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#somewhere in the writing i wanted to add “Welcome to Red Space. You have been existing here for as long as you can remember”

undergoing-mitosis · 1 month

Text

i put on a son lux song and blacked out in a caffeinated autistic haze and when i came to this had just spawned on my page

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Red Space

And the void reaches out its fragile hands towards my pale throat. It is desperate, clawing for a way to hold on to this side of reality. It digs its cracked nails into my forearms and drags. I remember when pain was an escape. Before I became too tolerant of it. Now, I barely feel a thing. It's pathetic, really. I used to be afraid of this void, what it could do to me. But there's no point being afraid of what lies in the dark when you know you're far worse than anything that could thrive there. I have taken this incessant pain and moulded it into my subordinate.

All that is left is absent pity. Like the real Sunny has left, is floating somewhere out of reach. I left that version of me hanging by the throat.

My identity is lost to this clawing darkness. I am only the child who drifted. The hikikomori boy. My friends are warped. I am hollow.

I sit on a throne of hands. My soul is soaked in blood. And yet I don't feel a thing.

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inspired by this scene, for obvious reasons. OMORI SPOILERS IN THAT VIDEO!!! plus loud noises, implied murder, death, and a knife. none of it is graphic tho, dw. just classic psychological horror things yk hahahahahaha *screams in pain*

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ggukkiereads · 3 years

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Hello!! Just a few days ago I stumble upon your blog and I'm wondering if you have some recommendations for Hybrid AUs, much appreciated if it is an OT7 and completed, but if so I will still be so thankful. (I just need some cure from the stress that modules brings) Thank You in Advance (◍•ᴗ•◍)❤

🌷 Hello! welcome to my mini fic-reading land. I’ve actually received asks for Hybrid AUs (I pinned the requests in the navi) but I just have a very messy draft.

But to help you with your stress, I think I can share a few of my ongoing reads (sorry they won’t be complete but they’re OT7). But, I added completed ones I could remember too (●'◡'●)

*note: will edit this later and organize this per member - maybe add other fics I’ll remember*

Fic Recs | BTS Hybrid AUs

→ A Place Called Home @agustdakasuga - OT7 x Reader

series [27/27] | 88k | Hybrid AU, Poly AU, Soulmate AU, Romance Humor | Fluff

Having saved your own injured hybrid, you were determined to try and help any other hybrid that crossed your path who needed saving. But being a vet in a small hospital wasn’t enough for you. You wanted to do more, you wanted to make a difference. You wanted to give them a home.

→ If I Can Never Give You Peace @candlewaxandp0lar0ids - Jungkook x Reader

series [3/?] | 17.6k+ | Mafia AU, Enemies to Lovers | A (so far)

It starts like quite a few stories do, in your world. Girl meets boy, who happens to be a hybrid, girl buys him at an auction where hybrids are sold, boy falls in love with her, girl gets bored of him. Then it’s not so typical anymore, when the boy ends up forced into illegal fighting rings, until he makes a wrong move and her father decides he needs to be killed.

Where does that leave you? Well, you’re the one who handled Jungkook’s fight and generally organized his life, and, when the girl’s father, your boss and mafia leader, tells you he wants him ‘put down’, you’re the one who has to get it done. Except, instead, you let him escape, and everything turns out fine.

🌷ggukkienote: I am so hooked on this (because I am a sucker for Mafia AUs too). This is such a great story and the OC is really different from the usual OCs. Very interesting.

→ Eunoia @wishesunderthestars - OT7 x Reader

series [15/?] | 100k+ (I just assumed this, masterpost doesn’t have wc but it’s 6k per chapter or more?) | Director!Reader, hurt/comfort | fluff, eventual smut

You are a world famous director and you have dedicated your life to your job. You have everything you could ever dream of; wealth, recognision, talent, your friends and family. But loneliness ins’t cured by success. So what happens when you somehow rescue seven hybrids? Can they fill the void?

→ Restitution @cloudteawrites - OT7 x Reader

series [7/?] | 48k+ | slow burn, poly, mystery, romance

when an estranged uncle leaves you his massive fortune you wonder if the universe is playing a joke on you. when that fortune comes with seven hybrids, you know for sure that it is.

→ Lacuna @barbika1508 - Jungkook x Reader

series [42/42] | 324.3k | Hybrid AU, check for TW | Fluff, Angst, Smut

Lacuna - (n.) a blank space, a missing part

Y/N just wanted to go back home, to enjoy her peace and quiet away from problems and people. But typically, her luck strikes as she stumbles upon a horrific scene of two guys mistreating an already beaten down hybrid. Will she take matters into her own hands and help him? Or let someone else help along the way???

🌷 This is on AO3 and I got a recent ask about author’s tumblr. So if you prefer AO3 you can check their profile

→ A Hundred Percent Human by wrienne- OT7 x Reader

series [12/?] | 88k+ | Hybrid AU, fluff, angst, smut |

In which you (reader) are forced to take care of seven hybrids in a twist of fate. Drunk and down on life, you finally decide to deal with the house and the unsavory business your mother left behind. However, to your shock, you find that seven very different hybrids are included with both the house - and the business. Seven hybrids you never even met before - even less agreed to take care of.

🌷 This is on AO3. I don’t normally reco AO3 since my blog is focused on tumblr fics but someone sent an ask about this so I’m including it

→ Inferiority Complex @starlightauroras-writes - Jimin x Reader

series [10/?] | 88k+ | political themes, themes of abuse (hybrids) | A, S

You had never liked hybrids. You disagreed with their very existence, and you never wanted to have anything to do with them. And then one day, you discovered a hybrid who was more scared of you than you were of him, and everything changed as you realised you were the only hope he had…

→ Sanctuary @chimchimsauce - Jimin x Reader

series [16/16] | 20k | Wolf Hybrid!Jimin, Barista!OC, feat sanctuary staff Taehyung, hurt/comfort | F, A

YN is a young girl, bright and ambitious, but due to her busy schedule, she's been unable to make any real friends. When an ad for Saint Mary's Sanctuary catches her attention, she never expected her life to be changed by a certain hybrid named Jimin.

→ Summer Nights @marginalmadness - Jungkook x Reader

series [4/4] | 23k | Hybrid!Fantasy, Romance | F, S

A freak weather anomaly leads to a chance encounter with a rabbit-hybrid, and your kind nature results in you gaining a small, fluffy lodger, who questions your taste in television shows. It’s won’t be for long...will it?

→ Risk it All @/httpjeon - Jungkook x Reader

series [5/5] | 8.3k | hybrid au, alpha wolf!jungkook | A, F, S

ripped from your family, you find yourself in a warehouse filled with predators. just your luck, you’re right across from a caged alpha wolf.

🌷 (I linked Chapter 5 because for some reason others couldn’t find this chapter so they thought it’s still incomplete)

→ Outro Love is Not Over @kiirokero - Hoseok x Reader

series [12/?] | Daycare Teacher!Hoseok x Single Mom!Reader

You are the single mother of a beautiful 6-year-old golden retriever hybrid who you named Yunho. But you’re a human. You can’t show him the ropes of being a hybrid, and you can’t teach him things the other moms can. So, when a handsome German Shepard hybrid comes into your life, helping you and guiding Yunho in a way you can’t, you can’t help the cozy home he sets up in your heart.

→ It Takes Two To Make A Thing Go Right @imaginethisbts - TaeKook x Reader

two shot [2/2] | 11k | dom/sub themes, heat cycles | S

What’s better than one dogboy lover? Two dogboy lovers. But when Tae and Jungkook seem unusually clingy, it can only mean one thing. That time of the month has snuck up on you and your dogboy lovers do not want to share.

🌷 Also try their other Jungkook hybrid series Out of the Blue

→ Peculiar Park @daydreamindollie - OT7 x Reader

series [9/?] | 38k+ | imagines, slice of life | Writer!Reader, Psychologist!Reader, imagines | fluff

you’re a successful hybrid writer and psychologist who takes in seven hybrids on one stormy night after finding one of their pack stealing from your garden

→ Yeouiju @nomseok - Namjoon x Reader

one shot | 33.7k | Mythical AU, Hybrid AU (if you squint), suspense | A, F, S

you find an ancient stone in the middle of the mountains and bring it home with you, oblivious to the consequences of taking a dragon’s yeouiju.

→ Beautiful Stranger @/nomseok - Taehyung x Reader

one shot | 19k | circus AU | A, S, F

your dream is to take care of animals for the rest of your life in the big city, making sure that they’re cared for. but you stumble upon a malnourished, rare tiger in your local circus, and you can’t help but want to take care of him.

→ Evolution of You and I @readyplayerhobi - Jimin x Reader

one shot | 10.2k | kind of epistolary (letters), chat, childhood friends | F

For 15 years, Park Jimin has been in your life in some form. From childhood penpal’s to the closest of friends now, you can’t imagine your life without him even if you’ve never actually met him in person. It doesn’t help that you’ve fallen for him, even across the distance that separates you. But what happens when you finally meet up and you discover he’s been keeping something secret?

→ Fish are Friends @httpjeon - Taehyung x Reader

one shot | 10.2k | seahorse hybrid!taehyung | A, S, F

after moving to the seaside, there is a dreadful storm. when all is clear, a man washes up on shore…only he isn’t quite human.

🌷 you know seahorses mate for life and it’s the male that gets pregnant? Interesting huh

→ Pink Panther @gimmesumsuga - Seokjin x Reader

one shot | 13k | boss-employee | F, S

The one where your boss, Kim Seokjin, tries to show you how beautiful you are.

→ Ragdoll @ausblack - Jimin x Reader

series [17/17] | Hybrid AU, College AU | F, A

As you were studying to obtain your medical & veterinary degree, your professor came up with the idea of organizing an internship - where you found yourself side by side with a sick hybrid that needed nothing other that complete care.

→ Jagged + Catnap @opaljm - Jimin x Reader

one shot + sequel | 18k | jaguar/black panther!jimin, sand dune cat!reader, mutual pining, friends to lovers, established relationship (sequel)| S, F, slight A

The pretty little sand cat hybrid Jimin has been in love with for the past year experiences her first heat and Jimin would love nothing more than to be the one to guide her through it and breed her with his kittens.

🌷 there’s also a possible spin-off for Taehyung (Eye of the Tiger)

→ Owner @jessikahathaway - Jungkook x Reader

series [6/?] | 17.4k | Fake Dating AU, Hybrid AU, based on Kimi Wa Petto (Japanese anime) | F, S, A

With your mother hounding on you (no pun intended), you decided to get a little help from a hybrid, who was also in need of assistance.

→ Loving Him Was Red + Somewhere Only We Know @userseok - Jungkook x Reader

series [3/?] | 12.8k+ | enemies to lovers, childhood friends (sorta), college au, jock!jungkook, unrequited love (for OC) | S, F, A

you’ve been chasing after jungkook for years. after a harsh verbal altercation between both of you, you decide to leave him alone and pursue a relationship with someone who seems genuinely interested in you, thinking he would never return your feelings.

I would like to recommend the catalog of these writers:

@ditttiii - so I realize I’m following them on AO3 when I realized the fics looked familiar 🤭. They have an ongoing series called Enchanted to Meet You which you might want to check out if you like Soulmate AUs too! I recently reblogged a Jungkook two-shot comfort fic (hybrid au too) so I recommend going through their masterlist!

@aroseforyoongi - who I discovered because of Gossamer (KTH). It was completed but I think it’s up for re-write/re-post? You can try the others:

Navy Blue - Jungkook [completed]

Forever Yours - Yoongi [one shot, prequel to Navy Blue]

Let Me Love You- Jungkook [one shot]

@magicalsalamander - another favorite author of mine I just feel like I’m reading a great tale every time I start on a series or one shot. They have great fics with supernatural themes too

Rabbit on the Moon - Jungkook | if you’re in the mood for police officer Jungkook [6/6]

The Act of Persuasion - Seokjin | if you are in the mood for Single Dad AU x Arranged Marriage too [one shot]

Firefly that Guards the Fox - Taehyung | if you are in the mood for mystery [11/12 - just epilogue left]

Kitten’s Little Flame - Yoongi | if you like BF to Lovers between dragon and a cat [6/6]

There’s more so please check their Masterlist

@hollyhomburg - I just love Of Fire and Love (hello dragon!yoongi and baby!jungkook? 🥺) But you can check:

their masterlist of all their hybrid fics

Dance to This series which I’ve added to fic recs based on an ask about stories that include members/readers with disability.

Don’t care if it Hurts - Jimin | this is probably my favorite (again I’m a sucker for Mafia AUs) , guard dog hybrid!jimin [12/13, just epilogue]

@angelicyoongie - I got hooked after reading their stories on AO3 but they have tumblr too! Check their masterlist for ongoing hybrid fic (Abundance - OT7) but these are completed ones:

Desolate - Yoongi, grumypy cat hybrid [14/14]

Out of the Woods - Namjoon, wolf hybrid, strangers to lovers [3/3]

@worldwidebt7 - if you like webtoons! I read parts of Jungkook’s webtoon and I think currently we’re on Yoongi’s story. Access it here

@jincherie - One of the first hybrid fics I remember encountering is Inheritance (MYG). Other fics:

Perihelion - Hoseok, college, roommate, enemies [2/?]

Butterfingers - Namjoon, teacher au, this is cuuuute READ IT if you’re looking for something fluffy [one shot]

4 o’ clock - Taehyung, single dad au (I included this in the singel dad fic recs too) [3/?]

Under the Bridge - Jungkook, found jungkook under the bridge [one shot]

@whitesparrows97 - a writer I discovered because of a Yoongi soulmate fic but I found that they also have other hybrid fics:

Cat’s Cradle - Yoongi, bestfriend [5/5]

Underdog - Taehyung, shifter, brought home what she thought a stray dog [5/5]

@foxymoxynoona - and what would my reco be without foxymoxy? So they have tumblr but their works are on AO3. I’ve listed their current works here but I didn’t include their completed works which are must-reads:

Sugar Fairy - Jungkook, mating, adopted hybrids [48/48]

A Sea of Indigo - Jungkook, ex-fighter [48/48] ⭐⭐⭐

@therealmintedmango - They have a whole masterlist of their hybrid!au fics. I recently finished Kingdom Come and I always remember Jimin from King (for some reason)

@joonbird - check their Zodiac Hybrid Masterlist of one shot per member

There are more (usually one shot per member) but I’ll probably put them in another Fic Rec List for Hybrid AUs. Sorry this list is kind of all over the place (not even organized per member 🤭). But good luck with your modules and I hope these help!

(❁´◡`❁)

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elfwoodfae · 3 years

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“Complications”

Summary: After finding out by accident Dr.Wells’ secret, your relationship with him gets complicated as he doesn’t let anyone else close to you while you work a project for him.

Author‘s note: please if you are a minor don’t read. This piece contains smut. Do not read if you are under 18. This is the first piece of smut I write and publish, please be kind but criticism is always welcome. Feel free to reblog if you like, just don’t claim as your own please. Also tumblr is being weird and not letting me edit the space in between paragraphs better so sorry for that. Credits for the gif to the owner, I found it on Google and just cropped it.

Warning: Smut.

It had been an accident really. How you found out about his secret. A simple error in his calculations. It was a Wednesday night, the whole team had left by then, or at least he thought they had. He hasn’t counted on you coming back for something and as quiet as you were, it was no surprise when you caught him opening the time vault to come out of there, walking non the less.

There you stood, mouth opening and closing like a little fish, he hasn’t see you yet, but as fate had it the tool you were holding fell to the floor, making a loud noise. Turning his head around at a speed that had to for sure had given him a wishsplash he stared at you. Tilting his neck a little he moved in your direction with the beginning of a smirk forming in his lips. He wasn’t worried. He would get rid off you if he needed to keep his secret safe. Once he was in front of you you finally reacted, closed your mouth only to open it a second later.

“Why?” Was the only word that came out of your mouth. You couldn’t understand why would he lie. He raised an eyebrow as he approached you even more.

“You will need to specify a little more in your question y/n, why what?” It was easy to see he was thinking what to do with you after you had found out about him.

“Why would you lie about being able to walk Dr.Wells? And why were you coming out of that room in the wall? Do the others know about that room? What are you hiding?”

“I said specify, not add three more questions y/n, but to answer you, I lied because is in my convenience for the rest of the team to believe I’m, and that room in the wall is my time vault, as to what I’m hiding well there’s no point in denying it to you as you have already interrupted my plan. Your help was something I need and was counting on but not for it to happen this soon.” Your eyes widened as his hand came up to your eye level and started to vibrate.

“Is you isn’t it? You are the man in yellow , the ones we have been trying to catch!” Your lip started quivering, from fear and rage. This man who you all had trusted and confided in was the very same nightmare you and the rest had been trying to fight. Of course he was always one step ahead.

“Yes, is me” he replied in a whisper, his voice low and husky. “And now if you want your heart to keep beating, you will do exactly as I say” he lowered his hand closer to your chest, making you tremble in fear thinking this was it.

“I need you to build for me a tachyon enhancer,” he continued. “And I need you to keep this” he signaled with his free hand in between you and him “our secret, don’t think for a moment I won’t know if you try to tell the others, I’m after all always one step ahead.” With a flick of his wrist his hand stopped vibrating and as he moved to the side you made your way out of the lab still in shock. As the elevator doors were about to close you heard him wish you a goodnight, but you were too shocked to be able to process any of what was happening.

That incident had been a week ago and every second of the day you were on edge, always nervous whenever he was around and you were sure the rest of them were catching on that something was wrong with you.

You were working in your work station, a small lab a little away from the cortex, the tachyon enhancer he wanted was in process and as you twisted and secured a few of the screws you turned around completely oblivious to the world as your headphones were on your ears. The moment you turned around your hand flew to your chest as a mini heart attack threaten to appear as you came face to face with Dr.Wells.

“Jesus don’t do that!” You exclaimed, yanking the headphones out of your ears. He only stared at you waiting for your breathing to regulate before speaking.

“How’s our little project coming along?”

“I am working on it as fast as I can without raising questions from Cisco when he passes by, if I spend all the time here on it they are bound to grow suspicious.” He nodded and wheeled himself out of your lab. You had been thinking all day and night in how could you let Barry know what was going on, how to tell him who Wells really was without the man realizing it and ending your life in the process.

As if by a miracle Cisco came up with the idea that you all should go out for drinks, Barry would invite Iris and it would be the perfect opportunity to be out and talk to him without looking suspicious as all of you went out for drinks every once in a while. In there without being too obvious maybe you would be able to get Barry alone and speak to him.

“I need a drink or ten” you commented to Caitlyn as you all made your way to the elevators.

“Alright so Barry will pickup Iris and Caitlyn will pick you and then me and we meet at the bar” commented Cisco turning around and pointing at us.

“That sounds perfect to me” You said as you tried to give him the most genuine smile you could muster given the past few days.

Once alone in your apartment you started to get ready and think about what this past couple of days had been, how fast your life had taken a turn, you felt dirty, you wanted to tell them so much what had been happening but you couldn’t, not without risking a hand going through your chest. Just thinking about it made a hole open in your stomach. What you needed was a good night of drinks and some fun if a candidate appeared, you told yourself . Picking a dress a little too short and some high heels, you let your hair loose and run down your back. As you grabbed your bag and made your way to the door to greet Caity and Cisco your phone rang with a message.

“Don’t even think for a moment I won’t know if you so much as try to tell them.” You didn’t need to read the number to know who the message was from and dread filled you as you looked around in fear trying to spot him somewhere, hiding in the shadows. You jumped as Cisco knocked loudly on the door and called for you to hurry up.

The night had been promising, the bar was full and the music loud. Drink after drink seemed like the only solution tonight. Dancing and talking with your friends you started to relax a little bit more, your plan to tell them long forgotten since that message.

Around midnight you spotted a guy who caught your attention and as you made conversation with him you realized this is the distraction you were looking for. Walking over to the team you informed them you would leave with a friend and to not worry if anything were to happen you would let them know instantly. As you made it to the door of your building said stranger was kissing you, as you smiled in the kiss and and played with his hair his hand was running up against your thigh, the kiss deepened as you struggled with the key to open the door and in the moment you finally opened it and were about to pull him inside in a gush of wind and lightning he disappeared. Shock and rage filled you as you banged your forehead against the door and closed your eyes to take a breath. You knew who had done it, and to confirm your suspicions the moment you opened your eyes you were met with a pair of red glowing ones and a distorted face in a yellow suit. But as you were about to open your mouth to give him a piece of your mind he disappeared.

The next day at the lab Caitlyn asked you how it had been with your friend and you sadly had to tell her that something had come up and he had to leave.

“What a shame, he was cute, maybe you will see him again” she commented, trying to cheer you up.

“Yeah he was really cute,” you said “and who knows yeah I probably will see him again” you said making sure to glare daggers at Harrison, who was looking over at you two from the hallway that connected to the cortex.

“ Miss l/n a word please?” He asked in that tone that made everyone believe he was just worried or looking out for all of you. Getting up you walked after him, following to the lab farther away from the cortex, where no one was sure to listen or walk in by accident. As you got there, you used the little courage you had left to confront him.

“What was that last night?!” “What is it to you who I take him?” You questioned him, crossing your arms over your chest. He rubbed two fingers over his lips and stared at you with those piercing eyes that felt as if they could look inside your soul and as he lowered his hand he got up from his chair, towering over you, making you feel small and reminding you how intimidating he could be. He walked over to you in slow long strides, moving his arms to rest each one next to your body, caging you in in between the desk and himself.

“I don’t like distractions in my plans” his voice was low almost a whisper, “have we met in different circumstances it would had probably even been fun” he said. You could only look at him, and it could be the adrenaline of the moment or his close proximity but you found yourself feeling a low tingle in your stomach and the temperature of your body rise to the sky. It wasn’t a lie that he was attractive and smelled in a way that made you want to bury your noise in his neck. Your body betrayed you as you felt heat pool in between your legs and tried to focus your attention on him, only to realize that you haven’t heard a single word of what he had said and only catches the phrase “adhere to the plan.” And with that he pulled back away from you and sat back on the chair.

That night you couldn’t sleep. Your mind kept playing that moment over and over again. His voice, so close to your face, his lips, the way he moved, so dominating and confident, knowing he had the upper hand , that he had power over you, and his smell. The way he smelled, musky and clean. It was intoxicating and you wondered how you had never smelled him before.

After that incident you haven’t been able to be alone with him without thinking about it, or going as far as to imagine what would it feel like if he kissed you. You had a feeling he was a dominant man in bed. Your eyes widened as you realized just what you had been thinking about and realizing you needed a distraction you stopped your work on his tachyon enhancer and went to collect your things to leave a little earlier, taking advantage that he was nowhere to be seen, probably hiding in his room in the wall or hole in the wall as you called it.

Tonight was the night you would finally have some fun. Dressed in a very sexy black silky dress you decided to find some place to clear your mind with and after a few drinks and some luck maybe find some company too.

A few too many drinks you found yourself a little drunk but with the perfect company of a guy you had been talking to for the past half hour and making your way to your apartment everything seemed to be going smoothly. But as fate had it, in the moment you both made it through the door and he started kissing you and moving his hands to the zipper of your dress, in a fit of lighting he was gone, once again, another man with who you were about to have fun with was gone, and of course in his place was the man in the yellow suit. With the liquid courage so many drinks had given you, you pointed your finger at him.

“What is your problem!!” You attempted to smack him chest with your close fist. “What is it to you! Why do you care who I sleep with?” You screamed at him, tired of his constant interruptions. Grabbing your hand and in the blink of an eye he had you against the wall. His mask was pulled down and his red eyes stared at you. Your breath caught in your throat at his proximity and the position he had you in. “As I told you, I don’t like distractions, and you are becoming one big one, I also don’t like sharing, if I cannot have you, then nobody can” he said, his voice deep and distorted.

It took a second for your brain to process what he was saying and in between the alcohol in your system and his presence you started to blush, your mouth was semi open, unable to said anything.

Slowly he moved closer to you and as you closed your eyes his lips crashed into yours. His kiss was dominating, passionate, it made your knees tremble and your hand instinctively moved to his hair. One of his arms moved to the wall next to your head as the other came to rest in your waist. The kiss deepened, his tongue intrusively moved inside your mouth and you moaned into the kiss which only served to spur him on as he squeezed your waist and moved the hand on the wall and buried his fingers in your hair, keeping you in place.

He broke away, only to start kissing along your jaw down to your neck, moving lower he found that sensitive spot in between your neck and shoulder and when your head moved back and you pulled his hair at the pleasure, he made sure to suck on your skin and bite into it, gaining a long moan out of you.

“Which way is your room?” He asked in between kisses, his voice low and husky, as he lifted both your legs and you wrapped them around him. “Second door to the right” you said breathlessly as he sped you both away into it. Kneeling down on the bed he started to caress your thigh moving up to grab the bottom of your dress and lift it over your head, leaving you naked to him. You shivered and as he kissed his way down your shoulders and chest his hand came up your sides grazing the curve of your breast. Your hands played with his hair as you tried to feel if there was a zipper or a way to get him out of the suit.

Laying you back he phased himself out of the suit, moving his hands to your hair to hold you in place he kissed you passionately as he devoured your mouth your hands caressed all over him, feeling his skin, his toned arms, the curve of his shoulders and the way his back muscle flexed at the effort of holding himself over you. His hand moved up and down your thigh and as it got close to your butt cheek he moved his thumb slowly around the inside of your thigh right where it met the curve of your ass, feeling how warm and hot you were for him. The moment his thumb went over your entrance you moaned hard into his mouth. Breaking the kiss he held your hands over your head with one hand and started kissing down your neck to your breast, marking the soft skin of your breast, sucking and leaving small bites in it, making you squirm under him.

His other hand worked around your entrance, yanking down your underwear he ran a finger over, feeling your wetness and groaning at the feeling of your heat. Vibrating his thumb he moved over your clit, making you cry out in pleasure as one finger eased his way into you, and as he increased the speed added a second finger, stretching you, making you moan and arch your back as you tried to break your hands free.

Once out of his grip your hands went to his hair as you pulled him up to kiss you again, his eyes bore into yours, as he fingered you, watching you squirm and close your eyes at the pleasure. Your hand ran down his stomach, feeling his muscles, trying to get to his boxers and touch him.

That’s when it hit him how far he had allowed himself to let this go, you were a distraction to his plan, he was putting all of his work in danger for this, but he had been alone for so long, for fifteen years he had missed the touch of someone else, he was letting his rational size take control once again, he couldn’t allow this to go any farther, but as soon as your hand grasped his cock he knew all though process went out the window, he was impossibly hard and the second you stroke him down he had to bury his face in your neck to conceal a moan that was threatening to escape, he couldn’t hold on too much longer, it had been too long for him and the only thought in his head was how desperately he needed to be buried balls deep inside of you. He started to vibrate the fingers inside of you and you started to feel your orgasm get closer, as he vibrates his thumb faster your eyes rolled back and you moaned hard under him, pulling at the nape of his neck and scratching his shoulder. If coming over his fingers had felt this good you couldn’t wait for what coming over his cock would feel like.

Looking into your eyes he waited a second for you to look at him and decide if you wanted him to stop, he honestly thought you would realize what you were doing by now and demand him to leave, but instead you grabbed his face and kissed him hard while you struggled to take his boxers off, once his cock was free, you moved your hips against his, feeling his tip slide in between your folds, making you moan into the kiss, grabbing your waist , he hid his face in your neck, bitting down on you as he started to push his cock into you.

Groaning at the sensation of your wet walls squeezing him and for a second he forgot all about his plan, all about everything as the feeling of being inside of you consumed him.

Thrusting slowly into you he started to move. Making you moan in pleasure and grabbing his shoulders, scratching his back at the feeling of him bottoming out into you. His hand moved to your thigh, moving it over his hip, making you wrap it around him, giving him a better angle to go deeper, hitting that spot inside that made your eyes roll back and your back arch. Enjoying your reaction he kept hitting at that angle, loving the feeling of you squirming under him, in a moaning mess, sweat grazing your forehead as you tried to beg him to go faster. He knew what you wanted, but he enjoyed watching you try to form words to ask him for it.

“Move… move faster please” you begged him in between thrusts. He only moaned in response and started to move his hand down your abdomen, vibrating his fingers over your clit and speeding up his thrusts. You felt yourself clinging to his shoulders and scratching his back at the pleasure, your walls started tighten around him, squeezing him as you started to come, taking in a breath and squeezing your eyes shot as your orgasm came over you, coming around him was an addicting feeling, his cock moving in and out of you, hitting that spot in you while you came was too much for you as you moaned hard in the air, it felt like a shock, like electricity pumping through your veins, it was a feeling you never wanted to end. His trust became erratic, he was close, he bit down your shoulder hard enough to leave a mark as he came deep inside of you, enjoying every second of it, it had been literal centuries since the last time he had done this, and the feeling was excruciating.

Giving you a few seconds to breathe and come down from your high he kept his face in your neck breathing into your hair calming his breathing. Lifting himself off of you he saw the sloppy smile playing on your lips, your pupils dilated as you looked at him, cheeks flushes from the alcohol and effort. He doubted you would remember much in the morning. He hoped this wouldn’t complicate things. But he was sure he would have to do something about it if it interfered with his plan.

Slowly he moved out of you, as you turned into your side, too tired to think now, slowly drifting into sleep. He sped around the room getting into his suit and making his way back to the lab, he needed to think and check with Guideon that the article hadn’t changed.

The next morning you woke up with a raging headache, looking around slowly you notice a bottles of pills in your nightstand and a glass of water. You wondered how much exactly did you he to drink last night. Rubbing your forehead with your hands it took exactly 5 seconds and a sticky feeling in between your legs for you brain to catch up with what had happened last night and as a dread feeling came over you, you wondered how could you go back to the labs and face him. Not only him but the rest of the team now that you had literally slept with the enemy, and the worst part is that you didn’t regret how good it had felt to have him deep inside of you.

@mintchipcupcake @nellethiel-aranel @saltykidcreation

#the flash smut #the flash imagines #harrison wells fanfiction #harrison wells x reader #smut #eobard thawne smut #eobard thawne fanfic #eowells x reader #eowells fanfic #harrison wells fanfic #eobard thawne x reader #the flash x reader #harrison wells x y/n

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harryhandstan · 3 years

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so..I hate that this is so late but happy to finally have this done and be posting it for y’all! hope you enjoy! thank you to my betas @tbslenthusiast, @serendipitystyles, and @summertimestyles you’re all angels!! also sham was so kind to help me create a playlist for this fic which you can find here!

this is for @taintedwonder‘s Styles Valentine’s Day fic challenge and most of the photos from the header were my inspo along with prompts 3. Can you just hold my hand? and 6. Let’s run away together.

as always any likes, rbs, replies, and feedback is welcome and very much appreciated!

word count: 4.1k

writing tag | masterlist

You can read his face before he even opens his mouth to speak.

“You have to leave again, don’t you?”

He doesn’t answer at first, just joins you where you sit on the bed, an arm around your waist to urge you closer to him. He presses a kiss to your shoulder, as if that will soothe the sting of what he’s about to say. He buries his face into your neck before he speaks.

“Only for a little while, angel.”

You don’t respond by returning the kiss like you normally would, narrowing your eyes down to where he’s hiding his face, “How long is a ‘little while’?”

“You could always come with me, y’know..”

He’s avoiding the answer and he knows it, eyes darting up only briefly to look at your face.

“How long, Harry?”

He’s fiddling with the hem of your t-shirt now, focusing on the loose thread hanging instead.

You nudge him lightly, pulling his attention back up to you, “Just say it! How long?”

He sucks in a big breath before releasing it and then the words come out in a rush, “A few weeks, possibly a month.”

You have to take your own deep breath before asking, “When do you have to leave?”

“Promise you won’t be mad?”

“Promise.”

“My flight’s on the 14th.”

“February 14th? As in we don’t get to spend Valentine’s Day together?”

“M’so sorry, love, I really thought we were gonna get to spend the day together.”

He’s pulled back from where he was hiding his face, studying yours now. It hurts him to see the disappointment written there; the pinch in your brow, the downturned corners of your mouth, the way your eyes have temporarily lost their shine and fallen misty.

“Ya really could come with me, y’know. Take a bit of time off, would do you some good to take a break.”

He knows better, knows it’s just a fantasy that you would ever be able to get that much time off from work to be able to travel with him.

“C’mon, love, let’s run away together.”

The way he’s looking at you know, it really wouldn’t take much more convincing to turn his fantasy into a reality.

“What am I gonna do when I’m cold and don’t have you as my personal heater to help me get warm?”

“S’why I left you my pillow to snuggle with. There’s a ton of extra blankets too, use as many of those as ya need.”

How could you explain that no amount of warmth from any blanket would ever compare to his? A blanket wasn’t capable of softly brushing your hair back from your face or tenderly pressing it’s lips to yours as you drift off to sleep. You open your mouth to try to illustrate such facts, but you close your mouth just as quick. You aren’t trying to be difficult or clingy, and you don’t want your last bit of time together to be filled with your complaints.

That thought only lasts for a moment, your anxiety building with each mile closer to the airport, “Well what do I do when your pillow doesn’t smell like you anymore?”

“I’ll try to be back before that happens, deal? Besides, you’ve got a whole drawer of my t-shirts to sleep in too. They all smell like me, right?”

“They do, but, Harry..what if..”

“Shh, hey, we’ve been through this before, right? S’gonna be hard for me to be away from you too, but I promise we’ll be alright. You can call me anytime you’re missin’ me, remember?”

His voice is that of someone trying to pacify a small child just before a tantrum, and you feel as though you’re being whiny and unreasonable. Missing him when he was away was almost unbearable though; everything seemed heavy and dimmer and you know it would feel like an eternity before you were together again.

“Promise we’ll make up today the second I come home. You plan the whole day and just tell me when and where to show up, okay?’

The fact that it was Valentine’s Day didn’t matter so much to you. You and Harry made it a point throughout your days spent together to express your love to one another whenever you could, so today was really just..another day to spend together. So it’s missing him that has tears forming in your eyes again, just as they had the night before.

“Can you just hold my hand? Until..” You don’t finish the sentence, letting your voice trail off so he won’t hear it break.

“‘Course I can, baby.” He offers his hand, never taking his eyes off the road even as he lifts your hand to his mouth to place a kiss to the back of it.

Though you know he would never admit to it, you swear you feel the speed of the car slow just the tiniest bit, Harry wanting to add as much to your limited time together as he can.

Despite it still being light outside, coming home to the space you normally share together alone makes you want to do nothing but crawl right back in bed. It’s mid-afternoon and with Harry not home to motivate you to do something more productive, that’s exactly what you aim to do.

After dropping your purse and keys near the door and double checking the locks, you’re startled by the sight of a bouquet of bright pink roses adorning your dining room table. They definitely weren’t there when you left, and you pluck the small card nestled between the flowers with your name scrawled across the front. It’s Harry’s almost illegible handwriting and the sight of it makes your heart soar with excitement before you flip it open to read the message.

It’s simple and small, more of his writing scratched across the cream colored paper in bold, black ink. Love, love, love, H. There’s a badly drawn heart underneath the note, and that makes you giggle out loud, filling the silence. If Harry were here, he’d have some cheeky comment about how adorable your laughter is, how he loved the sound of it.

“Don’t want you moping around the whole time m’gone, yeah? Promise me y’ll do more than just sulk around the place until I get back?” This reminder was given just before he’d had to rush off to catch his plane, giving you no time to offer him much more than a quick peck and a sad smile as an agreement.

So technically what you plan to do would not be considered breaking a promise, just..catching up on the sleep you would’ve gotten if you hadn't had to wake up so early to ride with Harry to the airport. Normally that was something you would decline to do, preferring to sleep in, which Harry usually was fine with; but this time he had insisted on you accompanying him on his drive, wanting to get as much time with you on this day as he could.

Just as you're about to venture down the hallway to the bedroom, you spot another item you’re sure hadn’t been on your coffee table earlier that morning when you’d left. It’s a medium sized box, messily wrapped with red paper and tied with purple ribbon and a bow. It’s quite heavy when you lift it, so you sit on the nearby couch to avoid dropping it. You waste no time tearing the paper away, lifting the lid to reveal a candle surrounded by tissue paper.

There’s a pack of two lighters wedged next to the candle, and you curiously pull it from the box first to see more of Harry’s handwriting on a red sticky note.

Baby you light up my world like nobody else...

That pulls another laugh from you, this one is bigger and echoes through the dimly lit space. The candle itself is a scent he knows you love, and you bring it closer to your face and inhale deeply. The smell of it helps ease even more of the unease and sadness of him being gone. You dig your phone out of your pocket to check the time and try to calculate whether his plane has landed and he would be able to answer a call from you.

You ultimately decide to nap first and give him a chance to get settled. He would most likely be calling you later anyway, missing you just as much as you missed him and wanting to hear your voice. You could thank him then for the flowers, candle, and the laugh. So you continue your journey to the bedroom, slipping out of your clothes and sliding open the drawer of Harry’s t-shirts. He’s right, they do all smell like him and you run your fingers along the soft fabrics before selecting one.

It’s plain white, one of his undershirts normally tucked beneath his expensive button ups and ruffles, but today it’s perfect and comforting attire to doze off in. It’s loose and just long enough on you that you don’t feel the need to put on a pair of your pj shorts with it, The bed is still messy from the morning, and you swear you can still see the outline of where Harry’s body normally tucks next to you on his side. You pull the blanket back and crawl into your usual spot, but it doesn’t feel right; it’s too empty and quiet without Harry.

You grab his pillow from his side and try your best to replicate the way you would curl yourself around him if he was here. It takes a bit of time to adjust, but eventually you give up and just try to relax into the mattress as much as possible, covering your head slightly with the blanket to surround yourself with warmth.

You peek through the space uncovered to the alarm clock on the bedside table on Harry’s side, the bright red letters read 12:32 p.m. and you let out a deep sigh before drifting off to sleep. If you weren’t so tired, the thought that crosses your mind might just make you laugh again.

Alone in bed in the afternoon on Valentine’s Day. What a shame.

You wake with a start, bolting upwards at the sound of your phone ringing loudly from somewhere near the bed. You don’t even bother to open your eyes to see who it is, just following the motions to answer and plop back down onto your spot as you let out an almost breathless and groggy “hello?”

“Not missin’ me too much, I see, took you a whole minute to answer,'' You know he’s joking by the hint of amusement in his voice and relief floods through your chest before any other feeling at the idea of him making it safely to his destination, “You alright, love? Sound a bit outta breath. Having some fun in our bed without me?”

“I..no, I was napping, promise, your call just scared me awake..how did you know I’m in bed?”

“I’m only teasing. Just a guess, figured you’d find your way back to the bed not long after you got home.”

“Found the flowers and the candle. Your note on the lighters made me laugh, thank you. How’d you do that though? They weren’t there when we left for the airport and you didn’t come back in.”

“Had one of my assistants drop the flowers off, and the candle’s been stashed in the closet for a week so she set it out for me while she was there. Wish I could’ve been there to see your face and hear that laugh,” He giggles at the thought of it, “S’that all you found? The flowers and the candle? I assume you found the one in the bathroom too, right?”

You’re more alert now, sitting up again to try to process what he’s saying more easily, “What do you mean? There’s more? The bathroom?”

“A few more, yeah. Hid here and there for you to find.”

“You left me a scavenger hunt? Do I at least get clues to help me find them all?”

“I’ve just given you one, haven’t I? Might be persuaded to give you a few more later.”

You’re up off the bed now, making your way to the bathroom where another surprise awaits. You hesitate for only a moment, stopping just as you reach the door.

“What’s in the bathroom? More flowers? One of those big, fluffy teddy bears?”

“M’not gonna tell you! You gotta go in to find out!”

Flipping on the light switch has you gasping at what you see. A heart, entirely made from more red sticky notes, each one embellished with reminders of his love for you. You stumble over words, trying to form a coherent response.

He senses your shock even through the phone and graciously gives you a moment before asking, “S’the heart all wonky or does it look nice? Told them to make it as straight as possible.”

“H..it’s beautiful! How did you have time to write all these before you left?”

“Finished up most of them last night after you fell asleep. They came to me a lot easier with my muse snoring next to me.”

You truly don’t know what to say to that. You’ve never had someone be so bright and loud with their love for you and just this simple expression makes you feel so incredibly special and loved.

You know that emotion is flowing through the phone when he speaks again, softer and lower, “Y’sure you won’t let me fly you out here to be with me?”

There’s the sound of another voice before Harry barks out another laugh, “Jeff says m’proper miserable without you. He said he’d pay you whatever your salary would be for the next month just to have you here.”

“Tempting, but..” Harry knows how much you love your job and how such a long absence would jeopardize the career you’ve built, so you know he probably won’t mention it again.

“Technically it was gonna be part of my present for you, so..I’ll give you another clue.”

“How very generous of you, H. Will this one make me cry too?”

“Maybe. Knowing you, probably,” You roll your eyes but listen for further instructions, “Just remember I had to rush and there’s still a few I didn’t get to add but, go get your laptop.”

“What’d you do to my laptop?”

“Would ya just go get it? C’mon I’ve gotta hang up soon and I wanna hear your reaction before I hafta go.”

“Alright, I got it. What now?”

“Go to your music library.” He gives you a moment to navigate through your programs, “Should be a playlist there with your name on it, lovie. Wait, are you already crying?”

“Shut up! Yes!” You wipe at your eyes with the hem of his t-shirt you’re still wearing as you try to read over the list of songs, “This is so sweet! The flowers, the candle, the heart and now this. Harry..I didn’t get you anything and you did all this for me. Thank you, I love you.”

“Love you more,” You can just picture the smug smile on his face, pleased that he’s done a good job of surprising you, “You can make it up to me later.”

“Don’t push your luck there, H. You’ve just been forgiven, I still have time to change my mind, you know.”

“I know. I wouldn’t blame you if you did.” You hear what you assume to be Jeff’s voice again in the background, “I gotta go, babe. I’ll try to call again later, alright?”

“Wait! I don’t get any more clues? Can you at least tell me how many more are left?”

“S’no fun for me if I give away all my secrets now, is it?”

It’s only a day later when you find yourself in the kitchen, uncertain about what to make for dinner, eyes scanning over the ingredients in your pantry. Your laptop sits on the counter nearby, and you hum along to My Girl playing through the speakers, a song selected for you by Harry for the playlist he recently made for you.

You’re about to give up and heat up your leftovers from the Italian take-out you had treated yourself to the night before, when you spot the pack of Haribo gummy bears wedged in the corner. You almost have to stand on your tip-toes to reach it, and when you run your hand along the shelf you find another bag of sweets not far from the gummy bears. You smile down at the two bags, his favorite candy and yours sitting side by side.

There’s another of Harry’s red sticky notes on the pack of gummy bears: Being away from you is unBEARable. More of his cheesy jokes you’re sure he thought of himself. Your candy is void of any words, just another messily drawn heart, this time with your name in the middle.

You decide to FaceTime him this time, wanting to see his face. It only takes 3 rings for him to answer, a tender “Hi, baby.” falling from his lips. The room he’s in is dimly lit, but you can still see him well enough to notice his hair is damp. His curls are more pronounced than usual, which was a sign he’d been too tired to much more than probably run his fingers through after his shower.

“Found another of your surprises.” You hold the candy up for him to see and he smiles.

“Better save me some of those Haribo, and not just all the colors ya don’t like either.”

You tear open the bag, sticking your tongue out at him before popping a few into your mouth, “I might, if you tell me where all the other surprises are.”

You can see him temporarily consider it, biting his bottom lip and meeting your gaze before he shakes his head, “Nah. I will tell you there’s only one more though..well, depends on how you look at it, but to me they only count as one.”

“They?”

He mimics locking his lips, and you decide to drop it for now, knowing you would most likely have to trick or beg him to tell you later. You’d let him think he won. For now.

You roll the top of the bag of candy down, opening the cabinet to tuck them back into the same corner you found them in. They just didn’t taste the same without him there to enjoy them with you. Plus you still had a still had leftover garlic knots and mushroom ravioli you planned to dig into later.

“S’that the playlist I made for you? Sounds like it.”

The song has changed to At Last, Etta James’ voice filling the small kitchen, “Yeah. I love this song.”

“Me too. Reminds me of you now..my love,” You sway a bit to the music before stopping, leaning forward to where your phone is propped on the counter, “Wish I was there t’dance with you.”

You try your best to hold back your emotions of missing him, but you imagine how he would rest his hands on your hips if was here. How he would spin you to face him and move his hands to rest on your back while he led you around in a slow circle across the floor. It wasn’t just his hands you longed for, it was the way he would bend to your ear to sing along to whatever song you were dancing to, especially one like this he knew you loved. You missed his voice in person, the way it would surround you with a comfort and peace you’d never be able to replicate with anything else.

No matter what you do you can’t stop your thoughts from trailing to how when the song was over, he would lift you to sit on the counter and kiss your forehead. You’re wearing one of his hoodies tonight, and you pull the sleeve down over your hands to use to try to quickly wipe away any tears before he sees them. Once you feel you’ve reined in your emotions to the best of your abilities, you clear your throat before speaking again.

“I miss you, H.”

“I miss you too, angel.”

The music has changed again, Don’t Worry Baby by The Beach Boys lifting the mood enough you don’t feel so heavy and overwhelming with your yearning for him. You take a deep breath, planning to ask him about his day, but before you have a chance he says, “Go to your bedside table. The top drawer.”

“What?”

“M’tryin’ to tell you where your last surprise is. Go to our bedroom and look in the drawer. I’ll wait.”

You flash him a smile before turning to make your way out of the kitchen, through your living room and down the hall to your bedroom. It takes a bit of searching before you uncover a stack of bright, pastel colored envelopes tied together with the same purple ribbon as the candle from the day before. You work quickly to untie the knot and turn the lamp on so you can read the front of each one. There’s 4 total; open when you need a laugh, open when you miss my hugs, open when you need a reminder of my love, open when you miss me.

You tear into the final one immediately, setting the others aside for later. It’s not very long, the perfect length to boost your spirit even further. Just the thought of him taking time to sit down and write his expression of love for you makes you grin, and has that same feeling of being loved spreading through you as it did the previous day when you saw the heart on the bathroom mirror.

You had almost forgotten leaving him on hold in the kitchen until you hear, even from 3 rooms away, the sound of him singing along to whatever song is playing now. You close your eyes, picturing for a moment that it’s a typical night when he’s home, darting around the kitchen while he makes dinner or puts dishes away.

You make your way back through the house to him, envelope in hand. Each one had been a different color so the second he sees which one you have his eyes brighten, his smile growing bigger the closer you get.

“Of course you opened that one first. Did y’like it?”

You shake your head no, breaking into a laugh when you see the look of disappointment on his face, “I loved it. Very charming of you to do all this just for me, H.”

“Yeah? I did a good job surprising you then?”

You roll your eyes. This man and his need for praise was too much, but he was yours, and you were his and you would do anything to assure him that you loved him just as much as he loved you.

“You did an amazing job, really, Harry. I never expected you to be able to do so much so last minute.”

His mouth drops open in mock dismay, looking down and shaking his head, “I can’t believe you would ever doubt me!”

You don’t say anything, just shake your own head at his teasing, sharing a look of adoration before you look away.

“Hey, did I leave my lip balm there? The coconut kind I use before bed? Thought I had it in my duffel but I couldn’t find it when I got here.”

“Yep. I used it earlier when I got out of the shower. Want me to send it to you?”

“Nah, you don’t have to, but..you could bring it to me in person if you wanted.”

“I would if I could, Harry.”

The tone of a new text from your phone startles you, and you try to suppress your elation as best you can at who it’s from. It’s Jeff, confirming the time of your flight he’d helped you schedule for the following day. Harry knows you too well, would instantly be able to read your face and be suspicious of what you were up to. You step away from his line of sight to let the thrill run through you, to let it fully wash over you so he wouldn’t see. You return as quickly as you can, brushing it off as if you’d just gotten a text from your boss or a friend. He was oblivious, none the wiser at what you were planning.

It was your turn to surprise him.

#stylesvdaychallenge #harry styles imagine #harry x reader #my writing

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mypoisonedvine · 4 years

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Love, Theoretically | Sebastian Stan x reader (Chapter 1)

for @evnscvll‘s 3k celebration challenge, I immediately broke the rules and took only one prompt: Love, Actually. then I made it into a series. oops. but she made me that lovely moodboard anyways!

summary: having lost your husband, sister, and best friend all to the same extramarital affair, you ran away to a secluded villa in the Hungarian countryside to write and get a little time away from the life you’d left behind. you were only looking for peace and perhaps some inspiration for your novel, but instead you found an unlikely connection with the immigrant repairman-- even though the two of you don’t speak the same language.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: mention/description of infidelity, awkwardness, me teasing y’all by making this a slow burn

(quick note: I’m not fluent in romanian but I did my best to translate the dialogue as accurately as possible, rather than as literally as possible. if you don’t speak it I would recommend not translating seb’s lines so you get the full experience of having no idea what he’s saying just like the reader in the story but I won’t tell you how to live your life)

You usually trusted your intuition, but up until now you'd convinced yourself that you were being paranoid by worrying about your husband. Trusting him was more important than anything, and definitely more important than a strange feeling in your gut that something was wrong.

The sad thing is, you would've never guessed that he was having an affair with your sister. Not in a million years. All the sneaking around, the strange stories that didn't add up… you would've put your money on a secret gambling addiction (pun unintended but welcome), or maybe that he'd secretly lost his job.

But even with all your suspicion, all your low self-esteem, all your fear that he was too good for you… nothing could've prepared you to walk in and see him with his face between your sister's legs.

He didn't even do that to you; he said he didn't like the taste. You realized now, as you stared out the window of the train at the trees flying by, that that should've been a red flag from the start. For a man who had claimed to be a feminist, things were never really equal in your house. You both worked full time but you were saddled with more chores; you made more money than he did, but for some reason, you found yourself asking for his approval on large purchases; and of course, whenever you'd talked about children, he'd always just assumed you would stay at home forever and do most of the child-rearing. He told you that you'd need to handle them when he was too tired from work-- but what about when you were tired from watching them all damn day while he was working?

God, you needed to stop thinking about this. If you cried on this train people would probably look at you funny and you did not need that right now. You couldn’t take any more reasons to believe people dislike you. Even as much as you wanted to say that you didn't want or need your husband’s approval anymore, you still felt so shitty, so fundamentally worthless that he'd chosen your sister over you. He hadn't wanted to touch you in months. You wondered if it had been going on longer than that: when you'd blown him after that company party half a year ago, were you putting your mouth on something that had been in your sister's--?

"Something to drink, madam?" the attendant asked as she rolled by with her cart, pulling you from a very dangerous cycle of thought.

You jumped a little and looked over to her as she smiled at you-- no hint of judgment or confusion as you wiped a tear away. In her shoes, you would be nosy and want to know more about the woman crying on the train. Then again, maybe it was obvious to her: a woman, alone, who bought the last ticket just before the train left, carrying only a small briefcase and a few hastily-packed suitcases… a woman with nothing to lose, going nowhere as fast as possible. Could it be anything but her having been done wrong by a man?

"Tea, please," you nodded with a smile of your own-- weaker than hers, more awkward. You'd make a bad stewardess.

"Black or green?"

You didn't trust them to steep the green tea at the proper temperature, so you asked for black and nodded in thanks when she handed you the warm paper cup and rolled on by to the next passenger.

What really made your head spin, you considered as you sipped at your drink, was not your husband’s actions but your sister’s. You remembered when you were both teenagers and her boyfriend had cheated on her, she’d gotten so upset with the girl he’d done it with rather than him. You had thought that was ridiculous because the girl didn’t owe her anything. You understood better now, and of course, your sister did owe you something. You two had had your rough patches but overall, she’d been your best friend for most of your life. So much so that she was the one you went to when you were worried about your husband. She told you to give him space. You would’ve never imagined that was her way to get you to back off, to cover her own sins and give her more freedom to shag your husband in your goddamn bed.

Yes, that was the real betrayal. Lots of people have ex-husbands, but you couldn’t exactly turn her into an ex-sister. You were stuck with her, but you had no plan as of yet to face her again.

The night in the sleeper car was restless, literally. It was so dark out that you couldn’t see the trees or mountains anymore, but if you focused really hard and made sure to turn off every light in your room, you could just barely see the stars in the sky. You hoped that you would have plenty of time to spend looking at the stars once you reached your destination. As much as you’d loved the city lights of London for the past several years, you really needed to be somewhere that was actually dark at night. And where the air was clean. And, best of all, where nobody knew who the fuck you were.

You stepped out of the train and onto the platform, feeling very much like you were surrounded by people ending their stories-- reuniting with loved ones, finishing vacations-- while yours was just beginning. Well, you supposed it made sense that most of the people travelling from London to Nyíregyháza, Hungary were probably from Nyíregyháza, Hungary. Unlike you, who had only been here once while backpacking through the area in college and fallen in love with it. You were lucky that the owner of the secluded cottage you’d crashed at back then had picked up the phone when you called from the train; you were especially lucky that she was willing to pick you up from the station, you not being quite dressed or prepared for backpacking.

Exiting the station and finding the cobblestone street, you were nearly tackled by a portly old woman as she tried to get your attention.

“Mrs. Alberti?!” you asked with wide eyes.

“You should at least pretend I haven’t aged a day,” she frowned, her words coated with her thick Hungarian accent.

“I was just surprised that you’re still running the cottage! I figured you and Mr. Alberti retired ages ago,” you explained, following her back to her car and putting your luggage in the boot.

She seemed a little crestfallen, wistfully considering your assumption. “Well, it’s not quite what it used to be but yes, I am still the owner. Sadly, Mr. Alberti passed away several years back.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” you replied, hoping to be as comforting as reasonably possible, “he was such a sweet man.”

“Yes, but he had a long illness-- and before that, lived a very full life,” she smiled confidently, walking to the driver’s seat as you followed along the other side and got in the passenger.

“It’s too bad he won’t get to see you again, though,” she continued as she started the vehicle. Considering how old it looked, you were impressed that it worked on the first try. “He would’ve been amazed to have a repeat customer from somewhere so far away. I certainly am!”

“Yes, well, I have great memories from staying in the villa, and decided to go in search of some of the lust for life that I had back then-- chasing after youth never backfires, right?” you joked.

“I wouldn’t know,” she replied with a smirk.

You knew you were getting close to the old house when the roads turned from asphalt, to cobblestone, to gravel, and finally to dirt. As much as you figured trees and grass looked basically the same everywhere, you appreciated that it somehow managed to look totally different than England. Maybe it was the scattering of blue wildflowers, or the way the wilderness was dominating the few signs of human existence rather than the other way around. Driving it was different than hiking it, certainly, and you wondered if you would find the time or energy to climb the foothills on the other side of the lake like you had before. Maybe you didn’t want to find out how much athletic ability you’d lost since college…

“Here we are!” she announced as she made one last turn and yep, there it was: a lonely stone cottage, with flowers all along the walls and pink wooden shutters.

You could tell it had aged since it had looked how you remembered, but if anything it had gained a quaint charm, with its moss and ivy and old trees which sagged under their own weight. Figuring you would have more time to take in the scenery in the indefinite time you planned to spend here, you decided to make good time and gather your things first.

As you opened the boot and reached in to grab your luggage, someone appeared beside you and pushed your hands aside, saying something that you couldn’t parse at all. You stepped aside and realized that it was a young man-- not horrifically young or anything, but certainly… strapping. He shot you a smile, and you couldn’t think of the last time somebody had looked at you with so much joy on their face.

“Oh, thank you,” you nodded, letting him lift your suitcases (which he did with ease, just to make it all extra cruel).

“This is Sebastian-- he lives here and does odd jobs for me,” Mrs. Alberti informed you, "Don't waste your time talking to him; he doesn't speak a word of English."

"Oh, he only speaks Hungarian?" You turned to him again; "Szia, hogy vagy?"

He shook his head and smiled awkwardly.

"No dear, he only speaks Romanian," Mrs. Alberti explained with a laugh. "Can't you tell I can only afford to run this place by using cheap immigrant labour?"

"Salut," he greeted. At least you could figure what that meant. You chuckled uncomfortably and looked to the ground.

You followed Sebastian and Mrs. Alberti into the house, admiring how little the interior decorations had changed-- it was all macrame and flowers in old-fashioned ceramic vases, with lots of oddball Hungarian trinkets to round it all out. Perhaps the only thing you could notice that was different was new floorboards.

“You like the new floor?” Mrs. Alberti asked, as if she were reading your mind. “Sebastian put that in for me.”

Sebastian seemed to perk up as he set your bags down briefly, clearly aware he was being talked about.

“Remember?” Mrs. Alberti addressed him, motioning to the floor. “You put in the new floor, huh? Új emelet?”

You wondered why she’d seemed to laugh at you for trying to speak Hungarian to him, when she was doing the same thing.

“Da,” he smiled, pressing his shoe down onto the floor to apparently demonstrate the lack of creaking. “Ți-am făcut un etaj nou.”

“Alright, go ahead and take her bags upstairs,” Mrs. Alberti instructed him, motioning to the luggage and then to the staircase. He nodded and picked them up again, starting to walk across the room. “He knows where your room is, just follow him,” she told you.

The stairs, unlike the new floor, did creak, and you weren’t sure how far behind you were supposed to be on the staircase to avoid having his ass right at eye level. You didn’t want to stare at it… but either the jeans were doing him a lot of favours, or Mrs. Alberti’s ‘odd jobs’ do a body good. Maybe a little bit of both.

He used his back to push open the door to your room, setting your bags just inside before turning to leave again, like he thought it would be rude to step inside.

“Wait,” you requested, but he kept going-- probably the whole ‘not understanding English’ thing. God, you were going to look so stupid at least a few more times trying to get through to this guy, you could sense it. Forced to get his attention another way, you reached out and grabbed his arm; not hard, but it was definitely a slightly aggressive thing to do anyways. It worked, though, and he turned around with an expectant look. “Could you help me unload?” you asked, gesturing towards the bags.

His brow knitted with confusion as he tilted his head. You sighed, not sure exactly how to pantomime this.

“One of my bags,” you began, pointing to one of them, “is heavy--” a lifting motion-- “could you--” you pointed to him-- “unpack it?”

That seemed to make more sense to him, and he stepped back into the room with you. “Voi încerca,” he said, somewhat to himself, as you opened the suitcase. Inside was your typewriter; he nodded with understanding and scooped it up.

“Unde?” he asked, and regardless of what it meant, you were going to show him where to put the typewriter anyways.

“Just over there, the table by the window,” you pointed to it. He nodded again and walked past you, setting it down, and even adjusting it a little to make sure it was centered.

“Thank you!” you piped up when he turned back to you. And just like that, you were plunged back into awkward silence. You pointed to him, and then the typewriter as you pantomimed typing. “Can you type?” He seemed to understand what you meant.

“Nu,” he shook his head, “când eram mic, trebuiau înregistrați anual.”

“...huh,” you mumbled, not sure what to do with that.

“Plec acum,” he announced as he started to step past you again.

You cleared your throat and let him walk out the doorway. “Right, um, have a good afternoon…”

He gave a little wave as he walked down the hall, and you sighed once he was out of sight and making his way down the creaking stairs. You impressed yourself with your ability to embarrass yourself constantly, even with total strangers. But, all that aside, you were finally ready to settle in and properly enjoy your change of scenery.

#sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan rpf #sebastian stan au #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastan stan x you

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aconstantstateofbladerunner · 4 years

Text

101 Open MHA Gen Prompts

I had a very long ask game where people gave me fake titles and I came up with fic ideas to go with them. Multiple people asked to use some of them as prompts, and some of my friends have lately maligned the lack of gen prompts out there, so I decided to compile them all into a single post. Almost all of these are gen, aka not shipping, but you can do what you want I’m not your boss. Everything is free and open to use WITH CREDIT, so have fun with my word vomit.

1. In Dreams I Had the Sun - Being the number one hero isn’t all it’a cracked up to be, Toshinori realizes early on

2. The Chainlink Fence that Held the Ocean - In his new book post-retirement, All Might opens up about his regrets, struggles with mental health, and his issues with the hero system as a whole. The backlash is swift and intense.

3. Welcome to the Loud Silence - After an injury, Izuku is rendered deaf.

4. Water Since Turned Red - After a villain attack nearly kills All Might, the beach where Izuku used to go to find comfort now feels tainted.

5. all scrap left untouched is bound together - A group hero students who failed the provincial license exam for the third time, effectively ending their careers before they start, get together to take revenge on UA’s first years who beat them out.

6. You’ve saved more more times than you know - Times All Might saved people without his powers, just by being a cool, nice dude.

7. No Amount of Tragedy Can Justify Your Actions - A dying All for One tries to justify his centuries of cruelty to an uncaring Toshinori.

8. To Leave a Cage Locked - One for All is conscious and has a will of its own, one that doesn’t always line up with Izuku’s wellbeing.

9. Okay, who let in the Kraken? - Izuku is the reincarnation of an ancient eldritch horror.

10. keep us alive up above - Izuku and Shigaraki get trapped together somewhere. Izuku knows he needs the villain’s help to survive and escape, but the other would rather they both die.

11. The world will revolve around me neither less - The ebbs and flows of AFO’s influence over the years.

12. More Roulette, Not Russian - Kids get their quirks swapped.

13. Patron Saints - Toshinori teaches a class about pre-quirk superhero comic characters and their influence.

14. Don't Come Back - Touya Todoroki’s first few weeks after a severe injury resulted in his father abandoning him.

15. The Blessed and the Fool - Toshinori meets up with a few of his ua classmates after retiring.

16. Not Your Sacrifice - Some of the other kids have started adopting some of Izuku’s self sacrificing habits and the teachers are concerned.

17. Break in the Storm - Villains use a power outage as an opening to break into ua.

18. One Day Those Consequences Will Finally Catch Up - Even though the teachers don’t take her concerns seriously, Inko saves every piece of evidence regarding people hurting her son.

19. a garden in their eyes - Izuku meets a fan who got injured after trying to step into a villain fight, just like he did, and it makes him question some things.

20. what could have been, if not for you - After Inko divorces him, Hisashi’s goes to the press to say All Might stole his wife and son.

21. Promised Misery - All Might finds out the severity of Bakugou’s bullying, and warns him he’s on thin ice with him.

22. Fly Up Higher, Blossom Brighter - Izuku has to write a paper for middle school about being positive, intercut with all the bullshit he has to deal with.

23. Libre Me from Hell - One of Izuku’s new quirks is spiral related.

24. No One to Blame but Yourself - Izuku’s kindness doesn’t extend to murderers, tragic backstory or not.

25. At Its Finest - Izuku accidentally gets involved in a hero commission coverup.

26. A Rising Issue - Izuku starts developing more severe side effects of his injuries. He’s convinced he’s under the influence of a quirk, while the adults thing he’s finally gone too far hurting himself.

27. What you are in the Dark - Izuku usually keeps most of his anger to himself until he can’t.

28. nowhere to go - Inko moves into UA after their home was destroyed.

29. Something Without - My theory about the 2 OFA vestiges that are blurred out is they don’t approve of izuku as a successor. Izuku tries to figure out why.

30. Walking with a Ghost - Toshinori joins the OFA dreams while he’s in a coma. He gets to reunite with nana, and is more open to Izuku about his past and feelings. Part of his starts to wonder if it’s worth waking up, since he will die and join the others eventually.

31. Death By Crying - Izuku is affected by a quirk that will suffocate him if he expresses any emotion.

32. Justice is Subjective - The hero commission gets to Shigaraki before AFO does.

33. Undo / Underdog - Death loop fic. Izuku keeps reliving the day he met all might after being killed by the sludge villain. he has to find a way to break the loop and survive, but he gets s little weaker every time he restarts.

34. Like Wildfire - A rumor that Izuku is All Might’s bio son picks up steam, and the characters have to decide whether to deny it but risk suspicion or play along and add a new layer to the lies protecting one for all.

35. Once Upon A December - All Might and Inko actually met in the past trope.

36. Some Legends Are Told - All Might’s first interview post-retirement.

37. Will The Real Mentor Please Stand Up - Aizawa considers himself the better teacher, but a lot of the kids seem to like All Might more.

38. I don't want the cure, I want the POISON! - Inko is killed in a hit and run, and Izuku becomes desperate to find the killer.

39. I will kill my heart before I dance on stage for these bigots - Izuku is interviewed as a rising star of UA, and the interviewer brings in some of his old bullies because they claimed to be his friends from middle school. Izuku does not play along.

40. Split Ends - A quirk gives Izuku brief visions of what would have happened if he made different decisions.

41. Dreamless Sleep - A One for All dream leaves Izuku with a cryptic half-warning, and he desperately experiments to try and figure out how to trigger the visions to get the rest of it.

42. toxic flowers and pretty blades - Young Inko escapes the constricting life of her cruel wealthy family by becoming a vigilante.

43. The Suns we Orbit - Some of the other teachers believe Izuku is too codependent on Toshinori, and separate them for a time.

44. Submerged - Similar to those buried alive fics only someone’s in a box at the bottom of the ocean.

45. Deprive - Izuku also loses his stomach to an injury, and struggles to adjust to the necessary lifestyle changes.

46. The ashes fall like snow - Post Kamino cleanup.

47. Home will always be here - Inko cares for Izuku after he’s sent home due to “trouble at work study” but he refuses to clarify what that means.

48. Playing Favorites - A look at several times where Izuku was punished, while Bakugou got off scot free.

49. Elusive Dreams - Some kind of training or issue forces the kids to stay away for several consecutive day, and they start losing it.

50. Fracture - Izuku struggles through physical therapy after a severe injury that leaves his hero career in question.

51. Starlight, Starbright - Space cadet au

52. Someone in Your Corner - Gran Torino looking after Nana, Toshi, and finally Izuku through the years.

53. I cast magic missile into the darkness - Generic “the gang plays d&d” fic.

54. One Month At A Time - Izuku breaks a limb, and has to let in heal naturally over the course of several months.

55. Head Above Water - Izuku runs out of his pain meds and can’t get access to more doses for a while, so he has to endure not only the pain, but the withdrawal symptoms.

56. Are you going to leave a path to trace - All Might uses a new strategy to try and get Izuku to be less self sacrificial: what about all the young kids who are going to look up to him?

57. The View from Halfway Down - Izuku realizes that a risky move has just landed him with a potentially life threatening injury, but the fight it still going.

58. The Dust Bites Back - A villain All Might defeated early in his career is back and out for revenge.

59. The Absence of your Worth - Nighteye thinks he’s put together a rock solid case for why izuku isn’t worthy of One for All. All Might’s response is to ask if he has something against quirkless people.

60. Behind the Screens Nobody is Afraid - All Might explains some of the context of his most popular hero videos to Izuku. They are much more tragic than the media has spun them in hindsight.

61. Under the Light of the Moon - Someone gets turned into a werewolf. And I ain’t talking the wattpad piss shit. I’m talking full-on back-breaking monstrous transformations into a bloodthirsty abomination set to Bad Moon Rising.

62. some dreams were made to be broken - Bakugou crosses a line and finally gets expelled.

63. You Say You're Into Closure - Izuku finally beats Bakugou in a one on one fight fair and square, but Bakugou is a sore loser.

64. Something or Someone Missing - AU’s memories of Izuku get wiped, but those closest to him can’t help but feel an absence.

65. Too Little Too Late - Izuku’s father returns to find he’s been replaced.

66. Collecting Dust - Inko goes through the stuff Izuku didn’t take to the dorms.

67. Where the souls of wanderers go - Toshi meets up with a retired hero support group.

68. Fragility of Trust - Suspected traitor au

69. no one answered - Izuku is trapped in a cell in a building that’s collapsing in slow motion due to a quirk.

70. Eye of the Storm - One of the other kids has a panic attack for the first time between public appearances. izuku has never seen from from the outside.

71. To Whom It May Concern - The kids find a mysterious collection of letters from previous students hidden in the ceiling of the classroom. Some are ominous, some are incomprehensible. Aizawa has no answers. They enthusiastically go to try and solve the mystery within, but that excitement quickly diminishes the more they find out.

72. Of Popsicles and Ponytails - All Might gets in a discussion with the other teachers about whether the Clark Kent glasses thing would actually work. All Might bets them it does, so he goes around town with no disguise other than his hair being up, and no one bats an eye.

73. All Men are Not Born Equal - Word gets out to the public that izuku used to be quirkless. Everyone finds out just how deep anti-quirkless sentiments run when some begin to question whether a quirkless kid should be at ua, regardless of whether or not he has a quirk now.

74. Childhood is the kingdom where nobody dies - Something about encountering death in person for the first time being the dividing line between child and adult.

75. Sins of the Father - All for One has had many children over the centuries, and has made numerous attempts to groom them into the ideal heir with several different methods. None of them worked though.

76. Where The Dead Come To Rest - The kids come home after a long, grueling mission where they saw some shit, and are too tired to process what they went through. They take off their gear for plain clothes, then sit in the common room in silence long into the night, not wanting to open themselves up but also not wanting to be alone.

77. Rivalry - Nighteye tries to pit Izuku and Mirio against one another. It goes right over Mirio’s head, but Izuku becomes convinced the other boy is in on Nighteye’s plan to wear him down until he gives up One for All.

78. A Subtle Language - All Might and Nana never said out loud that they loved each other, but little things told them that they did. All Might hopes to pass a similar love down to his own successor. But Izuku is very different than himself as a kid, and he needs to learn a new subtle language of affection.

79. It’s Gone - One for All stops working one day.

80. A Sight For Sore Eyes - All Might looking after Izuku in the aftermath of the second movie.

81. Loose Lips (sink ships) - Bakugou blurts out something about One for All during a rage, so the rest of the class jump on him and Izuku for answers.

82. No Expectations - Word gets out that All Might is going to choose a successor. None of the theories or speculation online resemble Izuku in the slightest.

83. Eden was Only a Garden - Izuku gets hit with a quirk that erases some of his most traumatic memories, but in doing so loses part of who he is.

84. Run it Down - With all Izuku’s new quirks and his incredible skill, some of the other students with similar powers (Iida, Sero, Uraraka) start to feel like izuku is upstaging them. And it affects their friendship.

85. Fool's Gold - Bakugou grows even more jealous of Izuku having One for All, and his relationship with All Might. He thinks that if he could just prove himself to be more worthy, All Might would change his mind and name him his successor. But in reality, he ends up jeopardizing the relationship they already have.

86. somewhere down the road - The final deadline for Nighteye’s predictions passes, and All Might lives. He debates telling Izuku, as even though it would be a weight off the boy’s mind, he doesn’t want to jinx it. He will still die eventually after all.

87. Just For You - All Might has certain rules and boundaries for fan interactions that he completely ignores for Izuku.

88. if these walls could talk (their whispers would be maddening) - Montage of training accidents in a ‘cursed’ ua gym

89. If Only I Could... - Nighteye tells Mirio about One for All, including that he thinks he’s more deserving than Izuku and he plans to pressure him into giving it up. Mirio struggles with the knowledge that his mentor, someone he respected more than anything, only saw him as a replacement for All Might, meanwhile watching Izuku strain under the pressure of that mentor’s impossible expectations.

90. This is a Test Designed to Provoke an Emotional Response - shameless Blade Runner AU

91. Once and for All - Retelling of the Superman story “What’s So Funny About Truth, Justice, and the American Way?” with All Might. Some new heroes use much more aggressive and violent tactics against villains while also upstaging All Might. That, and there general approval from the public cause All Might to question his moral code.

92. Sitting In The Rain - Tsuyu likes to just sit out in the rain sometimes. Not do anything, just sit there. Some friends decide to join her.

93. At Sundown - Mysterious creatures start attacking ua every night. The gang works tirelessly during the day to find the cause and a solution, while defending their school and each other at night.

94. The 1000th time's the charm - Uraraka has been practicing a new move in secret but they just can’t get it right. She wants it to be perfect before showing it off. But one attempt gets her seriously hurt while training alone at night in one of the gyms, and she’s too hurt to get up to the phone to call for help.

95. Sunflower Seeds - All Might attempts to start a garden as a new hobby.

96. What It Means To Be Human - Sun god Toshi starts living among people.

97. Eyes on Me - All Might teaches Izuku some unarmed fighting moves to defend himself from bullies.

98. one remains - Izuku has developed all but one of the quirks he’s slated to, and he has no idea what it will be. Anxiety ensues.

99. Come Back Home - Izuku vanishes from campus and everyone assumes he was kidnapped, but in reality he ran away to try and clear his head after a depressive spiral. He goes by train as far away as he can until he comes to his senses and calls the others.

100. I Won - Izuku accidentally managed to kill Shigaraki during a skirmish, and while everyone around him praises his heroics, he struggles to deal with the fact that he killed someone.

101. Ivory Tower - All Might grapples with how much izuku suffered as a quirkless person, how he could have done more for quirkless rights in his time as a hero, and how now people may not care as much because he’s retired.

Reminder to credit me if you use any of these prompts, and a special thanks to everyone who submitted titles!

#mha #bnha #mha prompts #bnha prompts #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #dad might #all might #toshinori yagi #midoriya izuku #deku #bakugou katsuki #aconstantstateoffanfiction

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lost-in-the-80s · 4 years

Text

I’ve Never Seen You Here

Pairing: Axl Rose x Reader

Words: 2,889k

Summary: It's no secret that you and Axl desire each other, but what would happen if you met at a club? (smut)

A/N: This is my first smut, so sorry if it's shitty.

Warnings: Mature content, swearing, and unprotected sex. (Use a condom, guys!)

Tag list: @roger-taylors-car @ladieswttda add yourself to my tag list

It was a little past four on a Tuesday afternoon, you were behind the counter, with your back against it, fanning yourself with one of the menus, trying to get some relief from the hot summer weather in Los Angeles.

Your friend, Braeden stood in front of you, drying some glasses that had just been washed by you.

The bell on the entry door ranged, announcing new customers at the cafe.

You didn't mind looking who it was, you weren't really in the mood to deal with people now. You were just about to ask Braeden to take their orders when she spoke up.

"Your ginger is here" a smirk appearing on her lips.

You turned around just in time to see him passing through the door. He nodded in your direction in a greeting way. It was your turn to smirk.

Forgetting completely about your previous annoyance, you stretched your pink 60s inspired dress and picked your small notepad, walking towards his table.

He was there with his friends, all of them talking loudly about something that had happened on their way to the cafe.

He looked so cool with his leather jacket and bandana. Smoking hot, you would dare to say.

"Welcome to Flar's Cafe, what can I get you?"

You started writing down their orders as the skinny brunette started telling you, but you couldn't not see the way the ginger looked you up and down.

"Alright, I'll be right back."

Turning around, you walked back to the counter, feeling his gaze burn your back.

Once you got their food you went back to the table, placing everything on it.

"Anything else you might want?" You asked with a smile.

"That's all for today, sweetheart." The ginger answered with a grin.

It was always like this. They started coming to the cafe a few months ago, every time the ginger would call you a nickname or smirk at you. You would smirk back, or ask what they wanted, looking right into his eyes, just for the pleasure to see the lust that spackled on them.

The sexual tension between the two of you was so thick you could almost cut it with a knife.

Sometimes you wanted to bluntly ask for his number, or write yours and hand it to him, but you never got the guts, since all his friends were around.

You moved back to work, attending other tables, making coffee, cleaning the counter, but at every chance you got, you would look in his direction and sure enough, he would be looking at you.

"You're gonna keep this mouse and cat game 'till when?" Braeden spoke up, making you jump startled.

"What do you mean?"

"Why don't you just ask him for his number?"

"Because first: I'm working, that's not professional at all. Second: his friends are there, what if he says no and all of them start laughing at me?"

"You're just overthinking it!" She said rolling her eyes. "If work is the problem, why don't you meet him somewhere else?"

"As if it was easy to find him in the middle of L.A."

"I actually might know where he's gonna be on Friday…." She said with a smirk, leaning against the counter and raising her brows.

"Where!!??" You almost yelled with excitement, making some customers look in your direction. "Where?" You repeated in a much lower tone now.

"I-"

Before she could tell you, his friend with black fuzzy hair appeared behind the counter and interrupted her.

"25, right?" He asked, handing you their order form.

You got the paper from between his fingers and looked at the numbers fastly, making the count.

"Yes, 25." You said, putting the order form on the pile of the finished orders.

He handed you 30 bucks, telling you to keep the change.

You thanked him and watched as they walked away.

"Where, Braeden?"

She laughed a little. "When I passed near their table before, they were talking about going to this club on Friday."

"A club." You said thinking. "Do you think I should go?"

"Of course!"

"Come with me!"

"Hm, I don't know. I had plans for Friday." She looked at her nails.

You knew she was just waiting for you to beg her, she had nothing to do on Friday.

"Pleasee!! I'll let you choose my outfit!" You said hugging her from the side and making puppy eyes.

"Ok then." She said with a proud smile.

----

The week passed by quickly, it was Friday now, you were at Braeden's place getting ready for the club.

She convinced you to curl your hair while she teased hers. You applied some natural makeup, while Braeden chose a red lipstick with a sparkling eyeshadow. It wasn't a surprise though, Braeden has always been the "Go big or go home" type of girl.

You two sang some Aerosmith song that played in the background, while you put on the final touches on your makeup.

"Hold on, I'm gonna get the dresses." She said before running to her bedroom.

She reappeared a few seconds later, holding a tight lime green dress and a tight black dress with some tule details.

"This one is yours!" She said, handing you the black one.

You matched your dress with some black high heels you had brought and she matched hers with a nude pair.

You two took a second to look at each other through the mirror. "We look fucking hot!" You said grinning.

"Hell yeah!" She said, high fiving you.

You two exited the apartment and walked for a good 15 minutes before you could hear the blasting music coming from the club, a huge line of people in front of it.

"Shit! Look at that line!" Braeden said, pointing with exasperation.

"Calm down, I'm gonna put us in."

Walking on the sidewalk, you stopped in front of a bald man at the door, with a clipboard in hands.

"Hi! Y/N Y/L/N" You said with a smile, trying to make your voice come out as smoothly as possible.

He looked at the papers and then looked back "Sorry, not on the list."

"What do you mean not on the list?" You said raising your voice. "I can't believe Matt forgot to put me on the list!"

You looked back at Braeden "Do you believe it? Two years together and he fucking forgets to put me on the list!"

You moved on, complaining about how Matt had forgotten to put you on the list, even though there was no Matt at all.

The man at the door started to look worried about the attention you were calling. He got the clipboard fastly and then looked up. "Matthew Anderson, right? I found him, you can come in!" He said, relief filling his voice.

"Yeah! That's him! Thank you, dude!" You said touching slightly his shoulder, in a way to thank him, before walking inside the club.

Red neon lights filled the room, and a Motlëy Crüe song got to your ears.

"Remind me to never go to a club without you." Braeden said laughing a little about your scene.

You laughed along and pointed to the bar. "Let's get something to drink." You shouted so that she could hear.

You both squeezed yourselves among the people dancing until you got to the bar, asking for two tequila shots.

The barman put the drinks on the counter and you drank before putting the glasses down with a loud sound.

"Woah! I know you two!" You heard a man saying from beside Braeden. It was the tall blonde, one of the ginger's friends.

"Hi!" Braeden said smiling.

"Are you girls having fun?" He asked with enthusiasm.

"We just got here!" She shouted.

"Wanna sit with us? We got a table." He shouted back.

You two exchanged looks before nodding in his direction.

He got five beers from the counter before telling you to follow him.

"Look who I found at the bar!" He said, catching the attention from the other men, putting the beers on the table. "Girls, I'm Duff, these are Axl, Steven, Izzy and Slash." He said pointing to each one of them.

So his name is Axl huh? You thought to yourself.

Axl and Slash sat at the edges of the booth, while the other two took the back part.

"I'm Braeden and this is Y/N!"

They greeted you two loudly and then asked you girls to take a seat. Watching as Axl and Slash opened up some space for you to sit. You sat beside Axl while Braeden and Duff sat beside Slash.

Duff started some conversation with Braeden, which she gladly got involved with. You were paying attention to them when you heard someone whispering in your ear.

"I've never seen you here." It was Axl.

"It's my first time here, to be honest."

He nodded. "It's nice seeing you without that pink dress." He said looking you up and down.

You smirked in his direction, taking his beer bottle for a sip when he offered you.

After a good 20 minutes, Duff came back with vodka shots, which made you all engage in conversation easier, talking about music and other stuff.

After a while, Axl put his arm around your shoulder, looking at you, to see if you would ask him not to do it. But after seeing your smile, he knew it was okay.

Another 30 minutes passed by, and another three shots of vodka with it. Def Leppard started playing and you and Braeden decided to go dance.

You moved your body with the beat, swaying your hips and singing out loud. Your body started to get hot, and you looked at the table seeing Axl's predator gaze in your direction, making your core start heating too.

Another song started playing, and that's when you saw the guys approaching you. You all started dancing together as good friends, but after a few minutes, you found yourself dancing suggestively around Axl, loving the way his eyes watched your hips.

You decided to make a move and turned around, pressing yourself on him while still dancing, rubbing yourself against his body. His hands found your hips as you two swayed to the song together.

After some minutes you started to feel a bulge forming in his pants, making a smirk crept your lips. That's when his hands moved to your waist and he turned you around, making you face him.

Your hands found the back of his neck and his hands went down to grab your butt. He leaned down and kissed you hungrily, making you moan slightly during the kiss.

When you parted ways to catch your breath, you bit his bottom lip, seeing his eyes get dark with desire.

He leaned down, near your ear and whispered. "You better stop doing this, doll, or you're gonna end up taking it to a new level."

His voice was husky with desire, making you even wetter.

"What if I want to take it to the new level?" You raised one of your brows.

He smirked at you, kissing you again.

"Bathroom?" He asked, still smirking.

"Bathroom!" You confirmed.

He grabbed your hand and started to lead you towards the bathroom, opening the door for you to enter first, before attacking your lips again.

You two moved towards one of the bathroom booths while still kissing, closing the door and looking for the lock on it, in between hair tugs and muffled moans.

Once the door was locked he pushed you against it, allowing you a few seconds of breath before his lips found yours again.

His hands went to the back part of your thighs, telling you to jump, which you gladly did, wrapping your legs around his waist as his hands found your butt again, this time to support you.

His mouth traveled from your lips to your jaw, before finally stopping at your neck. He started giving you sloppy kisses there, while he played with one of your boobs through your dress fabric.

His fingers found your nipple, squeezing it slightly, making a quiet moan escape your lips.

The sound made his member pulse inside his pants, making him bite your neck with voracity. You were sure there would be a mark there tomorrow.

You moved one of your hands to his bulge, palming him through his pants, making a muffled moan escape his lips.

You saw that as an incentive to slide your hand inside his leather pants. You palmed him gently, moving your hand up and down his length slowly.

He groaned before kissing your lips again. One of his hands finding your waist and tugging at it with force.

You pulled apart to breathe and his hand found your core, his fingers touched you through your panties and he smirked, feeling your wetness.

He put your panties to the side, and his index finger traveled between your folds, getting wet with your liquids before entering you slowly.

You moaned again, giving him the approval he needed to slide another finger inside of you.

"So wet already, baby." The nickname made you moan one more time, as you closed your eyes and enjoyed the feeling.

You got so caught in the moment, that you had to take your hand out of his pants to put it on his shoulder for support, not sure if you could trust your legs anymore.

He removed his fingers from you, making you whine at the loss of sensation. His fingers traveled up to his lips, where he sucked them looking at your eyes.

His green eyes were almost brown now, and his pupils were dilated with lust. He kissed you one more time, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

He pushed your dress up to your waist and unbolted his pants, moving his hands up and down his length a few times.

"Are you sure?" He asked, gaze burning your eyes.

"Yes!" You said kissing him again.

That's when you felt his member collecting some of your juices before sliding slowly inside of you, making you moan slightly.

He waited for a while, for you to get adjusted, before he started to thrust at a slow pace in and out of you.

You both moaned and your hands found his hair, pulling it. He used one of his hands to support you and the other he put on the door behind you, to help him get some stability to thrust harder inside of you.

And that's exactly what he did, his once calm thrusts became fast and hard and you were sure anyone in the bathroom would be able to hear your bodies colliding against each other.

He straightened up a little, which gave him a whole new angle that hit your sweet spot instantly, making you let go of a loud moan.

"Yes! Right there" you said between moans, as he promptly obeyed. Hitting your core ever harder.

After a few minutes you both were moaning loud enough to fill the whole bathroom, your bodies were sweating and his thrusts were becoming sloppier.

The constant hit against your sweet spot made your walls start to clench around him, making him groan huskily.

"Oh my god! I'm gonna cum!" You announced, feeling the pleasure take control of your body. Your eyes closed and your head fell back, hitting the door, while a series of moans and incoherent words left your mouth.

"Yes, baby, cum for me!" Axl said, using his thumb to circle your clit, making you moan even louder. "Come on, doll, cum for me!"

His thrusts became faster and you felt a wave of pure pleasure take over your body as you hit your climax, moaning his name.

He thrust inside of you a couple more times before he came too, biting on your shoulder to muffle his loud groan. Shots of his cum filling you, while you moaned with the sensibility of your core after your orgasm.

He held you for a few more seconds before he placed you gently on the floor, your hands still on his shoulders, to make sure you weren't gonna fall.

"Fuck" you said, adjusting your hair.

"Yeah, fuck!" He said, laughing a little, while he adjusted his pants again.

You two opened the door, glad to see that there wasn't anyone else in the bathroom.

You moved towards the sink, looking at your reflection in the mirror. Your hair was a mess, your makeup all smudged, your neck full of red marks that you were sure would become bruises soon. You quickly fixed your dress and your hair, trying to fix your makeup in the best way you could, while he fixed his hair too.

"So…" He cleared his throat. "Will I see you again?... Out of the cafe, I mean."

You smiled at him a little, before looking for a pen in your purse. "Maybe…" you smiled suggestively now. "Why don't you call me someday and we find out?"

You grabbed his hand, writing down your number on it.

"You can be sure I'll call you, princess." He said, smirking.

"Are you ready?"

You nodded and so the two of you left the bathroom and went back to your previous table, laughing at the shouts and whistling coming from your friends.

#harley writes #axl rose #axl rose fanfic #axl rose imagine #axl rose fic #axl rose x reader #axl rose smut #guns n roses #guns n roses fanfic #guns n roses x reader #guns n roses imagine #guns n roses fic

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pomegranates-and-blood · 3 years

Text

νοσταλγία (Chapter 29)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Word Count: 4.1k (I’m sorry)

Warnings: The usual

A/N: I know today was supposed to be a PoV update day, but I am struggling with those atm, so for now I’ll post every Saturday and Tuesday, and if I write and want to post an Ivar PoV or smth, I will do so out of schedule. I’m so sorry, but otherwise I’ll just stress myself out.

There’s a bracelet mentioned in this, I had this one in mind. Pretty, innit?

And just an fyi, (I haven’t done these in a while, damn): Falcons are symbols of Freyja, who has stories referring to how she cries tears of gold at the absence of her husband from her side. Bats are symbols of Persephone, and in my canon I’ve always portrayed her as a woman of dark skin and blind eyes. Oh, and snakes are symbols of Hades.

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax @pieces-by-me @angelofthorr @samsationalwilson @peachyboneless @1950schick @punkrocknpearls @ietss @itsmysticalmystery @revolution-starter

The air around you is strange, a mix of warm and cold that doesn’t quite manage to be lukewarm, each second the breeze changes from a welcoming moment in the sun to the biting winds of a coast. Even the sky looks wrong, somewhere between night and day, the sun shining brightly one moment only to turn cold and distant the next.

You can almost see the silhouette of a woman standing in the distance, and because you know you must, you walk to her.

She extends a hand, her smile vicious but her eyes warm.

For a moment, when you blink, the blind eyes disappear and pale eyes look back at you, crying tears that shine like gold. Her lips aren’t stained by the red tint of pomegranates and blood anymore, but she still smiles, a mother beckoning a child into her embrace.

It is not the face you have come to know, yet she’s still familiar, and their voices when they whisper your name sound like one.

You reach with trembling fingers, try to reach her, and for a moment you can almost feel her warmth, burning like the fire that was once all you could feel. But the moment your hand finds hers, the moment the tips of your fingers touch hers…the cackle of a falcon, the screech of a bat by your ear, and she is gone.

All you have left is the cold that seeps into your skin and the certainty they have heard you, and answered, each and every time you’ve prayed.

A murmur of your name brings your attention to the youngest son of Ragnar, forcing you to return your attention -your mind- to the here and now, to the city that starts to wake up, to the streets you are supposed to be walking.

You answer the question written in Ivar’s eyes with a smile.

“I’m fine,” You promise quietly, “I have been having trouble sleeping, that’s all.”

“Dreams?”

“Are you to trust dreams as visions?” You ask, a little life returning to your voice as you tilt your head to the side.

“You told me yourself that your Goddess’ form appears in your dreams.” Ivar argues.

It wasn’t just her.

You refuse to admit to the son of a Viking seeress that you have dreamt of Freyja. If by chance some of Aslaug’s gift remains with Ivar, you dread to hear him decipher the meaning behind the form you saw in your dreams. So, you keep that to yourself.

“But you do not believe in my Gods.” Is what you argue with instead.

He shrugs with his arm not on the crutch, “I believe in you.”

You stop in your tracks, stunned into silence. Your eyes are glued to Ivar’s back as he continues walking, and a tremulous smile starts lifting at your lips, aided by the fragile hope and foolish emotion blossoming in your chest.

Ivar turns to you when he sees you are not coming, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly at your surprised and commoved expression.

“Don’t overreact. You were never wrong about your…dealings with your Gods before.”

Shaking off the surprise and the foolish hopes and feelings that have no place here, that cling to your mind like cobwebs, you skip the space between you, offering him a smile and a nod.

“I still appreciate the trust, Ivar.” You tease, skimming bold fingers over the back of his hand, a smile on your lips.

He regards you in silence for a few moments, not walking anymore, and you see in his gaze that he ponders with himself whether to say something that’s in his mind or not.

“Let’s go eat, woman.” He finally huffs, turning his attention to the path ahead. You bite down your disappointment at him swallowing whatever his words were to be, and walk at his side.

The thralls that greet you when you enter do so with a smile, although their eyes linger on your hair for a few moments, and move cautiously about as they set the food in front of you both and take their leave.

“You keep confusing them, you know.” Ivar starts casually, already focused on his food but still demanding that you sit at his side while you eat your bread and drink your herbal tea. You have no idea how these people manage to eat so much so early in the day.

“Me?”

Sucking his fingers clean, a gesture you shouldn’t be following with your eyes the way you are, Ivar lifts his gaze to focus on you.

“You refuse to let them braid your hair unless we make a deal, you reuse that old dress every chance you have.”

“I like my hair this way.” You quip, rather obstinately.

Ivar’s eyes go to the gentle twirls and the delicate updo holding the hair away from your face, studying the style for a few moments. Finally, he shrugs in response.

You have an inkling that’s the closest you will get to receiving a compliment, so you let yourself enjoy the victory as if it were one.

“You still get cold in that dress. You keep trembling when night falls, woman, it’s annoying.” He mumbles.

“It’s…mine.” You offer as explanation, smiling down at your infusion as you watch the herbs swirl and smell the familiar scent of red clover and chickweed.

When you lift your gaze from the swirling herbs in your cup, you catch his eyes on you, but he adverts his gaze to his food once again when he speaks, “You have dresses in our room. Those are yours.”

“They are not mine, they are clothes you had people bring to me.” You insist, fingers tracing the worn Byzantine thread with care.

“You can ask them to bring you the ones you like.”

“I don’t want to take it from them, they…deserve compensation.”

“Would it be better if you bought your own, then?” He offers, and even if excitement bubbles in your chest and into your lips in a small smile, you still refrain.

“I don’t have any gold.”

“I can give you all you need.” Ivar sentences, and although for a moment your mind lingers on the meaning you think he intended behind those words, you soon find yourself with a smile on your lips and only thoughts of the peplos and chlamys you had back in your home before it burned down.

It has been so long since you have had time -or coin- to make some dresses.

“I don’t want to be in your debt.” You insist, even if you have to bite your lip to keep from smiling.

Ivar regards you silently for a few moments, resting his elbows on the table between you and challenging your eyes with his, his expression asking you why you decide to be so difficult about everything. You offer a shrug in response, wondering if he sees the hypocrisy in complaining about you being difficult to deal with.

“Think of them as…gifts, then.”

“Alright.” You murmur, your gaze holding his for once not feeling like it’s a duel, but an encounter. When it is a genuine one, however rare they are, Ivar truly has a lovely smile, you realize.

When you are done with your meal and murmur your goodbyes as you prepare to head for the apothecary home, Ivar interrupts you, sly smile on his lips and a shine in his eyes that, were he to be any other man, would make you think he is flirting.

“I like red.”

You smile in response, bending down to press a kiss against his cheek. Ivar grumbles his way away from your affection, but the shine in his eyes, the faint color in his ears, give him away.

“Come with me to the market and I’ll see what I can do.” You offer, already knowing you are triumphant.

____

“Oh, this is fun.” You laugh, dangling your feet over the chariot’s end as you watch the ground quickly move underneath them.

Ivar grunts something in response to your enthusiasm, and you can almost tell he is exaggeratedly rolling his eyes as he faces the horse and guides it through Kattegat’s roads.

You say nothing, still beyond thankful he agreed to come to the market with you, aware as you are of how…uncomfortable he is walking around the people of Kattegat. If his words the day you witnessed first-hand what happens when his eyes get that blue tint to them are anything to go by, and you know they are; it is evident he hates the reminder, for himself and especially for others, that he is disabled.

You’ll never know what life was -is- like for him, you know you couldn’t fathom the pain, the anger, the resentment. But what you can do is try to understand him, understand his rage and his hunger.

I spent most of my life crawling around in the dirt, having to look up at everyone, like I was always kneeling in front of them.

And again, the part of you that is soft and foolish wants nothing other than to give him the happiness, the certainty, the safety, the love some may say he does not deserve but you would gladly give freely. And the part of you that is cruel and angry wants to watch him conquer, triumph, wants to stand by his side and see the world that pushed him to the ground burn.

A voice that sounds so alike his whispers there’s no reason why only one of those things has to be possible.

Still, in your mind lingers the image of a younger Ivar, heartbroken and hopeless at the seemly inability to fight, to earn his right to Valhalla; and it sends a pang of pain through your heart.

You know the stubborn King would only call it pity if he were to know, so you keep your tone light when you say,

“Thank you for this, Ivar,” He only answers with a huffed ‘hmphf’, so you add with a side smile, “I hope you know I will ask for chariot rides way more often.”

“For the right price, I’ll give you anything you want.” Ivar finally answers, and you catch a glimpse of his blue eyes turning to you for a moment.

“Dare I ask what the price might be?”

You could swear you hear him chuckle, and before long the market is in your sights, bubbling and colorful, and your attention is stolen by the wares and chanting vendors.

As you walk eyeing every little trinket and odd curiosity, you cannot keep the nostalgic smile from your lips.

“When I was a child my mother and I used to walk markets just like this one. She…she had this tradition, bought a new dress or a new piece of jewelry each time my father was to return from a campaign.” You recall with a watery laugh, fingers caressing the hanging necklaces of colorful beads you walk by.

“Campaigns? Like raids?”

“Yes, she…she used to say it was so he would have some surprise to return to, and my father would joke it was her way of keeping him in Eleusis, a threat that if he left us too frequently she would spend all our coin on pretty things,” You answer softly, running your hand over a piece of cold blue cloth, “Our temple looks over the sea, and I would sit with her on the steps, waiting for my father’s ship to return. He used to say our smiles guided the navy home,” You laugh. The smile in your mother’s lips as the sea reflected in her burdened and yet loving eyes is brought forth in your mind, and you cannot keep the next words from stumbling out of your lips, “I think…I think those are the only times I remember her being…happy.

She fought so much, through her noble title and the title of wife of a Strategus, through her worship and her strong voice. And yet she perished amongst flames, her death cheered by her own countrymen.

The cold hand of fear grips your heart, and after being once so close to ending your tale the same way, for a moment you refuse to expose yourself to that bitter and barren end, no matter the cost.

You shake off the dark thoughts, and focus on the market and the life bubbling within it.

“I don’t think I ever said this, but Kattegat truly is beautiful, Ivar.” You offer after a while in silence, the sharp focus of his blue eyes setting on you at your words.

“My mother turned Kattegat into a trading hub, allowed the town to prosper through commerce. When I became King, I…wanted to honor that.”

“Did Queen Aslaug teach you of trade?” You ask curiously, your lips still smiling as your eyes rake over the stands of so many different colors, of the offered spices and cloths and pets. It all is beautiful, loud, and with pieces of everywhere in the known world scattered throughout.

It feels like the Silk Roads. It feels like the first home you knew.

Ivar huffs, a combination of amusement and maybe regret, “No, she didn’t. I did not care for it, but my older brothers learned from watching her rule,” He explains, and remains silent for a few moments, for so long that you think he’s not going to speak again, until he takes a deep breath, “Hvitserk has been the one dealing with commerce and foreign trade, and he has done…good for Kattegat.” He says finally, the praise towards his brother gruff and carrying the bite of rancor, like admitting the other man’s success irks him.

“You should tell him that.” You murmur as casually as you are able to, pretending to eye a display of metal bracelets.

Your fingers trace over the snakes on one of the intricate metalworks, and you are reminded of the altar in the forest of Eleusis: Persephone, sitting in her throne with a scythe, symbol of Demeter, held in her hand to demonstrate her pledge to her mother, and snakes, symbols of Hades, curled around her body as proof of her husband’s love.

“Do you like it?” Ivar asks, ignoring your previous words and looming over your back as he regards the delicate bracelet you hold. Not waiting for your answer, he motions for it and talks to the man behind the stall in his own language.

You place your touch back on the King’s arm, but this time is a call for attention, “Thank you, but I couldn’t, I don’t need it.”

But he shakes his head, lips pressed into a line, “I asked if you liked it, not if you needed it.”

“Must we argue about everything?” You sigh, exasperated as you watch him pay for the bracelet with curt words.

When he turns his gaze back to you, he does so with the arrogant and maddening smile you have learned to hate, “I don’t know. Shall we argue about that?”

You just huff in response, striding your way to a stall with bright linens and leaving him -and his bracelet- behind.

“Sure, make the cripple chase after you.” He growls, the bite in his voice paired with shame that even with your back turned to him you can sense, making you falter. A moment regret pangs at your stomach, but you will not apologize. Instead, you move to one somewhat empty passageway, so you can speak freely,

“I don’t like that word,” You grit out as you turn to watch him approach, “Rather, I don’t like how you use it.”

Ivar stands in front of one of the more secluded alleys, and you can sense the tension in his frame, the shame and despair, but say nothing about it.

He is quick to fire back, “Well, I don’t particularly like being a cripple, wife.”

“Oh, for the love of-…” You growl as the word rings in your head, and you pace away from Ivar for a moment, running a hand through your hair as you roll your eyes. When you turn back to the King, you face his angry and defensive gaze with your own, determined and fierce, “You are much more than your legs, you are what you made out of yourself past them, because of them,” Shaking your head but keeping your voice down and the people from hearing, you hiss, “It would have been easy for you to wallow in pity and let the world look down upon you, but you didn’t. You are dedicated, and strong, and brilliant, and…and many more things; and you chose to show them to never underestimate you, you made the choice to fight.

His eyes look into both of your own, the movement of the Greek-Fire like irises hinting at a desperation, a hesitancy, a fear, you once would never have believed Ivar would be able to show.

You reach with impulsive, careless, stupid fingers to trace the scar that has mesmerized you for so long, that runs right over his cheekbone, under his eye. He jumps at the touch, although not as violently as the last time you were this stupid, and keeps silent as his eyes, his mesmerizing eyes, jump between yours with a thousand questions written in them.

With a deep breath and refusing to move your gaze from his, even if you feel as exposed as he is, you continue,

“And it wasn’t easy, was it? It wasn’t and it is not fair. And if you use that word like…like they use it, you prove them right. And we both know they are not right about you.

With one last caress of his jaw, you lower your hand and press a vulnerable palm over his armored heart, looking up at him with determination.

Ivar regards you in silence, surprising you at his lack of defensiveness, of bite, of cruelty. But his guarded, so tightly controlled expression that it almost looks fragile makes something within you relent, something within you soften.

And your voice is just as quiet as before, but this time lacking the bite when you say, “So…stop using that word like an insult, because you turned that word into so much more. Because you are so much more,” You say, the fervor in your voice surprising you. After a beat of silence, you add in a mumble, “Like an insufferably stubborn man, among other things.”

He says nothing in response, only stubbornly offering you the bracelet with a clenched jaw. You roll your eyes, but extend your arm and allow him to put it on your wrist, trying to dispel the electrifying effects his warm touch has on your skin.

With his fingers still on your wrist, Ivar tugs and draws you closer. Surprised, your feet clumsily cross the space he demands to be crossed, and you look up into his eyes, those alluring eyes that both threaten and adore.

Ivar says nothing for a few moments, before finally moving forward, and your heart skips a beat, your breath leaves you. For a moment that lasts an eternity, you think he will be the one to give in.

But Ivar only leans close to speak by your ear, a murmur of your name. A moment, and you hear him again, quietly, barely a breath, “Thank you.”

“Don’t,” You warn, just as quietly, “I did not say those things expecting gratitude, I said them because they are true.”

Uncertain fingers trace one last hesitant caress along the skin in your wrist, right over the bracelet he gifted you with, and it is a silent agreement between you that you both return to browsing the market.

“Almost as fine as Byzantine silk, I swear on it,” The woman promises, offering you a display of soft and flowing linens. “Fit for the Gods, even.”

You laugh as you shake your head, “I am far from divine, good woman.”

“Because you lack my silk,” She insists with a toothy smile, and another light chuckle leaves your lips as you look over the different colors of the silk she offers, eyeing the varying colors and trying to decide on a good one for a formal peplos.

A rough hand grabs one of the dark red pieces before you can make your choice.

“I like this one.” Ivar says, and even if his tone makes it sound like an order, you still nod your approval and ask the vendor for the needed linens.

Later, after spending part of your day browsing the dresses and cloth offered in the market so tirelessly your feet now ache, you relax in your bed with a warm cup of milk and honey in your hands, watching as the pale sun settles over Kattegat’s horizon.

The warmth of the fire, the safety of the house around you, the rhythm of this city; none of this should feel as familiar, as comforting as it does.

Drawing your knees to your chest, hiding bare and cold feet under the furs, you set the cup down and keep your tired eyes on the horizon, even if the sun’s light is quick to blind you.

When you blink past the light, you find yourself looking into eyes as blue and as burning as Greek Fire, and a small smile pulls at your lips. He extends a hand, offers you a bracelet.

You roll your eyes, but accept Ivar’s warm touch as he places the bracelet around your wrist. Proudly keeping your place at his side, you walk with him through the street.

A woman keeps her dark eyes on you as you walk her by, and when you offer her a small smile and a nod in recognition, she offers you a smirk.

“Snakes curl at your feet. They bind you to this realm.” She says, her Greek harsh, only slightly better than Ivar’s. You swallow past the knot in your throat, and turn your gaze once again to the path ahead of you, jaw set tightly.

“Not for long.”

She laughs, darkly, hungrily, knowingly.

“You should know better than to say that, chosen of Persephone.”

You stop dead in your tracks, something off about her flawless Greek startling you. She holds your gaze, a challenge shining in her blind eyes. You blink, trying to see what changed of her face that unsettles you so, but you cannot seem to focus.

The woman lowers her face, a dark laugh echoing around you as darkness consumes the once vivid and loud streets. You turn around wildly, looking for…for…

The woman appears in front of you, face bare and blood dripping down her full lips. She extends her hand, offers you a red veil.

A gasp makes its way out of your lips as you sit up in the bed, eyes frantically searching for…her, as if she is to still be here.

You cannot shake from your mind the snippets of the dream -Vision? Message?- from your mind, and when you straighten from the fire you were occupied with, you catch sight of the clothes and linens you bought today and are startled by the amount of red you can see.

The color of a bride’s veil. The veil she offered you.

When you lift uncertain hands to run through your loose hair, you catch a glimpse of the bracelet Ivar gifted you on your wrist.

A shackle. A snake to curl at your feet and bind you.

Trying with all your might to dispel such thoughts, you return to your seat with the now cold cup of milk and honey in your hands and close your eyes tight.

Try as you may, each time you manage to shake off the images of your dream, behind closed eyes you see the countless dreams that came before it, the countless times you saw a figure that wasn’t quite mortal lurking in your dreams.

All the times before and after your return to Eleusis where you saw clearly in the distance a pair of thrones, though you knew one would remain empty for quite a while. Even after finding yourself shackled and bound in Kattegat, the dream of the snakes that slithered around you, only to then make you trip and fall, only to let Ivar move over you, promise you a kingdom against your lips.

Gods, the vision of…of the woman that cries gold, the motherly smile, the armor covering her chest. How you could blink and see blind eyes and dark skin instead, bloodied lips and still the same warm and welcoming smile. Both hands extended towards you, of which you found yourself unable to hold on to neither.

You never believed it to be a curse, to be a woman born destined to be close to the Gods.

But your eyes fill with tears, your heart grows heavy, and you cannot help but think how life could have been so much easier, how you could have been so happy, if only you had never known both of the Seer and the Oracle, of Freyja and Persephone. Of Kattegat and Attica.

And how you wish for a life where you don’t feel Fate tearing you in two.

____

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you liked this chapter!

Also, yes, I made a Phantom of the Opera reference lol

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar #νοσταλγία masterlist

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wonderlustlucas · 4 years

Text

satori - park chanyeol

⇢ prompt Let’s make it forever.—sequel to greatest gift ⇢ pairing chanyeol x female reader ⇢ word count 14.3k ⇢ genre fluff & smut ⇢ warnings explicit sexual content, small dirty talk, fingering, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, multiple orgasms (just 3 don’t get excited), unprotected sex, creampie, mild cumplay?, i think that’s all this is basically pwp but somehow 14k words ⇢ summary It’s been a little more than two years since you and Chanyeol started dating and you have never been so happy. Perhaps you are just blinded by love, but things are perfect and you cannot help but think it has something to do with having the love of your life always by your side. You also cannot help but think this kind of love lasts forever.—established relationship!au ⇢ a/n ok i really wasn’t planning on writing a sequel to greatest gift but then like 1 person asked me to & then i was inspired by 170727 kokobop chanyeol watch the fancam dudes that’s the exact outfit he wears in this & have been listening to forever religiously & really just wanted to write pcy saying ‘nice skirt’ so here we are. u don’t need to read greatest gift to read this but u will have more background info ab characters & relationships. ok that’s all from me, i really spilled my heart out into this one & am very proud so i hope u love satori as much as i do! ♥︎

In the midst of your monotonous Pinterest scrolling, the unlocking and opening of the front door tears your attention away from the video that so enticingly grasps your attention, no matter how badly you wish it to finish. Glancing up, you first look to the television, where your fourth episode of Property Brothers drones on, flickering light into the otherwise dark room. Then, it is Toben who catches your eye, head lifting from his position by your feet at the sound of the door clicking shut. So quick is he to abandon you, excitedly leaping down from the sofa to greet his human. In all honesty, you do not blame him; he simply is not as lazy as you are on this dreary Friday night.

Well, perhaps not so dreary anymore. Sure, the unremitting, hazy rain and grey clouds beyond the warm confines of your apartment beg to differ, but inside, the sun itself has entered.

“You know what’s sad?” You call out to him, lips quirked in amusement.

“What?” He answers from down the hall, followed by the rustle of his jacket as he hangs it onto the coat rack. The familiar deepness of his voice alone is enough to put you at ease; instantly, you feel like putty against the pillow propped beside you when you imagine his humored smile. At the sound of Toben’s nails scratching against the hardwood as he scurries back into the room, you take one last lingering glimpse to the video that has been playing on loop on your phone.

“I don’t know how to tie a tie.”

Making his way down the foyer, he laughs. Barely a low chuckle, mostly out of confusion at your out-of-the-blue statement, but this makes you crack a smile nonetheless.

“Why should you know how to tie a tie?”

You know he is finally here without having to look up. You can feel it, the way his presence beckons for your attention effortlessly, tugging at the strings of your heart and the cords to your soul. The way the room seems to instantly grow warmer, brighter, the way just seeing his frame, tall and regal in your peripheral vision, is enough to have your legs quivering with the need to have him closer. “I don’t know,” you snort, turning to look at him at last, “wouldn’t it be cute if I did your tie before we went out?”

“___, how often do we go places where a tie is necessary?” Chanyeol muses, though you don’t exactly pay any mind to his reasoning. It’s not that you are ignoring him, you’re just… taking time to engrave this image in your mind, just like every other day. He’s beautiful, you distantly note, the epitome of your dreams standing at the entrance of the living room like a beacon, blue light from the TV flashing against his oversized olive-green sweatshirt and hair falling in floofy curls over his forehead. His hair.

His hair.

Somewhere in between you slowly blinking at him in the dark and leaning forward to turn the light on, he asks how your day was. Now, this goes ignored, brain preoccupied trying to fully process the fact that his hair is pink.

“You— what? When?” Overlooking his question, you sputter, “I thought you were at work!”

Amused at your baffled astonishment, Chanyeol kicks his sneakers off near the shoe rack before making his way over, stifling a laugh at your rendered silence. “Do you like it?” He asks, scooping your legs up from the sofa so he can crash down close beside you, quickly laying them over his lap.

Pinterest ‘how to tie a tie’ video long forgotten, you toss your phone onto the coffee table and lean forward, grasping his face in both hands in order to lower the crown of his head to your nose. With only a single inhale, the accumulative scent of bleach and hair dye and everything salon nearly has your eyes watering before you drop your hands. At that, you lean back far enough to fully admire him in the light, cheeks and lips puffy from a long day, skin glowing with the remnants of misty rain, but the hair. Oh good God, the hair. A shade somewhere in between bubblegum pink and your favorite lip gloss, it has your insides alight with butterflies in seconds.

“And here I thought you couldn’t get any more handsome,” you finally sigh, burying your face into your palms. The anxiety that had begun fizzing in his nerves from your scrutinizing is immediately extinguished, replaced with a fresh wave of pride to his ego and, well, absolute adoration for you.

“Is that a yes?” Chanyeol laughs, loud and boisterous as he bends to awkwardly lie against you, paying no mind to the way the furniture creaks as he wiggles his way into the small space. “Duh,” you scoff, moving your arm so he can better nestle his long ass self between your legs, “I thought red was my favorite, but now I’m not so sure.” When he laughs again, you feel it in your soul, the vibrations resonating within you and you can’t help but wrap your arms around his shoulders, tugging him closer. Once he’s caught on that you desperately, always, crave for such proximity, Chanyeol instantly shimmies his way up, dimple prominent when you cup his face one more time to press a welcoming kiss first to his forehead, then his nose, then his lips. “I missed you.”

“I bet I missed you more,” he replies once satisfied five kisses later, turning his head to rest against his favorite pillow, aka your chest. Knowing you will never win in any such argument like this with him, you bite your tongue and take to combing your fingers through the freshly colored strands of hair, cringing at the thought that it won’t be this soft after he’s washed it. “So, what made you do this?”

He shrugs, half of his attention paid toward the renovation reveal displayed on the TV. “Thought I’d switch it up for Easter, so I just went before heading to the studio.”

“What did Jongdae think?” You wonder with a laugh. Out of all Chanyeol’s friends, Jongdae was never one to go for the extravagant hair colors. Orange was the extent of his spectrum, and even that was short-lived. “Said he liked it, then called me an Easter egg, so who knows,” he grumbles, clearly troubled by his friend’s lack of an immediate, one hundred percent approval. This in itself is enough to make you laugh, but you choose to change the subject for the sake of Chanyeol’s immeasurable ego. “Speaking of,” you hum, enamored with just the sliver of his face you can see from this angle, “how’s the album going?”

“It’s good,” Chanyeol hums, chin digging into your sternum when he turns to look at you once more, “Jongdae is gonna start recording on Monday.” As he says this, he stretches his arms above your head before flopping them down by your sides, one cold hand sneaking under the hem of your crew neck to splay against the warmth of your back. Now, this is mutualism at its finest: with the two of you seemingly always running at an internal temperature too high, you both are feens for a cold touch once in awhile. So, as Chanyeol gets to warm his hands up, you, too, benefit with the coolness against your burning skin. It also may have to do with that time he had ice cubes against your—

You shake your head to rid the tantalizing memory.

“I’m so excited to hear it,” you whisper without meaning to, perhaps reduced to mush at your current intimacy, “with his voice, knowing you wrote the majority of the album. Ah, it’s gonna be beautiful.” Pushing his bangs back and giving his scalp a good scratch all the way to the nape of his neck, you add with a wrinkle of your nose, “I wish it was you, though.”

Chanyeol lets out an amused snort, one eye peeled open to glare at you for disrupting the drowsy daze you have cast him under. “But you already have my singing all to yourself, you don’t need an album,” he mutters, voice marbled with sleep and your fingers twitch with the need to trace the swell of his pouty lips. You do it, anyway, and receive a chaste kiss to the pad of your thumb in return.

“How was the museum?” He asks nearly ten minutes later, stirring just slightly to stretch the arm not curled around you up and past your head. You were under the impression he was fast asleep if the shallowness of his breath was anything to go by. Perhaps not. “Slow Friday, as usual,” you sigh, aching to stretch, too, now that the weight of having a grown ass man on you has finally taken its toll, “had a live animal show with the barn owl and Branch, again.”

“Branch is the new opossum, right?” Chanyeol questions, suddenly pushing himself up enough to sit back on his heels. He must have noticed your stiffness. Offering him an appreciative smile, you lean up and fluff the now squashed pillow beneath you before flopping back down on your side. “Yeah,” you hum, pulling him down to rejoin you, “he’s cute. Imprinted, too, so he loves cuddles. Almost as much as you.” It’s awfully cramped with your back pressed up against the leather and Chanyeol flush against you, but you would never complain about having him so close. You usually can’t get close enough.

“I’ll never forget the raccoons. They were so cute,” Chanyeol hums, reminiscent to the singular time your boss allowed you to sneak him in to meet all of the museum’s disabled animals. With his hipbone pressed against the curve of your stomach, he slots one long leg between your own, surely building his nest even though he should eat and shower before getting comfortable. “That was fun,” you agree, pausing for just a moment when his hand, large enough to cradle half of your face, comes to do so. “They were hella messy though, ugh,” grumbling, you return his previous gesture and press a kiss to the palm of his hand when his thumb goes about running along your bottom lip, “I’ll never forget the time Lavender shit in their enclosure asI was cleaning it.”

Chanyeol frowns, brows quickly drawing together and the sudden change in his expression certainly throws you off guard. “Don’t talk about raccoon shit when I’m about to kiss you,” he murmurs, leaning up on one elbow to ever so slightly hover over you.

“Oh?” You chuckle, dragging your hands up the ridges of muscle in his arms to link behind his neck. “I didn’t know that was your plan.” Like this, you still can’t fight your smile at just how well the pink hair compliments the warmth of his honey complexion.

Lips jutting out in a deeper pout, Chanyeol slips his hand under your shirt to grab ahold of your waist. “That’s always my plan,” he sighs longingly, finally swooping down to capture your lips in a kiss powerful enough for the world around you to fall away.

When you wake, you come to realize three abnormalities.

First, your pillow is not where it should be. Flat on your stomach and limbs spread like a starfish, you raise your head just enough to catch the corner of said pillow staring at you sadly from the floor below.

Second, you are cold. This, you have no one to blame but yourself, having torn your clothes off in a hurry and fallen asleep soaked in the warmth of one another. Now, with the blankets only coming up mid-back, you cannot fight your shivers at the cold air against your bare skin.

And lastly, Chanyeol is still awake.

It takes several moments for you to come to your senses, feeling as if you have awoken from a season long hibernation, the haze and confusion of having abruptly awakened rendering you incompetent when it comes to gathering your wits for several moments. Finally, once you have realized where you are, you first take to wiping at the drool that has pooled directly onto the sheets and, consequently, crusted onto your cheek. Nice. Pausing just a moment to collect your disoriented thoughts once more, you then lean half your body off the bed to retrieve your pillow with a grunt, and, just a little further away, your shirt. On your way back up, you catch the time on your nightstand shining an angry 2:43 am at you.

“What are you still doing up?” You ask, voice groggy and thick with sleep once you have flopped onto your back, chest heaving with the unnecessary effort you just had to exert in the middle of your weekend slumber. Squinting past the shine of the bedside lamp he’s kept on and the bright screen of his laptop, you recline just enough to see that he’s… online shopping?

“Baekhyun showed me this really cool site for colored contacts,” Chanyeol explains, then, after turning to you with furrowed brows and a worried pout, “did I wake you?”

God, you’re confused, brain in no state to try and figure out why he’s looking at colored contacts at almost three in the morning when he had fallen asleep with you no more than four hours ago. “No, no… well, actually, I don’t know, I think I just woke up on my own,” you murmur, sitting up to pull the crew neck over your head, “why… why are you looking at contacts, again?”

The rasp of his chuckle is enough to draw you closer, rolling to meet his side and pressing your cheek against his shoulder. “Baekhyun said blue contacts with pink hair is a good look, so I’m gonna order a pair,” he whispers, lifting his arm despite your grumble of protest to curl around your shoulders and tug you close. The white light from his laptop is a bit too harsh on your eyes, but you manage to keep one half open to peek at the selection. Then, “You’re so weird. Go to bed.”

“I will, after I order,” he whispers for the sake of letting you fall back asleep, yet you can hear the smile in his voice. “Yeah, whatever,” you grunt, turning onto your other side but still latching onto his arm, “get me a pair, too.”

For the brief time in between living with college roommates and then moving with Chanyeol, sleeping in on Saturday mornings in the comfort of your own apartment was always your favorite. No obligations, no work, and certainly no one to disturb you. Whether you finally rolled out of bed at ten, one, or four o’clock--- it didn’t matter. If you had plans at night, you still had plenty of time to get ready and you were in a much better mood to socialize than the other days of the week. Sleeping in on Saturdays till whatever time deemed sufficient simply brings about a whole new level of comfort and consists of several factors at the root of such leisure.

This list certainly became askew, however, once you and Chanyeol began spending nights with one another. Before, simply waking to a quiet apartment, ceiling fan humming and sunlight trickling through the bottom of your blinds was your favorite part of the week. But waking up with the love of your life curled into you certainly makes this experience all the better. And at this point, it seems as if waking up with the warmth of Chanyeol’s breath against the nape of your neck will remain at the top of your list forever.

So, for that to be absent is enough to startle you into an upright position only seconds after you have opened your eyes. Palm coming to slap against the deserted Chanyeol-indented space of mattress beside you, you stroke up and down the sheets, once, twice, before the lingering warmth on the pillow and sheets eases your nerves. Spinning to catch the time, you squint as if that will kickstart the drowsy parts of your brain to comprehend 12:37 pm and all the possible reasons why he is not here with you before tossing the blankets aside and rising with a much-needed stretch.

Shielding your eyes from the sunlight seeping in from between the blinds, you first reach for your underwear tossed haphazardly by the window before half-shimmying them up your legs and half-hopping to the door. Perhaps he’s in the office, you wonder, stepping into the foyer but alas, the door remains open and the lights off. Just as you’ve wandered into the living room, scratching by the front door to the right of you is immediately followed by the lock clicking open and, seconds later, Chanyeol has returned.

You’re a little thrown off. Sweatpants, wrinkled t-shirt, moccasins, and a terribly cute case of bedhead, it seems as if he just rolled out of bed seconds prior. But in his hands, he holds two full grocery bags and Toben’s leash.

“Good morning,” he smiles softly, eyes puffy with sleep. Yep, definitely just woke up. “Mom called,” he explains, lifting the bags before passing them to you so he can unhook Toben, “said something about… someone else not being able to cook a main for tomorrow... so she asked if we could do the Easter bread and brought all the stuff for it.” He explains as you rummage through the groceries. Milk, yeast, a carton of eggs; all things you have here, but Mrs. Park’s kindness never fails to surprise you. “Ah,” humming, you make way for the kitchen counter to set everything down, “I was very confused.”

“Sorry,” joining you in the kitchen, Chanyeol curls an arm around your waist and tugs you closer to kiss your temple, “I didn’t want to wake you.” Lining all the dry ingredients up for later, you hand him the rest to put in the refrigerator. “Well, thank you,” flashing him an appreciative smile, you finally take to rubbing your eyes as it seems you won’t be going back to bed anytime soon, “do you want anything to eat? I can make eggs if you make pancakes.” Crust sufficiently wiped from your eyes, you lean against the cabinets and glance to Chanyeol, soaking in the way he seems to glow in the sunlight illuminating him and the messy curls of pink hair. Ugh. He’s the worst.

“Breakfast sounds good,” he agrees, gaze flickering down to your bare legs for hardly a second before taking two short steps closer and suddenly, you’re not so sure he means eggs and pancakes if the way his eyes darken is anything to go by.

“You should probably put some pants on, first,” Chanyeol rumbles with a thoughtful rise of his brows, one hand anchoring onto the curve of your waist while another dips into the waistband of your panties before letting it slap back against your skin.

Despite the burning desire that flares in your abdomen at the daring move, you jut your chin out, eyeing him contentiously. “Oh! You’re right,” smirking, you force yourself to avoid making eye contact in order to calmly slip out of his grip, “let me go grab some sweats.”

You’ve hardly made it to the dining table by the time he’s back on you, reaching for your wrist and spinning you to meet his chest. At the near growl that escapes him, you quite literally quiver from head to toe. “So funny, I forgot to laugh,” Chanyeol grumbles, gripping the back of your thighs to help you onto the wood before diving in to kiss you.

It quite literally sucks the life out of you, but then again, that’s every kiss with him. “I thought it was pretty funny,” you giggle before he really has you loopy on the taste of him, but it doesn’t take long for your jaw to slacken, allowing him further access. So quickly you fall under his spell, fingers curling into the hairs at the nape of his neck and legs coming to wrap around his waist when the kiss turns into nothing more than a clash of teeth and tongue. It doesn’t take long for him to rid you of your shirt, either, or have you lying back before him as he places hot, open-mouthed kisses all the way down from your throat to the waistband of your underwear. Christ, this poor table.

Good thing this is the only such meal ever eaten here.

Out of fear that he would stop once you mentioned anything, you have never complimented Chanyeol on his shower singing. Sure, you have heard him loud and clear throughout your home and sometimes even when he’s secluded in his office, but something tells you singing in the shower is different. You wouldn’t necessarily call it an invasion of privacy considering no such privacy exists in your relationship by now, but you simply do not want to mention it because knowing him, he subconsciously will either sing quieter or amp it up knowing you are listening in. And you don’t want him to change what he’s already doing.

With your back facing the bathroom door, you remain in the same position Chanyeol left you in, on your side with your head on his pillow rather than your own. You should probably get out of bed soon, anyway, the colon between the ten and forty-three on the clock blinking at you in judgment, but listening to Chanyeol sing along to a fourth Radiohead song with the luxurious smell of him around you is a much better alternative. You have plenty of time to get ready, you tell yourself, nestling deeper into the pillow, only seconds before Chanyeol’s singing ceases as he turns the water off. Frowning, you take this as your cue to give up any possible five-minute nap and return to your side of the bed to retrieve your phone.

“Are you up?” Chanyeol calls from behind the door just as you have opened up Instagram. “Yeah!”

He opens the door at your confirmation, showering steam and light into the otherwise cave-like bedroom. “I’m gonna have to leave soon,” Chanyeol says once you have rolled over to look him, towel wrapped snuggly around his hips and Q-tip in ear, “Mom is in her usual panic and asked if I could help her out.” Frowning, you flop onto your back, staring up at the ceiling. “What ever am I to do without you for two and a half hours?”

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out,” he hums, making his way over and leaning over you, arms coming to rest at each side of your head. You twitch when a droplet of water running down his jaw falls onto your cheek. “G’morning, by the way,” he mumbles against your lips after coming closer and you graciously return the soft kiss he offers you. Of course, you pull him back for a second, much deeper one, smiling when he ever so slightly shifts when your fingers come to trail up the toned expanse of his stomach, hand coming to cradle his jaw.

You pull back with a sly smile when his tongue threatens to push past the seam of your lips. “Do you know what you’re wearing?” You ask, ignoring the betrayed look in his eyes when you sit up and nudge him out of the way. “No,” he grumbles, returning to the bathroom once he realizes he is not getting anything more than a kiss. Stifling a laugh, you swing your legs over and sit on the edge of the mattress, watching him comb product through his hair. After two showers, it already seems to have lost its initial pop of color. Sad.

Rising with a stretch, you head toward the closet and stop along the way to pull a pair of sweatpants up your legs—just so he doesn’t get any ideas—and flip the closet light on before opening the doors. At the sound of the hairdryer roaring to life, you take to sifting through the shirts he has hung up, trying to avoid the blacks as this is his family’s annual Easter get-together. It certainly is not as extravagant as Christmas, but Chanyeol is a man of style and you know he prides himself showing up as best dressed. Going something pastel would be a nice change for the spring season, but yet again… you linger on a navy button-up. The white decal means he could wear white pants, but it is a little casual, barely a step up from a Hawaiian shirt, but maybe he could wear a nice jacket with it.

Plucking it by the hanger, you turn toward the bathroom and hold the seemingly unworn shirt out to him as he moves to the last section of damp hair. “This, with white pants? Do you have a jacket this color?” You shout over the hairdryer, reaching to brush away a tuft of hair falling in his eyes. Chanyeol considers it for a moment, gaze flickering back to his reflection before nodding to you. “Yeah, in the other closet, though. Thank you,” you just barely hear him but smile nonetheless, stealing the dryer from him to direct the hot air toward the back where hair refuses to lay flat.

Passing it back to him when you’re done, he only does one more run through before switching it off and moving on to gel just to assure the hair he has combed back stays up and away from his forehead. “You look really handsome with it parted like that,” you compliment, staring up at him with wide eyes and you mentally slap yourself at how flustered you sound. Dating for over two years and you still can’t get a grip. The look on his face makes your embarrassment worth it, though. “I had no idea how the back looked, so thank you,” Chanyeol chuckles, rinsing residue gel off his hands before unplugging the hairdryer and ushering you back into your bedroom. Not without another kiss, of course. As a treat.

Hooking the hanger with his shirt onto the doorknob of the closet, you take to undressing as he does the opposite, tossing your sleep apparel to the hamper and only stopping to help him redo the buttons of his shirt he so kindly misaligned. “I’m gonna get in the shower,” you hum, goosebumps coming in waves when his hand comes to glide against your bare skin, starting at your waist, up the curve of your breast, over your collarbones and finally cradling your neck, “I’ll see you in a little bit?”

“Yes ma’am,” he affirms, ducking to peck the corner of your mouth, “I’ll get an Uber so you can have the car?”

“No! You drive, don’t you have to pick stuff up? I’ll Uber,” you offer, wrapping your arms around him and blinking up at him with your chin sitting on his chest. When he shakes his head you realize, as usual, there’s no point in arguing. “It’s fine,” Chanyeol grins, pinching your side, “no one else gets to drive my girl but me.” Rolling your eyes to counteract the heat that flares its way up your neck, you pull away, smoothing out the wrinkles you made in his shirt. “Yeah, whatever. Don’t forget a jacket.”

“I won’t,” smiling, he leans over to give you a proper kiss this time, “see you at two.”

Once the Park family, as well as distant relatives and close friends, found out you and Chanyeol were together, things certainly changed.

You were no longer simply Seoyun’s best friend. Everyone knew you at that point, sure, accepted the fact that where Seoyun went, you followed, but dating Chanyeol had all the stage lights pointing to you. You couldn’t necessarily understand why that came to be, but assumed that it simply had to do with how popular he is, even in his own family. For someone not nearly as outgoing as Chanyeol, the news came as a surprise to many on that monumental Christmas party two years ago. Others, however, apparently had their bets on when the two of you would finally crumble for years.

Chanyeol’s mother, for example, was one such person.

For as many things that went wrong this morning, from your straightener not heating past one-fifty, to having a breakdown over what to wear, and even messing up your eyeliner one too many times, you have somehow arrived seven minutes early. Before you left, Chanyeol had called, too, asking you to pick up two bottles of soju and a bag of glass noodles because 1) him and his cousins already managed their way through a bottle and 2) the noodle pack his mom picked up was half the serving she needed. This alone tells you you’re in for a long night.

Christ, it would have been nice if he was here to open the door for you, though. With a heavy grocery bag, wrapped Easter bread, keys, and handbag threatening to slip off your shoulder, it takes ample effort to safely hook your pinkie finger around the grocery bag so you can lock the car. Then, you manage to open the storm door with your elbow, seconds away from dropping the Easter bread in the endeavor. Chanyeol claims he forgot it on the counter. Luckily, the maroon front door with its pretty spring wreath has been left ajar, and it isn’t until you have finally slipped your way inside does someone realize whoever’s huffing and puffing out there needs help.

“Here, I’ll take this,” he offers in a rush, further opening the door to accommodate the two of you and taking the bread from your arms.

“Thank you,” you smile, wiping your boots on the welcome mat before looking up to your knight in shining armor.

Oh. Oh.

“I don’t think I’ve met you before,” you chuckle, squinting at the ridiculously attractive stranger. Phew. There’s no way you would have missed such a face in all your years with the Park family whether Chanyeol was the apple of your eye or not.

“No, you haven’t. This is my first rodeo around here,” he grins brightly. His smile makes him even more attractive, if that is possible. “I’m Jongin. Nice to meet you…?”

Oh. Oh.

“Jongin, as in Kim Jongin Park Seoyun’s boyfriend?”

“Yes…?” He trails off awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. “You apparently know me, yet I don’t know you.”

“I’m ___,” you laugh, stepping past him and leading him out of the front foyer. When you glance back at him, you can see the gears turning in his brain before an excited expression of recognition flashes across his face. “Oh! Oh, shit. You’re the infamous ___. Christ, sorry. Hi.”

“I’m not sure why you’re apologizing, but then again, I have no idea what that woman has said about me,” laughing, you pause to wave to some of Chanyeol’s cousins in the family room before continuing with Jongin to the kitchen, “don’t trust anything she says. I promise I’m nice. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, though, Mr. Jongin.”

“Ah, you as well,” smiling softly, he seems quite overwhelmed at the Park’s rowdiness, gaze anxiously flickering around the crowded room as he ever so slightly steps closer. You distantly wonder why Seoyun would leave him stranded, but that’s not your problem. “So, if you are ___, does that mean you’re…”

Like some sort of cartoon, Jongin trails off just as both of you find Chanyeol in the crowd, beer in one hand and bowl in another as his mother deposits what looks like mussel and scallop shells into it. Maybe it’s your automatic Chanyeol-tunnel-vision, but even in the midst of the busy room he seems to be the rising star, standing tall and regal by the counter, laugh booming over all the noise and simply glowing in the warm wash of light. He managed to find a navy jacket practically matching his shirt, too. Dear God. “Yeah,” once you finally tear your gaze away to turn to Jongin, he’s already watching you, smiling at the way you so lovingly looked at Chanyeol. “I’m the lucky lady.”

“Hey, he’s the lucky one,” Jongin adds, nudging you with his elbow. Seoyun certainly got a good one. “Speaking of lucky,” you start, craning your neck to search for said girl, “where’s S—”

“___!”

You are so kindly interrupted by your intoxicated boyfriend shouting for you across the room. Flushing in embarrassment and trying to ignore all the heads that turn in your direction at the sudden announcement of your arrival, you reclaim the Easter bread from Jongin’s arm, offering him an appreciative bow. “I’ll catch up with you later. Tell Seoyun I was looking for her.”

At his affirmative smile, you suck in a deep breath before spinning around and maneuvering your way to where Chanyeol and his mother stand by the oven. “I was wondering where you were,” he greets, setting his beer down to take the bread and soju from your hands before squashing your nose in a deep kiss that his mother and family really did not need to see. Blinking at him in surprise, you don’t even bother asking him what the hell that was about and turn toward Mrs. Park instead, who has just finished wiping her hands before opening her arms for you.

“It’s wonderful to see you, love,” she hums when you wholeheartedly accept her embrace, arms coming to wrap around her. “You too, Ma,” pulling back just enough to look at her with a brow raised, “I hope he helped you enough before he started drinking, or do I need to have a talk with him?”

She laughs, plucking up a wooden spoon to stir what looks like kimchi stew. “No, he helped a great deal. Vacuumed before anyone arrived and helped make a few things with his sister,” she explains, gaze lighting up when you pull the pack of glass noodles from the grocery bag. “Oh! Thank you so much, dear. I was so angry when I saw how little was in my bag,” then, turning to yell out over her guests, “Yura! Come finish your japchae!”

“Go grab something to drink, ___. Dinner will be ready in an hour or so, there’s plenty of appetizers out already. Thank you, again,” Mrs. Park grins brightly at you, squeezing your hand before returning to chopping vegetables. Crumbling the plastic grocery bag in your hand, you turn to Chanyeol who appears to be deep in conversation with a couple standing across from him, but you can tell by the way he keeps grazing over the appetizers on the counter next to him and avoiding eye contact that he is in desperate need of an escape. This being said, he still jolts in surprise when you return to his side, one hand curling around his bicep as the other glides down his arm to intertwine your fingers with his. The woman droning on pauses her chatter at this, the corner of her lip twitching up and she takes this as her cue to move on, offering the two of you a wink before dragging her husband, assumingly, out to the back patio.

“Ugh, thank you,” Chanyeol grins once the door shuts behind them, looking down at you with puckered lips, “I missed you.” Snorting, you let go of his arm to move to the now open spot beside him, eyeing all the pickies laid out in front of you. “Was going to make fun of you, but I missed you, too, so it looks like we’re both clowns,” you sigh, grabbing a fork to stab into a slice of mozzarella. Chanyeol stays quiet, opting to fondly watch you instead, smile only growing when you try one of everything. “Oh,” you remember, pausing to swallow the last bit of spicy chicken, “I’m glad you found a jacket. You look great.” You kiss the tips of your fingers, waving them just for emphasis.

Chanyeol’s grin is instantaneous, stretching his arms in front of him and literally checking himself out in front of you. You’re not judging, of course— if you looked half as good as him all the time, you would do the same. Plus, navy does wonders against his skin tone. “Thank you,” arm curling around you, he gives your side an affectionate squeeze, “you don’t look too bad yourself.”

Smiling at his compliment, you continue to make your way through the appetizers. Plucking up a cube of cheese, it isn’t until you have bitten half do you realize your mistake. “Ew,” you cough, sticking your tongue out as if that will rid your taste buds of the sharp provolone flavor. Nose wrinkling, you hold the other half out to him, “Here, you like fancy shit like this.” What you certainly do not expect is for him to go right ahead and bite the cheese straight from your fingers, lips just barely wrapping around your thumb. Despite the way your stomach swoops at the action and the way he stands back to his full height, lids hooded and gaze dark, your first instinct is to look around you, heart racing at the thought of one of Chanyeol’s aunts or uncles watching him eat cheese from between your fingers. Christ, it sounds even worse when you think about it.

Swallowing past the sudden dryness in your throat, you tell yourself you know this dance— you know how to handle Chanyeol just as much as he knows how to handle you. Slowly turning back to him, all you offer is a challenging rise of your brow before reaching for a different cheese, trying to ignore the way your pulse races just by having him close.

As you search for a cracker, perhaps even a pretzel, you see from the corner of your eye how disgruntled he is with your reaction, considering you with a flare of his nostrils and a pout of his bottom lip. Plan B, it is.

Squeezing your side harder, Chanyeol leans in close this time, brushing hair away from your ear with his other hand before whispering, “Nice skirt.” Now, this certainly nurses a much better effect, the richness and deepness of his voice alone dripping like chocolate into the very core of your being. It’s only a two-word compliment, yet you practically choke on your mouthful of food. When he tugs at the hem of the plaid wool skirt you wear, two thoughts momentarily cross your mind: 1) the compliment is nice, especially since you were worried it was a bit shabby looking but 2) he may just be saying that to get a rise out of you.

“Thanks,” you murmur, summoning the courage to slide your palm from the waistband of his slacks, all the way up his chest to finally cup his jaw before standing on your tippy-toes, pushing yourself to meet his ear. The ball is in your court, now. “Bet you’d like it better if it was off, no?”

You don’t miss the way his breath hitches, grip on your waist tugging you closer and you distantly hope it simply looks at if the two of you are deep in conversation. Over cheese and whatnot, of course. “Don’t tempt me, ___,” Chanyeol hisses, “I’ve fucked you with my family just beyond a door, you know I’d gladly take you on the counter right now for everyone to see your pretty pussy.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Alarms. Panic. Shit, now you’re wet. What have you started? Maybe you don’t know how to handle Chanyeol as well as you think— he undoubtedly has your tongue tied now. You can’t even begin to think of a response that doesn’t involve tearing off the lace shirt you spent so long ironing for him to fulfill such an alluring threat. He must feel how you tremble against him, heat burning from the inside out and suddenly he’s withdrawing, regarding you with his own challenging brow raise, eyes dark with hunger as he awaits your response.

“Hey, Chanyeol! Stop hiding ___ from me!”

The relief you feel comes in cooling waves, jerking you out of your trance and you turn just in time to see Seoyun stop in front of you, finger jabbing into Chanyeol’s chest. “Can’t you back off for like, two seconds?” She barks, oblivious to his heavy breaths. Then, pulling Jongin who was hidden behind her to Chanyeol’s side, “You two, meet. Talk. Do the bro thing while I drink some mimosas with my girl.” Oh, good. You sure could use one of those. Or two. Or three.

Chanyeol puts his arms up in defense, glancing at Jongin who only shrugs in identical stupefaction. “Perfect! Okay, see you guys later. Don’t bother us, we have girl things to talk about,” Seoyun threatens, shooting a second cold glare to Chanyeol before softening up and smiling softly. Then, she’s dragging you toward the back door, hardly giving you time to look back at Chanyeol.

When you do, you know that threat won’t be forgotten easily.

After ‘dinner’ sometime around three-thirty, the hours start to blend together, four turning to six, and then all of a sudden, it’s eight o’clock. Family gatherings seemingly always go like this—when you were kids, this was time spent running around outside, about the house, playing games or opening presents (depending on the occasion). Now, this is when things mellow down; from chugging mimosas with Seoyun in the backyard, you now opt for wine, just to seem sophisticated, and the atmosphere is much calmer. Peak adulting, right here.

While many family and friends leave once the post-dinner sleepiness fades, close relatives remain, gathering together and using the time to share stories and life updates. These are always your favorite times with the Parks. And even though Chanyeol is on probation, sitting on another sofa across the room for the stunt he pulled earlier—no, the other stunt, where he held your thigh during dinner but kept inching up until his fingers brushed along your panties when his aunt was sitting right next to you—tonight, in particular, has been one of the best nights spent with your second family.

Every so often, usually when you are PMSing, a dreadful thought enters your mind and always returns whenever you are with Chanyeol’s family: you love them just as much as you love him. It was Seoyun, not Chanyeol, who introduced you to them first, and you have spent more than a decade growing up with them. It goes without explanation that you consider them as your own family now, too. So, what if you and Chanyeol broke up? You are an adult now, so it’s not like Seoyun would ask you to join her for the company like she had when you were kids, and it wouldn’t make sense for Chanyeol’s parents or aunts and uncles or grandparents to invite you… You would not only lose Chanyeol, but your family, too, and that’s enough to make any grown woman cry.

So, looking around the living room full of many people you have grown to love, you try to make the best of it. Not that you think you and Chanyeol are going to break up, no, but it is an inescapable fear that you will never be able to simply ignore.

But you can brush it aside for right now, at least— especially when you are curled into Mrs. Park’s side with Seoyun’s head on your lap.

“Are you guys gonna get married?” Your best friend asks, completely out of the blue. You just finished ranking your favorite teas, now we’re talking about marriage? “Um,” you cough, glancing up to Ma for help but she’s looking at you with an identical expectant rise of her brows. Must be a Park thing. Christ, what is this, the girl’s gossip table in fourth period lunch? Still… are you going to get married? You can’t necessarily answer that on your own. You have no idea what Chanyeol is planning for his future, sure, you’d like to get married, but you are also not in any rush, and—

“Yes,” is what you say, before your mind has even caught up. “Wait!” You quickly add on, smacking a palm to your forehead. Then, “Yes… I’d like to get married. But I don’t know if he wants to, and even if he does, we’re in no rush, he’s been busy producing and…” Trailing off, your gaze has somehow wound up to the ceiling, and when you glance back to them, their features have noticeably softened, eyes glossy with joy.

“I love him, a lot,” you say, quieter, gentler this time, zoning in on Chanyeol across the room and his pretty smile and the way the whole room seems to light up when he laughs. “If he wants to get married, I’ll marry him. And if he doesn’t… well, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll wait forever, for him.”

“My boy is more than in love with you, ___. You’re his whole world,” Mrs. Park says and when you tilt your head up at her, the look in her eyes suddenly makes you want to cry. Again. It’s from the wine, you tell yourself. “If he doesn’t put a ring on it soon, I’m gonna fuck his shit up,” Seoyun snaps, the alcohol in her system clearly doing the talking here as she stares absentmindedly up at the popcorn ceiling. Laughing, you slap a hand over your mouth, expecting Ma to reprimand her niece for such language in front of her. Instead, she joins in and soon enough, the combined laughter from the three of you has all of your earlier worries washed away.

“What’s so funny, ladies?” It’s Mr. Park here to interrupt this time, an amused smile forcing a dimple in his left cheek. “Ah, nothing, honey,” Ma coughs out one last giggle before reaching for her husband’s hand, giving it an affectionate squeeze. “Just making fun of Yeol.”

“Oh, my favorite. What did he do this time?”

“He hasn’t asked ___ to marry him yet,” Seoyun pipes up from your lap, head tilting further back so she can look at her uncle.

“Why do I keep hearing my name over there?” Chanyeol shouts, leaning up far too quickly from his relaxed position and you can tell by the way his head bobbles that he has had one too many drinks with his uncles and cousins. Looks like you better slow down if you want to get home safely. “Because you’re paranoid!” You shout back, scrunching your nose at him because you know he knows you’re right. Frowning, he motions with two fingers that he will be watching you before returning to his own conversation.

“So, you met Jongin,” Seoyun starts once Mr. and Mrs. Park have fallen into a separate discussion beside you. You’ve had this conversation twice, already, but you don’t mind having it again.

“I have,” you hum, softly adjusting the weight of her head on your thighs so you can sit more comfortably, “I can’t believe you guys have been friends since university and this is the first time I’m meeting him.”

“Well… it’s not like we hung out all that much. We haven’t been in touch for a while,” Seoyun mumbles, eyelids fluttering closed once you begin combing through her hair.

“I refuse to believe that. There’s no way you would have given up a man that good-looking.”

“Hey!” She grumbles, smacking your knee. “He was abroad senior year! And then life just kind of took over. He had a girlfriend for a while after graduation, too. We only started talking again when I bumped into him in Target last year.”

“Mhm, sure,” you hum, looking up to find him. Your heart does somersaults once you find him seated on the same sofa as Chanyeol, cool as a cucumber compared to how overwhelmed he seemed earlier. “I’m happy he seems so comfortable with the family. I’m happy for you, too.”

The playful gleam in her eyes softens as she leans up, sitting up to face you properly. Then, squeezing your hands, “I’m happy, too. Ever since you and Chanyeol started dating… I wanted what you had so, so bad. And I know we’ve only been together for five months, but I’ve never been so happy with someone.”

“Do you love him?” You whisper, searching her face when she turns to look at Jongin across the room. You can see it— the look in her eyes, the complete and utter adoration and admiration. You see it because you’ve felt it, too. You’ve felt it looking at Chanyeol, and you’ve felt it when he looks at you.

“I do. I love him a lot, actually,” Seoyun finally admits, turning back to you and for the first time in years, you see genuine tears trail down her cheeks. “Oh, no,” you hush, dabbing under her eyes to make sure her mascara doesn’t run, “shh, don’t cry. I know they’re happy tears but your makeup looks too good for that.” Pulling her into a hug, you cradle her head into your shoulder and hope no one is looking at her strangely.

“I know,” Seoyun hiccups, squeezing you tightly, “I’m just so drunk and happy for you and for me, I couldn’t help it.”

Laughing, you push her back before cupping her cheeks, wiping at the stray tears. “It’s alright. Crying when you’re happy is a good thing. It means you’re doing something right, Seoyun.” Smiling despite the wetness of her cheeks, she straightens up, dabbing away tears under her chin before cupping your face as well. “Thank you for being such an amazing best friend all these years,” Seoyun says, reaching forward and planting a hefty kiss to your lips, “but I think it’s time for us to go home. Show Jongin how much I really love him.”

When she stands, you’re still trying to process the unexpected kiss she just gave you but brush it aside for now, considering you’ve kissed plenty of times in your years of friendship. “Alright,” standing up after her, you give her one last hug, “text me when you get home.”

“I will. You have a good night too, ___. Chanyeol’s been eating you up alive for the past hour,” winking, Seoyun finally turns away to bid her farewells to the rest of her family. Speaking of Chanyeol… you step around Seoyun and make your way toward him, desperately trying to ignore the way his gaze travels slowly up your approaching form.

“Hey,” he greets when you reach him, tugging you by the wrist to sit on his lap. Luckily, the family surrounding him are turned the opposite direction toward the television, leaving your intimacy to go unnoticed. “Hi,” you return, arm draping over his shoulders and fingers burying into his hair. “You ready to head home?” Chanyeol asks, arms wrapping around you to pull you closer so he can nestle into the crook of your shoulder. “I’m ready when you are,” humming, you take to tracing patterns against the skin of his neck, resting your head atop his as your eyelids threaten to flutter shut.

Reaching for your other hand, Chanyeol brings it to his lips to kiss your knuckles. “Y’know, nothing makes me happier than seeing you cozied up with my mom.”

“Well, I think she was pretty impressed by our fantastic Easter bread.”

Snorting, he brings his head back to look at you. “It was pretty good,” he agrees. Then, cradling your jaw, “But it’s more than that. Having the two most important women in my life get along so well means so much to me, ___.” Bringing you closer, Chanyeol finally kisses you, soft and slow and when your eyes close, you feel right back at home, warm all over and overflowing with ardor. “Come on,” nuzzling the tip of your nose with his, “finish your drink and then let’s go home.”

“We need to plan things more often. Mom and I want to see you more than once a month,” was the last thing Mr. Park said to you before you left for the night.

“I love you very much, sweetie. Keep in touch,” Ma had whispered in your ear as you hugged her goodbye.

This is all you can think about as you drive home. Chanyeol was much drunker than he led on, so with him knocked out in the passenger seat, head against the window, you’re left to your own thoughts. The soft lo-fi Chanyeol begged to put on the radio before he passed out doesn’t help, either, but the overall peace and quiet is enough to have you dwelling over your night.

This week leading up to Easter has been especially rainy, too, and even now as you lower the cruise control to sixty-five, hazy rain begins to set on the windshield. Switching on the wipers, you steal a quick glance to Chanyeol who stirs once you move back into the middle lane. And as much as you want to reach over and hold his hand, you don’t want to disturb him.

Maybe it has to do with all the time spent catching up with Seoyun, but you’re left in an overly nostalgic, sentimental mood.

There was quite a lot of talk about love tonight. What Mrs. Park and Seoyun dumped on you about marriage certainly threw you off. Sure, you definitely have imagined marriage and Chanyeol in the same picture, but it was never a topic either of you openly discussed. It just never came up. Despite the fact you have been dating for over two years, sometimes it feels as if you’re still in the honeymoon stage with how perfect things have been. You’ve had your fair share of fights, sure, but nothing ever large enough to have you questioning your relationship. Your mother always told you living together, managing finances together, and raising a child together (Toben) is the true test of love.

But you and Chanyeol have done all that already. You’ve been living together for quite some time, and there’s nothing he does that makes you want to rip your hair out like some couples seem to experience. And, while he does tease you over little habits, he has never mentioned something that seriously infuriates him, either. The two of you share everything at this point, and you can’t imagine marriage seriously making all that of a difference.

Just the life-long commitment.

But when you look at him now, you realize there is no other way you would want to live out the rest of your life. You can’t imagine ever finding someone after Chanyeol, someone you could possibly love more— as you’ve said from the get-go, it’s always been him. From the time you first thought he was cute in sixth grade, to senior year when you realized you loved him, to Christmas two years ago, to now, there’s no one else you would or could ever devote yourself to.

It’s always been him, and it will be forever.

“Chanyeol,” you whisper, then, realizing such gentleness will not wake the giant, you reach over to pat his thigh. “Chanyeol, we’re almost home.”

Chanyeol grumbles, a deep, growling noise that supports just how far gone he is. “What time is it?” He asks groggily, stretching his long limbs and cracking his neck from side to side. “Almost ten,” you hum in reply, quickly glancing to the time on the dash before taking one last turn onto the street of your apartment complex. It’s strange to see the city so dead on a Sunday night.

“___,” Chanyeol groans somewhere behind you as you hurriedly make your way through the parking lot. It was not this cold earlier. “Why are you walking so fast? I thought heels made people slow.” Stopping, you look down to your high boots, realizing that in your rush to get inside you had not even realized just how sore the bottom of your feet are. “I’m cold,” you whine back, bouncing on your toes and crossing your arms in an attempt to contain some body heat as Chanyeol sluggishly makes his way toward you. Maybe if you hold his hand or something he’ll move quicker.

“Come on,” you mumble, intertwining your fingers with his and tugging him along.

You don’t get there any quicker.

You barely manage to open the door with the way Chanyeol clings, hugging from behind and nearly tripping you with those clumsy feet of his. “Chanyeol,” you whine for at least the fifth time, borderline annoyed but watching him scowl at the eight stairs he has to climb like they’re some sort of math problem is quite amusing. “Come on, you big baby,” you decide to meet him halfway, reaching out for his hand and hauling him up with you. When you finally make it to the top, he’s reduced you to a giggling mess and uses it to his advantage, pushing you toward the wall.

“I’m not a baby,” he huffs, breath heavy with the amount of effort he just had to exert. “Yes, you are. C’mon, when we get inside, I’ll swaddle you in your favorite blankie and read you a bedtime story,” you taunt. Still, you find yourself spreading your legs just a tad wider for him to slot his thigh in between, his nostrils flared and frown deep as he towers over you, caging you in.

He chooses not to verbally reply. Instead, one rough hand anchors itself to your waist while the other slides to cup the side of your neck, thumb tilting your chin up to meet him. No matter how much alcohol may run in your systems, kissing Chanyeol will always be the one constant neither of you could ever miscalculate. It simply is an all too familiar doing, one you’ve spent days and weeks and months practicing until it became a subconscious reaction. It is a beginning and an end, your unraveling and your reawakening, an elixir that creeps its way into the very marrow of your bones and blossoms like a spring flower in your lungs.

You intended to string him along until sobriety finally brought him to his senses, but you think this is manageable, something to tease and dangle over his head before deserting him despite the way every fiber of your being craves for him. You can picture it— the confused anger flashing in his eyes when you push him away to continue down the hallway, fire in his veins dwindling to nothing but embers as you discard him for the third time tonight. And so, you press into him with equal force, desperately clawing to have him closer and swallowing his gasp when your tongue slips past the seam of his lips. Despite the heavy taste of liquor on his tongue, Chanyeol finds this rejuvenating, finally, he has you, fist bunching into the fabric of your shirt as he sucks your bottom lip between his teeth. He turns into something fierce, addicted to your taste and your touch when your fingers toy with the tips of his ears before raking through his hair and, suddenly, you feel as if you have lost the upper hand.

The hand cupping your jaw drops, trailing dangerously down the side of your thigh before wrapping around your knee to hike your leg around his hip. It is when he presses into you, growing erection doing nothing against the thick fabric of your skirt but still alarmingly there does the steadfastness of your plan falter, the idea of bunching your skirt up to your waist and letting him fuck you right there at the top of the staircase seeming all too tempting.

When he moves to press a sloppy kiss below your jaw, then on the other side of your neck, it buys you enough time to gather your thoughts. Because even though the nip of his teeth and the warmth of his tongue against your skin has wetness pooling between your thighs, it is not nearly as distracting as his mouth on yours. “Chanyeol,” you gasp still, fingers digging into his arms to ground yourself. He merely hums in reply, kissing his way down the column of your throat as he gives your right breast a firm squeeze. Your head thuds against the wall the farther you tilt back, granting him more access and breathing coming in sporadic bursts. It takes quite the strength, but, with the mental image of what’s to come once you actually make it inside encouraging you to do so, you gently push him back at last.

First, worry flashes across his face, suddenly fearing that he has somehow hurt you. But when the side of your mouth ever so slightly tips upward and you step around him to advance further down the hall, there is a mixture of betrayal and frustration flaring in his veins but overpowering desire, too, because he simply loves this game you’ve decided to play.

Racing to unlock your apartment before he can catch up, you excitedly jam the key into the knob just as Chanyeol has reached you, arms circling your waist to spin you around. “You’re driving me crazy,” he groans, guiding you into the apartment and kicking the door closed behind him. As soon as it clicks shut he is back on you, forcing you against the wall because he knows you like it that way, knows you like it rough and knows you like his manhandling. “Yeah?” You ask, though it comes out more like a hiss when he continues his assault on your neck like he never stopped, further bruising the delicate skin there and causing your heart rate to steadily pick up. “How so?”

Ignoring your innocent inquiry, Chanyeol returns to your mouth, tongue battling against your own as he pulls you flush against him, sandwiched between his sturdy chest and the wall. His other hand travels delicately beneath the hem of your shirt, palm burning impossibly warmer against the heat of your skin and it isn’t until he brushes the underwire of your bra does he pull back, satisfied with the way your lips swell. Then, leaning close so his breath fans over your ear, he whispers, “You’ve been rather naughty all night.”

You don’t tremble like he expects you to. You don’t stare back at him with wide, hungry eyes like he expects you to. In fact, you don’t react at all like he expects you to. Instead, you seem to snap out of your lustful daze, eyeing him with a rise of your brow and the straightening of your posture.

“I’ve been naughty?” You scoff, finger jabbing into his chest and, from the total one-eighty in your demeanor alone, Chanyeol stumbles back. “I think you’re mixed up.” Like a puppy desperate for your affection, he cautiously follows you out of the foyer and into the living room.

“I don’t think I was the one who offered to fuck you in front of all your family, or had my hand down your pants during dinner, now, was I?” You sneer at him, struggling to walk to the bedroom while simultaneously zipping down and kicking off your boots. “I—”

Chanyeol begins, taking a hesitant step after you. Beyond the harshness of your words, he knows this is all part of your game, and it’s turning him on more than he’d like to admit, especially when you won’t let him touch you. “No,” you cut him off, standing in the doorway and watching with a stifled smile as he slowly edges closer, “you, sir, need to drink some water before coming any closer. Sober up, think about what you did tonight, and maybe I’ll consider forgetting it happened.” “___,” Chanyeol whines and you almost expect him to stomp his feet like a child, “you’re killing me.”

“Good. Now you know how I’ve felt all night,” flicking the light on, you set your boots down by the closet and keep your eyes trained on him, assuring he stays put, “go on, then. Don’t look so sad, water’s in the kitchen. I need to wash up.” And with that, you retreat into the bathroom, locking the door behind you and trying to erase Chanyeol’s pout from your mind.

In all seriousness— you really do want to wash your face. The thought of having to get up later or even falling asleep with makeup on makes you shudder, and so, you take your grand old time treating your skin, just to make him suffer awhile longer. As you are scrubbing your face over the sink, you hear Toben bark, followed by the soft clinking of his leash. Seconds later, the front door opens and slams closed.

Good, you think, feeling triumphant. Patting your face dry with a towel, you give yourself a once over before swiping a cotton round wet with toner over your skin, simultaneously trying to calm your nerves while also conjuring up what is to come.

God, he really has had you riled up since his first words in his parent’s kitchen, you realize with a cringe as you quickly undress, tossing your clothes into the hamper. Slipping into your simple bathrobe, you turn the overhead lights off in favor of the much softer bedside lamp before flopping belly side down on your bed. Instantaneously, images of Chanyeol flash into your mind, first, simply how godly he looked tonight, tall and lean and yours, then, the look in his eyes when he whispered about fucking you in the kitchen, and later, the teasing drag of his fingers against your panties. All of a sudden, you feel inflamed with desire, clenching around nothing at the thought of such long fingers burying inside of you.

Breathless, you reach for your phone, desperate for a distraction. Seoyun, you remember, clicking on her text from earlier confirming she was home. Sending a few hearts back, you have just opened Instagram and liked a studio picture from Jongdae when the front door opens, Toben’s yapping signaling for a new swarm of butterflies in your gut. Outside of the bedroom walls, you hear Chanyeol’s shoes clunk against the wall as he chucks them off, Toben’s leash unhooking, the living room lights being flicked off. Then, the steady footsteps as he nears your room.

“Can I come in?” He asks from the doorway, the rumble of his voice making a home in your heart.

Chuckling, you turn to look over your shoulder at him. “Yes.”

Stretching to plug your phone in on the table, you realize he’s still playing it careful, managing to only close the door behind him and set a bottle of water on the dresser. “Come here,” you invite at his lack of an advance. He seems startled, an internal battle raging in his heart as he wants nothing more than to jump into bed beside you, but also fears that you will string him along once more. So, he approaches slowly, choosing to sit by the foot of the bed and refusing to look at you, instead leaning over to yank his socks off.

Suppressing a grumble of protest at his distance, you struggle to sit back on your haunches, fingers moving to quickly untie the front of your robe. Chanyeol visibly relaxes as you make your way over, scooting further back to allow more space when you swing one leg across his lap in order to settle on his thighs. His Adam’s apple bops seeing you are totally bare, robe just barely covering your breasts. Avoiding eye contact just yet, you lean forward, pressing a delicate kiss below his ear and humming in appreciation when he tilts his head for you.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper after having your own turn of marking his soft skin, palms sliding over his chest to push his jacket from his shoulders, no matter how alluring he looks in it. “To be completely honest, I really just wanted to wash my face.” Furrowing your eyebrows in concentration, you make slow work at the buttons of his shirt next. “And,” you add, lowering the volume of your voice as if telling a secret only he’s allowed to hear, “I wasn’t in the mood for drunk sex. I’ve been wet for you since four o’clock. I wanted to savor tonight, yeah?”

Once you’ve popped the last button open, pushed the soft fabric from his shoulders and littered his exposed skin with soft kisses, you finally lift your gaze to his face, heart nearly stopping beneath the darkening of his stare. Just like that, Chanyeol sees it as his cue to take over, pouncing like a cat on its prey, opening your mouth with his own and bringing you closer with a firm grip on your ass. “I should have just fucked you when I had the chance,” he practically growls, pulling his arms out from his shirt and jacket and pushing the robe from your shoulders, hands cold from being outside and summoning goosebumps to rise along your skin.

One such hand slides up your spine before wrapping around your nape to tilt you back, body curved to give him room to duck down and kiss along your collarbones, sucking harshly at your skin to assure deep purple marks by morning before enveloping a nipple between his teeth. “Ah,” you hiss, nails digging crescents into his arms as you grind down on him, “I wouldn’t have been able to look your parents in the eyes if you did,” then, choking on a moan as he rolls your other hardened bud between his calloused fingers, “plus, I still would have been thinking about your fingers all night.”

Chanyeol groans, releasing your nipple with a soft pop. “My fingers, huh? What about them?” He hums with faux innocence, securing a grip on your thighs before flipping you onto your back in order to hover above you. He doesn’t let you reply, however, latching his lips to yours and quite literally sucking all the air from your lungs with the way his tongue wraps around your own. “Yes,” you huff when he pulls back, fingers threading through pink hair and hips rising to brush against his when he begins his journey downward, “thinking about them stuffed inside me and— and then,” you stutter, back arching as he kisses his way straight down the column of your throat, the valley between your breasts, the swell of your stomach, simply sucking at the same marks he made yesterday, “and then, your dick.”

“See,” Chanyeol mutters with a click of his tongue, hooking his fingers around the waistband of your underwear and shimmying them down your legs, “I know how dirty you are.”

“Yes,” you whimper, spreading your legs for him as he throws one over his shoulder, “you make my life really difficult like that.”

“I know, baby,” he hums, then, watching with a smirk as you jolt with him blowing cool air directly to your clit, “I always make it up to you, though.”

There simply is not enough time to think of a reply before Chanyeol has his mouth directly where you need him, flattening his tongue against your slit and licking upward, drawing a wanton moan deep from your throat. Relief, finally. Any witty reply quickly wiped from your brain, all you can focus on now is the warmth and wetness of his tongue, circling your clit before dipping between your folds.

“Chanyeol,” you rasp, one hand anchored into the comforter and the other clutching his hair to contain the way you quiver, “please.”

He hums, the vibration strumming right against you and winching the knot forming in your abdomen impossibly tighter. “Please what?”

“Fingers,” is all you manage to get out, seeing stars with the way he sucks at your clit. He wastes no time contemplating your helpless gasp, immediately shifting his position in order to grant such a wish. In fact, he wastes no time easing into things, either, pushing two fingers into your seeping cunt without so much as a warning. It tears a shaky moan from you, nerves aflame with the new but oh so welcome intrusion.

“Christ, ___,” Chanyeol hisses, immediately adding a third finger and pausing to watch his digits sink in to the knuckles, “your tight little cunt is practically sucking me in.” A shaking and gasping mess, all you can offer is a breathless yes, walls clenching in need of more friction. Sensing this, Chanyeol gets right back to work, hand rocking against you, fingers dragging in and out, rubbing upward and against that hidden gem of a spot. “Oh, God,” you keen, thighs reflexively squeezing the sides of his head when he swirls his tongue over your clit in all sorts of shapeless patterns before tightly sucking at it once more.

“That’s it, baby,” Chanyeol soothes as he forces your legs apart, eyes glued on the mess he’s made, juices smeared even at your thighs with the way his fingers curl into you before nearly pulling out entirely. “So greedy.”

“Chanyeol,” you whine, hips raising to follow the movements of his tongue when he returns to your clit, “so close.”

“Mhm,” he groans against you, insistently flicking at the bundle of nerves and adding his pinky finger to the stretch. Chanyeol relishes in the way you practically swell beneath him, nails scratching against his scalp at the addition and the way he scissors his fingers. It is with one last upward curl and draw of your clit between his lips does your orgasm hit you, an intense wave of heat that has you arching into him and red speckling your vision— even though your eyes are screwed shut. It takes several moments to come down from the high, core throbbing in the aftermath and nerves seemingly frayed at the force of it all.

And yet, he has not stopped.

“Chanyeol,” you gasp, voice taut as a result of your previous silent scream, “f-fuck. Christ, I can’t.”

Chanyeol only hums in reply, a mere dismissal as he knows you can handle it and is more than happy to continue. Pulling his fingers from your soaking cunt with a lewd squelch, he grasps your thighs and spreads them further, lapping hungrily at the messy aftermath of your orgasm. Ignoring the way your body shakes and the powerless mewls escaping your lips, Chanyeol continues right where he left off, this time, however, with his tongue stroking gently between your folds and his thumb drawing soft circles over the hood of your clit.

Given no time to settle, the inferno blazing within you quickly roars back to life once the near-painful sensitivity fades, leaving you subject to the overpowering pleasure pumping through your veins. “God, Chanyeol,” you whine, loosening your grasp on his hair once you realize the iron grip you were holding for the entirety of your climax, “f-fuck, you’re killing me.”

Smiling against you, Chanyeol begins to feel impatient, the restriction on his erection borderline painful. This being said, he picks up his tempo once more, one hand keeping your hips down while the other spreads open your folds, giving him unhindered accuracy to press his tongue against your clit, draw circles, triangles, figure-eights— before you’re coming undone in no time.

Biting your bottom lip to taper the near scream that threatens to tear from your throat, you have no choice with the way Chanyeol holds you down but to fall face-first into your climax, tumbling over the edge at an alarmingly fast rate. Your second orgasm comes much easier and much quicker, body still recovering from the first, and it leaves you simultaneously jerking away but locking him in. Chanyeol is just that good.

It almost feels as if you are floating through clouds as you come back to reality and part of you wonders if that orgasm lasted a few seconds or an hour. You can’t tell. But coming back down brings an onslaught of sensations; first, the complete and total mess in between your legs, the result of two orgasms sticking to your thighs like syrup. Second, the soothing massage Chanyeol rubs into your thighs and hips, fingers digging deep into your muscle and aiding in your return from Heaven, you think.

And third: Chanyeol still has his pants on.

“How are you?” He asks, lips curled into a smirk because he knows how good it was, but likes the validation. When all you offer is a small noise of protest, Chanyeol understands this to be your wordless way of asking him to come up, and he does so immediately. “I think I just saw God,” you say once he’s settled on his side next to you, cringing at the coarseness of your voice. With a dreamy sigh you smooth over his pectoral, the dip of his collarbone, the protruding tendon on his neck, before cradling his jaw and leaning over to press your lips to his.

Slow to start, you take ample time simply to savor him, the taste of you, and to show your appreciation for not one, but two orgasms. A renewed sense of urgency, however, appears to take over, and you suck in a heavy breath through your nose when Chanyeol pushes himself to hover above you, hand wrapping around your knee to throw your leg over his hip. Palms deserting their spot beneath his ears, you quickly make work to the button of his pants.

“Goddammit,” you hiss after several unsuccessful attempts, growing just as impatient as he and pulling back to focus on such button, then the zipper, “I hate buttons.” Laughing, Chanyeol leans up to tug his pants and boxers down his thighs, cock springing free against the toned panes of his stomach. “I can tell. Patience is a virtue, you know?” He teases, settling more comfortably between your spread legs and kicking the last of his clothes to the floor.

“Don’t you dare try talking to me about virtue when all I can think about is you rearranging my guts,” you grumble, eyes screwing shut and missing the way his eyes darken when he presses the head of his cock against your clit. “Purity is a virtue, too,” Chanyeol continues to tease, finally angling to your entrance and just barely pressing in, “I don’t think God would be too happy with that mouth of yours.”

“Please shut the fuck up and— ohh, shit,” before you can finish your sentence, Chanyeol has finally rolled forward, dragging past your walls and filling you to the brim in one flawless push. Then, once you have adjusted to the forever startling swell of his cock within you, “We can go to confession after you’ve fucked me.”

Chanyeol lets out a noise somewhere in between an amused snort and a groan, mind effectively having already gone off the deep end and focusing on the tightness of your slick cunt and that alone. “God, ___,” he hisses, drawing back to leave only a lonely inch within you before thrusting forward again, drawing a series of moans from your lips, “never get enough of your tight little pussy.”

“Uh-huh,” is all you manage, struggling to soundly wrap your legs around him with all your muscles reduced to jelly with him filling you so deliciously with every thrust. With the fire in your stomach roaring to life and consuming you whole once more, you will yourself not to come so soon, attempting to open your eyes after several futile blinks and focus on him. Perhaps this is not the best thing to do, however, considering the image of him glowing with a sheen of sweat, eyebrows furrowed, face flushed and hooded eyes boring holes into you only prompts you to tighten around him and ‘squeaking noises’ he always likes to tease you about to slip past your lips.

“God,” you whine, leaning up and placing a desperate kiss to his top lip but flopping back down at the uncomfortable angle, “God, I love you.” Chanyeol visibly softens at this, the sharp snapping in and out of you slowing into deeper, more languid strokes. “I love you more,” he sighs, brushing away hair that has stuck to your sticky skin before kissing you properly. There’s something different about this kiss— for you, at least. Perhaps it has to do with all the talk and sentiment of the night, but a feeling beyond your every day, established love seems to wash over you.

It leaves you gasping and licking into his mouth, desperately trying to cling to the feeling, to put a word to it until finally, you realize, it’s always been here and will forever stay. It seems to resonate in your core, not physically but in your soul, something beyond logic and more of an opening of a door to tranquil waters. It leaves you lightheaded, the staccato of his heart pressed against your skin and the connection of your bodies the only things keeping you grounded because this feeling, this overwhelming, beautiful feeling makes it seem as if you are the center of the universe, just as Chanyeol is the center of yours.

“I’m close,” he hisses, two simple words breaking into your satori and hurling you back into the euphoria that fizzes up your spine and fills your bones. “Me too,” you gasp, breathless from the loaded emotion heavy on your mind and your heart and the quickening of his cock, brushing at the deepest part within at every stroke. It has your head falling back, eyes rolling and back arching when you squeeze around him, muscles contracting with such overwhelming pleasure coursing through your veins like electric waves.

“I love you,” you repeat when you fall into your third orgasm, eyes squeezing shut despite your best efforts at keeping them open in order to watch as Chanyeol, too, reaches his high and comes into you with a harsh stutter and load groan. It simply is so powerful you practically feel as if you have just been brought back from the dead, body bucking beneath him like a whip as the toe-curling feeling explodes within you like a firework show. Chanyeol seems to share in such experience, usually not the most vocal but he can’t seem to keep to labored breathing, biting into your shoulder as his seed comes in hot spurts inside of you. You say it every time, but this, truthfully, was the best orgasm of your life.

It takes several moments, minutes, even, to come down from your highs, bodies seemingly in overdrive with such a feeling warming you from your head to your toes. But, just as all good things come to an end, you eventually force your eyes open once you’ve gotten over feeling as if you might pop, blinking past the tears that at some point accumulated. Chanyeol has his forehead rested against your shoulder, heavy inhales and exhales slowly calming as his heart, too, returns to its normal beat. It isn’t until you raise a weak hand to stroke his hair does he tilt his head to look at you, eyes shining like stars with the tired smile he gives you.

Brushing mused pink bangs from his eyes, you crane your neck to kiss his forehead, his nose, and finally his lips before letting your head fall back with a sigh. He returns your affection with a gentle kiss to your shoulder, shakily leaning up to pull his now flaccid cock out of your raw cunt. He’s quick to move, however, fingers coming to press against your folds as if to plug any of his cum from leaking out. You twitch, still way too sensitive and you mentally cringe at the thought of going again— to be frank, you’re pooped.

Still, you lie there quietly, body cooling down as Chanyeol continues to stare as if daring your cunt to let any of his seed slip. After a few more silent moments of this, however, you force yourself to lean up, knowing if you stay like that for any longer, you’d be asleep in minutes. Chanyeol lets out a quiet grunt of protest as such movement causes the smallest gush, fingers swiping against your folds to collect your mixed cum before pushing it back in with the gentlest touch. You sigh at the feeling, clutching at his arm and suddenly, a part of you wishes you weren’t on birth control.

“I felt you,” Chanyeol finally says, voice tight as if he hasn’t used it in years. Such an ambiguous statement, but fortunately, you know what he means without needing him to explain it. You only nod at first, searching his face and finding only the utmost truth. With a gentle hand tracing his jaw, you move in closer to press a soft kiss to his lips before curling into his side. “And I felt you.”

Chanyeol thinks he would look ‘strikingly handsome’ with pink hair, wearing his blue contacts and his baby blue tie.

You think he would look just as handsome as a brunette, without the contacts, and a matching grey bow tie.

Chanyeol thinks you’re lame and just petty because you wouldn’t be able to tie his tie when he gets dressed.

However, with blonde hair slicked back, just his prescription contacts, and baby blue tie, he also happens to think you are strikingly beautiful walking up the aisle. So much so, by the time you are there in front of him, he already has tears streaming down his face.

With your hands in his, you think this kind of love lasts forever.

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bribe-the-door · 4 years

Text

On A Summer Evening

The one where it tastes like strawberries and it’s the end of June

a/n: i’ve been out of the writing game for a while, but with Watermelon Sugar dropping tomorrow... I couldn’t help myself ;)

Time moves in slow-motion on nights like this.

The warmth of a summer night wrapped you up in its arms even though the sun slowly dipped below the horizon, and a hazy red-orange made it seem as though you were watching the world through rose-colored lenses. A green glass bottle (well, two, actually) sat empty on the table beside you, another “half-full” somewhere amongst your friends.

Laughter echoed off of the rooftop patio and likely annoyed the neighbors, but how were you expected to pass up a night like this? The sun had warmed the air all day, no clouds in sight (save for the wispy ones, now bleeding with sunset), and the best wine had been on sale.

“Hey,” you giggled, the laughs floating up through your chest a hint louder than you would have normally expected. “Give me that.”

You motioned toward the bottle being held hostage by your best friend, Harry. His grip tightened and a playful eyebrow rose in response. The bottle slowly rose to his lips all while maintaining strict eye contact. Your brow furrowed and you reached out toward him, an attempt to swipe the bottle poorly miscalculated.

Harry shook his head and took a delicate sip, making sure to make a scene out of licking his lips and accidentally dribbling some down his chin.

He was such a bastard when tipsy.

“Give it!” You sat forward on the bench, ready to pounce.

“Why should I? Think you’ve had enough, love.”

Love.

You felt your cheeks burn though that name meant nothing more than any other greeting when it came to Harry. “Please?”

Harry shrugged, considering your plea. Another sip from the bottle… another unnecessary lick over his (now wine-stained and very red) lips…

You fell back against the bench and sighed, instead looking straight out toward the setting sun. It was dangerously low in the sky and hardly had any hues other than purple. A few houses were lit up in the distance and the street in front of yours was illuminated by the harsh glow of fluorescent lamp posts. It was quiet for a Friday night in June.

Something cold touched your lips, and you startled back to reality.

“Drink.”

You turned to see Harry intently watching your face, gesturing with his head to the bottle outstretched in front of him. He touched it to your lips again, and when they parted, tipped the wine into your mouth. It was anything but graceful and you had a similar experience with wine dripping down your chin, to which Harry let out a few bubbly laughs.

The wine wasn’t chilled anymore, and this bottle was strangely sweet compared to the others. You reached up to your lips to wipe the wine from your face, but Harry beat you to it. A single swipe of his thumb ran over your (still) parted mouth, collecting the stray alcohol. His eyes had an impressive amount of focus in them as he made sure he didn’t miss any, then finally rested his hand on your chin, offering the rest to you.

It was a tender moment between you two. If it weren’t for the constant drumming of your heart under your ribs, the only sounds would have been a passing car on the street below, or a hushed conversation across the patio between your friends. You hadn’t noticed them for a while, though, and took his thumb between your lips, licking it clean.

“Good?” Harry asked, a giddy smile. He’d won this fight for now.

You nodded, “Tastes like... strawberries?”

He affirmed your guess with a low “mhm” in the base of his throat, and happily took another drink from the bottle. The both of you fell into a comfortable silence, watching the now-set sun color the night sky with a deep purple. The wine in your system glued you to the bench you sat upon and there was an indescribable contentment in your chest. A light breeze continued to blow over the patio, only now it was much less pleasant, being it was much past 10 PM.

“You okay?” Harry asked, somehow closer to you now. You found yourself slouched over, leaning embarrassingly close to his side.

You sat up abruptly, tucking your leg under the other. “Yeah, no. I’m fine.”

“Sure?” He questioned, not quite convinced.

“Promise.”

It was an outright lie, but you couldn’t circle back now. The breeze picked up and raised the hairs on your arm. You attempted to conceal a shiver but failed; it couldn’t have been anymore cartoon-ish, and you were sure your teeth would begin chattering soon. Harry turned to set the wine bottle down and soon pushed up from the bench.

“Where are you going?”

“To get you a blanket, y/n.” His face looked as though he wanted to add a “duh” at the end of his remark.

It must’ve truly been late, because your other friends decided to make their way down with Harry to begin the walk home. You waved them off and grabbed the bottle from Harry’s side of the bench before curling back up in your corner. There were only a few more sips left and you downed them without issue. Your head swam with the sudden intake of alcohol but the warmth was nice.

Moments passed before Harry emerged on the roof again, this time adorned with a hoodie and blanket in hand. He tossed the blanket at you, a shit-eating grin on his face as it smacked you directly in the forehead, and plopped down beside you.

“Bastard,” you muttered under your breath before setting the empty bottle on the ground beside you. The blanket was a welcome addition to the bench and you took little time to wrap yourself up in it. The dark grey fleece smelled like Harry; a hint of his cologne and coffee, but a surprisingly... fruity-scent, too? Nonetheless, you could feel your feet again.

You felt Harry’s eyes on you again. Peering out of the corner of your eye, you caught his gaze: a pitiful pout over his lips.

“Share?” He frowned even more, doing his best “puppy-dog eyes”.

You laughed, again, louder than you would’ve expected, and clapped a hand over your mouth in surprise. His composure broke almost instantly and a fit of giggles was shared between the two of you. The kind where you pause for a moment and catch each others’ expressions, only to continue to laugh even harder.

“Share?” He asked again, inching himself closer to you. Harry snaked his hand under the edge of the blanket to where you sat cross-legged, palm resting over your knee. When you didn’t answer, he began tracing his fingers over your thigh, moving from their initial place. If you thought you’d had goosebumps before...

Your heart began to thud in your chest again, but moved the edge of the blanket to cover part of his legs, too. His hand stayed put, splayed over your thigh, and his gaze never broke yours. It was overwhelming, being so close to him and surrounded by him, but you didn’t think you minded much. Even with the wine, even with the intimacy brought on by being out in the dark. It was wonderful. It felt warm.

Harry bit at his lip and you yours, spending a painfully long while studying over each other’s faces. It was as if you’d never seen each other, though surely you had. There was a newfound magnetism in the space separating you both that worked to bring you closer. And closer. And closer.

His lips were sweet with the strawberry wine from earlier, and you imagined yours tasted similar. Harry was gentle in the way he moved; his lips, the hand on your thigh, turning ever-so-slightly toward you on the bench. He kissed you first but in no time at all, you were kissing him. The hand that’d once helped share the blanket was intertwined in the curls at the nape of his neck, keeping him close and causing his lips to part in curiosity.

The hand on your thigh moved to your hip instead, pulling you in. He wanted you closer. You wanted him closer, too, but there wasn’t enough room on this goddamn bench and the blanket was getting tangled up between your legs and then–

His forehead was resting on yours, a series of shallow breathes shared in the silence of the rooftop patio. You willed your heart to slow down, but to no avail. The both of you sat like this for some time, catching your own breaths and trying to configure a coherent sentence. It wasn’t an easy task, but especially not in these circumstances.

Harry spoke first: “I... I’m just thinking out loud, here,” he started.

You felt him pull away and met his gaze. His cheeks were even more flushed than they’d been earlier in the night. Looks of nervousness and a hint of innocence showed across his features. You waited for him to continue, signaling with a nod and reaching your hand toward his. He took it gladly.

“But, that wasn't... weird, right?”

You shook your head “no”.

A look of relief washed over his face, a weight lifted from his shoulders. “Oh, good, because I was convinced you’d say ‘of course, Harry, we’re friends, that was horrible’ or blame it on the wine, which would be fine because I’d feel terrible if you hadn’t wanted it–!”

“Harry.”

He looked up, pausing mid-sentence.

It was your turn to stutter over your words, wine making you ramble more easily than normal. “I liked it, I promise. I did kiss you back, yeah?”

Harry laughed, shrugging his shoulders playfully to agree. “Definitely not just a peck, if you will.”

You threw a shove in his direction, “Don’t be cocky.”

“She likes kissing me!” He sang into the darkness of the night, “Did y’hear that, world? She likes kissing–!”

He was right, but you couldn’t let him get away with it just yet, and you planted another one on him. This time, it was more of a peck. A very sloppy, wine-influenced, peck. Harry was the type to truly sing his heart out to the entire universe if you’d let him.

“See?” You challenged. “Kissed you back, again.”

He smirked, “I know.”

Harry leaned in close, pressing a sincere kiss to your lips. “...’m glad you liked it. Not sure I could ever go without doing that again.”

______________________________________________

note to readers: ... yes it was a typical best-friends-to-lovers (?) trope, but I couldn’t help myself. this was a short one and I’m hoping that maybe I’ll get some more posted, too. let me know what you think and thank you (thank you THANK YOU) for reading. also, thanks for being patient with me. it’s been a while but so so good to be back :) LOVE YOU ALL TO BITS

#harry styles imagine #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles x reader #writing

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amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines · 3 years

Text

Sweet Pea//you’re too hard to forget

Request: Hey!! Love your writing! Are you able to write a song imagine for the song lie to me by 5sos and Julia Michaels.. for reader x sweet pea when they broke up and seeing other people but still think of each other? Thankyou!! 🧡

hey! i looooove this song and i loved writing this! also it’s very angsty so be warned i hope you enjoy!

Red Rose Hall is everything Toni and Cheryl hyped it up to be. High ceilings, bright white walls, soft gold decor, chandeliers, candlesticks that are definitely made out of solid gold and enough room in just the entrance to fit at least half of Riverdale’s population in.

It seems half of Riverdale’s population is here tonight, as well as at least another 100 people that Sweet Pea has never met before. But what else does he expect from Cheryl and Toni.

The invitation he’d received for their engagement would probably fit in as decor here, and he clutches it tightly as he walks through the large wooden doors.

An older man in a suit offers him champagne and he takes it gratefully, suddenly feeling underdressed in the only suit he owns. He fiddles with his tie, trying to hide the ketchup stain that he can’t quite get out.

“This is amazing.” A voice says in awe and suddenly he remembers that he isn’t here alone. “And this is just their engagement party?” Cece asks, her dark hair falling straight down her back and over her pale blue dress.

“Er-yeah.” He says, handing her a glass of champagne. “Cheryl is very...out there.”

“You’re telling me.” She laughs and takes a sip. “Holy shit, is that an ice sculpture?” Her eyes widen and Sweet Pea follows her gaze until they’re both staring at a huge sculpture of Cheryl and Toni.

“That is-”

“Wonderful!” Cheryl’s cheery voice makes both Sweet Pea and Cece jump before turning around to face her. Toni stands beside her, and her and Sweet Pea share a look.

It’s been well over a year since they last saw each other, but they don’t even have to say anything to know what the other is thinking.

“Yes. Thats what I was just about to say.” Sweet Pea says, glancing quickly at Toni who stifles a laugh. “How are you Cheryl?”

“Fantastic.” She replies. “Me and my future wife to be have been enjoying engaged life.”

“You don’t need to tell us about that.” He interrupts and Cheryl hits his arm, sending him a sharp glare.

“Not like that...but thats been great too.” She smirks and nudges Toni. “Are you going to introduce us?” She asks, staring straight at Cece.

Sweet Pea sighs and braces himself for the grilling he’s going to get. Toni won’t be as bad, but Cheryl was more your friend than his, and now he’s brought a new woman, he’s definitely going to have to watch his back.

Speaking of you, he wonders if you’re here. Of course you are. You’d never miss this, but the room is so big and he feels so small compared to it. He used to always be able to find you in a room, it was a secret talent of his, or maybe it was you just drawing him to yourself constantly. Tonight however, he can’t see you anywhere and he doesn’t know if thats a good or bad thing.

“This is Cece.” He says and gestures to the woman holding onto his arm. She waves awkwardly at Toni and Cheryl and they both smile back at her. Cheryl’s is a lot faker than Toni’s but thankfully she doesn’t notice. “Cece, this is Toni and Cheryl.”

“It’s really nice to meet you both.” Cece replies, a sweet smile on her face. It’s no where near yours, but that’s what Sweet Pea likes about her. She’s the complete opposite of you and thats just what he needs. “And congratulations.”

“Thank you.” Toni says sincerely.

“Yeah. Thank you.” Cheryl adds. “It was lovely seeing you again Sweet Pea, and nice meeting you Cece. But there’s lots of people here and we need to talk to everyone. You can put your gift on that table over there.”

“We didn’t bring anythi-”

“Money is fine.” She cuts him off, calling over her shoulder.

“Sorry.” Toni mumbles before following Cheryl.

Despite Cheryl’s grating personality, it’s nice to know not everything has changed since the last time he saw everyone. Cheryl is still as rude as ever, Toni still apologizes for her and they’re both still very extra.

“Do they really need anymore presents?” Cece asks and points to the large table in the corner of the room. Its stacked full of gift bags and huge boxes and Sweet Pea’s eye widen at the sheer amount of stuff they probably already have.

His eyes scan the room, looking out for anyone else he knows. Hopefully Fangs is around somewhere and three of them can sit at a table near the back until it’s acceptable to go to the very expensive rooms they’ve been forced into paying for and staying in tonight.

He does find Fangs, standing with a grin on his face and two champagne glasses in hand as he talks to a guy with curly brown hair, glasses and a suit that looks like Sweet Pea pulled his out of the trash.

His eyebrows furrow in confusion, he doesn’t remember Fangs mentioning a new boyfriend the last time they text. But when he looks at the guy properly, he notices he’s also holding two champagne glasses and now he’s even more confused.

That is until he see’s you, approaching the pair of them with another girl walking beside you. You both stop the conversation you’re having to greet Fangs and the mystery guy and they hand each of you a champagne glass.

The other girl stands beside Fangs and he quickly realizes its Jade from school, he then chuckles quietly to himself, momentarily forgetting about you and whoever he is, because can you imagine Jade and Fangs together? They are definitely not each others type.

His smile disappears however once he see’s you reach up and press a kiss to mystery guy’s cheek.

You brought someone else.

Okay, so did he, but that’s beside the point.

You look good, but different. It’s been a year since you saw each other so he’s not surprised you’ve changed, he’s just surprised by how much.

You look like a completely new person. Like you changed over night. Your hair is longer, your makeup and style different and you look confident. A lot more confident that the last time he say you. You still capture an entire room when you walk into it, but now its like you know you’re doing it.

He feels frozen, everything about you is so different, yet it feels so familiar to him and he can’t stop looking at you. Even when you throw your head back in laughter at something Fangs has said and when you look around, acutely aware that someone is watching you. Even when you notice him looking at you from across the room, Sweet Pea still doesn’t look away.

You send him a polite smile before turning your attention back to your new boyfriend. Sweet Pea continues to watch, hoping that you’ll glance at him again, but you don’t. You don’t even attempt to look at him again and he feels his heart sink.

“Sweet Pea? Are you okay?” Cece asks, pulling him from his thoughts and his heart sinks even further at Cece’s worried expressions. He doesn’t deserve her and neither did you, which is why you’re both here with other people instead of each other.

At least you look happy. Or at least you’re trying to. Your smile reaches your eyes, but it doesn’t make them light up like it used to. He wonders if he did that to you or if its because of the new guy you’re with. He hopes it wasn’t him, but he can’t shake the gut feeling that it was.

“Yeah.” He nods, finally dragging his eyes away from your figure. They settle on Cece and she smiles at him warmly, but he can tell she noticed. There’s just a hint of disappointment resting behind her eyes. “I’m fine. Do you want to find our table?” He asks, wanting any excuse to get away from you and him.

“Yeah okay.” She replies and grabs his hand, weaving him through the mass of people.

He sits down, the gold chairs with large white cushions on them help him sink further into the depression he’s already falling into, purely because he knows the chairs alone probably cost more than his rent last month.

He tries so hard to loose himself in having a good time with Cece, but he just can’t. He looks at her but ends up looking straight through her and back at you again. As Cece takes in the the small details of the large hall, Sweet Pea takes in the smaller details of you.

You stand a little differently that how you did a year ago. Maybe its because whoever your new boyfriend is closer to your height than he is Sweet Pea’s, or maybe its the new found confidence you seem to have since Sweet Pea left.

This time two years ago, both of you were staying in Cheryl and Toni’s New York apartment. It was a welcomed break from the busy jobs you were both desperately trying to hold down in order to keep your flat.

You’d only been in New York for 2 days, but it was the best 2 days of your life. Toni and Cheryl had showed you around the city, the four of you doing some sightseeing and just enjoying seeing each other again.

But just before going to bed on the second night, Sweet Pea got a phone call from his work saying they needed him in tomorrow morning, despite the fact he’d booked the week off.

You’d only just managed to go to sleep, finding it difficult due to the loud roads and bright lights outside. You may have also moved to a busy city, but it was no where near as busy as New York, and so Sweet Pea tried desperately to pack as quietly as possible.

You still woke up though, either sensing the empty space beside you or hearing the large thud of Sweet Pea tripping over his suitcase in the dark. You’d asked what he was doing and he felt so bad as he told you he had to go home.

You were of course disappointed and his heart ached at the sight of you trying to hide it. He said you could stay and spend the rest of the week with Toni and Cheryl, but by the time he finished his sentence and multiple apologies you’d already changed your flights and were starting to pack.

“We stay together remember.” You’d whispered in his ear on the plane. You then lay your head on his shoulder and even though he was tired and pissed beyond belief at his boss, he knew he’s got it right. You were definitely the one.

Or at least thats what he thought.

“Holy shit! Pea. I didn’t know you were coming to this!” Fangs is more than excited to see his best friend. He practically jumps on him and it causes Sweet Pea told jolt out of his thoughts at the weight of his friend embracing him.

He returns the hug, a little too late but Fangs doesn’t seem to notice. He’s too busy introducing himself to Cece. She smiles in surprise at the energy of the stranger stood in front of her, but she shakes his hand anyway and introduces herself.

“Don’t mind him. He’s had far too many ‘choni’ cocktails.” A voice deadpans from beside him and he sends the girl it came from a glare. “Hi Sweet Pea.” She waves at the tall serpent and he sends her a smile in return.

“Hey Jade. How are you?”

“Not good. I’ve been put on Fangs babysitting duty.” She huffs and takes a seat opposite the couple. Cece looks at Sweet Pea hesitantly before looking at the purple haired girl opposite her.

“So how long have you and Fangs been together?” She asks in a small voice, but its met with loud laughter from Fangs, Jade and even Sweet Pea.

“Babe, they’re not a couple.” Sweet Pea forces through laughter.

“Well how am I supposed to know that. It’s not like you tell me anything about your friends.” She replies through a gritted smile and Jade and Fangs share an uncomfortable look.

Sweet Pea coughs and stares at the napkin on the table, his finger traces the pattern gently and the four of them wait for something to change the sudden dull mood.

A distraction comes, but it’s not a welcome one and Sweet Pea thinks he’d much rather snide comments from his girlfriend than whatever this is.

“Hi guys.” You smile and wave at the small group. Your boyfriend stands behind you with a hand on your hip. He pushes his glasses up his nose before quickly moving to pull your seat out for you. You smile and sit beside Jade, giving her and Fangs a warm smile. Your boyfriend, who Sweet Pea still doesn’t know the name of sits on the other side of you, and he decides he doesn’t want to know the name of him.

“Ryan, have you had one of these?” Fangs asks, trying his hardest to break the now awful atmosphere surrounding your table. It only makes it worse, because Sweet Pea knows his name and he hates it.

Cece stares down at the silver bracelet dangling around her wrist, she plays with the charms and tries her hardest to will away the tears threatening to spill from her eyes. Sweet Pea seethes silently, glancing between the table, you and Ryan every so often. Fangs gulps, and plays with his hands, trying desperately to help his friend but nothing comes to mind.

Jade sits back in her seat, sipping on her drink to try and hide a smile as she watches everyone silently. You sit awkwardly, your chin resting in your hand while you think of how to get out of this situation, and Ryan sits beside you, holding your free hand under the table and glancing at Sweet Pea nervously every so often.

“No, I-er I haven’t no.” He shakes his head, gaining the attention and eyes of the five of you.

“Good.” Jade replies. “They suck.”

“How dare you.” Fangs glares at the girl but she just looks at him bored.

“I’m sorry but if you name a drink after your ‘ship’ name, it automatically sucks. It could be the best tasting thing in the world, but as soon as its got a stupid name, it sucks.” She replies making Fangs huff. You and Sweet Pea stifle laughs at her sudden outburst and the two of you make brief eye contact before the moment is gone.

“You’re so fun at parties. Did you know that?”

“I did. Thats why I was your plus one.”

“You were my plus one because we both got dumped right before thi-” He stops himself mid-sentence but the damage is done. You force yourself to look at Sweet Pea and are surprised to see he’s already looking back at you.

“Well that got awkward fast.” Jade says, taking another long sip from her drink. “I’m getting another one. Anyone want to come with?”

“I will.” You and Sweet Pea stand at the same time.

“Its fine you go.” You say and sit down again.

“No, no. You go.” He replies, also sitting back down.

“Are you sure?” You ask.

He nods quickly before starting a conversation with Cece. Cece talks about how pretty your outfit is and he nods along, not really paying attention.

The only thing he can think of is you.

And how he wishes the two of you never met.

The thought makes something twist in his gut, but it’s true. When you met, he remembers thinking how lucky he was to have been in the right place at the right time. He knew he’d never forget you from the moment you met. And he was right. You are too hard to forget, no matter how bad he wants to.

It doesn’t help when there’s little reminders of you no matter where he goes. A certain smell reminds of of your perfume, a certain taste and he’s taken back to your first date eating Pop’s takeout in the parking lot because there wasn’t enough seats inside.

When you left, he tried to erase every part of you. Every trace of you was taken from the apartment you’d shared. He was angry at you of course, you’d argued and shouted just as much as he did, but he was more angry at himself for letting you go.

He’d cleaned the shattered glass from the floor, caused by you slamming the door a mere five minutes earlier, and he learnt later that you’d gone to a co-workers house for ‘support’ and ended up in his bed.

He knows you don’t love him anymore. Why would you? He said some of the worst things anybody had ever said to you, kicked you out of your home and ignored you for a year after. But he hopes if he asked, you’d lie to him. ----

It’s 3am and you’re still awake. The last of the guests have only just gone to bed and you can hear them stumbling and giggling as they pass your room.

The moonlight streams in through a gap in the dark curtain and it casts a soft glow over Ryan’s bare chest and face. His lips are parted and soft snores echo around the room making you feel even more alone.

You pull your legs up to your chest and wrap your arms around yourself, resting your head on your knees.

Ryan had pressed gentle kisses up and down your neck while the two of you slow danced, his hands had wandered along your body and he’d whispered words in your ears that made you blush and look around, making sure no one else was looking.

Nobody was, not even Sweet Pea and you felt a familiar twang of disappointment at that. But nonetheless, you said your goodbye’s to your friends, thanked Cheryl and Toni for the invite and told them congratulations for probably the fourth night, before Ryan had you pinned against the elevator wall, kissing you like his life depended on it.

Now you sit awake, to busy thinking about Sweet Pea holding onto somebody else the way he used to. Sweet Pea could always sense if you were awake, it was like a weird gift he had. If you couldn’t sleep, he knew. And he would pull you tight to his chest and stroke your hair gently while whispering nonsense in your ear.

Ryan sleeps through anything, which means you’ve spent a lot of lonely nights looking up at the moon. It’s seems the two of you are friends now, but tonight she’s taunting you and you sigh deeply.

This was supposed to be a happy occasion, a chance to see all your friends again. But you feel anything but happiness.

Your mind wanders to last year, and the way you stared at the moon back then. Only it didn’t end with tight cuddles and sweet whispers. It ended in a fight, a break up and the biggest mistake of your life. You walking out and giving up on you and Sweet Pea forever.

You were thinking about New York, and how you should go go back sometime when Sweet Pea stirred beside you, asking the same sleepy question of ‘are you okay?’

‘Yeah’ you’d replied, settling into his arms and letting your eyes flutter closed. ‘Just thinking about when we could go back to New York.’

You honestly hadn’t meant anything more of it. Literally just wondering if you had any weeks off. But Sweet Pea was tired and stressed and took it as an attack. You tried to tell him you didn’t mean it like that, but he wasn’t listening and so you gave up trying to reason with him.

You fought, cried and then you stormed out, not bothering to look back.

You ran, even though it was right.

You have a deep need to do it again. The rooms seems to be slowly suffocating you and you need to get out asap. You grab your dressing gown and slip some shoes over your feet before slipping out the door and into the dimly lit corridor. It’s a welcome quiet to the thoughts screaming in your head and you take a moment to take in the beauty of the place. It might only be a corridor, but it’s a damn pretty one.

With no destination in mind, you start to wander around the large hall. Eventually settling on a window seat right in the corner of the building. It looks out into the garden and the moonlight casts it in a fairytale like glow. It looks magical and you feel yourself calm down a little. Your heart rate goes back to normal and your breathing slows. Thats until you feel a presence beside you and the cushion your sat on dips as another joins you.

Pulling your gaze away from the window, they settle on a pajama clad Sweet Pea and your expressions softens.

“What do you want Pea?” You ask, the easiness of the nickname surprises the both of you.

“I woke up a while ago and couldn’t get back to sleep. I figured you were awake somewhere.” He shrugs, leaning his back against the window and you watch a shiver crawl up his spine at the cold.

“How do you know I wouldn’t be in my room?” You ask, turning your attention back to the sky.

“I dunno.” He shrugs. “But I remember after a while, if you couldn’t sleep you used to get up and wander.”

“Oh.” You say quietly and look back at him. “I never did that with you.”

“You did. Once when we first got together.” He replies.

“I don’t remember.”

“I do.” He shrugs. “Why do you think I used to wake up? I didn’t want you wandering the streets at night.”

“Thank you.” You say sincerely, looking him in the eye. He clears his throat and looks away.

“Its whatever.”

“Its not whatever Sweet Pea.” You say making him look at you. “Its really sweet.” He looks away as soon as you make eye contact and the two of you are left to sit in silence.

“Do you ever wish we never met?” You ask and he quickly looks at you.

“I er-” He stutters, unsure of what to say. Because he does, but even now he doesn’t want to hurt you.

“I do.” You reply and he feels himself shatter. The whole illusion that he’d built you up to be, what you’d be doing now that you’re no longer in his life has been broken.

“Thanks.” He huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. A small pout makes its way to his lips and you roll your eyes at the sight of it.

“Don’t tell me you don’t feel the same.” You argue. “I saw the way you looked at me before. There was more regret in your eyes than there was when Fangs ate all of those out of date pies.”

“That was funny though.” Sweet Pea chuckles.

“Yeah.” You join in. “Up until the hospital visit.” You add and the two of you frown.

“You’re impossible to forget you know Sweet Pea.” You say out of nowhere and his eyebrows raise.

“You too Y/n.” He replies, sadness lacing his tone and the two of you both stare out into the garden.

“But I have to.” You stand suddenly and he looks at you confused.

“What?”

��We have to try and forget each other.”

“Y/n, our best friends are getting married. I’m the best man and you’re maid of honour. We’re always going to be in each other’s life. It’s going to be pretty impossible to forget each other.”

“Well, maybe if someone hadn’t have dumped me for no reason then we wouldn’t have to do all this awkward shit.” You snap, a years worth of feeling bubbling up to the surface.

You’ve had enough. He did this, he started it and now he doesn’t want to end it.

“Excuse me?” Sweet Pea asks, his voice raising as he also stands. “You’re the one that walked out.”

“Because you told me to! Whatever Sweet Pea. I’ll see you around.” You huff and storm off into the dark hallway. “And so hi to Cece for me.”

“Only if you say hi to Ryan for me.” He calls angrily after you.

He watches you walk away and curses himself for letting you do that again.

“Babe? Where have you been?” Ryan’s voice is groggy as he turns his head to face you.

“Do you love me?” You ask suddenly and slip into bed beside him. The moonlight still shines in through the curtains, but the glow it casts into the room is cold.

You know he doesn’t, he knows he doesn’t, but it doesn’t matter. You’d rather a sweet lie than a bitter reality. So he takes a deep breath, his hair falls into his face but you don’t bother moving it, not wanting to ruin the fabricated moment you’re desperately trying to believe in.

“I do, yeah.”

#sweet pea #sweet pea imagine #sweet pea x reader #sweet pea x you #sweet pea x y/n #riverdale #riverdale imagine

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ve1vetyoongi · 5 years

Text

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

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lipshinee · 4 years

Note

Any soft scenatios or headcanons with Lucifer or Mammon would be precious ^^ welcome to the obey fandom!!!

.Fluff scenario🥺🥺 Okay I chose Mammon bc I’m a simp for this man. It’s like the most cliché thing ever but I still loved writing it bc I’m a sucker for clichés. Ur first kiss w/ Mammon ♡

Warning: a lot of fluff and cheesy stuff

Mammon X reader

Adjusting your skirt, you stared at yourself in the mirror for a few seconds. Your outfits consisted of a light and tight crop-top, a black skater skirt accompanied by your black shoes. You didn’t really feel like wearing something fancy, today you were simply having a fun time with Asmo.

The vibration coming from your phone suddenly caught your attention. As Mammon’s name appeared on screen, your face quickly turned red. « Oi! What’s all that about you going out with Asmo?? » Startled, you didn’t have any time to respond before he sends you another message.

« Ya ain’t going anywhere without me around!! Like I would leave you alone with that pervert <(｀^´)> » You couldn’t help yourself but smile and giggle at his message.

You really can’t tell when you first started liking him. Maybe it was recent, maybe it was when he started getting all possessive with you, or maybe it was just the first time you saw him. However when you realized your little crush it was already too late, he was already firmly ingrained in your heart and there was no way getting him out of there. His smile, his loud laugh, his blue eyes, every single detail about him was intoxicating. It drove you crazy how much power he held over you, a single look from him and you would melt right then and there.

‘Pull yourself together!’ You reminded yourself and responded to him with a simple sticker. After learning that information, it was unavoidable for you to take a few more glances at the mirror before finally getting out of your room. Going down the stairs, you could already hear Mammon and Asmo bickering. « You can’t just invite yourself whenever you feel like it! »

Your laugh caught the attention of the two demons in front of you and they were both silents for a few seconds. Those seconds were all it took you to realize how breathtaking the avatar of Greed was. He was wearing his usual signature yellow jacket that fit him perfectly, his glasses were resting on his head and his white snowy hair was a bit messier than usual, which only made him more mesmerizing.

You must’ve stared for longer than usual because you noticed that Mammon started to get a bit flustered. « W-what are ya lookin’ at?! » You shook your head and responded that you were just spacing out. You could feel your heart pounding so loudly in your chest you were almost surprised no one was able to hear it.

« Darling you look so beautiful! » Asmo said while hugging you tightly. A huge smile appeared on your face, and just when you were about to wrap your arms around him, he was pulled out of your grasp. Mammon was behind the younger demon and was glaring at him. Within seconds, they were arguing once again. You rolled your eyes and stopped them by announcing :

« Can we please go? Otherwise, you’ll be done fighting by the time the mall closes. » You didn’t wait for them to respond and turned around walking towards the front door, they quickly joined you. You decided for a walk since the mall was a bit close and hoped for a peaceful stroll but your wish was quickly stopped by the usual screams of Mammon.

On your way there, you noticed a garden that was full of flowers that looked similar to the ones you had in the human realm. You began to daydream about your life before the Devildom and how it completely changed you as a person. They brought you happiness when you thought you were a hopeless cause, and you were endlessly thankful for that.

You stopped listening to the demons’ conversation a long time ago until Asmo’s sentence got you back to reality. « I don’t understand! If you like MC so much why don’t you ask them out yourself instead of barging into MY alone time with them?! » While Asmo first had an annoyed look on his face, his expression changed into amusement when he saw you and Mammon turning red from his comment.

« H-huh? W-what are ya talkin’ about?! Why would I like a mere human anyway? » He desperately tried to argue, but Asmo wasn’t born yesterday, he could obviously through crushes with ease. Needless to say, he also knew about your crush as well. Actually, it was obvious for about anyone but you two.

You were pretty silent about the whole thing. Looking down at the ground and playing with your fingers, you tried your best to ignore the situation that you couldn’t possibly handle. Staring at you, Asmo’s face lit up, and had you met his eyes, you would have known he was preparing a mischievous plan. Finally, the avatar of Lust sighs and replies with a sad tone :

« If you say so. » Mammon was a bit taken aback. No teasing? He would give up just like that? No way. The demon was suspicious of his brother but preferred to stay quiet. The rest of the walk was really quiet compared to the beginning which only confirmed Mammon’s suspicions.

The three of you were walking around the mall. It’s only been a few minutes since you got here but Asmo has already started to whine about going to Majolish. Not really surprising, it was the avatar of Lust we were talking about after all. Heading to the shop, you couldn’t help but notice the malicious smile Asmodeus kept wearing, and only grew wider once you got in front of the store. Entering Majolish, the demon started to pick random clothes and threw them in Mammon’s arms.

« What the actual hell are ya doin’?! » He was even more confused once Asmodeus pushed him towards the changing room.

« Shh, just try these out, I wanna see those on you! » Witnessing the scene in front of you was quite amusing, even though you were just as puzzled as Mammon. Once he was in the fitting room, Asmo turned around and winked at you. « Well, I guess I have to go now. » What? What was he talking about? You must’ve seemed baffled because he sighed and continued :

« I pushed Mammon over there because otherwise, he wouldn’t have let me go, he doesn’t have the guts to stay alone with you. This way you can finally get the little date you always wanted to have! If he asks anything, just say something came up. »

Bewildered, you weren’t able to place a single word as he mumbled: « I’m way too nice. » and waved at you before leaving you alone. Shit. Your thoughts were racing as the anxiety kept rising. What were you supposed to do now? You weren’t ready for this! You weren’t even sure if Mammon really did like you! ‘Maybe I should just leave as well? Maybe we can just leave the mall right now?’ But the familiar voice behind you stopped all of your reflections.

« There ya go! Obviously, the great Mammon looks amazin’ in any-...Oi, where did he go?? » You turned around and looked at him only to be left breathless. Fuck. To make matters worse, the clothes he was trying on fit him like a charm. His button-down shirt had a few buttons undone which revealed the top of his chest, his skin-tight black jean which showed you perfectly the shape of his ass left you drooling all over him for a while. Mammon practically had to clear his throat for you to raise your head and look into his eyes.

« U-uh, he left. He...he had to go, something came up. » Mammon didn’t seem too phased at first and just replied: « Oh. » Then it hit him and his calm face rapidly turned to a worried look. Oh. He was going to be alone with you.

You both didn’t say anything for what felt like hours. It’s not that you didn’t have anything else to say, you had so many things you wanted to say but nothing was able to come out of your mouths. Finally, the demon ended up saying :

« O-oh, well I guess it’s yer lucky fay! Some people would kill to have me all for themselves for a day, ya know! » He claimed with a confident smile even though you could clearly see the nervousness in his eyes. You were a bit relaxed by the fact that both of you were apprehensive about spending some time alone. Mammon ended up going back to the fitting room in order to change into his own clothes. When you finally got out of the store, the atmosphere felt tense. What are you supposed to say right now? Your mind was clouded with endless speculations and doubts, you couldn't think of a single topic to chat about. Peering at the demon, it was clear he was in the same situation.

Bur for once in your life, you wanted to be bold. What did tou have to lose anyway? You knew you would regret it for to rest of your life if you didn’t take this chance Asmo gave you. Biting the inside of your cheeks, you went ahead and held his hand. His hand felt so warm and so big compared to yours, god it took all of your willpower to not melt instantly. He was the only one able to make you feel like this, he was the only one able to cause this warm feeling in your chest that was always so overwhelming. A single touch from him was enough to make your day, and it drove you crazy.

« W-what are ya doin' right now?! » It was the only thing he could add. As if speaking without stuttering wasn't already hard enough for him, the poor demon was now a blushing mess. You found him so adorable, his eyes were fixated on your hands and the silence didn't feel so awkward this time. Walking around the mall like this made you realize just how much you liked him, you wanted to hold his hand like this every day, you wanted to be in his arms cuddling every night, you simply wanted to be his. After all, he's the reason for your smile. He's the one for you. He's your first man. With him, you felt like you belonged somewhere as long as he was next to you.

Your eyes widened when you sensed him intertwining your fingers together. This time, you were the one freaking out. Especially when he turned you so you could face him. With his other hand, he held your chin with his fingers and approached his face towards yours. He was so close to you, you were certain he was able to hear your loud heartbeat.

« I...I want to kiss you. » His electric blue eyes were piercing through yours, like he was waiting for an answer from you. ‘Can he get any more adorable than this?’ Smiling at him, you nodded your head. And without another word, he kissed you. At first, your mind blanked out from the surprise. His soft lips were the only thing you could focus on. The world around you stopped for a moment, and, just for the time of this kiss, you both were in your little bubble. As if life in itself paused just for the two of you to enjoy every single bit of that kiss.

For so long, you had sleepless nights dreaming of this day, and now that it was finally happening, you had a hard time believing it. It was so gentle yet enough to make your heart explode from his touch. You loved this feeling so much, you were drunk from this warm feeling only he could give you. And when he kissed you, you could feel the reciprocity of his feelings. He liked you as well, the avatar of Greed himself liked you and absolutely nothing could make you happier.

Finally, he pulled away from you, and though you didn’t say it out loud, you were very clearly saddened by it. Noticing it, Mammon laughed and gave you a quick peck on the lips.

« C’mon! Let’s buy some matching stuff. » He said with a huge smile on his face.

And you couldn’t help but notice that during the whole afternoon at the mall, he didn’t let go of your hand a single time. He was hanging to it like his life was on the line if he let go of it, you kept biting your lower lips to stop yourself from giggling like a middle schooler.

You spent hours in the mall, checking every single store available and laughing so hard your stomach started to hurt. You were happy. And he was the reason for it.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me characters #obey me x reader #obey me imagines #obey me fluff #lucifer #mammon #leviathan #satan #asmodeus #beelzebub #belphegor

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theshy1sout · 3 years

Text

Inseparable - Chapter 14

Tags: Trolls Mythology Au, Broppy, Slow Burn Fluff, Not rated

Ao3 is heeerrrreee

Notes: Normal size chapter, 2k :D It was so hard to write, not like the previous one :( Forgive me for destroying English

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- Welcome, everyone! - Poppy beams, raising the Staff in her hand with a big, honest smile. - I'm so glad you all agree to help us with this such a huge project!

Immortals cheer loud, clapping their hands and screaming. They didn't have to, but where's Cooper, the god of Fun, there's cheering from everything cheerable. The pink goddess laughs heartily and glances at her blue company, standing in his Silence on her right. His face is blank and serious. He covered himself with his capote and left uncovered only his head and only of his courtesy to Poppy. She used to try cheering him up, amusing him or something, but she has learned a lot about him during the last months. She knows what that face of his means. Branch's stressed and out of his comfort zone. Poppy catches his sight and gives him a warm, adoring smile. It's okay, it's okay, he doesn't have to enjoy everything she enjoys. She starts liking even that.

The god of Night blinks, calming down a bit. The corner of his lips trembles up a little.

- Thank you all for arriving on my call - Poppy turns to the group of colorful Immortals. - To make the party, we need all of us! But first, Barb, can you tell us what is the party? - She looks at the Queen of Underground. The dull goddess needs no more encouragement. She jumps in the middle of the crowd and yells happily.

- WHO'S READY FOR PARTYYY??? - She throws her fists up and everybody cheers again.

Poppy hears a slight chuckle next to her. When she turns back, Branch gets closer to her ear and says:

- If the whole meeting goes like that, there's no way we'll prepare the whole thing for tonight.

- It can be tomorrow - She answers, smiling. - No reason to rush, right?

Branch twists his mouth.

- You know I want to get this over as fast as it's possible.

- We have different goals then, my dear.

He gives her a disapproval look, but his ears get slightly down and turn purple. She gazes at them with a hint of genuine satisfaction. She notes in her mind to call him like that more often.

Barb is yelling something to Immortals, explaining how the party looks like, but Poppy can't focus on it, can't hear even a single word. The pink goddess and the blue god have their little world here, and she's so into it. Which is, and she knows it so well, kinda distracting right now. She should focus, focus, not thinking about Branch being so close, so close...

She takes a deep breath and forces herself to listen to Barb.

But the Queen of Underworld has finished actually. She turns to her, waiting for her to continue. Poppy blinks, confused.

- Um, yes - She beams awkwardly, not knowing what to say to not reveal that she didn't listen at all. She forgets what she wanted to do next. And the longer she stays in Silence, the more she feels embarrassed. - We... um?

Luckily, Branch notices her fazing. He clears his throat.

- Now you know what the party is - He announces loud enough that everybody can hear him. - So it's time to assign roles, right? - He looks at Poppy, putting his hand on her shoulder. She takes a deep breath, feeling the wave of relief and courage.

- Right! - She beams at him gratefully and then looks around at the assembled. - First things first, we need the Music! Suki? - She glances at the orange hair goddess.

- I'm already creating something - Little strings, twining and spinning, light in her red hands. - But I need Barb's help.

- Here I come, gurl! - The husky voice yells.

- Then, we need our dance pack - Poppy points with a finger gun at the group of the colorful trio with dreadlocks.

- When the music is ready, we'll be on - Tresillo nods knowingly to his two sisters.

- Satin and Chenille! - The pink goddess calls the twins.

- Let me guess, decorations?

- That's right! Lownote Jones and Guy Diamond help you make everything sparkle and cool - She takes a look at the god of Coolness and the silver god of the Glitter and Dreams. She smirks at the red-navy hair god. - Am I right?

- Oh, you got that right, babe - Lownote says with his low, man voice. He gives Guy Diamond a high five.

- And what do you need ME for, Poppy? - Cooper giggles as if he's already happy with his role.

- You and Gust will prepare some party games!

The orange god of Order cheers and steps to Cooper. They fist bump.

- How much time do you need? - Poppy looks around. - We're making it tonight or tomorrow?

- Tomorrow! - Some voices call out.

- Okay, so we'll meet here tomorrow! Branch and I will be joining your groups one by one and helping with your stuff, but first, we have to find a good place for a party - She smiles widely at everyone and announces: - Thank you all for help! Now, let's make this party great!

Everyone cheers loudly and starts slowly scattering, going somewhere with their groups to get their role on.

- You don't have any special role for me? - Branch asks unsurely.

- Your special role is doing things with me. You don't like it?

- But it's your project, not mine. I don't want to run after you this whole time... - He twists his mouth.

- Hey, I don't want you to be my minion. I need you to be. Here. With me. Equally. Like really great teamwork! No... Like one. Like unity. Not like “you and me”. Like “we”. - She smiles at the azure of his eyes. - Leadership is being for others. And that's what I want to do now. Afterward we'll find the place for the party. Are you with me?

He gazes at her eyes, sinking deeply into them. Every time he thought there's no way to adore her more, she says something like that, something profound, mature, thoughtful, something deep from her pure, wholesome heart and clear, bright, intriguing mind. She enchanted him, charming more and more.

- I am - Branch confesses with a low voice and his answer meets a sound, girlish giggle. Poppy's little hand lands on his face, trying to cover his eyes.

- Don't look at me like this! - She giggles, blushing. - Not now! It's pretty disturbing. We have something to do, remember?

His blue lips form into a wide, warm smile. Now he can't get enough of the word "we" in her mouth.

- By the way, thank you for saving me in front of them - She adds, letting her hand off his eyes to show him her smirk. - You shy dork could do that more often.

- I don't feel like a good leader...

- I swear you'll be a great leader if you want - She titles her head knowingly. - Just give yourself a chance.

Branch chuckles.

- Let's start looking for this place then. Like leaders do.

****

Poppy puts her hands on her hips. She heaves a brief, full of satisfaction sigh, grinning. Oh, her eyes like what they see. The colorful, sparkling lights, clear flat green grass dance floor, Dj Suki standing on the wooden stage with her whimsical, magical machine she calls "a sound equalizer", tasty-looking snacks and refreshments on tables. Oh, the curly serpentines and squat balloons. Oh, the sweet sound of the music, so loud and catchy, it beats into bones, resonates in the whole body, provoking it to move, to let the music take control, to let it wake the mind, making it dizzy and drunk with the overwhelmingly thrilling vibe. Oh, the whole floor is shaking or it's just Poppy ready to dive into the dance crowd the moment it'll appear.

She's bouncing, swinging up and down on her feet, like always she does when she is really excited about something.

And Branch?

Branch was really helpful this whole time. She had been worried that she would have to take care of him, telling him constantly what to do and how. But it was quite the opposite actually. He was watching her helping Immortals and quickly did the same. After two or three situations like that, she noticed, he knew how to lead others, he advised them the way she would advise, or even added something from himself. Soon he got the party vibe and he started suggesting to others his own ideas. The little lights and tables with snacks were his investments, and Poppy wasn't only proud of him, she really felt his support and care. Everywhere she couldn't help, he came. They are truly two unity leaders of this project, as she asked him for. It’s so nice to share her responsibilities with someone.

But even if the preparation was going well and Branch looked genuinely committed, now, when everything is ready, he stands at a safe distance from the party with the Staff of the Light in his hand. It's okay though. Poppy is so grateful for his support, he deserves some time and space for himself. She won't force him to dance until trolls come and insinuate themselves into the party.

The plan is simple: Immortals made the party and invited trolls. If they like it, gods will teach them how to throw one by themselves. So now the main goal is to let them have fun, keeping the party swell. This means, most of the Immortals making this party can just jump on the floor and get a charge of the rave.

Soon trolls start coming. Poppy, as the main host, greets every single one and encourages them to have fun. Tresillo's pack shows them how to feel the music and Dj Suki turns up the music. When everybody's there, getting their grooves on, Poppy decides that this is the perfect moment to take Branch into this juicy beat.

She comes to him and smirks, standing in front of him with her arms crossed on her chest. But he has a prepared answer for that:

- I can't dance with the Staff in my hand. - He announces, showing the thing. - And you know I can't just leave it somewhere.

Oh. He’s right... Her smile falls from her lips. Why didn't she think about it earlier? She gives the Staff her discontent sight.

Her dad, King Peppy, is always saying, that where there's a will, there's a way. Nothing is impossible to a willing heart. And Poppy's heart is definitely willing. She looks around intently, looking for an idea. After a minute, something lying under the nearby tree catches her attention. She goes there to uplift it.

- What are you doing? - Branch lifts his eyebrow with puzzlement, watching as she brings a limb and checks its length against the Staff.

- Nah, too short - She twists her mouth and throws the limb back, walking away to find a better one.

- What do you need it for? - The god gets confused.

- It would be quite embarrassing to dance with the Staff, wouldn't it? - She says, bringing another branch. - Look, that one is perfect!

- For what?

- We both will dance with staffs - Poppy smiles at him, presenting the limb like some genius idea of her. - It would be less embarrassing if we do it together!

Branch collapses a laugh, but noticing that she's standing very still he frowns with shock.

- You're serious...

- Yep.

- But... How do you imagine dancing with a long stick in your hand?

She wonders for a while and starts moving to the beat with her limb. Firstly bouncing slightly and then getting up steam.

- Yeah! - She cheers, now full-on dancing. - What does it look like?

The grimace on his face speaks instead of him. Poppy laughs heartily.

- I don't wanna do... this - He points at her loathly. - And you can hit someone with this limb.

- We'll find the place without that many trolls - She doesn't stop dancing even for a second. She gets close to him, moving her shoulder into the beat. She presses her arm to his, grinding her cheek to his. - Come dance with me - She whispers, showing her teeth.

He looks at her with terror. His eyes are wide open.

- What are you doing - He murmurs.

- You promised to come - She presses at him even more

- I promised to help, not to dance - He groans out.

- But I'm putting pressure on you to dance - She said, still pressing. - Feel my pressure.

- Yeah, I feel it, can you...

- Nope.

- But...

- No.

- Poppy...

- Nah-ah.

He heaves a sigh and begs calmly:

- Sweetheart...

That finally stops her. She lets go of him, letting him stand straightly. She grabs her limb with both hands and gazes at him shyly. He looks away, feeling guilty and awkward.

- I'm sorry - She puts her heart in these words. - If you want, we can stay here.

- You never give up on me, huh? - He looks at her. She shakes her head of course. And he doesn't want her to know how much he actually likes that of her. And how much life energy it gives him. She fights for him to live a real life. How did he live before he met her? He didn't remember any of day or night from those times, but he remembers every single day and night spending with Poppy. Their eyes meet and he feels like that moment of Silence between them calms him down. Oh, her vivid pink eyes, full of waiting joy, make his heart beat faster. Oh, he wants to wake up this joy to flame in those eyes. And maybe in his too...

Branch sighs loudly and smiles.

- Okay, let's try it - He announces and unclenches his capote. It would put him off dancing.

Poppy jumps excitedly and squeals. The moment he leaves his capote under the tree, she grabs his wrist and drafts him into the party. Of course, with the limb in her hand.

They find an area spacious enough to not hit anyone with their staffs. And Poppy immediately gets the flow and starts to move with the beat. But Branch... The loud music and smells of the party, ground shaking under his feet and lights blinding his eyes - those all just hit him in his face, making him freeze. He gazes at the pink goddess dancing next to him with sudden panic. He looks around and notices that nobody actually cares about him standing in the middle of the crowd. Nobody, besides him, finds him an idiot or weirdo. He glances at Poppy once again and her encouraging smile beams at him.

- Just move your arms with the beat! - She yells through the music.

So he tries, shyly moving his hands up and down. The beat is juicy, almost touchable, Branch feels it in his head, in his bones, in his whole body. He doesn't even notice when he starts to move faster, he just dives into the music.

- That's right - Poppy praises him with a smile, looking at him with surprise. - You're doing great!

The god laughs. Dancing with the Staff isn't that bad. Even with it, he can dance, spin, jump, throw his hands in the air. He feels the flow. His heart beats fast. His body moves without his thinking about every step. It just gets the rhythm, the melody, the song which’s playing everywhere. He doesn't notice when he starts singing it. Singing loud, so loud, with others, with the whole crowd. But he notices when Poppy joins in. Oh, she has a beautiful voice. They harmonize so well, even though the noise he hears how smoothly they blend in with each other.

Songs pass, one by another, and they don’t stop dancing and singing. He’s laughing, he’s smiling, nonstop smiling, his cheeks ache, but he doesn’t stop smiling.

Oh, she was right, she was so right. This is so much fun!

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Index

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xcamay · 4 years

Text

Recruiting Chloe.

Hey there! I can’t believe it’s been years since I last published a fanfic on tumblr. And it’s been months since I last finished one... woo! It kind of feels great and rewarding though hehe. However, this is my first time writing a Choices fanfic, so I do hope it’ll be okay... Here goes nothing! Book: Queen B Pairings: Chloe x Veronica, and a little bit of Zoey x MC (Kate). Yes, I know many people don’t ship Chloe and Veronica, because “Veronica deserves better” and “Chloe’s an airhead and a meanie”, but I’m holding onto the fact that there’s more to Chloe than what we know... Warning: not entirely canon-compliant (seeing as I haven’t played since chapter 6 aired... I apologize if it sounds inaccurate sometimes). Also! This takes place after Veronica joined MC’s posse. And let’s forget about the Bacon-alia, okay? AO3 link ________________________________________________________________ “8:12 AM,” Kate slides her phone in her pocket and yawns, stretching her arms above her head, “Congratulations Zo, you got me out of bed early on a Wednesday. You know, the day we don’t have class in the morning.”

“Oh come on, I already apologized. But I really was craving some croissants this morning and I wanted you to try them,” Zoey smiles as she bites into her pastry, humming.

The two young women continue to stroll down the street at a relaxed pace, eating their respective croissant, joking around and sharing knowing smiles and glances. They stop next to a trash can, throwing the small bags while Zoey finishes her croissant, pinky finger raised.

“So? Verdict?” she offers Kate a wide smile, an eyebrow arched.

“Okay, you were right – they’re worth the awful alarm clock. Maybe we should get some more often. It’d be like our moment,” Kate grins as she steps closer, making Zoey grin back.

“Don’t we have enough moments already? You know, as roommates.”

“Is it really enough?”

“Do you think it is?”

“Do you?”

“Oh my god, Kate. Shut up and kiss me.”

“Your wish is my command, milady.”

They both smile before their lips tenderly meet for a few delightful seconds.

“Hey Zo,” Kate murmurs against her lips, “Let’s go back to our room.”

Zoey pecks her best friend’s lips one last time and nods, smiling. As they resume their walk, Kate slips her hand into Zoey’s.

“Wait a minute,” the new girl suddenly speaks, stopping in her tracks and squinting, “Is that Chloe over there?”

“Where?”

“There. Inside the coffee shop.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” Zoey blinks, “Wow. She… she looks so sad.”

“I wonder what happened… Oh well. She probably had another fight with Satan.”

“Not really, no.”

Kate jumps the moment she hears a new, additional voice next to her, “Holy shit! Veronica! Where did you come from?”

The famous beauty influencer rolls her eyes, her lips slightly tugging upward, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

However, her light smile vanishes as she looks at her blonde-haired friend inside the coffee shop. She seems to be tormented, her brows furrowed and her gaze fixed on the table.

“This is supposed to be our moment,” Veronica sighs, an unexpected veil of sadness crossing her eyes.

Kate and Zoey glance at each other.

“What do you mean, your moment?”

“Chloe and I come here every week, on Wednesday mornings precisely because we don’t have class before 10. It’s just the two of us, for breakfast. No Poppy, no The T, no homework, no livestream… except if it gets interesting, of course,” Veronica smiles a little, but it promptly fades away, “There’s nothing else, no one else. Just Chloe and me. It’s our moment,” she pauses a second, then winces, “Or well… I guess it used to be our moment. We’re… not really talking to each other anymore, so well.”

Kate taps her chin several times, “I think it can still be your moment. Nothing’s here to stop you. Except if you don’t want it, of course.”

“No way. I still want it to be our moment.”

“I feel like there’s more to the story than what you’re telling us,” Zoey hums, barely trying to hide her curiosity, “Veronica, do you… uh…”

The two roommates share a glance, hesitating. Should they really ask something as private as that? As they ponder the answer to that question, Veronica beats them to it.

“Do I have romantic feelings for Chloe?”

They nod, and the ombré-haired girl sharply breathes in.

“I do.”

“Then go! Go get your girl!” Kate exclaims, almost bouncing on her feet like a child who was promised an ice cream.

Veronica raises her eyebrows, “You just want me to recruit her for you.”

“Of course not,” the new girl answers, at the same time as Zoey bluntly says, “Yes.”

“Zoey!”

The latter’s eyes widen and she immediately corrects herself, “No, of course not!”

The influencer rolls her eyes, prompting Kate to look sheepish as she scratches the inside of her elbow.

“One of you is at least being honest.”

“Alright… yes. And why not, anyway? With what we now know and with you helping us, I think it’s better if we get Chloe on our side. And I think she will be more willing to listen to you than us. It’s better if you recruit her yourself. But! We kind of want you two to be reunited too, you know?”

“Let’s kill two birds with one stone,” Zoey adds, serious, “Recruit her. But, most importantly, get your girlfriend back. Shoo, go.” ________________________________________________________________ As soon as she steps into the coffee shop, Veronica makes a beeline for the booth she usually occupies with Chloe on every Wednesday morning. However, she feels her heart break at the sight: Chloe is sitting there, alone, staring into space. It seems like she has barely sipped her hibiscus tea – two or three swallows at the most.

“Hey there.”

The unexpected voice startles Chloe, whose eyes widen when she realizes who is standing right next to her. Her heart rate instantly skyrockets.

“V-Veronica! You… Wh-what are you-”

“Is this seat taken?”

“N-no. But… I-I’m sorry but I have somewhere to be,” Chloe says as she abruptly stands, bumping into the table and almost knocking her white mug over.

“No you don’t,” Veronica hastily says, stopping the girl in her tracks. She lightly bites her lip, before adding in a whisper, “Chlo, please… Stay with me?”

“I-” Chloe gulps, eyes darting everywhere.

She looks conflicted, distressed – so much that it hurts Veronica inside – but eventually sits down again, fiddling with her fingers. She looks at everything, everyone but the beauty influencer sitting across from her.

“So,” Veronica clears her throat, trying to get Chloe’s attention, “We need to talk.”

“V, not now…”

“Then when? You’ve been avoiding me ever since you made up with Poppy. We haven’t even been able to spend some quality time together. We don’t laze around on the couch anymore, we also stopped doing our makeup together. You… you’re not coming to my room anymore. Look, we haven’t even had our Wednesday breakfast in weeks now.”

“You don’t understand!” Chloe seems alarmed for a second, but then she lowers her gaze, her light blue eyes reflecting a sorrow she is desperately trying to hide, “I… I-I can’t be seen talking to you…”

“Chlo, look at me.”

But Chloe weakly shakes her head, nibbling her lips, while Veronica resists the urge to grab her hand.

“Chloe.”

…

“Chloe St. James.”

This time, the girl looks up, albeit hesitantly.

“She won’t do anything to you. I promise.”

“She can-”

“Believe me, she better not.”

At this, a light (but pleased) smile graces Chloe’s features, which makes Veronica grin back. The moment only lasts a few seconds though, Chloe’s smile disappearing as she drinks a mouthful of her red-colored tea. The influencer clears her throat and places her hands on the table.

She wants to hold Chloe’s so bad.

“Chlo-”

“Sorry you had to wait,” a voice suddenly interrupts her – it’s the waiter who always serves them. They offer Veronica a welcoming smile, “The usual?”

“Uh, no, thank you,” then she hastily adds, an idea crossing her mind, “Just your best lava cake, please.”

At this, Chloe blinks, but keeps her mouth closed.

“Right away!”

And they leave. Veronica’s eyes land once again on her dearest friend, warmth, affection and worry dancing in them.

“I knew something was up. The moment you left me on read and started avoiding me, I knew something happened,” she sighs, “And surprise, surprise. Poppy’s the one behind all that, right?”

Chloe doesn’t answer – but her silence is enough.

“Chlo, she- she doesn’t have to control your life like that. You should be the one making decisions for yourself. You do whatever you want to do with whoever you want to.”

“I-”

“So what if you want to befriend Kate and Zoey? Or what if you want to spend time with me, the ‘traitorous cow’? She has no right to dictate your life.”

Chloe bites her lower lip, “V-”

“Chlo, you’re… you’re your own person. You’re not Poppy’s little lapdog-”

“I’m her second-in-command!”

“No, you’re- ah. Thank you.”

Veronica lets the waiter put the plate and the spoon on the table, before they leave. However, she doesn’t touch it, yet, capturing her friend’s attention once again.

“Chloe, no, you’re not her second-in-command. You’re the main pawn in her game, that’s all,” the blonde-haired girl lowers her gaze, pain twisting her features, and Veronica reaches for her – to no avail as Chloe’s hand immediately moves back, “Chlo…” she softly says, “You… do realize that, right? You know that ranking first is more important to Poppy than… you?”

“But she’s…” Chloe grabs her mug, seeking some support. Her knuckles quickly turn white before her shoulders sag, heavy, “She’s my best friend…”

“No, she’s not. Okay, she’s the first person who reached out to you here, I’ll give you that. But a best friend? Seriously? A girl who’s too blinded by her crown and who even goes as far as plotting revenge on you just because you ranked first for, what, a few hours? Do you really call that friendship? Is she really your best friend?”

Chloe bites her lips while sliding a shaky hand in her hair, the other still gripping tightly the mug’s handle.

“Chlo… You’re… you’re so much more than what she reduces you to.”

The blonde gulps with difficulty. She looks torn between so many things – what Poppy, her best friend, expects of her, their seemingly one-way deep friendship, her own needs and desires, the pressure which comes with her reputation at Belvoire, the dear friend she fell in love with…

“You deserve so much more.”

Veronica tentatively brushes Chloe’s fingertips with hers, her warm brown eyes never leaving her face, gauging her reaction. A tremor runs through Chloe, forcing her hand to let go of the mug and move back.

“Chlo…”

The beauty influencer can hear her heart suffocate, ready to crack. She is about to retract her own hand when she feels the tiniest, most hesitant caress on her fingers. Chloe looks at everything but Veronica, a light frown appearing on her face while her lips quiver, indicators of her internal, bone-crushing conflict.

“I-” Chloe starts, her voice clogged with guilt and sadness.

She draws in a deep, shaky breath and, finally, looks up when Veronica’s fingers interlace with hers. Her vision blurs as she holds back her tears.

“I miss you. I miss you so much.”

Veronica’s heart skips a beat, and she breathes back, “I miss you too.”

The grip around their intertwined fingers tightens, as if they are scared of letting the other go and losing her for good this time. Chloe’s first tears start rolling down her cheeks the moment their eyes meet, which prompts Veronica to immediately stand and sit on the booth seat next to her. She wraps an arm around her shoulders while the blonde-haired girl covers her face with her hands, sobbing quietly.

“Hey, hey,” Veronica whispers as she closes her eyes and presses her forehead against Chloe’s temple, heart painfully squeezing, “I’m so sorry I made you cry, Chlo… But you have to face the truth. It’s- it’s better if you do.”

“But it hurts…”

“I know… I know. The truth always hurts.”

Chloe shakily sniffs while slowly unveiling her face, trying to wipe all her tears away. She ends up smearing mascara under her eyes and removing her concealer. She looks so tired. Drained. Veronica’s brown eyes soften as she reaches for her purse and quickly pulls out a cotton pad and a vial filled with transparent liquid.

“My hero,” Chloe gives a weak smile, her light blue eyes still shining with tears, “I’m such a mess.”

“No,” Veronica gently dabs the damp pad under Chloe’s eyes, “You’re perfect.”

“V…”

Chloe’s body start shaking again from the tears she is desperately trying to hold back. No one has ever said things like that to her, not even Poppy, her supposed best friend. She could have, so many times – when they were getting dressed for a party together, for example.

You look nice in that dress.

This skirt’s color looks good on you.

Just… a compliment. Some recognition. A little something which would have made her feel like she was somewhat important, like she was worth it. But no. No one has ever said something nice to her. No one… except Veronica. But with Veronica… it only happened when they were in bed together.

You’re beautiful Chlo, she said the first time she undressed Chloe, making her blush.

You were awesome, she murmured once in the shower, pulling Chloe up and kissing her like she was the only one for her.

Chlo, you’re gorgeous, she groaned the day Chloe straddled her, their breathless moans mingling together in a sweet, loving melody.

You know what? I feel so lucky right now, she smiled when Chloe took her time removing her dress, slowly revealing her new red lacy lingerie.

I want you. And only you, she breathed in the crook of Chloe’s neck the day they had their most agonizing fight, kissing every inch of her jaw, throat and collarbone.

I love you, she cried out once, delirious, intoxicated by the friction, the caresses, the kisses they shared during their most passionate night. Chloe’s heart had never beaten as fast as it did that night.

Of course, all these times mean a lot to Chloe. She fell in love with her friend, after all. But right now, at the coffee shop, it means the world to her.

Veronica gently cups her face and brushes her thumbs on her skin, wiping away some tears. A tingling sensation dances in the influencer’s wrists the moment Chloe curls her fingers around them. Their eyes meet for a second and, when the blonde offers a weak smile, Veronica leans in, tenderly capturing Chloe’s lips. Something bursts in their chests, akin to fireworks, while their mouths slide together perfectly, in harmony. Once, twice. Chloe brings their bodies closer, arms wrapped around her lover’s neck, and the latter smiles, her hands landing on Chloe’s hips, right where they belong. Their lips meet again for the third time, impatient.

When they break the kiss, they press their foreheads together, the tip of their noses brushing.

“Babe, I promise it’ll be okay…” Veronica whispers as she strokes Chloe’s soft blonde locks, looping one behind her ear.

A soft, muffled laugh escapes Chloe’s lips as more tears roll down her cheeks, “You know, I really like it when you call me babe.”

Veronica chuckles and kisses Chloe one more time.

… Okay, three more times.

“Feeling better?”

“A little,” the blonde sniffs, hastily wiping some tears away, “I’m still scared though. What am I supposed to tell Poppy?”

“Nothing. Just… forget about her. We’ll deal with her later,” Veronica pecks the tip of her secret lover’s nose, “Just know that you’re not alone anymore, okay? We’re in this together,” and another peck – on the lips this time, “Babe.”

Chloe’s cute little laugh warms Veronica’s heart. She doesn’t look as downcast as earlier; she even looks relieved, like a huge weight has been taken off her mind, and her smile is more sincere, more instinctive. She looks more like herself – like the girl Veronica fell in love with.

“Now, I believe there’s a lava cake waiting for us before class starts. What do you say?”

Chloe snuggles against Veronica, burying her face in the crook of her neck, “Sounds perfect.” ________________________________________________________________ Meanwhile, outside the coffee shop, two girls give each other a high five, squealing in delight. ________________________________________________________________ Aaaaah I’m super nervous. :’3 But well, I do hope you guys liked that fic!

Thanks for reading and please, take care of yourself and your loved ones! See you. ♥

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falseroar · 3 years

Text

Dog Days Part 14: A Welcome Distraction

((Abe takes to the streets in search of the Host, but instead he finds a different kind of performer. Back at his office, he finds a new, seemingly unrelated case waiting for him.

Here are links to the previous part and to the whole series.))

Abe chose to walk to the coffee shop, hoping the walk would help clear his head after a long night and that conversation with Google. That, and he wanted the extra time to take a different route, to see if he was still being followed or not. Problem was, he forgot that weekends were a thing, and it seemed like half the city was out shopping and enjoying the warmer than usual fall weather. He checked faces at every crosswalk, doubled back and looked over his shoulder whenever he had an excuse to do so, but if he was supposed to recognize any of those faces, he didn’t.

Instead, the walk just gave him more time to think about what he wanted to say to the Host once he got his hands on him, and a few creative things he’d like to do to…pretty much everyone who had a hand in getting him involved in this case. All this time spent watching a doctor, and he could have been using it to find out more about the Colonel’s new alias—if he even really was going by a ridiculous name like Wilford Warfstache these days.

The bench in front of the coffee shop was taken by a pair of ladies happily chatting, and a quick search up and down the street found no sign of the Host. There was another street performer there though, who had set up a small booth set up to look like a stage and curtains that could just barely fit one person inside. A burst of laughter came from the crowd gathered in front of the temporary stage, with a few kids sitting so close that they had to look up to what a sign pinned to the top of the stage proclaimed to be “Jameson Jackson’s Jolly Jaunts.” Jackson, probably, was pantomiming alongside a pair of puppets, shock on his face as the cloth detective puppet accused him of stealing a diamond while the other, a cutout of the most stereotypical burglar you could image on a stick, proclaimed that he knew it all along.

As Abe watched, Jackson appealed to the audience and an increasing number of puppets for help, the bit going on until the detective puppet slapped him on the back of the head and he coughed up a shiny rock to the puppets’ shocked silence before they all piled on him, dragging him out of view to the audience’s cheers and laughter.

Cute, but not the reason Abe stuck around after a “The End” card was drawn up on a string, and the puppeteer and a few of his favorites appeared to wave goodbye to the kids before they ran off. A few minutes after the crowd dispersed, the hunter watched Jackson step out of the back of the little popup stage, two shoebox-sized boxes tucked under one arm.

“Need some help cleaning up?” Abe asked as the puppeteer set the boxes down on top of the booth and stretched, visibly glad to be out of the confined space.

Jackson dropped his arms mid-stretch and pointed at his throat, drawing a line across it with his finger before shrugging.

“Oh, you can’t—” Abe paused. “But your show, I heard…”

Jackson smiled and opened one of the smaller boxes, tilting it to reveal multiple identical devices. He tapped a button on the one labeled “Diamond Heist”, causing the puppet detective’s voice to ask, “But what about the cookies?!”

“That’s…actually pretty clever,” Abe said, causing the puppeteer to smile. Especially considering he recalled at least one of the puppets directly responding to something one of the kids called out.

Jackson started to sign before catching himself and pulling a small notepad and pen out of one of his waistcoat pockets. There he wrote, “Thank you, my friends were kind enough to supply the recordings for me. And a few other tricks, to keep it interesting.”

He winked, and only grinned wider when Abe said, “Guess I don’t need to bother with complimenting your ventriloquism skills then. Do you do a lot of street shows like this?”

“Different places, but yes. Mostly on the weekends, more often during the summer for the kids. I’ve done a thing or two in more traditional venues, but that’s more for the older crowd.” Jackson shrugged again once Abe was done reading, as if to say one place was as good as the other.

Abe nodded before asking the question he had been leading up to, “I ran into a guy the other day who apparently sings on the corner around here sometimes, but I’m having a hard time finding him again. Called himself the Host, had bandages around his eyes. You haven’t you seen him around, have you?”

Jackson tapped his chin with the end of his pen before writing, “Can’t say that I have, but I try to avoid performing in an area when I see someone else is already there. Don’t want to be rude!”

The puppeteer hesitated before adding, “I know a few places that tend to be popular with street artists. Why are you looking for this Host fellow?”

“I know the owner of that coffee shop over there, Carla. He was coming around here a lot for a while there and suddenly stopped, and she’s just a little worried so I thought I’d check on him,” Abe lied. Last he checked, Carla wasn’t worried at all, probably because she was used to customers like Abe disappearing for days or even months at a time before showing up again like nothing happened at all. At least, he assumed he wasn’t the only one who did that. Either way, wasn’t like he was about to explain the real reason to some random guy on the street. “Do you mind helping me out?”

Jackson pulled a fancy-looking silver pocket watch out of his other waistcoat pocket, opening an intricately carved cover to check the time before writing his response.

“Looks like my friend is running a little late. If you were serious about helping me pack up, I can give you a few ideas.”

Easy enough, and between the two of them the stage was soon a folded bundle that, while a few feet long, the puppeteer could at least manage to carry by himself, although add in the boxes of recording devices and puppets and it all seemed like a bit much.

“You sure you can manage all of this?” Abe asked as he tucked the list Jackson gave him into his pocket for later. Not that he was about to volunteer to lug all this stuff anywhere, especially considering he hadn’t taken the car today, but he did feel a twinge of guilt at leaving the hipster puppeteer to fend for himself.

Jackson nodded and started to write before he was distracted by a text notification. He took out a basic-looking phone that he probably only used for the text function, considering how he fumbled with it before smiling at the message.

“He’s on his way! Thank you for the help,” he wrote for Abe’s sake.

The hunter tried not to look too relieved, which became a lot easier when for the second time today he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and the clear, sneaking sensation that he was being watched.

Jackson stared as he looked around, Abe’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the people walking by, the busy shops, before landing on a figure standing too still in the narrow, shared drive between the nearby laundromat and florist’s shop for deliveries. A figure who disappeared as soon as the hunter glanced his way, leaving a vague impression of someone wearing red.

“Good,” Abe said, barely listening to what he was saying. “Uh, thanks for the list, I should…get on that now, for Carla.”

Jackson nodded and waved as he walked away, looking bemused and a little concerned for the hunter. Almost as soon as the hunter disappeared around the corner, the puppeteer jumped at the sudden presence of the man standing next to him.

“Don’t do that!” Jameson signed.

“Sorry,” Jackie said out of reflex, not that it ever stopped him from doing it. He was staring at where he last saw the hunter, the corner of his mouth turning down in a grimace. “Who was that guy?”

“Not sure,” Jameson said. “He was asking about another street performer, a singer, I think. Said someone was worried about him.”

“Just that?” Jackie asked, and Jameson shrugged. “…Okay. Let me know if you see him around again, maybe I can help him find what he’s looking for.”

Jameson paused, wondering if he was reading too much into Jackie’s expression and tone of voice, but the vigilante shook his head and picked up the folded stage.

“We should get back,” Jackie said. “I left Chase trying to convince Y/N to wear their collar and go for a walk.”

“Oh, that would be nice!” Jameson signed. “I certainly don’t want to miss that.”

“Great, then you can be the one to tell them about the leash law,” Jackie said, waiting for Jameson to pick up the rest of his materials before motioning for him to lead the way.

Behind Jameson, Jackie shot one more look at where he lost sight of the hunter. He’d have to ask Jameson a few more questions about what, exactly, the hunter had said, and maybe encourage him to set up his act somewhere on the other side of the city for a while. Better to have to get a ride from Chase than to risk running into that man again.

---

Red.

He was sure of it, the person watching him had been wearing red. He hadn’t been able to make out anything else in that split second, but did he really need to?

Google. That thing was watching him, had to be. Probably whatever magic kept him running also made it easier for him to get around without being noticed, or maybe it was a special feature whoever he was working for had added on.

The longer Abe thought about it, the surer he was, until by the time he returned to his office he was furious enough to punch the tin can man, consequences be damned. The fact that his walk around half the city failed to turn up the Host or seemingly anyone else who knew the guy, and he was not in the mood to find someone waiting outside of his office again.

A fact the young woman who looked up and saw him coming seemed well aware of, as the second she saw him she stopped leaning against the office door and rubbed the back of her neck with a heavily-tattooed arm.

“Sorry, think I’ve got the wrong place,” she muttered, already stepping aside to go around him.

Abe sighed and said, “Well, if you were looking for someone who knows what he’s doing, I think you might be right about that. Still willing to give it a shot, if you need help with something.”

She hesitated, giving him time to look her up and down. Short dark hair, young enough to be in her late teens or early twenties if he had to guess. Despite the cold weather, she was wearing a sleeveless top over her ripped jeans, which showed off the full spread of her tattoo sleeves. The ink on her dark skin was dominated by images of waves and schools of fish, to the point the sleeves would have looked just as at home on the arms of a sailor.

“I was told you could help with…finding something of mine,” she said, unable to completely hide her doubt.

“You know I’m a hunter, right? I don’t usually look for things.” Someone sent her here? Carla, maybe, he had asked her to keep an eye out for any potential cases, but of course his luck meant she would she show up now.

“I know, I wouldn’t be here at all if—” she stopped herself and took a breath. “I don’t have a lot of time, and I can’t go to anyone else because…It’s complicated.”

“I get that a lot,” Abe muttered. As much as he didn’t want to, he already knew where this was going. “We can talk about it in my office.”

She nodded, and it wasn’t until after he unlocked the door that Abe thought to say, “Right, sorry about the mess.”

“I’ve seen worse,” she said, not even blinking an eye at the state he’d left the place in this morning. Still, she waited until Abe sat behind his desk before she slowly sat down in the opposite chair, her arms pulled in tight around her. “Like I said, I need help getting back something—something very important to me. I know who has it, but I’m afraid if I try to get it back myself, he’ll…”

She swallowed, hard, and not for the first time Abe thought maybe he should try to keep tissues around here. Then again, she looked closer to being sick than actually crying.

“You know this guy?” Abe asked.

“I thought he was a friend, he thought we were something else,” she answered. “Still does. This is just a stunt to keep me from leaving, or maybe he’s just being vindictive, but either way I can’t risk getting it myself.”

“And this thing he stole would be…?” Abe asked. Kind of an important part of this, after all.

She swallowed again and hesitated, eyes searching him as though trying to find some clue whether she could tell him or not.

Abe returned the stare, before his eyes drifted back to the tattoos on her arm. Loves the ocean, a guy steals something so personal from her that she can barely speak of it, can’t take it to the police…and suddenly it became a story he’d heard too many times before, usually after it was too late to do anything about it.

“Your sealskin?” he asked, and her expression answered for her. A selkie, a seal who could remove their skin and pass for human. Without that skin, she couldn’t change back. “Let me guess, you’re not registered with the city.”

She shook her head. “Couldn’t afford it, and the job at the bar, they don’t really like…my kind. Not human...Are you going to report me?”

Report her, and by the time she was done dealing with the aftermath, wannabe boyfriend would have had enough time to hide the skin or sell it on the black market to the highest bidder, if he didn’t just shred it out of spite.

“Where’s he live?” Abe asked.

Meri, that was her name, was surprised when the hunter returned under an hour later. It helped that the guy lived only a ten-minute drive away, and Abe was lucky enough to find him at home and willing to share where he had hidden the skin, or at least he was after Abe may or may have taken the opportunity to work out some pent-up aggression.

If she noticed the hunter’s split knuckles, Meri immediately forgot them the second she saw the smooth, dark pelt he held up. Her eyes watered as she smiled for the first time since she got here, and Abe rocked back on his feet as she tackled him in a hug.

“Oh my god, thank you thank you thank you,” she said, repeating the words over and over again as she pressed her sealskin to her chest, and now she really was crying and Abe really, really needed to invest in a box of tissues.

“He’s going to report you, you know,” Abe said.

“I know,” she said. No matter how he went about getting the skin, they both knew that’s what the outcome of getting it back would be. A guy like that didn’t just stop, even if Abe left him with a few things to consider. “I was already planning on leaving the city, I just couldn’t go without this. I know someone who can help me get through the watch on the harbor, and from there…”

“Well, good luck with that, and here’s hoping you never have to see me again,” Abe said.

She smiled, and for a second Abe was afraid she might hug him again. Despite her size, that last hug had threatened to crack his spine. Instead, she settled for another round of thanks before walking out of his office, leaving him to sigh and hunt down some ice for his knuckles.

If only all of his cases were so easy to take care of, Abe thought to himself as he glanced at the clock. Looked like he had just enough time to get a nap in before nightfall, when he’d take a drive around a certain neighborhood. Spotting the doctor leaving his home or returning in the morning seemed like too much to hope for, but at least it would make a change from staring at the door to the clinic all night.

Both would be a little more bearable too, after that little reminder that he could at least get something right every now and then.

((End of Part 14. Thanks again for reading! Sorry that I haven’t been responding to the comments--it’s really, really hard not to spoil stuff! I have seen them though and it sounds like a longer part is okay, so that’s what I’ll do for tomorrow. Can’t wait for you all to see where that one goes. :)

Edit: And here’s the link to Part 15: Going for a Walk.

Tagging: @silver-owl413 @skyewardlight @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @weirdfoxalley @95fangirl @lilalovesinternet-l @thepoolofthedead @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @geekymushroom @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-anxiety-blog @shyinspiredartist @avispate @missksketch @autumnrambles @authorracheljoy @liafoxyfox ))

#markiplier #jacksepticeye #fanfiction #detective abe #monster hunter au #jameson jackson #jackieboy man #mistaken identity #hipster puppeteer is not a phrase i ever thought i would use #abe really needed a win

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