#dramatically places a hand over my forehead like an ailing lady!

[madamescarlette]

I think what will always be beautiful and rare about music to me is how much it can put a frame around a moment in time for you to keep and look over again later!

[jincherie]

four’s company | rapline [m]

✘ — pairing: boxer!rapline x male!reader ✘ — genre: smut!, boxer au, poly au ✘ — wc: 6.4k ✘ — rating: 18+ ✘ — warnings: minor injuries (occupational hazard kind), smut: mxm, light (accidental) voyeurism, light hand kink, baby boy reader, sub/bottom reader, dom/top members, foursome, anal sex, protected sex (don’t forget to wrap ‘em, lads and ladies!), fellatio ✘ — notes: part of a fic exchange within the ghostie network, i’m sorry it’s late!!!!! please accept my humblest apologies!!! @bangtanloverboys​ here you go!! i hope it’s not too shitty!!!

If accidentally walking in on your three crushes in a heated moment, not once, not twice, but thrice isn’t enough to capture their attention, then you don’t know what is. You’re about to find out that you’ve had their attention for a while, though.

— posted; 02.01.2021 || masterlist

For what is far from the first time tonight, you feel the weight of a certain gaze.

Well, to be more specific, it hasn’t just been one gaze you’ve felt on you tonight. More like… three. 

You know who they belong to, unfortunately. It’s the same three people that you found in an… interesting situation earlier. On that was, no doubt, not meant for outside eyes. 

Well, you say that, but you feel like that’s just because you, yourself, are mortified. To be honest, the three boxers you found locking lips and making out in the locker room didn’t seem to be all that ashamed about it.

In fact, when they caught you in the motion of fleeing, they’d had the audacity to grin about it! 

Utterly humiliating. You haven’t been able to bring your gaze anywhere near them all day. To make matters worse, you couldn’t even flee to the safety of your home or anywhere similar, because there is a match tonight and you’re needed as a qualified first aid officer. 

Which brings you to the current predicament; sitting ringside and attempting to avoid the gazes of the three boxers seated on the side adjacent. Try as you might, it’s actually a struggle to keep your eyes on the current match. It’s a rookie night, and you feel extra bad since one of the people in the ring is actually a close friend. 

Though, perhaps you should demote Jungkook from ‘close friend’ status considering he is the reason you started working here and subsequently, had the opportunity to stumble upon a certain scenario this morning. Were it not for him and his stupid, pleading puppy eyes, you wouldn’t have a particular embarrassing image burned into the back of your eyelids.

You know that despite his rookie status, Jungkook is quite a naturally talented boxer. Perhaps that is part of the reason that your brain thinks it’s okay to let your eyes stray from the match instead of watching attentively as you’re expected to. The subconscious certainty that Jungkook can handle himself seems to be your undoing, because in a moment of inattentiveness your eyes manage to reach the area you’d been trying so hard for them to avoid. 

As you’d both feared and expected, they are in fact already looking at you. Well, one of the three. It is the piercing gaze of the club's current lightweight champion, Min Yoongi, that bores a hole into you right now. The two accomplices to his side aren't joining him in drilling their eyes into you across the room for now, instead leaning into each other as though they're whispering amongst themselves. 

There's something about Yoongi's eyes, dark and piercing, that seem to always root you in place no matter where you are. His expression, as it usually tends to be, is unreadable. It's a certain kind of neutrality that graces his features, thin enough that you can tell there is something behind it but too opaque for you to be able to discern exactly what. 

You don't even realise you're trapped in his gaze until the sounding of the bell snaps you out of the spell that seemed to be cast over you. Your head whips back around and you see the referee signalling the end of the bout, and just beyond him Jungkook is standing slightly bent over as he offers a hand to his opponent on the canvas. To your alarm, it is only now that you notice the blood dribbling down the man’s face. The reasonable crowd that has gathered is still cheering (Jungkook was quick to rise as one of the fan favourites) and it’s a wonder you can hear the referee’s call above the ruckus.

“Medic!”

That’s your cue. 

x – x – x 

 “You look kind of on edge, man. Are you alright?”

You’re almost too busy staring into your coffee in a borderline dissociative state to hear Jungkook as he calls for your attention. It has to be about the thirteenth time in the past half hour, but you can’t find the energy to be ashamed about it. Mostly because all of your shame and embarrassment are focused on other areas right now.

It had happened again. 

Is it just your luck? You don’t know whether to dub it as rotten luck, because you feel it would be a bit of an insult to the boxers you’d once more found in a suggestive situation.  But considering it good luck feels kind of sleazy, because although you’re embarrassed as hell, all things considered what you walked in on wasn’t a bad view—

No, that thought is stopping there. Any further and you’ll only incriminate yourself and you’ll have to dose yourself with another fresh shot of shame. 

Realising that you still haven’t answered the concerned-looking boy sprawled in the chair to your side, you offer him a non-committal grunt. It’s the best you can do while you take another moment to form actual coherent thought. 

“I’ve never been better,” you say, and immediately Jungkook lets loose an abrupt snort.

“You look like shit, so don’t bother trying to lie. Are you having trouble sleeping again or something?”

You survey him for a moment, touched that he remembers the insomnia that had ailed you for a few months a while back. “Actually, I’ve been sleeping pretty good the past few months.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, making you squint at him in question. “Oh, I’ll bet you have, considering the things you were saying in your sleep last time I stayed over.”

You simply look at him, wondering whether he’s going to be an ass and continue.  You don’t have to wait long for an answer.

“You were all like, ‘nngh, Namjoon,’ and ‘oh, Yoongi’, and then you said something about Hoseok too but I can’t quite remember, probably because it was so x-rated that my poor baby brain banished it from my memory—”

“Jungkook,” you cut him off, gripping the plastic spoon that came with your drink painfully tight. “Shut up.”

This is most definitely not the conversation to be having in the café barely a block away from the boxing gym where the two of you frequent, but Jungkook doesn’t seem to get the hint. Actually, you’re pretty sure he got the hint and he just doesn’t care enough to heed it.

“You really ought to do something about that crush of yours, bro. There’s three of them, so there’s three times the misery if you sit on your ass instead of—”

“Jungkook,” you attempt to warn him again, glaring slightly this time. You’ve scooped some of the whipped cream off of his plate of pancakes and hold the tip of the spoon back, threatening to fling it at him should he keep talking. 

“—doing something, you know? I’ve seen them practically undress you with their eyes enough times by now that I could fill out a diary with all the incidents I’ve witnessed. Plus, don’t tell me you haven’t noticed how often they ‘hurt’ themselves as an excuse to see you? I really don’t think you have much to lose, especially with an ass like yours—well, it’s nothing like the cake I’m serving, but still, it deserves some praise—ACK!”

Ah, so he has chosen death.

You discard the now-empty spoon onto a napkin, taking a long sip of your drink. It seems Jungkook has engaged his ape brain more today than usual as instead of wiping the cream off his face like any normal human would, he’s attempting to reach it with his tongue. His chances aren’t good, to be honest; though you reckon your mutual friend Jimin would be able to get it from that distance. Dude has a tongue like a lizard. 

“You have Seven Days,” you tell him, struggling not to let a smile through as the amateur boxer whines, unable to reach the cream.

“You have seven days,” he grumbles sulkily, reaching with a begrudging hand for a napkin. “Do something or I’ll expose your ass.”

You roll your eyes, ninety-nine percent sure that he’s kidding.

… 

That other one percent worries you a bit though.

x – x – x 

You take back what you decided earlier— something is definitely wrong with your luck.

“And how did you hurt your knee again?”

“I tripped on the stairs.”

Jung Hoseok, the club’s current star welterweight boxer, sits before you in your little medical office. There aren’t any matches on today, but you’re on shift because the club members are doing some of the more rigorous training; there is an important few matches coming up for a few members, and they all want to be as prepared as possible. As tends to be the occupational hazard, training can often lead to injuries that need to be immediately attended to. 

You can’t say, though, that this is the type you were expecting when you rocked up today.

Hoseok is beaming at you, all sincerity and sparkles. There’s a slight bit of dark regrowth in his hair that catches your eye as you survey him, the crimson ends sticking to his forehead lightly from sweat. He looks every bit earnest and honest as he sits in front of you, but you can’t help but suspect him just slightly.

Because you’re not sure any of the club members have ever made their way to your office for a graze that wouldn’t even phase a kindergartener.

“Well,” you say, trying to ignore what Jungkook had said barely a day or two ago that floats back into your head now. “The good news is, it’s not fatal.”

Hoseok lets out a great, dramatic huff in relief. “Oh, thank god. I was so scared this might have been the end.”

‘Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed how often they ‘hurt’ themselves as an excuse to see you?’

Is that what this is? An excuse to see you? A look spared for the man before you leads you to conclude: probably not. He’s a little too radiant to be seeking out lil’ ol’ you.

“Not this time,” you say, rummaging through your small box of mismatched bandages. Finding what you’re looking for, you turn back around and begin preparing it to place it on Hoseok’s knee. “You live to see another day.”

Hoseok shifts like he’s about to say something in response, but cuts himself off with a surprised laugh when he sees the band-aid you put on him. “Wh—you have Minions band-aids?!”

“I reserve them for special patients,” you say before you can stop yourself, promptly clamping your mouth shut a little too late. Your cheeks… you just hope the heat gathering there isn’t obvious.

Something shifts in Hoseok’s gaze as he surveys you for a moment, before hopping from the bed, testing his knee out like he’d sprained it instead of scratching it. The look is gone before you can fully decipher it and he’s back to grinning brightly once more. 

“Well, if that’s the case, I’ll have to come back often. Wouldn’t want them to go to waste.” Hoseok’s smile adopts a slightly cheeky edge as he makes his way to the door, lifting two fingers to his temple in a lazy salute. “See you later, doc!”

Then he’s gone before you can return the farewell, door closing definitively behind him and leaving the room in silence. 

Are you going crazy, or did Hoseok— one of the three boxers you’ve happened to walk in on twice now—just return your light flirting?

… God, you hope it wasn’t because of the minion band-aid.

x – x – x 

You wish that visit had been an isolated incident, but you had a repeat of it at least twice a week. Each time Hoseok would rock up grinning at your door with some other minor injury, all but demanding a minion band-aid for his troubles. You gave it to him, of course, but you still hope he doesn’t remember you as the minion band-aids guy. 

Surprisingly enough, it isn’t only Hoseok that has been cropping up more often in your day-to-day. You’ve had a few surprise encounters with Yoongi, who lately has taken to giving you a sly, unreadable look before turning away, leaving you in your own confusion. Sometimes you’ll get carried away watching him or one of the other boxers practice, and before you know it he has caught you staring red-handed and you’re forced to flee the room to escape the smug, intrigued look that slips into his eyes. 

It’s after such an occasion that you find yourself in the main locker room, attempting to multitask by looking for a box of first aid supplies hidden in the top shelves and giving your face a chance to cool down. It’s taken you so long to even find the damn box that your embarrassment has all but evaporated by now. By the time your eyes lock onto the scuffed white box peeking over the edge of the highest shelf in the corner of the room, you’re more than ready to snatch it down and escape back to the comfort of your dingy little office. 

Of course, it couldn’t ever be so easy for you. Not given your recent string of poor luck. 

You don’t consider your height to be remarkably anything, and normally you don’t have that much trouble reaching the cookie jar on the top shelf in your apartment but for some reason the shelves in this building are built to cater to giants, and try as you might you simply cannot reach. You’re literally about to abandon the last of your dignity and attempt jumping for it, when there is a light scuff on the floor from behind you and then a firm warmth pressing into your back. 

In all honesty, your brain short-circuits. For a second you think you might have even blacked out, because it takes at least three seconds for you to realise what is happening, and by that time the figure has already retreated back from your form. 

Somewhat dazed, you turn around to see one Kim Namjoon, the clubs leading middleweight champion and the third and final member of those racy scenarios you happened to walk in on oh-so long ago. In his hands is the box you’d been struggling so much to reach, and on his face is a look that somehow blends sheepishness and amusement into one attractive cocktail on his features. 

“Here you go,” he says, and for a shamefully long moment all you can do is stand and soak in the lovely timbre of his voice. By the time you snap out of it, a small smile has begun to curl on his lips. You pointedly avoid looking at the dimples that are beginning to show as a result. 

“Oh, uh, thanks,” you say, trying to make it as natural as possible as you reach and take the box from his hold. “Whoever put it up there seems to have a vendetta against me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” he says, and there’s suddenly something a little secretive about the way he’s smiling. It makes you suspicious, and once more the words Jungkook prattled into your ear a week or so ago come rattling back into your brain. 

Is this something similar to what Hoseok had done? Did Namjoon put the box on a higher shelf?

“Are you calling me short?” For some reason, that’s what comes out of your mouth. There is a slight disconnect from what you said and what Namjoon had said previously, but he seems to make the connection. He tilts his head back and a rich laugh tumbles forth. It sounds nicer than you wish to admit to yourself. 

“Never,” he finally answers, grinning. “Though, feel free to come get me next time you lose against a shelf.”

Your mouth drops open in affront, but he makes a departure too quick for you to respond. His laughter echoes down the halls and you’re left reeling in your spot.

This isn’t what you expected to happen after walking in on a few intimate situations. In fact, this is quite the opposite.

What is happening?

x – x – x 

As the weeks go by, there are several big nights and several big matches. Hoseok and Yoongi, among a few others from the gym, emerge victorious. At this point you’re not too ashamed to say that you spent the entirety of their matches watching the way their muscles rippled as they dodged, swung and wove around the ring. If the last shred of dignity still clinging to you had disappeared, then you probably would have drooled like a dog. 

 The nights tend to go by weight classes, and the next upcoming night is to showcase the middleweight boxers. While Jungkook classifies for the class, as one of the newer recruits he isn’t the first choice for the match—much to his dismay.

It is approximately a week before this big match, in which Namjoon, one of the three men who live in your head rent-free these days, is participating, that you’re woken from your sleep and called into the gym.

It’s your night off, actually, so for you to be called in there must have been a pretty serious injury. You’re proven right when you enter the building and walk into the main room.

Before you can even assess the scene, Yoongi spots you and darts on over. He has a look on his face that you don’t think he’s ever sported before, and it fills you with a feeling of dread. It seems an appropriate feeling, considering what you see when you advance further into the room, towed by the frantic blonde who’d fetched you.

“Holy shit, what the hell happened?!” You dart forward, Yoongi’s grip slipping from your wrist as you move out of his reach. 

Namjoon is seated on the floor in a squat, cradling his left hand to his chest. A grimace twists his features, eyes glistening but face clear of tears. 

To your complete and utter surprise, the familiar tenor of Jungkook’s voice reaches your ears. You didn’t know he had stayed behind to practice tonight.

“We were leaving after practicing a bit later than normal, and some assholes drove past and picked a fight. I think—I think they were members from one of the rival clubs on the other side of the city but it was kind of dark and I didn’t get a good look.”

Your brows shoot up—that’s risky behaviour on their part, if it was actually members of a rival club that did this. Judges of this particular tournament don’t look kindly on foul play.

It would make sense if it’s true, though; a lot of local clubs tend to have boxers in the middleweight range, and Namjoon has emerged from enough matches victorious that he’s actually quite a threat. 

“Let me see,” you say, holding your hands out to Namjoon for him to rest his injured one in your hold. “Jungkook, go get the big tin box with the red cross from my office. Make sure it’s the one with antiseptic and bandages.”

You don’t even need to check he’s listened, because you can hear the frantic, obedient pattering of his feet fading away in the distance as you unwrap the blood-drenched towel from the hand in your hold. Namjoon’s busted up limb takes all of your attention the second you lay eyes on it properly, your stomach filling with an unpleasant, nameless cocktail of sensations. 

“Holy shit,” you say, unable to contain your wince.  “Tell me you didn’t get this from fighting them bare-knuckle.”

Namjoon has enough capacity for humour right now that he lets out a little huff. Yoongi fills you in before Namjoon has a chance. 

“No, though I almost did.” His expression is dark, the heat of his anger reaching you even when it’s not directed your way. “They were probably drinking before coming here, since they had a few bottles they threw into the mix.”

That explains the gashes you’re seeing on Namjoon’s palm— it seems he caught one of the bottles, though you’re not sure whether it was already broken or whether it broke on impact. Thankfully, from what you can see, the gashes and lacerations aren’t too deep and shouldn’t cause lasting damage, but they’ll definitely take a while to heal, and one or two of them look like they will need stitches. 

“Alright,” you begin, sighing softly. “I’ll do what I can to fix this up for now, but you’re going to have to go to the ER, because some of these will need stitches…”

You look up, reading the expressions of everyone in attendance and knowing that they have all reached the same conclusion regarding Namjoon’s immediate fate as a boxer.

“Sorry, Namjoon,” you start, watching his features crumble ever so slightly into a look of resignation. “This isn’t going to heal in time for next week, and you definitely won’t be able to train for a while.”

It’s just as you announce that, that Jungkook returns with your box of first-aid goodies. Hoseok, who has remained surprisingly silent the whole time this conversation has gone on, takes the box from his hold and delivers it next to you. Surprising all of you, Namjoon is quick to look up and pin Jungkook with a grin.

“Well, since I can’t participate—how do you feel about making your Big Boy Boxing Debut, Jungkookie?”

Your friend is rooted to the spot in shock for a solid few moments, before he snaps out of it and an excited if slightly nervous expression filters onto his face. 

“I will defend your honour, Namjoon!” he declares, saluting stupidly. “Count on me!”

Cheesy of him, but you can’t help the smile that tugs your lips. You just hope it’s not too late-notice for him, and that Namjoon’s injuries really aren’t that serious, as you surmise.

x – x – x 

 The week passes quicker than you anticipate, and before you know it, it’s the night of the big match—Jungkook’s first big match, that is. Namjoon had done his best over the days to coach Jungkook on the particular fighting styles of the opponents he normally faces, and to everyone’s pleasant surprise, Jungkook has picked it all up with ease. 

You’re more surprised to say that you’re not even that nervous, as you sit waiting for the match to begin. Jungkook stands in one corner, his opponent from one of the more renowned rival gyms in the other. You prepare to be on standby in case either boxer is injured enough to need aid, but cross your fingers that if anything at least Jungkook will be alright. 

In the blink of an eye, the match begins and the first bout kicks off. Jungkook’s opponent is slightly stockier, likely pushing the upper limits of the weight class, and is the first to make an offensive move. The familiar sound of cushioned gloves making impact rings in the air and you find yourself tensing in your seat as you watch the two interchange blows. 

It’s pretty much neck-and-neck for a majority of the bouts. Some of them go quick, and others seem to consist of the longest three minutes of your life. Still, the match goes on, and the night is filled with the siren song of the crowd and the ring of the bell.

After a night of close-call bouts and baited breath, Jungkook finally emerges victorious. 

Ever the fan favourite, the crowd that has amassed erupt into cheers as the referee declares the end of the final bout and Jungkook is held up as the victor. With the match decided, the club members that had been watching ringside burst up and swarm around the young boxer who brought pride to the gym on his very first big match. The three boxers that usually occupy your thoughts wriggle their way up there too, and it’s Hoseok’s bright tone that pierces the ruckus of the crowd.

“Drinks at ours to celebrate our victor, Jungkookie!” he caws, rubbing Jungkook on the back in something akin to pride. “Members of King Hit Gym, we better see you all there!”

You mightn’t be a technical member, but the way you suddenly feel three sets of eyes on you tells you that you’re still more than invited. 

x – x – x

It’s three hours since the end of the match, and you’re more than a little tipsy.

You can safely say that you haven’t ever been to the house where Namjoon, Hoseok and Yoongi live, but you’re nothing short of impressed. It’s a three-storey townhouse, with three rooms— presumably one for each of them, though from what you’d glimpsed on the way to the bathroom earlier only one of them appears regularly lived in.

It didn’t take you long to ponder exactly why, considering the things you’ve accidentally witnessed in the past month.

Most of your time tonight was spent celebrating with Jungkook as he made the rounds and received congratulations from the rest of the club members. Music thrums through the building, bass vibrating pleasantly through your chest every time you pass the expensive speakers in the living room.

You’ve paced yourself well, all things considered. All you had to do to avoid an early night ending in blackout drunkenness was steer clear of Jungkook whenever he made his way by the kitchen to refill— he’d learnt his mixing skills from Jimin, a verified alcoholic back in the day who spent his time in university trying to throw together his own signature cocktail with the same alcohol percentage as absinthe.

So you’re relatively proud of yourself to only be a little over tipsy at this point in the night. You can’t really say the same for the rest of the club members, though— even Jungkook has reached a point where he is stumbling and giggling. Which, of course, led to the event that splattered drink all over your shirt. 

You’re wandering up the stairs now, mind occupied with everything but what you’re doing as you absentmindedly seek the bathroom to clean your shirt. You haven’t seen any of the homeowners in a while, actually, which is kind of disappointing because you’re really longing for some eye candy right about now. They disappeared about ten minutes ago, and you figured it was just to socialise or maybe grab more snacks but you haven’t paid it much thought since then, and now you’re realising they hadn’t returned to the party yet. 

Reaching the top of the stairs, you pause for a moment to try and recall which room is the bathroom. There’s two of them, you remember being told, one ensuite and a main bathroom. There was also a third one on the first floor, but that was too far for you to attempt reaching it. Unable to remember which door is which, you simply decide to wing it and march on forward towards the first door to enter your line of sight. You’re pretty stable, but your head is kind of fuzzy, so your hand hovers by the wall as you walk just in case you stumble. 

Upon reaching the door in question, it takes you about a second and a half to realise the room you have reached is not the one you want, and another second for the shock to reach you.

Because, for the third time in a month, you have walked in on something you shouldn’t have. 

Except this time, you can’t seem to pull yourself away as fast as you should. 

It’s Hoseok and Namjoon tangled before you this time, in a position much more intimate than the last you’d seen. Their lips are locked, Hoseok straddling one of Namjoon’s thighs with one hand tangled in inky locks and the other rubbing over his crotch, where a prominent bulge makes itself known even to your eyes. Just when you remember that you should really be on your way, their lips break apart and Namjoon’s head tilts back, a sinful, velvet moan climbing from his throat as Hoseok leans to pepper it with kisses. It’s mesmerising, and you forget you’re even there as you watch the red-haired man’s hand climb up Namjoon’s stomach and then slip beneath the waistband of his jeans. 

You come back to yourself when you feel a familiar tightness in your own pants and a throb between your legs— of course, you’re hard. You’re too hazy-brained to even be ashamed of it right now. It does pierce through the fog, though, that you’re intruding on something you’re not meant to see. Like you’re trying to move limbs filled with lead, you start to drag your feet and turn around. 

You barely get a step in before you’re face to face with someone strikingly familiar, and your heart drops in your chest before kicking back into motion at double speed. 

“You always seem to enjoy watching, don’t you?” Yoongi’s question catches you off guard and puts you on the spot— before you can panic, though, his lips curl in a kittenish smile. “It’s alright, we already know you do, baby boy.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, stomach flipping giddily. Your eyes track it with surprising clarity as Yoongi’s hand— strong and sculpted and deliciously vascular, as you’d admired many times before— rises to caress your cheek, and he leans forward until his lips brush the sensitive skin of your earlobe.

“Why don’t you join us, this time?”

You find yourself nodding before you even realise it, but it’s definitely a decision you would make again any other day. 

You feel Yoongi smile against your ear, and then he is pressing a soft kiss to your cheek and pulling back. That same strong hand winds around your wrist and you’re tugged into the room, the door shutting behind you. The two on the bed barely bat an eye at the arrival of their third lover and an extra figure, merely smiling dazedly at the two of you. 

“Baby boy is finally gonna join us?” Hoseok asks, eyes lidded and dark to match the tousled look of his hair and clothes. His words are slightly slurred but the keenness to his gaze tells you he is still very much aware of everything he does. 

Yoongi hums in confirmation, coming up behind you to wind his arms lazily around your waist and rest his chin on your shoulder. “Mhmm. Don’t stop on our account— why don’t you give him a bit of a show to start, hm?”

Hoseok needs no further prompting, a grin all you glimpse before he is diving back to crash his lips into Namjoon’s, hand moving inside his pants and eliciting a deep, throaty groan. It makes your own cock throb in need, and almost as though he reads your mind, Yoongi's voice sounds in your ear once more. 

“You already hard, baby boy? Like what you see?”

Something about the husky quality of the boxer’s voice makes a shudder roll down your spine, a light whine slipping from your throat. Yoongi presses soft kisses to the skin of your neck as you watch the two on the bed undress each other between heated kisses. 

“Want me to touch you, baby boy?”

As though possessed, your head begins nodding before you even think to act on the urge. Yoongi requires no further prompting; he begins to kiss and suckle along the column of your neck while his hands move— one creeps up beneath your shirt to flick a thumb over your nipple, and the other slips down, down, down beneath the waistband of your pants and boxers, until that hand you admire so much is slipping around your cock and squeezing just enough to make you gasp out a moan. 

Pleasure and desire wind together to mix with the tipsy haze in your mind, and you’re more than happy to surrender yourself to the current situation. Slowly, you’re urged over to the bed, eyes still locked on the pair occupied there as Yoongi’s hand works magic on your length. You don’t even bother attempting to stem the gasps and moans tumbling forth because you know at this point it would probably be futile. 

Hoseok has now stripped Namjoon entirely and is making his way down his body with his mouth, pressing a kiss against every inch of golden skin he can reach. Namjoon is quite generously endowed, and you can’t tear your eyes away as Hoseok finally reaches the apex of his thighs and begins to lavish attention to Namjoon’s flushed cock. 

You can feel Yoongi grinding lightly against you as he strokes your own aching member, the two of you observing the show before you with rapt attention. At some point you’re rid of your shirt and the air feels cool against your flushed skin, your upper body leaning back against Yoongi contentedly. The noises spilling from Namjoon’s throat are downright sinful as Hoseok’s mouth sinks down on him with practiced ease.

It’s almost too much for you, really. Almost sensory overload. You’re urged ever so slowly to the bed, and as you sit on the plush mattress you happily oblige as Yoongi begins to undo and remove the jeans that are now uncomfortably tight. Your boxers follow soon after and then you’re joining the other two in their nudity. As though sensing the change in plans, Hoseok pulls off of Namjoon’s cock with a ‘pop’, licking his lips and ignoring the whine in protest that Namjoon lets out. “In a minute, bubs.”

Yoongi leans over to the bedside table to retrieve lube and something else you soon realise to be condoms as he tosses them on the bed between him and Hoseok. 

“Are you alright with this?”

You turn at the sound of Yoongi’s voice, eyes meeting his own— though heady and full of desire, they’re also determined. You don’t doubt that if you say no, he will stop things here.

“Yes,” you confirm, and you watch as a smile pulls over Yoongi’s face.

“Excellent. Now, lean forward, baby boy. This might be a little cold.”

Without question, you allow him to shift and bend your body as needed, knees digging into the plush bedding. Tilting your head up, you manage to meet the eyes of Namjoon, who is in a similar position to yourself, just in time for you to gasp at the sudden cold sensation at your ass. 

You’d think by now you would be used to the feeling of lube— you’re immediately distracted from that though at the sensation of Yoongi’s finger beginning to toy around your asshole. You allow yourself to relax as much as possible, turning your attention to Namjoon and Hoseok and simply enjoying the sensations Yoongi is eliciting. 

Namjoon’s hand raises, cupping your cheek and dragging down ever so gently. Hoseok catches the movement and lets out a coo, eyes boring into your own. 

“Wanna kiss him, baby boy? Go ahead, he’s good at it.”

You don’t need to be told twice, and neither does Namjoon. You find Hoseok definitely isn’t wrong as Namjoon’s lips meet your own, the kiss quickly turning heated as his mouth moves against your own. He swallows down your moans as Yoongi’s fingers begin to stretch you slowly, one by one.

You lose so much time in the hypnotic motion of bodies against your own that before you know it there is a gentle yet firm hand against your shoulder pulling you back from the man before you. 

“Ready, baby?”

You nod, and soon after hear the familiar tear of foil before the head of Yoongi’s cock is pressing against your hole. You take a deep breath in, allowing your eyes to flutter closed as he begins to press himself in and stretch you open bit by bit. The burn isn’t particularly painful tonight, and to be honest sometimes you’re partial to the sensation. 

By the time Yoongi is fully seated within you, you’re almost panting, soft moans escaping unwittingly. Through the fog of pleasure currently addling your brain, you hear similar noises in front of you and realise Namjoon must be in a similar state. Unconsciously, your hand stretches out, seeking contact, and manages to entwine with the large, warm one you identify as Namjoon’s good hand. 

As soon as Yoongi receives the green light from you, he begins to move. The sensations of him dragging against your walls are enough to almost drive you mad, especially at the slow pace he’s set. It isn’t long before he picks up though, and soon rough the slap of his hips against your ass is one of the many sinful noises echoing in the room, muffled by the loud music still booming beyond the bedroom walls. 

“O-oh, fuck,” you moan, barely coherent enough to respond to Namjoon’s seeking lips. Absently, you hear Yoongi’s soft groans and low murmured praises, and it makes your heart skip a beat. 

“Good boy,” he all but purrs, hand caressing down your spine before finding purchase at your hips. 

Time blurs and you’re wound so tight that it isn’t long before you feel yourself approaching that edge, your hand lowering to begin stroking your own cock again in an effort to reach your high faster. It’s one deep stroke that hits you in all the right places that is your undoing, and with a cry you’re cumming hard, spots appearing behind your eyes. 

The sudden tightness around his cock has Yoongi stilling, a low, drawn out groan sounding from his throat as he joins you in your high, throbbing inside you. Your arms are a little too weak to continue holding you, but he seems to be in tune enough that he notices and his own slip around you, easing you into his embrace as he adjusts on the mattress and hums into your skin. 

Namjoon and Hoseok aren’t far behind you, the two of them reaching their own end not long after. Namjoon flops against the bed, spent and Hoseok hops up to retrieve a bin and some wipes to clean up a bit before he too flops across the mattress, smacking Namjoon’s ass as he does and eliciting a brief whine in protest. 

“Well fuck,” you hum, staring absently at the ceiling. Yoongi snorts, pulling you closer, and like they all share a hive mind you’re very suddenly in the middle of a cuddle pile as the other two join in. 

“Beats just watching, doesn’t it?” One of them queries, probably Hoseok— you’re too tired to really discern it. 

“Mhm,” you respond, basking in content. “Four’s company, I suppose.”

There are a few hums of agreement, and then comfortable silence falls over the room. You find yourself smiling as you sink into the most content sleep you’ve had in a while, in the arms of the three boxers who have nestled their way into your heart one by one 

[avversiera-writes]

try again; in everyday we breathe life [tobirama senju/you] - chapter 4

Chapter 4 - Then

Summary: some comedy,, more doing the deedddd, some comedic relief, hah! light-hearted stuff while the glaring dramatic irony lingers

Word Count: ~4k

Author’s Note: ik ik it’s been a while! almost done tho. thank you for reading <3

also on AO3.

Chapter 1 - Now | Chapter 2 - Then, part 1 | Chapter 2 - Then, part 2 | Chapter 3 - Now | 

Tobirama is busy meeting with delegates from Kumogakure, and you are stuck being a wife in your own home, trying not to get embarrassed in front of the servants as you talk about replacing the broken bed in your room and changing the curtains around the house, or some other household detail that needs attending. You also talk with the cook in the kitchen about dinner, as Tobirama’s students are going to come over tonight, and you want to make sure that the food will be up to their tastes. 

  You trudge through your day until past noon, deciding that it is a good time to drop by the Hokage mansion to get your stubborn husband to eat something. The more Tobirama gets busy, the more he ignores the simplest ways to sustain himself. It is even harder to get him off when he is hard at work and is very focused on his tasks. He has a way of zeroing in on whatever he is doing, and while he is quite efficient at it, hours can pass him by before he even considers taking a break. 

This part of Tobirama, you admire and loathe him for it, because he rarely thinks about taking care of himself. It has always been work for him, and you know that he enjoys it more than anything, despite the stress that it brings him. 

  Now that you have taken a step back from being an active shinobi, you are able to look after him in your own way. There are times he resists being looked after, but after some pushing and prodding on your part, he would grudgingly accept it. 

  Being married to him and getting to know more sides of him is thrilling, and it makes you fall for him even more. 

In your bedroom, preparing to drop by the Hokage office, you study your clothes, deciding which kimono you should wear and which outer robe or pair of sandals you want to match it with. You have never really thought about fashion that much, because you often opted for practical clothing. Now that you are the Hokage's wife, you know you have to look the part, and also, it does not hurt to wear something pretty for your husband. 

  After deciding with a light green kimono with a slit on the left leg, and pairing a yellow outer coat to complement it, you step out of the bedroom to head down the kitchen. 

  The house is quiet, except for the quiet footsteps just outside the house, indicating that the servants of the house are keeping away to give you some privacy. You really do not mind their company, but they are gone before you can express your sentiments. 

You make a mental note to change that. Despite being in a village where classes of people are blurred, it seems to be different within clans. You know that some of the Senju have married with the common folk and into other clans, but since the two heads of the clan are Hokage, that part of the family is treated almost like royalty. 

  You shake your head. Hierarchies were the least of your problems, especially one that involves family. In the shinobi world, it is simpler, and there are many opportunities to move up your rank. Whereas, being part of the more mundane life, it is a whole different world from what you knew. 

  You uncover the pan where the cook had left the fried fish that Tobirama likes and you begin to pack it into a box, along with rice and some side dishes that he sometimes eats along with this kind of dish. You prepare his tea, and a few rice cakes, then you wrap everything into a nice blanket to make it easier to carry. 

Footsteps approach the long kitchen, and you whirl around, only to spot Miura Kimiko. 

  “My lady, I am so sorry to interrupt!” Kimiko expresses. 

“Oh, it’s you,” you greet. You throw a smile at the last minute to reassure that there is nothing to worry about. You are completely caught off-guard by her presence, since no one is really around you at the moment. “I have been meaning to talk to you.” 

  Kimiko smiles kindly. “Really?” 

  You let out a nervous giggle. “Well, it turns out that I may need your help after all. You know, with the...” You trail off and you give Kimiko an embarrassed look. 

Kimiko’s face lights up in joy, and you finally let out a genuine smile. “That’s great, my lady!” 

  You press a hand to your forehead and laugh. “I had no idea that he would be so quick to decide. He seemed very eager.” 

Kimiko laughs, and you take Tobirama’s wrapped lunch. 

“I see,” Kimiko walks towards you, and pauses at the cupboards. “I will have to make a quick trip to the market. We can talk later, and I can show you and give you your first batch of tea for fertility purposes. Then, along the way, we’ll talk of the supplements that will ensure a healthy birth.” 

You meet her eyes. “Thank you, Kimiko-san. I really appreciate this.” You give her a small bow. “I will put my trust in you.” 

  “I am honored, my lady,” Kimiko replies, and from there, you leave her be in the kitchen to make your way towards the Hokage office.

//

There was some waiting to be done, once you get in the Hokage office. The mansion is flourishing with many people, delegates and their aides that have been authorized to stay there for the duration of their visit. It seems that peace negotiations are coming along well, judging by the atmosphere of the place. There is no tension that you feel. You hope that Tobirama’s alliance with Kumo will come along soon, though you foresee the many months of more political talks that will ail his office hours. 

  Sensing that Tobirama will not be available immediately, you tell one of his guards that you will be waiting in the library for him, and make your way there. 

You smile at the familiar sight, the moment you step in. It has been a while since you have been here, in this place, where you and Tobirama had spent a lot of your earlier years together, and where your love probably first budded from. You learned more from each other through observation and silence, and of course, your nonstop banter that somehow turned into a dance of flirtationship. 

  It seems so long ago. 

You look to the table where the two of you had spent countless hours poring over research books, record books and writing into scrolls and manuscripts about plans for the growing Academy. This place has evolved–it used to be smaller. There are now more bookshelves that are being filled with newer books, and the restricted section, only accessible to those jounin level and higher, are also growing, no doubt due to your husband’s non-stop inventions. He had a huge hand in writing a lot of academic research and theory that will certainly help the future generations. That is what he is hoping for, after all, to build something that will last. 

You finally sit at your table, where dust is gathering and swirling in motes due to the sunlight peering in from the window. There is a clock at the back of the library, and it clicks loudly, echoing in the dusty, warm place to signal the passing time. 

  You trace a finger on the table, remembering that Tobirama found it childish that you doodle on random things, and then you remember telling him off and to mind his own business. 

“What are you smiling about?” Tobirama’s voice interrupts your thoughts and you turn your head to his direction. He comes closer and he glances at the table, probably coming into a realization. “I see. You were a bit of a terror back then.” 

Tobirama sits across from you, and you notice that he is wearing his Hokage clothes. 

“Long day?” You ask. 

  “The day has not even begun to start,” Tobirama sighs, and he begins to roll his sleeves back. “It is hard to keep track of the delegates coming in and out, and harder to make sure that our own delegates in Kumo are not messing up anything.” 

“Well, have a little faith,” you tell him. 

  Tobirama rolls his eyes. “Yes, I’m sure a little faith will do it. One of them, by the way, is my eldest nephew, and he is everything Hashirama is and none of his mother’s tact and charm.” 

  “Your brother is charming, stop it.” You crack a smile. 

  Tobirama narrows his eyes at you as he unpacks the lunch you have brought him. “Yes, he has charm, and he is sunshine and all about inspiration, that will dazzle the leaders of Kumogakure.”

You roll your eyes. “This is a good thing. He gets to show off the youthfulness that peaceful times can only bring.”

  If Tobirama could laugh out loud, this moment would be it. However, he lets out a huff of breath with a small smile, his version of being amused. “Perhaps. That ought to be the winning argument.” 

You let Tobirama eat in peace, and instead, decide to wander around the library to find the old places you used to crash into when you and Tobirama had to pull all-nighters, or when you just needed some space from him being a blunt asshole. You pull out the books that he used to recommend you, and flip through the pages where he had left tiny notes and markers for you to find. All of them, you have kept and preserved. 

  Back then, you found this part of Tobirama confusing and annoying, because he keeps passing you one book after another in the guise of studying it, but now that you think about it, this was his way of letting you know that he was interested. You remember the folded papers and bookmarks that would fall out when you open them, and your miffedness from trying to collect them from the ground. You were convinced that Tobirama was out to get you. 

“You know what, husband, I take it back. You were a bit of a charmer back then,” you note as you sense him approaching. You slide the book back into its shelf, creating a cleaner path from the dust.

  “And you were quite mean,” Tobirama says with a hint of mock wonder. “What were your words? That I was a senile, arrogant bastard who can go stick–”

  “Alright, alright,” you interrupt and shoot him a glare. “I said I take it back.” 

  “Yes, but my poor heart,” Tobirama sarcastically replies. 

You look at him, feigning bewilderment. “Are you joking around with me? Wow ! You are capable of such things!” 

  Tobirama smirks. “I am capable of many things.” 

You scoff. “Your audacity at this moment, Lord Nidaime.” 

  Tobirama does not even look like there is a hint of shame on that proud, stoic face of his. 

You bite back a smirk, and the two of you stare at each other for a short moment. The air between you changes, and before you know it, Tobirama is pushing you against the bookshelves, his mouth on yours, and his rough hands slipping through the slit of your kimono to grope your hips. You hear books fall to the floor and scrolls rolling on its surface, and your hand goes above your head to find some sort of purchase. 

“Maybe I should have done this earlier and saved us the confusion of finding out if we really did like each other,” Tobirama roughly whispers into your ear. 

  “If you did, I would have certainly, absolutely have stabbed my katana into your–” 

Tobirama steals your last words by pushing his tongue through your mouth and you moan, pleased. 

“Can you really afford to waste time like this?” You gasp as Tobirama delves into your neck intensely. 

  “I’m the Hokage,” Tobirama answers curtly. 

  “Some abuse of power right there.” 

You close your eyes as Tobirama’s hands cup your ass and presses you against his body, where you can feel his half-aroused erection. You grind against him, and he pushes you into the bookshelf again, where you can feel the edge of the shelves pressing against your back. 

“Haven’t you had enough?” You ask him beguilingly. 

Tobirama stares at you with a serious expression, and something about it makes you weak. “Of you?” He plants a tender kiss on your lips. “If you begin to impose too much.” 

  You roll your eyes. “Alright, goodbye. I’ll see you at home. Enjoy your erection.” 

You attempt to leave his grasp, but he steadies you in one place with firm hands. 

“Where are you going, and with this cut in your clothing? Let’s put it into good use, shall we?” Tobirama says in a low voice. 

  He whirls you around, and hikes up your clothes up to your hips. The cool air makes you shiver, and you grab onto a shelf to steady yourself. Tobirama is taller, and he is pulling you against himself, making your balance unsteady. 

  Your husband runs a hand between your thighs, and you can’t help but moan when he begins to rub his fingers against your heat. He stops, and then you hear quick shuffling of clothes behind you. You reach behind you to feel Tobirama and you let out a low chuckle when you realize that he has opted to shed his Hokage robes. 

“You have got it bad, Lord Nidaime,” you murmur. 

  “Yes, poor me, whatever shall I do now,” he says quickly. He grips your hip and positions it so that he can perfectly align against your entrance. 

  Then, he slips in, and you let out a long drawn moan as he sheathes himself inside you completely. 

  You hear him murmur curses, and you gasp as he rears back, only to slam himself back in with a precision that immediately paints your vision white. You forget you have legs, and you almost fall down as Tobirama begins to thrust into you unforgivingly. You let out a cry, and his hand quickly slaps over your mouth. 

  You hear his harsh breaths, getting louder and faster. Your lower back curves a little bit more, and the angle changes, and Tobirama begins to pound the spot that makes your body buck into him wildly. 

With nothing to support yourself, you accidentally tear the shelf in half above your head, and more books come crashing into the floor. Tobirama moves the two of you away from the mess, and he plasters you against the wall. You can only gasp as he resumes his fucking, and the slick sounds of skin against skin, of the neck-breaking speed that Tobirama snaps his hips to, makes you come so hard that you only remember worrying about the roof or the floor caving in until Tobirama places you on a table, and begins to fuck you there. 

  You cry out, slewing curses with a creativity that only comes when you are high. 

The table beneath you breaks, and Tobirama lowers your conjoined bodies onto the floor. You hold on to his shoulders, and lean back as he uses his tongue and his lips trace your neck and to plant light bruises there. You grind into him, chasing another high, and you end up pulling at his hair to expose more of his neck. 

You suck on the side of his neck, and his hands on your hips begin to guide you into a slow, agonizing rhythm. Finally, the two of you kiss, and Tobirama gives you a hard thrust upwards that sends your legs flailing, and you feel his cock twitch inside you as he breeds you with his hot seed. 

“Oh my gods,” you murmur, but you are not sure if you have said it out loud. 

Tobirama is still breathing harshly against your shoulder, and he is holding onto you like a tight coil. You feel his heart thundering against his chest, and as you come to, Tobirama shows no sign of letting up his grip. Slowly, you run a hand down his arm to soothe him. You give light kisses on the side of his face, and you continue to caress him gently. 

"Too much?" You ask teasingly. 

  Tobirama coughs, and even that sounds embarrassed. "We're really doing this." 

  "It hasn't set in yet, huh?" 

Tobirama squeezes your waist with his arms as his reply and you rest your head on his shoulder. 

  "Are you going to let go of me?" You ask tentatively. 

Tobirama lets out a sigh and you stifle a giggle. It is rare to catch a very soft Tobirama. 

  "Are you not tired?" Tobirama asks. 

  "No, not at all." You lean back and narrow your eyes at him. "Are you? Is your age catching up?"

  Tobirama scoffs and he immediately scowls. "I am not that old, and I can go for more if you want." 

You lean towards him languorously, a victorious smile spreading across your lips. "Yes, but you have a job to do." 

Tobirama slowly eases you off of him. "They can wait. I think I'll get a chronic migraine because of some hard to please delegates." 

  "With that expression of yours, one might think you already do," you can't resist saying back.

Tobirama stares at you blankly. "Now I get why people are wondering why I married you,” he deadpans. 

  “I beg to differ, Lord Nidaime, I’m quite the catch,” you smile cheekily as you watch Tobirama’s ears flush pink. 

You give your husband a few quick kisses on the lips before he can react, and you move away to stand up and gather yourself.

  “Whoah.” Your legs wobble slightly as you take a step.

  Tobirama catches you by the elbow, and you feel your face blush from his action. 

“Careful,” he warns. 

  “Right,” you say in a quiet voice. You survey the damage and you swallow nervously. “Um...I am going to stay here, and clean up and also make sure that I do not look like I just got mugged.”

Tobirama throws you a dirty look as he searches for his clothes. “Don’t worry about the mess, I will take care of it.” 

  “I was talking about myself,” you run a hand through your hair. 

Tobirama quickly puts on his clothes, and you watch him, surrounded by the broken bookshelves and the books littered on the floor. You can sense that the two of you are panicking about getting caught, or having someone walk in here, especially when the Hokage mansion is housing so many people. 

“You’re the worst,” you blurt out. 

  Tobirama raises an eyebrow and slides on his sandals. His serious expression becomes funnier as his hard features begin to morph into helplessness. You note the blooming bruises on his neck, and you gesture at it, with the same helplessness. 

  “Right,” Tobirama awkwardly says and tugs his collar up. 

  The two of you stare at each other with the familiarity of two strangers in the wrong place, and Tobirama skeeters out of the library in the most elegant way that he can muster, and when he is gone, you slide to the floor, staring at the space in front of you, then, you begin to laugh out loud. 

//

Instead of going straight home, you try your best to clean up the library, and to check your image on the glass window to make sure you look representable. Then, you wait for Tobirama in a common lounge since this whole ordeal took the whole afternoon, and it is now nearing dinner. 

  You wrap your outer coat tighter, and try to mask the slight limp that you have developed over the course of the afternoon. 

  Finally, your husband is out of his work’s clutches for now, and the two of you hurry home, trying to beat Tobirama’s students there so that the two of you can freshen up. 

  However, your plans are ruined, when you find the six of them standing on the yard, aghast as the servants haul out the bed that the two of you have broken, and they watch, as a new bed is carried into the house. 

Tobirama stiffens beside you, and you manage a small smile, knowing that you look disheveled as you feel. 

  In the yard, both Hiruzen and Danzo look horrified, Torifu is pale, Kagami and Homura have their mouths opened, and in all of their eyes you can see a growing realization, while Koharu struggles to keep her face from deviating from her usual strict expression. 

Tobirama stands beside you, calm and collected, regal and shameless. He nods, and he leaves you in the yard and walks abruptly into the house. 

“EW!” The boys shouted. 

  Koharu rolls her eyes and she starts to walk away. "Get it together," she snaps. 

  You resist the urge to put a hand on your face to cover up your embarrassment, and instead, choose to walk towards the house with your whole chest. 

To be continued...

Chapter 5 - Then >>

[villlainarc]

roceit highschool rivals to lovers? they argue and flirt in equal amounts and both of their respective friend groups are so tired of the romantic tension (so, maybe, they decide to take it into their own hands to get them together finally) ~ Lo 🍇

Here, Blinking In the Starlight

100 stars in the sky prompts

Summary: Roman and Janus are rivals.

(And despite what Virgil may say, that does not mean they are simply refusing to admit they’re in love.)

Pairings: Roceit, Platonic Logince, Brotherly Anxceit, Platonic Analogical

Warnings: vague fantasy(?) violence, death mention, weapon mention, an unnamed character gets stabbed (but doesn’t die and there’s no gore), what could be interpreted as non-consensual kissing (it isn’t but. the character doing the kissing doesn’t have explicit permission so. this is just to air on the safe side), implied threat of murder through poisoning, (this isn’t anywhere near as dark as those warnings make it out to be i’m just covering all my bases), three (3) swear words

Word Count: 4096

Taglist: @max-is-tired @raaindropps @kiribakuandcats @main-chive @emo-disaster @heavenly-roman

Notes:

me: *opens prompts in part so i can practice writing shorter fics*

also me: *write over 4000 words after vowing to make all of these no longer than 2k 😔🤙*

tldr this really wasn’t supposed to get this long i swear but also it’s roceit so i’m not gonna complain at least. not too much

ao3

_________________________

“Get down!” Roman cried, pointing at a spot just beyond Janus’s head.

Janus turned to see what Roman had been gesturing towards, ducking as they did. It was just in time, too, as the moment they had moved out of the way, a fist flew right over their head. They gave Roman a grateful smile before their eyes went wide and they pulled Roman flush against their chest, out of the way of someone else who had lunged at him.

“You saved me,” Roman said as soon as the danger had passed, fluttering his eyes innocently as he rested a hand against Janus’s chest.

Janus rolled their eyes at the way Roman’s hand moved to play with one of the curls by the side of their face, carefully extracting themself from Roman’s arms. “You can thank me later. How about we focus on getting out of here for now?”

“I think I’d much rather stay here with you.” Roman fluttered his eyelashes once more, peering through them to fix Janus with a pout.

“And I much rather not die, but to each their own.”

“Fair enough,” Roman conceded, twirling Janus out of the way of another incoming swing. “Dying really would put a damper on our relationship, my love.”

“Darling, you’ll have to finish saving me before we can truly call this a relationship,” they shot back.

“Oh, just admit it. You think I’m the most gorgeous person you’ve ever laid eyes on.” Roman’s cocky grin refused to fade as he spun them through the surrounding chaos, never letting Janus stray more than a few inches from his arms.

“I think nothing of the sort,” they replied, letting themself be guided through a flurry of swinging swords and outstretched hands that continued their onslaught in vain as Janus and Roman waltzed their way past.

Roman merely smiled at that, lifting Janus into the air and spinning them out of the way, causing two guards with who’d been rushing towards the two of them to crash into each other.

After Roman placed Janus back on the ground, there were only three guards left standing. “If you’ll excuse me,” Roman said, lightly kissing the back of Janus’s hand. “I have one more thing to take care of before you can officially call me your true love.” Leaving Janus standing there, holding the hand he’d just kissed their hand to their chest, Roman drew his sword. In one smooth motion, he turned around and drove it cleanly through the first of the guards.

The final two took one look at their newly fallen comrade and tripped over their feet trying to get away.

“Now,” Roman said, turning back to Janus, his smile just as blinding as it had been before, “love of my life, what was the gift I was supposed to receive for rescuing the princess, again?”

“You’re incorrigible,” Janus claimed, though there wasn’t so much as a drop of venom behind it. The smile they wore as they strode towards Roman also didn’t help matters, and when they wrapped an arm around his waist and dropped him into a dip, there was no question at all that their words had been purely for show.

They held him there for a moment, smiling coyly. Then, without warning, Janus drew Roman back towards their chest as they leaned into him and met his lips in a kiss.

“Stop, stop, stop. What was that, Janus? I don’t think there’s a kiss in the blocking, is there?”

“No, you’re right. Sorry ma’am, I just got caught up in the scene.” Janus gave their director a winning smile as they set Roman upright again. “Now that you mention it though,” they said, casually adjusting their dress, “I think that final scene would be more impactful if it did end in a kiss, don’t you?”

The director frowned. “I’ll think about it,” she replied. “It looked good, I’ll admit, but both you and Roman would have to be alright with the change in blocking. So, what do you think, Roman?”

Janus turned to truly look at Roman for the first time since they’d kissed him. A smirk grew on their face as they saw the brilliantly red blush that had taken over his. “Yes, Roman, what do you think?” they asked, genuine curiosity seeping into their voice that was completely at odds with the smirk that remained firmly in place. “If I made you uncomfortable in any way, I truly apologize.”

Roman had to take several deep breaths to steady his voice, opening and shutting his mouth a total of four times in rapid succession before he managed to say, “Uh, yes. Whatever you think would be best is fine by me.”

“I’ll have to see both versions again just to be sure, so if you wouldn’t mind running the scene from the top two more ti—”

“Oh! Would you look at the time!” Roman exclaimed suddenly, gesturing towards the clock hanging on the back wall of the theater. “Doesn’t rehearsal end at five thirty? And, wow, is it really five o’clock already? You usually give us thirty minutes to change out of costume so you can give us your notes before we have to leave, right?”

“Ah, so I do. Time really does fly when you’re having fun, huh?”

“It absolutely does,” Janus agreed, offering their arm out to Roman with a smirk on their face and a twinkle in their eyes. “Let’s go get changed, shall we?” When Roman remained too frozen to take their arm, Janus dropped it to instead take his hand with a wink, leading him off the stage.

And oh, how the universe spun with that one wink.

_________________________

“They kissed me!” Roman wailed upon sliding into the passenger’s seat of Logan’s car.

“I beg your pardon?”

Had Roman been feeling like his usual fabulous self, he would have replied with a flippant, ‘Then beg,’ but as it was, he could barely manage to form a coherent thought and was far from being at the top of his game. So instead, he continued in the most melodramatic voice known to man, “Janus Adler kissed me!”

“Janus Adler, your co-star in the spring musical? The one who plays your love interest? I fail to see how this would come as a surprise.”

“No no, you don’t understand, Lo. There is not a single kiss written into that musical. Not one! They made it up, they—” Roman’s head fell into his hands at that, “Janus Adler had the audacity to improvise a kiss in the middle of a scene! And I— I’m going to have to bring this up with the director. We can’t ruin the integrity of the musical by adding a kiss that isn’t even there!”

“Mm. What musical is this, again?”

“That’s terribly unimportant. Besides, I have it on good authority that the author doesn’t care about the musical at all outside of its ability to be used as a plot device, so really, the only thing you need to know is that it must not be deflowered by a kiss that was never in any way intended to be there.”

“Is this musical a classic, then? Or is it specifically stated that there were to be no kisses, no matter how many other creative liberties are taken? Perhaps you meant that the author cares about this musical’s use as a plot device, it’s lack of kisses, and nothing else? Is it—”

“That doesn’t matter, it’s the principle of the thing, Logan!”

“Interesting.”

“What is?”

“How did you react when Janus kissed you?” Logan deflected.

“I— what? Why do you— That doesn’t have anything to do with this! At all! And for the record, my reaction to them kissing me out of the blue was perfectly normal!”

“So you cringed at the fact that someone you are not romantically or sexually interested in kissed you? Or did you shove them away and tell them to never do that again because you so clearly don’t have a crush on them? Perhaps y—”

“You’re absolutely right, I don’t have a crush on them, but why did you feel the need to point that out?”

Logan sighed. “No reason at all. Now, did you react in any of those ways?”

“…Yes.”

“If you insist,” Logan said, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“I very much do. Now, I would like to get home sometime within this century, so if you could drive me home and stop pestering me, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

“I’m going to force you to get your own car one day, you know.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

_________________________

“I kissed him!” Janus wailed as they fell backwards onto Virgil’s bed like an ailing Victorian lady.

“That’s fantastic. Get the fuck out of my room now?”

Janus sat up with a huff, dropping their over-dramatized persona. “Virgil, my dearest brother whom I love with my entire heart, you are the worst.” They fell backwards once more. “You don’t understand,” they said, bringing a hand to their forehead. “I kissed Roman Kingsley!”

“Roman Kingsley, your co-star in the spring musical? The one who plays your love interest? Isn’t that, like… supposed to happen? Don’t love interests normally kiss in musicals?”

“Well, yes, but not in that scene. I improvised a kiss, Virgil. Do you not understand how weird that is? Roman probably hates me.” They pouted at Virgil, looking solely for sympathy as they knew, judging by the blush on Roman’s face, that he very much did not hate them.

“Wow, that really sucks,” Virgil deadpanned. “Must be so awful to have the person you have constantly referred to as your rival hate you.”

“It is— wait, no. I don’t— did I really call Roman— oh, that’s interesting. Well, we aren’t exactly rivals anymore, especially since I started presenting more feminine and getting more female leads than male ones, you know? Less fighting over roles. And I don’t think he ever hated me, even when we were more officially rivals. There’s a very specific connotation implied when you refer to two people as rivals, and it doesn’t involve flat-out animosity, so—”

“Right,” Virgil nodded in agreement. “The connotation is lots of sexual and or romantic tension followed by pining. You don’t have to tell me, I know rivals implies fanfiction-style rivals to lovers, four hundred thousand word slow burn—”

“You know what! I think that’s enough, thank you. That isn’t what I meant by rivals, and you know it.”

“Did I really? Are you sure you weren’t implying that you might have at least a little bit of a crush on Roman Ki—”

“Oh, you are hilarious, Virgil. Truly.”

“I try,” Virgil grinned, fully looking up from his phone for the first time since Janus had entered the room. “Now, what was that about Roman?”

“Rivals,” they said, completely ignoring the blush they could feel rising on their face. “Rivals, and nothing more.”

“For someone who was cast as one of the lead roles in this musical, you’re awfully bad at acting.”

“I have no idea what you mean, though I do believe you asked me to leave your room, and I’d loathe to ignore your request.”

“Aw, you sure you don’t want to stick around now? I was just getting started!”

“And now you’re done! Funny how that works, isn’t it? Thank you so very much for your input, Virgil, now I recommend watching what you drink for the next several days.”

“Love you too.”

_________________________

“Hey L?”

“Yes, Virgil?”

“Janus is an idiot.”

“While that is true, I’m now inclined to ask what they did this time in particular.”

“Y’know how they’ve had the most obvious, stupid, disgustingly sappy crush on Roman for the longest time?”

“Ah, how could I have missed it?”

“Right? Anyway, I want to rub their vehemently denied feelings in their face and get them and Roman together.”

“Hm, I second that. Roman has been similarly insufferable.”

“Good to know that they’re both utter morons.”

“You say that like it wasn’t already the most obvious thing in the world.”

“Touché.”

“Did you have a plan?”

“Oh, hell no. Please. Planning is for losers, procrastinating until the last possible second is where it’s at.”

“Virgil—”

“Yeah, yeah, procrastination is bad or whatever the point is that I am very much looking to you when it comes to understanding the allos. Help me Logie Wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope.”

“If you’re going to make a science fiction themed nickname, please do not make it a Star Wars one.”

“Fine, but only if you agree to help me.”

“You don’t need to bribe me, Virgil. Getting out of hearing Roman pine hopelessly after someone who is very much in love with him is incentive enough for me.”

“Good,” Virgil said with a smile, resting his head on Logan’s shoulder. “But we’re finishing this movie before any planning is going to take place.”

“…Please tell me you don’t hope to enact this plan tomorrow.”

“Okay, I won’t then,” Virgil agreed, deliberately saying nothing else.

“You’re lucky you’re my best friend.”

“You bet I am. We’re still waiting until this movie is done, though.”

Logan sighed, but there was little more than fondness behind it. If he asked for it, Logan would give his best friend the moon. Compared to that, sacrificing a few hours of sleep was negligible at worst and at best, it would be beyond worth it to see Virgil happy.

And whenever Logan spent time with Virgil, the universe did always seem to favor the latter.

_________________________

“This is a horrible plan.”

“Look, you were the one who agreed to it, you can’t blame me entirely,” Virgil said rather petulantly.

“I was running on four cups of coffee, so I feel I very much can. And you know, even then I’m fairly certain I told you that aggressively telling people what they’re feeling until they admit it really isn’t the best way to go about this.”

“Yeah, well…” Virgil shrugged. “Too late to change it up now.”

“No, it really isn—”

“Shhh,” Virgil shushed, holding a finger up to Logan’s lips. “Just roll with it.”

Logan sighed at that, having known Virgil for far too long to believe that there was any way to change his mind at this point.

“Oh!” Virgil tugged on the sleeve of Logan’s shirt to get his attention, nodding towards the person who had just walked up to the locker in front of them. “Janus’s here.”

“Hm, how wonderful.”

“We’re still doing this, right?”

Logan sighed once more, nodding his agreement. “If you insist.”

“Great!” Virgil wrapped his arm around Logan’s dragging him towards Janus, who had since stopped trying to open their locker and was now squinting suspiciously at the pair making their way towards them.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re just stopping by to say hello,” Logan said in a way that was likely meant to soothe Janus, but only put them more on edge.

“Hi,” they replied, taking a slow step backwards, growing more suspicious by the second. “I’m just going to… head off to class now.” They gave an awkward sort of wave, taking another step away from Virgil and Logan.

“Oh no you don’t,” Virgil said, his bright smile at odds with his vaguely threatening words. “We need to talk, so you’re going to skip your first class.” Upon seeing Janus open their mouth to protest, Virgil cut in, “And don’t pretend you haven’t ever skipped class before. And even if you haven’t,” he added once Janus started to protest again, “don’t pretend your grade won’t be perfectly fine either way.”

“Look,” Logan said, his tone much calmer than Virgil’s, “this conversation is important. And Virgil is right, your grades will not suffer because of one missed class.”

“…What the hell is going on? Since when has Logan Doyle been okay with skipping class?”

“Oh, my first period is free, so I am not skipping class.”

“That wasn’t really the point,” Janus pointed out with a frown. “Seriously, what the hell is going on?”

“You’ll see. How does the library work for you?” Logan asked, his demeanor still infuriatingly calm.

“You realize I have still yet to agree to this, don’t you?”

“Doesn’t matter, we’re doing it no matter what you say,” Virgil said, his smile quickly growing tired as he latched onto the sleeve of Janus’s jacket and began to tug.

Janus let out a huff at Virgil’s actions. “This is a nice jacket, let go!” When they realized Virgil most definitely was not going to let go, they gave a resigned sigh. “If I go with you to the library willingly, will you stop ruining my clothes?”

Virgil rolled his eyes, but he did release his hold on his sibling’s jacket. “Don’t be so dramatic, I was far from ruining anything. Come on,” he said, motioning with his head to indicate which way they were going. “I’m sure you don’t want to miss both first and second period.”

Janus gave Virgil a tired eyebrow raise as they followed him through the crush of bodies that filled the hallway, Logan just behind them. “You would be right.”

“Oh, I know,” Virgil said, shooting a grin over his shoulder at Janus. “Speaking of things that I know,” Virgil began, strolling the library doors in a way that was entirely too casual to alleviate Janus’s suspicions, “I know you’re in love with Roman Kingsley.”

Virgil was positively beaming at what was no doubt a horrifyingly shocked look on Janus’s face. And when they turned to see a matching smug expression on Logan’s, they knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the universe absolutely despised them.

_________________________

“Roman,” Virgil sing-songed from behind his friend. “Roman, Logan and I need to talk to you,” he continued in the same ominously lilting voice.

Roman turned around from his seat at the lunch table with a frown. “Is something wrong?”

“Not at all,” Logan assured him with a kind and only barely forced smile. “You have nothing to worry about, there’s just an important conversation Virgil and I believe we should have.”

“If not worried, should I be concerned? You two are acting in a way that I feel should garner concern.” Roman’s question was met with a chorus of denial, and he shrugged. “Then what did you want to talk about?”

“Oh, nothing much,” Virgil said, sliding into a chair on Roman’s right.

“Just the fact that you’re in love with Janus Adler,” Logan said, nodding his agreement with Virgil’s words before sitting down on Roman’s other side as though he hadn’t just confirmed what Roman had always known to be true: the universe was working around to clock to bring about his doom.

_________________________

“Now, love of my life, what was the gift I was supposed to receive for rescuing the princess?”

“You’re incorrigible,” Janus claimed, wearing a smile as they strode towards Roman, and when they wrapped an arm around his waist and dropped him into a dip, that smile grew coy. After a moment of holding Roman suspended just barely above the stage, Janus drew him back towards their chest as they leaned down and met his lips in a kiss.

“Finish the scene now,” the director ordered, flipping a page of her script as she marked something down in it.

“But you love me anyway, don’t you?” Roman replied without missing a beat as Janus set him upright.

“Perhaps I do,” Janus said, their voice turning unusually quiet.

Roman paused, watching them intently. “Do you love me because I saved you? Or because I’m pretty?”

“I love you because you’re you, Ro— Your Highness.”

At this, the director looked up with a frown. As far as she knew, that line wasn’t in the script. Before she could interrupt though, Roman carried on with the scene. “Do you not think I’m pretty, then?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Quite the contrary,” Janus countered. “I may not have admitted it before, but I do believe you are the most gorgeous person I have ever laid eyes on.”

“Is that so?” Roman asked, trying and failing to hide how flustered he suddenly was.

“It is indeed. There’s much I haven’t told you, Your Highness.”

“Like what?” Roman’s voice grew hushed as he stepped even closer to Janus.

“Like the fact that I love you—that I have loved you for longer than I’d care to admit.”

“Is that so?” Roman repeated, watching with wide eyes as Janus brought their hands to his face.

Janus nodded, their smile growing upon seeing Roman’s deepening blush. “What about you, Your Highness? Is there anything you’ve been keeping from me?”

“I think I love you too.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

“Good,” Janus said, slowly lowering their face to meet Roman’s, giving him more than enough time to pull away.

He didn’t.

So Janus Adler kissed Roman Kingsley once more, showing no signs of ever wanting to stop doing so.

The director sighed, interrupting the silence that had fallen over the theater. “Look, you’re both great actors, but I think rewriting the final scene is a bit much as far as creative liberties go. Do you two have something more you want to say to each other, or…?”

Janus pulled themself away from Roman’s lips, blinking in a slightly dazed fashion. “Sorry, ma’am,” they said, smiling innocently at the director like they hadn’t been about to start shamelessly making out with their co-star on stage.

Roman coughed in an attempt to hide how out of breath he was. “What— what did you think of, uh, adding the first kiss to the blocking?”

“Or the second one,” Janus added, acting like both had been meticulously planned out over the course of at least several weeks.

Shaking her head, the director sighed again. “If you promise to stop changing the script, you can keep the first one, but I don’t think the second one really fits—”

“What about after the last line?” Janus asked, clearly having no ulterior motives when it came to wanting to kiss Roman at any and every given opportunity.

“You mean your last line?”

“No, the one that’s split between the four narrators, ‘and they lived happily ever after.’ What if we kissed during that? It seems like a pretty good way to show that we—we meaning the characters, of course—are indeed living happily ever after.”

“Fine,” the director said, sounding painfully tired as she marked down the change in her script. “Now go get into costume with the rest of the cast, we still have every other scene in the show to run through.”

As soon as the director turned away, Janus offered their arm out to Roman just as they had yesterday, the same smirk on their face and the same twinkle in their eyes. This time, Roman took it. “Something’s got you feeling bolder today, hm?” Janus said, setting off for the dressing rooms just down the hall.

“Blame Logan. And your brother. Mostly your brother, actually. He’s very convincing.” Janus raised an eyebrow. “And by convincing, I mean threatening,” Roman clarified.

“That he is,” Janus agreed. “I suppose I should really be thanking them both, though. I likely wouldn’t have kissed you that second time without their intervention, and that truly is a tragedy.”

Roman flushed. “You don’t have to do that anymore, you know.”

“What, flirt? Oh, but Roman, then I’d miss seeing you get all flustered,” they pouted. “And why ever would I do that?”

“Um… because you love me?”

“You make a strong argument, but I’m afraid no amount of love will convince me that your blush isn’t the most beautiful thing in the world.”

“I take it you haven’t seen a mirror, then,” Roman replied, looking smug.

Janus merely laughed. “You’re going to have to try harder than that, love.”

“Mark my words, I’ll figure out how to turn you into a blushing mess one day. You won’t even see it coming.”

Janus stopped and turned to Roman, fluttering their eyelashes. “Is that so?” they purred, taking slow, deliberate steps toward Roman and crowding him up against the wall.

“Yes?” Roman squeaked out, captivated by the way even the fluorescent lights overhead made Janus’s mismatched eyes look utterly enchanting.

Taking pity on Roman, Janus laughed and took a step backwards. “I look forward to it, my prince,” they said, keeping eye contact with Roman as they brought his hand to their lips and placed a feather-light kiss on the back of it.

And in that moment, the whole universe felt perfect.

_________________________

finding other things i’ve written in my masterpost

[pinebypine]

Point of Order

Triplet AU fic. The Trips talk it out.

It was Thanksgiving break; so the triplets had the day off and the house to themselves. They’d pushed the girls’ beds together and made a sort of nest of the bedlinens, now a complete mess after all of the activity of the morning. Dipper lay with his head on Ty’s stomach, catching his breath and waiting for his brain to clear a little.

He felt something disturbing the bed behind him, but couldn’t be bothered to crane his neck to look. A pair of fingers touched the back of one of his calves; he heard Mabel’s voice as the points of pressure began to move.

“Days without water.” Mabel squeaked, as if voicing a tiny person trudging along Dipper’s leg. “Weeks without food. So lost. So alone. I think I’ll probably die out here, in these desolate leg hair forest. I’ll never see my family again, never tell my poor ailing wife that I love her.” The she gasped and Dipper felt her fingers bounce on his skin as if startled. “But that’s that ahead? I can see something over the horizon. It looks like it could be my salvation if only it were... Wait, it is! Oh saint’s be praised for I have found-” both of Mabel’s hands grabbed Dipper’s backside and squeezed it. “-the cutest tushy in the world!”

Dipper sprang to his feet in surprise, clunking his head on the ceiling fan and swearing.

Mabel looked stricken and her fingers clawed at the air before her. She looked at the empty hands in disbelief. “But, where did it go? No! I’m doomed!” She flopped onto the bed and covered her eyes in despair. “After seeing the golden glow of that tush, I cannot hope to survive without it.”

Dipper rolled his eyes and dropped back to the surface of the bed, sitting crosslegged among the tangled piles of sheets and comforters. He sighed and looked to his other sibling; he was hoping to share a little “look what we put up with” moment with her, but Ty was unreliable on that front. Right now she was grinning at him.

“You’d better give that thing back to her, Dipstick.” She said in a tone of caution. “Before she starts going through withdrawal symptoms.”

“Girls,” Dipper groaned in frustrations, “can we serious for once? We really ought to talk about all of this.”

“Bring back the tush, Dip.” Mabel pleaded. “I need the tush.”

Dipper felt his ire rising; he’d wanted to talk things over with his sisters for days now.

Ty rose and crawled over to the sprawling Mabel and kissed her forehead. “Since boy tush appears to be momentarily off the menu, I humbly submit my own as sacrifice.”

The oldest triplet wrapped herself around the younger in a swoop, spooning her and pulling their bodies together. “Sacrifice accepted but I’ve dining on Ty tonight then I’m feeling like much more of a breast-girl.” Her hands crept to Ty’s chest and kneaded the small mounds there.

Ty caught her brother’s eye and raised her eyebrows. “We’re listening if something is on your mind, Deepee.”

“Well,” he started, “it’s just… What are we doing here?”

Ty gave him a beneficent smile. “At his very moment, we’re all taking a break after round two, and I don’t know about you two but I’m seriously weighing the pros and cons of lunch versus round three.”

“I say both.” Mabel’s hand shot into the air.

Ty giggled and raised her hand as well. “Motion seconded. All opposed?”

Dipper squeezed the bridge of his nose between two fingers “No, I mean that…” he groped for the words. “I don’t want to sound unappreciative or anything. I like whatever all of this is.” He motioned to the three of them and the bed around. “But I am sort of l wondered how to define it all. What are we?”

In a flash, Mabel was on her knees, fisted held high. “We are the chosen ones!”

Dipper sighed and slumped in resignation. Ty saw the look on his face and tapped her sister on the hip, then motioned at him with her head. A few unspoken words passed between the girls and Mabel lowered herself and sat on her feet. “You mean, are we serious with all this-” her hands made a complicated series of motions and pantomimes, “-stuff?”

Her brother looked up at her. “Yeah, are we like a couple now or… Well I guess not a couple but you know. Or is this all just fooling around until we each find other people? Are we exclusive?”

Mabel’s fists went to her hips. “Is there someone else or something?” Her voice was a suddenly harsh.

“I have a confession.” Ty interjected. She sat up and struck a worried look. “Mabel, I’ve been seeing this guy behind your back. I didn’t mean for it to happen but I just can’t help myself around him. If it makes you feel any better I’m pretty sure he’s also sleeping with this foxy little brunette.” She winked at Dipper, who couldn’t help but smile.

Mabel cooled a little. “Fine. If we’re being honest, I’ve kinda got a thing going on the side with this dork I know.”

“You think you two have problems,” Dipper smirked, “I’ve got two girls whom I think are interested in me, but they’re both so great I can’t imagine how I could pick. It’s really tearing me up thinking how I could possibly decide.”

“If only there was some sort of solution to our problems.” Mabel opined dramatically and fell across her sibling’s laps. “I think we’re all totally boned.”

They all laughed a little. Ty was the one to finally give Dipper the answer he was seeking. “Whatever all this is, it’s a real relationship or three real relationships or something. I know the two of you are just this side of more than I can handle; I’m not looking for anything else.”

Mabel shot Dipper a faux-serious look. “Yes, buster. We’re exclusive. So think about how much damage a single jilted lady can be and then square that before your eyes wander.”

Dipper rubbed the back of his neck with a hand. “You girls have nothing to worry about; nobody would be stupid enough to think they could do better than either of you. And both together, forget about it.”

Mabel had to kiss him at that. Then she gave her siblings a slightly worried look. “And we don’t have anything to worry about within this little trio, right? Ty, I know I was going on about the Dipper-butt but you know I really love yours too. My love for your fine booty is in no way lessened by what I feel for our dear brother’s dear tush.”

“I think am particularly qualified to know how you feel, Mabes.” Ty reached out a hand, drew her sister in and kissed her. “And you both know that I’m really insatiable about each of you, so I’m not worried about inter-triplet jealousy.” She leaned over and gave Dipper a lingering kiss.

Dipper nodded. “Ok, well that seems like a good place to start. We’re going to have to talk about how we keep this all a secret and come up with some cover stories and figure out a long term plan for…”

Mabel’s finger stopped Dipper’s mouth. “Point of order! I just remembered that we have a motion on the floor. Does anyone object to my proposal of both round three and lunch?”

“Show of hands.” Ty counted the votes. “Motion passes unopposed.”

“Thank you, madam chairwoman. Next order of business: lunch first, round three first, or both at the same time.”