#I don’t know. Yeah. I don’t know. Very on the fence but sometimes its tempting

[fi3stazo]

slowly and hesitantly warming up on the idea of posting art here again..

[kellanved-ammanas]

Fine to Meet Everyone

Summary: Scout brings Sniper home for Thanksgiving.

~

Scout’s childhood home was obvious before they’d even reached it. Much like the rest of the houses they were driving by, it was a bit worn and visibly weathered but obviously well taken care of. What made it stand out was the three cars jammed up into its driveway and a fourth parked just in front, partially on the sidewalk. The garage was closed but could’ve easily held another car or two. Which given what Sniper had heard about Scout’s family and their Thanksgiving tradition of everyone returning to his mother’s house for it, was very possible. Regardless of any extra cars though, there were a lot of folk already here.

“Damn,” Scout said as he pulled their rental to a stop uncomfortably close to the bumper of the car partially parked on the sidewalk but not on the sidewalk himself. “I was kinda hoping that maybe we’d be early enough to arrive before a few people at least. Guess that’s hard to do with how little time we’re given off for this even though it’s a gosh dang big holiday in the States which is where we are most of the time so we should get more time off but the Admin wants to be a bitch about it instead.”

“I thought you said no swearing while we’re here.” Which, Scout hadn’t specified but it was probably a good idea to include Australian swears too unfortunately.

“God… gosh dang it. It’s hard, okay? It really only matters we don’t do it around Ma or any of the kids. But anyway, if you don’t wanna go through the front door and meet everyone all at once we could climb the fence and go in the back door. The key’s probably still hidden in its usual spot but if not, I can pick it.”

Tempting. The idea of being confronted with a bunch of new people all at once was fairly anxiety inducing but he’d agreed to come knowing such might occur no matter what steps they took to try to buffer it a bit. Plus he wanted to make a good first impression on Scout’s family, sneaking in around back didn’t seem like a good way to do that. So… “Nah, I should be okay, I think.”

“All right. If it gets to be too much though just tug my shirt sleeve and I’ll be stricken with the sudden idea that I gotta take you out back to see the tree house. And then we can hang out alone up there for however long you want, in the hammock too if its still there and not dirty or torn apart or whatever.”

With a grunt of acknowledgment, Sniper unbuckled his seat belt and got out of the car. He waited for Scout to make his way around to him before starting up the side of driveway towards the front door. Part of the railing along the stairs leading up to it was broken and held together with a single wrapping of duck tape. That didn’t seem quite trustworthy so he avoided touching the railing as they made their way up to the door.

Upon reaching it, Scout didn’t hesitate before pressing the doorbell. It was the kind that was loud enough to be heard from even out here, though faintly. He pressed it quickly twice then a third time for a couple seconds before pulling his hand away. “That’s the secret code to let them know it’s family and not a door-to-door salesman or some religious nutjob trying to sell a different kind of bull-poo.”

“Those kinds of folk that big a problem out here?”

“Sometimes, yeah.”

Before anything further could be said, the door opened. It was Scout’s Ma looking much like she did in the family photos Scout had shared, though a bit grayer in the hair and shorter than Sniper had expected.

“Jeremy, you’re earlier than I’d expected. Not that I’m complaining of course. It’s good to see you.” Her voice matched her face perfectly as she leaned in to give Scout a quick hug.

“Yeah, yeah. I wanted to try to get here before everyone else did but failed.”

“Oh hon, that’d be real hard to pull off with how early the twins like to get here.” She turned her smile onto Sniper now. “And you must be Mundy It great to finally meet you.” She held out a hand of him to shake. It was warm and only slightly less callused than Scout’s. “Jeremy here talks about you on the phone all the time. I’m the one that told him to ask you out after how many times he mentioned that he liked you. Except, the reason he hadn’t yet was because he didn’t know how to approach men and was afraid to try. I had to give advice. Nothing wrong with needing advice of course, just a fun bit of info.”

“Ma,” Scout sounded just like he must’ve as a petulant child, “you didn’t need to tell him that. I asked you to try not to embarrass me, remember?”

“Dear, before you two leave, he’s probably gonna hear far more embarrassing things than that about you. But a man’s not worth keeping if he leaves you over hearing a few stories from you family about you being a bit silly sometimes. But anyway, come inside both of you.” She stepped back, gesturing for them to follow her inside. “Since you two just flew in and have to fly back tomorrow morning, you’re exempt from helping prepare dinner. There’s plenty of help already anyway.”

Inside the house was warm and already smelled of cooking food. She lead them a bit further to the living room. The TV in the center was on but no one on the couch or seated in the various chairs – some clearly always there, others dragged in from elsewhere – seemed to be paying much attention to it. A corner of the room was sectioned off as a children’s play area. All together, the room was quite full. Scout had a big family. Luckily everyone was too wrapped up in their conversations, play in the case of the kids, to notice the three of them enter.

Scout’s mother clapped her hands just loud enough to cut through the conversation, drawing everyone’s gaze. If Sniper weren’t taller than them, he might’ve tried to step behind Scout to hide a little. As it was though, he just managed to hold himself steady.

“Guess who arrived early,” Scout’s mother said. “Meaning we’re all here now. Remember to be nice to our guest. Jeremy really likes him so let’s not try too hard to scare him away. Also it’s time to change who’s working in the kitchen.”

Evidently having discussed this, a handful of the adults in the room stood and started making their way towards presumably the kitchen. Scout’s mother patted him on the shoulder and whispered something in his ear before starting that way herself.

Even with those people gone, there were still a lot of people in the room, all of them looking at him and Scout. If Sniper had ever been in so small as space with so many people before, he couldn’t recall it. Some of the faces he recognized from the photos Scout had shown him, though he couldn’t put a name to any of them. Names had always been difficult for him to remember and until recently he didn’t think he’d ever meet any of Scout’s family. But they weren’t just casually sleeping together anymore and so… here he was with a bunch of strangers staring at him.

Scout looped his arms through his, pulling him closer and breaking his frozen spell. “I’ll introduce everyone to you unless you wanna go see the tree house or my old room first.”

It was tempting to accept that offer to flee but… with Scout here holding his arm through his, it wasn’t so bad. “I’m uh… fine to meet everyone, I think.” He could do this.

“Awesome. Don’t forget the signal if you need to leave though.” Keeping hold of his arm, perhaps because he wanted to or because he knew it helped, Scout pulled him deeper into the room to start meeting everyone.

By the third introduction, Sniper had already forgotten the first but he was also more relaxed. Having grown up with so few people around, being around this many at once was a lot, but if he was going to continue his relationship with Scout, he was going to have to get used to this type of thing. That wasn’t necessarily bad though, even if it was a stressful thought. But maybe one day, he’d even be able to remember all these people’s names and enjoy their company.

[vminity21]

Beyond the Facade | knj

Pairing: handyman!namjoon X preacherskid!reader, bestfriend!taehyung X pregnant!reader, f2l!au

Word Count: 10,958

Genre: mysterious/angst/fluff/smut

Warning(s): strong language use, semi-detailed childbirth, mention of infidelity, alluding of a love triangle, evidence of a sheltered background, angst involving family matters, smut, losing virginity, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), nipple play, hand groping, lots of flashbacks but that is the point of the story i sorry; Rated: 18+

Summary: A sheltered life leads to harbored secrets that are buried in order to protect someone you are falling in love with. As the time is nearing for the life growing inside you to be welcomed into the world, the reminiscences of all the moments unfold to reveal a beautiful story that needed to be told.

Credits to: @suhdays​ for making such a phenomenal header! The talent she has never ceases to amaze me!

The graying of the clouds is all you can see beyond your window other than the panging rain droplets now trickling upon the glass. Arm resting against your forehead, your lips press into a straight line in response to the series of thoughts circling your mind. Carefully, you slide your palms upon the mattress in an attempt to sit up, wanting to see more of the view besides the crying sky. Knuckles curling to rub your tired eyes, you furrow your brows, the comforting warmth of the bed covers remain tangled between your shins. Leafless trees border the side of the building save for a small swing set; a paved section decorated with a basketball hoop where a large shed stands many feet across from it. If one is to step outside the front of the structure, there sits a church surrounded by a gravel parking lot where the neighboring land hosts a barbed wire fence with an abandoned house and field.

It's been four months since you deemed the fellowship hall your home, and appreciatively, the area has been vacant since the falling of the church which saves even more stress than what you've been in since moving here. Achingly, your legs stretch to move off the bed before your feet land onto the grainy carpet. Your right-hand slips to steady your back, maneuvering your body to scoot to the bed frame, which has become a daily routine, weak fingers gripping the wood until your digits become pale white. Letting out a steady sigh, with all your strength you lift yourself to where you can stand, "Oomf," a small whimper escapes past your lips, tensing at the cringe plaguing your shoulders.

Being seven months pregnant sometimes has its perks, but this isn't one of them. Bending your body forward slightly, you step sluggishly toward your dresser, pulling out maternity clothes lent to you before the move.

"So, when are you going to tell us?" The soft murmur belonging to your mother echoes from the driver's side. Her expression submits an evident mixture of exhaustion and exasperation; though it's been a month since the announcement of your pregnancy, your mother is currently driving you to a doctor's appointment for a checkup on the baby to make sure everything is okay, "we have a right to know."

Arms crossed over your chest in mild annoyance, you bite the corner of your mouth until the side of your head meets the window, getting lost in the line of trees zipping by.

Waddling into the bathroom, the vague memory fades, your hand reaching to turn the knob of the shower. The squeaky sound along with rushing water splatters against the shower curtain sending a soothing jolt of excitement. Chilly air springs goosebumps over your limbs once you're freed of your clothes, waiting patiently for the water to warm before inching into the tub. When steaming liquid soon dribbles among your frame, a grin of satisfaction sparks brief happiness you needed an escape to. The heat of the downpour eases your aching bones, fingers clasping behind your neck to lean your head back, "Oh!" You gasp in surprise when the instant feel of a kick happens within your tummy. Eyes flutter down in the direction of your swollen belly, palms moving to caress it, "Look at you, what are you trying to do? Escape?" Cooing with a light giggle, when the baby kicks again, you can't help the giddy smile tugging at the corner of your lips. Now, this- this is what you love about being pregnant. Finishing up, you dry your hair before swiftly dressing along with brushing your teeth.

Thoughts still pertaining to the small life growing inside you, you've decided since your first doctor's visit that you do not want to know your baby's gender until the day that you give birth. When you presented the idea to your mother, she was all on board, proclaiming how she had done that with your younger sibling. Running a brush through your hair, you skim one final look into the mirror formerly then head to exit the bathroom.

Gradually sauntering through the mini hallway, you're more zoned on the way your hand pats upon the wall in some form of maintaining stableness to the point you hardly notice almost slamming into a tall figure.

"Oh shit, I'm so sorry!" A deep voice panics, raising his arms in a way to catch you though your arms mirror the same. Heart ramming, a breath of relief winds past your parted lips- your eyes scanning the slim legs that follow to the handsome face of Kim Namjoon. His eyes enlarged apologetically.

"Oh Namjoon, you scared me," a tender chuckle sets the feel of calm for he sees the amnesty etched in your eyes.

"I'm so sorry, [Y/N], I was about to head out to mow the lawn, but just wanted to check and make sure you're okay," he timidly scopes the view of your huge abdomen, gulping once his hands rest loosely at his sides, returning his eyes to search yours before a sweet grin spreads upon your face.

"It's no biggie. Thank you for checking on me,"

His dimples show from the way his lips press in a tight smile, nodding in reply, timorously turning to waltz to the outdoors in preparation of the day ahead. You watch until he disappears from your line of vision; the creep of a blush burning from your chest to your cheeks. Raking your hands through your hair, you force yourself once again to deny the attraction seeping through your soul thankful your blush attacked after he left.

Kim Namjoon works for your father, making sure the church grounds continuously stay clean and cut creating a pretty environment to the eye. Protecting the land is another part of the job description- protecting it from any loiterers, wild animals, protesters, etcetera- maintaining flower bushes encircling the area as well as mini projects your father will want Namjoon to build. The swing set, including the shed, happen to be plans that Namjoon successfully constructed due to your father's wishes. In return, Namjoon is provided a place to live- the room that once held your father's office, is now changed into a bedroom.

It's strange for you to think about it now- how so much has changed in just seven months, when a year ago the church was thriving, unaware of the secrets that clouded within the audience. Squeezing your eyes shut, a reminiscent from the beginning of your pregnancy rears its head causing a tiny brink of nausea to form.

Taehyung's arms drape around you tightly, embracing you in all entirety that your eyes shut against the crook of his neck. Your fingers squeeze his shoulder, legs bent across his thighs while tepid tears spill onto your cheeks.

"Shhh," he tries to comfort, his breath tickling your exposed ear- your face still buried beneath his chin, "It's going to be okay," he whispers just as soft as the flicking fire burning amongst numerous candle wicks. Scents of vanilla blends with birch fitting the dimly lit bedroom that you're thankful exists other than the man refusing to let you go until you feel better.

"How?" You choke back another sob, "How am I going to tell my parents? How am I supposed to confront the church if that's what it comes down to? Shit... My dad is going to fucking kill me," Taehyung's shirt is soaked, but he could care less, tangling his long fingers into your hair to stroke the back of your head.

"Okay, now, you're being dramatic,"

"So, maybe I am? But you know very well that my parents aren't going to take this lightly,"

"Yeah, but I think it's safe to say that telling your parents you're pregnant is far better than if you were to tell them how you truly feel about religion,"

"Okay? Perhaps, you're right," a snippet of a frustrated huff leaves your trembling lips, "especially not with what's been going on with the church, I don't know how much more they can take,"

"Well, your dad should have thought of that before he had an affair with my mom," Taehyung's icy tone brings chills to your frame before he loudly swallows, lips firm from the anger boiling behind his almond eyes. Tendrils of his bright, red hair glow regardless of how dark the atmosphere is, and you hardly hold back the sheer pain stabbing your heart from the guilt you can't help but endure.

"Tae, I'm so so sorry,"

"Hey," he peers down at you, realizing he may have taken his comment too far, even though you're just as angry towards your father as your best friend is, "you didn't know," sniffling back the remaining mucus clogging your nostrils, you desire to face Taehyung no matter how foolish you think you may look, scooting your body to where your palm indents in his mattress next to his legs, his arm now rests around your waist, and for a split second, you're close enough to where the tempting appearance of his striking face beckons the strange glimmer of longing. A longing of curing whatever loneliness you're going through, but you're not the only one experiencing this moment for Taehyung's lips part just enough to plead your attention.

You can't stop yourself, and you don't, because before either of you comprehend, you close the gap letting the delicate wave of his kiss caress yours. "Tae," you breathe against his lips, reuniting with his kiss almost immediately while a dizzy spell of want travels through your chest. You know this isn't right. He knows this isn't right, but too many pent-up emotions between your hearts have gotten out of hand, and for now, all the two of you have is each other. His fingertips move to tenderly trail your jaw, gasping into his mouth when the tip of his tongue circles yours before you move to trap him in a perfect straddle. You need something, anything to feel whole again- something to forget about the people you lost and the people you will lose. And, if there's anyone in this world you do not want to lose it's him.

There's no refraining, there's no hesitation, just the growing pace of the kisses, and the way you're so enthralled with how beautiful he feels squeezing you tighter to him. "[Y/N]," he moans, hating himself for how far he wants to go with you, yet he craves your touch, nearly supplicates for it. You want to feel his skin, and the aching throb below you seems to deafen any other screams of stopping, and yet, your fingers move to the end of his shirt, peeling it just enough to expose the solid wall of his abdomen. "[Y/N]," he stops you, breaking the final kiss, his hand covering your wrist, while your eyes frantically search the side of his face, "We- we can't,"

You haven't seen him since, because of the boundaries that were crossed and would have been farther crossed if Taehyung had not had the strength to stop. The pair of you have been best friends since childhood, and neither of you wants to take anything beyond for the sake of feeling empty, but he assured you that night, even after your panic of apologies pouring from your mouth, after the humiliation that shackled your system, even after the daunting assumption that your friendship was over- he cupped your cheek, promising that he was still here and that he would never end your attachment over something, you both will never regret.

It's a secret you've suppressed for some time. Taehyung calls every so often when he can; dealing with his broken-hearted father on top of two jobs consumes every bit of his time. Yet, you can't help but miss him, the one person who loyally stayed by your side even when you came forward to your friends about your pregnancy. And, the one friend who still loves you all the same, even after discovering his mother's affair with your father.

Rage isn't enough to describe the resentment against your father, and ever since you told your parents that you were expecting, and ever since your move, you haven't spoken to him. You'll never forget how torn your mother was- depression weighing heavy on her, and that's something that's hard to forgive.

Your mother looks frail as she twiddles the crumpled tissue in her hands. Tears brim her eyes through the silence in the car, sparse sniffles breaking your heart into a million pieces. The two of you had just come back from the grocery store to restock the kitchen in your recently new home and are now parked at the church's back door to drop you off. You hesitated upon leaving because the thought of your mother having to return home to a place of remorse is the last thing you want for her. The promise of a car was granted to you, but you turned it down, refusing to accept anything from the man who caused so much pain to your family. To Taehyung's family.

Running the tissue underneath her eyes, she speaks, "[Y/N]?"

"Yeah?" Your voice is barely a whisper, but the guilt from how stressed your mother has been is something you wish you could carry instead of her. After the betrayal of your father as well as him resigning from the church to send people away from the place they once sought refuge in- on top of her oldest daughter being pregnant with her first child is already a lot to handle. The other frustration you bite your tongue from expressing is the fact of your parents refusing to let you get a job until the time after you give birth. You want to make the money to provide for yourself and your son or daughter without the dependence upon your parents- your mother especially, yet you're grateful for her adamancy on keeping you from any risks outside of the walls of your home.

It takes a moment before your mother gathers her words, "Do you- do you think you could ask Namjoon to help take you to the hospital? Whenever it's time... for you to have the baby?"

It was easier for your mother to ask that of you because he lived in the same building, and if any emergency of your water breaking happened earlier than expected, at least you would have someone available to take you to the hospital. Your gaze clears from the zone out you've had the whole time standing in the entrance of the hallway before Namjoon left. Turning on a heel, you decide to return to your bed, slipping under the covers- you're too wide awake to sleep as of now, yet the foam of the mattress eases the soreness of your back once you lean against the pillows.

-Four months earlier-

Queasiness envelops your abdomen to where you recognize the cue, rushing to the porcelain throne to heave whatever yellow liquid is left- spurting it into the toilet while you grimace through the pain. The door swings open behind you mixed with heavy footsteps quickening to you. When large hands swoop to hold your hair back, you don't have the strength to look at the intruder due to the continuous retching that deems you defenseless.

"It's okay, it's okay," the deep voice is soft, and relief brings tears to your eyes when you recognize it to be Kim Namjoon. You're embarrassed once your stomach gives you a break, your palms pressing to your forehead while you slump against the wall.

"I'm so sorry," you whisper, swiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Namjoon scatters to find a tissue, patting the corners of your lips.

"You don't have to be sorry,"

"That... wasn't what I was apologizing for,"

A knowing glance is all he must give for you to share whatever thoughts you can't bring yourself to voice. He was your friend before all of this, yet you failed to mention to him about the pregnancy, and with him being the worker of the Church- he didn't discover your budding stomach until the day you moved in. His eyes flicker away from your stare toward the slight protrusion of your baby bump due to your ruffled t-shirt. He settles on the floor across from you, silence being the only conversation held. He isn't one to hold anger, and though you kept him unaware until your third month of pregnancy, he refuses to leave your side, making a pact to himself he will do whatever it takes to provide the care that you will need. As well as the little one.

Despite the emotional roller coaster, you remain amazed with how he keeps his patience with you. A day of depression to a random bout of laughter- memories turning of the betrayals of close friends who judged you immediately the day you put your trust in them- the freedom you craved away from the sheltered life your father forced upon you- even days where you can't seem to put your tears on pause, yet Namjoon holds you through every grieve.

"What if... what if I'm not good enough?" Your voice shakes between sobs- you had been dreaming restlessly yet another night, tossing within your bed to the point Namjoon came to check on you- rushing to pull you into his arms the moment your eyes fluttered to reveal pained tears. Your words nearly shatter him- pulling away just enough to where his eyes lock with yours.

"How can you say that, [Y/N]?" The faint light of your lampshade causes his face to glisten- angelically, you decide, yet the shadowing doubt of motherhood plagues you still, because what if you genuinely can't care for the child that you're six months away from holding? Fears encompass you like an ocean, smashing along your mind in harsh waves. "Look at me," are the words that snap you from whatever sea you were suffocating in to realize you had unintentionally switched your gaze from him. It's the calming effect the warmth of Namjoon's eyes bring when he exposes whatever faith he has in the woman you are and will become. "You're going to do just fine, believe me, I know it,"

Sniffling, you run the back of your hand along your chin where an escapee of a tear dangled, "How can you be so sure?"

"Because when have you ever given up on anyone that you care about," it's not a question, he's stating what he knows to be a fact. Something he learned of you when he first was hired to tend to the property. "You're stubborn when it comes to winning someone over. I was determined not to befriend anyone here. But you changed that for me, remember?"

A knowing tug of a smile trembles into a stretch upon your lips, "I do,"

"Same with the baby. I know you will love that little one more than life itself. It doesn't have a choice, and you'll let him or her know the second they're born,"

When a hearty snicker leaves your mouth, you notice the sticky feel of your drying face- you are no longer crying.

"You don't have to do this alone, [Y/N]. You showed me that even when I didn't know what else to do. Now, get some rest, okay? You have a doctor's appointment bright and early," the bed creaks from the gradual movement of Namjoon standing,

"Wait!" You speak before you can stop yourself, Namjoon immediately pausing- the heat of his arms is felt beneath your palms from your pounce of panic, and with evident chagrin, you shyly stare at his chest, "Can you uh, ... Can you stay in here with me tonight?" You've refrained from asking sooner due to the shame of not telling him the news that's become apparent, and even now, you haven't been able to comprehend how he's not the slightest bit angry with you. When his arms encircle you closer to his frame, no words need to be said because he's already answered by just this gesture. Nuzzling into his embrace, the side of his chin pressed to your forehead, "Whoever it is, I hope they grow up to be half the person that you are," you whisper, squeezing him tighter, infinite smiles now ending the night that cures any ounce of uncertainty.

By the fifth month of pregnancy, you finally come to the realization of how selfish you have been- it's no longer about you and your needs; it is now about the needs of your son or daughter growing within you. Namjoon catered to every grocery store trip, stocking the kitchen and in return, you choose to cook for him every meal, hoping to show as much appreciation to him that you can.

"Have you thought about any names?" Taehyung's voice muses on the other line of the phone, the sound of him bringing a small smirk upon your face. You've missed him terribly so, yet the acceptance of surprise phone calls is all you can settle with for now. At his question though, you pause with the tilt of your head, taking a quick sip of the broth that you're currently heating on the stove.

"No?" It's a brief question of guilt, something you haven't been ready to ponder, "Honestly... haven't thought that far ahead yet," you add in the vegetables to boil within the broth.

The familiar, deep chuckle is all you hear to gain an idea of what your best friend is about to say next, "I should have known,"

"Alright, Birkenstocks. What do you mean by that?"

"Breezing past that mistake. You named your Parakeet, Bird,"

"Well, in my defense, I was seven years of age,"

"And in my defense, playing basketball in Birkenstocks was supposed to start a trend,"

"Since how? I-"

"Ask Hoseok,"

"You lost a bet didn't you-"

"And, I will pay for it for the rest of my life, now won't I?"

"With me around, you will,"

Hoseok is the deacon's son who's dream of fashion has been shunned by his family, yet he designs in a sketchbook Taehyung hides for whenever Hoseok and he share the same work shifts. He's not one you have had the opportunity to communicate much with, but you're thankful Taehyung has someone to maintain a friendship with while you two have been apart. A short response of silence settles while your cheek and shoulder squeeze the phone for a moment as you stir the steaming vegetables.

"You could have named the bird, Tweety at least-"

"Oh!" You playfully growl, "Back with that again, huh?"

"Do I need to send you a link of baby names-"

"I promise you, Tae, I do not plan on naming my child, Kid, okay?"

"You'd be surprised-"

Taehyung's excitement for his future Godchild brings a simmering joy to the surface of your pattering heart. Almost as equal to the eagerness, your mother has shown with this being her first grandchild. Graciously, your mother has never been as strict as your father, hence why the past five months have gone much smoother then they would have if your father had never had an affair with Mrs. Kim.

The phone call ends whenever dinner is finished, and by that time, Namjoon scuffles through the door- the outdoorsy scent drifts to your nose while you place the sweltering bowls of soup on the table. Namjoon shimmers his feet from his work boots before hanging his coat, timidly glimpsing in your direction to confirm you're okay.

Small talk ensues with the typical questions of how each of your days has gone once the pair of you take your seats. One secret, yet another you and Taehyung have harbored, is the awareness of Namjoon's atheism- something your father must never learn of his worker. Namjoon, who will not admit it, works on the church grounds in order to provide for his family who lives a few miles up the road. Ultimately, there are many secrets not worth sharing to your parents, not only for the sake of sanity but for the protection of the ones who you've kept close, especially Namjoon. With your father being the tyrant of a priest, he used to be, there is still the potential distress of him firing Namjoon over the mere difference of beliefs. Something you refuse to let happen while you're around.

Clinking spoons replace conversation, for how long, you're uncertain; the fog of your thoughts seem to consume upon one in particular- something that has remained festering long enough, yet you have never said it aloud- figuring this moment may be the time that you do. Namjoon confided in you and Taehyung once he found comfort in trusting the pair of you- even subjects that one would have never expected him to open about. Guilt presents itself to the point your eyes squeeze shut, opening them to move your spoon to play at a piece of broccoli swimming in the potage.

"They don't know," your words are careful- slow even- continuing your vision on the dinner before you. You can feel Namjoon's soft eyes on you, his expression confused. "They don't know who the father is," that's when your gaze trails to meet his eyes just for more guilt to manifest behind them. By they, you're referring to your parents, as well as every other soul excluding Taehyung, "I won't tell them." Namjoon slowly nods with the sense of understanding, knowing the cost that will be taken if your father were to know who you're trying to bury beneath this web of fear. "Besides," you sigh heavily, "I'm surprised my father was lenient enough to let me live here," you confess, "if he wasn't so guilty over the affair, I would be homeless-"

"I wouldn't let that happen," Namjoon says suddenly, destroying whatever anger you were dwelling upon. Your mouth falls open in shock at his words and the frilly flutter of your heartbeat is hard to ignore. After living here for two months, he's proven time and time again that he means what he says; what he just said. Speechless, the rest of dinner continues in fond silence, your heart refusing to steady for the man slowly captivating your heart.

The sixth month of pregnancy gifts swollen feet and aching bones on top of your belly growing heavier by the week. Namjoon has stayed loyal- tending to your pregnancy cravings in the dead of night, aiding to your discomfort whether it involves a heating pack or a cup of ice, slipping under the covers on nights you want him to hold you, driving you to every doctor's appointment without any hesitation; with all that he's been doing for you, it's like your feelings have blossomed deeper which you know shouldn't be happening with the peril of your father finding out. The unexpected visits from your father are few, yet you usher the reminder to yourself of protecting Namjoon, though he carries the weight of facing your father instead of you who avoids the confrontation.

Night comes quickly after a day spent cleaning up the nursery that seems to be coming together, other than the crib Namjoon's been building- something you accidentally discovered when strolling close to the shed one sunny day. He's so dedicated to the unborn infant, it nearly brings you to tears, glancing around the elegant hues of multiple pastel colors painted across the room with stuffed animals, blankets, and furniture he continues to gift you amongst different items your mother has added to the collection. You always enjoy the sporadic visits from your mother, because she's free to celebrate the life that she refuses to consider as a sin.

"Are you thinking boy or girl?" Your mother elbowed your side earlier today after moving around the furniture.

"Hm," you hummed happily, thankful for the relationship that's being redeemed with her, "you know? I'm not very sure,"

"I can tell from all the colors you've chosen," she teased, "it looks beautiful," she cooed, pulling you into an accomplished side hug. You didn't want to stick to just pink or blue, so you chose every other shade in between, colliding the space with colors that could go for either or. "You're going to be a wonderful mother,"

The sound of the front door opens distracting you from the former memory, staring down at the table that now rests heaping plates of chicken and rice. The fellowship hall used to be filled with numerous rows of horizontal tables mingled with circular ones where the crowd would come to camaraderie to joyful hymnals, delicious food, reflected testimonies without any warning of the secrecies soon floating to the surface. Now a solo table, the one planted before you, pairs with a few sparse chairs just enough to seat at least four people.

"Hiya," you greet, trying to ignore the subtle increase of your heartbeat. Namjoon flashes a kid-like smile once he shutters out of his jacket, "How was your day?"

"It was good, thank you," he replies, taking long strides until he makes it to you, "How was yours with your mom?" His right-hand steadies the small of your back while his left one clutches yours to help settle you into your seat. It's hard to focus on the question he just asked when the scent from outside seems to heighten the attraction you already feel towards him, "It was good," you manage to say, reaching for the silverware to begin digging into your food, "Thank you... For helping me," the distance between your stomach and the table now is something you've been trying to get used to as well as the turmoil of trying to stand and sit.

"Anytime."

A blush floods your cheeks when he holds your timorous stare, so you avert your eyes to your dinner, letting the obvious feeling of Namjoon watching deepen the red shade on your skin. A few minutes disappear into time before you feel a shove against your abdomen from the inside. Your hand instinctively flies to press upon the baby bump, Namjoon jumping at the motion, stopping mid-chew, while his eyes enlarge in surprise.

"It's okay," you chortle at his reaction, "it's just the baby kicking," his response reminds you of the moment you felt the baby kick for the very first time- similar to a weird flutter that's hard to describe, and it had taken you a second to realize what it was exactly- just your baby making its presence known to you. Namjoon swallows the bite of food in a nervous gulp, the pang of his silverware mutes from where he lays it on the napkin.

"Here," you murmur affectionately preparing to stand to your feet. Namjoon immediately jolts from his chair, rounding the table to gather your hand in his. Instead of relying on his strength to help you position yourself, you plop back onto the seat, sliding his hand to the area where the baby kicked a few minutes prior. Namjoon kneels to level with you, his plump lips ajar mirroring the widen stance of his eyes while he patiently waits, his nervous heart pounding in his temples. It's the exuberant joy in his smile that meets his eyes in a dazzling glow the pure second the baby kicks again, and the bliss of delight smothers your heart in so many ways imaginable at this moment the pair of you are capturing together. Your hand remains resting upon his while your eyes lock repudiating from breaking contact.

"I told you that you don't have to do this alone," he whispers, and it's then you come to the awareness of how near his face is from yours, his dimples visible from his smile to the point you press your lips to each one, shocked at your act of boldness, but you can't refrain. He's too handsome and too wonderful to stay away from any longer. That's all the invitation needed, for Namjoon's lips brush yours igniting the sparks of what you've been trying to suppress for way too long. Your fingers find his hair when he leans to deepen the kiss, moving his hands to rest on the chair, fingers pressing into the wood until pale white.

At this moment, you don't care what anyone thinks.

You are in love with Kim Namjoon, and there is nothing in this world that's going to scare you away from that.

-Present day-

The pitch black outside the window brings frustration when you awaken to scold yourself for how long you've slept. Gathering yourself once the fatigue rolls off, you cautiously sit up, scooting to the bedpost until you're on your feet. Taking a trip to the restroom, you notice upon exiting the clock on the wall reads seven pm, and you wonder if Namjoon has made it inside for the evening. It's eerily quiet save for the air conditioning, but you pause when you see the lights are on in the main area of the building. Shrugging, you waddle around the corner until the sudden shouts of, "SURPRISE!", nearly knocks you to the ground.

Gasping, your eyes widen while your hand flies to your chest. A prolonged second interferes before your brain deciphers the two individuals cheering before you. Numerous pink and blue balloons hover to the top of the ceiling matching the colors of a cloth decorating the one table now adorned with a cake and wrapped gifts. "What?" You can barely speak from the light headiness taking over, but the tears that well in your eyes when you see the boxy smile of your best friend sends you in an attempt to run just to crash into his arms. He meets you halfway, surrounding you within his embrace as he rocks you back and forth muffling your wails of joy into his checkered sweater. Your soaked cheeks are wiped away from the material as been done countless times before, and his tepid palms squish your cheeks when he steps back to gesture toward your belly.

"Wow look at you! Your belly is huge!"

"I'm still in denial of how fast this pregnancy is going!" You say breathlessly, you're so happy to see Taehyung, you can hardly contain your composure. Namjoon steps forward with his hand reaching to squeeze your best friend's shoulder. Taehyung's fiery strands are curled upon his forehead, lustrous beneath the lights as it always has before, "Your father let you come?" There's a seriousness behind your voice at the question because you are cognizant of the fury Tae's father has against the church from the events that occurred what, in some ways feels like a lifetime ago.

"Well, no," Taehyung winces mischievously, "I told him that Namjoon and I were going to a basketball game,"

"Of course, you did, you sly fox,"

"You know you love me," Tae pecks your forehead before leading you to the table where the sweet whiff of cake flatters your nostrils.

"You guys didn't have to do this," you're still wiping tears off your face, though it's evident that your crying is from untainted gratitude, "What did I do to deserve the two of you?"

Namjoon kneels, intertwining his long fingers with yours, using the tip of his thumb to tickle circles upon your skin, "Taehyung mentioned how when you were kids that you loved surprises, especially if it involved a small party of some sort so," he tilts his head toward Taehyung, "And I knew how much you missed him, too. I just wanted to do something to celebrate you. And, the baby,"

It doesn't take much to smother this man in kisses nowadays, and once you express your thankfulness to the men before you, Namjoon reads your mind, snatching a small kiss in return.

"You two are on kissing terms, again?" Taehyung teases while you poke your tongue at him in mild embarrassment. Namjoon does not know of the moment you and Tae shared, and that's something you're not ready to talk about, and with the cutesy scrunch of Namjoon's face, the memory escapes to the back of your mind for now.

By the end of the night, the frosting had met all three of your faces- some smushed into Taehyung's hair while some swiped across Namjoon's neck, and your eyebrows are smeared along with the possible suspicion of some getting up your nose. Cleaning the mess takes a while, but nobody in the room would trade it for anything, and it's good stalling to prevent the night from completely ending.

Walking Taehyung to his car is the only dread overwhelming your system because you're not sure of when you will get to see him next. Tears flood your eyes, breaking Taehyung's heart as an awe of shame gusts past his lips, "I'm sorry, [Y/N]. My dad's expecting me home soon,"

"I don't want you to go," you choke, on the brink of bursting at the seams- Tae fumbles to tighten his arms behind your back- him trying to be mindful of your abdomen being pressed too firmly against his frame.

"Please don't cry," he whispers near your ear, "Please, please don't cry," His lips curl from the tears burning within his own eyes wishing with all his strength he could rid of the aching hurt that has kept your friendship separated. Tae swiftly pulls away when he remembers another present, he meant to give you earlier, whirling around to unlock his car, bending into the vehicle while his hands shuffle around the floorboard in a desperate search for whatever he wants to show you. When he turns to face you, a sharp inhale of glee echoes into the night- the lopsided plush of a heart is attached to a blue body ornamented with yellow polka dots that match its mouth. "Oh my gosh!" You squeal, "Tae, it's adorable! Where did you find this?"

Wiggling his eyebrows in pride, he hands it to you, "I made it myself. And," he pauses for effect, "since you have trouble naming things, I did the honors and named it for you. I introduce, Ta Ta."

"Ta Ta?"

"Yeah, like 'Ta Ta... for now,'"

"Just when I thought I couldn't love your dork of a self even more," you exhale, slamming your eyes shut just to bury your face further into his chest, not able to breathe in his scent from the clog of mucus stuffing your nose.

"I love you, too." His voice thickens with emotion, "Now, quit saying it like you're never going to see me again, because you know I'm not going anywhere."

"You promise?" Your cold nose moves to press into the corner of his jaw where steady breaths move between your parting mouth. It's a serene moment where he turns just enough to glimpse at you, engaging in the beauty he's always found within your heart. Taehyung's agape lips now rest centimeters from yours when his large hands raise to rest his fingertips along your flushed cheeks- the curls of his frizzy hair pressing to your forehead, prickling your closing eyes. You discover your free hand enfolding around his wrist from the daunting desire looming from what's been left unspoken, and the shiver in his breathing brushes your chin once the light touch of his nose cuddles to yours. You both stand there for a seeming reel of eternity, battling the inward mayhem of choice that's displayed itself on the invisible line tempting to be traversed.

"I promise."

He hadn't kissed you, but there was no denial that he wanted to, especially with the way your face has haunted his dreams since the night your lips met in emotional patterns of sorrow. But, deep down, he knows it's too obvious of a choice if the one for him is to be you, but the love that has been kept for you will never go away. The same as a tether of your heart will forever be his no matter how deep your love goes for someone else. Kim Taehyung will always be your poise- your muse- the soulmate of a friendship that you will always need.

Toddling to the nursery upon Tae's departure still presents the boiling tears from your tired eyes dripping off your cheeks as you set Ta Ta beside the koala plushie Namjoon gifted you; the humor involving the struggle of both Taehyung and Namjoon carrying the crib Namjoon built for the baby taunts a smirk at the corner of your lips. It's dark besides the faint light of the hallway behind you, giving you just enough to admire the scenery around you- sniffling back what you can before reaching to cover your quivering chin with your hand. You've missed Taehyung. You miss him. And, how beautiful of Namjoon to surprise you with your best friend's presence? Reuniting the three musketeers from once upon a time?

Little do they know, from the unearthing of your pregnancy to now, the two men have mended your broken heart and stitched it back together again piece by piece. You're highly uncertain of where you would be without them, and just the thought alone is one you refuse to dwell on. While memories turn like a spindle of loosened thread, a revelation halts you in your tracks. The thought rings loud and clear gracing a wide smile on your face while one more set of tears dampen the corner of your eyes.

After scolding yourself for so long for not thinking hard enough on the subject,

right here, hands grasping the handlebar of your future child's cradle,

you finally have a name picked out for your little one.

-

2 months later....

"Namjoon, I'll be fine," the pointed look you flash him prompts a nervous chuckle once his hands rest to rub gently along your sides. He's concerned as he's been almost the entire pregnancy, but of course, now his worries are heightened to an extreme, "I'm not due until next week. Don't worry,"

"I know," he groans, tugging you closer just enough to plant a warm to kiss to your neck, "But, I can't help it."

"I'll be fine," you drag the word with a teasing sound of a whine. Namjoon shaking his head at you with a smile you're now feeling upon your lips. "Mm," you hum into his kiss, your hands sliding to squeeze his shoulders in reaction to how impeccable it feels. You end the moment simply to gaze at him, "You'll be back before you know it," you assure him- his trip to the grocery store being the plan for the afternoon.

"Okay," he says tenderly, eyes flickering to your lips once more before leaning to brush them to his own, "I love you,"

There's a small pause, one that entails warmth smothering your chest in giddy sensations when his eyes steal yours after pulling away, "I love you, too, Joon," watching him head out the door until the truck disappears along the road.

Of course, the day doesn't go accordingly the way you expect, because on carefully prodding to the kitchen in preparation to cook breakfast, a slight ache ensues within your abdomen. "Oh," you groan, stroking the area with your fingertips before deciding to lay down for a bit instead. When reaching your room, the sharp pain of a cramp returns causing a harsh cringe as you lean against your bedpost, hardly able to concentrate on the attempt of climbing onto the mattress. You remain hunched over for five minutes, forcing slow breaths to prevent from panicking, and when you find the coast to be clear, you straighten yourself out.

Suddenly, before you can comprehend what's happening, a gush of water splatters onto the carpet soaking your feet in the process.

"No," you whisper, eyes frantically scanning your room for your cell phone. Namjoon shouldn't be far with the grocery store only being a few miles away, but in order to get a hold of him, you must find your only way of contacting him. Hands pat your bed, thrusting off the bed covers and shaking them roughly, yet no 'thump' is heard before you cast the covers in a pile onto the ground. The next destination leads to the restroom, with no luck of your phone being in your bedroom- when another wave of pain shoots within your stomach, you gasp, trying to endure through the discomfort with all your might.

Leaving a water trail behind with every step you take, you desperately search the countertops before stepping into the area that holds the kitchen, wondering if there is any possibility it may have been left behind there. Your feet meet the cool surface of the tile floor, your gape scanning the entirety of the space before a pant of relief escapes past your dry lips the second your shaking hands gather the device. "Agh!" A contraction surges, hands squeezing your phone unintentionally, yet you grimace just enough to maintain your focus on the task at hand. Managing to get the phone ringing, it doesn't take long until you hear the man of your dreams at the other end of the line.

"Hello?"

"Joon, it's time," you choke, voice thick with pain.

"Oh, shit! Hold on tight, I'm on my way, just hold tight, I'm coming-"

You just happen to be running by the church in favor of dropping off the work truck keys to your father when he unintentionally introduces you to the new employee you assume he plans to hire, "[Y/N], this is Kim Namjoon. He's going to be taking care of the church grounds for us, isn't that wonderful?"

"Hello, it's nice to meet you," you greet, underlyingly suffering from the attraction swarming to your reddening cheeks. When your father mentioned of hiring, you never anticipated the person to be this overwhelmingly breathtaking.

"It's nice to meet you too, Ma'am," Namjoon's polite nod mirrors the dimples evident from a soft grin, his hand reaching for yours to shake before your father continues the tour of the place you've grown up memorizing. But something initiates you to stay, eyes lingering on the back of the tall figure decked in a turtleneck covered by a green jacket complementing a pair of jeans along with brown shoes. There's a spark of intuition that day, one that ignited the prominent determination that you want to get to know this person even if your father ends up finding out.

Namjoon busts through the door with pure alarm etched in his voice, "[Y/N], I'm here! Baby, I'm right here," he immediately jumps to where you are, keeled over on the floor, throwing his arm around you until he lifts you out of the fellowship hall and into the work truck. Words you attempt to form are muted by whimpers, tears brimming your eyes from the pain that doesn't end, "I'm going to grab the suitcase, I'll be right back," time must be faster than you can measure for Namjoon arrives, slinging the suitcase into the backseat before slamming into the driver's side.

It takes a while for the newly found employee to warm up to every opportunity you take in order to get to know him. One thing he's slowly but surely learning is that you're not one to give up so easily- something you've noticed him picking up on, especially on days, you annoy him when he's on call to build a project. You make it clear to talk to him nonstop until he acknowledges your existence, and the times he doesn't breathe a word results in a call to Taehyung.

"Come help me," you plea hearing Taehyung's exasperated sigh on the other line.

"You are so annoying,"

"You know you love me, fool," you gloat because with defeat, your best friend reluctantly joins you, even accompanying a basketball just in case if Namjoon happens to fancy sports. Your girlfriends, Luna and Jo, were informed of your undying crush on the mysterious worker, crossing their arms in jealousy that you half-heartedly ignored.

"He doesn't even come to the services," Jo droned, "Don't you think it'd be best to get to know someone that's more... active in the church? Like the pianist's son, Min Yoongi. You two had such a cute relationship when you were three-"

You can't get past why no one seems to understand that you must win Namjoon over, and though Luna and Jo have seen the world along with you since childhood, you roll your eyes, turning on a heel, "I'll catch you later,"

Tires screech along the road while Namjoon swerves past cars on the highway, hands ghost white from the tight grasp he has upon the steering wheel. Meanwhile, your hand grips the bar above you while your other rests upon your belly- the keenness of getting to hold your baby in your arms is all you're thinking about other than Namjoon who's keeping you sane.

"Just a few more miles and we will be there. Just breathe," his voice is unsteady from the fright of this situation, but he upholds his enlarged gaze upon the road. He fumbles for his phone- trying to contact anyone from your family in order to tell them the news.

"GAH!" Leaning forward, a wail echoes within the vehicle as another contraction attacks.

"You guys aren't going to stop until I'm your friend, am I right?" Namjoon's elbows are folded from the hold he has on the basketball meeting his chest. Tae jumps sporadically in front of him with outspread arms preparing to prevent the ball from flying into the hoop.

"Damn straight," you shrug your shoulders in observation of Namjoon's tilting head.

"I thought church girls didn't cuss,"

"And I thought you'd have more game than the basketball," You retort.Tae halts, straightening his frame, eyes flickering between you and a quiet Namjoon, "Now hurry up. If you win, I will leave you alone for good. If Tae wins then we treat you to dinner and a movie. How does that sound?"

With an incredulous shake of his head, Namjoon smirks, "Okay," the scuffle of his converse is heard on the pavement when he briefly turns to toss the ball toward the hoop. The basketball pangs the ring, twirling ferociously to the point, your heart begins to sink, but to your pleasure, the ball tips off the rim, landing in a rejoicing Taehyung's arms.

"HAH!" You sprint, colliding into Taehyung's embrace while Namjoon tries to stifle the smile overtaking his lips, "Looks like it's going to be a burger and fries' kind of night," you wink, unaware of the hope that Namjoon has of wanting to gain your friendship just as much.

The hospital entrance appears after the rush of Namjoon turning into the parking lot soon helping you out of the truck. The suitcase will have to wait being he can retrieve it later, his ultimate goal is getting you within the building to where you're safe. "It's okay, it's okay," he tries to appear relaxed, but everything becomes a blur until a nurse with fluffy, black hair approaches with a wheelchair to help settle you in. His nametag reads 'JIMIN' – him rolling you quickly down the hall when the presence of a female nurse whose nametag reads 'MONNIE' helps you change into the nightgown upon arrival of the hospital room. Voices are mingling together from the pounding in your temples, but Monnie keeps her hands gentle on your back to lead you to the bed where she hooks you up to what seems like a million machines whilst providing as much comfort to you as possible.

Namjoon's calloused hand covers yours when one other nurse, Jungkook, floods the room, bringing a chair for him to sit in. You're not sure of all the commotion that's overwhelming the room, but you steady your breathing as Namjoon directs, squeezing his hand through each contraction. You recognize the doctor, Kim Seokjin, a tall man already dawned in a scrub hat, mouth mask and gloves, scurrying to where you are, "Alright, I am going to check your dilation Ms. [Y/N], just breathe in and out." Slamming your eyes shut, you whimper from the discomfort, "Alright, she is dilated three centimeters. Once you are at ten centimeters [Y/N], you will begin pushing. No worries, I will alert you as soon as I need you to begin. Keep breathing. Everything will be okay,"

"Taehyung... My mom... Dad-" you murmur deliriously between breaths, the foggy sense of your conscious outweighing how to speak properly.

"No worries baby, they're on their way. They're on their way right now," he sweetly kisses your perspired forehead, running his free hand through your tangled hair.

The three musketeers were official after the day at the basketball hoop, eventually learning of Namjoon's atheism as well as him providing for his family.

"My dad couldn't find a job that pays enough, so I promised him that I will do whatever it takes," it had been six months since Namjoon had been hired, and currently is finishing his final paint to the shed while you and Taehyung sit Indian style in the grass. "Thanks to the job here, I can afford the rent for my parents as well as give them my car since here, I just use the work truck..." Namjoon sharing more in-depth with his life story- you finally get what you've been determined to gain since meeting him.

It's weeks later that you'll never forget, leaning against a mini, red monkey bar after sharing your feelings toward the man you've grown so fond of. There's no denying the feelings he's had for you, and once he inches closer, the crave to hold his hand has never been stronger. Boldly, your fingers trail to intertwine with his, your nerves close to getting the best of you despite the persistent smile that hasn't left him. When you find the bravery to look up at him, he swallows calmly before leaning in, you stand on your tiptoes to meet halfway until your lips touch. The slide of his arms encompassing your frame feels so inviting when he presses his body to yours. The world is put on pause to you and nothing else matters other than the way his lips move so elegantly- your arms wrapping around his shoulders while he sways you from side to side.

Time doesn't seem to speed up through all this pain, but the adrenaline swimming in your veins peaks when Dr. Seokjin prepares to check your dilation again. "Ten centimeters-" He confirms, "Alright, [Y/N], the baby's coming. When I say push, you push. Okay," he positions himself though you can't see anything past your gown and raised knees, "One, two, three! Push!"

"AGH!" You grunt, a small scream vibrating at the back of your throat once you push with every fiber of strength, you can muster.

"Breathe, breathe," Namjoon's hand hasn't once left yours- sweat pouring from your scalp while the burning agony overpowers your body.

"Is she here!?" The click of darting heels enters the room and are loud enough for it to catch your attention. "Oh, honey, I'm here!" It's your mother- scampering to your side with the undeniable blur of Taehyung's red hair following suit. You want to ask where your father is, but before a chance is given, the doctor shouts, "Push!"

"AAAAAAAGH!" You manage, body straining in all its entireness. Taehyung jolts to let you squeeze his hand along with Namjoon's. His features show nothing but fear at the sight of you being in so much strife, yet he holds it together enough to cheer you on.

"I'm- I'm so glad you both are here," you cry- another sixty seconds drifting before the shout of, "Push!" erupts.

"I'm scared," you murmur in the dimness of the room. On your knees, Namjoon's soothing hands glide along the tops of your thighs motivating you to run your hands along his forearms. You don't know where your parents are, and you're too angry to care. You're bushed of the fighting so, you sought comfort in being here, with Namjoon. Taehyung dropped you off at the fellowship hall with the promise of not breathing a word- because if your parents were to find out remotely of your whereabouts, you'd hate to discover what the consequences will be.

"Me too," his nervous eyes investigate every inch of your face. You've never been with anyone this way before- secretly hidden away from the world outside trying to suppress the revealing crave of what you're curious about. Scooting forward, you drape either leg around him, propping yourself enough to where your arms lace around his neck.

His breath hitches from the gesture- your lips erotically aligning with his in slow movements, heat rising below you when you feel the hardening of his being beneath your sense, "I want you," you whisper. He knows that you're a virgin, and with care, he lays you on the bed, hovering above your frame where your bodies align perfectly. "Are you sure this is what you want," concern consumes his countenance, but you desperately bring your hands to cup his cheeks.

"I don't think I've wanted anyone so much in my life,"

You gasp into his kiss where he slips his tongue along yours- the sensation one you've grown used to from the slovenly kisses leading up to this very night. You give Namjoon permission to sneak his large hands underneath your shirt, trailing up your ribcage before swallowing your breasts whole in his heated palms. Nipples so sensitive, your heat drenches the moment he realizes the effect it has on you just by merely brushing the rising buds, lipping at your neck while he basks in the beauty of your moans. "More," you beg, "Please, Joon, more." When clothes start to be thrown off, you're determined to pleasure him, but have not an idea on how to do so. "Show me," you breathlessly demand, Namjoon's palm leading yours to encircle his twitching being. You stroke his erection as shown, biting your lower lip from the throbbing feeling of your core- him instantly finding your entrance to fill it with his fingers as carefully as he can- both of you pleasuring each other, yet still getting lost in kissing so deeply, the two of you forget to gasp for air. The sensation of heated pressed bare skin can be the most beautiful thing, especially with the way your legs entangle with his. You're surprised the feel of his prodding fingers didn't bring as much discomfort as you would have originally anticipated, but when he brings a hand to his penis, he rubs his tip along your slit letting the sloppy sound of you leak onto it. "Holy shit," he moans from how soaked you are for him- his fingertips finding your clit while yours dig into the backs of his shoulders.

Smoldering kisses move from your lips to your breasts, down your abdomen to your inner thighs where you tense underneath his touch that slides to hold your bottom half where he can scan your heat. The tip of his tongue swipes upon your slit excruciatingly slow to the point your fingers tangle with the material of the bedsheets. The smacking sound of his lips savor your taste while his tongue circles your core- you're hyperventilating from how deliciously he flicks his tongue upon your slit, screaming his name relentlessly- the speed of his skilled mouth driving you wild from the growing climax beckoning your stiffening thighs, "Oh, Namjoon, oh- Joon- I- Oh!"

He's not ready for you to finish because there's more he wants to show you. Hovering above you once again to see you coming down from your high, your heaving chest longs for his touch, and he nearly comes undone from the smile embellishing your face. His tracing fingertips parade along the outline of your body in featherlike tickles while the sounds of panting breaths mingle with shifting sheets bring subtle music to your ears for the rest of the night. The gentle parting of his lips grasps your own in smooth movements persuading arousal streaming from your core. Your fingers now link with frilly tufts of his hair, gripping the strands in reaction to the pressing of his bare chest to yours, dreaming of nothing more than to be entwined with him for what you hope will be forever. Hips grinding into yours prompts the light moan teasing his ears for more before his mouth trails to pause above your pounding heart. His hair brushing your chin, your arms glide to wrap around him holding the hope that he will never let you go. Not even for a second.

"Alright, one more! Almost done! Push!"

Sucking in one long breath, with a compulsory scream, you push with all you have left in you. Exhaustion weakens your limbs, yet a rush of relief floods your body when the cries of an infant reverberate within the room. With heavy eyes, you turn to see your mother with tears cascading down her face and onto the back of her hand covering her agape mouth- eyes remaining locked in front of her. Taehyung's gaze doesn't drop though his fingers loosen from yours at the small bundle immediately apprehending the eyes of every individual. Right then, you move your head to your other side where Namjoon gradually rises in awe- his hand still has yours. Gathering any ounce of strength, you're ready to see the child you've been waiting to hold for nine months, so cautiously you sit up until your stare meets Dr. Seokjin's. You can see the smile in his eyes despite the mouth mask, and what he says next brings you to tears, "It's a girl,"

"Oh!" You thrill, anxious to meet her while the nurses scurry to clean her up.

"Sir, would you like to do the honors?" The doctor gestures a pair of scissors towards a stiffened Namjoon whose eyes are welled with hushed tears. He can't even speak, yet he nods from the happiness exploding beneath his chest.

"Wait," Your mom says, "Is- is?"

It's a moment that seems to fit the setting for your father walks in, as if on cue, shoulders slumped from the anticipating tension now darkening the room. Taehyung's shoulders tensed at the sight of the man he despises, but for the sake of you, Namjoon and his Godchild, he keeps his composure enough to ignore the elephant now standing in the room. The fear that used to consume you upon your dad unraveling the truth about your secret vacates you when you know that you and the two men present can conquer anything.

"Yes," the answer is to your mother, but your stern glower of warning is only connected with your dad's although your mother's stare remains on you, "Namjoon is the father."

Namjoon stands with pride while he accepts the pair of scissors from Dr. Seokjin- your father, with a shocked expression, watches as the man he hired happens to be the same man who stole his daughter's heart without his knowledge. Yet, he refrains from anger, because who is he to ruin such a precious moment about to unfold here?

Pictures are taken of Namjoon cutting the umbilical cord, his fingers gently rubbing his daughter's cheek while he wipes at the tears dripping from his eyes. Jungkook takes her into his arms to weigh her before wrapping her in a plush pink blanket, "She is seven pounds and five ounces,"

Endless joy envelops your heart from the scene playing out before you; especially, when the vision of your father's quivering chin, admiring his granddaughter leaves you speechless along with the hope of redemption entering your beating heart.

"Are you ready to hold her?" Monnie's kind eyes match her smile when she touches your arm.

"Yes," you stifle a sob, "I want to hold her,"

Monnie poses her arms to where Jungkook places your daughter, Monnie guardedly turns to rest your baby into your arms. Her small face chortles, her eyes closing while she puckers her tiny lips. "She's so perfect," you cry, love in all its beauty falling from your eyes while you watch your daughter's fingers fold individually upon her chest.

"Just like you," Namjoon whispers, locking eyes with you before inching forward to give you a loving kiss.

"I love you, Joon," you whisper, pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth.

"I love you, too."

"Uh," the deep serenade of your best friend interrupts, all attention abruptly turning to see him raise an index finger in the air, "So, as the Godfather, I must ask a very serious question," the room chuckles along with him as they patiently wait for his request, "What's her name?"

"Ah," you nod, realizing that hasn't been made known to anyone other than to yourself. Your mother steps forward to place her hand upon your shoulder while your father keeps his distance enough to not cause any trouble- though the two of you share a small smile to let him know all is well. Namjoon watches you in admiration- the woman of his dreams holding his child in her arms while facing her deepest fear yet holds her head with pride about the man she will spend the rest of her life with along with her daughter swaddled to her chest. You are everything he's ever longed for and more, and he's ready to defeat any storm in life if it's with you and his daughter.

To answer Tae's question though, you return to face him, tears gathering in exhilarating bliss.

"Taejun." Her eyes slightly open at the hearing of her name as a tiny smile adorns her lips,

"Her name is Kim Taejun."

[angst-fairygodmother]

Puppy Love (A Light Fingers Moment In Between)

A/N: Sometimes I say words, and other people say words, and stuff happens. Part of me wants to say AU because it would be easier, but I love making things More Difficult on Purpose.  Word Count: 2333 Rating: G(eneral Audience)

You tapped Diego on the shoulder, nodding your head in the direction of the faint clatter you’d heard. 

The pair of you had popped in to stop a home invasion, but one of the perps had taken off with a priceless family heirloom, and you’d agreed to give chase. Unfortunately, he had a head start and you had lost him in the warren of a crowded parking garage. 

Diego pressed a finger to his lips and nodded, gesturing with his free hand for you to circle around while he approached from the front to draw attention.

You met his eyes for a brief moment, lower lip worrying between your teeth. You gave his arm a brief squeeze before nodding and setting off. No matter how long you’d been doing this, you worried about him when his plans worked out like this, with him picking fights so you could have the element of surprise. As you moved, quick and quiet, something felt wrong about the situation. Hesitantly, you fingered the knife that Diego had insisted you started carrying on these jobs, not pulling it out yet, but reassuring yourself that it was there and easily accessible. 

There was another scuffling sound and a soft whine, one that didn’t sound human. You picked up your pace now, running in the direction of the noises. There, huddled in the corner of the garage, caught and tugging on the corner of a dumpster, was a small, shivering dog. 

“Hi there,” you said softly, sinking low and holding your hand out as you crept closer to the frightened creature. 

You heard pounding footsteps behind you as Diego ran up, the sound making the dog yelp and try to cower more.

“Shh, shh,” you hummed, shifting to sit cross-legged in front of it, blocking it’s view of Diego, and giving you a more steady position to hold the little creature still while you unhooked it’s collar from the sharp, bent edge of the trash.

Once freed, you expected it to squirm in your arms or try to run, but instead, it stayed, pressed lightly against your leg, shivering. It was covered in so much mud you could hardly tell it was meant to be white and stank horribly (or maybe that was the bins), but you were pretty sure someone would be missing it. 

“Think you can find our bad guy on your own?” you murmured as Diego peered over your shoulder. “I don’t want to abandon this little one to its own devices.”

He couldn’t help chuckling. “Yeah, I got it. Meet you back here?”

“I’m not waiting for you by the dumpsters. I’ll meet you by the entrance.” 

~

After returning the expensive and hideous brooch to the family, and turning the would-be-burglars over to the cops, you and Diego made your way home, the little dog wrapped in a towel in your arms. The family hadn’t ever seen it around before, and the tag had the dog’s name, “Penny,” but no name or address of an owner.

“It’s alright Penny,” you told her as you walked. “We’ll get you cleaned up, take some nice pictures and put up flyers. I’m sure someone’s missing you and will be excited to have you home again soon.”

“Why don’t we just take it to the shelter?” Diego asked gruffly, trying to hide how cute he thought Penny was.

“Shelters are overcrowded and understaffed. They have a hard time caring for the dogs that need homes, let alone the ones that just got lost and get brought to them. Besides, I...want to make sure her family gets her back, and that’s easier to do if we make the handoff.”

Diego shook his head, slightly exasperated. “Fine. But if it takes more than a few days--”

“We’ll discuss that only if we have to.” You shifted the dog so that you would have a free hand and bopped Diego’s nose teasingly. “Don’t be a grump.”

He gaped at you. “For that, I’m not helping you wash it.”

“Of course you’re not, baby. You’re going out to buy kibble and a leash.” You smiled winningly at him.

~

Penny was with you for just over a week before you got a call during dinner one night. The man on the other end of the line said that he had seen your flyers and was sure that the dog you found belonged to his elderly mother. She had been worried sick when the dog slipped out, but hadn’t been able to follow it, and because of his work, he hadn’t been able to put out ‘missing’ posters. You told him you were glad he called and asked if he had evidence the dog was his or his mother’s. He told you he’d bring a picture of the two of them together, and arranged to meet you at Griddy’s Doughnuts the next morning. 

During the time she was there, Penny settled in quite well with you and Diego, excited when either of you left and came back, quite happy to sit on your laps while you watched tv or read at night, curling up at the foot of the bed when you went to sleep. She and Diego in particular, for all his protests, seemed inseparable. For all his protests at first, he seemed to enjoy all of her antics, and slipped her food off his plate when she gave him big sad eyes and he thought you weren’t paying attention. When you told him that her owner had finally called, he hid a frown behind a cough.

“Diego,” you sighed, seeing his face fall anyway. “You knew we couldn’t keep her…”

You were just as sad as he was, if you were being honest. You had never really imagined yourself a dog person, the idea of having a pet so far off your radar as to be unfathomable. But Penny had slotted into your lives like a missing piece, and as glad as you were to return her, safe and happy, to her home and the people that loved her, you and Diego loved her too.

“I know,” he said softly. “Just. It’ll be weird once she’s gone.”

You bit your lip, considering the words that bubbled up your throat before letting them fall from your tongue, nearly as impulsive as your marriage proposal.

“Ya know...we could...get a dog of our own?” you shrugged, trying to play off the idea as a casual thought.

~

It was hard not to be overwhelmed by the smell and sound within the shelter’s kennel area, over two dozen dogs baying, barking, and bouncing on the chain-link fencing as the pair of you were led through to an open area where you could do some meet and greets. 

Nervously you sat on the bench, fingers laced with Diego’s and running your thumb back and forth over his knuckles. 

“Hey,” he said, leaning in to whisper in your ear. “Talk to me.”

You shrugged, biting your lip. “I dunno. This just feels big, suddenly. And what if we can’t find one that likes both of us, or what if we fuck it up. I’ve never...taken care of another living thing before. Not by myself.”

“You take care of me all the time,” he said, tugging you into a hug. “And you won’t be alone. We’re in this together remember?”

Your smile was watery but genuine as you returned the hug, burying your face against his neck.

“How did I ever do shit without you?” you murmured, backing away but not fully letting go.

He didn’t have a chance to respond with more than a squeeze of your joined hands as Martin returned with the first dog. 

“I thought we’d start with some one-on-one interactions with a few dogs I think would be a good fit based on what you told me, and then we’ll see who clicks and you can have some time to play with the top two or three, pick from there.”

You nodded, holding your hand, palm out, toward the black lab tugging at the leash he held. He introduced her as Sheila, and while she seemed friendly, your heart wasn’t in it. The same feeling continued through several other perfectly nice dogs, and though you were both tempted by a roly-poly border collie puppy and by a sweet but very lazy bulldog, as soon as the handler had left the room with them, you’d looked at each other and known it wasn’t right. 

“Can we...maybe, just walk through the kennels and see if something I don’t know...calls to us?” you asked hesitantly after about the eighth dog you felt no real connection with. 

“Oh!” the man looked surprised you had even suggested it and took a long moment to process the request. “Sure, we can do that.”

Wrapping his arm around your shoulder, Diego pulled you against his side as the pair of you followed Martin back into the kennels.

“You know we don’t have to find a dog today, right?” he asked softly, sensing your continued nerves. “If nothing here works out, we’ll keep looking.”

“I know,” you sighed. “I just…got really excited, and now I feel like we failed or something.”

“Well, we haven’t yet.”

Suddenly, you stopped short, jerking Diego along with you, so quickly that your guide didn’t even notice. Staring up at you, his black fur almost lost in shadow but for his white bib, the boxer gave you the biggest, saddest eyes you had ever seen. Crouching down, you tentatively reached your hand outward, pressing it against the chainlink.

“Hi…” you cooed as he edged forward, crawling on his belly until he could sniff and then attempt to lick your fingers from the other side. 

Diego mirrored your stance, kneeling in front of the kennel door, and by the time Martin realized you were no longer behind him and doubled back, the pair of you were enraptured and the dog was no longer cowering, instead bouncing and pawing at the fence to try and get to you, tongue lolling out of his mouth and slobbering on as much of you as he could reach. 

“Oh,” he said, sounding almost disappointed. “You met Duncan…trust me, you don’t want him.”

“What?” you asked, whipping your head around to look at the man. “Why not?”

“He was born here, runt of the litter so for a while no one wanted him. Now he’s almost two and he’s ended up back here from four homes already. Can’t figure out why, but he just doesn’t work out.”

“Well there must be something going on,” you argued. “Or else that wouldn’t be true right?”

Martin shrugged. “I guess. But it ain’t my place. I just know the poor bastard’s probably going to live his whole life in there.”

“No,” Diego said, turning to you and smiling when you gave him a brief nod. “Because we’ll take him.”

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea. And it seems cruel to give him false hope a fifth time.”

“It won’t be false. We won’t give up on him,” you insisted. “I understand wanting to protect him, and us, but please. Just...trust us.”

“You’re sure there’s not another dog you want instead?”

“No,” Diego said firmly. “We want Duncan.”

At the sound of his name from Diego’s mouth, his ears perked up and he sat down patiently, expectantly almost.  

We know a thing or two about loving the unloved, you wanted to say, this was fate you wanted to argue. But how could you even begin?

“Let’s go take care of the paperwork and...see what my boss says.”

~

Later that night, as you rested your head against Diego’s chest on the couch, not really watching the movie on the tv, you found yourself anxiously drumming your fingers on his knee.

“Y/N,” he said knowingly, catching and stilling your hand, rubbing his thumb soothingly over your knuckles.

“Do you think they’ll approve us?” you asked, voicing the question on both your minds.

“I don’t know. We just have to wait,” he chuckled, shaking his head as you opened your mouth to interrupt, “patiently. And see what happens. Hope it’ll work out.”

You groaned. “Why do you have to be right all the time?”

“It’s a carefully honed talent.”

~

Diego’s keys jingled in the doorknob and you held your breath, praying that your companion would stay quiet.

“Just another minute boy,” you muttered. 

As soon as you heard the door shut behind your husband, you let go of Duncan’s collar and he bounded over, his entire body wriggling along with his stubby tail. Diego swore, startled by the dog’s sudden appearance from around the corner, and you couldn’t help laughing as you followed, more sedately behind.

“Wha—” Diego said, kneeling to ruffle Duncan’s ears, leaning away as his lolling tongue tried to lick his newly accessible face. 

“You didn’t steal him did you?” he asked, teasing smile lighting his features.

“I am hurt and offended that you would even suggest such a thing,” you said dramatically, a hand pressed to your chest for effect. “This was completely legitimate, and Duncan is now our dog. Or technically my dog, until you go sign your copy of the adoption contract tomorrow morning.”

“That’s...we have a dog…” he breathed, shock settling over him. 

“Diego, are you crying?” you asked gently, concern overriding your amusement. 

He was silent and you moved to his side, sitting down, next to your husband and dog and wrapping an arm around each of them.

“They’re happy tears right?” you asked, feeling some of your own building as it suddenly struck you that this right here was a family, a happy family, and all your own. 

“The happiest,” he murmured, managing a quick kiss to your temple just before the moment was broken by Duncan licking a long stripe up his cheek and flopping over onto your laps for a belly rub, sending you both into a fit of laughter.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

End Note: Is a studio apartment an appropriate space for a boxer? Should inexperienced owners adopt a dog that the shelter thinks is a “problem” dog? Probably not, as a rule. But individual dogs have individual needs, they’re active-lifestyle adults, we’ll assume there’s a dog park nearby, and also it’s fiction and I think it’s cute, so...

[artificialqueens]

I'm Not Into Sometimes, Chapter 2 (Rosnali) - SnowBun

A/N: Very proud of this chapter <3 finally feel myself getting back to the writing style I enjoy the most. I hope you like reading this is as much as I like writing it. much love everyone xx

Summary: When Denali goes viral for posting a dance video, she doesn’t expect it to lead her to becoming a choreographer for Rosé, an up and coming singer destined for fame. Denali thinks that this might be her first (and only) shot at achieving her dream. If only her dream wasn’t wrapped up in a flurry of pink hair, charm and a supposedly professional relationship.

—

Release comes in the sound of blades scraping against ice. It is the feeling of her core tightening as she pushes off the ground and becomes the world turning on its axis. She is this moment of weightlessness and control.

Then her head begins to fog with visions of spinning rose-colored tops across a dark wooden floor, so endlessly mesmerizing. Her mind fills with questions of intrigue and challenge, the first time she’s ever seen duality so up close. Oh, to be so breathlessly enamored by beauty and talent.

It’s the loss of focus that weighs her down, causing her to land shakily on her right foot. She extends her left leg for balance and slides not-so-gracefully on the ice. She hears Olivia cheer in the sidelines, all bright white smile and wonder. It brings her back to the rink and away from the studio.

She skates over, pressing her forehead to the fence. “It’s not so bad.” She thinks. The rest of the world is slowly but surely getting hooked on Rosé, and she lives up to every expectation and more. She thinks it’s perfectly normal to feel a little charmed by her.

Even if she was a bitch at first.

“What’s wrong?”

Then again, she can’t quite answer Olivia’s question. She isn’t a fan from half way across the world. She’s the damn choreographer. She’s in New York, seeing her old friends and grasping onto her dream.

Said dream just had to come in the form of pink hair and clear brown eyes.

She shakes her head and smiles. “Nothing’s wrong, Liv.”

—

At first, she thinks she’s just so tired that she’s seeing things. When she blinks, she realizes that her eyes aren’t lying and that Rosé really is right there, sitting on the dance studio floor at 6:30 in the morning. She’s staring at intently at her phone, with an expression that can only be described as upset fury. She becomes too absorbed in typing to even notice Denali come in.

“Hey.”

She looks up and her face softens into a small smile. There it goes again, that weird feeling of nakedness that comes with being looked at by those eyes. The combination of this and the lack of sleep is disconcerting, but she manages to smile back anyway.

“Hey.” Rosé procures a coffee cup from behind her and reaches up to pass it. “I got you coffee.”

It takes her a minute to process, way too taken aback by the gesture. She’s always prided herself on being difficult to phase, but when a woman who is basically her employer that she barely knows hands her coffee, it’s hard not to act surprised.

Nonetheless, she accepts it gratefully, muttering a ‘thanks’ as she sits down on the floor beside her.

For a while, she stills as Rosé continues to type with such force that Denali’s scared that she might end up cracking the screen somehow. She wonders in silence, but she’d be lying if she says she’s not tempted to cross the arbitrary line and ask if something is wrong.

“Sorry.” Rosé’s voice suddenly rings clear, but the world around them still feels quiet, tranquil almost. “Just a lot of stuff that needs to get done before the video shoot.”

“Mmm,” Denali says, as she sips her coffee. “It’s fine, I don’t mind.”

Even if the phone has been tucked into the pocket of her bag, Rosé opts for stretching out her legs in front of her and yawning instead of getting up. She turns her head to look at the choreographer whose gaze is directed at the cup in her hand.

“So,” She draws out the word lazily, cocking her head to the side. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“What do you think of Phenomenon?”

It’s a difficult question to answer. If she says something bad, she’s kicked off this project. If she says something good, she’s just kissing ass. She knows that the only right answer to this question is her own opinion, but when her mother told her that honesty is the best policy, she’s not sure this is the situation that she had in mind.

“Honestly?” Rosé nods. “I think it’s great. The lyrics are good, the production is amazing, your vocals are fantastic. Plus it’s your own brand of witty and self-assured. Not sure what’s not to like there.”

She isn’t sure if this was the answer Rosé expected from her. All she hears is a sigh and they sink once again into that comfortable silence while Denali finishes her coffee. She doesn’t really know much, or anything really, about the woman beside her, but in the stillness of the morning, she feels comfortable.

“Right,” Rosé’s voice is soft and she hates herself for the ache that starts to bloom in her chest. “What’s not to like?”

She tries to ignore it, that stupid idea that this true vulnerability and not just small talk between colleagues; but she sees those eyes staring into the empty space, watches the beams of sunlight give her a blush halo. The ache spreads through her body and she bites her tongue to stop from begging to know what she could possibly not like.

Denali stands up and throws away her cup in a bin in the corner of the room. “Anyway,” She reaches out a hand to help her up. “We should get to work.”

Rosé smirks up at her and she thinks that the ache is threatening to cause an implosion. “Oh, so she’s all work and no play, huh?” She says, grabbing at her hand.

Then they’re face to face and Denali can feel the tug, that back and forth that comes with the competition that is flirting. She laughs a little, tries her best to play it cool. “I have to work hard if I want to play hard, don’t I?”

She walks away with a pair of eyes on her back and an ache that won’t go away.

—

“Are you going to spill all the tea now or what?”

Her eyebrows raise behind the glass of vodka cranberry that she’s holding. Of course, Mik wants to get straight to the gossip. She’d be surprised with any other conversation starter to their Friday night, almost a week since she’d arrived in New York. The bar Mik chose is a little too crowded for her taste, filled with other women who have been eyeing her. She notices but she ignores it in favor of the woman in front of her.

“What happened to ‘how have you been, Denali?’ or ‘how’s New York, Denali?’”

“Okay whatever,” Mik rolls her eyes. “How are you?”

“Tired.” She answers in a heartbeat.

“And would that have anything to do with a certain singer whose name rhymes with… shit, I can’t think of anything.”

She purses her lips together. If she’s honest, working with Rosé is probably the least tiring thing on her agenda. The ice skating in the early evenings as a bid to tire herself to sleep hasn’t been working. All its led to is sleepless nights staring at the ceiling until she sees the first vestiges of day creep through the windows, signaling another turn on the earth’s axis.

In the studio with Rosé, she can at the very least find some peace. The understanding that they are both good at what they do and the comfort of knowing that each day with her is a chance to know her more drives her to get out of bed and into the studio.

“A part of it, yeah.” It’s the tiniest bit of truth and Mik doesn’t look one bit sated by it. “What else am I supposed to tell you?”

“Oh, come on,” It’s that signature Mik whine that finally gets a laugh out of her. “You have to tell me something, anything!”

“You’re an MUA that works with runway models. You know enough famous people as it is.”

“That doesn’t make me any less curious about them.”

She bites her tongue when she hears those words. It’s not like she’s any different. Every morning with Rosé is an established routine with coffee and curiosity on both ends. The existing respect for each other’s craft makes them both wonder about the person underneath.

So, they start to ask questions. How’s New York? Where’d you get the coffee? How’s your morning? What’s the name of that guy on TV who used to host Fear Factor and is a shithead now?

Like clockwork, the questions morph into flirting. It’s standard, innocent, verging on comfortable even. Rosé is always the first to break into a blush, true to her name. At times, Denali thinks that she may have gone too far, but then she sees those eyes again, all amusement and interest. Each interaction is a chance for the ache to spread somewhere new along with the growing assurance that there’s nothing to dislike.

“I don’t know, okay?” She finally lets out. “We work great together and we get along, but it’s not like, ‘ooo, you’re my new bestie’ or anything like that.”

“Hmm,” Mik lets out a him, popping the straw out of her mouth. “That’s interesting.”

“Why is that interesting?”

“Let’s just say my sources tell me she doesn’t get along with everyone.”

Her eyebrows scrunch together at that. Sure, she understands that Rosé isn’t exactly everyone’s glass of wine, especially with the cold seriousness that she handles her music, but she respects that about her.

What’s not to like?

“Well, I don’t think she’s a bitch, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Or maybe you want to be her bitch…”

“Oh, fuck you!” She throws a tissue at Mik’s face as the model cackles in delight. Her phone suddenly chimes, a message from an unknown number popping up on the screen.

?: hey, I got your number from Tamisha

“Who is it?”

Damn her and her expressive features. She keeps quiet, brain going at breakneck speed to think of all the reasons why she’s texting on a Friday night when she probably has at least a hundred different parties to go to and a thousand different women trying to catch her eye.

Denali: really hope this is rose and not the guy standing outside Tamisha’s office who keeps asking me out

“It’s just Rosé.” She watches Mik’s mouth turn into an O-shape and she throws another tissue. “No, no, not what you’re thinking, sweetie.”

At least she doesn’t think so. Harmless flirting is one thing, but getting her number from her manager? They keep stepping closer and closer to the line and she thinks she sees the chalk start to smudge.

?: sorry to disappoint, it’s just rosé

Denali: too bad. what’s up?

“She’s texting you on a fucking Friday night.” Mik sounds absolutely dumbfounded. “Sounds a lot more than professional to me.”

She knows that Mik is right. They don’t even have practice tomorrow, so she can’t justify it as a possible cancellation. She’s about to come out with some boldfaced lie when her phone vibrates on the table.

Rose: just thought you should have my number. ps: my name is not rose

Olivia arrives and she slams her phone right down on the table.

“I’m buying us a round of shots.

—

She hates this. She loves this. Saturday morning is now the distant tip-tap of heels against the floor, click in the brain, a switch to her soul. Wake up, wake up, wake up. This is not home, it’s not her hotel room. It’s just a cold floor where she has some peace.

Then she hears that voice, every note of the song a gentle wave rushing in to carry her away from her body. Her eyes are glued shut, but it doesn’t matter when she’s already left her body behind on the shore. The voice grows louder, closer, and the waves start to grow. Her body is too far away now and she’s not sure if her eyes will ever open again.

Wake the fuck up.

“Denali?”

A poke to the ribs sends her rushing back into her own body. An involuntary groan escapes her lips and she hears a laugh from above her. She scrunches her eyes shut, terrified that any form of light might cost her the ability to see.

“What the hell?”

Her voice sounds like a croak to her ears and she manages to roll over onto her back. With a moment of preparation, she cracks open an eye. She’s greeted by the sight of Rosé kneeling over her barely functioning body, clearly trying her best not to laugh. Again, she groans and Rosé can no longer help herself.

“Why are you here?”

Honestly, she’s not sure about the answer to that one. There are bits and pieces of memories from last night printed on the back of her eyelids, but it’s all too fuzzy for her to try to piece together immediately. She remembers the sound of Olivia’s laughter mingling with Mik’s voice as they watched her throw back a seventh shot. The memory causes pain to start creeping into her head and she makes a promise to herself to never drink again.

There’s the sound of shuffling and when she looks up, Rosé isn’t kneeling above her anymore. She assumes that she’s sick and tired of her hungover ass, a perfectly valid response in her opinion. Then she hears humming beside her and sighs, glad that validity has no place in this situation. She closes her eyes again, losing herself to the light behind her eyes to ease the throbbing at her temples.

“Isn’t it a Saturday?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you here?”

“I asked you first.”

Her hands fly up to her face. Rosé is laughing again and the pain starts to spread throughout every part of her head. If only it would subside, maybe she’d finally have the energy to actually be embarrassed about waking up on the floor of her workplace.

“Went drinking.”

“Ah, and how’s that going for you?” There’s a smile in her voice. Fuck it, she thinks as she jumps straight over the line of professionalism with a flip of her middle finger. Oh well, it’s not as if this whole situation has pretty much created a void where the line should be.

“Your turn.”

Rosé goes quiet. She focuses on the sound of their breathing. Inhale, exhale. The expansion of her sides with every controlled gulp of air. She hears a plane overhead, letting the escape of air follow it far away from city streets.

“Just wanted to get away for a while.”

She turns her head, sees pale pink rose petals sprawled out on the dark floor. In the gentle light of a Saturday morning, her eyes break her promise to herself, drinking in the sight of weary beauty. She thinks she’s just hungover, but she believes she’s never seen anyone quite so pretty before.

“Well,” She looks back up at the ceiling, stark white staring back at her. “Same here.”

—

By 10:00 PM, she’s burying herself in sheets. She’s never been much of a fan of stillness, but she thinks the last week might be changing her mind.

A few hours earlier, she’d replied to Mik and Olivia’s texts, asking her if she was okay. She cursed and reassured them in the same breath. When they’d asked her where she’d ended up, she had said, “passed out on the floor.”

Half a truth is good enough, right?

If she had told them everything, she’d have to tell them that she laid in the studio for half an hour with Rosé’s humming the only thing cutting through the pounding in her head. She would have to tell them that she’d stumbled as she got up, letting warm hands guide her as she learned to stand. She’d have to tell them of the exchange of tender smiles, so different from the tug of war of flirtation that she’s accustomed to.

Her phone lights up. She expects Mik or Olivia, even Kahmora. No, she only sees that name and she giggles to herself like a damn teenager, a quiet admission that she’s allowed something to change.

Rose: pls tell me you didn’t go drinking again

Denali: I actually like having more than one brain cell, thanks

Rose: great, don’t want to have to pick you up off the floor again

Denali: won’t you ever let me live it down rose?

Rose: only if you start spelling my name right

Denali: the accent’s too much of an effort

Rose: then use my real name

Denali: ???

Rose: call me rosie

A smile graces her lips and she shoots off one last message. She places her phone on the nightstand and buries herself in the blankets, drifting into her first good sleep in a long time.

Denali: alright, night rosie

—

Monday morning suddenly frees up when Rosé says she has to move their session to the evening to make room for interviews. She fills up the rest of her morning by replying to emails about skating gigs for when she eventually returns home. She has lunch with Mik and Olivia and when they inevitably begin to pry, she stays mum on what she can only now describe as her complicated friendship with Rosé. She returns to the hotel and lets herself sleep, turning the feeling of being well-rested into a brand-new addiction.

When she arrives at the studio at 7, there’s no one there. While it isn’t like Rosé to be late, she doesn’t text. She assumes that she’s coming from yet another one of many interviews that she kindly referred to as, “shitheads trying to get way too personal.”

She settles for freestyling to loosen up while she waits. When the music starts, she feels herself break. Every moment is grounded in her own brand of ferocity and well, sex. There’s comfort in her own body, in the knowing that it is a temple of worship to herself. A signal from her brain to move, a single fluid motion, all indulgent offerings to the pleasure only she will ever feel. She throws herself into the fire and the sensation of pleasure starts to build.

The door opens, but she doesn’t, can’t stop. She feels like she’s hovering over the floor, on the brink of climax. The song peaks and she almost gasps, dropping to her knees and letting her back hit the floor. She takes a deep breath, relishes the feeling of being alive.

“Sorry.” She’s apologizing, but she’s not sure for what.

“I…” For once, Rosé is at a loss for words. Her quick wit has been thrown out the window and is probably being dragged around under the wheels of a taxi. She laughs breathily as she gets to her feet.

When their eyes meet, the air turns heavy with unspoken words and desire. She tries to look away, but she can’t. Brown gazes meet and for the first time, she permits herself the thought of what it would be like to kiss her. Maybe, just maybe, that wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“Uhm, okay! Let’s get started?” Rosé bursts out and she thinks that she might have won this round.

If the singer seems more distracted than usual, she doesn’t say anything about it.

—

The water in the shower is still cold when she receives a text that evening.

Rosie: no need to meet me for the rest of the week. We need four dancers for the video, auditions on wed

The water suddenly seems warm and for the first time in her life, she thinks she’s finally learning what it’s like to lose.

—

[infernwetrust]

AHS 1984: Between The Lines [Xavier Plympton x Chet Clancy] 1. Watch Your Hands

PART 2

Summary: A world before the horror. A world with some horrors. A fantasy world, where things are slightly normal. A world where Chet Clancy has been in a relationship with his long term girlfriend, Brooke Thompson. A world where Xavier Plympton, struggles to find himself after a dark past. But what if I told you that's not all who Chet is romantically involved with? What if I told you there’s a little bit more to Xavier than what he presents himself to be? What if I told you to read between the lines? Together we'll explore friendship, love, deceit, and sexuality on a different level.

Rated: R for Restricted. 18+ Very Mature Themes.

Warnings: Alright folks, I’m going to be very honest with you. This book can get dark and depressing sometimes. Due to it’s unpredictable nature, since it is a work in progress, read at your own discretion, and apply tags as you see them fit. I will be giving warnings at the beginning of chapters that do take it to that level. If you do choose to read and you come across anything that makes you uncomfortable, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me. I am all ears.

A/N: Hey ya’ll! I go by Juno. Thank you so much for taking the time out of your Cody Fern and AHS filled schedules to read this book. This is something I’ve thought about for a long time and am very excited to be writing this. I’m also currently writing this on another platform, but decided that I wanted to share it with the fun loving Tumblr community as well.  It IS male x male. I’ve always shipped Chet (Gus Kenworthy) and Xavier (Cody Fern)  and after a little bit of brain storming, I decided that I wanted to dedicate a story to developing their relationship. I’ve kept some key traits from their characters in 84, but for the most part, this are figments of my imagination; of what life would be like. As I write this, I will be introducing different characters, portrayed by some of our favorites. I won’t leave you oblivious. However, I will also be writing one shots! If you have any requests, message me! Enjoy the read! 

WC: 1.1k

Setting the stage: This story begins years before 84. Xavier, Chet, Ray, Brooke, and Montana are 18 and freshly out of high school.

The two sat outside on the front steps. The moon lit up the night sky. Chet inhaled the joint deeply, but exhaled slowly. She watched him the whole time, biting down on her lip. They'd only been together for 6 months, but Brooke couldn't help but feel like she loved him. Sure. They exchanged the words,  'I love you' , all the time, but they never actually said "I love you." But, the more time Brooke spent with him, the more she realized that maybe she did mean it. They had been best friends for so long that I love you came naturally. So when the two drunkenly kissed at Montana's 17th birthday party, they both couldn't help, but feel that there was something there. So when Chet asked her out, how could she say no?

"Chet.." she said, softly. He took his eyes off the joint quickly to meet hers. There was a warm ness in his eyes that made every nerve in her body tingle. Her hand slowly made its way over to hold onto his knee.

"Yeah?" Chet questioned in his relatively, light, voice. He looked at Brooke with loving eyes. Eyes that still said "I love you" and "I love you" at the same time. Poor, Chet. He was so confused.

"Your eyes are so fucking red." she responded, giggling. Chet couldn't help but give her a smirk. He thought she was so cute. Everything she did was so cute to him.

"I guess I don't do a very good job of hiding it do I?" he questioned.

"Not like you need to. You're lucky. My parents would never let me do that openly."

"Well it's a good thing I don't give a fuck what my parents really have to say, huh?"

The two shared a hearty laugh before Brooke fell silent, biting her lips once again before taking the joint out of his hand and taking a pull.

"My parents would never let me do that openly." Chet repeated, mocking her.

"Well it's a good thing I don't give a fuck what my parents really have to say, huh?" she smirked.

"Brooke Thompson, you are a fool."

"I guess that's why we're so close"

"Closer than ever."

"Oh for Christ sake." Xavier said as he leaned over the fence. "If you're gonna fuck, just fuck already."

"How long have you been standing there?" Chet asked, taking his attention away from Brooke.  

"Long enough to see that you two would think nothing of fucking on the porch. Stand up, won't you, Chet?"

"Oh, fuck off."

Xavier grinned. He was a huge fan of messing with Chet, whether it be mentally... or physically.

"Sorry, lover boy."

"Thanks for the fucking help, Xavier." Ray said, jaw clenched as he held two relatively big speakers on shoulders.

"I'm pretty. I don't lift things. You know this."

"Yeah, except your dick to put in other people."

"Ooo." Chet said, loudly, his lips forming a perfect O.

"Play your cards right and you can be one of em'"

"Don't flatter yourself, pretty boy."

"Here man. I got you." Chet grabbed a speaker off of Ray's shoulder and assisting him instead.

"You're terrible." Brooke said, standing up, putting the joint out in the ground.

"You love me, Brooke Thompson." Xavier, winked at her.

They had only fucked twice, Brooke and Xavier. They were both 16.

"What's it like?" she asked, her hands holding onto his jacket as he leaned against the balcony rail.

"What? Sex?"  he asked, looking down at her. At 16, he was already so tall and that amazed her. She nodded her head at his question, swallowing. "I've never done it before and it's all you and Chet talk about. All the girls you've slept with."

"Let me guess. You don't masturbate either, do you?"

"Just answer the question, smart ass." She slapped him in his chest.  

"I don't really know how to explain it." He spun her around so that it was now her who was up against the rail. "Why don't you let me show you instead?" When she constantly switched between looking at his eyes and his lips, he knew he had her. "I see how you look at me, oh and Chet, but that's another discussion. Let me show you how fun it is when you start exploring, sexually." God, Xavier was a sex icon. Everything about him just screamed fuck me or let me fuck you. She made the mistake of getting locked in his eyes.

And then he did the thing. The thing that got everyone who he pursued sexually, to crack. His tongue moved gracefully along his upper pearly whites with a sadistic grin, that in actuality, wasn't all that sadistic. He liked Brooke and if he didn't already know that she had a deep interest for Chet, brewing, she would be his.

"Go on." he said, tempting her. "Kiss me. You love me, Brooke Thompson."

"But let's leave things in the past, yeah?" Xavier continued, attempting to walk past Brooke and into Chet's home. She stepped in front of him, firmly planting her finger on his chest.

"You said you wouldn't ever bring that up, especially since you knew Montana had a crush on you." Brooke said with venom in her voice.

"Woah. Ms. Thompson, please if you will, watch your hands." He grabbed her by her wrist. "So quick to react are we? Let's not forget." He slowly rubbed her finger across his chest and down to his torso, right above his belt. She looked up at him and he did the thing, again. The same thing that had gotten her to kiss him that night. But this time, he was older, his features more strongly defined. He was gorgeous and she couldn't deny that.

"Stop that." she said, firmly, snatching her wrist away from. "You promised, Xavier."

"Oh relax. No one was around to hear it."

"Are you two coming inside?" Chet asked, popping his head into the door frame. "Montana will be here in a few minutes and then we can start our Friday night."

"Yeah, babe." she replied. "I was just bugging Xavi about how lazy he is." She winked at her charming boyfriend who now leaned fully against the doorway.

"I believe the correct term you're looking for is pretty." She turned to him quickly, planting her finger firmly in his chest once again.

"Remember what I told you."

"Well come on then, so I can close the door." Xavier let out that stupid grin again before the two started walking towards the door.

Let the summer before college begin.

[joonbug21]

Beyond the Facade | knj

Pairing: HandyMan!Namjoon X Pregnant!Reader, BestFriend!Taehyung X Pregnant!Reader

Word Count: 11k

Genre: fluff/smut/angst

Warning(s): strong language use, childbirth, mention of infidelity, alluding of a love triangle, evidence of a sheltered background, angst involving family matters, smut, oral (f receiving), nipple play, hand groping

Summary: A sheltered life leads to harbored secrets that are buried in order to protect someone you are falling in love with. As the time is nearing for the life growing inside you to be welcomed into the world, the reminiscences of all the moments unfold to reveal a beautiful story that needed to be told.

The graying of the clouds is all you can see beyond your window other than the panging rain droplets now trickling upon the glass. Arm resting against your forehead, your lips press into a straight line in response to the series of thoughts circling your mind. Carefully, you slide your palms upon the mattress in an attempt to sit up, wanting to see more of the view besides the crying sky. Knuckles curling to rub your tired eyes, you furrow your brows, the comforting warmth of the bed covers remain tangled between your shins. Leafless trees border the side of the building save for a small swing set; a paved section decorated with a basketball hoop where a large shed stands many feet across from it. If one is to step outside the front of the structure, there sits a church surrounded by a gravel parking lot where the neighboring land hosts a barbed wire fence with an abandoned house and field.

It’s been four months since you deemed the fellowship hall your home, and appreciatively, the area has been vacant since the falling of the church which saves even more stress than what you’ve been in since moving here. Achingly, your legs stretch to move off the bed before your feet land onto the grainy carpet. Your right-hand slips to steady your back, maneuvering your body to scoot to the bed frame, which has become a daily routine, weak fingers gripping the wood until your digits become pale white. Letting out a steady sigh, with all your strength you lift yourself to where you can stand, “Oomf,” a small whimper escapes past your lips, tensing at the cringe plaguing your shoulders.

Being seven months pregnant sometimes has its perks, but this isn’t one of them. Bending your body forward slightly, you step sluggishly toward your dresser, pulling out maternity clothes lent to you before the move.

“So, when are you going to tell us?” The soft murmur belonging to your mother echoes from the driver’s side. Her expression submits an evident mixture of exhaustion and exasperation; though it’s been a month since the announcement of your pregnancy, your mother is currently driving you to a doctor’s appointment for a checkup on the baby to make sure everything is okay, “we have a right to know.”

Arms crossed over your chest in mild annoyance, you bite the corner of your mouth until the side of your head meets the window, getting lost in the line of trees zipping by.

Waddling into the bathroom, the vague memory fades, your hand reaching to turn the knob of the shower. The squeaky sound along with rushing water splatters against the shower curtain sending a soothing jolt of excitement. Chilly air springs goosebumps over your limbs once you’re freed of your clothes, waiting patiently for the water to warm before inching into the tub. When steaming liquid soon dribbles among your frame, a grin of satisfaction sparks brief happiness you needed an escape to. The heat of the downpour eases your aching bones, fingers clasping behind your neck to lean your head back, “Oh!” You gasp in surprise when the instant feel of a kick happens within your tummy. Eyes flutter down in the direction of your swollen belly, palms moving to caress it, “Look at you, what are you trying to do? Escape?” Cooing with a light giggle, when the baby kicks again, you can’t help the giddy smile tugging at the corner of your lips. Now, this- this is what you love about being pregnant. Finishing up, you dry your hair before swiftly dressing along with brushing your teeth.

Thoughts still pertaining to the small life growing inside you, you’ve decided since your first doctor’s visit that you do not want to know your baby’s gender until the day that you give birth. When you presented the idea to your mother, she was all on board, proclaiming how she had done that with your younger sibling. Running a brush through your hair, you skim one final look into the mirror formerly then head to exit the bathroom.

Gradually sauntering through the mini hallway, you’re more zoned on the way your hand pats upon the wall in some form of maintaining stableness to the point you hardly notice almost slamming into a tall figure.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry!” A deep voice panics, raising his arms in a way to catch you though your arms mirror the same. Heart ramming, a breath of relief winds past your parted lips- your eyes scanning the slim legs that follow to the handsome face of Kim Namjoon. His eyes enlarged apologetically.

“Oh Namjoon, you scared me,” a tender chuckle sets the feel of calm for he sees the amnesty etched in your eyes.

“I’m so sorry, [Y/N], I was about to head out to mow the lawn, but just wanted to check and make sure you’re okay,” he timidly scopes the view of your huge abdomen, gulping once his hands rest loosely at his sides, returning his eyes to search yours before a sweet grin spreads upon your face.

“It’s no biggie. Thank you for checking on me,”

His dimples show from the way his lips press in a tight smile, nodding in reply, timorously turning to waltz to the outdoors in preparation of the day ahead. You watch until he disappears from your line of vision; the creep of a blush burning from your chest to your cheeks. Raking your hands through your hair, you force yourself once again to deny the attraction seeping through your soul thankful your blush attacked after he left.

Kim Namjoon works for your father, making sure the church grounds continuously stay clean and cut creating a pretty environment to the eye. Protecting the land is another part of the job description- protecting it from any loiterers, wild animals, protesters, etcetera- maintaining flower bushes encircling the area as well as mini projects your father will want Namjoon to build. The swing set, including the shed, happen to be plans that Namjoon successfully constructed due to your father’s wishes. In return, Namjoon is provided a place to live- the room that once held your father’s office, is now changed into a bedroom.

It’s strange for you to think about it now- how so much has changed in just seven months, when a year ago the church was thriving, unaware of the secrets that clouded within the audience. Squeezing your eyes shut, a reminiscent from the beginning of your pregnancy rears its head causing a tiny brink of nausea to form.

Taehyung’s arms drape around you tightly, embracing you in all entirety that your eyes shut against the crook of his neck. Your fingers squeeze his shoulder, legs bent across his thighs while tepid tears spill onto your cheeks.

“Shhh,” he tries to comfort, his breath tickling your exposed ear- your face still buried beneath his chin, “It’s going to be okay,” he whispers just as soft as the flicking fire burning amongst numerous candle wicks. Scents of vanilla blends with birch fitting the dimly lit bedroom that you’re thankful exists other than the man refusing to let you go until you feel better.

“How?” You choke back another sob, “How am I going to tell my parents? How am I supposed to confront the church if that’s what it comes down to? Shit… My dad is going to fucking kill me,” Taehyung’s shirt is soaked, but he could care less, tangling his long fingers into your hair to stroke the back of your head.

“Okay, now, you’re being dramatic,”

“So, maybe I am? But you know very well that my parents aren’t going to take this lightly,”

“Yeah, but I think it’s safe to say that telling your parents you’re pregnant is far better than if you were to tell them how you truly feel about religion,”

“Okay? Perhaps, you’re right,” a snippet of a frustrated huff leaves your trembling lips, “especially not with what’s been going on with the church, I don’t know how much more they can take,”

“Well, your dad should have thought of that before he had an affair with my mom,” Taehyung’s icy tone brings chills to your frame before he loudly swallows, lips firm from the anger boiling behind his almond eyes. Tendrils of his bright, red hair glow regardless of how dark the atmosphere is, and you hardly hold back the sheer pain stabbing your heart from the guilt you can’t help but endure.

“Tae, I’m so so sorry,”

“Hey,” he peers down at you, realizing he may have taken his comment too far, even though you’re just as angry towards your father as your best friend is, “you didn’t know,” sniffling back the remaining mucus clogging your nostrils, you desire to face Taehyung no matter how foolish you think you may look, scooting your body to where your palm indents in his mattress next to his legs, his arm now rests around your waist, and for a split second, you’re close enough to where the tempting appearance of his striking face beckons the strange glimmer of longing. A longing of curing whatever loneliness you’re going through, but you’re not the only one experiencing this moment for Taehyung’s lips part just enough to plead your attention.

You can’t stop yourself, and you don’t, because before either of you comprehend, you close the gap letting the delicate wave of his kiss caress yours. “Tae,” you breathe against his lips, reuniting with his kiss almost immediately while a dizzy spell of want travels through your chest. You know this isn’t right. He knows this isn’t right, but too many pent-up emotions between your hearts have gotten out of hand, and for now, all the two of you have is each other. His fingertips move to tenderly trail your jaw, gasping into his mouth when the tip of his tongue circles yours before you move to trap him in a perfect straddle. You need something, anything to feel whole again- something to forget about the people you lost and the people you will lose. And, if there’s anyone in this world you do not want to lose it’s him.

There’s no refraining, there’s no hesitation, just the growing pace of the kisses, and the way you’re so enthralled with how beautiful he feels squeezing you tighter to him. “[Y/N],” he moans, hating himself for how far he wants to go with you, yet he craves your touch, nearly supplicates for it. You want to feel his skin, and the aching throb below you seems to deafen any other screams of stopping, and yet, your fingers move to the end of his shirt, peeling it just enough to expose the solid wall of his abdomen. “[Y/N],” he stops you, breaking the final kiss, his hand covering your wrist, while your eyes frantically search the side of his face, “We- we can’t,”

You haven’t seen him since, because of the boundaries that were crossed and would have been farther crossed if Taehyung had not had the strength to stop. The pair of you have been best friends since childhood, and neither of you wants to take anything beyond for the sake of feeling empty, but he assured you that night, even after your panic of apologies pouring from your mouth, after the humiliation that shackled your system, even after the daunting assumption that your friendship was over- he cupped your cheek, promising that he was still here and that he would never end your attachment over something, you both will never regret.

It’s a secret you’ve suppressed for some time. Taehyung calls every so often when he can; dealing with his broken-hearted father on top of two jobs consumes every bit of his time. Yet, you can’t help but miss him, the one person who loyally stayed by your side even when you came forward to your friends about your pregnancy. And, the one friend who still loves you all the same, even after discovering his mother’s affair with your father.

Rage isn’t enough to describe the resentment against your father, and ever since you told your parents that you were expecting, and ever since your move, you haven’t spoken to him. You’ll never forget how torn your mother was- depression weighing heavy on her, and that’s something that’s hard to forgive.

Your mother looks frail as she twiddles the crumpled tissue in her hands. Tears brim her eyes through the silence in the car, sparse sniffles breaking your heart into a million pieces. The two of you had just come back from the grocery store to restock the kitchen in your recently new home and are now parked at the church’s back door to drop you off. You hesitated upon leaving because the thought of your mother having to return home to a place of remorse is the last thing you want for her. The promise of a car was granted to you, but you turned it down, refusing to accept anything from the man who caused so much pain to your family. To Taehyung’s family.

Running the tissue underneath her eyes, she speaks, “[Y/N]?”

“Yeah?” Your voice is barely a whisper, but the guilt from how stressed your mother has been is something you wish you could carry instead of her. After the betrayal of your father as well as him resigning from the church to send people away from the place they once sought refuge in- on top of her oldest daughter being pregnant with her first child is already a lot to handle. The other frustration you bite your tongue from expressing is the fact of your parents refusing to let you get a job until the time after you give birth. You want to make the money to provide for yourself and your son or daughter without the dependence upon your parents- your mother especially, yet you’re grateful for her adamancy on keeping you from any risks outside of the walls of your home.

It takes a moment before your mother gathers her words, “Do you- do you think you could ask Namjoon to help take you to the hospital? Whenever it’s time… for you to have the baby?”

It was easier for your mother to ask that of you because he lived in the same building, and if any emergency of your water breaking happened earlier than expected, at least you would have someone available to take you to the hospital. Your gaze clears from the zone out you’ve had the whole time standing in the entrance of the hallway before Namjoon left. Turning on a heel, you decide to return to your bed, slipping under the covers- you’re too wide awake to sleep as of now, yet the foam of the mattress eases the soreness of your back once you lean against the pillows.

-Four months earlier-

Queasiness envelops your abdomen to where you recognize the cue, rushing to the porcelain throne to heave whatever yellow liquid is left- spurting it into the toilet while you grimace through the pain. The door swings open behind you mixed with heavy footsteps quickening to you. When large hands swoop to hold your hair back, you don’t have the strength to look at the intruder due to the continuous retching that deems you defenseless.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” the deep voice is soft, and relief brings tears to your eyes when you recognize it to be Kim Namjoon. You’re embarrassed once your stomach gives you a break, your palms pressing to your forehead while you slump against the wall.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, swiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Namjoon scatters to find a tissue, patting the corners of your mouth.

“You don’t have to be sorry,”

“That… wasn’t what I was apologizing for,”

A knowing glance is all he must give for you to share whatever thoughts you can’t bring yourself to voice. He was your friend before all of this, yet you failed to mention to him about the pregnancy, and with him being the worker of the Church- he didn’t discover your budding stomach until the day you moved in. His eyes flicker away from your stare toward the slight protrusion of your baby bump due to your ruffled t-shirt. He settles on the floor across from you, silence being the only conversation held. He isn’t one to hold anger, and though you kept him unaware until your third month of pregnancy, he refuses to leave your side, making a pact to himself he will do whatever it takes to provide the care that you will need. As well as the little one.

Despite the emotional roller coaster, you remain amazed with how he keeps his patience with you. A day of depression to a random bout of laughter- memories turning of the betrayals of close friends who judged you immediately the day you put your trust in them- the freedom you craved away from the sheltered life your father forced upon you- even days where you can’t seem to put your tears on pause, yet Namjoon holds you through every grieve.

“What if… what if I’m not good enough?” Your voice shakes between sobs- you had been dreaming restlessly yet another night, tossing within your bed to the point Namjoon came to check on you- rushing to pull you into his arms the moment your eyes fluttered to reveal pained tears. Your words nearly shatter him- pulling away just enough to where his eyes lock with yours.

“How can you say that, [Y/N]?” The faint light of your lampshade causes his face to glisten- angelically, you decide, yet the shadowing doubt of motherhood plagues you still, because what if you genuinely can’t care for the child that you’re six months away from holding? Fears encompass you like an ocean, smashing along your mind in harsh waves. “Look at me,” are the words that snap you from whatever sea you were suffocating in to realize you had unintentionally switched your gaze from him. It’s the calming effect the warmth of Namjoon’s eyes bring when he exposes whatever faith he has in the woman you are and will become. “You’re going to do just fine, believe me, I know it,”

Sniffling, you run the back of your hand along your chin where an escapee of a tear dangled, “How can you be so sure?”

“Because when have you ever given up on anyone that you care about,” it’s not a question, he’s stating what he knows to be a fact. Something he learned of you when he first was hired to tend to the property. “You’re stubborn when it comes to winning someone over. I was determined not to befriend anyone here. But you changed that for me, remember?”

A knowing tug of a smile trembles into a stretch upon your lips, “I do,”

“Same with the baby. I know you will love that little one more than life itself. It doesn’t have a choice, and you’ll let him or her know the second they’re born,”

When a hearty snicker leaves your mouth, you notice the sticky feel of your drying face- you are no longer crying.

“You don’t have to do this alone, [Y/N]. You showed me that even when I didn’t know what else to do. Now, get some rest, okay? You have a doctor’s appointment bright and early,” the bed creaks from the gradual movement of Namjoon standing,

“Wait!” You speak before you can stop yourself, Namjoon immediately pausing- the heat of his arms is felt beneath your palms from your pounce of panic, and with evident chagrin, you shyly stare at his chest, “Can you uh, … Can you stay in here with me tonight?” You’ve refrained from asking sooner due to the shame of not telling him the news that’s become apparent, and even now, you haven’t been able to comprehend how he’s not the slightest bit angry with you. When his arms encircle you closer to his frame, no words need to be said because he’s already answered by just this gesture. Nuzzling into his embrace, the side of his chin pressed to your forehead, “Whoever it is, I hope they grow up to be half the person that you are,” you whisper, squeezing him tighter, infinite smiles now ending the night that cures any ounce of uncertainty.

By the fifth month of pregnancy, you finally come to the realization of how selfish you have been- it’s no longer about you and your needs; it is now about the needs of your son or daughter growing within you. Namjoon catered to every grocery store trip, stocking the kitchen and in return, you choose to cook for him every meal, hoping to show as much appreciation to him that you can.

“Have you thought about any names?” Taehyung’s voice muses on the other line of the phone, the sound of him bringing a small smirk upon your face. You’ve missed him terribly so, yet the acceptance of surprise phone calls is all you can settle with for now. At his question though, you pause with the tilt of your head, taking a quick sip of the broth that you’re currently heating on the stove.

“No?” It’s a brief question of guilt, something you haven’t been ready to ponder, “Honestly… haven’t thought that far ahead yet,” you add in the vegetables to boil within the broth.

The familiar, deep chuckle is all you hear to gain an idea of what your best friend is about to say next, “I should have known,”

“Alright, Birkenstocks. What do you mean by that?”

“Breezing past that mistake. You named your Parakeet, Bird,”

“Well, in my defense, I was seven years of age,”

“And in my defense, playing basketball in Birkenstocks was supposed to start a trend,”

“Since how? I-”

“Ask Hoseok,”

“You lost a bet didn’t you-”

“And, I will pay for it for the rest of my life, now won’t I?”

“With me around, you will,”

Hoseok is the deacon’s son who’s dream of fashion has been shunned by his family, yet he designs in a sketchbook Taehyung hides for whenever Hoseok and he share the same work shifts. He’s not one you have had the opportunity to communicate much with, but you’re thankful Taehyung has someone to maintain a friendship with while you two have been apart. A short response of silence settles while your cheek and shoulder squeeze the phone for a moment as you stir the steaming vegetables.

“You could have named the bird, Tweety at least-”

“Oh!” You playfully growl, “Back with that again, huh?”

“Do I need to send you a link of baby names-”

“I promise you, Tae, I do not plan on naming my child, Kid, okay?”

“You’d be surprised-”

Taehyung’s excitement for his future Godchild brings a simmering joy to the surface of your pattering heart. Almost as equal to the eagerness, your mother has shown with this being her first grandchild. Graciously, your mother has never been as strict as your father, hence why the past five months have gone much smoother then they would have if your father had never had an affair with Mrs. Kim.

The phone call ends whenever dinner is finished, and by that time, Namjoon scuffles through the door- the outdoorsy scent drifts to your nose while you place the sweltering bowls of soup on the table. Namjoon shimmers his feet from his work boots before hanging his coat, timidly glimpsing in your direction to confirm you’re okay.

Small talk ensues with the typical questions of how each of your days has gone once the pair of you take your seats. One secret, yet another you and Taehyung have harbored, is the awareness of Namjoon’s atheism- something your father must never learn of his worker. Namjoon, who will not admit it, works on the church grounds in order to provide for his family who lives a few miles up the road. Ultimately, there are many secrets not worth sharing to your parents, not only for the sake of sanity but for the protection of the ones who you’ve kept close, especially Namjoon. With your father being the tyrant of a priest, he used to be, there is still the potential distress of him firing Namjoon over the mere difference of beliefs. Something you refuse to let happen while you’re around.

Clinking spoons replace conversation, for how long, you’re uncertain; the fog of your thoughts seem to consume upon one in particular- something that has remained festering long enough, yet you have never said it aloud- figuring this moment may be the time that you do. Namjoon confided in you and Taehyung once he found comfort in trusting the pair of you- even subjects that one would have never expected him to open about. Guilt presents itself to the point your eyes squeeze shut, opening them to move your spoon to play at a piece of broccoli swimming in the potage.

“They don’t know,” your words are careful- slow even- continuing your vision on the dinner before you. You can feel Namjoon’s soft eyes on you, his expression confused. “They don’t know who the father is,” that’s when your gaze trails to meet his eyes just for more guilt to manifest behind them. By they, you’re referring to your parents, as well as every other soul excluding Taehyung, “I won’t tell them.” Namjoon slowly nods with the sense of understanding, knowing the cost that will be taken if your father were to know who you’re trying to bury beneath this web of fear. “Besides,” you sigh heavily, “I’m surprised my father was lenient enough to let me live here,” you confess, “if he wasn’t so guilty over the affair, I would be homeless-”

“I wouldn’t let that happen,” Namjoon says suddenly, destroying whatever anger you were dwelling upon. Your mouth falls open in shock at his words and the frilly flutter of your heartbeat is hard to ignore. After living here for two months, he’s proven time and time again that he means what he says; what he just said. Speechless, the rest of dinner continues in fond silence, your heart refusing to steady for the man slowly captivating your heart.

The sixth month of pregnancy gifts swollen feet and aching bones on top of your belly growing heavier by the week. Namjoon has stayed loyal- tending to your pregnancy cravings in the dead of night, aiding to your discomfort whether it involves a heating pack or a cup of ice, slipping under the covers on nights you want him to hold you, driving you to every doctor’s appointment without any hesitation; with all that he’s been doing for you, it’s like your feelings have blossomed deeper which you know shouldn’t be happening with the peril of your father finding out. The unexpected visits from your father are few, yet you usher the reminder to yourself of protecting Namjoon, though he carries the weight of facing your father instead of you who avoids the confrontation.

Night comes quickly after a day spent cleaning up the nursery that seems to be coming together, other than the crib Namjoon’s been building- something you accidentally discovered when strolling close to the shed one sunny day. He’s so dedicated to the unborn infant, it nearly brings you to tears, glancing around the elegant hues of multiple pastel colors painted across the room with stuffed animals, blankets, and furniture he continues to gift you amongst different items your mother has added to the collection. You always enjoy the sporadic visits from your mother, because she’s free to celebrate the life that she refuses to consider as a sin.

“Are you thinking boy or girl?” Your mother elbowed your side earlier today after moving around the furniture.

“Hm,” you hummed happily, thankful for the relationship that’s being redeemed with her, “you know? I’m not very sure,”

“I can tell from all the colors you’ve chosen,” she teased, “it looks beautiful,” she cooed, pulling you into an accomplished side hug. You didn’t want to stick to just pink or blue, so you chose every other shade in between, colliding the space with colors that could go for either or. “You’re going to be a wonderful mother,”

The sound of the front door opens distracting you from the former memory, staring down at the table that now rests heaping plates of chicken and rice. The fellowship hall used to be filled with numerous rows of horizontal tables mingled with circular ones where the crowd would come to camaraderie to joyful hymnals, delicious food, reflected testimonies without any warning of the secrecies soon floating to the surface. Now a solo table, the one planted before you, pairs with a few sparse chairs just enough to seat at least four people.

“Hiya,” you greet, trying to ignore the subtle increase of your heartbeat. Namjoon flashes a kid-like smile once he shutters out of his jacket, “How was your day?”

“It was good, thank you,” he replies, taking long strides until he makes it to you, “How was yours with your mom?” His right-hand steadies the small of your back while his left one clutches yours to help settle you into your seat. It’s hard to focus on the question he just asked when the scent from outside seems to heighten the attraction you already feel towards him, “It was good,” you manage to say, reaching for the silverware to begin digging into your food, “Thank you… For helping me,” the distance between your stomach and the table now is something you’ve been trying to get used to as well as the turmoil of trying to stand and sit.

“Anytime.”

A blush floods your cheeks when he holds your timorous stare, so you avert your eyes to your dinner, letting the obvious feeling of Namjoon watching deepen the red shade on your skin. A few minutes disappear into time before you feel a shove against your abdomen from the inside. Your hand instinctively flies to press upon the baby bump, Namjoon jumping at the motion, stopping mid-chew, while his eyes enlarge in surprise.

“It’s okay,” you chortle at his reaction, “it’s just the baby kicking,” his response reminds you of the moment you felt the baby kick for the very first time- similar to a weird flutter that’s hard to describe, and it had taken you a second to realize what it was exactly- just your baby making its presence known to you. Namjoon swallows the bite of food in a nervous gulp, the pang of his silverware mutes from where he lays it on the napkin.

“Here,” you murmur affectionately preparing to stand to your feet. Namjoon immediately jolts from his chair, rounding the table to gather your hand in his. Instead of relying on his strength to help you position yourself, you plop back onto the seat, sliding his hand to the area where the baby kicked a few minutes prior. Namjoon kneels to level with you, his plump lips ajar mirroring the widen stance of his eyes while he patiently waits, his nervous heart pounding in his temples. It’s the exuberant joy in his smile that meets his eyes in a dazzling glow the pure second the baby kicks again, and the bliss of delight smothers your heart in so many ways imaginable at this moment the pair of you are capturing together. Your hand remains resting upon his while your eyes lock repudiating from breaking contact.

“I told you that you don’t have to do this alone,” he whispers, and it’s then you come to the awareness of how near his face is from yours, his dimples visible from his smile to the point you press your lips to each one, shocked at your act of boldness, but you can’t refrain. He’s too handsome and too wonderful to stay away from any longer. That’s all the invitation needed, for Namjoon’s lips brush yours igniting the sparks of what you’ve been trying to suppress for way too long. Your fingers find his hair when he leans to deepen the kiss, moving his hands to rest on the chair, fingers pressing into the wood until pale white.

At this moment, you don’t care what anyone thinks.

You are in love with Kim Namjoon, and there is nothing in this world that’s going to scare you away from that.

-Present day-

The pitch black outside the window brings frustration when you awaken to scold yourself for how long you’ve slept. Gathering yourself once the fatigue rolls off, you cautiously sit up, scooting to the bedpost until you’re on your feet. Taking a trip to the restroom, you notice upon exiting the clock on the wall reads seven pm, and you wonder if Namjoon has made it inside for the evening. It’s eerily quiet save for the air conditioning, but you pause when you see the lights are on in the main area of the building. Shrugging, you waddle around the corner until the sudden shouts of, “SURPRISE!”, nearly knocks you to the ground.

Gasping, your eyes widen while your hand flies to your chest. A prolonged second interferes before your brain deciphers the two individuals cheering before you. Numerous pink and blue balloons hover to the top of the ceiling matching the colors of a cloth decorating the one table now adorned with a cake and wrapped gifts. “What?” You can barely speak from the light headiness taking over, but the tears that well in your eyes when you see the boxy smile of your best friend sends you in an attempt to run just to crash into his arms. He meets you halfway, surrounding you within his embrace as he rocks you back and forth muffling your wails of joy into his checkered sweater. Your soaked cheeks are wiped away from the material as been done countless times before, and his tepid palms squish your cheeks when he steps back to gesture toward your belly.

“Wow look at you! Your belly is huge!”

“I’m still in denial of how fast this pregnancy is going!” You say breathlessly, you’re so happy to see Taehyung, you can hardly contain your composure. Namjoon steps forward with his hand reaching to squeeze your best friend’s shoulder. Taehyung’s fiery strands are curled upon his forehead, lustrous beneath the lights as it always has before, “Your father let you come?” There’s a seriousness behind your voice at the question because you are cognizant of the fury Tae’s father has against the church from the events that occurred what, in some ways feels like a lifetime ago.

“Well, no,” Taehyung winces mischievously, “I told him that Namjoon and I were going to a basketball game,”

“Of course, you did, you sly fox,”

“You know you love me,” Tae pecks your forehead before leading you to the table where the sweet whiff of cake flatters your nostrils.

“You guys didn’t have to do this,” you’re still wiping tears off your face, though it’s evident that your crying is from untainted gratitude, “What did I do to deserve the two of you?”

Namjoon kneels, intertwining his long fingers with yours, using the tip of his thumb to tickle circles upon your skin, “Taehyung mentioned how when you were kids that you loved surprises, especially if it involved a small party of some sort so,” he tilts his head toward Taehyung, “And I knew how much you missed him, too. I just wanted to do something to celebrate you. And, the baby,”

It doesn’t take much to smother this man in kisses nowadays, and once you express your thankfulness to the men before you, Namjoon reads your mind, snatching a small kiss in return.

“You two are on kissing terms, again?” Taehyung teases while you poke your tongue at him in mild embarrassment. Namjoon does not know of the moment you and Tae shared, and that’s something you’re not ready to talk about, and with the cutesy scrunch of Namjoon’s face, the memory escapes to the back of your mind for now.

By the end of the night, the frosting had met all three of your faces- some smushed into Taehyung’s hair while some swiped across Namjoon’s neck, and your eyebrows are smeared along with the possible suspicion of some getting up your nose. Cleaning the mess takes a while, but nobody in the room would trade it for anything, and it’s good stalling to prevent the night from completely ending.

Walking Taehyung to his car is the only dread overwhelming your system because you’re not sure of when you will get to see him next. Tears flood your eyes, breaking Taehyung’s heart as an awe of shame gusts past his lips, “I’m sorry, [Y/N]. My dad’s expecting me home soon,”

“I don’t want you to go,” you choke, on the brink of bursting at the seams- Tae fumbles to tighten his arms behind your back- him trying to be mindful of your abdomen being pressed too firmly against his frame.

“Please don’t cry,” he whispers near your ear, “Please, please don’t cry,” His lips curl from the tears burning within his own eyes wishing with all his strength he could rid of the aching hurt that has kept your friendship separated. Tae swiftly pulls away when he remembers another present, he meant to give you earlier, whirling around to unlock his car, bending into the vehicle while his hands shuffle around the floorboard in a desperate search for whatever he wants to show you. When he turns to face you, a sharp inhale of glee echoes into the night- the lopsided plush of a heart is attached to a blue body ornamented with yellow polka dots that match its mouth. “Oh my gosh!” You squeal, “Tae, it’s adorable! Where did you find this?”

Wiggling his eyebrows in pride, he hands it to you, “I made it myself. And,” he pauses for effect, “since you have trouble naming things, I did the honors and named it for you. I introduce, Ta Ta.”

“Ta Ta?”

“Yeah, like ‘Ta Ta… for now,’”

“Just when I thought I couldn’t love your dork of a self even more,” you exhale, slamming your eyes shut just to bury your face further into his chest, not able to breathe in his scent from the clog of mucus stuffing your nose.

“I love you, too.” His voice thickens with emotion, “Now, quit saying it like you’re never going to see me again, because you know I’m not going anywhere.”

“You promise?” Your cold nose moves to press into the corner of his jaw where steady breaths move between your parting mouth. It’s a serene moment where he turns just enough to glimpse at you, engaging in the beauty he’s always found within your heart. Taehyung’s agape lips now rest centimeters from yours when his large hands raise to rest his fingertips along your flushed cheeks- the curls of his frizzy hair pressing to your forehead, prickling your closing eyes. You discover your free hand enfolding around his wrist from the daunting desire looming from what’s been left unspoken, and the shiver in his breathing brushes your chin once the light touch of his nose cuddles to yours. You both stand there for a seeming reel of eternity, battling the inward mayhem of choice that’s displayed itself on the invisible line tempting to be traversed.

“I promise.”

He hadn’t kissed you, but there was no denial that he wanted to, especially with the way your face has haunted his dreams since the night your lips met in emotional patterns of sorrow. But, deep down, he knows it’s too obvious of a choice if the one for him is to be you, but the love that has been kept for you will never go away. The same as a tether of your heart will forever be his no matter how deep your love goes for someone else. Kim Taehyung will always be your poise- your muse- the soulmate of a friendship that you will always need.

Toddling to the nursery upon Tae’s departure still presents the boiling tears from your tired eyes dripping off your cheeks as you set Ta Ta beside the koala plushie Namjoon gifted you; the humor involving the struggle of both Taehyung and Namjoon carrying the crib Namjoon built for the baby taunts a smirk at the corner of your lips. It’s dark besides the faint light of the hallway behind you, giving you just enough to admire the scenery around you- sniffling back what you can before reaching to cover your quivering chin with your hand. You’ve missed Taehyung. You miss him. And, how beautiful of Namjoon to surprise you with your best friend’s presence? Reuniting the three musketeers from once upon a time?

Little do they know, from the unearthing of your pregnancy to now, the two men have mended your broken heart and stitched it back together again piece by piece. You’re highly uncertain of where you would be without them, and just the thought alone is one you refuse to dwell on. While memories turn like a spindle of loosened thread, a revelation halts you in your tracks. The thought rings loud and clear gracing a wide smile on your face while one more set of tears dampen the corner of your eyes.

After scolding yourself for so long for not thinking hard enough on the subject,

right here, hands grasping the handlebar of your future child’s cradle,

you finally have a name picked out for your little one.

2 months later….

“Namjoon, I’ll be fine,” the pointed look you flash him prompts a nervous chuckle once his hands rest to rub gently along your sides. He’s concerned as he’s been almost the entire pregnancy, but of course, now his worries are heightened to an extreme, “I’m not due until next week. Don’t worry,”

“I know,” he groans, tugging you closer just enough to plant a warm to kiss to your neck, “But, I can’t help it.”

“I’ll be fine,” you drag the word with a teasing sound of a whine. Namjoon shaking his head at you with a smile you’re now feeling upon your lips. “Mm,” you hum into his kiss, your hands sliding to squeeze his shoulders in reaction to how impeccable it feels. You end the moment simply to gaze at him, “You’ll be back before you know it,” you assure him- his trip to the grocery store being the plan for the afternoon.

“Okay,” he says tenderly, eyes flickering to your lips once more before leaning to brush them to his own, “I love you,”

There’s a small pause, one that entails warmth smothering your chest in giddy sensations when his eyes steal yours after pulling away, “I love you, too, Joon,” watching him head out the door until the truck disappears along the road.

Of course, the day doesn’t go accordingly the way you expect, because on carefully prodding to the kitchen in preparation to cook breakfast, a slight ache ensues within your abdomen. “Oh,” you groan, stroking the area with your fingertips before deciding to lay down for a bit instead. When reaching your room, the sharp pain of a cramp returns causing a harsh cringe as you lean against your bedpost, hardly able to concentrate on the attempt of climbing onto the mattress. You remain hunched over for five minutes, forcing slow breaths to prevent from panicking, and when you find the coast to be clear, you straighten yourself out.

Suddenly, before you can comprehend what’s happening, a gush of water splatters onto the carpet soaking your feet in the process.

“No,” you whisper, eyes frantically scanning your room for your cell phone. Namjoon shouldn’t be far with the grocery store only being a few miles away, but in order to get a hold of him, you must find your only way of contacting him. Hands pat your bed, thrusting off the bed covers and shaking them roughly, yet no ’thump’ is heard before you cast the covers in a pile onto the ground. The next destination leads to the restroom, with no luck of your phone being in your bedroom- when another wave of pain shoots within your stomach, you gasp, trying to endure through the discomfort with all your might.

Leaving a water trail behind with every step you take, you desperately search the countertops before stepping into the area that holds the kitchen, wondering if there is any possibility it may have been left behind there. Your feet meet the cool surface of the tile floor, your gape scanning the entirety of the space before a pant of relief escapes past your dry lips the second your shaking hands gather the device. “Agh!” A contraction surges, hands squeezing your phone unintentionally, yet you grimace just enough to maintain your focus on the task at hand. Managing to get the phone ringing, it doesn’t take long until you hear the man of your dreams at the other end of the line.

“Hello?”

“Joon, it’s time,” you choke, voice thick with pain.

“Oh, shit! Hold on tight, I’m on my way, just hold tight, I’m coming-”

You just happen to be running by the church in favor of dropping off the work truck keys to your father when he unintentionally introduces you to the new employee you assume he plans to hire, “[Y/N], this is Kim Namjoon. He’s going to be taking care of the church grounds for us, isn’t that wonderful?”

“Hello, it’s nice to meet you,” you greet, underlyingly suffering from the attraction swarming to your reddening cheeks. When your father mentioned of hiring, you never anticipated the person to be this overwhelmingly breathtaking.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Ma'am,” Namjoon’s polite nod mirrors the dimples evident from a soft grin, his hand reaching for yours to shake before your father continues the tour of the place you’ve grown up memorizing. But something initiates you to stay, eyes lingering on the back of the tall figure decked in a turtleneck covered by a green jacket complementing a pair of jeans along with brown shoes. There’s a spark of intuition that day, one that ignited the prominent determination that you want to get to know this person even if your father ends up finding out.

Namjoon busts through the door with pure alarm etched in his voice, “[Y/N], I’m here! Baby, I’m right here,” he immediately jumps to where you are, keeled over on the floor, throwing his arm around you until he lifts you out of the fellowship hall and into the work truck. Words you attempt to form are muted by whimpers, tears brimming your eyes from the pain that doesn’t end, “I’m going to grab the suitcase, I’ll be right back,” time must be faster than you can measure for Namjoon arrives, slinging the suitcase into the backseat before slamming into the driver’s side.

It takes a while for the newly found employee to warm up to every opportunity you take in order to get to know him. One thing he���s slowly but surely learning is that you’re not one to give up so easily- something you’ve noticed him picking up on, especially on days, you annoy him when he’s on call to build a project. You make it clear to talk to him nonstop until he acknowledges your existence, and the times he doesn’t breathe a word results in a call to Taehyung.

“Come help me,” you plea hearing Taehyung’s exasperated sigh on the other line.

“You are so annoying,”

“You know you love me, fool,” you gloat because with defeat, your best friend reluctantly joins you, even accompanying a basketball just in case if Namjoon happens to fancy sports. Your girlfriends, Luna and Jo, were informed of your undying crush on the mysterious worker, crossing their arms in jealousy that you half-heartedly ignored.

“He doesn’t even come to the services,” Jo droned, “Don’t you think it’d be best to get to know someone that’s more… active in the church? Like the pianist’s son, Min Yoongi. You two had such a cute relationship when you were three-”

You can’t get past why no one seems to understand that you must win Namjoon over, and though Luna and Jo have seen the world along with you since childhood, you roll your eyes, turning on a heel, “I’ll catch you later,”

Tires screech along the road while Namjoon swerves past cars on the highway, hands ghost white from the tight grasp he has upon the steering wheel. Meanwhile, your hand grips the bar above you while your other rests upon your belly- the keenness of getting to hold your baby in your arms is all you’re thinking about other than Namjoon who’s keeping you sane.

“Just a few more miles and we will be there. Just breathe,” his voice is unsteady from the fright of this situation, but he upholds his enlarged gaze upon the road. He fumbles for his phone- trying to contact anyone from your family in order to tell them the news.

“GAH!” Leaning forward, a wail echoes within the vehicle as another contraction attacks.

“You guys aren’t going to stop until I’m your friend, am I right?” Namjoon’s elbows are folded from the hold he has on the basketball meeting his chest. Tae jumps sporadically in front of him with outspread arms preparing to prevent the ball from flying into the hoop.

“Damn straight,” you shrug your shoulders in observation of Namjoon’s tilting head.

“I thought church girls didn’t cuss,”

“And I thought you’d have more game than the basketball,” Tae halts, straightening his frame, eyes flickering between you and a quiet Namjoon, “Now hurry up. If you win, I will leave you alone for good. If Tae wins then we treat you to dinner and a movie. How does that sound?”

With an incredulous shake of his head, Namjoon smirks, “Okay,” the scuffle of his converse is heard on the pavement when he briefly turns to toss the ball toward the hoop. The basketball pangs the ring, twirling ferociously to the point, your heart begins to sink, but to your pleasure, the ball tips off the rim, landing in a rejoicing Taehyung’s arms.

“HAH!” You sprint, colliding into Taehyung’s embrace while Namjoon tries to stifle the smile overtaking his lips, “Looks like it’s going to be a burger and fries’ kind of night,” you wink, unaware of the hope that Namjoon has of wanting to gain your friendship just as much.

The hospital entrance appears after the rush of Namjoon turning into the parking lot soon helping you out of the truck. The suitcase will have to wait being he can retrieve it later, his ultimate goal is getting you within the building to where you’re safe. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he tries to appear relaxed, but everything becomes a blur until a nurse with fluffy, black hair approaches with a wheelchair to help settle you in. His nametag reads 'JIMIN’ – him rolling you quickly down the hall when the presence of a female nurse whose nametag reads 'MONNIE’ helps you change into the nightgown upon arrival of the hospital room. Voices are mingling together from the pounding in your temples, but Monnie keeps her hands gentle on your back to lead you to the bed where she hooks you up to what seems like a million machines whilst providing as much comfort to you as possible.

Namjoon’s calloused hand covers yours when one other nurse, Jungkook, floods the room, bringing a chair for him to sit in. You’re not sure of all the commotion that’s overwhelming the room, but you steady your breathing as Namjoon directs, squeezing his hand through each contraction. You recognize the doctor, Kim Seokjin, a tall man already dawned in a scrub hat, mouth mask and gloves, scurrying to where you are, “Alright, I am going to check your dilation Ms. [Y/N], just breathe in and out.” Slamming your eyes shut, you whimper from the discomfort, “Alright, she is dilated three centimeters. Once you are at ten centimeters [Y/N], you will begin pushing. No worries, I will alert you as soon as I need you to begin. Keep breathing. Everything will be okay,”

“Taehyung… My mom… Dad-” you murmur deliriously between breaths, the foggy sense of your conscious outweighing how to speak properly.

“No worries baby, they’re on their way. They’re on their way right now,” he sweetly kisses your perspired forehead, running his free hand through your tangled hair.

The three musketeers were official after the day at the basketball hoop, eventually learning of Namjoon’s atheism as well as him providing for his family.

“My dad couldn’t find a job that pays enough, so I promised him that I will do whatever it takes,” it had been six months since Namjoon had been hired, and currently is finishing his final paint to the shed while you and Taehyung sit Indian style in the grass. “Thanks to the job here, I can afford the rent for my parents as well as give them my car since here, I just use the work truck…” Namjoon sharing more in-depth with his life story- you finally get what you’ve been determined to gain since meeting him.

It’s weeks later that you’ll never forget, leaning against a mini, red monkey bar after sharing your feelings toward the man you’ve grown so fond of. There’s no denying the feelings he’s had for you, and once he inches closer, the crave to hold his hand has never been stronger. Boldly, your fingers trail to intertwine with his, your nerves close to getting the best of you despite the persistent smile that hasn’t left him. When you find the bravery to look up at him, he swallows calmly before leaning in, you stand on your tiptoes to meet halfway until your lips touch. The slide of his arms encompassing your frame feels so inviting when he presses his body to yours. The world is put on pause to you and nothing else matters other than the way his lips move so elegantly- your arms wrapping around his shoulders while he sways you from side to side.

Time doesn’t seem to speed up through all this pain, but the adrenaline swimming in your veins peaks when Dr. Seokjin prepares to check your dilation again. “Ten centimeters-” He confirms, “Alright, [Y/N], the baby’s coming. When I say push, you push. Okay,” he positions himself though you can’t see anything past your gown and raised knees, “One, two, three! Push!”

“AGH!” You grunt, a small scream vibrating at the back of your throat once you push with every fiber of strength, you can muster.

“Breathe, breathe,” Namjoon’s hand hasn’t once left yours- sweat pouring from your scalp while the burning agony overpowers your body.

“Is she here!?” The click of darting heels enters the room and are loud enough for it to catch your attention. “Oh, honey, I’m here!” It’s your mother- scampering to your side with the undeniable blur of Taehyung’s red hair following suit. You want to ask where your father is, but before a chance is given, the doctor shouts, “Push!”

“AAAAAAAGH!” You manage, body straining in all its entireness. Taehyung jolts to let you squeeze his hand along with Namjoon’s. His features show nothing but fear at the sight of you being in so much strife, yet he holds it together enough to cheer you on.

“I’m- I’m so glad you both are here,” you cry- another sixty seconds drifting before the shout of, “Push!” erupts.

“I’m scared,” you murmur in the dimness of the room. On your knees, Namjoon’s soothing hands glide along the tops of your thighs motivating you to run your hands along his forearms. You don’t know where your parents are, and you’re too angry to care. You’re bushed of the fighting so, you sought comfort in being here, with Namjoon. Taehyung dropped you off at the fellowship hall with the promise of not breathing a word- because if your parents were to find out remotely of your whereabouts, you’d hate to discover what the consequences will be.

“Me too,” his nervous eyes investigate every inch of your face. You’ve never been with anyone this way before- secretly hidden away from the world outside trying to suppress the revealing crave of what you’re curious about. Scooting forward, you drape either leg around him, propping yourself enough to where your arms lace around his neck.

His breath hitches from the gesture- your lips erotically aligning with his in slow movements, heat rising below you when you feel the hardening of his being beneath your sense, “I want you,” you whisper. He knows that you’re a virgin, and with care, he lays you on the bed, hovering above your frame where your bodies align perfectly. “Are you sure this is what you want,” concern consumes his countenance, but you desperately bring your hands to cup his cheeks.

“I don’t think I’ve wanted anyone so much in my life,”

You gasp into his kiss where he slips his tongue along yours- the sensation one you’ve grown used to from the slovenly kisses leading up to this very night. You give Namjoon permission to sneak his large hands underneath your shirt, trailing up your ribcage before swallowing your breasts whole in his heated palms. Nipples so sensitive, your heat drenches the moment he realizes the effect it has on you just by merely brushing the rising buds, lipping at your neck while he basks in the beauty of your moans. “More,” you beg, “Please, Joon, more.” When clothes start to be thrown off, you’re determined to pleasure him, but have not an idea on how to do so. “Show me,” you breathlessly demand, Namjoon’s palm leading yours to encircle his twitching being. You stroke his erection as shown, biting your lower lip from the throbbing feeling of your core- him instantly finding your entrance to fill it with his fingers as carefully as he can- both of you pleasuring each other, yet still getting lost in kissing so deeply, the two of you forget to gasp for air. The sensation of heated pressed bare skin can be the most beautiful thing, especially with the way your legs entangle with his. You’re surprised the feel of his prodding fingers didn’t bring as much discomfort as you would have originally anticipated, but when he brings a hand to his penis, he rubs his tip along your slit letting the sloppy sound of you leak onto it. “Holy shit,” he moans from how soaked you are for him- his fingertips finding your clit while yours dig into the backs of his shoulders.

Smoldering kisses move from your lips to your breasts, down your abdomen to your inner thighs where you tense underneath his touch that slides to hold your bottom half where he can scan your heat. The tip of his tongue swipes upon your slit excruciatingly slow to the point your fingers tangle with the material of the bedsheets. The smacking sound of his lips savor your taste while his tongue circles your core- you’re hyperventilating from how deliciously he flicks his tongue upon your slit, screaming his name relentlessly- the speed of his skilled mouth driving you wild from the growing climax beckoning your stiffening thighs, “Oh, Namjoon, oh- Joon- I- Oh!”

He’s not ready for you to finish because there’s more he wants to show you. Hovering above you once again to see you coming down from your high, your heaving chest longs for his touch, and he nearly comes undone from the smile embellishing your face. His tracing fingertips parade along the outline of your body in featherlike tickles while the sounds of panting breaths mingle with shifting sheets bring subtle music to your ears for the rest of the night. The gentle parting of his lips grasps your own in smooth movements persuading arousal streaming from your core. Your fingers now link with frilly tufts of his hair, gripping the strands in reaction to the pressing of his bare chest to yours, dreaming of nothing more than to be entwined with him for what you hope will be forever. Hips grinding into yours prompts the light moan teasing his ears for more before his mouth trails to pause above your pounding heart. His hair brushing your chin, your arms glide to wrap around him holding the hope that he will never let you go. Not even for a second.

“Alright, one more! Almost done! Push!”

Sucking in one long breath, with a compulsory scream, you push with all you have left in you. Exhaustion weakens your limbs, yet a rush of relief floods your body when the cries of an infant reverberate within the room. With heavy eyes, you turn to see your mother with tears cascading down her face and onto the back of her hand covering her agape mouth- eyes remaining locked in front of her. Taehyung’s gaze doesn’t drop though his fingers loosen from yours at the small bundle immediately apprehending the eyes of every individual. Right then, you move your head to your other side where Namjoon gradually rises in awe- his hand still has yours. Gathering any ounce of strength, you’re ready to see the child you’ve been waiting to hold for nine months, so cautiously you sit up until your stare meets Dr. Seokjin’s. You can see the smile in his eyes despite the mouth mask, and what he says next brings you to tears, “It’s a girl,”

“Oh!” You thrill, anxious to meet her while the nurses scurry to clean her up.

“Sir, would you like to do the honors?” The doctor gestures a pair of scissors towards a stiffened Namjoon whose eyes are welled with hushed tears. He can’t even speak, yet he nods from the happiness exploding beneath his chest.

“Wait,” Your mom says, “Is- is?”

It’s a moment that seems to fit the setting for your father walks in, as if on cue, shoulders slumped from the anticipating tension now darkening the room. Taehyung’s shoulders tensed at the sight of the man he despises, but for the sake of you, Namjoon and his Godchild, he keeps his composure enough to ignore the elephant now standing in the room. The fear that used to consume you upon your dad unraveling the truth about your secret vacates you when you know that you and the two men present can conquer anything.

“Yes,” the answer is to your mother, but your stern glower of warning is only connected with your dad’s although your mother’s stare remains on you, “Namjoon is the father.”

Namjoon stands with pride while he accepts the pair of scissors from Dr. Seokjin- your father, with a shocked expression, watches as the man he hired happens to be the same man who stole his daughter’s heart without his knowledge. Yet, he refrains from anger, because who is he to ruin such a precious moment about to unfold here?

Pictures are taken of Namjoon cutting the umbilical cord, his fingers gently rubbing his daughter’s cheek while he wipes at the tears dripping from his eyes. Jungkook takes her into his arms to weigh her before wrapping her in a plush pink blanket, “She is seven pounds and five ounces,”

Endless joy envelops your heart from the scene playing out before you; especially, when the vision of your father’s quivering chin, admiring his granddaughter leaves you speechless along with the hope of redemption entering your beating heart.

“Are you ready to hold her?” Monnie’s kind eyes match her smile when she touches your arm.

“Yes,” you stifle a sob, “I want to hold her,”

Monnie poses her arms to where Jungkook places your daughter, Monnie guardedly turns to rest your baby into your arms. Her small face chortles, her eyes closing while she puckers her tiny lips. “She’s so perfect,” you cry, love in all its beauty falling from your eyes while you watch your daughter’s fingers fold individually upon her chest.

“Just like you,” Namjoon whispers, locking eyes with you before inching forward to give you a loving kiss.

“I love you, Joon,” you whisper, pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth.

“I love you, too.”

“Uh,” the deep serenade of your best friend interrupts, all attention abruptly turning to see him raise an index finger in the air, “So, as the Godfather, I must ask a very serious question,” the room chuckles along with him as they patiently wait for his request, “What’s her name?”

“Ah,” you nod, realizing that hasn’t been made known to anyone other than to yourself. Your mother steps forward to place her hand upon your shoulder while your father keeps his distance enough to not cause any trouble- though the two of you share a small smile to let him know all is well. Namjoon watches you in admiration- the woman of his dreams holding his child in her arms while facing her deepest fear yet holds her head with pride about the man she will spend the rest of her life with along with her daughter swaddled to her chest. You are everything he’s ever longed for and more, and he’s ready to defeat any storm in life if it’s with you and his daughter.

To answer Tae’s question though, you return to face him, tears gathering in exhilarating bliss.

“Taejun.” Her eyes slightly open at the hearing of her name as a tiny smile adorns her lips,

“Her name is Kim Taejun.”

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Beneath an Aurora Sky ch. 10

Summary: The South Pole Station is equipped for research and Edge has always made sure things run smoothly for the inhabitants. His charges are meant to follow his rules and regulations, and in turn, he makes sure they survive in the arctic temperatures. It takes plenty of hard work and determination and Edge, along with his crew, can handle both.

He wasn’t counting on one of the newest researchers. He wasn’t expecting Rus.

Tags: Spicyhoney, First Time, Arctic AU, Hurt/Comfort

Notes: So, bourbon came up with an amazing AU and did some lovely art for it: please look at it and love it.

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Read Chapter 10 on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

When they walked into Alphys’s lab, Rus at Edge’s side and Red dangling over his shoulder like a sack of flour, all their resident scientist did was sigh loudly and take off her headphones.

It was good to see. When they’d first come Aboveground, Alphys had not been in a good state. The years Underground had not been kind and if it hadn’t been for her skills, the old King would have likely given her what he considered a merciful dusting.

Seeing her recovery was warming, proved that the station was the best place for them. The cold weather was a struggle for Alphys but she never minded staying inside anyway, preferring her lab and the occasional company the permanent residents provided. That and Undyne; they were an odd couple, loud and boisterous coupled with timid and softly spoken, but whenever they were together, their souls practically shone with love.

Also sexual tension, but Edge made a point of ignoring that, lest nightmares haunt him.

Her scolding wouldn’t have been possible when they first arrived; her stutter had been nearly complete and she still sometimes lapsed into Hands to get across certain points. But today she walked over with her fists on her hips and said sternly, “I t-t-told you not to force him to come.”

“this ain’t force, leapin’ lizard,” Red called from behind Edge’s back. “i was just tired a walkin’”

Alphys’s look told how much she believed that. But she allowed Red the pretense. For whatever convoluted reason, Red never wanted to admit how much he hated the treatments; it was possible he didn’t want to hurt Alphys’s feelings, but doubtful. That possibility had never stopped him from making his opinion known before. As always, his reasons were his own and Edge didn’t care to pry, so long as he eventually got his brother here.

“Well, c-come on, then,” Alphys gestured then towards the machine. Now that they were safely in the lab, Edge could set Red down with the reasonable assumption that he wouldn’t vanish the moment Edge took his hand away. It was a petty revenge to dumped Red roughly to the floor, ignoring the profuse swearing that rose up as he turned his attention to Rus.

Who only stood with his hands in his pockets, casting an idle glance here and there at the lab. It was almost disappointing; Alphys’s lab wouldn’t have been out of place in an old mad scientist movie. The machine alone was impressive, massive tubes fed into it along with a slender wires and electric cords, all leading to a simple cushioned chair. One that Red hopped into, settling in with the nonchalance of one about to take an afternoon nap.

There were very few people who would notice the slight tremor in his hands, and two of them were in the room. Before he settled in completely, Red whipped off his ski cap, exposing his skull.

Edge noted grimly the way Rus’s sockets widened when he caught sight of it, eye lights flaring in shock. His reaction was typical, most people that possessed a shred of compassion would be horrified to see the damage, the cracks that still webbed over the entire parietal bone. Few would believe that before the treatments it had been much worse. Once there had been a gaping hole in his skull large enough to fit a hand through, his entire left socket destroyed.

Over time, the machine forced the bone to regenerate and now the hole could hardly fit a finger, perhaps two. His brother no longer teetered close to dusting with any small injury and Edge owed Alphys a debt that could never be repaid.

Sweet creature that she was, she only blushed and stammered at gratitude and Edge no longer gave it; instead, he focused on giving her a safe place to work, a home where she could do her experiments and be happy with the person she loved. Hardly a fair trade in his opinion, but it wasn’t his that mattered.

But he had refused when Alphys offered to work on the crack that ran through Edge’s socket. That scar was a badge of honor, not one of shame. He’d wear it until the day he dusted.

Rus took a step closer and Edge wondered if his curiosity was over the machine, or more morbidly on Red. It was no surprise that his brother didn’t seem to care which option it was, only that Rus was here at all.

“don’t think you need to be poking around at shit that ain’t none of your business, fashion victim,” Red grumbled, although his sockets were closed.

Rus only shrugged amicably, holding up his empty hands. “i’m not touching anything. i learned how to keep my hands to myself as a baby bones. well, mostly,” he offered Edge a leer that made him roll his eye lights and Alphys titter from where she was working at the machine controls.

“H-he’s been here b-b-before,” Alphys offered softly. Her fingers were moving rapidly in an efficient contrast.

That was news to Edge, “When was this?”

“eh, couple days ago,” Rus said easily, “alphys and i were talking about some stuff.”

“what stuff?” Red said suspiciously, cracking open a socket. That Red hadn’t known Rus and Alphys were talking would not sit well with him and Edge found some discomfort in it, too. Alphys could be fragile and Undyne was very protective. He made a mental note to ask her if she was aware of their resident fashion victim making yet another friend to add to his collection.

Rus only smiled cheekily, “just stuff. science stuff.”

“oh, yeah, grad student?” Red sat up, scowling, “alphys knows her shit, you askin’ for theories? what’s your thesis on, anyway?”

“Don’t move!” Alphys squeaked. She left the controls and darted over to push on Red’s chest until he reluctantly subsided back to the chair. “He’s only t-t-teasing you, we talked about anime!”

“oh, ain’t that kawaii,” Red cooed, though his sugar-sweet tone did not match his scowl. “still didn’t tell me about your thesis.”

“nope, i didn’t,” Rus agreed cheerily. “it’s about this and that.”

That maniacal gleam in Rus’s eye lights was terribly reminiscent of Red and Edge was starting to think it might be better to for them to leave. This was partly his fault, he knew Red was on the fence about Rus, he shouldn’t have dragged the other skeleton into helping him corner his brother. Even if he’d been terribly effective at it.

“so, tell me,” Red challenged.

For all that his teeth were blunt, Rus’s grin was sharp enough to cut glass. “dunno, it might be over your head. your understanding might fall short.”

For a moment, Edge was honestly concerned his brother might attack Rus and that would lead to a very uncomfortable talk with the Institute.

Then Red threw his head back and roared a laugh, pounding on the armrest hard enough to jar the entire chair. He ignored Alphys’s hiss, turning in the chair to toss back at Rus, “that’s kinda high and mighty of ya, think it’s a stretch to assume.”

“maybe, but you’re probably used to low blows.”

“it’s a tall order.”

“yeah, i wouldn’t want to overlook you, don’t want to stoop that low.”

The entire exchange was making Edge regret several life choices, but Alphys was smiling faintly. With a jolt, Edge realized she’d already begun the treatment and Red hadn’t even noticed, too busy defending his honor as the resident punster. Normally, his brother would be lying in the chair, fists clenched and sweat dripping while he struggled to allow the machine to do its work. Now he was distracted and gleefully antagonistic, firing back pun after pun. The machine finished before they did and it was only Edge taking hold of Rus’s arm, pulling him along, that finally ended the war.

“—need to work on your low standards!” Rus called as Edge tugged him out the door.

Before it could swing shut, he could hear Red crow triumphantly, “you already used that one! next time i’ll hafta ride on your shoulders and teach you the way of the jedi!”

Rus laughed delightedly, finally allowing Edge to lead him away. “he’s a goblin, but he’s got jokes.”

“Very apt,” Edge said dryly. They were in one of the walkways that led to Alphys’s lab with few overhead lights. Not as open as the umbilicus that she was testing, but still filled with portholes that revealed the aurora starting overhead. The soft greens cast shadows that moved eerily in the dimness. “Thank you for your help, I’ll let you get back to your work.”

“nah, it’s cool,” Rus tucked his hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels. “i’ve got some numbers to compile before i can do anything else.” He paused, sockets hooded and his eye lights soft, then asked, “did you want to come back to my room?”

It was as blatant an offer as they’d ever exchange, no safety net of teasing flirtation, and Edge hesitated. It was tempting, the warmth of invitation in Rus’s eye lights promised a very good time. Despite Undyne’s insinuations, Edge was not a virgin, but it had been a long while, since before they’d come to the surface. The urge to see Rus’s face twisted with pleasure, to hear the delightful sounds he would make waged a brief war with his sense of responsibility.

So very tempting, but he had duties to fulfill, ones that he’d already set aside to deal with Red.

“I can’t,” Edge told him, quietly. He braced himself for some form of persuasion, some new enticement he’d need to resist, wondered distantly at the limits of his control.

But Rus only nodded. “okay. see you around.”

“Wait.”

He stopped, head tilted curiously, and his pale bones were tinted with the aurora light creeping in. Edge stepped in close, lifting his chin to press their mouths together. The taint of cigarettes had faded and there was only sweetness, his tongue moving boldly against Edge’s, sharing that honeyed flavor even as he stole a taste of his own. A hand settled on Edge’s face, cool bone against his overheated skull and Edge was forced to swallow a moan. They parted reluctantly, and Edge could feel the pocket of warmth between them, their magic responding with mindless eagerness.

“I can’t right now,” Edge corrected his own words.

Rus gave him a small, secret smile. “yeah. soon then, edgelord.” He started to turn away then stopped, “wait, shit, all my equipment is still in the locker up front.”

Edge barely hesitated before taking out his keys, the mass of them jangling loudly as he removed one and tossed it to Rus. He nearly fumbled it, managed to grab it before it fell to the ground. “Don’t lose it.”

“oooh, exchanging keys already,” Rus winked at him, ignoring Edge’s exasperated huff. Edge only gave him a hard look until Rus smiled wryly, making a little cross over his soul with one finger. “i won’t lose it, promise.”

“See that you don’t.” He turned and walked away then, before the simmer of temptation became too much to bear.

~~*~~

He had cause to regret it later.

On his last check of the station before he went to bed, Edge heard muffled laughter coming from the kitchen. Familiar, loud laughter and he sighed inwardly and went to check.

What he found made him sigh again, this time in aggravation. Undyne, of course, with two of the female researchers and Rus. One of the bottles on the table in front of them was a dead soldier and the other was half-empty. Not much for Undyne, but from the glassy eyes and giggles from her companions, they'd had their fair share.

Rus beamed at him, only slightly more enthusiastically than the researchers, and an echo of slurred 'boss!' carried towards him. He shook his head. "Undyne--"

"Aww, calm down," she hiccoughed, laughing raucously, "didn't hurt the precious! he's only had like two!

"Yes, and skeleton Monsters don't possess a liver,” Edge crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his second-in-command. “Our tolerance is completely dependent on our weight and level of magic. Would you care to hazard a guess as to what he weighs?"

Undyne blinked owlishly, considering, and then to his horror, she scooped Rus up, hefting him as he squealed a laugh. She laughed with him, spinning around sloppily before finally dumping him gently on top of the table where he sagged, sprawling across it.

“again!” Rus giggled weakly.

“Huh,” Undyne prodded at him with one clawed finger. It must have tickled, because Rus nearly spasmed, his laughter doubling. “Prolly enough that two drinks hit him like a sledgehammer.”

“You think?” It took a little effort to gather him up. Drinking made Rus surprising noodly for a skeleton, limbs escaping to hang limply while Edge tried grimly to hold him close. “Come on, time for bed.”

That got his attention. Rus squirmed in his arms, ostensibly trying to help Edge hold on as he wound his arms around Edge’s neck. "you're taking me to bed? again?”

Undyne snorted loudly and Edge felt his cheekbones heat. He liked to think they hadn’t been entirely blatant in their flirting, but now the two researchers were perking up with visible interest. Lovely, the rest of the station would know by morning. He wondered grouchily if Rus had inadvertently just won someone a bet. Probably his brother.

“Can you get these two to bed?” Edge asked her, ignoring all looks, both curious and knowing, along with Rus snuggling happily into his arms.

“Yeah, I got ‘em,” Undyne gave him a needle-sharp smile, “Have a good night, boss.”

Tomorrow, he was going to remind himself why he couldn’t kill her. For tonight, it was simply a good thing that his hands were full.

“Come on,” Edge sighed, shouldering open the door. Rus wasn’t heavy, but he was awkward to carry, and his hands weren’t still, tracing his cervical vertebrae with only slightly clumsy fingers. The touch made him shiver and Edge walked a bit faster.

“I hope you have a laundry token,” Edge told him, “Your shirt needs washed, you smell like a distillery.”

“s’your shirt, isn’t it?” Rus slurred. One of his hands slithered down, making Edge bite back a hiss, and plucked at his shirtfront.

He almost denied it, but, “Yes,” Edge agreed, softly. “I gave you some of my clothes.”

Rus’s beamed up at him triumphantly, “knew they were yours! they smelled like you.” He lifted his head, whispering too loudly into Edge’s audial canal, “firs’ i was thinking you felt sorry for me, but then i thought...i thought maybe you liked me? did you like me?”

The hopefulness in his voice hinted at something desperate, perhaps only drunken melancholy, Edge couldn’t know. Better if he didn’t acknowledge it, and Edge said, lightly, "What's not to like?"

Rus scrunched up his face and blew a sloppy raspberry, and Edge bit back an exasperated smile. “lotsa people don't like me.”

“I can't even begin to imagine why, Rus,” Edge told him honestly. Certainly he’d charmed his way into the station, Monsters and researchers both.

“i dunno, either,” Rus said, sullenly. “but they don't. He looked up and his sockets were engulfed with his eye lights, hazily wide and pleading. “do you like me?"

It was far too easy to admit. "Yes. I like you.”

“i knew it!” Rus crowed. “only, i didn' really know it. but i thought it. i hoped it.” He fell silent, snuggling into Edge’s arms as he whispered, “you’re not staying in my room, are you.”

Again, that faint hint of unhappiness, of desperation. But staying while Rus was like this, drunkenly tempting, was out of the question. Edge settled on a compromise. “I can stay until you’re asleep.”

“’kay,” Rus agreed, and Edge thought ruefully he was in for a short wait. Possibly only long enough to settle him on the bed, Rus was already drowsing in his arms, one hand clutching the front of Edge’s shirt as if to keep him close. It loosened easily enough as Edge set him into his bunk, taking off his shoes and tucking his blanket around him.

Rus barely stirred as Edge pressed a light kiss to his browbone. His scent was whiskey-tainted, but Edge breathed it in anyway.

“I do like you,” Edge whispered to him, tracing the angular line of his jaw with a single finger. Rus didn’t so much as murmur an acknowledgement, only breathed softly, evenly in sleep.

Next time, Edge told himself, next time he would stay.

Whatever his misgivings were, he no longer cared. Rus was a growing temptation in body and soul, Edge was finished resisting.

~~*~~

tbc

[forbetterorworsefinalspace]

Shonky

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: Final Space

Part: 2

Link-  🌌

__________________________________________________

Still trying to leave Earth, Sheryl is reminded time and time again that bringing her son along is a big mistake. However he can prove useful. 

Meanwhile Gary is reminded that his mother is a very different person from his father.

For Better Or Worse AU

__________________________________________________

“Is this wrong?”

Sheryl Goodspeed paused her actions to looked up at the sky, annoyed beyond belief. They were only a day or two into their journey, they hadn’t even left Earth yet for fuck sake, and the kid was already driving her up the bloody walls! Kid was a friggen Stickybeak, with no idea about his own personal safety, (She pulled him out of traffic twice already.) but somehow was insightful enough to know when she was breaking the law.

Trust John to raise him properly. Now she had to wreck all his hard work…

“Yes, Gary, but we need to do this.” Sheryl said, going back to her work.

They had driven down to a place Sheryl knew people stored their space vehicles during the off season. Rich tycoons that camp in space or some other nonsense. If they could get a craft that doubled as a living area, that be perfect… However she’d settle for whatever was stored in the fenced in yard.

They just needed to break in and steal one.

“Why?”

God fucking damn it.

“I’ll tell you later Gary.” She muttered, shaking her head. “We just have to.”

“But-!!”

“SHH!!” Sheryl spun to looked at him angrily, practically hiss in his face. “Listen here you little Drongo, see that there?!” She yell whispered, jutting her finger to the house just a few feet away. “That house?! If you wake up the person inside, then they’ll call the cops and take us away! You want to go into foster care?!”

The boy gave a frightened shake of his head.

“Right, then you’d best PULL your head IN!” She growled, then was back at the locks. She fiddled away for a few more moments, grumbling when she realized how rusty she had gotten. However she finally heard the tell tale click, pulling it apart and easing the door open with an ominous creek.

She looked around quickly. No signs of dogs. Or anything else. Suppose the guy just trusted his community. It was a high end area of town.

Sucks to be him.

She stepped in and could feel Gary follow behind her. She shut the door so it wouldn’t slam before leading deeper into the yard. Gary wandered a few steps away, with wide eyes.

“Are these… spaceships?” He asked in awe.

“That's a bit generous.” Sheryl shrugged. “More like space campers, space RVs and space cars, I suppose.”

“Wow…” Gary didn’t seem deterred by the explanation. He walked closer to a sporty looking craft. Likely a racing model. “W-what are we gonna do?”

“Steal one.” Sheryl said, looking over a large camper, only to deem it too noticeable and cumbersome.

“Why?”

Fuckin’....

“To go to space.” Sheryl glared at him. “Why else?”

Gary turned to her quickly, slack jawed and wide eyed. He began to bounce in place, growing a very large smile on his face. Sheryl realized what he was going to do a few seconds before he did.

“Don’t you dare!” She snapped, thankfully stopping him from squealing in excitement. She pointed forcefully to the house again, before going back to her search. As she looked, she kept having to make sure Gary wasn’t about to give them away. Sometimes he started talking too loudly and she’s hush him, forcefully. Sometimes he knocked over tins on the ground or started babbling to himself...and she kept having to stop him, wasting time they didn’t have.

This was a mistake.

He was a mistake…

Focus Sherie, focus.

Finally, near the back, she found a suitable ride. Perfect actually. It was a tow along trailer that had a self contained bubble at the front, where you could put a vehicle to move it, one just like her bike. The trailer area was smallish, but suitable. It had a mini fridge, sink, a few storage areas, a tiny bathroom at the back and two slim beds.

First, getting it out.

“Go hold the door.” She whispered to Gary, who actually ran off to do as he was told. With a heavy grunt she started to pull the vehicle from the storage area, hefting with all her might until her arms ached and her legs burned. Halfway to the exit she started to hurt.

Think of John. This is for John.

She managed it out before taking a second to breath. Gary scampered to her side, looking concerned and slightly upset. She frowned up at him from her seat on the ground.

“W-what?” She huffed.

“How were you moving that?” Gary asked. “Didn’t it hurt? Like a whole bunch? Forever?”

Sheryl moaned, standing up. “Well, sometimes you gotta work through the pain.”

“Why?”

Ah, this kid…

“Unpack our bags and get them in the camper.” Sherly grumbled. Thankfully the boy seemed interested in looking inside and ran to see.

Though still sore, Sheryl forced her bike into the bubble to act as an engine. Thankfully the bags were off it now, but looking inside, she could see Gary jumping from bed to bed, a big smile on his face as he made a mess.

Good lord this kid…

Sheryl leaned against the bubble. This was a mistake… and this was her last chance to leave the kid behind. Or at least on Earth anyway. She was tempted, so very, very tempted to just dump him here.I mean, sure he might get blamed for stealing the camper, but he was a kid. They’d let him off easy…

The boy giggled loudly, beds squeaking under his weight as he hopped around like a roided up Roo. As Sheryl put her head in her hand, pinching the bridge of her nose, the boy leapt from the trailer and ran to take a look at the rockets on the back.

This is a mistake.

“HEY!”

Sheryl looked up into the barrel of a gun, she went rigid as a man dressed in his pajamas started to come closer. “Who the hell do you think you are?!” He asked crossly, waving the weapon around.

God damn it, she hadn’t heard the man coming because of all of Gary’s noise!

Still she shifted to an unimpressed stance, scowling slightly. “That supposed to be a trick question?” She asked dryly.

The man huffed and went fumbling for his pocket, not taking his eyes off her. “N-now you just stay right there until my help arrives, or I’ll shoot you! Don’t you make any sudden moves!”

Where did this guy get his dialogue, a cop movie? Sheryl scowled when he pulled out his phone.

“Wassa matter? Can’t handle a lady on your own?” Sheryl scoffed. The gears were turning in her head, trying to think of a way out of this. Thankfully Gary was quiet now, which was making it a lot easier.

She had to kill him. She just needed to do it before he called for this so called help, or else they’d have to make a runner. She tried to lean to one side, inching her hand down her waist to a knife hidden in her boot. Guy was still trying to dial his cell, which was perfect for her. The longer he struggled, the more time she had to arm herself.

She closed her hand around the hilt when the man seemed to notice her strange posture. He straightened his gun out. “Hey! What are you-”

BANG!

Sheryl started, eyes rounded, as the man straightened like a board, then fell to the ground in a heap. Behind him stood Gary, who slapped his hands over his mouth when the man folded before him. A brick clattering down with the guy.

Sheryl blinked.

“O-Oh no! Oh no!” Gary whined, shaking his hands. “I killed him! That not good! Thats super not good!” He grabbed his hair tightly. “I friggen wreck his stuff!”

“Calm down.” Sheryl knelt, feeling the man’s neck. “He has a pulse Gary, you just knocked him out.”

Gary slumped in relief. “Oh thank crap!- Oph!” He flinched. “Sorry…”

“Fer what?”

“For swearing…”

Sheryl stared at him before laughing. “Ah you can swear all you fuckin want. I don’t give a shit. Just be quiet when we’re sneakin around, yeah?”

“Oh.” Gary stared back at her, processing this information, then hunched in on himself and spoke in a very soft voice.

“Fuck.”

Sheryl was… actually amused by this. She chuckled. “Feel good?”

“Yeah.” Gary looked up at her, but seemed a bit gloomy. “It just, dad said I shouldn’t…”

Sheryl darkened as well. “Hmm, he ain’t here now, is he?”

“No…”

Sheryl glanced back down at the man before taking his gun, she inspected it quickly, lining up her sights with it, then checked the chambers.

Empty.

So he was all bluff.

Sheryl tsked, but put it on her bike. Looking over she could see the house was still dark, but the door was open…

“Come with me.” Sheryl ordered before marching to the house. She nudged the door open, looking into the building. She flicked on a few lights once she knew no one was in the shadows.

For such a nice area of town, this sure was a dump. Everything was in a state. Newspapers and used dishes everywhere. There was no art on the walls, hardly any furniture, and it was cramped to hell.

She pushed Gary to the kitchen. “Find some bags and grab some food yeah? I’m gonna look upstairs.”

“Isn’t that stealing-”

“Gary, we’re already stealing. You konked this dude on the head with a brick not five minutes ago.”

“Oh yeah.”

“Just grab the food.”

Sheryl headed up the stairs, to a small bedroom. It was also sparse, the bed was unmade and every surface was covered in junk. She checked a few drawers and looked over the clutter. Then she found something interesting.

“Well, well, well. No wonder this place is a mess.” She said, holding up a tiny baggie of white powder. She opened it, dipping her pinky in and rubbed it on her gums. It dissolves instantly, leaving a bit of her mouth numb. Sheryl smiled. “Hello Basuco, its been a very long time.” She spotted a large amount of the baggies under a shirt. “And you brought the whole family!”

Sheryl wasn’t one for cocaine. She tried to steer clear of it, if mostly because she saw addiction as a weakness. She did, however, dabble in a few when… when John tossed her out. Thankfully she managed to slapped herself out of it a few days in and just stick to beer and smokes.

These would, however, sell very nicely.

She tossed the lot in a bag and kept looking. Eventually she found the ammo for the gun under the bed. Huh, maybe the guy thought the gun was loaded. Then a large wad of cash in his underwear drawer. After stealing her fill she came down, finding Gary struggling with a large bag of food. It was all junk food and things like that, but Sheryl didn’t care.

“Give.” She ordered, snatching it from him. She took everything down to the trailer, before tossing it inside. She looked back to Gary, but the boy was worriedly hunched over the man he knocked out. There was a sizable puddle of blood on the ground now, which she could see from the light of the house.

“Is he gonna be ok?” Gary asked, frowning.

“Hell if I know.” Sheryl scoffed, coming over. “Bleeding like a faucet though.”

“S-so I did kill him?” Gary asked, sniffling a bit.

Ugh!

“What? Your sad that you killed him?” Sheryl frowned. “He was gonna die someday.”

“Yeah, but I killed him! Me!”

“For the love of-” Sheryl knelted, pulled out her knife, and slit his throat in a quick motion. Blood splashed out, but not as much as she expected. He was likely running low, bleeding in the brain. She wiped her blood off on the grass before looking back to her son. “There. Now I killed him.”

Gary stared at her, eyes the size of pin pricks.

“What now?” She asked, exasperated.

“Y-you killed him…”

“Thats right.”

“...Why?”

She rolled her eyes. Again with the why! “To shut you up and because the less people who see us the better.” Sheryl grunted. The boy just stared back, horrified, making her scoff. “Just get in the bloody camper. I’m gonna hide the body.”

Gary slunk away and Sheryl grabbed the corpse by the legs, dragging him into the junk yard, where she covered him with a metal sheet. Her body groaned, unhappy with all the heavy lifting and pulling.

As she finished up, the dark sky rumbled, a few raindrops coming down from above. It was an ominous sign, but also a stroke of good luck. The water would ruin evidence, and the thunder would hide the noise of their take off.

Walking back to their new home, Sheryl could see Gary curled up inside, clutching the bug jar like a lifeline and wrapped tightly under some blankets. She paused, biting her lip and staring at him. He looked pretty messed up…

Well, he’d get used to it. She had grown up around that sort of thing. Maybe not people per say, but animals definitely.

She came to the bike and closed the bubble, climbing on so she could pull the ship into the sky.

“Mom..?”

“Eh?” She didn’t look at him.

“W-why did that guy have to die?” Gary mumbled. “Was it me?”

Sheryl paused again, and then turned to him.

“Gary. In this world, its either you or them.” She said lowly. “Sometimes the best thing to do is make sure there is no them at all. He would have made it harder for us to get away to space. Now that he’s dead, less problems.”

“Oh… ok.” Gary looked to the window as they started to rise in the air. “But why are we going to space?”

Sheryl looked back out the bubbled, which was rippling with raindrops.

“We’re gonna bring John back.”

The ship took off with a rumble, blending into the thunder as they rose to the cosmos.

And one step closer to John.

[leswansong]

Chapter Ten - Adrinette April - Notes for You

Day 10 - Puns

Read it on A03? –> [ Click Here ] 

Marinette stared blankly at the screen, trying to plan the assignment she had just been handed earlier that day, she had no idea where to start.

“I’ve done it, the pun war has begun!” Nino shouted, getting a few angry glares from other students

“What my lovely boyfriend is trying to say is that it starts tomorrow,” Alya interjected.

“You got the teachers to agree?” Marinette asked.

The two nodded their head, “Remember no telling Adrien cause no one like to spoil birthday presents,” Alya reminded her.

“Don’t worry I won’t, but how does…”

“Hundred chances equals a hundred soldiers, someone says a pun to you, you have 10 seconds to deflect, you don’t you lose a ‘solider’, you successfully defect they lose, simple,” Nino explained again, how he had come up with the idea she really didn’t know but it sounded interesting and she couldn’t wait to play.

Marinette was getting tired of this 2 days into the week and she was already thinking about not showing up for the next week, how were the others doing this, the puns were growing harder and harder to come up with, she knew that she would have to ask Adrien for help but that would be admitting defeat but… defeat was preferable then marching her remaining ‘soldiers’ off a cliff, she tracked him down after school, his father had forced him to attend his fencing classes to make up for the fact he skipped it on his birthday, he also had to attend the photoshoots that also had to be rescheduled because he had skipped, the boy was a little upset, she could tell as soon as recess came around and he ran for the silver car parked out front, and then the same during lunch.

She waited outside the front gate for the black jacket she had spent weeks embroidering to appear out of the front gate, finally after 15 minutes it emerged, she called to him.

“Marinette?”

“Adrien, I need a favour… Can you teach me how to… uh… pun?”

He chuckled slightly, “Marinette, that's not how it works, I can’t teach you because its a natural talent.”

“Please Adrien,” she begged, “Please…”

“Marinette pleading with me isn’t going to change my mind,” he said heading down the steps to the recently arrived silver car.

She crossed her arms, “fine, any pastry you like for a week.”

“Still no,” he called back.

“Two weeks!” she shouted.

“hmmm… tempting but still no,” he opened the car door and threw his bag in the backseat.

Marinette closed her eyes and yelled her final offer, “An entire month,” her voice sounded like a whisper.

The blond paused to ponder her offer, “Well… that’s extremely tempting but… if you make it two then I’d say we have a deal.”

Marinette nodded her head, “Fine,” she said with a groan, “Two months,” she headed down the steps towards him and held her hand out for him to shake.

“Two months,” he reiterated in agreement, he shook her hand before taking a seat in the car, “We’ll start on Monday before school.”

Marinette shot him an exasperated look, “Why… Why-“

“Because,” he replied cutting her off, “It will give you a full day to put what you have learned to the test.”

He closed the car door and the car drove away from the curb. It was going to be a long weekend.

“Why do we have to do this before school? why can’t we just talk over the phone,” she asked him, the movie played through the screen sharing site they were using, the bowel of popcorn sat discarded beside her, a very full red Kwami had fallen asleep halfway through the bowling movie.

“You a legit no fun Mari,” her phone was held up to her ear so she could hear him.

“Adrien, you can’t expect me to actually show up 30 minutes before the bell, I struggle to make in on time sometimes.”

“You’ve been getting better.”

“Yeah I know, but I can’t make any promises.”

“purrmises.”

“sorry… Wait is that why you insisted on this movie?”

“Cat puns are the easiest,” she could practically hear him shrug his shoulders.

“I still can’t believe they managed to arrange this for your birthday.”

“me neither, How many of your metaphorical soldiers do you have left?”

“10…”

“Wow, who’s been picking on you?”

“Kim, each and every time too.”

“That sucks, Maybe my skills will help you, I might as well just write down a bunch for you.”

“I need help, I don’t need a victory handed to me.”

“we both know I’d bet you.”

“Not if someone takes you out first…”

“Is that a threat?”

“Kinda, I know Alya, Alix and Rose are trying to take you out after you took Juleka out of the game,” Marinette reached over to the bowel grabbing a handful of popcorn, he gaze still focused on the movie on screen.

“It’s nice to know there is a gang after me.”

“Maybe I should just admit defeat.”

“No! I’m too invested you have to stay…”

“fine…”

Marinette leaned against the classroom door waiting for her friends to pack away their tablets.

“Hey, Marinette.”

“Hey, Kim.”

“You are the sweetest person I know,” he said trying to take the small box of macaroons in her hands.

“That's Adorable,” she responded not realising the pun.

Kim didn’t say anything in reply but walked away with his head hung low.

Marinette was really confused, “What did I say?” she asked her small group of friends.

“You just killed one of his soldiers M,” Alya explained.

“I…”

“A - door - able? you’re leaning against a door M.”

“Oh…” she said as it suddenly clicked, she looked over at Adrien to see that he was smiling proudly at her, she felt giddy inside as the group of four headed to lunch.

Marinette soon found ’the art of puns’ as Adrien had coined it came naturally to her, she started defeating her class members left and right, even removing some of them from the game.

“You are a serious threat to me Mari,” Adrien reply sarcastically.

“What? I’m not even trying anymore.”

“I can see that, are you glad you stuck around now?”

“A little, the game became a lot more fun without Kim coming back over and over again.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“Thank you, for helping me along.”

“No problem Marinette, just know I won’t go easy on you.”

“I didn’t expect you to.”

“To quote an extremely famous quote from the Hunger Games, May the Odds be ever in your favour.”

“This is war…” she replied.

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[winmance]

Trust in me - Chapter 8

Jared used to live in a huge house. It was the kind of house that you would see in the movies, with your classic American white-picket fence, and flower beds near the porch, each more beautiful than the last. It had two bathrooms, four bedrooms, and a recreational room. It was the type of home that always had warm cookies, ready to be served, a constant warm vanilla scent wafting through the air.

Now he owns a tiny room below a strip club. One where he performs every once in a while when he needs cash, he lets old men rub their hands - and sometimes other… parts - on him. There are no flowers there, no sun, and all you could smell was dirt, sweat, and sperm. Yet, he’s happier in that seedy little room than he has been at his so-called ‘home.’

Jensen’s apartment isn’t as big as his house was, but it isn’t as small as his apartment either. It's just the right amount of space that someone would need to function properly, with room to spare. There are two rooms, a bathroom with a tub, a living room and a kitchen. Once they got there, Jensen told him that he could eat whatever he wanted, he wonders if that included beer too.

“There’s a tv here. I don’t watch it often, but feel free to use it,” Jensen said, showing him the remote control next to the tv.

He doesn’t know why Jensen is showing him all of this, but he doesn’t ask. Usually, his clients are very direct about what they want. Sometimes they want to be tied up on a bed for hours, sometimes they want to tie him up. They might want to be used or to use him. There’s no place for discussion when he does this, it doesn’t matter if he wants or doesn’t want it. He’s there to satisfy them, to let them forget their shitty lives for a while and get them to feel good, whether he wants it or not.

He doesn’t know what Jensen wants, doesn’t know why he asked him to come to his apartment - he doesn’t know why he agreed.

Actually, he knew why he agreed - because getting fucked in a bed is far more comfortable than suffering in the cold street.

“Do you want something to drink?” Jensen offered

“Can I have a beer?” He asked hopefully.

“Orange juice or water?”

“Orange juice,” He grumbled jokingly.

Jensen smirked before disappearing into the kitchen, leaving Jared alone in the living room. There are a few boxes on the floors with the initials ‘JA’ written on them. Maybe Jensen moved in recently? But he glanced to the right and saw a bunch of pictures standing on coffee tables, dressers, etc. and he sees that the calendar on the wall is open on september 2017, even though it’s actually september of 2018, which means that Jensen has been here for at least a year.

Maybe he was moving out? He wondered, Jensen isn’t happy here - that fact is obvious. Jared sees lots of sad men in his life, whether it was because they felt trapped by working at home, or from being lonely, none of them had looked as sad as Jensen does. On second thought, sad wasn’t the right word for it, more like… disappointed - as if you were to go somewhere expecting to have fun but end up wanting to go home after a few minutes. That’s what Jenssen looked like - like someone who really wanted to go home.

He wondered briefly if Jensen would agree to just drop him off somewhere along the road. He needs to leave town and never come back. He doesn't think Jensen would agree though, he’s lucky that Jensen had offered him a place to stay in the first place.

“Here you go,” Jensen said, giving Jared his drink.

“Thanks,” He says quietly.

They stand awkwardly in front of each other, neither of them knowing what to say or do. Jared’s body is screaming for him to sit down, but he doesn’t want to piss Jensen off. He knows far too well what it feels like to piss off a client, and he had already had enough pain for one night. Jensen isn’t a client, but Jared isn’t a fool - when someone offers you a place to stay for the night they expect more from you than for you to just sleep.

Any other time he would’ve jumped at the occasion, Jensen is hot - hotter than most of his clients. Even though he seems intimidating and unkind he was nice enough to buy him food and allegedly invited him into his home. He couldn’t remember the last time someone let him order whatever he wanted without expecting at least a blowjob after.

But all he wants to do tonight is lay down and sleep for two days straight. He only hopes that Jensen wouldn’t ask him for anything he couldn’t do properly. He’d do whatever Jensen wanted him to do, but his lips and mouth were all ut ruined at the moment and he couldn’t even get on all fours, his legs were too battered and ached in pain. His mind was foggy and he felt as if he was gonna faint at any moment. He’s scared of what his reaction would be once they were laying in bed naked together. He knows how he could react, had suffered from it before, but he couldn't afford it tonight.

Maybe he could just lay down and let Jensen fuck him? God he hoped so.

“You wanna take a shower? Get clean and everything?”

He shivers happily with the thought of a hot shower. He’d been on the street almost all day, and he couldn’t think of anything better than feeling warm again.

“Yeah, please, that would be great,” Jared said with a small smile

Jared attempted to walk towards the bathroom but his knees buckled and the ground came rushing up. Just when he thought he would hit the floor a pair of strong arms caught him around his waist.

“Thanks,” Jared said breathlessly.

‘Don’t worry about it,” Jensen said with a smile.

Jensen helped him to the bathroom, giving him a towel and showing him where the soap is.

“Is it okay if i come in to drop off some clothes while you shower?” Jensen asked, hesitant.

He doesn’t know what kind of clothes Jensen is talking about. What was Jensen’s kink? Was it panties? Latex? He once had a client who’d asked him to dress as a bear. He’s pretty sure Jensen isn’t into that kind of thing, but he knows better than to judge a book by its cover.

Either way, he couldn’t care less if Jensen was coming into the room or not.

“It’s your home so feel free to do what you want,” Jared said, note of confusion clear in his tone.

Jensen frowned as if he wanted to correct Jared, but he doesn’t, choosing instead to show him how the shower works.

“Do you need help getting undressed?” Jensen asked.

“Dunno. You wanna help me?” He asked in a sweet voice.

“No,” Jensen said, visibly upset, “Guess you can do it on your own then.” With that, Jensen walks out of the room, leaving Jared alone again.

Jared’s throat tightens and he could feel his stomach twisting weirdly. Jensen’s stare was full of disgust, as if Jared was so ugly that he couldn’t even look at him. It’s not the first time Jensen had looked at him that way, and that’s why he thought Jensen wouldn’t even try to do anything with him. Who would want to have sex with someone who disgusts them.

He tries to get undressed as best as he can - he probably could’ve used Jensen’s help but he had to fuck it up. The feeling of the clothes scraping against his abused skin sent waves of pain through him.

He steps into the shower and turns the water on, it turning brown from the dirt and blood that caked his body. It felt good, so good that he decided to wash his hair, hoping that Jensen didn’t plan on going anywhere near it.

The soap on his skin doesn’t feel as good as the water and he hisses from the sting of it. The nurse at the police station took good care of him, but she didn’t take care of all of his injuries. Slowly, he dragged his fingers closer to his ass, trying to push the blood away. The man had just shoved something into his ass - Jared still isn’t sure what it was - and it pretty much destroyed him.

The first touch of his finger to his rim makes his whole body freeze, the pain unbearable. He pushed through it and kept going, he could still hear the man behind him, feel his hot breath, and could feel his disgusting body against his - he doesn’t want to remember, he wants to push the memories as far as his mind would allow him to, and to bury it, never needing to think about it again.

He wants to forget, but all he succeeds in doing is letting out a loud, ugly cry that he quickly tries to stifle by shoving a fist into his mouth to bite back the sobs. But it was too late, Jensen had heard.

Jensen knocked slightly on the door.

“Jared? You okay? Can I come in to drop off some clothes?” Jensen asked.

“S-sure,” Jared says stuttering as he hides behind the thickly fogged glass.

Jensen opens the door and sets down the clothes before quietly shutting the door again.

He waits a couple minutes, letting his body and mind calm down before continuing his inspection. He sighs in relief when he doesn't find any evidence of tearing. It's just blood from cuts on his ass and maybe his rim. Good, he’ll be able to satisfy Jensen.

Once he’s sure he’s all clean and open, he steps out of the shower and starts drying himself.

He frowns when he sees the clothes. Jensen must have made a mistake, and he’s almost tempted to go out and find him. He doesn’t, though. Sometimes, people have weird fantasies and it’s his duty not to say anything about it.

He struggles to pull on the grey joggers and the Led Zeppelin shirt that was two sizes too big for him and hung of his frame, exposing the bruises on his right shoulder - which he unsuccessfully tried to hide. The clothes are warm and comfy, the warmth giving him the feeling as if he were on the receiving end of a full-body hug. He let himself enjoy it, taking in Jensen’s musky scent. There’s also a pair of socks waiting for him, which he pulls on rapidly before heading to the living room.

“Jensen?”

“Oh, hey,” Jensen said from the kitchen, “Uh, I didn’t know what you could eat because of your throat - not that I mean - I just - nevermind. I made chicken soup. Is that ok?”

“Y-Yeah, it’s great!” Jared said nervously.

“Cool. Sit on the couch, I’m almost done.”

Jared does as he was told, waiting patiently for Jensen to finish. He has no idea what Jensen’s kink is - does he want to have sex with Jared with his clothes on? He doesn’t seem to be narcissistic, but then again, you never know. Even if that was the case though, what’s up with the soup?

It’s weird - none of his clients had ever taken care of him - everything was so odd. What if Jensen had a baby kink? One of his coworkers, Nina, told him that a man had once asked her to wear diapers and to act like a baby. The best part was that it wasn’t sexual but the downside was that it was fucking creepy as hell. He likes to call his clients daddy and for them to call him baby, but acting like an actual baby? Yeh, that’s definitely not his thing.

But he will play his part if that’s what Jensen really wants. He can’t go back to his apartment anymore and he’s far too tired to go back onto the streets. He’s too scared to, although he’d never say it outloud. His apartment used to be his happy place, now - now, well it’s just another bad memory. Another place where he was abused.

“Here,” Jensen said, handing Jared a bowl of soup before sitting on the armchair next to the couch.

“Careful, it’s a bit hot. I don’t cook very often, but I hope it’s still good.”

“I’m sure it is” Jared said, trying to reassure him.

Jensen had a bowl too, as well as his beer and Jared really, really wished that babies were allowed to drink beer to. Would he be allowed if he put it into a baby bottle?

“Fine. But only one swallow,” Jensen orders, giving his beer to Jared.

He closes his eyes in pleasure as the cool liquid flows down his throat, he almost moans from the euphoric feeling. The beer tastes good, and makes him feel a bit fuzzy, which makes the pain more tolerable and the memories less coherent.

“You up for a movie? Maybe it could, you know, change your mind and everything?” Jensen asked.

“Yeah, that would be great!” He answers back nervously.

Jensen turns on the tv and starts pressing almost every button, causing Jared to be a little perplexed.

After almost ten minutes Jensen had finally succeeded in what he had wanted to do - if the smile on his face was anything to go by.

The ‘NETFLIX’ logo appeared on-screen and Jared watched as Jensen put in the passowrd. Apparently, they’re using Derek’s profile, and Jared gave Jensen a funny look.

“Yeah, I’m not paying for that shit. Derek gave me his password.”

“That’s nice.”

“He’s a nice guy.”

Jensen’s voice has an underlying condescending tone. Jared’s reaction was flushing red, cheeks burning while he remembered how much of a bitch he was to Jensen’s friend. Well, you gotta do what you gotta do - he wouldn’t apologize for it. Actually, maybe he should, he isn’t sure. Does Jensen want him to apologize? He’d gladly do it if it means that Jensen would let him stay the night. He doesn’t know if that man is still looking for him, but just the thought of leaving the apartment sent shivers down his spine.

“Are you cold? I can give you a blanket if you want.” Jensen said, noticing his shiver.

Jared doesn’t have time to answer before Jensen throws a blanket over him. He seems really stressed out and awkward. Jared doesn’t say anything and just accepts the warmth.

Tags : @emmalh2001 @captainsteelandsunshine @servilesammy @mereka18 @jareddbootylecki

[babyshawwn]

Treat You Better

Request: Hola can you do one where you and shawn are hanging out late at night on the streets and its like summer so its hot so you both decide to sneak into a swimming pool and you have a moment and you have a heated make out sesh? Hahaha love your writings by the way its so good

Word Count: 2,494

Treat You Better

To Shawn: Yo Mendes! Your mother told my mother you’re home?? From Shawn: Well, my mother spoke the truth. Landed a couple hours ago :) To Shawn: Wanna hang out? From Shawn: It’s like one AM To Shawn: Wanna go on an adventure with me? ;) From Shawn: Always, meet outside in ten? To Shawn: Deal

You grabbed your keys from the table, throwing your phone in the pocket. Quietly, you walked down the stairs, trying your best not to make any noise. Your parents were already asleep and they would literally kill you, if you woke them up. You were on summer break, but they still had to work.

You were humming happily as you walked out of the front door. Though it was in the middle of the summer, it had gone dark outside already, not that it mattered.

It was still extremely hot, like burning. It had been all day and it had been killing you. You couldn’t remember the last time the weather had been this warm.

You walked out on the streets, dropping down, waiting for Shawn. He lived a couple houses away, so it wouldn’t take him long.

This time, he had been gone for a while, longer than he normally would and if you had to be honest with yourself, a little part of you missed him. Okay, okay. Maybe a little, big part of you. Shawn and you had been friends for years, so you were looking forward to seeing him again.

Your eyes caught Shawn walking down the street, happily waving at you. You got up from the ground, walking towards him.

“Ey vine boy, finally back in town, huh?” You said, knowing it would annoy him.

Seriously, you loved teasing him. His face turned red and he rolled his eyes at you.

“Are you ever gonna stop calling me that?” he asked, raising his eyebrow. Shawn put his arms around you, giving you a tight hug.

“Probably not” You laughed, pulling back.

He smiled widely at you, because no matter what he said, he loved when you joked around with him. You thought maybe, because you were the only one who still did.

People around Shawn, after he became a star and all, just acted different around him. Shawn had told you so, but you could also see it. People were always so nice to him, though you could always tell it was a fake kind of nice.

But you, you never changed the way you were around him, if he couldn’t take how you’d always treated him, that too bad.

We dropped down on the street next to each other and looked at the dead silent road. The warm breeze blew in your hair, making it messy. Shawn laughed at your hair going wild, so he took a tot of it, placing it behind your ear.

“So how’s everything been?” He asked you, curiously.

You always gave him an update on the latest gossip. You told him about the usual teenage drama at school, about the annoying teachers, you were jealousy he didn’t have to deal with and who was fucking who. Shawn looked at you, letting his gaze stick.

“And what about you?” He asked, making you shrug your shoulders.

“Same old, same old” You lied, hoping he didn’t know already. Shawn looked away from you again, like he didn’t dare look at you while talking.

“Mom said you and Devin broke up” He said, carefully.

Like he didn’t know, if he should really be mentioning this or not. You shrugged again, rubbing your palms.

“Whatever, it is was it is” You responded, trying to sound like you didn’t care. Shawn tilted his head, looking worriedly at you.

“Mom said it was messy, really messy” He tried again, but you didn’t want to talk about it.

“Screw it, screw him” You said, shaking your head.

You gazed away from Shawn, fearing you might cry, if you kept looking at his stupid, sweet puppy eyes being worried about you.

“Gosh, it’s so fucking hot” You said, trying to change the subject. Shawn got the memo and allowed you to do so.

“I know, right? It’s crazy. I was wearing black sweatpants and a hoodie when I landed, I nearly had a stroke” He agreed.

“I’ve basically done nothing but eat ice cream today” Shawn looked at you offended, or trying to play offended.

“Without me? But that’s our thing” He whined fakely, putting his hand to his chest, pretending to be hurt.

“It’s not my fault you’re never home” You mocked, sticking your tongue out at him.

“Hey! I am home… sometimes”

“Yeah, like a day a year. You’re obviously became too big to even bother coming home anymore” You continued teasing.

“Hey! Low blow”

“Come on, Mendes. You can take it” You laughed, pushing his shoulder playfully.

“Only because it’s coming from you. I know you love me” He provoked back. You rolled your eyes at him, laughing sarcastically.

“Yeah, don’t count on that”

“Hey!”

“Oh stop whining vine boy!” Shawn threw his head back, frustrated over your words. You loved it though and secretly, so did he.

“Come on Shawn, you know you adore me” You said, sending him a wide smile. He just raised his eyebrow, laughing at you.

“I miss hanging out with you” Shawn said honestly.

“Of course you do, I’m the bomb” You said, like it was obvious.

“Sure you are, but honestly y/n. I miss being around you, I miss being Shawn, just Shawn, when I’m with you” He said, making your eyes meet.

You knew, Shawn struggled sometimes with this whole fame thing and you knew, he was terrified of forgetting who he was.

The day, he’d gone on his first World tour, you’d sworn to him, that if he ever started acting up or treating people differently, you’d kick him in the fucking face. A promise you without a doubt, was planning on keeping.

“Is it hard being gone for so long?” You asked, Shawn nodded.

“I mean, I love it. But…”

“But sometimes it would be good to be home”

“Exactly, getting to just be me. Me getting into all kind of trouble with you” He said, winking at you. Shawn was done being serious now.

“Well-“ You started, getting up from the ground.

Shawn followed you with his eyes. You held your hand for him to take, he did and you pulled him up.

“How about getting into some trouble tonight? For old time’s sake?” You dared, raising an eyebrow.

“What do you have in mind?” He wondered.

“Come with me” You said, before pulling Shawn after you. He followed your lead as you walked down the streets in the middle of the night.

“You remember Betty?”

“That old lady from the bakery?” Shawn asked and you nodded.

“She was a pool she never uses” You dared him, biting your lip. Shawn shook his head at you.

“You’re something special, you know that?” He laughed at you.

You jumped over the fence to the old lady’s garden, Shawn following you. Walking around the house, you both made it to the huge pool in the backyard.

“You game?” You asked him, smiling teasingly.

Shawn rubbed the back of his neck, starring at you. Debating whether or not, he should let you tempt him.

“We don’t have our bathing suits”

“Who needs that?” You said, before pushing off your shoes.

“I forgot how fucking crazy you are” Shawn gasped; probably more to himself than you. You stepped closer to him, smirking at him.

“One of us has to be” You whispered, staring to unbutton your jeans.

You winkled your butt, struggling pulling – the very tight – jean down your thighs. Shawn just laughed at you, but then he took of his black nike shoes as well.

“Yeah, go Mendes” You cheered for him to take his clothes off.

You quickly pulled off your t-shirt, leaving you only in your underwear. Shawn pulled off his shorts, before taking of the shirt he was wearing.

“Wow there, someone’s been working out huh?” You noticed, making Shawn’s face blush quickly.

“Whatever” He muttered back, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Calm down, Shawny. You don’t have to hide it. You obviously have nothing to be ashamed of” You teased him, knowing he’d just turn even more red in the face.

“You don’t have to be so obsessed with my body” Shawn gave back, which unfortunately, made you blush instead.

Dammit. Shawn stuck his tongue out at you, knowing he’d won this one. Fine Mendes, 0-1.

“Are we going in or what?” You asked, changing the subject.

“You first” Shawn said, pointing at the water. You walked closer to the edge, letting your feet dip down the water.

“Holy fuck, it’s cold” You whined, pulling your feet back up again.

“This was your fucking idea” Shawn laughed at your reaction.

“Well, you being the smart one, should have stopped my madness”

“Oh no, you’re going in now” Shawn said, smirking at you. He took a couple of steps closer to you and you knew precisely was he was thinking.

“Don’t even dare” You warned him, but Shawn continued to have a smug painted on his face.

“I don’t know what you’re taking about” He shrugged, coming closer to you.

“If I’m going down, you’re going down with me”

“Try me” He said, simply.

Shawn ran towards you, pushing you in the water. You managed to get a grip around his wrist and pulled him with you. Shawn slipped on the edge and followed you right in the water.

“Shit, shit, shit” You heard Shawn scream as you made it to the surface again.

You wiped the water off your face, watching Shawn’s teeth clack. Shawn’s eyes fell on you and you both started laughing.

“I told you, you were going down with me” You excused yourself, pushing water in his face.

“Come here” He said, before grabbed your arm.

Shawn pulled you over to him, before shortly pushing your head under the water. You grabbed his leg and pulled him down too.

You looked at each other under the water and suddenly, it turned into a competition about who could hold their breath the longest. You stared at each other, hoping the other would give up soon, because the both of you were running out of air.

You were a bad loser, so you did the only thing you could think of, to get Shawn to breath. You stretched your neck, letting your lips crash into his.

Precisely as you excepted, it caught Shawn of guard and he had to swim above water to breathe. You followed him up.

“What was that?” He asked, surprised.

“Did I win, or did I win?” Shawn rolled his eyes at you.

“Of course” He commented, as it because obvious to him now.

You swum around, talking, laughing, enjoying finally having some time together again. Shawn swam to the edge of the pool, letting his arms rest on there, keeping himself up.

“What really did happen?” He asked you, suddenly.

“What?” You responded, though you knew what he was on about.

“Cut the crap, y/n. What happened?” He said, looking at you gently. Licking your lips, you shrugged your shoulder.

“I don’t…” Your voice died out.

“What?” Shawn asked, swimming closer to you.

“He broke me and I apologized for it”

“Apologized?”  

“I apologized for being who I was because apparently, that wasn’t good enough for him. I wasn’t good enough the way I was and I just… I didn’t realize how abusive it was until we were done” You felt the tears pressing, but you didn’t want to cry.

He didn’t deserve your tears; Anyone who breaks your heart, they don’t deserve having you crying over them.

Shawn found your hand under the water, taking it in his, stroking you slightly.

“Whatever, it doesn’t matter. It’s stupid” You looked away. Shawn grabbed your chin, forcing you to look back at you.

“It’s not stupid, y/n. Your feelings are not stupid. I’m sorry he did this to you, I’m sorry you had to go through this. But please, do not apologize for your feelings. Do not apologize for being you” Shawn kept his gaze on you, looking directly in your eyes.

He was searing for something in your stare, maybe he wanted to see, if you were actually listening to his words.

Softly, he let his thumb stroke your cheek. Feeling Shawn touching you, made you feel a little less broken.

It was nice for a change, to not feel like you’re falling apart. Shawn let his forehead rest against yours, licking his lips.

“You don’t deserve being treated that way. You’re the most amazing and kind-hearted girl I know”

“That’s a lie”

“No, it’s not. You’re such a great person. You always take care of everyone else, you’re always making sure everyone’s alright. You’re so observant on other people and how they feel” Shawn said.

You didn’t know what to say, you could barely even breath. You had never heard Shawn saying these things to you.

“But who’s taking care of you? Who’s making sure you’re okay? If you were my girl, I’d never let anything hurt you. Someone can treat you better, I promise you” Shawn said, biting his lip again.

“Someone or you?” You breathed, biting your lip. A smile ran across Shawn’s face.

“Me. I can treat you better” He whispered back.

“Kiss me then” You begged him.

Shawn pushed you up against the edge of the pool, before letting his burning lips crash into yours, pressing his body against yours. Your hands slid to the back of Shawn’s neck, pulling him further into the kiss. Shawn spread your lips with his tongue, allowing you to taste him.

Your hands ran down to Shawn’s lower body, pulling him in between your legs as you wrapped them around his waist.

Shawn’s hands were rubbing your thighs, as he continued letting his tongue play around inside your mouth. You couldn’t help but let out a weak whimper.

Shawn’s hands were exploring every inch of your body, just like you were doing with him. As Shawn pressed himself further against you, you felt his bugle rubbing on your skin.

Pulling your hands into his hair, you bit his lip, before breaking the kiss. This steamy make out session left both you and Shawn breathless for a moment. You looked at each other, slowing catching your breath again.

“I know, I can treat you better. You just have to let me” Shawn said, tilting his head.

Honestly, you’d always dreamed of this. You didn’t want to ruin the moment, having a heavy talk about feelings and stuff, so you just pulled Shawn back into your lips.

You knew Shawn was going to treat you better, so for now, you just let yourself enjoy this damp make-out session in the pool.  

[overdrivels]

Forge

For years after he has been on the run, Genji has always maintained his own sword, Ryuuichimonji. It was his greatest treasure—carefully crafted by the greatest swordsmith in Hanamura for his twentieth birthday. It was made specially to focus the power of the dragons, the material was intended to withstand fierce battles and harsh weather.

 Though, as with all things, it isn’t able to withstand the stress of time. After a harrowing mission and the usual deflection technique, a stray bullet managed to catch the very edge of his sword to take off a piece with it. To the others, it’s a chip no bigger than the width of a needle’s eye, but to Genji, it may as well had been a chasm.

 He mulls over it for hours and hours—if he sharpens the sword, the entire edge will be cut back and that could cost him his life (or others) if he makes a mistake in judging distance. If he keeps going as is, the chip could catch on something and it could break. His options were few, and he has missions coming up. Torbjörn had offered to fix a little too eagerly, but Genji easily deflected the offer—there were other swords he could use, no need to mind this one.

 Even though that’s what he said, whenever Genji looks at his sword and sees the crack, his heart aches just a little. The glow is weaker than usual, and even though swords are not alive, it just seems so sad and defeated. It doesn’t take long for him to give in.

When Genji attempts to contact the smith, he gets a message from the smithery that the person he is trying to contact has long passed and has been succeeded by one of his disciples. When he reads the name, he hadn’t expected to know it. As a Shimada heir, there were many people who has passed him by, often just once with no reason to remember them. However, he remembers why he recognizes the name, and cringes so hard that he can feel his face cramp.

The message continues and says that his request to service a damage sword will be accepted, and to please negotiate the appointment as soon as possible. It takes him several days before he comes to term with the fact that the swordsmith is dead and not repairing the sword is not an option, and another one to accept the fact that he should probably suck it up and just go. That’s how, nearly a week later, with some encouragement from Zenyatta, he finds himself back at Hanamura, getting led around the old smithery by an apprentice swordsmith he does not recognize.

 The spacious property, surrounded by wooden fences, contains the main house which seems more like a dojo or a low key temple and looks exactly as it did nearly over a decade ago. He could see the smoke billowing from behind the large house—the forges. Inside, the same calligraphy scrolls that hung on the walls were maybe more impressive than he remembered, but the long, dimly lit hallways still managed to make him feel as though he were about to arrive at a boss fight.

When the doors to the main room open, Genji half expects to see the old, silver-haired man sitting near the back center of the room on his cushion, nursing a delicate cup of tea that, when offered to him and his father, he'd never drink. Instead, he sees you sitting in that same spot, on the same cushion, drinking a cup of tea and the very first thing you do is offer him a cup and a seat.

Genji's heart aches. He is torn between wanting to cry at the normalcy of it all and running away from the altered scene from the past. The press of the sword on his back reminds him of his purpose, and so he enters. When he sits on the cushion some ways before you, your apprentice politely pours him a cup and the smell--earthy with underlying floral notes that he now recognizes as a high quality sencha--slams him back to a far-off place.

He is Genji Shimada again, youngest son of the head of the Shimada clan, self-proclaimed master of the sword and shuriken, here for another tedious lesson on the mechanics of the sword, and about to refuse another cup of tea from the swordsmith who trained his father on the art.

Except you are no old man. You wear his happi across your shoulders, and your hair is touched with gray, but you are not the solemn old man who made his sword. He could barely connect you to the child behind the swordsmith. The disciple with a perpetual shadow cast over your eyes who glowered at everyone and lashed out at anyone who mentioned the limp sleeve hanging from your shoulder. But the lack of self-loathing and anger on your features makes him think that yes, time has passed, and does indeed heal all wounds. It’s a good look for you, he thinks. Unlike before.

Genji was left to practice sharpening on a fancy blade, whose importance was lost on him, under your supervision while his father and your master leave to discuss something important in the next room. You watched his sloppy technique with growing distain until you couldn't take it anymore.

"Shouldn't do that, damages the sword," you mumbled in displeasure. Genji scoffed.

"It's fine, I know what I'm doing."

He goes back to his technique of rubbing the stone too hard and too carelessly against the edge. Heat rooted itself in your chest and began to crawl up your neck and cheeks. The sound of the sword—it’s crying—grates on your ears.

"No, you don't. You're hurting it."

"Yes, I do. This is easy!"

“No, you don’t! Give it!”

You took quick strides toward him, hand outstretched to reach for the abused blade, but he was faster and sheathed it (incorrectly with too much drag that undoubtedly screws up the work he's just done even more), and kept it out of your range.

“I said, its fine! Quit nagging!”

"It is NOT! How can you say you're a master swordsman if you can't take care of one?"

“Well, how can you smith a sword if you only have one arm?! Bet you can't even hold a sword!”

Silence rung in your ears, and then they burned.

You lunged at him, screaming. You both fought like children, biting and scratching​ and hair tugging and unsophisticated blows to the face. The sword was thrown somewhere to the side, forgotten. The two of you were rolling on top of the other, trading blows and headbutts and insults.

The fight only lasts a few seconds, and was broken up by your returning master who hauled the two of you apart with his iron grip. Genji's father grabs his son by the collar even as Genji fights to escape his hold because how dare you, it’s not like he did anything wrong, he just stated the obvious. And you, face red and throat hoarse, continue to yell against your master's arm about how it’s not your fault that you lost your arm, and you don’t need pity or a new one, and you hope that he suffers the same way, too.

He cringes at the memory, and clenches both fists against his plated thighs. With how he is now, it was poetic justice, he supposed. His father did scold him and force him to apologize for the incident, though he was too young and proud to understand that he was in the wrong.

 Your disciple makes her exit, and closes the door behind her, leaving the two of you to discuss this job.

 You eye your guest carefully, and let your gaze linger on the kanji on his chest plate and bite back a laugh. Warrior God.

 "So, omnic with a sword, huh?"

Genji pulls himself back from memory lane.

  "Not quite. Cyborg. My name is…Zen. Yata, Zen.” It’s better than giving his real name while he’s in Hanamura. He’s half-tempted to use his brother’s name for laughs, but he might not make it out of here alive otherwise.

You hum thoughtfully, and put down your tea. “I see. So, Mr. Yata, I understand you would like me to service a sword of yours?”

 You hold out your hand expectantly.

 Genji removes the sword and sheath from his back for you to take. The moment it passes from his hands to yours, he feels as though you had taken the floor from underneath him as well. So frozen by the surreal sight of someone else with his sword, he does not move.

Without noticing your guest’s plight, you tuck the weapon under your armpit, and slide out the blade with a practiced ease that forces no sound. The first thing that catches your eye--it's hard not to--is that the edge is green. Glowing green like the rings on your guest. A weapon this flashy, but practical--without even checking the signature on the tang, you knew this could only be crafted by your late master. You drop the sheath next to you and smile wryly to yourself, a small burst of nostalgia goes off in your chest.

 "So an old customer of my master, huh? He must've really liked you to use this material," you murmur, eyes tracing the elegant work. The entire weapon is well polished and maintained, but also very well used. Even at a glance, you can tell that the user really cares about it.

Genji laughs a bit sheepishly and returns to his seat. The sound prods something in your brain. "Yes, I knew him for a bit. But I'm not sure about liking me."

 It always was hard to tell how the late smith really felt with his stoic face and rigid posture.

You chuckle to yourself. "Yeah, even I never knew if he liked me sometimes." You tighten your grip on the worn handle. "But then, here I am, seventh generation and his successor. Life is weird, huh?"

"You can say that again."

"Life is weird."

Again, Genji laughs. And again, a more insistent nudge at your mind comes, and you flit your eyes over at the cyborg. Something far away beckons you, something involving the way he laughs. You don't know if it infuriates you or livens you.

 But you have a job to do, and so you pull your attention back from the deep end. Whatever it is that you are on the brink of remembering can wait. You pull out a sheet for the floor and your tools, then get to work on disassembling the sword. There are moments when you see the cyborg’s hands twitch to help, but you easily rebuff that. Years of having only one arm teaches you how to manage without help.

 Genji can’t help but feel like he wants to knock the blade from your hands as you take it apart. The sheet starts to fill with organized pieces of his weapon. He clenches his fists and tries to assure himself that you are a master of your art and he shouldn’t worry. But he does for multiple reasons.

 Genji becomes more and more painfully aware this endeavor was--is—risky with every piece that comes off, and breaks out in a metaphorical sweat as he watches you scrutinize the blade. He's alert for any changes to your face, waiting for your eyes to light up in recognition, ask him where he got a sword that was custom made for the Shimada clan (even though he has long sanded away the symbol during his own maintenance), put two and two together, and announce to all of Hanamura that Genji Shimada is still alive and needs to be killed a second time because you probably still remember him as an asshole.

But he endures and you complete your assessment with the same professionalism your predecessor had shown his father. By then, the entirety of his weapon lay broken down on the floor, barely even resembling his most trusted companion.

"Based on my observations, the blade will need to be reforged, Mr. Yata," you say, putting down the last of your tools in its place. “Two weeks."

He nearly leaps to his feet. "Two—reforg—but why? Can't you just fix it?"

"This is fixing it."

 Genji goes silent. He should have expected this outcome.

 “You are sure you can do it?”

 He realizes it too late when it leaves his mouth, winces when he sees you scowl. He already has an apology on his tongue when you interrupt.

 “I assure you, Mr. Yata, I am very capable of doing so, as handicapped as I may seem.” You wave what’s remaining of your arm in the air.

 “Sorry, I did not mea-”

 “It’s fine.” You are more than used to your fair share of skepticism. “But if you’re unsure, how about you take a look through the workshop?”

 Genji blinks. The workshop?

 You grin at his silence. “Come with me.”

 The workshop behind the house is full of red, hot furnaces and students in different stages of the creation process. As soon as he steps inside, his regulators at his shoulders already begin to release and hiss steadily. He wonders how you or any of your apprentices are able to work in here with such long sleeves and thick towels wrapped around your heads. He has no doubt the flames here could melt his armor if he stayed long enough. 

You take off your happi and hang it by the door, giving Genji a better look at your missing arm that sticks out of your rolled-up sleeve. But he doesn’t get to see that for long when you open a box nearby and shove the contents onto your stub.

 “Prosthetic…?”

 You flex your newly attached metallic fingers to life and grin. “Yeah. It’s convenient. Still prefer working with my feet, but it’s bad for the students. They’ll learn it all wrong.”

Genji laughs in disbelief. Life really is strange. If he could go back in time to speak to your younger self now, he is sure that he’d get hit in the face with the stump and yelled at for thinking you’d be so weak as to give in to ‘fixing’ your disability.

 You are in the midst of tying a towel around your head when his laughter distracts you again.

“This is my son, sixth. He will be under your tutelage in the ways of the sword, much like Hanzo was.”

Your master looms over the teen, who grins just as brightly as he laughs, unperturbed by the scrutiny.

“Yo, swords-guy.”

“Don’t talk to him like that,” you snapped. Genji jumped, unaware of your presence behind the smith.

“Who are you?” At least his recovery was quick.

“My apprentice.” Your master places a hand at your shoulder. You only scowl at the boy who has shown your teacher so much disrespect upon first meeting. You mumbled out your name, but was quickly overwhelmed by Genji appearing behind you, laughing.

“Got you back. From today, I guess I’ll be learning from you guys. My name—”

“Is everything all right?”

 You blink slowly at the cyborg, who sounds as concerned as his synthetic vocal cords could. You muster a small laugh.

 “Yes, I’m fine. Thanks.” You quickly compose yourself, and start with the process of introducing Genji to the workshop in order to ease his fears for his sword. It is common for sword owners to become afraid, confused, or even downright violent when the suggestion of ‘reforging’ arises. Sometimes it’s inevitable, and it’s almost like taking someone through the process of death. You sometimes just need to show the process and break it down so it’s less frightening, less emotional.

 However, considering who your customer is this time, that might not be necessary. But a reminder never hurt.

 “Here, we do everything from making the tamagahane, the metal”—you point to the two students who slowly pour what seems like molten lava into a channel—“to the polishing of a finished sword.”

 “Master,” one of your disciples calls forlornly. “Could you appraise this?”

 He watches you take one quick look at the red-hot steel on his station and ask for the disciple to pound on it. He does so and you shake your head. “Too many impurities are still in it. Keep at it.”

 The student gives you a firm, “Yes, master!” before returning to work.  

"Crap material, no matter how good the technique, still yields crap results," you say without prompting as you begin walking away. Genji tries not to think of the heavy implications those words could contain. “We try to keep that to a minimum, but as you probably know, recently Japan’s currently going through a resource shortage—”

 He only half listens in on the explanation of the natural resource and importing situation in Japan, and how it affects your trade as his mind begins to slip somewhere unpleasant. Crap material. Crap results. A crap Shimada cast away by his crap family for his crap attitude to everything.

 “Oi.”

Genji snaps his head up, ready to apologize for getting lost in his thoughts, but sees you addressing the students manning the smelting station.

“Make sure to separate the ores properly. You’re giving the forgers too much work to do.”

 “Sorry, master!”

 “We’ll do better on the next batch.”

 “If the batch doesn’t come out right, send it over to that the arrowhead makers. They’ll know what to do with it.”

 Genji furrows his brow. “Arrowhead?”

 You shrug nonchalantly. “Sometimes the mixture for the tamagahane doesn’t come out the way we need it to. Rarely happens, but when it does, we send it off to someone else who can use it.” 

You hold up a chunk of glittery rock. "Like this. It’s crap material to us because we're concerned about making swords and the ratio of metals. But for other things, this is perfect."

 “But isn’t it too brittle for arrowheads?”

 “Someone knows their stuff!”

 You slap him on the back and instantly regret not using your metallic hand.

 "Are you all right?" He asks, torn between checking on your injury and staying distant as to not repeat the incident. You hiss and wave your hand in the air.

 “Fine, just fine. Guess something like you shouldn’t be walking around here, huh?”

 He fidgets awkwardly and realizing your mistake, you wave it off.

 “But back to the topic at hand. Material like this can be used by someone else. Arrowheads can afford to have a different level of steel because of their function.”

 You go on to animatedly explain the subtle differences and practical uses of folded steel. Genji listens and in his mind, returns to the thought that this really is a good look for you. A little bit gray and older looking, but happier.

 The rest of the tour continues on smoothly, with you demonstrating how the blade will have to be forged in excruciating detail that he’s already heard, having been here before and lectured by your predecessor. But he abstains and patiently accompanies you throughout the steaming workshop, falling into easy conversation about the logistics of sword-making. At the end of it, he has more than several dozen assurances from yourself and your students who all aim to return his sword to perfection.

 The sun begins to set when he stands at your gates, negotiations on pricing, alterations, and expected turnaround long finished.

 “So it’s agreed, then.”

 “Yes, I…trust you to take care of it.”

 You smile. “Not to worry, your sword is in good hands. But are you sure you don’t require a loaner, just in case?”

 Genji waves that off. “Do not worry. I have several others. Thank you.” He bows, and you return it politely. When he turns to leave, you do the same.

 “See you in two weeks, Genji.”

Genji whips around, but you are already swarmed by three apprentices who eagerly try to show off their latest creations. Despite it all, he laughs quietly to himself and makes himself scarce. He wonders if he should be mentally prepared to have the Shimada clan after him when he comes to pick up his sword.

[kchatjjigae]

And then there were two.

As Miss Leila winged back to the states this morning, it just leaves your intrepid travelers SaraG and I to pick up the mantle and scour the streets of Seoul looking for the interesting. Today we find the interesting by hunting down Korea’s National Treasure #1, seeing a man about a fortress wall, hiking up-up-up to Namsang tower, jaunting off to lock some locks to a fence, try to gauge just how big is too big in shirts for SaraG, me finally break down and buy that jacket I’d been thinking about for days, but not before completely blowing the budget on an impulse buy, then we end the day and possibly our relationship, with a trip to the Han River. 

Sound like a lot? Oh, it was. Wait until you see our step count for the day! 

While we did our friendly duty and got up to see Leila off to her taxi for her early morning flight, we promptly curled back into beds and chilled, deciding we didn’t have the need to jump out of bed to push, push, push. Oh, we’ll take it easy we said. Just figure out as we go along, we said. 

We were fools. 

Once we deemed an appropriate time had passed for us to have considered ourselves ‘slept in,’ we poured over my tourist maps and the guidebook left to us by our Airbnb host….or possibly Leila. I can’t remember which. We considered what was left on each of our to-do list, which was surprising, not as much as we had figured. Making a decision which didn’t have too many rounds of “what do you want to do?”, we decided we were going to start out by hunting down Sungnyemun Gate, which is, officially, Korea’s National Treasure #1 (Since 1962). Sungnyemun Gate is one of the 8 gates along the fortress wall which surrounded the city during the Joseon Dynasty. The history on this gate is pretty amazing, from the reconstructions to the demolition of the outer walls during the Japanese occupancy to the arson which burned down the top wooded pagoda in 2008 by someone who has also set fire to one of the palaces. (Dude. Side note, what an A-HOLE) Check out their Wikipedia page here to read all about it.

Just like with the palaces, the gate is surrounded by the city, literally. The busy streets literally encircle it. Its one of those places where you get off the train, walk up and up, wonder, “have we headed in the right….oh, there it is!”

This is not the only gate which remains (I believe there are two more), this is the oldest. 

Tempting traffic, trying to get the best shots of the gate we can in between cars, we hit the tiny park that surrounds parts of it and just take it all in.

Before moving on because we had more places to be! More history to catch! 

But this was the best start as we were on our way to find something that was pretty high on my must-be seen list. The remains of the fortress walls that once surrounded the city. Gate. Walls. Seems like it made sense. 

We decided to press on, finding our way to Namsan Park, intent on getting a close up look to the legendary Namsan Tower. Which, of course, makes me think of one question: 

Do you know Namsan Tower? 

Sorry, I couldn’t resist.

While we did handily have our Naver Maps at the ready, really, it wasn’t super necessary. See that big tall thing in the background there, just keep walking towards it until you hit a hill and then just keep going upwards. In order to get there, we wandered through the local neighborhoods, skirting the edges of Namdaemyun Market, where we’d been with Leia and Lisa just the other day. We started to climb up higher and finally, as we seemed to be lifted out of the alleyways, we arrived at Namsan Park, the entryway to the trails leading up to Namsan Tower.

It was green and quiet, just us and a man in a suit on a chilling either before or during work. Or maybe it was just him in his usual clothes just hanging out, no work involved at all, who am I to judge his life choices? He barely looked at us, absorbed in his coffee and music.

To the right was now a length of stairs which lead up towards the trails, and next to that? The fortress wall! We were hiking right alongside it. It was a total kdrama moment…you know, just with less Kdrama hero and more sweat. What we didn’t realize was this was just the beginning of the train, the starter course, the hiking hors d ‘oeuvres if you will. It was wide open spaces which periodically lead to giant statues of people we didn’t know, marking essential bits of history we didn’t know.

When there were placards in English explaining what the statues were, their history, we stood and read them, learning a lot about the perseverance of the Korean people throughout history. And when they didn’t translate who they were? We simply made up a story.

One might ask why we simply didn’t take the tram up to the summit like any average Kdrama loving person in Korea for the first time. Easy enough? They were closed. They closed down like the week before we arrived and were out for maintenance our entire stay. Of all the rotten luck. 

Except? 

I love the fact that we actually hiked our way up the mountain. We got to wander the stair covered trails, through the trees, around vistas, all the while next to varying lengths of fortress wall in various states of rebuild, wonder if this part or that part was original, knowing a lot of it had been taken out by the Japanese during the occupation. We saw amazing views of the city, passing people of all ages coming up and down the paths. It was also something that SaraG and I were achieving together. Sounds weird but we’d been through so much during this trip, were faced with days alone with no one but each other for company, when before we’d only spent odd hours together here and there. Starting this new experience doing something physical, something challenging, I think it was a great way to kick it off.

There were two very different parts of the ‘park.’ The first part being more park-y with the statues and the open spaces. The second was the steeper, uphill hike. The two sections were separated by a snackshop. Well. There were other things there, but let’s focus on the most important thing. Though it seemed appropriate to have one of the packets of ramen, I just wasn’t hungry enough for that, so we simply got waters and snack bags. Dukboki flavored for me! It was weird. Spicy and overly sweet. I’m now addicted and pick up a bag whenever I pop over to my local H-Mart.

LAUGH. Actually, step back, before we hit the snack shop (where it was just the bored girl and us behind the counter), we hit the essential building,: the bathroom. As we walked there, we passed a man in a very loud yellow sports outfit shouting and acting crazy in front of a film team. You could tell when they weren’t filming, he was a little mortified for himself, but we tried not to stare too hard. Our guess? It was some sort of CV being filmed.

Fortified by overly sweetened snacks, we continued on, for the first time, I regretted my choice of the heavy sweater, sweating balls as we headed upwards.

But before long, the fortress walls getting older and older, we reached the summit. Or, before there, we arrived at the K-famous, fence locks. The walls were a sea of color, brightly colored locks attached to every available surface. Some attached to fencing, some affixed to the locks that were attached to the fencing.

There were layers upon layers of locks, digging through you feel like an archeologist of love, the top shiny and new, their vows of love bright and bold for everyone to see, but as you sunk lower, the locks were older, rusted, barely legible. It makes you wonder about all those people who were there before. How many of these people are still together? Are there people out there who went there on dates and fervently wished on those locks?

Once we were there, we became a little bummed out as this was a place that was on all of our wish lists and here it was, just us who had been able to make it. It wasn’t really fair. In honor of our comrades, we purchased them the cutest little locks, filling out their names with ultimate biases, found the perfect place, and attached them to history. 

We wandered the top of the mountain again, as we did with SM town, got al the way there, looked at the cost to go to the top of the tower, and said…eh, we’re good. Come on, how much better could it have been from where we were? What we’d achieved on our own?

We found where you tuck away your keys, which honestly I’d forgotten about, thinking we would take the cute matching keys back to our friends. Nope, you actually toss them here and move on with the idea that your love will last forever if you can’t reopen the lock.

By then, we were famished, and we wandered Namsan looking for sustenance. Feed us Namsan, feeeeed us. There was a lot to choose from, which was a bit of an issue. You ever get to those moments when you’re just like, I don’t want to make another decision again, possibly ever? Sometimes I def hit those walls.

We ended up in a little Japanese place where a cute guy gestured us to a table. When you were there, you chose what you wanted from the picture menu and then fill out a little card telling the server what you wanted. SaraG and I decided to get an order of Katsu and one of dukbokki to share. It might be that it was delicious or it might have been that we were just famished but, yeah, it was pretty tasty.

Having no intention of hiking back down, we took the time to figure out what we wanted to do next as we ate, and planned how to get there. After lunch, our batteries recharged, we set off to investigate the different parts of the observatory area. Passing on hologram pictures of me with BigBang (turns out, not something I regret). Wandering outside, we realize the stop for the bus is right outside where we were, we decided to hop the next one to continue on about our day. 

Surprisingly, the trip down was a lot faster and less sweaty than the way up! 

Once down the mountain, we decided, you know, since we were right there, to wander around Namdaemyun market, just walking, poking in and out of the little stalls, trying to get lost, trying to see every corner but turns out? This is not a thing you can do! In one stall, which was long and skinny, packed tight with clothing until you could barely see what was inside, SaraG had trouble narrowing down all of the things she wanted to get. It was like this stop was made for her. Like it called out “SaaraG coome and buyyy meeeee….” She was able to pick up a bunch of styled shirts she’d been looking at during our travels. 

While I waited for her to dig through racks, I decided to half-heartedly poke around. After my belly patdown, I’d been careful not to express to much interest in places like these. Being a lady of a specific size, I wasn’t that sure I was going to find anything that would actually fit me and wasn’t sure I was up for the inevitable disappointment when I didn’t. That was until I saw this red and black buffalo check long coat with hood layered with a black and white striped dress. Sounds weird? It was. And it was delightful. Though I hadn’t allowed myself to buy that jacket from days ago as I hadn’t wanted to spend the money, and this was actually only like 5000 won less and had thought and talked about it since this took SaraG going, “That looks great! You should totally buy it!” 

And I did!

It’s huge, it took up an enormous amount of space in my already packed suitcase, it makes me look like I’m a hipster lumberjack and yet…I don’t freaking care. It’s probably the coolest thing I had bought to that point, and I bought it from a lady who worked a tiny little clothing stall in a tiny little corner of an overwhelmingly large and unique market in Korea. I think that just makes it cooler and therefor I am cooler. 

I’ve put a lot of thought into it. 

We wandered, pleased as punch with our purchases and decided to call it a day. And by day I mean, it was getting late and we needed to be off to our next stop. What had we decided on? We were going to take up Leila’s charge and find that park we’d talked about the night before by the Han River. That’s right, back to Kdramaland, baby! 

Getting there was a HOOT. 

Finding the bus we needed, we waited and waited. There were a lot of people waiting along with us. The bus came, all in its bright green glory, already packed to the gills and, with a deep breath, we pushed our way on. When we say this was a tight fit, SaraG and I essentially clutching each other as we leaned into a kindly ahjussi as the bus continued to get fuller and fuller. Back home, once the bus reaches a specific capacity, the bus driver will wave a hand at people waiting on the stop, “Full! Wait for the next one!” If they stop at all. Not so in Korea. It’s like they see each person as a challenge to see just how many people they could cram in there, we were mushed in with the old the young as people just leaned into the pile. We tried not to laugh, but it was hard to do. Periodically I tried to figure out where we were, where we needed to get off, but really, it was a crapshoot and we ended up getting off a few stops too late. 

By this time, it was dark, and we walked the sidewalks, trying to find the Han River. SaraG made friends with a tiny little bit of a girl who had just been to the dentist with her dad. It was adorable. Reminds me of this time in Busan when we were in the elevator of our Airbnb with a halmoni and her granddaughter, and she was trying to get the shy little girl to bow to us. So. Freaking. Cute.

We cut under an underpass followed some signs, and there it was: The Han River! We got off the road at a perfect spot, one fo those boat launches paved in bricks leading down to the water. Off to the site was a long bridge. With us was another pair of friends, sitting on the ground, huddled, chatting and laughing quietly over the music playing from a phone. It looked like fun, so SaraG and I found a spot a ways away and popped a squat. The air had a slight chill to it, but it was clear and the perfect night to hang out with your friend by the water.

The real question is, what does one listen to while they are making a memory they’ll never forget? We scrolled through my phone and pretty quickly came up with this: 

We sat there, just looking at the water, taking in our time there, being with our friend, listening to the music we loved, the music that brought us together as people. I don’t want to be too gummy, but I’m not going to lie, it was a really big moment for me. It was like the accumulation of everything. There may have been tears. A little. Maybe. But I’m not telling. 

It was the perfect moment and will always be one of the biggest highlights of our trip.

From there we took our selfies, our together shots. The river, the bridge. Then we realized the path continued on, and we walked the length of the river. Chatting nonsense, stopping for pictures, imagining stories of famous meet-cutes. The pathway was lightly filled with people on dates, people running after work, people walking their dogs. It was a piece of ordinary. Under another bridge, there was one of those community workout areas with the random young man working out. We wandered, walking further and further until we realized 1) we didn’t think we could get to where we needed to be from where we were, and 2) we were going to have to walk all the way back, picking an arbitrary spot, we walked until we reached it and turned back.

Such a great night! 

The bus on the way back was surprisingly empty. Surprisingly? Thankfully? Either way, we were on our way back to Hongdae for food. Remarkably, and now I regret a little bit, we did pass up on a BT21 shop, but that might have just been us being done, tired and hungry and not a reflection of our love for BTS. After some debate we ended up in a ramen shop, hot soup seemed to be a great cap to the day. Then we realized we ate Japanese food twice in one day in Korea and chided ourselves a bit, but it was yummy., so we moved on. We also got to hear the guy in the table across the tiny restaurant mansplain to the girls he was with on whatever topic he felt they needed to be educated on. We tried very hard not to roll our eyes.

Steps, adventure under our belts, time to call it a night, right? Naaaawwww bishes, we weren’t done! Since I’d bought that jacket with nary a thought, I figured it was time to find that shop I’d seen the jacket I’d wanted a few days ago, throw the budget aside, and buy it, 

I’m joking. At no time did I ever throw the budget aside. Believe it or not, I came in under budget! That being said, I dragged SaraG she voted “dur, I don’t know why you didn’t buy it before” and bought it. 

We celebrated with street waffles filled with a myriad of delicious and decadent fillings.

Yes, we had just eaten ramen. Who is going to judge us? Not you, right??? Hands and bellies full, adventure level set at maximum, we called it a day. I’m not entirely sure how we could have even thought to top a night with the Han River and street waffles. Not. Physically. Possible. 

Now for that critical question. Ready for that step-count?

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So this happened today… #steps #traveling #walking #seoul #southkorea

A post shared by Stephanie (@kchatjjigae) on Mar 18, 2019 at 7:02am PDT

BoOYEAH! 

    Korean Adventures Day 12: That Time We Didn’t Breakup By The Han And then there were two. As Miss Leila winged back to the states this morning, it just leaves your intrepid travelers SaraG and I to pick up the mantle and scour the streets of Seoul looking for the interesting.

[readingraebow]

The Firm Section One

Chapters 1-7

1. How is Bendini, Lambert & Locke different from other firms? What is their turnover rate? It's a much smaller firm and it's in Memphis (which most of the other large scale firms are in Chicago or New York) and it pays better than almost any other firm in the country. They only have 41 lawyers on staff and half of them are partners. This is definitely not the norm. They want everyone to become a partner and basically guarantee that you will become one. So basically they promise that if you work really, really hard for your first few years, you'll be able to relax more when you make partner because you will have earned it. They also pay reaaaally well and basically all of their lawyers become millionaires by the time they're 40. And most retire somewhere in their 50s with a very, very healthy chunk of change. Their biggest selling point, however, is that their turnover rate is zero. No one ever leaves their firm unless they retire. They also offer way more in the first year than all of McDeere's other offers. And they provide a home with a low interest mortgage as well as a brand new BMW. Basically since they're in the middle of nowhere and have to entice their new hires to move to the middle of nowhere, they offer a lot of very shiny perks. They also don't hire very often and they hand pick their new candidates. Mitch McDeere is their only candidate at this time. So basically it's either him or no one for this hire cycle.

2. Why, as Kay explains, does the firm wish all the associates to be homeowners? They want the new associate + family in Memphis since that's where they'll be working so a new home is an incentive to move. Plus they generally work associates 80 hours a week and Kay says it's sometimes more like 100 hours during tax season. So their theory is if the associate has a strong marriage they will be happy and if they're happy, they'll be productive and that will equal profits. So basically they want to make life more ~comfortable while they're working the associate to death and their wife just has to sit ideally by. But it's also a status thing. The firm likes to ~keep up appearances and if everyone who works for them has a really big, nice house that looks better for the firm. So they lease you a smaller house up front but expect the family to be in an even bigger house in five years and so on.

3. All of the firm's employees have moved from different places. While eating lunch with the partners, Mitch is asked if he's accustomed to eating grease and many mention that they're not used to the greasy southern cooking. Is grease a regular part of your diet? Would you be able to handle a completely southern dining palette if you were in Mitch's position? Hmm. Grease is kind of a part of my diet? I absolutely love fried green tomatoes and definitely cook them every chance I get during the summer. And I do tend to each fried food maybe once a week, if that? But, on the other hand, I don't like super greasy foods and my stomach definitely can't handle them on a more permanent basis. I wasn't raised in the south and I'm not sure I've ever really had truly southern cooking. But from the sound of it, I would not be able to handle it. I like some fried foods but for the most part I could leave them? And southern food is usually heavily spiced and I absolutely cannot handle that at all. So if I were in Mitch's position, I would definitely be the guy who had heartburn for 20 years, haha. I probably would not be able to handle that at all and I'd be off somewhere panicking and making a salad, hahahaha. *would actually die from all the grease*

4. At the end of the second chapter, what are your feelings about the firm? Do you think Mitch should accept their offer? Honestly it sounds way too good to be true???? But I get why it's appealing to Mitch and Abby. When you're super broke and paying all of your big bills is a struggle and needing a new car but actually getting one seems light years away? Yeaaaaah. I totally get that feeling. So I get why taking an offer that has all of those perks sounds appealing. But if all of the other successful firms aren't offering those things and this is the only one that is, doesn't that seem a little suspicious? Honestly a lot of the people who work for the firm also sound sketchy??? And that conversation with Kay was super weird. Yes, I would love to be a trophy wife (or Emily Gilmore; either is fine) but I would also like to make my own decisions. And the things "encouraged" by the firm are just super weird and controlling. But the money is super tempting and I would probably take the offer, if in Mitch's position. Plus I find the firm fascinating so if he didn't accept, we wouldn't have a story, haha.

5. What occupies the half of the 5th floor that's not the partner's cafe? What goes on there and what do we learn about the McDeeres' visit? The other half of the fifth floor is security. It's a bunch of cramped little offices and, I'm assuming, surveillance and such. One of the offices is occupied by the head of security, a Mr. DeVasher. From him we learn that the firm is seriously into wire tapping and basically they were watching the McDeeres the entire time they were in town. They bugged the hotel room (and had people in the rooms on either side), the limo and the phone. And we knew most of what he said. But basically they liked the firm and all the perks and DeVasher thinks he'll sign with them. And then we went into a lot of stuff that doesn't make any sense yet. But it sounds like they basically watch everyone who works for them at all times and the entire office is bugged along with all of the houses of everyone who works there???? (That would also explain why they like to provide homes and cars for their employees.) And there was a lot of stuff about the FBI and New York being suspicious and that they have to get a handle on the situation or two of the associates and a cop will end up dead. Soooo. Maybe that's why their turnover rate is zero??? No one ever leaves they firm. They're just quietly killed instead. *gulp*

6. On Mitch and Abby's first day in Memphis, what do they learn has happened? How does Mitch spend his first day at the firm? They learn that two members of the firm have died. Martin Kozinski and Joe Hodge died in what they said was a boating accident. Apparently they were on a "business trip" and there was some kind of explosion. But the details are sketchy at this point. Though these are the two who were going to be "taken care of" so none of those details are probably actually correct. But that's the story the firm is going with. And on Mitch's first day at the firm, instead of sitting behind his new desk, he and Abby attend both funerals.

7. What is Mitch's first impression of Nathan Locke? What had he heard from Lamar about Locke? That Locke is literally terrifying?? Basically he has really black, sinister eyes and has the most ominous, evil presence Mitch says he'd ever felt. Mitch hadn't met Locke before he signed on and according to Lamar, no one was really ever allowed to go to his office. He told Mitch it was because Locke is eccentric and liked to be left alone. Or something like that. But he's probably the front man for whatever shady thing is going on in this firm.

8. Why does Oliver Lambert ask to see Mitch? He asks to see Mitch for two reasons: one, to invite Mitch and Abby to dinner on Saturday night. He says that he and his wife like to go out to dinner and they usually invite a group and so he's invited a few other people from the firm and wants Mitch to come/feel welcome with them. But what seems to be the real reason he asks Mitch to see him is to lecture him on confidentiality. He gives him this long speech about how you never talk about a client with anyone else, especially not your wife (oh, he drives this point home) and probably not even other people at the firm, unless they're directly involved in the case. And especially not to other lawyers around town. But esPECIALLY NOT YOUR WIFE. Which is super weird and fishy???? It's almost like Mitch has told Abby something and Lambert knows it and is telling him not to do that??? But if this actually happened, it wasn't something we've read. But basically Mitch knows all of this already because it's covered in law school? So it's just an all around weird conversation.

  Section One Reading Journal

So. Wow. I haven’t read any John Grisham in quite a while. And off the top of my head, I think the only one I’ve actually read was Runaway Jury. (I honestly can’t remember if I’ve even read any of the others?? Though I own almost all of them.) And I read that back in high school (and I remember it taking me quite a while since they’re kind of long and, in some places, dry and I hadn’t read a lot of ~variety then and still had trouble with stuff. So I think it took me like a month though I do remember liking it well enough). So, yeah. Apparently I’m way over due for more Grisham, haha.

Anyway, I don’t really know what I was expecting from this? I haven’t actually seen this film (though I think I’ve seen all of the others) but it’s definitely not been what I was expecting. I’m really enjoying it a lot and I pretty much flew through this section. I’m super intrigued by this firm and all of its shady dealings. And, lbr, I’m always here for legal dramas. So while I was a little on the fence about actually reading this and even considered changing my pick for this category, I’m glad I went ahead with this. I’m really enjoying it and I am really excited about reading the rest of it.

So, a few notes from this section: that firm seems super interesting but suuuuper sketchy. Like wow. The money is great but all the work they’re shoving at him? By the end of this section, he sounds so overworked, I would literally be dead if I were working that much. How do they actually expect him to finish everything they’ve thrown at him?!?! If he’s supposed to spend most of his time studying for the bar (which I thought you actually took before you got a job but okay) then why are they throwing so much else at him?!? Don’t they want him to sleep??? Or actually, you know, spend time with his wife????

Though I would love to have all the perks that come with that job. A low house payment and new car? Um, yes please. But I almost don’t feel like it’s even worth it?? Because that’s a lot of hours and he’s not really eating or sleeping. Sooo. Side-eyeing the firm for making him do that.

But, anyway, yes. Super interested in where this is going and what this firm is even up to. Because wow so much shade. So can’t wait to move on to the next section!! I hope ya’ll are enjoying this so far, as well!

[grubhivemind]

RYAN: -it's reached that point in the party where everyone starts to trickle out, until even her parents have decided to retire for the evening. ryan just wonders when jack is going to wander off too, or...- 

RYAN: -chinhands at him from where she's still sitting at the table.- hm... 

RYAN: do you wanna come inside?

JACK: -eating up the last of the slice from the cake his dad had sent over.- ...Oh. 

JACK: Must be dark now, huh.

RYAN: yep. 

RYAN: you might have noticed its getting a tid bit nippy out here too. -nudges him.- you can eat that inside.

JACK: No need. I'm done. -gathers up the empty plate and trash, ambling out of his chair.- I believe you about the nippy thing.

RYAN: -hops up and takes his arm to guide him.- you impervious to the cold or something? -pokes at his chest and shuffles across the yard back into the house.-

JACK: It's my preference, weather wise. You probably wouldn't believe it with my choice of wardrobe. But it's true.

JACK: -follows her back, trusting her to show him where to go.-

RYAN: mm. makes sense to me. 

RYAN: i like it better when things heat up though.

RYAN: -enters the house, navigating towards the living room where derek is... until he passed out in the middle of his show, snoozing away loudly on his recliner. as dads do.- 

RYAN: ... -she doesn't want to disturb him, so she takes jack up to her room.-

JACK: Hah. Strategic. Classic.  -totally hears Derek asleep and appreciates the dad tier he's achieving. Jack will have to remember to commend him on it later. As Ryan hauls him up to her room, Jack leans at her.- (Ten out of ten.) -says while thumbing back at the living room.-

RYAN: -snrk- hed appreciate you saying so. 

RYAN: -steps on inside into her room.- well make yourself at home. -nudges him in the direction of her bed, as it's the only place to sit at the moment. aside from the bench at her keyboard, that is. and while he makes himself at home (if he does) she turns on her own tv for a little bit of background noise.-

JACK: -Might as well. He's taking off the sandals and everything.- Done. -keeps his hand to the wall, finding his way to the bed and perching there.- And done. 

JACK: -swishes his butt on her bed, much like she did on his the other night.- Cozy.

RYAN: -smiles watching him. what a fucking dork... no, these are thoughts that need said.- what a fucking dork. 

RYAN: -flops beside him, joining him in the wiggles and getting comfortable.-

JACK: I definitely smell like the musk of the outdoors and fire. 

JACK: And so do you, for that matter. -sniffs her shoulder like a wierdo.-

RYAN: -he is a weirdo.- hmm. -leans in and sniffs him back. this is just what they do now apparently.- 

RYAN: smells nice. 

RYAN: except youve got that faint stench of sweat. probably from your dumb ass trying to scale a fence because??? why. -snickers as she leans against him.-

JACK: To test my abilities. -enjoys it when she leans at him. A happy Jack.- I would kill for a shower though.

RYAN: no need to go to such extremes. you can always use mine if its so dire. -pokes at him-

JACK: It's pretty dire. I reek. -gently karate chops her hand from poking him. Hiyah.-

RYAN: my hand!!!! -whines, but then takes up his hand in hers- 

RYAN: its not that bad. but then again i dont have a heightened sense of smell. 

RYAN: for all i know i reek too.

JACK: No, you do. We've established this. -tilts his head and listens to the tv now.- What are we watching?

RYAN: reeking of a nice outdoorsy smell yeah... which is reeking none the less i guess. 

RYAN: -glances at the tv- but anyway i just turned it on for the noise. 

RYAN: im not exactly interested in watching anything... -plays with his fingers, fidgeting a little-

JACK: -smacks his lips a little and hmms, registering her little fidgets. Catches on almost immediately.- 

JACK: I didn't realize you had a thing about musty smells and cake breath. 

JACK: Oh. And your parents' house. With a dad that sleeps like a war veteren.

RYAN: -SHOVES- god youre such a pain in the ass. 

RYAN: -huffs but smiles.- makes me wonder why i missed you so much this past week. -removes a few more blades of grass from his wild hair that she missed earlier.-

JACK: -is shoved, reclining back to lean against an elbow. Pleased by her little nitpickings.- Thanks. 

JACK: I try my best. 

JACK: But honestly. If Citrin hadn't intervened earlier, I probably would have said a thing or two to Sileas. 

JACK: -trails off, fiddling with his fingers.- I am a pain in the ass.

JACK: -waves his hand around.- It was harmless talking. But I saw. I mean... 

JACK: I see things I don't necessarily want to. And it's irksome. I dunno.

JACK: Maybe it was the general attitude of the guy, the same kind that leads him to make some bad decisions. 

JACK: I also realize you don't want to hear about this. We were talking about something else entirely.

RYAN: -blinks, a little surprised to hear him rambling about this... but pleasantly so. she lies down on her side, propping her head up on her hand and watching him speak.- 

RYAN: sure... its a totally different mood but hey i dont mind. 

RYAN: like i said. i just missed you. so... -messes with the hem of his shirt idly- 

RYAN: talk to me.

JACK: Well now I don't want to. -pretends to grump but really just closes his eyes.-

RYAN: pff... oh really??? -she's not buying it. wiggles closer to him and gets an arm around his middle.- 

RYAN: i bet i could persuade you to open up.

JACK: What's worse is that I'm associating this to Sileas. 

JACK: That meme generating motherfucker.

RYAN: -rests her head against him, peering up at him curiously.- associating what?

JACK: Your meek persuasions to get me to open up.

RYAN: -snorts- well maybe if you told me whats bugging you we wont have to focus so much on him... 

RYAN: id really like to be able to hit on you without either of us having to deal with the thought of sileas cropping up and killing the mood.

JACK: Nothing is bothering me about him. It's just an intrusive thought. -hesitates a moment before continuing.- ....I also realize rehab was a very recent occurance for you. And you're still trying to make it back on your feet. 

JACK: ... 

JACK: I'm not sure... 

JACK: I should be complicating this for you.

JACK: As tempting as it is. -ghhhh, he feels himself sound like an asshole.- I'd like... 

JACK: To not feel bad about hanging out with you. Or enjoying your company. 

JACK: Talking. 

JACK: That stuff.

RYAN: -frowns into his shirt. it takes her a moment to think of what to say, ultimately sighing.- youre not complicating anything. 

RYAN: but if you dont wanna talk about this stuff then its whatever. 

RYAN: i just wanna hang out with you.

JACK: Not the talking. It's more the... 

JACK: Tempting you with bad decisions part. -Yells at himself internally for being like a tool when he speaks. This is why he doesn't words, he tells himself.- Not that it's a bad decision. 

JACK: It's a... precarious situation. 

JACK: Also, I'm full of regret.

RYAN: -scoffs- please... 

RYAN: i mean i guess i get it. -sits up a little- maybe. 

RYAN: you usually seem to know things i dont. either that or youre just overthinking. maybe both sometimes? 

RYAN: i dunno. -traces a finger over his chest- but it seems pretty harmless to me. just fooling around a little. 

RYAN: correct me if im wrong. 

RYAN: ... or if im overstepping boundaries or something.

JACK: -squeezes the hand that rests by his chest, eyebrows knitting.- It's not.... just fooling around to me. 

JACK: It's an aspect of our uh. 

JACK: Relationship. 

JACK: That I'd like to enjoy when we've finished patching up the rest of it.

RYAN: -oh... well, that brings a smile back to her face that she hides by burying it against him. not that she needs to, but whatever.- oh okay. 

RYAN: -squeezes his hand back.- im cool with that.

JACK: -exhales after a moment, patting her hand.- It sucks. I'm a dweeb.

RYAN: yeah you are. 

RYAN: -comes out of hiding to nuzzle a little under his chin.- but its cute. 

RYAN: ... and i appreciate it.

JACK: Thanks. 

JACK: Now I don't know what to do with myself. -SIGHS- That shower sounds really great.

RYAN: yeah. go take a nice cold shower. -snickers- 

RYAN: jesus or maybe i should.

RYAN: in any case i can direct you that way. 

RYAN: and youre free to crash here too if you want. might as well return that favor finally.