was Park Jimin. He saw beautiful women naked every day – you weren’t special. All he wanted was for you to strip for him like one of his dancers. The thought hurt you more than you’d like to admit.

You also couldn’t shake the thought of him and other women…

“Well… let’s just say his kink doesn’t only include tying up people who cross him in the boardroom.” 

You had never done anything like that before. What if you couldn’t do the things he wanted you to do? Would you be enough for him?

Your knees began to shake as these and a thousand other thoughts scrambled through your mind.

“Trust me, Y/N,” he whispered, as he sensed your unease. You pursed your lips and nodded nervously, then; with shaky hands you began to unbutton your shirt. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him as you did. You pulled the fabric from your shoulders then folded it carefully and set it aside. There you stood before him, in your skirt and your bra. You willed yourself then to peer up at him. His gaze didn’t meet yours… instead it watched your body, your legs, the curve of your hips, the rounds of your breasts. His features remained ascetic, but those eyes ate you up like they were starving. The pads of his fingers danced softly across his plump lips – you could then tell he was bothered by even the slightest reveal of your flesh.

Suddenly, a wave of confidence washed over your senses. Your knees stopped shaking, your hands stopped trembling, and your eyes stopped darting to anything but Jimin. Slowly, you stepped out of your heels and brushed them aside. Then you brought your fingers to the zipper of your skirt. You watched Jimin as he followed your hands as they dragged down your waist and your hip, releasing your torso from its cotton confines. You hooked your fingers into the waistband and shuffled yourself softly out of the skirt, letting the fabric pool to the floor. Jimin sucked inconspicuously on his lower lip, but it was conspicuous enough for you to notice it – notice his arousal. It made you feel… sexy. Like you were the one in control, not him. Perhaps this was a first.

“W- what do you think?” you asked him timidly as you stood before him in nothing but your undergarments. His gaze finally left your body and greeted you.

“Beautiful…” he whispered. “You’re so beautiful.”

His words made butterflies begin to fly in your stomach and you blushed. You then waited for him - you weren’t sure for what. For him to drink you in? To kiss you?

“What now?” you asked when the anticipation became to much.

“Get on the bed,” he commanded. You stepped backward, letting your calves hit the bed before you sat down on the edge. You then pulled yourself off the floor and shimmied your way up the mattress, bringing your knees up to your chest to hide yourself as best as you could.

“Y/N.”

“Yes?”

“I want you to touch yourself.”

Stunned, you looked back at him.

“I… I…” you stammered and stumbled to find words.

“You can do it, Y/N. Touch yourself.”

You bit your lip. You thought you were going to be having sex tonight, not fumbling awkwardly around your sex while Park Jimin watched you.

“But… I want you to touch me,” you pleaded with him.

“I will, princess, I promise. But you’ve never come before. Don’t you think it’s time you do?”

“I want it to be you.”

“I don’t deserve it – not your first. It should belong to you,” he said. “Make yourself come – then I’ll make you come.”

“I don’t know how.”

“I’ll help you.”

You took a deep breath through your nose and closed your eyes. You can do this, you hyped yourself up.

“Ok,” your eyes sprung open. “Tell me what you want.”

“This is about what you want, princess.”

“Okay. Then tell me what I need to do.”

“First, relax.”

You took in another deep breath and eased your shoulders. Then you let your first leg drop and slide along the bed, then the other.”

“Good,” Jimin encouraged you. “Take off your bra. It’ll feel better.”

You reached behind your back and released the clasps, then pulled the straps down off your shoulders, letting the lace fall and liberate your breasts. You discarded it to the side, then placed your hands behind you on the bed, waiting patiently for Jimin to instruct you next.

“Does that feel better?” he asked.

“Mm hm,” you nodded.

“Good. Now start by touching your body. It’s so beautiful, Y/N. Find out where it feels good and tell me.”

You started by brushing your hair over your one shoulder, then you let your fingers trail down along the side of your neck. You then let it creep slowly down your collarbone, the valley between your breasts, your belly, then you let your fingers dip slightly under the hem of your panties.

“Not yet,” Jimin stopped you before you took the plunge. “Where else? What feels good?”

“I don’t know,” you whined.

“Then, show me where you’d like me to touch you.”

You bit your lip and thought for a moment, then, bringing your fingers back up, you grazed your neck.

“I like when you kiss me here.”

“Mmm…” Jimin hummed. “I like kissing you there. I like how you moan when I do. Where else.”

You drew your fingers down the middle of your chest and down to your waist. “I like when you put your hands here,” your fingers softly danced across your skin, and your body jolted slightly.

“I love your body. I love touching it.”

“And here…” you dragged your palm north and cupped your warm, round breasts in your hand. “I really want you to touch me here.”

Jimin licked his lips as he watched you begin to massage yourself. “How does that feel?”

“It feels really good,” you whispered back, holding a little sigh inside you.

“Play with your nipples. Pinch them.”

You did as he asked, and he watched you intently as you brought one peak to attention, then switched and stiffened the other one.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered.

“Ugh, I wish it was you touching me, Jimin.”

“Soon, princess. Keep going. Where else do you want me.”

“You know where.”

“Show me.”

You let your hand slide south, over your breast, over your belly, until once again your fingers were playing with the hem of your panties. You dipped beyond the elastic, then looked up to watch Jimin watch you as you dug your fingers beneath the fabric.

“Mmmmm,” you keened as your fingers grazed over your folds.

“That’s it,” Jimin rasped. “How does that feel?”

“It feels…” you rubbed your fingers down your slit then pulled back up again, inhaling deeply as it brought you a wave of pleasure. “It feels good.”

“Let me hear you, then. If it feels good… let me know.” He wanted you to be loud. He wanted your moans and your pants to be heard from the chair in which he was sitting.

You pulled again, a little tighter, letting your fingers reach your clit. When the tingle and the heat spread through you, you let out a moan loud enough for Jimin to hear.

“Oh, God,” you breathed as you began to rub yourself from side to side. “Oh!”

“Keep going,” Jimin instructed you. “Get yourself nice and wet.”

You did as he asked, finding a rhythm, you stroked your clit and a heat and a wetness formed beneath your fingers.

Jimin leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his lips parted and he stared down the erotic scene before him. Emboldened by your arousal, or the way Jimin appeared to be aroused, you pressed your fingers firm into your clit and let out an exaggerated moan.

“Why don’t you take off your panties, baby?”

Adjusting yourself on the mattress, you hooked your fingers into the waist band and slowly pulled your panties off your hips. You shimmed them over you ass, before slipping them over your thighs, your calves, your ankles before you tossed them aside. Now you were bare and dripping – nothing to hide you from him… and you liked it.

“Now keep going. Don’t stop until I tell you to stop.”

You brought your sticky fingers back to your centre and resumed rubbing your clit.

“Circles,” Jimin made a motion with his finger. You obeyed, and – oh, fuck – did it ever feel good.

“Oh, God!” you croaked.

“Faster,” he demanded. You complied.

“Ughhh!” you felt a hot coil begin to tighten behind your navel. Your centre began to throb and ache, as if the sensation was too much, but you were told not to stop, and you didn’t want to stop. “I… I…” you called out to him, but you couldn’t find the words to say.

“I said don’t stop,” Jimin ordered again – so you kept going, rubbing as hard and as fast as you could. The room began to echo with the slick sounds of your fingers clapping against your wetness. You looked up to Jimin and he looked commandingly back at you. This time, his eyes on nothing else but your face – he knew you were about to come and he wanted to see you as you did.

This knowledge in tow, a fire inside you ignited, and you stared him back, your mouth agape, your chest bouncing desperate for air, until the coil inside you began to tighten and tighten and tighten until…

“Ohhh! Ohhh! Ohhh!” you flung yourself backwards on the mattress and every muscle in your body pulled taunt then release. “Ohhh!” you cried out again as your body did it again, this forcing your come to spill from your core.

“Keep going,” Jimin commanded again. You tried, but you body was no longer yours. You had no control. It was a slave to the pleasure the rocked it.

“Ughhh!” you let out a final yell into the abyss.

 

It felt as if you had fallen asleep and had just awoken from a dream. Your body felt lethargic, refreshed, giddy. But that wasn’t what had happened – you hadn’t slept. You had come. Fuck, finally, you had come.

“So this is what everyone was talking about,” you said out loud, forgetting that someone else was in the room – but you were reminded when you could hear his soft chuckle from the chair beyond your legs.

“How was that, princess?”

That’s when you remembered you were naked – the only one naked – with your legs spread eagle to give a view to a man you hardly knew. That’s when the peace you felt after coming left and a bout of self-consciousness returned. You sat up, crossing your legs, and wrapping an arm over you breasts to cover them.

The corner of Jimin’s mouth curved up as his noticed your shift. He stood up from his chair and leaned towards you. Pressing his palms into the mattress on either side of your hips, he bent his neck and his lips caught yours.

“Don’t ever hide from me,” he whispered against your lips.

You blushed slightly and sucked on your lower lip, but you nodded for him. Just as you did, an embarrassingly loud grumble came from deep in your stomach.

“Oh my God,” you clapped your free hand over your face as you blushed even harder. Jimin found it all amusing and you could hear him softly laughing at you.

“Get dressed, princess,” he said as his place a kiss to your forehead. “Let’s get you something to eat.”

#bts smut #jimin imagine #jimin smut #jimin x y/n #jimin x reader

[polvillodecanela]

OC TOBER  DAY ONE: Sunrise

In english and spanish under the cut. 

@oc-growth-and-development

Arthur woke up just at dawn. Faint pale rays streamed through the small room window and fell right on the body beside him. Under those warm rays, Indulala's body seemed to glow. It seemed almost magical to him. The magic of Indulala's body had left him a few days ago.

It seemed incredible to him that so little time had passed since they left everything on fire and decided to live this way. It seemed incredible to him that they had survived with little more than their own lives. It seemed, even more incredible, that last night had happened.

He remembered, very vividly - perhaps too much - the exact texture of Indulala's hair in his hands, the ups and downs that his pores made when he kissed a piece of his skin, the sounds - God, the sounds - he never expected to be the receptor, the cause, of those sounds. He smiled. He hoped with all his might that it wasn't the only time he could have the luxury - yes, the luxury - of having time like this with him, just the two alone.

Arthur found himself too focused on the light hitting Indulala’s bare shoulders to notice that there were a pair of eyes staring back at him. He was startled when he felt a finger shyly brush his arm.

"Hey," he said and smiled.

Indulala looked beautiful like this: his long hair severely disheveled, his supernaturally pale cheeks with that blush that only a good night's sleep achieves, his amethyst eyes awake and alert, but with a veil of tranquility. Of desire, Arthur noted with some satisfaction. Indulala was beautiful at night, it seemed that he belonged to the lunar brilliance and the paleness of the stars, but in that yellowish light of the sunrise it seemed to recover every inch of humanity. It made him look so ...

"Beautiful, stunning, incredible," he whispered in his ear.

Indulala smiled.

“Thanks, you're not bad.”

Arthur allowed himself those two seconds of childish laughter that invaded his chest. The other had blushed a little more and seemed to want to cover his body with the sheet. Summer was raging and it seemed that this was an impractical gesture. Still, he supposed, they had been in hotter, more humid summers. He was going to grant him that new armor. For now.

Arthur, then, fell gently onto the bed. He looked at the ceiling and slowly allowed Indulala to lean against his chest. It seemed like he was thinking. Arthur could almost hear Indulala’s thoughts in his head. Almost.

“What’s wrong?”

He waited about two minutes, maybe more. Indulala did not move. He just hugged him tightly.

“ don't get used to it.”

“Hm?”

“On a morning like this”, he paused rather long “things would be different. The routine was very comfortable.”

“Would you rather be teaching than ... here?”

“Oh. No. I think not.”

“You just <<Think>>”, He gently pulled his hair “I did something wrong last night then.”

Two or three heartbeats passed.

“No” Indulala said and his voice sounded supernatural every ounce “it's just that ... I still haven't recovered from what happened.”

“It would be impressive, in a somewhat twisted sense, if you had already done it. It hasn´t been long and I imagine that ... it all fell very quickly for you.”

“Don't you miss them?” He looked at him “your family? They too…”

“I didn't spend much time with them, I’m more hurt for Francis.”

“ I understand.”

The air was starting to get heavy. The sun kept rising slowly. The room had turned a pretty creamy color and the heat was starting to rise too. Under his arm Indulala began to stir with the intention of getting up. Arthur grabbed him closer. He wasn't going to let those seconds go to waste. Very carefully he lifted Indulala’s chin.

“Don't get up”  He said after they kissed.

He kissed Him again. On his lips Arthur could feel that the other was smiling. Indulala's hands melted at the back of his neck. Gently pulling the short hair that was born there. When they parted, Indulala took a rebellious curl and tucked it very carefully behind his ear. He was smiling sweetly. And then Arthur allowed himself to hug him. That pleasure of being able to put his hands on Indulala was another of the thousand things that were incredible to him. How had he lived all those years just fantasizing? How could he have survived all this without taking his hand? Hug him? kiss him? How? He had been too strong and he feared that now that he had everything he wouldn’t be able to live without having it all the time.

Time.

That was another thing that seemed incredible to him. The amount of time in front of him was almost vulgar. Hong had warned him that overthinking the future was going to make him anxious, but he wasn't thinking about the future right now. No. Arthur was thinking about the abstract concept of time, what time would do with them, with him, more than anything. Indulala did not seem to care about time, always keeping the future in close quarters. Fortunately, the aforementioned prevented him from eating his head with mindless worries when, amid a mischievous giggle, he climbed onto his lap and made him sink deeper into the mattress.

“This is a surprise” he said and looked at Indulala who had his hair falling all over the place.

“There will be something I could do to prevent you from looking like this.”

“Like what?”

“As if you wanted to blow the door with your mind.”

“ Can do it?”

Indulala seemed to consider it seriously. Then he moved his head. Denied.

“Without a door there is no ... that”

“What a horrible blackmail.”

“Those were my terms”

Again, Arthur found himself laughing. Laughing like what it was: A young man. There was no tragedy, there was no blood, dramas, souls, gods and demigods. It was just him. The idiot boy who decided to fall in love with the least suitable person. And then there was Indulala who also decided to fall for the really less convenient person. "Look where your curiosity took you, dear." He felt a prick on his cheek. Indulala had made a very uncharacteristic pout.

“Again.”

“I'm sorry, I'm thinking about ... that.”

“I don `t believe you.”

“Why?” He smiled all charismatic.

“Because I'm on your lap. I would know.”

Shameless.

Arthur felt slowly how the heat of his body was directed to two very specific areas.

“Now it seems that you're thinking about that.”

“Where did you get the confidence to talk to me like that? Bold.”

“Sorry, my good lord, but I think that up here I do not get all of your whining.”

This was the last straw, Arhtur used all his strength to straighten up and hug the other in a particularly heated kiss. Using some momentum he managed to swap positions. He had a vague memory - or not so much - of having done that many times last night. Indulala laughed in a stream of sheets, pillows and silver hair. He parted curtain of hair to reveal his face. He was smiling just as shyly as the night before, only he had bold edges that were very new. They suited him well. The blush on his cheeks marked his cheekbones strongly. His eyes were two crescent moons. He kissed Indulala’s lips again. There would be time to face the vast amount of time that lay ahead. There would be time to face the abyss into which they had thrown themselves. In those sweet minutes it would be just them. Nobody else.

____________________________________

Arthur despertó justo al alba. Los tenues rayos pálidos se colaban por la ventana de la pequeña habitación y caían justo sobre el cuerpo a su lado. Bajo aquellos tibios rayos el cuerpo de Indulala parecía brillar. Le parecía casi mágico. La magia del cuerpo de Indulala se había marchado hacia unos días antes.

Le parecía increíble que hubiera pasado tan poco tiempo desde que dejaron todo en llamas y decidieron vivir de esta forma. Le parecía increíble que hubieran sobrevivido con un poco más que sus propias vidas. Le parecía, aún más increíble que lo de anoche hubiera pasado.

Recordó entonces muy vivido – tal vez demasiado – la textura exacta del cabello de Indulala en sus manos, los relieves que sus poros hicieron en el momento en el que besaba algún trozo de piel, los sonidos – dios, los sonidos – nunca esperó ser el receptor, causante, de esos sonidos. Sonrío. Esperó con todas sus fuerzas que no fuera la única vez que pudiera darse el lujo – sí, el lujo – de tener un tiempo así, a solas.

Arthur se encontró demasiado concentrado en como la luz golpeaba sobre los desnudos hombros como para notar que había un par de ojos mirándolo de vuelta. Se sobresaltó cuando sintió un dedo rozando tímidamente su brazo.

-          Hey – dijo y sonrió.

Indulala se veía hermoso así: el largo cabello severamente desordenado, las sobrenaturalmente pálidas mejillas con ese sonrojo que solo una buena noche de sueño logra, los ojos amatista despiertos y alerta, pero con un velo de tranquilidad. De deseo, notó Arthur con cierta satisfacción. Indulala era hermoso en las noches, parecía que pertenecía al brillo lunar y la palidez de las estrellas, pero, en aquella luz amarillenta del amanecer parecía recobrar cada centímetro de humanidad. Lo hacía ver tan…

-          Hermoso, despampanante, increíble – le susurró en el oído.

Indulala sonrió.

-          Gracias, tú no estás mal.

Arthur se permitió esos dos segundos de risa infantil que invadieron su pecho. El otro se había sonrojado un poco más y parecía querer cubrirse el cuerpo con la sábana. El verano arreciaba y parecía que ese, era un gesto nada práctico. Igual, supuso, habían estado en veranos más cálidos y húmedos. Le iba a conceder esa coraza nueva. Por ahora.

Se dejó luego caer suavemente en la cama. Miró el techo y con parsimonia dejó que Indulala se recostara en su pecho. Parecía que pensaba. Podía casi escuchar sus pensamientos en la cabeza. Casi.

-          ¿Qué pasa?

Esperó unos dos minutos, tal vez más. Indulala no se movió. Se limitó a abrazarlo con fuerza.

-          No me acostumbro

-          ¿Hm?

-          En una mañana como esta – hizo una pausa más bien larga – las cosas serían distintas. La rutina era muy cómoda.

-          ¿Prefieres estar dando clase que… aquí?

-          Oh. No. Creo que no.

-          ¿Solo crees? – le haló con suavidad el cabello – algo hice mal anoche entonces.

Dos o tres latidos de corazón pasaron.

-          No – le dijo y la voz le sonó cada onza sobrenatural – es solo que… aun no me recupero de lo que pasó.

-          Sería impresionante, en un sentido algo torcido, que lo hubieras hecho ya. No ha pasado mucho y me imagino que … todo cayó muy deprisa para ti.

-          ¿No les extrañas tú? – lo miró - ¿a tu familia? Ellos también…

-          No pasaba mucho tiempo con ellos, me duele más Francis.

-          Entiendo.

El aire estaba empezando a ponerse pesado. El sol seguía subiendo despacio. La habitación había tomado un bonito color crema y el calor empezaba a subir.  Bajo su brazo Indulala empezó a removerse con la intención de levantarse. Lo asió más hacia él. No iba a permitir que esos segundos se perdieran. Con mucho cuidado levantó suavemente su mentón.

-          No te levantes – le dijo después de haberlo besado.

Le besó otra vez. Sobre sus labios pudo sentir que el otro sonreía. Las manos de Indulala se fundieron en su nuca. Halando suavemente los cabellos cortos que nacían ahí. Cuando se separaron Indulala tomó un rizo rebelde y lo puso con muchísimo cuidado tras su oreja. Sonreía dulcemente. Y se permitió abrazarlo. Ese placer de poder poner sus manos sobre Indulala era otra de las mil cosas que le resultaban increíbles. ¿Cómo había vivido todos esos años solo fantaseando? ¿Cómo había podido sobrevivir a todo ello sin tomarlo de la mano? ¿abrazarlo? ¿besarlo? ¿Cómo? Había sido demasiado fuerte y temió que ahora que tenía todo no iba a poder vivir sin tenerlo todo el tiempo.

Tiempo.

Esa era otra cosa que le parecía increíble. La cantidad de tiempo que tenía delante se hacía casi vulgar. Hong le había advertido que pensar demasiado en el futuro le iba a producir ansiedad, pero en esos momentos no estaba pensando en el futuro. No. Estaba pensando en el concepto abstracto del tiempo, de lo que el tiempo haría con ellos, con él, más que nada. A Indulala el tiempo parecía no importarle teniendo siempre el futuro en close cuarters. Para su fortuna el susodicho evitó que se comiera la cabeza con preocupaciones sin sentido cuando en medio de una risilla traviesa se subió a su regazo y lo hizo hundirse más en el colchón.

-          Esto si es una sorpresa – dijo y miró a Indulala que tenía el cabello cayendo para todos lados.

-          Habrá algo que podría hacer para evitar que te veas así.

-          ¿Así?

-          Como si quisieras hacer estallar la puerta con la mente.

-          ¿Puedo hacerlo?

Indulala pareció considerarlo seriamente. Negó.

-          Sin puerta no hay… eso

-          Que horrible chantaje.

-          Son mis términos.

Nuevamente se encontró riendo. Riendo como lo que era: Un joven. No había tragedia, no había sangre, dramas, almas, dioses y semidioses. Solo era él. El chico idiota que decidió enamorarse de la persona menos conveniente. Y después estaba Indulala que también decidió hacerle caso a la persona realmente menos conveniente. “Mira donde te llevó tu curiosidad, querido”. Sintió un pinchazo en la mejilla. Indulala había hecho un muy poco característico mohín.

-          Otra vez.

-          Lo siento, es que estoy pensando en…eso.

-          No creo.

-          ¿Por qué no crees? – le sonrió todo carismático

-          Porque estoy sobre tu regazo. Lo sabría.

Sin vergüenza.

Arthur sintió lentamente como el calor de su cuerpo se dirigió a dos zonas muy específicas.

-          Ahora sí parece que estás pensando en eso.

-          ¿De dónde sacaste la confianza de hablarme así? Audaz.

-          Perdón, mi buen señor, pero creo que acá arriba no me llegan la totalidad de sus lloriqueos.

Siendo esta la gota que rebasó el vaso usó toda su fuerza para enderezarse y estrechar al otro en un beso particularmente acalorado. Usando algo de momento logró intercambiar las posiciones. Tuvo un vago recuerdo – o no tanto – de haber hecho muchas veces aquello anoche. Indulala reía en un reguero de sabanas, almohadas y cabellos plateados. Se abrió una cortina de cabello para que se viera su cara. Sonreía con la misma timidez que la noche anterior solo que tenía unos bordes de audacia que eran muy nuevos. Le sentaban bien. El sonrojo en sus mejillas le marcaba con más fuerza los pómulos. Sus ojos eran dos medias lunas. Besó sus labios otra vez. Ya habría tiempo para enfrentarse a la gran cantidad de tiempo que tenían por delante. Ya habría tiempo para hacerle cara al abismo en el que se habían arrojado. En esos dulces minutos serían solo ellos. Nadie más.

#oc tober #Oh my god I really loved to write this... Idk I feel so... young ajajja #traslating the whole thing was a pain in my ... #Sunrise or as I call it the morning after. #Indulala y Arthur #Gold #Oc lore #post canon tho

[stennnn06]

andrea x kara

Kara breathed a sigh of relief as she hit ‘print’ on her article. The deadline had been looming over her all day, catching up to her the way it always seemed to -- too quickly and with little warning. Between putting out fires at work and putting out literal fires as Supergirl, Andrea’s click bait articles were being pushed aside more often than not. But somehow she managed to get it all wrapped up with a few short minutes to spare, which meant she wasn’t going to have to dance her away through asking for an extension. A small blessing. 

She glanced around and swallowed heavily, realizing there was only one other light on in the entire office. 

Great. Instead of being able to leave her piece on Andrea’s desk, it seemed like tonight called for a face to face visit. 

Of course Andrea Rojas would choose tonight of all nights to be at CatCo. Her schedule was nothing if not unpredictable, although Kara was starting to catch on to a pattern. It was almost like Andrea knew when Kara would be stressed and cramming, and she chose those particular nights to be available. Kara felt like Andrea rather enjoyed tearing her articles apart while looking her in the eye with that sarcastic, happy smile on her face that read as anything but pleased or content. 

Kara wanted to like Andrea. She was brilliant, capable, very put together and more than a little intimidating. And maybe, under any other circumstance, she would like her. Or at least, she’d give her a lot more leeway. But Andrea wasn’t Lena, and that was always going to be where her mind went, no matter how unfair it was. Not to mention, CatCo under Andrea’s control was a completely different situation and she seemed to thrive on making it all difficult. She was bossy, and had a vision that Kara couldn’t get on board with, no matter how many directions she tried to spin it. 

Her most recent article-- a ‘Would You Rather’ fluff piece that she would rather not write-- practically burned in her hands as she walked across the hallway, thinking about all the ways Andrea was going to cut it to pieces. 

She paused at her office door, bracing herself and trying to plaster a smile on her face. It felt like a grimace, and she was sure it looked just as bad, but it was all she could do to keep appearances.

Andrea was sitting on her couch, nursing a drink, staring hard at her laptop with her jaw clenched and her eyebrows furrowed so deeply the lines were practically sculpted in her forehead. Her cheeks were tear-stained, her mascara slightly running. It seemed like a horrible time to intrude, and Kara really didn’t want to bother but--

Andrea cleared her throat. 

“Kara,” she said, noticing her. Her voice was soft and watery with disuse and something more. Something heavy. “Do you have that article for me?”

Kara nodded lamely, walking into the office. She avoided Andrea’s eyes as she handed it out for her to take. Andrea took it in silence, but Kara noticed the way her eyes seemed red-rimmed and misty, her lips pursed in a frown that was more than just focused. 

Andrea didn’t say anything as she read through, the way she almost always did. She didn’t offer a quip or a dig at Kara’s rushed writing. She simply marked it with a pen and handed it back with a trembling hand. 

“Have the edits to me before 9am,” she directed, not bothering to look at Kara’s face. 

Kara nodded, taking the article back. She had every intention to turn around and walk away, but she knew she would feel guilty if she didn’t even try to ask what was wrong. In an effort to avoid Andrea’s eyes, she accidentally glanced at her laptop where a confusing collage of pictures stared back at her. Pictures of Andrea and…

Kara’s heart stammered. Lena’s eyes stared back at her with their usual intensity, her playful smirk almost taunting. 

“Are you--” Kara cleared her throat. Andrea looked up, her eyes narrowing. “Okay?”

“Are any of us?” Andrea replied, her words lazy and slow. She chuckled. “Don’t answer that.” She noticed her laptop and, as if remembering this was not entirely appropriate, slammed it shut. She took a long sip of her drink and swallowed with the smallest trace of a grimace. Kara chuckled awkwardly at the rhetorical question, not sure what the right answer would even be to something teetering on the edge of existential. 

Andrea reached over and pulled out the rest of the bottle of whiskey. She gestured at the bottle and Kara shrugged. She felt obligated to stay at this point, so what was the harm in a perfectly useless drink?

Mostly, she was curious what Lena had to do with forcing Andrea to the brink of a meltdown. If anyone should be crying over Lena, well--

Andrea stood up and pulled out another glass, filling them both with a generous pour. She handed one to Kara and walked back to the couch. She was deliberate and controlled, though Kara could tell she was tipsy. Kara followed and sat down awkwardly, staring at the amber liquid in her glass as if it held the answer to how the hell this entire conversation was going to go. 

“I know you think I’m heartless,” Andrea said after a beat, her words slurring slightly. It hit Kara in such a way that her heart dropped. “I don’t have your respect.”

“I d-don’t—“ she stammered. “I don’t think that.” Sure, she questioned Andrea’s business decisions, and sometimes her priorities, but to say she’s heartless? That was a bit steep. “And you do have my respect, Andrea. You’re my boss, of course I respect you.”

“You’re a bad liar,” Andrea replied, rolling her eyes slowly. She sighed before adding, “Lena told me about you.”

“She told you--” Kara repeated, her face growing hot. Her stomach felt immediately queasy, just at the mention of Lena’s name. “She told you about me?”

Andrea nodded, a wry smile on her face. “She told me you wear your heart on your sleeve, and that was what made you so special.”

Kara gulped down a larger than normal sip of her drink and tried to look as if she wasn’t dying inside. Just the mention of Lena was enough to spike her blood pressure.

“Lena said that?”

Andrea pursed her lips and nodded. “Don’t be like me,” she practically whimpered, and Kara’s heart broke for inexplicable reasons. “Don’t hurt her. She clearly cares about you.”

Kara felt the knife twist in her stomach. She looked at the floor, but everything felt like it was spinning.

“This was never how I imagined my life going.” Andrea spoke as if Kara wasn’t even in the room anymore, which was honestly ideal. She simply let her talk. “Everything I’ve ever done, I’ve done for love. And look where that got me.”

“But you’re so successful,” Kara argued, remembering why she was even there. Andrea was clearly having a night. “You run two of the biggest companies in the world. You have to be proud of that.”

“And when I go home, I have nothing to show for it,” Andrea raised her glass. “I have no one.”

“That’s not true,” Kara tried, but it sounded unconvincing. She didn’t know Andrea well enough to make a case, though she had a feeling if she was a friend of Lena’s, she had to have something good in her. 

“I don’t know why I’m telling you all this,” Andrea shook her head, sniffling slightly. 

“You can talk to me,” Kara assured her. “Whatever you need.”

The tears started falling, and Andrea didn’t do anything to stop them. She hiccuped back a sob, before surrendering to the feeling. Kara opened her arms and let Andrea bury her face in her shoulder.

There was silence for a few moments while Kara held her. She tried to comprehend the fact that her normally stoic and snarky boss was now falling apart in her arms, and there was nothing Kara could do or say to make it better. It was unnerving to see Andrea so broken.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Andrea asked quietly after awhile, her breath hot and tangy against Kara’s neck. 

“Um,” Kara swallowed, adjusting slightly. “Sure.”

“You sort of remind me of Supergirl.”

The words were abrupt, and not at all what Kara was expecting. She involuntarily flexed at the implication, like she was bracing for impact. 

“Whaaaat? I do? That’s—ha--that’s crazy.”

“It’s your arms,” Andrea said softly, leaning into Kara more. “You have strong arms.” 

“Oh, that’s--” Kara swallowed, trying to process the unexpected -- and dangerous -- compliment. “Thanks, I think.”

Andrea smelled like a gentle combination of spices and a hint of whiskey. Kara was suddenly very conscious of how close they were sitting. 

“Mmhm,” Andrea pulled her gaze from Kara’s eyes and fixed on her arms. She squeezed around her bicep and grinned. “I’ve met her, you know. Supergirl.”

“Oh yeah?”

Andrea closed her eyes with a dreamy smile on her face, and Kara could feel her face growing hotter. 

“Anyway,” Andrea shook herself out of her reverie and cleared her throat. She seemed to realize where she was, and who she was with, and it caused her to pull back. She stood up and ran a cautious hand through her hair. When she faced Kara again, she looked annoyed. “It’s a compliment. Just take it.”

Kara nodded, adjusting her glasses awkwardly as she stood. She didn’t know what else to say and it was about a thousand degrees in Andrea’s office. She started to head for the door, but before she could leave, she felt like she had to say something. She settled with, “You know, you have a lot to be proud of. And I really hope you find what you’re looking for.”

She offered what she hoped was a genuine smile, because she could tell Andrea needed it. Instead, she was met with a skeptical look in return. 

“Actually,” Andrea cocked her head to the side, narrowing her eyes like she was trying to decipher a code. “It’s your smile.”

“My--”

“That’s what resembles Supergirl the most,” Andrea clarified. “It sparkles like hers does.” 

She stared a bit longer before drawing even with Kara’s eyes again. She pursed her lips and shrugged. “Maybe you’re a better liar than I think, Kara Danvers.”

#superrojas #ficlet #andrea crying over kara's strong arms is just something i needed

[amiandthechaos]

fire has no shadow, but you have me

Leo is not hiding this personal moment with a mask of light-hearted comments or jokes. So Nico won't shy away from it, either.

"I'm glad you want to come back." He summons courage harder than it takes him to summon an army of skeletons, and he leans his head on Leo's shoulder.

They remain like that for a while, Leo's hand covering his and Nico's head resting on Leo, and Nico had never felt so safe outside of camp and he wonders if it can last.

It starts with a blinding flash of light. And at this point, Nico has seen enough of those to know that it can't be anything good.

And he couldn't be less prepared for it. He was just lying on the grass under the sun, getting more vitamin D on doctor's orders.

And of course, his doctor is right there next to him. Will insists Nico needs more sun, and Nico begrudgingly agrees because at least his skin color is returning to normal and he sleeps better at night. Not well, but better.

He feels warm and drowsy while Will's voice fills the silence by talking about music and bands. Nico hasn't really had time to listen to music in the last… decade. But he appreciates Will's suggestions, however disconcerting they may be.

And then he feels it. The sun's getting hotter, which doesn't make sense since it was supposed to be going down soon, and when he opens his eyes, it's there.

His senses heighten, every nerve suddenly into overdrive, and Will is already on his feet, hauling him up and dragging him away.

But it's too late, Nico thinks. It's coming way too fast.

He still runs, but not for long before the crash is heard. It's not as big as he imagined. It's not Armageddon, it's not the end of the world, but it is something.

Nico spins around, making Will stumble, but he's glad he did because he immediately recognizes something that makes his heart thud painfully.

A bronze wing.

He breaks free from Will's grip and runs back towards the mess of fire that's still burning in a big pile. Will yells out his name but then he and some others are right behind him, slow realization dawning on all the campers.

Even among the flames and smoke, Nico can see the broken-down body of Festus the dragon.

"Where's Leo?" Will asks and Nico was thinking the same thing but with each passing second his heart sinks more and more. Leo's fireproof, his mind supplies, and still the fear that he might have burnt to a crisp seems far more real.

Nico looks around wildly. "Can't anyone summon water?! Where's fucking Percy Jackson when you need him?!"

Everyone seems to click into motion, moving around to help. Nico focuses back on the fire. Perhaps he can make a hole on the earth below and pull Leo out?

He tries to feel the presence and a more sinister thought enters his mind. Maybe he was never alive. Maybe Festus just brought Leo's body here.

The fire is receding a bit, but it's still hard to see beyond the flames and reflective bronze. A moment later, three different people shout to make room. From the right, Chris Rodríguez and a bunch of dryads are bringing in buckets of water from the lake. From the left, Leo's siblings from the Hephaestus cabin are running with Harley at the front, all dressed up in a full metal welding suit that the others are still trying to attach to him.

And then, from very far away there's Paolo Montes waving a hose.

Harley gets there first, and he would have thrown himself on the fire if Nyssa Barrera hadn't stopped him.

"Wait! The suit is not sealed yet!"

And then it came. Nico gasps and almost stumbles backwards with the force of it and everyone looks at him, alarmed.

But Nico's eyes are fixed on the blazing heat.

The metal rumbles and pieces fall to the floor, and from the very center of Festus' belly, Leo Valdez's head pops up, his hair wild and moving along with the flames.

He looks around at the dozens of shocked faces and finally settles for a toothy grin.

"Hello. Bit hot today, no?"

This time Will had to stop Nico from jumping into the fire and slapping Leo in the face.

.

Nico had been spending some of his time hanging out in the infirmary since Will was there a lot, teaching healing practices to other campers because, in his words 'With the number of dangerous situations demigods get into, the Apollo cabin can't be the only ones who know basic first aid.'

And now he was there a lot because he was in charge of organising the queue to punch Leo and Leo was there getting patched up.

He had never been very close to Leo. At least not the way he was close to Hazel or even Percy at some point. But over their time aboard the Argo II, they had at least shared some kind of kinship a few times, especially when Nico realized how much of a seventh wheel Leo had been feeling, and how similar that was to how Nico himself felt in that ship. An eight wheel, to be precise.

And by Gods, did Nico want to hate him. He was insufferably obnoxious, always cracking stupid jokes, and with no shame whatsoever. Nico's worst nightmare.

Until Nico saw through all that for what it really was; Leo's way of keeping people at bay. Diametrically opposed to Nico's way, but a way nonetheless.

Plus, a few times Nico had walked in on Leo sleeping curled up next to the engine and it was hard to hate him after that.

"What happened to Calypso?" Nico asks one morning after the first shift of punchers. Leo had just finished explaining everything he went through, the physician's cure, the trip to Ogygia, rescuing the forgotten sorceress.

His face reddens somewhat. "I dropped her off inland in Europe. I think it was Croatia. She um… She wanted to see the world."

Nico doesn't want to push it if Leo's reluctant to discuss it but he had imagined that after all of that he and Calypso would be together.

Leo shrugs and then winces as his left shoulder is still injured from the fall. His skin was thankfully all untouched thanks to his abilities but his clothes all turned to ashes. That was the most awkward part of the rescue. "I get it. She was tied to that island for thousands of years, I can't blame her for wanting to be free and not tied to something or someone else now." He sounds sad, but also braver than Nico had ever seen him. "I promised to rescue her and I'm glad I did."

Nico nodded. He raised his hand, planning to pat Leo's shoulder but regretting it at the last second and landing awkwardly on the pillow next to him. "That's the demigod life."

Leo smiles one of his huge smiles and nudges Nico's hand with his shoulder. "That, and catapulting annoying augurs up in the sky. Tell me again how you launched Octavian up to meet me."

Nico rolls his eyes. "I didn't launch him."

.

Since communication was still down on all fronts, Leo couldn't let anyone at Camp Jupiter know that he hadn't actually died, so he decided to just make the journey.

Him and a few other campers sat at a table trying to figure out the best method to get him there.

"Festus would take at least a month to rebuild again," Leo sighs, genuinely depressed about the topic. "I can't let the others wait that long for Admiral Valdez's resurrection."

Everyone groans. Leo had been bragging for days about how he was basically the modern version of Jesus of Nazareth.

"What about a jetpack? My design is nearly ready!" Harley exclaims excitedly.

Leo ruffles Harley's hair. "Oh Harley, I'd rather let Zeus zoom me halfway across the globe again. I saw your designs and I think fuel tanks like those would send me on my way to an explosion even I couldn't survive."

"You could take a bus?" Kayla says. "Cheaper than an airplane."

"I will take you."

It almost takes Nico a second to realize the words came out of his mouth, especially when they all look at him like that.

"Nico, are you sure that's a good idea?" Will asks, his golden eyebrows furrowed in concern.

"I shadow-travelled from Europe with a ten-foot statue and two others. I think I can handle Leo from here to California."

"I feel like that was a jab at my stature," Leo says into the silence.

Nico smirks.

.

The Hephaestus cabin organized a congratulations-for-not-being-dead/going-away campfire for Leo. Nico usually didn't attend campfires, but Will had dragged him to a couple and this one seemed to be more up his alley, with less corny songs and more people making fun of Leo.

Plus, Pollux had appeared with a few bottles of homemade wine and the results were entertaining.

Will was, no surprise, a very touchy drunk, which made Nico uncomfortable but not as much as he would have thought. He lets Will rest his head on his shoulder when he says that the world is spinning.

Leo chugs more wine and tells another joke and people laugh harder even though it makes no sense, and that's when Sherman Yang decides they've all had too much.

"Okay, let's pack it up, people. Leo has a long day tomorrow and we all have target practice."

Some groan, a few giggle, most don't react and just let themselves be dragged away after patting Leo on the back and wishing him luck.

No one tells Leo to leave, perhaps because after helping defeat Gaia, coming back from the dead, rescuing an unrescuable ancient sorceress and then surviving yet another explosion, no one felt like they had much authority over him.

Will, held by Kayla on one side, turns around to look at Nico. "Are you coming?"

Nico looks over at Leo, who chooses that moment to fall backwards from his log. "I think I'll stay and make sure he doesn't die."

Will smiles crookedly. "Aw, you're taking care of someone. I've taught you well."

"Shut up."

Leo manages to sit up and realizes he and Nico are alone, the fire slowly dying between them. "Are you cold? I can make more fire."

He opens his palms towards the flames but Nico rushes over and stops him. "No no. Don't drink and summon fire. Didn't you see the safety video on your first day here? Dionysus had a whole section about wine safety."

Leo snorts a laugh. "No. When I arrived everything was very rushed. I never met Mr. D"

Nico nods. Leo must have heard that name from Percy. Nico wonders if Percy got the letter they sent telling him that Leo was alive. It was Will's idea to use regular mortal mail, but even being in the same estate as Percy wouldn't guarantee that he'll receive the letter. Strange things happened to demigods' correspondence in the postal service.

"You know, this is the first time I drink wine." Leo waves his plastic cup, stained burgundy.

"Really?" Nico asks. "Not even sips as a kid?"

Leo shakes his head and his curls move with it. "Mexican moms don't really believe in that."

Nico had been drinking wine since he was very young. "I always used to have dinner with my family."

"Maybe that's why you're not drunk."

"Or maybe because I'm not eighty pounds and had ten glasses"

"Hey!" Leo protests and then he is silent as he sizes Nico up with a look that makes Nico wish he could blend in with the shadows. "How are you already taller than me? It's not fair."

That makes Nico smile. "Get used to it, Valdez."

They stay in silence for a while longer, which must be a record coming from Leo. He pulls out a small device from his pocket and starts to tinker with it, not even looking at it. He seems thoughtful, as though he's trying to figure out a different device than the one in his hands.

"I heard something from Drew yesterday," Leo says, a little too quiet to be the start of a joke. Nico's heart starts racing. He knew people would talk, and he knew Leo and all his friends would find out eventually, but he never thought Leo would want to talk to him about it.

He presents Nico with his closed fist as if he wanted Nico to bump it and Nico can only frown.

"This is for telling Percy he isn't your type. What a boss move."

It takes a second, but Nico throws his head back and laughs. The first time he's properly laughed in a long time, but it just takes him completely by surprise that this is what Leo has to say on the subject.

He bumps Leo's fist as his laughter dies down and he shakes his head in disbelief.

Leo can't seem to stop smiling, but in this drunk, lazy way that makes him seem a bit more down to earth.

This isn't a mask, Nico thinks.

Leo sways and his shoulder grazes Nico's. "If it makes you feel any better, I get it. Like, who hasn't thought Percy's hot? Like, objectively, you know? They're tall and conventionally attractive and stupidly heroic-"

"They?" Nico asks, not really wanting to interrupt Leo's tirade but confused by his wording.

"Percy and Jason. Everyone has crushes on them, right? And you kind of want to hate them because like, shit man, you look like that and you fly, and you're ridiculously friendly and like noble and stuff? Just stop it. You know? But you can't hate them because they're really nice to you and they don't deserve it. But it's nothing to be ashamed of, you know?"

Nico blinks a few times, Leo's confession of basically having a crush on Jason in particular, hitting him like an electrical shock that left him short-circuited. If Leo was sober he probably wouldn't have said anything, so Nico wonders if he should feel bad for letting Leo say something so personal in this state of vulnerability.

But he doesn't. Because it's the first time someone tells him they understand him and actually give reasons and examples why, not just an empty attempt at empathy. He hopes Leo doesn't regret telling him this.

"They are so stupidly noble. I hate that," Nico says.

Leo stands up on wobbly legs. "Oh look at me I'm the son of a famous, powerful God and I can control the elements and I have light-colored eyes and a dreamy smile. Who am I?"

Nico has to laugh again because Leo is pulling a full-on performance pretending to fly like Jason or raise the sea like Percy and it makes Nico feel lighter than he has in probably years. He can laugh about it now. He can let it go.

Leo stumbles around the fire and even though he'd be fine if he falls in, it still doesn't seem right to let him, so Nico grabs his arm and pulls him away from the danger zone as they both keep laughing.

They sit back down and their knees knock together and Nico doesn't mind.

"Some of that could also describe you," Leo says breathlessly. "Son of a major God. Powerful."

Nico nudges Leo with his arm in acknowledgement. "And you. You can control the elements." He nods towards the fire.

Leo seems relaxed in a way he hadn't seemed to be since he came back.

They remain like that for a while longer, watching the flames get smaller and sitting in comfortable silence. Nico's favorite kind of silence.

"We should probably get some sleep." Nico hates to be the one to say it, but shadow-travelling really is easier when he's rested.

Damn Will. He got inside Nico's head.

Leo lets Nico help him up and then Nico does something that he only does when someone is injured in battle; he wraps one arm around Leo's waist and helps him walk. Leo throws his arm over Nico's shoulders.

As they walk away from the campfire, Leo sighs happily. "Have you ever noticed that fire doesn't have a shadow?"

.

Nico was right when he thought that travelling with Leo would be less tiring than the last shadow trip he had done.

That didn't mean it was easier.

"Y'all should've told me we'd be coming here." Leo digs into his plate of ribs, sauce all over his face. "I'd've made some reservations."

Nico sends him a death glare. He's good at those.

Leo had decided to adopt a heavy southern accent ever since they landed in Oklahoma instead of Kansas like Nico had been planning. Nico's ears were going to bleed from over-stimulation.

The food was good, though.

Leo inhales deeply and sighs contentedly. "We're so close to Texas, I can feel it."

"We're always close to Texas. That state is inescapable. I think its gravity drew us off course."

Leo pulls out two wet hand towels from his magic pouch- as Nico has started to call it much to Leo's annoyance- and then he warms them up by heating his hands. He has a much more sophisticated control on his fire abilities than Nico remembered.

Leo hands one to Nico while he himself wipes basically his entire face and arms. "Well, we're here now so let's find a spot to sleep tonight. I hope you like camping, Neeks!"

Nico frowns. "You should know I don't. Also, stop it with the Neeks."

Leo smiles. "You have barbecue on your nose."

Nico groans and wipes it off.

.

They end up finding a not-so-terrible spot to spend the night, but the heat in this Hades-forsaken place was so insufferable that they decided not to use sleeping bags and instead hang hammocks, of which Leo procured two from his magic pouch.

"Why in the world do you have hammocks on hand?" Nico asks as he unsuccessfully attempts to tie his to a tree.

"Hammocks are an incredible feat of engineering. You need fabric and weaving that are strong enough to hold you but not so tough that it's hard to sleep. It minimises your travelling load while maximising sleeping space, and it works on all surfaces because it precisely keeps you away from surfaces." Leo comes over and ties Nico's hammock for him. "It also keeps you away from snakes."

Nico blinks at him. "You have a lot of feelings about hammocks."

"They are perfect and need to be more appreciated."

"I've never actually slept in one."

Leo's eyes seem to light up with fire. "Oh I can't believe you're a hammock virgin!"

"Please don't call it that."

"This is going to be great. Shed all your preconceived notions right now and prepare for the best sleeping experience of your life."

Nico would hardly call swinging in the air the best sleeping experience of his life, but considering the things he's been through, it also could be far, far worse.

Leo is too delighted with the swinging and even pushes off against the tree with his foot to go even faster, his hands busy with a mechanical box he's been tinkering with since West Virginia. The movement is making Nico slightly dizzy so he lies as still as possible until the soft swaying actually feels nice, and it seems to be lulling him to sleep faster than anticipated.

He's almost gone when Leo speaks into the silence.

"Nico?"

"Mm?" He opens his eyes and turns to see Leo still swinging madly, almost nervously, under the orange light of the lantern he hung on a branch above. Thank the Gods they're on different trees or the movement would rock Nico's hammock as well. He also decided to remove his t-shirt, which is fine by Nico because then all the mosquitoes would get Leo instead of him.

"You're fifteen, right?" Leo asks.

"Last I checked."

Another pause. "How did you, um… how did you know?"

It takes Nico's sleepy brain a bit to process the question but it still doesn't make much sense. "How did I know what?"

Leo keeps his eyes on his box. "You know… how did you know you… liked boys?"

Suddenly Nico is as alert as the day Leo came crashing down above them.

Usually, Nico would say something snarky and then refuse to discuss the matter entirely, possibly adding about a day's worth of brooding and death glares.

But this question seemed to be a lot less about prying into Nico's business and a lot more about something else.

Nico looked away from Leo nonetheless and kept his eyes on the dark canopy above. "It's kind of hard to ignore when you, you know… when you like someone and that someone is, well, a boy."

Leo's swinging sounds less intense. "Sure. I suppose when it's the only kind of attraction that happens to you, you can't really miss it, can you?"

"Nope," Nico confirms. He could see where Leo's mind was at. "But I guess that if someone was attracted to a lot of different people… it'd be harder to recognize."

"I guess so."

Nico thinks of all the things he wished someone had said to him when he was driving himself mad with questions and confusion, and out of everything, the thing that would have meant the most was very simple.

"And it'd be okay. It'd be more than okay, actually, it'd be great."

Nico can't see it, but he can hear the soft exhale that Leo does when he smiles. The rustling and thudding of his magic pouch follow and then the light is turned off.

"Thank you, Neeks."

"I'm going to murder you."

.

This was the first time in Nico's life that he has managed to leave a camp for more than five minutes without encountering a single being that wanted to kill him. He had been prepared for attacks from the get-go, especially since Leo literally couldn't go two breaths without doing something demigod-like such as warming up their chilaquiles with his bare hands or making weird artefacts appear as if out of thin air.

But this had been the most peaceful trip of his life and it almost felt akin to a vacation. Camping, taking dips in rivers and lakes, eating something different every day (Leo even agreed to go to McDonald's once) and keeping the worrying to a minimum.

It was even nice to be around Leo most of the time. Ever since the other night, he seemed to be making fewer jokes and nervous tinkering than usual. He still did it, because it's part of him, but he seemed more relaxed about it. It wasn't a necessity but a choice.

"What are you going to do once we arrive?" Nico asks one afternoon as they sit on top of a hill and take in the view. They're most likely just a jump away from getting to their destination, and in all honesty, Nico's rested enough that he could manage it that same day.

But he decided to drag this out a bit longer. They stopped just outside of San Francisco at some unknown mountains with enough trees to make it the perfect spot to tie hammocks and, damn it, Nico loves them by now, and he just wants another opportunity to use them while he's still with company. His return trip will be a lot lonelier.

Leo shrugs. "I don't know what Pipes and Jason might be up to. Jason had his plan to make shrines for all the Gods, so I might help him with that. But honestly, I wish they'd come back to Camp Half-Blood."

Nico raises his eyebrows. "Really?"

"Sure. It's the camp me and Piper were meant to be in, all my siblings are there, plus there's the bunker and Festus… I don't want to give it all up."

Nico feels a spark of hope in his chest. Perhaps he won't have to return alone. It's still bittersweet, though, because once Leo rejoins Piper and Jason, things will be different. Piper and Jason are very nice and all, and Nico gets along very well with Jason in particular, but he has a feeling Leo won't be the same with them around.

"And you're there, also," Leo adds.

Nico feels some heat rise to his cheeks and he tries to push it down.

Thankfully, Leo doesn't press it. "What about you? How do you decide which Camp to be in? You were in Camp Jupiter for a while, you have Hazel there, but you're originally Half-Blood and you have Will over there…"

"Will?" Nico asks, surprised that Leo would put him on the same level of importance to Nico as Hazel.

"Well, yes. I assumed you two-"

"Oh, no." Nico must be properly blushing now. "I mean, I don't know. But we're not. He's very nice and I'm glad to have a close friend there but…"

"Well okay, so you'll have two close friends there, then." Leo puts his hand over Nico's and it's the first time they're so purposefully touching like that.

Leo is not hiding this personal moment with a mask of light-hearted comments or jokes. So Nico won't shy away from it, either.

"I'm glad you want to come back." He summons courage harder than it takes him to summon an army of skeletons, and he leans his head on Leo's shoulder.

They remain like that for a while, Leo's hand covering his and Nico's head resting on Leo, and Nico had never felt so safe outside of camp and he wonders if it can last.

.

It turns out it can last. They manage to make it to Camp Jupiter without a single unpleasant encounter. And just when Nico thought they may break Percy's rule about feeling safe, they cross the gates and they are actually safe. Hazel sees them first. She's in full uniform and looking tiny but powerful as always, and her eyes go wide and shiny like dark gemstones.

She drops everything, her spatha, shield, and a book she'd been carrying and she sprints at them. She crushes Leo in a hug and starts weeping immediately.

"You! How? I was- Jason and Piper- ugh!" Each word is punctuated by a sob and a slap on Leo's chest.

Then there's Frank, who is so surprised that he turns into a ferret by mistake but then seizes the opportunity to climb onto Leo's head and claw at his hair with tiny, shrill yelps.

"I missed you too, buddy," Leo says, only grimacing slightly.

When he's back in human form, the bear hug is so engulfing that Leo almost disappears from sight.

Apparently, Piper and Jason are around somewhere but Hazel and Frank are too busy with their new duties that they can't keep track of them. Hazel summons Arion and writes a note, tying it around his neck.

"If you find Piper or Jason, get them here as soon as possible."

And off he goes.

Hazel spends a while telling Leo how much they looked for him the days after the battle back in Camp-Half Blood, which Nico had already done, but not in so much detail. Especially about the extent to which Jason and Piper in particular had driven themselves mad trying to find him, to the point where after weeks of futile search, Percy and Annabeth had to drag them back to camp and eventually convince them to come to California and get their minds off it.

Of course Nico wanted Leo to know they didn't give up on him, that he was missed, but he didn't want him to feel as guilty as he looks right now.

Other people also greeted them, including Reyna who Nico was glad to see. She was looking healthier than before.

Just as they were about to go to the Fifth Cohort to see if anyone knew about Jason or Piper, a loud zoom fills Nico's ears and a blurry second later, Leo is on the ground, tackled by Piper.

Arion neighs and stomps his front legs down before taking off again.

It takes about two minutes of Piper holding onto Leo and crying "I hate you!" before they can stand up. Leo's eyes and face are red too and he can't stop sniffling.

"Explain. Now," Piper orders him, wiping tears off her face.

"I thought we'd wait for Jason," Leo tells her.

Piper sighs. "He's been so moody lately I can't even tell you when he'd be coming back. He's been hard to read."

"Jason? Moody? Are you sure you're not talking about yourself?"

Piper hits Leo.

And then, it happens again. This time is a whooshing sound that gets progressively louder and Nico barely has time to catch a glance of Jason flying at them at full speed before Leo is lifted off his feet and carried away.

Nico typically refrains from showing any emotion other than annoyance in front of others, but even he can't keep a straight face upon seeing Jason and Leo embracing up in the air, clearly crying and laughing at the same time as Jason slowly lowers them to the ground.

Everyone is at least tearing up by the time they make their way towards them, but Nico is okay with it. He's happy for Leo and he doesn't care who sees. Hazel grabs Nico's hand and he squeezes it.

"So," Leo says with a rough voice. "Ready to hear the Tales of Tio Leo?"

.

Nico hadn't realized how much he missed this camp, especially Hazel. He wishes he could be with her year-round or at least visit more often. There should be a faster way to get from one camp to the other.

Eventually, though, the time to return was drawing nearer and it was hard to acknowledge it. Nico still didn't know if Leo was coming back or not and he didn't want to ruin his reunion. He was still so happy to be around Piper and Jason.

Nico sits outside at a table after dinner. They all managed to squeeze in a dinner together before their respective duties took them in different directions. Of course, the only ones who didn't have anything to attend to were Nico and Leo, so it isn't a surprise when Leo returns to the table after saying goodbye to the others.

Leo plays with the candles there, lighting them on and then putting them out over and over. "I was wondering…" he begins and for some reason Nico's heart speeds up.

"Yeah?"

He lights the candles again. "Is Nico short for Nicholas? And if it is, can I call you Saint Nicholas?"

Nico kicks him under the table.

"Ow!"

"Is Leo short for Leonardo? And if so, can I call you Da Vinci?" Nico asks, trying to sound as stupid as Leo had.

"Definitely!" Leo answers, a big smile while still rubbing his leg. "Da Vinci works, though I think I look more like a Di Caprio."

"Who?"

"Nevermind."

Leo is still smiling even after a few seconds. "Da Vinci and Di Angelo. We should form a band."

"Over my dead body," Nico says, but he has to really bite back a smile.

Silence ensues and Nico thinks this would be the right moment to tell Leo that he plans to return the next day. He opens his mouth to speak but as it often happens with speaking, Leo beats him to it.

"So when do we leave, Hermano Hamaca?"

Nico is so confused by that last bit that he doesn't even process the first. "What?"

"Hammock Bro," Leo translates.

"Oh." Leo wants to go back with him? "I thought you'd want to stay with them a bit longer."

He shrugs. "Well, you're the shadow-travelling boss, but if it was up to me I could leave tomorrow. Piper and Jason are working on the shrines and they'll be at Camp Half-Blood soon. I can help from there. I'll miss Hazel and the big guy, but I'll see them again. Plus, it'd be nice to see Percy and Annabeth too, if they got the letter."

Nico nods. "Sure. We can leave tomorrow." He doesn't let it show how happy he is not to be travelling alone, but he still hopes Leo can see it a little bit.

"Hey," Leo puts out a candle with his right hand and lights up another with his left. "Thank you for bringing me here. I know it's a long road trip for something that could have been a phone call in normal circumstances. But even if I could have contacted them somehow, I think I needed to come. See them for myself. So, thank you."

Nico does smile then. "You're welcome. I know I would have liked to see you in person if you hadn't almost killed me on impact when you arrived."

"It's settled, then. We leave tomorrow. Maybe we can stop in Houston this time? I'll show you my mom's old repair garage and the best gorditas you'll ever have in your life."

"Sure," Nico agrees. It might take them a bit longer but it's not as if they have anything else to do. No prophecies to fulfill, no quests to carry out, no world-destruction to stop.

Leo puts his hand over Nico's again and this time Nico turns his hand over and laces their fingers together. Leo's hand is downright hot from playing with the candles so much, but Nico thinks it's nice.

As the candlelight dances in the wind along with Leo's hair, Nico realizes that even though he has always felt safest in the shadows, fire is not too bad either.

#nico di angelo #leo valdez #valdangelo #leico #hoo #pjo #it's both romantic and platonic #your choice #i just want them to be happy #so it's all fluff there's no danger or angst #they deserve it