#i want to make more content of my ocs but its hard to find motivation sometimes

[biohazard-inevitable]

Say what you will about Hazbin Hotel and viv but the whole thing truly inspires me.

Those were and are her ocs, some silly little gremlins she doodled and posted about and gushed about all those years ago. Scrungly little beings that rattled in her brain and who’s designs aged with her.

It inspires me because now, those silly little blorbos are on the big screen, on a major streaming site, are getting fanart made of their story and theories and headcanons blasted everywhere! She made it, she did it and people cared, she made people care. And- it inspires me that that could be me someday. Maybe one of my silly little guys might go further, maybe i’ll make more silly guys that have a chance at making it. It inspires me that she went from doodles in a sketchbook to an entire studio and shows with her characters with original soundtracks and professional voice actors!

I don’t post a lot about my ocs… mainly cause i dont get interaction so it feels like nobody really wants to see them, but i do care about them! I have a sideblog full of information about them and any art i make gets posted there, I gush about them and write stories about them with my friends, and i wonder if someday they’ll breach containment of those conversations. If maybe someday they’ll be somebody’s favorite in a game or an F/O from a show!!!!

Its a long ways in the future, im sure…. But things like seeing how far hazbin has come really makes me feel like someday… that could be me. I could make something that makes someone else feel the way i do.

I could be someone’s hope for the future.

[dearharriet]

So It Goes; Sirius B. 🐇

summary: being sirius black’s illusionist might not require being cut in half, but he finds other ways to challenge you.

word count: ~2K

warnings: pg-13 sexual content, fem!r, illusionist!r, magician!sirius, possessive!sirius, original character (for the plot), blindfold (non-sexual), groping, foreplay

note: i named the oc in this after leon kennedy because i had just watched that video of ethel cain talking abt him so it was the freshest name in my mind. also psa i am not a swiftie i just listen to her music :0

The audience is the third member of every scene. That’s any performer’s rule of thumb. What the watcher feels, where they’ve been, who they are—all of it precedes any preparation you do for a performance, no matter how important it feels.

You like to attribute the feeling to destruction. The crowd takes hard work and taints it with their emotions, taunting you. It’s unbearable.

When you shared that notion with Sirius—loitering backstage before a show—he snickered about it for days on end.

Sirius, in true chaotic fashion, loves the unpredictability of an audience. He’s always been partial to voyeurs—in and out of professional settings—and he likes to be surprised.

What’s worse is that he likes to surprise you.

“Ladies and Gents,” Sirius projects out into the darkness. The double-tiered theater is one of the bigger venues you’ve performed at, seating just shy of three hundred people.

Sirius is perfectly at ease, strolling leisurely across the stage in a tuxedo, the silver image of a charming magician.

“For our next feat, my illusionist and I will need a volunteer.”

Your head snaps toward Sirius—stage smile falling ever so slightly. He’s already looking your way, smug and colored with mischief. He’s improvising.

Reinstating your smile to its full magnitude, you turn it back to the dark theater, watching hands shoot up from every seat. In your peripheral, Sirius retreats upstage, signaling for you to make your selection.

You play up a show of indecisiveness, tapping a manicured nail to your chin. “Hmm. Well, we need someone strong. We wouldn’t want to send anybody to the hospital tonight.”

A few hands drop then, slimming your options down a bit. Good. Eyeing the rows of people, you suddenly find an opportunity to get Sirius back.

“I think I like our friend here in the front,” you drawl, batting your lashes and pointing delicately. “In the suit.”

The man in question raises his brows, looking to his left and right. He’s young and decently handsome, nothing like Sirius, but just good-looking enough to poke the bear. His hand hadn’t been raised, but if Sirius won’t play by the rules then neither will you.

You hum sensually, beckoning him up with a curled finger, which he follows. You’ve been told you have a presence like a viper onstage, like you’re constantly poised for a fatal strike, and you consider that this might motivate people to obey you.

As the well-dressed man steps gingerly off of the top step, you meet him with a hand around his tie, coaxing him further under the intense lights; Sirius does this often when he calls pretty girls onstage, maneuvering them around by the smalls of their backs just to piss you off. Some nights the crowd laughs at their flushed cheeks, other nights they swoon. The group tonight is dead silent, pinned under a mountain of anticipation.

You envy them, considering you know no more about what will happen next than they do. They get to be silent, but for you, the show must go on.

Arriving center stage, you meet Sirius with an unhappy sidelong glance. Your victim sways awkwardly where you’ve parked him.

“Don’t worry, handsome.” You pat his lapel. “Sirius will tell you what we need from you.”

The man laughs nervously, provoking a scatter of teasing giggles from the audience.

You and Sirius trade sides then, circling behind the man like hungry wolves. As he passes you, Sirius slips a silky belt of fabric into your hand, a challenging eyebrow raised.

“Right, sir. What’s your name?”

“Er, Leon,” says the volunteer, his voice shy.

“Leon, everybody!” Sirius booms, throwing his and Leon’s arms open for applause. The crowd whistles their approval. Leon’s face blooms red like the flower in Sirius’ coat pocket, and worse when you step into his space with the blindfold.

“Alright, alright.” Sirius settles the crowd. “My darling assistant has something for you, Leon.”

Quirking a brow, you take your supposed queue, lifting the cloth to his eye level.

“Don’t be scared,” you murmur, just loud enough so that only the three of you on stage can hear. Leon releases a tense breath, holding your gaze.

Watching from beside you, Sirius’ lips pull into a petty smirk.

“Darling, don’t tease him. Let him put the blindfold on you.”

He says it like it’s obvious, as if there’s a clear protocol for the trick that he’s pulling from thin air. The audience is easily fooled by his cool confidence, but your cheeks still flush in embarrassment under your stage makeup.

Leon deflates—counting his blessings, you’re sure. Being unexpectedly blinded in a dark room full of people isn’t exactly calming. Reluctantly, you pile the dark fabric into his palm and turn around, accepting your twisted fate.

“Make sure it’s nice and tight, Leo,” Sirius orders as your eyes are covered. “We can’t have her cheating.”

You huff at that. There’s an entire choreographed illusion being discarded purely for Sirius’ amusement—if anyone’s cheating, it’s him.

Once the blindfold is securely fastened over your eyes, Sirius sets out to assemble the rest of the trick, which includes leading Leon upstage.

“We’ll leave our illusionist up here for a moment,” announces Sirius before he goes. “She’s pretty enough to keep you all entertained.”

Something about his words lights a match in your belly, made all the worse by your impaired vision. Without a means of looking back at the snickering audience, you’re little more than a statue to be gaped at.

Luckily, Sirius is a jealous man, so he doesn’t leave you squirming under their watchful eyes for long. As he takes your waist in a theatrical lead, he whispers silkily into your ear.

“You really know how to pick ‘em, eh?” A shiver creeps down your spine, and you almost trip in your heels. Sirius’ hot breath oozes over you, the hair on the back of your neck picking up. “Let’s hope your aim is as good without your eyes.”

As you ponder whatever that might mean, Sirius disappears, and then returns moments later. Whatever he brings back has the crowd gasping, scandalized or awestruck. It’s all you can do to hope it’s not a live animal.

“Folks,” he begins, and by the sound of it he’s center stage again, keeping the show rolling. “Our next act needs no introduction.”

Sirius comes to you, pressing something cool and heavy into your hands. It only takes you a few seconds to identify it as a bow, and you can’t tamp down your resulting outburst.

“Are you mental?” you hiss at Sirius as he folds an arrow into your free hand. He laughs, mocking your panic. Big hands grip your waist, manhandling you into a proper position, and you're nearly beyond performing, ready to shout at the delighted audience that this is really very scary and they should go home immediately.

Sirius leans in, pressing his chest close to your back, his upstage hand kneading secretly at your hip.

“Leon, are you ready over there?”

Far away, you hear Leon choke nervously. “Er, as I’ll ever be.”

The crowd chitters.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared?” The smile is audible in Sirius’ voice. He’s getting a kick out of this.

“Of taking an arrow to the head? Yeah.”

Sirius grips your waist tight, feeling over the fabric of your costume bodice, but his voice is opposingly saccharine.

“My girl’s got great aim. She’d never hit you anywhere fatal.”

As the crowd guffaws at Sirius’ dark humor, you bite your lip, figuring there’s no more preamble to delay the inevitable. You notch the arrow into the bowstring and draw.

Barely breathing, you don’t realize that Sirius has left your side until his words register from somewhere else, between you and Leon. You try to listen to what he’s saying, but it’s near impossible to hear over the blood pulsing in your ears.

An arrow-in-the-apple trick isn’t beyond your and Sirius’ skill level, but it is a skill. One that you only know how to do with Sirius, and you’re frantically trying to correct your posture to the height difference Leon has.

“Can I get a countdown from the audience?”

The audience counts ten aching seconds in unison, dread pooling in your gut as they inch closer to one.

By the time they reach the final number you’re shaking, but you loose the arrow without a second thought. It whizzes by your clothed eyes, and a second later thumps into something hollow.

You can hardly breathe, hardly think, putting all your energy into keeping a grip on the hefty bow in your hands.

In the theater, an eruption of cheers commences, and you untie the blindfold as artfully as you can with shaking fingers. The stage lights hit your eyes harshly, leaving the audience a cacophonous void, but you’re more invested in the fate of Leon.

Squinting at the other side of the stage, you don’t find Leon at all, but Sirius standing perfectly still under an arrow-pierced apple. It barely cleared his head.

As your eyes adjust, you find Leon safe and sound in his front row seat, smiling guiltily up at you.

+

“I could have killed him.”

The dressing room vanity digs into your ass as Sirius presses you up against it, licking down your neck.

“So?” he replies flippantly, fingering the top of your stockings.

“So?” you repeat, incredulous.

“Yeah, so what? Who cares?”

You grind your teeth to halt your immediate response. He’s baiting you, tricking you into some kind of admission that could feed his jealous instincts.

“I’m not super fond of becoming Mistress Manslaughter,” you joke dryly.

Sirius scoffs into your throat, sucking harshly at a spot below your ear.

“Yeah, right. Like I’d let you do that trick with anyone but me.” He palms your tits to punctuate his statement.

You moan, holding each end of his undone bow tie like a lifeline. His sleek black hair smells ever so slightly of apple, citrusy and sweet.

“Why bring him up at all, then?” you ask. “Why bother?”

Sirius lifts his head, panting.

“Cause, babe. I love a twist ending.” He winks garishly, prompting an eye roll from you. You prepare to return his attitude, but Sirius interrupts you. “I’m through talking about—” a slovenly kiss to your jaw,“—what’s-his-face.”

“Leon.”

Sirius bumps you up onto the vanity surface, pushing his hands up your skirt. His mouth and neck are covered in your red lipstick, his eyes dilated.

“How about you stop saying his name, and start saying mine?”

Lifting an eyebrow, you gently push at Sirius’ shoulders. His breath catches—so subtly you almost miss it, but nevertheless—as he kneels willingly before you.

“How about you give me a reason, and I’ll think about it,” you retort.

Achingly slow, Sirius starts to peel the fabric of your underwear off of your hips. You rest back onto the mirror, slotting a hand into his tousled hair. His mouth bites teasingly at your stockings where his fingers just were, but you know they’ll stay on. He likes them too much to remove them.

As your underwear hits the floor, Sirius slides you to the edge of the table, pinning you under his heated gaze.

“I think I can give you more than one.”

+

thank you for reading! 🏹

masterlist

[twompweek]

Hello all and welcome to the twomp week blog! I don’t think this will end up being a big thing, but with a few other people showing interest in participating it will still hopefully be a bit of fun.

I figured I’d put together this introductory post to explain a few things for those unsure, and later include any links to relevant other posts for ease of finding information. Of course, if there’s anything you find unclear or any follow up questions you might have, feel free to drop an ask or dm this blog.

So let’s get into things!

What is twomp week?

Twomp week is a week long, low pressure event for creatives within the twomp fandom. For each day the event runs there will be a list of prompts to help inspire those participating. Don’t feel like using those prompts? No worries! You can create anything you’d like for this event, regardless of the prompts for the day. And, of course, there is no pressure to post one thing for each day. Create as much or as little as you want! This event is only for a bit of fun so do whatever makes you happy :)

Who is running the event?

Me! Hello, I go by Squid. My mainblog is @thatgirlwithasquid but, while I do not enforce an 18+ following because I frankly don’t care enough to investigate who follows me, I do reblog and very rarely post more explicit content within my other fandoms on there. If you are under 18 or that content will bother you, I’d suggest going on my main blog with caution (though the #twomp tags on my blog should be perfectly minor friendly)

I love twomp but don’t create as much for it as I’d like, so I’m putting together this event both as a way to motivate myself and to share in some fun.

Is twomp week minor-friendly?

Hell yeah! I’m aware that there’s plenty of minors within this fandom so I want this event to be open to you to participate too. That means that I won’t be reblogging any nsfw content to this blog and politely ask that participants respect this and help to create an event that is safe and welcoming to all.

What can I make for the event?

Anything! Art, fanfic, music, edits, animation, gifs, character analysis… Anything that you like doing as a way to participate in this fandom is welcome. This isn’t an event tailored towards writers or artists or anyone else in specific. It’s for everyone.

I also intend for this event to be inclusive for all things twomp related. Want to create for a background character? A rare pair? Argos and Mr Plant? The plants? One specific episode? An OC? The voids themself? Our lord and saviour Argos’ Pet Rock? All perfectly acceptable and encouraged. As long as it’s linked to twomp its perfect for twomp week!

When will twomp week be?

Twomp week will take place on the week beginning with the 5th of August and run for 7 days. Prompts will be released ahead of this on July 15th so that anyone who may need/desire time to prepare their work beforehand has the opportunity to do so.

How can I find out more about the event?

I’ll be updating about the plans for twomp week as I work them out and posting about it on this blog, so following the @twompweek blog is the best way to stay updated as I figure things out. You can also just keep an eye on the #twomp and #the world of mr plant tags for anything I post about it, or the #twomp week tag itself which I will also start using.

You can also send an ask to the event blog or send me a dm here and I’ll do my best to get back to you about whatever you want to know!

How do I take part in twomp week?

There’s no sign up process! This is an open event that anyone can join in, no need to ask or feel worried about just jumping on. When the event rolls around, all you need to do is post your work here on tumblr with the #twomp week tag or @ this blog so that I can find and reblog your creations onto the event blog as well.

It would also be nice if you followed the event blog or the #twomp week tag so that you can enjoy and support other participants and all their hard work, but that’s optional and up to your preference.

[irisinthemoon]

Until I Found You Pt. 1

[Pt. 1], [Pt. 2], [Pt. 3], [Pt. 4], [Pt. 5], [Pt. 6]

Since the event had came out, I had seen nothing but Yandere content of Rollo. Now, don't get me wrong, I like it but I also wanted to balance it out by adding in fluff and healthy relationships. Yes, this will have spoilers from the event, so beware. And while it is based on the event, there are some things I changed in order to make it fit better with the story line, so some will be my own creation. The Reader is not Yuu, she is her own person and have no connection to NRC. Thank you and please do read on!

Warning: Reader is hinted to have family issues, Reader is female, she is 18 years old since I am assuming Rollo is the same age considering that he is a third year and I wanted them to be around the same age range. This will be a series, but I am not sure in how long I will make it, probably all the way to Book 7 of the game. Two Oc's will be presented as the vice-president and secretary. Also, this is unedited, you may find grammar mistakes, hopefully not to many.

Characters: Rollo Flamm, Eliott Dupont (Vice-president), Jules Monet (secretary)

Summery: Being transported to a different world had not been part of [Name’s] plans, but neither was it to stay in it, yet here we are. She isn't complaining though, not when she has Rollo Flamm as company.

______________________________________________________________

Above into the horizon, you could just make out the first rays of sunlight kissing the night sky goodbye. The rays casted a warm and golden blanket around you, making you feel the warmth of the new day. This was how you started off your days in Noble Bell College, it was the only thing that you could consider normal in your terms. Even after being stuck in Twisted Wonderland for three months, you could not get used to the magic the city provided, or how their world was so different from yours. Sure, there had been similarities that brought you comfort, such as the sunrise you were witnessing. The sun’s warm rays kissed your cold skin gently, some of the heat bouncing off the golden bell that was behind you. 

The Bell of Salvation, it had been something you had stared in amazement the first time you saw it, even more when it rang and its magic swept the entire city in its protective embrace. While you may not be used to the magic of this world quite yet, you found comfort by just being in its presence. It was as if you had some connection to it, but you reasoned that it was mainly because it had been the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes. 

Bringing the thin blanket closer to your body, you sigh. Even if this world was so much different than your old one, you didn’t mind it. It’s not like you lost much in your old world. Family or friends were nonexistent to you before coming to NBC. There would be no one to grieve you or to look for you, not that your parents would put the effort into it. You wouldn’t be surprised if they just named you an unsolved missing persons case. At this, you chuckles, who would have thought you would end up like that?

Not that it bothered you, on the contrary, it brought you amusement. You always thought you would go out in a normal and boring way. Maybe die of old age, maybe you could fall down some stairs and break your neck, or you could be run over by a moving vehicle. Those were things you were prepared to expect, but not jumping into another dimension. That was for story books, fictional worlds that blended in with the worn out pages of your favorite books. 

You tug on a loose piece of threat in your uniform, mind deep in thought. You had thought about finding a way home when you learned about your situation. And it had kept you somewhat motivated for a while before realizing that you were just wasting your time. It hadn’t hit you until last night as you poured over a book from the school’s library. Why were you even trying so hard to return back? Sure, it was the world you were born into, the one you belonged in. But, there were no sentimental attachments that made you want to go back quickly. You were an only child, your parents often left you alone while they traveled for work, and you didn’t have friends as you preferred the silence that accompanied you since birth.

Looking at the worn out notebook that the student president gave you for your personal notes, you sigh once more. Should you just tell the headmage that you wish to stay? The staff at school were helping you find a way home, and since you had no desire to continue the search, it would be better to stop them. You didn’t want to waste their time for something you don't even want.  But if you do stay, where would you go? 

You were a magicless person, just because you were suddenly transported into a magical world didn’t mean you got some magical powers. Not that you wanted magic, you would have no clue what to do with it. But back to the original point, you wouldn’t be able to stay at NBC as it was a school for future mages, there was no place for you in this school. You could stay in the City of Flowers as it was the only place you were actually familiar with, but then there was the situation of where you would live and how you would be able to earn money for yourself. 

You were lucky the school was the one taking care of your expenses as they had to make themselves responsible for you. Still, the majority of the reason the school was paying for you was because of the student president. You had lost count in how many times the older boy had helped you. From tutoring you so you could keep up with your classes to showing you around the city so you wouldn’t feel lost. 

And while you do appreciate his help and efforts, you couldn’t help but feel like he was putting you at arm's length. 

Rollo Flamm, student council president, honors student and roll model was an enigma to you. Ever since he found you underneath the Bell of Salvation, he had made it his personal mission to make sure you were comfortable and that you would be able to process the fact that you didn’t even exist in this world. He had been there every step of the way for the last three months, to which you truly were thankful. 

Without him, you would have been just as lost as you had been when you woke up. But no matter how much you tried to thank him, Rollo simply told you that it was his duty to protect those vulnerable and that if he could help, he would. You couldn’t help but feel like there was something more to it. However, it was none of your business, so you let it be.

Even if you wish to get to know the white haired boy more. 

Flipping one of the pages of your notebook, you read the messy handwriting. Some of it was readable, other parts not so much. Flipping to the next page, you pause at a small drawing you had done not so long ago. It was just some flowers, nothing too specific, but one always caught your attention. 

One that you couldn’t help but always draw in red ink.

Soft footsteps along with the creaking of the old wooden stairs snapped you out of your thoughts. Closing the journal and placing it inside your student robes, you cross your legs and wait for the familiar voice that always manages to ground you. The footsteps reach towards the latch, you hear the soft huff Rollo makes before the creak of the latch door greets you. 

“Good morning [name].” 

With a smile, you turn around and greet him. “Morning president, how are you this fine morning?” Your voice was carried by the gentle wind, causing it to bounce off the walls of the bell tower. Rollo gives you an unamused look, one that you had grown fond of. To others, it would have looked like he was irritated but you pride yourself in the fact that you could read people like one of your books.

“I’m quite fine, I see that you are the same as always.” Taking a seat in one of the chairs at the corner of the room, Rollo pulls out the familiar basket that you had come used to seeing. Standing up from the edge of the bell tower, you make your way towards the boy and take a seat across from him. You watch him in silence as he pulls out two loaves of bread, some cheese that is wrapped neatly in plastic, some fruit in a container, and finally, freshly made orange juice.  

Your eyes followed his hands as he divided the food equally. It was something they had ever since you came to NBC. You adored moments like these ones, it allowed you to spend more time with the boy before your classes began. Plus, even if you did manage to find time to see him, he was mostly busy with his duties as a student. Especially now that the Masquerade that he was planning was close.

Still, you were glad he made time for you. 

“Thank you for the meal.” You said softly, waiting for him to finish setting his own food. The first bite was always heaven on earth. Holding in a moan at the heavenly taste of the bread (which you knew he makes himself no matter how much he denies it), and chewing it slowly in order to fully appreciate his efforts. Rollo keeps a close eye on you, not that you notice much as your full attention was on the bread in your hands. 

Next, you opened the cheese carefully, knowing how much Rollo didn’t like making a mess of the food. Especially when it was in the bell tower he adored. With a plastic knife inside the basket, you cut off four thin slices, two for you and two for the boy. With a small mumble of thanks, Rollo adds it to his bread, you followed his steps. 

Another set of heavenly tastes explode in your mouth with the addition of the goat cheese (which you also knew he made). Both of you ate in silence, only the sound of the birds waking up along with the ruffling of leaves accompanied the both of you. You liked these mornings, even if they were quiet and Rollo didn’t speak much. To you it was perfect.

Finishing the rest of the food along with the orange juice, you clean your fingers off with a napkin offered by the white haired boy. And just like the other mornings before this one, you get to clean alongside him. The peaceful quiet and the morning air put you in good spirits, especially when you share them with him. 

“How have your studies been coming along?” The question makes you pause as you wipe the table from leftover crumbs. “They have been well for the most part. I managed to understand the material from last class thanks to you.” Smiling at him, you continue to clean your space. “That's good, if you ever need my assistance, don’t hesitate to reach me.”

You hum in agreement, warmth spreading in your chest. “And you?” You already know what his grades are. After all, Rollo is the top student in the academy and the student council president. You know he is smart, but it doesn't hurt to ask in return. “Same as always.” And his response is short as ever. 

Looking at him while he busied himself packing away the utensils you used, you let yourself really look at him. His skin looked pale as ever, but it wasn’t as if it was unhealthy. Even with his paleness, he still had a healthy glow. However, when you looked into his eyes, you noticed how his eyebags seemed darker. At this you frown, was he getting enough sleep? 

Knowing him, he was probably getting the bare minimum of rest. 

Suddenly, his green eyes glance up at you. “Have you been getting sleep?” You asked. Rollo merely huffs as he always does whenever you ask a question that seems meaningless to even ask. “I have, why do you ask?” You raised an unimpress eyebrow at him. “Because I know the Masquerade you have been planning is next week, I know you want the students from the other schools to have a good time. Adding on to the fact that you still have to keep up with your other responsibilities.”

Instead of calling him out on his bullshit, you simply hid your worry and asked him about the Masquerade as an excuse to ask him about his health. As you had made note about it earlier, Rollo is an enigma that keeps you at arms length. While he spends time with you, he doesn't bother getting to know you or lets you ask any questions regarding him other than ones related to school work. Still, you made it work somehow, even when it still left you more curious about him. 

“The Masquerade is going on as planned…” Rollo paused for a moment, his face gaining that familiar scowl he seems to always wear when something irritates him. “However, the costumes I had ordered for our guests won’t make it on time.” 

“Why is that?”

“The student incharge of sending the request apparently forgot to do the actual sending.” Rollo sighs with an eye roll. “And now it’s too late to send the request.” His green eyes shone in the morning sunlight, allowing you to see just how pretty they were even with the anger swimming in them. To you they will always be as breathtaking as the first time you laid your eyes on them. “And then there is the matter of sending out the final invitations and finalizing the number of rooms we will spare for NRC and RSA students.” 

You watched carefully in how he began to pace in the small room in the bell tower. His black shoes made a sharp click-clack with each step he took. The red transparent sash-like on his hat swaying along with him. The rays of the sun just made his sharp features stand out even more, truly, no painting or picture would do him justice. 

You let Rollo rant even when he says he doesn't need to rant about his responsibilities. The sound of his voice soothes you, you liked the sound of his voice. Even when he talked about studies of your classes you shared, you truly didn’t care what the topic was about as long as you could hear him speak. 

“I can help you if you want.”

Startle, Rollo turns to look at you with those piercing green eyes. He blinks a few times, letting your words process in his head. “Help me?” He asked after a few seconds of silence. You nod your head, a smile on your lips. “I can help you with all three things if you want.” Rollo blinks again, the anger in his green eyes softening into a hidden amusement. “Will you be able to balance it out with your school work?”

You let out a small giggle, “Hey now, I know I may not have that fancy magic that students have here. But I am pretty capable of dealing with things such as invitations, reserving rooms for guests staying over for a couple of days, and designing costumes.” 

An unreadable emotion crossed Rollo’s eyes, the soft, hidden amusement vanished as the familiar anger took over. “You don’t need magic.” The bitterness in his tone startled you. While you were used to hearing him sound annoyed or angry, not once did you hear that kind of tone. Nor have you ever seen his eyes burn with so much distaste. “The students in this school along with the ones coming here all rely on magic like fools. Even with simple things such as writing or cooking, they always need the assistance of magic.” He turns to face the wall, the beginnings of a sneer forming on his lips before covering it with his purple handkerchief. 

You stare at him, uncertainty pooling in your gut. You had known Rollo had something against magic, even when he was a magic user himself. He didn’t voice it, but you could see it in the way he hardly used it unless it was necessary such as his classes or homework. And when he spoke of magic, he tended to avoid the conversation, even when Eliott and Jules, his vice-president and secretary, praised him for learning a difficult spell or told you of his unique magic. Rollo never once bragged about his magic. 

He simply covered the lower half of his face with a handkerchief and looked the other way.

You wanted to ask him about it, but never did. You could see and feel how that was a can of worms that Rollo was not going to open with anyone, less alone someone he just met. And you weren’t sure if you wanted to even open that can of worms, not if it meant pushing him or losing that little trust you work hard to earn from him. 

Instead, you did what you were best at.

“Well yeah, but I didn’t mean that I was useless without it. I just meant that I know how to do those kinds of things since back home, I used to help my parents with stuff like that.” Coming from a rich family meant making events to put the family in a good light. Which made you responsible for helping with invitations and booking rooms for the guests that would come along. 

“Writing invitations and making last minute bookings are no problem for me. As for the costumes, I can make them! I’ve done that before!” The anger in Rollo’s eyes dimmed, “...Will it interfere with your school work?” You shake your head, “Nope, I finished everything ahead of time since I wanted to have the day free for the Masquerade.” A light blush covered your cheeks. You didn’t mention that the reason you wanted that day free was because you wanted to spend it with him.

“You mentioned that you had experience with it, how come?” Glad that Rollo was no longer angry, you begin explaining. “Well, my family is kinda like a big name in the fame industry. My mom is an actress while my dad is a singer. Both tend to throw parties every couple of months, so I get stuck with making invitations and bookings for the people invited. It’s not hard for me to find good places for them to stay in and I know how to handle clothing situations.” 

The lord only knows how much you struggled to get used to it. Even at a young age, your parents’ fame was suffocating. Everything you did was being watched by hundreds of eyes, not once did you have a moment for yourself. You couldn’t go to school like most kids your age, and homeschooling wasn’t as exciting. That was many of the reasons you liked it here in the City of Flowers. 

No one knew who you were, no one to target you because of your parents, no heavy responsibilities other than doing school work, and being able to hang out with classmates and friends. It was all you could wish for, and from what you could tell, friends help each other. And you wanted to help Rollo, sure, the moody french-man hasn’t called you a friend, but you could tell by his actions that he did like you, maybe tolerated you at best.

Plus, back then, the things you did bored you to death. You didn’t have much of a choice in doing them and your parents never asked you if you wanted to do them. They figured that it would be easier to give them to someone who wouldn’t be able to say no when their assistants were flooded with work. And it's not like you could use school work as an excuse to not do it.

Rollo looks deep in thought, his purple handkerchief no longer covering his face. “Hey, it’s fine if you don’t want me to do it. I mean, it’s a big celebration, one that I heard is done yearly. Plus, NRC and RSA students are being invited for the first time, things need to be perfect.” Fiddling with your fingers, you looked away, missing the soft look Rollo gave you.

“It’s fine, I trust in your abilities. However, are you sure you want to also take over the costumes?” By the time you looked back at him, Rollo was back into wearing his poker face. “Sure! I have done some before when I needed to wear something.” And it was the only thing you could do that made your parents proud. A fashion designer from the great [Last Name} family. 

“Just give me their measurements and I should be fine.” You added before the negative thoughts took over. Instead, you stand up and walk towards him, a carefree smile on your lips. “How hard can it be? I am sure it’s only a couple of people.” And just as he has done since you started your stay here, Rollo offers his left elbow. “Ever the gentleman.” Intertwining your elbow with his, both of you make your to the latch.

Rollo huffs in amusement as he opens it and lets you go first. He follows you after he closes the latch and once again offers his elbow to you. Taking it again, the two students make their way down the stairs and into the entrance of the bell tower. Humming a small tune under your breath, you finally let out the smile you had been trying to hide. 

Just as both of you walked down the flower path to your first class, the familiar chime of the Bell of Salvation rings. Warm and gentle magic washes over you like the summer breeze making you sigh in content. Rollo hums, a calm expression on his face. 

“Very well then, I will let you help me. We only need to send one more invitation as I took care of the others. For bookings, the students from NRC and RSA are to stay on campus in the left wing of the school, the rest of the guests will be staying in different hotels offered by the city.” You nod along, mentally memorizing the important details. 

“The list of guest will be sent to you by Jules, you will sort them out into rooms based on their importance.” By the time he finished explaining the way the booking process was going to work, the both of you had arrived at your first period. Students were already flooding the halls, some talking to friends, others trying to do some last studying before their quizzes or tests. 

Letting go of his arm, Rollo turns to face you, a small, barely there, smirk on his face. “As for the costumes, we will need a total of 13 for NRC students and 2 for RSA. With all of them combined, there will be a total of 15 costumes needed by the second to last day of the Masquerade as the actual ball will be held that day.” His smirk grew a little bigger once he saw your wide eyed expression.

“Worry not [name], I will make sure you have help along the process. We will also be purchasing the material you will need, so don’t be afraid to request more if you need to.” Opening and closing your mouth like a goldfish, you could simply stare at him in shock. “F-Fifteen?!”

Now, you may pride yourself in designing clothes of any kind, but there has to be a limit! You couldn’t possibly do 15 costumes in one week! Rollo holds his purple handkerchief up to his face, his shoulders shaking as he looks at you with amusement. “I jest, some of the students from the fashion club managed to do most of the costumes. Unfortunately, they got flooded with other requests from the city and were unable to start the last one”

At this, you relax, but smile nonetheless. It was rare when Rollo allowed himself to joke around. “Great seven, you had me scared for a moment.” Poking his chest with your index finger, you laughed. “But I can definitely help with the last one! Just give me the measurements along with a reference picture of the person who will wear it.”

Rollo nods, then pauses. “Picture…?” You nod with a small hum. “Yeah, I need to see how they look like in order to make the costume in their aesthetic. Plus, I need to be able to see which colors will fit them best.” Rollo frowns, a bitter resentment flashes in his green eyes. “...Very well,” Glancing at the clock hanging by the classroom entrance, he mumbles under his breath. 

“Just come to the council room once classes are over. I will tell you what you need to do in better detail.” Before you could question him in his sudden change in mood, Rollo gave you a head pat, bidded you goodbye, and turned to take his leave. “Um! S-See you at lunch!” You had spoken before even thinking. Some of the lingering students gave you a glance in confusion. Rollo turned around, huffed, then nodded. 

“Yes, see you at lunch [name].”

You took that as your cue to enter your classroom. Taking your usual seat at the back of the class, you sigh. Contrary to what many said about Rollo, he was very expressive. Not in the physical way, but his eyes always let out what he was feeling at the moment. He wasn’t always like this though, back when you had met him, Rollo was hard to read. It was thanks to him getting somewhat close to you that you managed to read him like a book. 

And even then, there were certain emotions you couldn’t decipher when it came to him. Still, it was progress, and who knows, maybe you will be able to get closer to him now that you will also be helping with the Masquared’s preparations. 

With a delighted hum, you prepared your material for class. 

[lucid-daydreaming-art]

intro post whoopee!!!

hi guys im lucid :D you can also call me daylin i don’t really care but i may be like woah how do you know my name (i will forget about making this post 2 seconds after posting it) also I AM AN ADULT im 22 and i do not use pronouns just use my name pleaseeeeeee if you have a disability that makes words hard to process i understand if that’s difficult you can just use they/them instead

first off just getting this out there if youre proship, zoo, pedo, incest supporter, endo system supporter, any kind of discriminatory against protected minority groups, and anti-otherkin, shoo. dont want you here youre not welcome. bye bye my content isnt for you.

immmmm an infp-t 4w5 sanguine-melancholic existential-intrapersonal-visual learner seer of heart prospit dreamer true neutral rogue shifter airbender and dragon type trainer for all you personality label freaks

i like to DRAW!!!!! this is an art blog!!!! i will only post art here, all of my reblogs will be on @trickstergemini save for the posts my close friends make that i want to support here. sometimes i will post just text but thats only if i really need to let you guys known something or im answering a question

my commissions are OPEN!!!!!!!! dm me for commission info im too lazy and busy to make a sheet

if my requests are closed that means theyre closed dont ask me to draw shit please and thank you

im AUTISTIC i am on that mf spectrum been diagnosed since i was three. for me this means im not naturally fluent in social norms or what’s expected from an interaction or how to read others very well. i also have heavy special interests and find it really hard to turn the conversation away from something im fixating on or specially interested in. i also have extremeeeee sensory issues and a hard time being completely flexible when im comfortable in a routine so just be patient with me man adjustments are hard for me. my empathy is also extremely low and im a really really high masking person so if i come off as well versed or allistic just know that i either took a million years to format the right way to say things or i am entirely going off a predetermined script and will fumble if caught off guard. other important stuff ive got adhd bpd cptsd and major depressive disorder which all those combined makes me really flaky when it comes to responding or follow through. i may not reply to you for like 500 years or maybe i will be gods speediest most motivated soldier. just don’t expect me to be a readily available fully capable robot ok?? ok.

i am one half of @ask-kas-n-lamp the other half is some guy i don’t know he just hacked himself into the account and now i have to deal with him. the blog is no longer running though i apologize. we got burnt out from the shitty fans

in all seriousness mod dum, aka @unoriginal-and-dumb or unodum or unoriginal or whatever u know him by, thats my qpp thats my platonic soulmate my bestest friend my number one crate my brain cyst the doctor has to surgically remove from me my parasocial relationship my stalker my servant i keep locked up in my basement and i feed him cement and staples for every meal and for dessert maybe he gets rust shavings. he will be featured in my art like a lot or in my comments and reblogs and i will also be present in his stuff sometimes. if have drawn kasper it is his design, that design is not made by me its made by him sooo you should check him out and support him if you like that style or how about instead we get a mass unfollowing going there and you all come to my page and i exclusively will draw his design of kasper and get all the credit lets do that instead

uuueeehhhmmm my special interests are pokemon, homestuck, geography, taxonomy, my ocs, and personality psychology. i guess i also am specially interested in dragons because i like and think about them more than all of the above and have to incorporate them into everything but its less of an ill infodump to you interest and more of an i want to be surrounded by this thing because it brings me extreme comfort because it feels like me.

i am otherkin im a dragon and i look like this:

i will also represent myself like this if im feeling it:

yes i know i am not actually a physical dragon and im not a spiritual kinner i kin for identity purposes and the fact that i feel some pretty intense crippling species dysphoria idk ive been like this since i was 5 i don’t really have memories of my life where i wasnt experiencing animalistic behaviors and instincts

my favorite music artists are s3rl twenty øne piløts onerepublic imagine dragons of monsters and men thefatrat glass animals ajr queen nine inch nails and muse my favorite medias are httyd movies pokemon homestuck regretevator invader zim our flag means death infinity train gravity falls rosencrantz and guildenstern are dead doctor who my little pony fim dont starve and the mcelroy brothers content

heres some more characters i represent myself as:

ok BYE

[starplusfourletters]

So I’m reading Heir to the Empire between ep7 and ep8 of Ahsoka which is Some Kinda Choice and:

Omigod no one told me this is the one where Mara Jade gets introduced! Hi Mara!

“0.7 seconds after leaving the Jedi, Ahsoka starts dealing drugs for the mob” will never not be funny to me but “after being the Emperor’s personal assassin Mara Jade goes to work for Discount Kaz Brekker” is a strong contender

I definitely pictured Early Mara as more feral tho? Like, she’s pissed that she can’t get a character reference from her last employer. Mara PLEASE

Also Multiday Hikes for Character Bonding gotta be one of my favorite genders

I read No Prisoners first and gonna be honest it wasn’t my favorite so this is me finding out 1) Pellaeon was a retcon and 2) I don’t like it. I mean I like Pellaeon in both books but I’m having a hard time seeing them as the same person. And I can’t totally articulate it; in some ways the two incarnations seem too different, but I think actually my bigger issue is that they’re too similar? It’s been 30 years and a BUSY 30 years at that and this guy’s just kinda vibin’? Did No Prisoners reach its OC maximum and pull this man out of a bingo wheel or

Thrawn’s Art Insight Checks bring me life. Rebels really wasn’t making that up huh

Okay so the main motivating factor for me reading this book is the Thrawn content. Like, I want to understand why people are obsessed with Thrawn. *I* want to be obsessed with Thrawn. And okay competent villain is competent I can get behind that, but the fact of the matter is that’s he’s made one critical strategic blunder: going up against the Protagonists. And listen that’s just FUNNY. When your diabolical fascist plot 5 years in the making keeps getting set back because the exact wrong person shows up in the exact wrong place for completely unrelated reasons

It’s just hard to be afraid of this guy when the Force haaaaaates him in the most comical way possible

Speaking of which does the Falcon canonically run on an Improbability Drive now

The Noghri can tell Leia is Vader’s daughter based on smell and all I can think is “you must smell like feet wrapped in leathery, burnt bacon”

[demeterdefence]

Previous anon here:

Hmm agreed, it's not JUST her fault but it sucks that our current cultural landscape keeps falling into the same trap of trying to make something woke, feminist, progressive, what have you but winds up so much worse instead

It's the same issue with the disney remakes, failing so hard to update the story when its original incarnation was more feminist without even trying. For example: I know a lot of people love the 2015 remake of Cinderella, and I've seen people say it's the best live-action adaptation but I will NEVER forget that, while the movie hammers home the lesson "be kind, always" they had the nerve to insert a line that says something like: It's a good thing Cinderella's stepmother was cruel, because otherwise she never would've met the prince and like EXCUSE ME?!

I think MOST people would rather have a safe home-environment where you weren't bullied, demeaned, and forced to work over the vague possibility of a special someone coming to rescue me from this situation...

Anyway this was about lore olympus... XD

i think you have a really valid point! and it circles back to how rachel is just one of many people who insists on a flawed perception of something, thinking it's "better" because it's "modern"

like with rachel's lolita fetish or the gross racism within lore olympus, this really does speak to a wider issue - the fact that webtoons promotes the content and publishes it to such a wide audience, who is so often comprised of younger teens who don't yet realize why this is an issue. i can only imagine ancient greek women who adored the hymn of demeter, finding out that modern times vilifies her and glorifies persephone's kidnapping as some kind of romance. and there are ways to portray things in a modern setting, or to create romance in a story that is more or less devoid of it; the trick is, you need to know the originals to make a retelling. one of my favourite movies is disney's hercules, which is so far from the original lore of heracles it's pretty much an entirely separate story - but it's done with such love and so many nods to the canon myth that you can acknowledge this is an offshoot inspired by the myths.

rachel's comic is just so utterly devoid of any kind of love for the original myths and legends. she uses such surface-level interpretations of the characters that removes any complexity from their motivations, and thus the story as a whole. hades and persephone are given depth, supposedly, but zeus being forced to kill his own father, or why he's a sex addict, gets thrown into the trash for cheap shots. demeter's trauma in being made for war, watching her sister torn apart, watching her mother killed, sexually abused by two of her friends, and abused / vilified by hades for centuries, who then goes on to marry her teenage daughter, is tossed away for demeter to be "overbearing mom eugh."

like, rachel wants all the modern glitz and glam of the modern era, but that's it. she does not want to tell a story - she wants to draw her ocs in hot clothes having bad sex.

[burinazar]

what motivates you artistically? :3

well right now blelaf mainly. no ok hang on. alright. so.

when i was really young i had this feeling like if we could all just understand one another, if there was a perfect way to beam your thoughts and feelings into someone's head, it would fix almost everything re conflicts and human suffering. (naive obviously but this was what i thought lol.) when i started to be aware of what it was to read good books and look at good art it felt like in some ways the closest we could come to fully articulating an idea, a moment, a feeling, and placing it in its entirety into someone's mind. relatedly, uh, bad stories/art that didn't seem to respect their audience pissed me off at the squandered opportunity (sorry the snobbery came out sorry) and made me think, dammit, the audience and types of people evoked within this deserve better and i'm gonna try. with the combo of these two things it was like ..okay i'm going to start writing and drawing. it was all about stories ideas concepts. oh and also i really liked rodents and wanted to draw them as often as possible lol. i drew so fucking many rodents. gah. these concepts were no joke deeply linked for me because as a child i genuinely felt like the bad rap rodents get from people unthinkingly condemning them via stereotypes was a symptom of a societal lack of empathy and consideration. (possibly terry pratchett's fault)

(could not locate early rat art at this moment but here's relevant scribbling. i was nine i think.)

 tl;dr plunging themes and concepts i find interesting; communicating them to other people. (sometimes the concept is admittedly not highbrow. sometimes it is very silly. sometimes it is 'hey ! it would be hot if this happened to b*laf'.) it can be hard to reconcile the desire to 'communicate' via art/writing with some of my work just not having much of an audience or even feeling like i don't want to share it for various reasons lol, but in those cases i frame it to myself as, the effort of presenting the idea was enjoyable in and of itself, an act of personal communication between me and the subject or content of the work even if the thing itself will never be shown to another soul : v anyway fanwork can be a neat way to do that because it's like shared muses or canvases where what you see in them or love about them is already partially pre-communicated to people and you can hit the ground running on evoking emotions, concepts and narratives using the shared frame of reference, as well as skewing and transforming said frame as needed. btw i found another drawing of me and the sages that i didnt use in the other post so here it is

there have been many periods of my life when i was making more original work, though. (i'm sure i've said this many times now but before the sages i had a very comparable attachment to a couple of my OCs.) i also had a pretty terrible experience with fandom around middle school that sort of drove me away from heavily engaging for a long time; i was still in fandoms but basically never shared my writing outside of like PMs and servers. that's part of why my current abyss bullshit is so precious to me and also why i can get protective over it; it pretty much singlehandedly brought me back to the Blessings and Curses of being directly engaged in sharing a lot of fan content publicly. (man for a person who doesnt like bondrewd i do quote him a lot unfortunately.)

so anyway. yes. uhh sorry that was really long. i sort of just like blogging haha thank you very much for the ask! < 3

[sunnyrealist]

Chapter 32: Butterflies

The Sun, the Moon, and All Our Stars

Summary and Details…

Chapter Background and Summary: Sebastian and Kate are on an adventurous camping trip in the Scottish Highlands. Their first day involved a great deal of hiking, and they eventually made camp near a dense forest. Kate served a beautiful dinner, during which they discussed hypothetical situations they might have found themselves in had they met as kids at Hogwarts. The night ended with the two making sweet, sweet love.

Pairing: 25-year-old, post-Azkaban Sebastian Sallow x Kate Mayflower (my OC)

Content warnings: In general, this story is rated 18+, so MNDI. For this particular chapter - discussion about sex, implied male-receiving hand job.

The full chapter is available below the cut; it can also be found on AO3 (link is posted below). Please leave some feedback. A comment, like, or Kudos would be quite motivational. 🥰

Chapter 32: Butterflies

Sebastian’s nose is first to awaken, enticed by the scent of bacon, potatoes, and… more? 

He quickly reaches out to touch the spot in bed next to him. Where his girlfriend had been sleeping is now empty and cold. “Kate?” he calls out, sitting up quickly and looking around.

He hears some rummaging, as though she is getting together some plates, and then he hears her coming up the ladder from her extendable bag. She is followed by floating plates, cups, and silverware. As soon as she glances his way and sees that he is awake, she rushes over to his side and pulls the covers up, sliding in.

“Bash!” she calls out excitedly, climbing right back into his arms.

Sebastian smiles at how cute she is and relishes in the feeling of her snuggling up to him.

“I woke a little early,” Kate murmurs, looking up at him. “You looked so peaceful, sleeping, and I didn’t want to disturb you. I know how much you needed your energy after last night…”

Sebastian chuffs. “Well, so do you, then…” he trails off, leaning in to kiss her lips. “Gods, I’ll never forget the dessert you treated me to last night…”

Kate kisses his lips again, and his hand finds its way to her arse, squeezing.

“You’re a little minx, you know,” Sebastian tells her playfully. “I have such a hard time keeping myself under control around you. I just… I want you all the time.”

Kate chuckles. “I’m sore. Not now.” She moves his hand to her hip. “It’s your fault, Seb.”

“Can’t say I’m sorry,” Sebastian murmurs proudly, his lips pressing to hers again. “I won’t push you to do it again this morning, but just know… if you change your mind…” He takes her hand and brings it to his erection. 

“Good gods,” Kate whispers. Her eyes slowly meet his as her hand wraps around his firm arousal. She smiles seductively. “Well… my body might be sore, but I can certainly use alternate methods to help you take care of this if you’d like…” 

Her boyfriend nods enthusiastically.

After some clean-up, Kate tells Sebastian that breakfast is ready. They decide to dress for the rest of the day prior to the meal.

He heads to his own extendable bag, pulling out clothes for the day - a white tunic, a dark brown vest and tie, boots, and a wool-lined tweed jacket for later. Kate heads back down the ladder to her storage “closet.” Unbuttoning the simple dress she had been wearing, she slips it off, standing naked while she selects undergarments, a white tunic, a forest green sweater, dark brown pantaloons, boots, and a light brown scarf for the next leg of the journey. Sensing a stare, she quickly turns, her eyes climbing the ladder to detect Sebastian watching her with a grin. She giggles as he realizes he is caught, but rather than rushing off, he continues to gaze upon her, smiling. Quickly pulling the clothes on, she takes a moment to freshen up and fix her hair, pulling half of it back.

Kate finds Sebastian seated at the table when she makes her way back up. 

“You are spoiling me, sunshine,” he says happily, surveying the spread of food laid out. 

“I just wanted to make sure we had hearty, filling meals on the trip, since we’ll be walking and hiking so much,” Kate replies humbly. “So… Here's what we have.” She points to each item. “Roasted potatoes, smoked bacon, baked apples with cinnamon, oatmeal, and breakfast tea.” She grins. “Eat as much as you like. I promise I have more than enough for the entire trip.”

“Thank you so much,” Sebastian replies, starting to fill his plate. “I love you. And my stomach loves you, too.”

Kate laughs and begins to take some food as well, eating slowly while Sebastian absolutely stuffs his face.

Packing up the tent goes rather smoothly, and soon, the couple is moving once more. Today, they’ll traverse the forest and eventually make camp near a river. 

Kate inhales deeply as they get a bit further into the dense woods. “I love the smell of pines here. Everything just feels so much more… fresh. Simple and clean.”

“Yeah,” Sebastian agrees. “I just feel so much more… alive out here. More free. I can think clearly when I’m out in nature like this.”

“It’s peaceful,” Kate notes, listening to the birds chirping. She adjusts her scarf. 

“It is. Just… don’t let your guard down too much. There can be danger here, too. Wolves, wildcats, and potentially some magical beasts. But I’m here with you, and you’ll be safe, my sun,” Sebastian explains, taking her hand. 

Kate smiles in response, locking her fingers around his. 

After some minutes pass in comfortable silence, Sebastian says, “That pumpkin pie last night… it really hit the spot.”

She chuckles. “Had you ever eaten pie in bed before?”

He shakes his head. “Can’t say I had. But I’d do it again in an instant.”

Kate reminisces about the previous night. She had slipped away after their second round of lovemaking to retrieve what was supposed to have been that evening’s dessert: pumpkin pie with fresh whipped cream. Rather than plating two slices, she just brought a fork along, and they ate it in bed right out of the pie tin, taking turns feeding it to each other and giggling at the outrageousness of the entire situation. After eating half of the pie, they had gotten… distracted.

“That cream… was delicious,” Sebastian reminds her suggestively, causing her to crack up.

“I love you, Seb,” she replies, still laughing and squeezing his hand.

After a few hours of walking, Sebastian finally concludes that it would be a wise idea to take a break. He assures Kate that they will rest as soon as they find a fallen tree, clearing, or somewhere else suitable.

The conversation as they walked had been pleasant. They discussed their mutual interests in books and music, as well as several random topics. Sebastian learned that Kate hated when people chewed food loudly, that she had about twelve friends that still were in touch from their Hogwarts days, that she loved ball gowns even though she almost never went to balls, and that her favorite gems were emeralds and pearls. Kate learned that Sebastian loathed selfish people and those who were cruel to others purposefully, that he had frequent nightmares, that he learned to apparate completely on his own when he was only 14 years old (two years before it would have been legal), and that his family had owned an Old English Sheepdog when he was young, before the twins were moved to Feldcroft (its name was Endy - short for Endymion). His Uncle Solomon decided to give Endy away, considering a dog far too much work when he didn’t even know how to raise children. The twins had cried for two days straight.

They are just about to discuss a lighter topic - their favorite holidays and seasons - when Kate suddenly squeals with delight. She has plucked a little white flower and seemingly disturbed a family of common blue butterflies. They flitter into the air, almost dancing in a circle. The couple watches them with fascination - Kate especially. 

As the butterflies begin to fly off as a group, Kate scampers after them. After a moment, she turns back towards Sebastian. “Bash, do you mind if I follow them?” she asks excitedly.

He chuckles in response, completely amused. “Go ahead, my love. Perhaps they’ll lead you to some of your so-called forest treasures.”

Kate grins widely, then strides off quickly, trying not to lose sight of the butterflies. Sebastian picks up his pace as well, trying to stay somewhat close by. 

“Where are you going?” Kate questions the butterflies softly.

She deviates from the path, into a denser area of the woods. She has to pull branches out of her way, and at one point, practically trips over an exposed tree root. She recovers quickly, waving to Sebastian to prove that she is alright. 

The forest gets darker and darker as the blue creatures fly ahead of Kate further and further.

“Kate, maybe we should turn back to the path,” Sebastian suggests. He doesn’t want to end her diversion, but he doesn’t know the area all that well, and it doesn’t seem like the best idea to travel so far from the path. 

“Just a little longer,” Kate replies. “Maybe a minute or two more, and I’ll give up.”

“Alright,” he says, just a little ways behind her. 

Eventually, their new “route” becomes brighter, and although Kate can hardly see the butterflies anymore, she feels almost instinctively that this is the right way to go. 

When she realizes where the butterflies have brought her, she gasps.

“Sebastian!” she calls out, waiting for him. “You won’t believe this!”

He catches up, and Kate pulls aside some branches to reveal a large meadow in the middle of the forest, filled with colorful wildflowers as far as the eye can see. It’s an absolute sea of purple - heather, orchids, thistles, foxgloves, and more. Intermixed are white and yellow flowers and tall, green grasses. 

“Wow…” Sebastian murmurs. “I’ve… I’ve never seen so many flowers in one place…”

“Please say we can stop and rest here,” Kate begs. “I’d love to pick flowers, Seb.”

He smiles. “Of course. We can have lunch here, too.” 

“A picnic!” Kate exclaims. “I’ll set it all up.”

Kate disappears into her extendable bag. She reemerges a few minutes later with a blanket and basket. Throwing the blanket down, she motions for Sebastian to sit, and then she begins to take items out of the basket. 

“Cucumber sandwiches, grapes, roasted almonds, crackers, cheddar cheese, and venison sausage,” she murmurs as she places the food on the blanket. “And cool water for us to drink.”

“You’re the best,” Sebastian tells her, beginning to eat without hesitation. 

Kate leaves a peck on his cheek, then takes a bite of her sandwich. “So, earlier… you were saying your favorite season was autumn, right?”

“Yes,” he replies, internally reminding himself to slow down once again with the food. “Autumn always meant that it was time to go back to school. I loved being at Hogwarts and getting to study all day. I was fully in my element. It was also a welcome reprieve from my uncle. Plus, all of the trees change colors, and it’s so stunning here in the Highlands. Then, of course, there’s Halloween and my birthday. Mine and Anne’s birthday, that is.” 

Kate nods. “Did you do anything special on your birthday?”

“It was tradition to carve pumpkins every year. We did it when our parents were alive and we still continued every year after. My mum would roast the pumpkin seeds while my da helped us with the carving. She would always bake a spice cake with vanilla icing for us,” Sebastian explained, smiling. “We didn’t have the cake anymore once she died, but we still tried to keep the tradition alive every year. We’d carve pumpkins in the Undercroft with Ominis and light them up in the Slytherin common room with candles inside. Afterwards, we would go into Hogsmeade to have butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks and buy cupcakes from Honeydukes.” 

“I’ll bake you a spice cake this year,” Kate says suddenly, touching his hand and looking in his eyes intently. “I will.”

Sebastian melts. “Really?”

“Yes,” she replies. “I promise I will. And we can carve pumpkins to place outside the cottage. Then, we can chaperone the Halloween ball together. ”

“What?” he asks. “Halloween ball?”

“It’s a tradition at Hogwarts now. I think it started the year after you…” she trails off, realizing it began after Sebastian went to Azkaban. She smiles again, not wanting to bring up bad memories. “Well, that is… Every year on Halloween, there is a dance, and everyone - students and staff - wears costumes. It’s quite fun. They even have a separate costume contest for the adults.” 

“Do we have to?” Sebastian asks.

“Well, I have to, as a staff member. It’s up to you whether to accompany me or not. Otherwise, I can ask Henry Finch to be my date…” 

Sebastian chokes on his water. “No, no! I’ll be there.”

Kate chuckles, having known full well that he would panic at hearing that was a possibility. “Then, it’s a date. We’ll have to come up with costumes, I suppose. We can see what Augustus Hill has available at Gladrags or make our own.”

They continue eating lunch, with Sebastian murmuring praises about how wonderful and thoughtful Kate had been in planning out all of their meals. He seems to particularly enjoy the cheese, Kate notices, tucking that information away for later.

“What about you? Favorite season and holiday?” Sebastian asks. 

“Guess,” Kate requests with a glimmer in her eyes.

Sebastian laughs, then turns more serious, considering his answer. “Hmm… Well… My first instinct is to guess summer, but that feels too easy. I’d like to guess spring. You make me think of spring, Kate.” He pauses. “One look at you, and it’s like the world has reawakened for me. A barren forest suddenly blooming green, colorful flowers bursting through the soil, through the snow. A fresh beginning after the winter.” He smiles and reaches out to brush a lock of hair out of her face so that he can gaze into her eyes clearly. “You might as well be Persephone, the Goddess of Spring, come to revive me.”

Kate’s cheeks turn pink as she looks up at him. Sebastian leans in slowly, and he kisses her softly, his lips lingering.

Kate adjusts her position so that she can sit directly next to him and nuzzle into his neck. She whispers, “I’ve never had anyone say something like that to me, Sebastian.”

“I love you, Kate,” he tells her, pulling her closer. “And I’ll never stop loving you - romancing you, worshiping you like you deserve… You’re a goddess.” 

With both hands settling gently on her cheeks, he leans down to press his lips to hers again, this time much longer and even more languidly than before. Slowly, both of them lay down, side by side, and they kiss for so long that they both find themselves lost in each other. Nothing matters at all -  nothing - but this feeling, this perfect moment, this declaration of love, as they kiss in the sunlight, surrounded by a field of wildflowers. 

[frauleinandry]

just finished the repaint your heart dlc! i still had fun with it, but ultimately i enjoyed it a lot less than the main story. tbh, unless you're a huge - and i mean huge - princekechi and kasumi fan, or are really interested in guernica, i probably wouldn't bother with it. it's pretty short (i completed it in less than 5 hours doing all the content), and it was less enjoyable to play than the main game.

my full analysis is under the cut - note, it contains end-game spoilers!!

if you've read my main story tactica review, you'd know one of the reasons i loved it was because it wasn't just a persona Q game with a genre shift, and avoided all of the plot/story issues associated with that spinoff series. repaint your heart's narrative, on the other hand, has all the tropes that make persona Q bad, without having any of the things that make it good.

i know literally everyone and their mum has complained about this, but i am baffled on why atlas didn't set repaint your heart during the third semester. like... there is literally no point in hiding royal spoilers anymore. the game has been out for four years. the media restrictions have been dropped. literally No One who isn't already a persona 5 fan is going to play tactica, let alone buy its dlc.

setting repaint your heart during the third semester would have worked fine plot-wise too. have it so akechi's investigating guernica's work on a whim, and make it so jerri wants to break maruki's hold on reality and destroy the world because no human should have such power. there. problem solved.

admittedly, kasumi as a character isn't too bad. i obviously would have preferred sumire, who has a criminal lack of screen time where she's actually herself, but at least the dlc's story is personal for her either way because she intimately knows what it's like to lose a sister even when she's actualised.

akechi, on the other hand, suffers from being stuck in his prince mode a lot more, and with the exception of a couple of funny moments where he got dunked on, might as well have just been a piece of cardboard. he has no personal stakes in luca and guernica's story whatsoever. quite frankly, it would have been better if he was replaced by makoto, given her issues with sae (especially during that point in persona 5 canon, when their relationship is at its worst).

what makes akechi's overall non-importance exceptionally annoying is that if the dlc was set during the third semester, he actually would have some parallels with guernica/jerri!! like, he'd totally relate to wanting to ignite the world in fury so it burns itself down to the ground, but he'd also have the wisdom to know that that's a terrible idea. akechi could have been motivated by his desire to prevent guernica from turning into another him, but he wasn't, and that is such a missed opportunity.

the OCs and their storyline are probably the strongest part of repaint your heart's narrative. admittedly, it was nowhere near as impactful as toshiro's plot due to its short length, but luca's second death was pretty emotional, and the final boss fight was satisfying. i do find it funny though that tactica's main story and dlc both feature a cognition of a dead relative who dies in front of someone again in order to make them regain the memories of their original version's death. if i had a nickel, and all that jazz.

while i've mainly been bitching about the dlc's story so far, i've got some gripes with the gameplay too. while i did enjoy the increased difficulty (quite frankly, the main story's hard mode should have been on par with it), the painting mechanic makes the battles feel a lot less well-crafted. like, the main story missions feel like puzzles you need to solve, and just flow, for a lack of a better word. the painting effect though makes elements like positioning a lot less effective, so on the whole i felt like i was just brute forcing my way through the levels instead of taking advantage of my surroundings.

still, for all my complaints, repaint your heart definitely isn't all bad! the art direction is great, and guernica's character design in particular is fantastic. not to mention, there is one thing the dlc does substantially better than the main game...

... namely, the music. i absolutely loved royal's and striker's soundtracks, but in comparison, I found tactica's somewhat... underwhelming? not bad by any means, but there wasn't a single song that stood out. repaint your heart has some absolute bangers though - the night we stood is a fantastically catchy battle theme, and quiet storm is literally one of my favourite songs in the franchise. listening to it after the backstory reveal makes it hit so differently.

anyway, that's all from me - on the whole, i still think tactica's a great but overpriced game, though i really hope atlas learns from all the criticisms of the dlc, and makes akechi and sumire their actual selves next time they're included in a game.

[smileymoth]

7, 8, 14

7. Who are some artists that have inspired you? This isn't a difficult question but it's hard to like... describe why someone inspires me. I think the 1 artist that has sort of guided me to find my art style is definitely godlyDescentUFO they mostly post on deviantart/twt of which i don't really use anymore. I still think about their art a lot, and often. The colour palettes they use and the composition and body language of the characters drawn... It's just special to me. I want to replicate it. One day. Again I feel like Ive been too sucked into fandom these past few years to really do what i want to but I'll... I'll explain that later .But yeah they've been my favourite artist ever since I found them. I feel like if you just go thru their gallery you can tell why I like them

Then there's clickbaitcowboy . He's on tumblr go give them a follow. he makes godly oc illustrations and his painting skills are so... so so so so AAHHH. Im in love fr I can't explain it. The shading makes me go insane and the way he draws out anatomy and muscles and fat and just bodies in general... god

supppe, another person who is on tumblr whose colour paletes bring me joy. He makes comics and his art style is super pleasing to the eye

And from current fandom I think everyone can agree that panidanya and wszczebrzyszynie are incredible artists . Panidanyas anatomy and painting skills kill me every time and wszczebrzyszynie has this really nostalgic(?) art style that my heart can get behind. It creates art with such passion and love, you know, you can't deny that. if you look at its art you just know

Other than that the main inspiration i guess comes from my friends, from my mutuals' art. It doesn't have to be something big. It can be as simple as a small detail in someones clothing or the facial expressions. God this reminds me I miss my friends art. Evan you need to make more art I miss you

8. How would you describe your art style?

Matured deviantart emo semirealism. I dont think semi realism really fits my style bc it still feels too cartoony to me. I dont think my art style is really all that well developed idk it lacks identity to me but Im also hyper critical of my art

14. Do you prefer to make fan content or original content? This is a tricky goddamn question I thought about this for like 5 minutes and now Im even more confused. I am an oc artist first. I don't like "original" art in the sense of those paintings that just exist in a vacuum with no character stories behind them. I want something you can follow, you know. I want there to be some form of a story. which i guess is my downfall sometimes. When i draw fandom art i feel like they're also my ocs. esp bc its... its mcyt... You kind of have to make it into your oc because you have 16x16 pixel canvas and someones 2010 kakashi skin to work with.

On the other hand, bc i'm an oc artist, Im making 'fan content' of my ocs. Technically. Do yuo follow. So me drawing my babyboy Daniel 400+ times in a decade is kind of like fan content but Im the only fan... So whats original content and whats fan content.

I do feel like being so intertwined in fandom content may have hindered my art development a little bit, since I completely stopped drawing my ocs for a little while. I didn't get to explore their lives through art as much as I would've wanted to. I haven't been drawing as many backgrounds because I do enjoy mostly drawing interiors and there's not much interiors to talk about when it comes to mcyt... And ive also just been lacking motivation for it.

All in all i think i enjoy "original" art more, because it gives me more, it gives more to my heart. It's not that i don't enjoy drawing mcyt, but I think I should maybe try to draw mcyt in a more personal? matter? Without too much fandomification? I want to make more art that has "meaning" per say, with backgrounds, a story behind them. (this is just for me and what i want to get out of art, this doesn't apply to anyone else. it's such a slippery slope bc i know saying these things may feel hurtful to others but i am only talking about myself.... okay T_T) I dont know if any of this makes sense. I'm always lost in my direction with art and going to art school didn't make it any better <3

I do think that because I've been going thru a lot of personal warfare in the past 3 years, fandom HAS helped me in the sense that it helps me with creativity, since i have been severely lacking in creative thinking, I just struggle with it nowadays, so if I can draw ethubs making out under a tree bc they did so in episode 402 out of season 194 then so be it, at least it'll help me create

[shina913]

Scale, Part 7 | KSJ

Scale, Part 7

Definition: A beam that is supported freely in the center and has two pans of equal weight suspended from its ends; Something graduated especially when used as a measure or rule: such as (a) an indication of the relationship between the distances on a map and the corresponding actual distances; (b) a series of marks or points at known intervals used to measure distances; A graduated series or scheme of rank; A means of ascent.

✮ ✮ ✮ Scale Masterlist ✮ ✮ ✮

Pairing: KSJ x fem!reader; appearances by OT7

Rating: Mature content (21+), no minors please!

Genre: Rich boy!AU; CEO!AU; strangers to lovers; fluff; angst; smut

Count: 7.7K+ words

Warnings: socioeconomic imbalance; heavy cussing; hints of arranged marriages; alcohol consumption; criminal investigation; stakeout; hints of gambling addiction; true-crime documentaries; law enforcement involvement; angst; fluff

Summary: Kim Seokjin lives in a world where money is no object as he is the heir to his family's lucrative company; OC is a scrappy go-getter who has to work hard at multiple jobs to meet her financial obligations. When their paths cross, they'll have to figure out whether they can find a balance point between themselves and their lives.

A/N: ☢ Long note alert ☢

Lots of 'technical' and 'jargon-y' talk here (again). Also, I am fully aware that some of these situations are not be plausible IRL. There's definitely lots of legal loopholes and questionable activities here especially in terms of things related to law enforcement...but this is why it's set in an AU--it just has to be plausible within the AU.

Now that we have that cleared up...

*SIGH* This was one of the more difficult chapters that I've had to write because of the content and topics here. I just really wanted to push myself to see where it goes. As you read this, there's definitely lots of "Yep, the writer was def talking out of her ass here..." And that's a fair assessment because I totally was LMAO!!! 😂

Part 8 should be done in a couple of days as I had to split this--it was getting really complicated and long (shocker) 😰

One note, the terms: 'feds' and 'bureau' refer to the Federal Bureau of Investigation AKA 'FBI’ (if you're outside the U.S.) Sorry, I love me some cop dramas!

Anyway, thank you so much for your understanding and patience and...hope you all enjoy it!🤗

❤️, comment, reblog, or send me an ask 📩. Would love to know what everyone thinks. My taglist is open as well if you're enjoying this and would like to keep up on new chapters. Just DM me!

“Sweetheart, aren’t you and Jin going out tonight?”

You had been trying to avoid this topic since last night’s conversation with Jin. Before you left to head back in, you asked him to give you some space. It was a lot of information to take in and he didn’t want to force you to do anything that you weren’t comfortable with. However, you assured him that you weren’t closing the door all the way—it was left ajar and that gave him enough motivation to rectify things.

“Hmm…not this week, dad. Work at the office has been really busy, that’s all.”

It wasn’t a complete lie. As of today, you scaled back on some of your hours at the diner, too because your work at the office had increased heavily in the last few days. Hoseok wanted all hands on deck, especially on this one client’s tax documents. Because of that, you found yourself putting in more overtime, thus making it difficult to travel back and forth between the office and still work the diner ‘til the wee hours of the morning. Something had to give.

Luckily, the overtime pay rate at the office offered double your hourly rate—and you didn’t have to stay up all night to get it.

“Oh. But…things are good between you two?” He asked softly.

You sighed, nodded, and gave him a tight smile but crinkled your eyes to make it look convincing. Things weren’t all fine and dandy but they weren't a complete mess either.

“Yeah. We talk every day.” That part was also true. You texted and checked in with each other.

“I just—didn’t want to go over there and be a lump. Besides, I wanted to spend time with you since I’m not working at the diner for a few days until we get this report wrapped up.”

That seemed to placate him. He didn’t pry any further.

He called earlier today during your lunch break but you let it go to voicemail. He said that he dropped his car off across the street from your office and told you where he hid the keys. It was his way of making sure that you got home safely–even though he wanted so badly to do that himself. But this was the price that he had to pay…keeping his distance until he figured out a solid solution to his Miya-problem. He fucked up and he wants to make things right with you first.

You missed him but you were in a dilemma. Your feelings haven’t changed but you were still hurt by his latest complication. Every now and then, you wondered whether all this trouble was worth it.

Just then, the microwave beeps, alerting you that the popcorn was ready. You stood up to retrieve it. It was low-fat and low-sodium–relatively heart-healthy for your dad.

“What are we watching tonight, honey?”

As you settled back into the couch, you browsed through your list of recordings and found the three-episode documentary that piqued your interest–forgeries. Sure it wasn’t the typical murder-suicide, unsolved mysteries, 'whodunnit' type of show but it was still intriguing nonetheless.

You pressed ‘play.’ “It’s a special miniseries on con-men. This first episode is about people who lure unsuspecting lovers and then steal all of their money. The second episode is mostly about forgeries–which I’m actually looking forward to. The preview says that one of the cases is local.”

“Oh, boy–well, let’s take a look at the first episode tonight then watch the next one another time. Might be too much excitement for one night,” he chuckles.

“I know, right? I can’t wait to find out what internet sleuths think about it.”

******

“Daddy, I am done waiting around! I want this announcement to be made public–last week!” She slams her blush-hued ostrich Hermès Birkin on her father’s cocobolo desk and aggressively sank herself onto an armchair.

A few days later, Miya decided that she wanted to pay her dad another visit. It’s been over a week since Jin had accosted her at the Country Club yet she was still absolutely fuming. However, it wasn’t obvious because she had gotten an extra bump of botox injections on her forehead the day before. To an outsider, she just looked completely puzzled.

“Princess–we cannot rush this,” he tried to assuage his daughter.

“I thought you had fixed this! Why hasn’t an announcement been made yet?” She shrieked while she stomped YSL-monogrammed shaped heel petulantly.

Hwang sighs before taking a seat behind his desk. “Miya…I’ve fixed what I could–within the legal limits. Unfortunately–” he paused before he blew out a shallow breath, “Kim’s unofficial lawyer was two steps ahead of me.”

Much to his chagrin, although he had found a way into Kim Daesung’s circle, there was one person that he couldn’t quite charm–and that was Kim Min-jun, Namjoon’s father.

***F L A S H B A C K***

It wasn’t that Min-jun was opposed to ushering in a “new” era. Min-jun was one of, if not the most liberal-minded person from the “old” era. He just didn’t like Hwang. Which was why, when he suddenly manifested from wherever hole he slithered out of, Min-jun was highly skeptical from the start.

His best friend, however, was enthralled. Hwang was a sweet talker–he knew all of the right words to say, told the most outrageous stories and watched his friend hang onto every word.

“I have a bad feeling about him, Daesung,” he said frankly after Hwang walked away from their table at the Country Club.

“Aish, Min-jun…that’s just your Harvard Law degree talking. We’re only talking business…and he seems to be a prospective investor.”

“Well…whatever you do, make sure you’re not putting in any of your money. And if he makes you sign anything–let me have a look at it first,” he cautions.

“Min-jun, my legal department is perfectly capable–”

“That’s because they only have your business interests in mind.”

Jin and Namjoon’s fathers were not only business partners but they were good friends as well–and as luck would have it, their friendship carried on through their sons.

They looked out for each other like brothers would and Min-jun, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it, had his reservations about Richard AKA “Dick” Hwang.

***E N D F L A S H B A C K***

“Anyway, my darling girl–were you able to do what I asked?”

She sighs in annoyance. “Yes, daddy. The Amorsolo painting is sold. The money was wired quickly–a very clean deal.”

Whenever Miya wasn’t at the spa or at the Hermès boutique, she liked to travel around–mostly to do some of her father’s bidding.

The first time she had ever sold a painting to the black market, she was extremely nervous. Her first destination was Dubai. When that proved successful, she went to Marrakech, Bali, and Saudi Arabia. Hwang had strategically picked cities located in countries without extradition treaties to the U.S.

She started to grow braver after the first few transactions. Shortly after, it all became second nature to her.

Whenever she did a great job, Hwang rewarded his daughter just like he did when she was a little girl–with a percentage of the profits and adding in stops to neighboring countries where she could lay low and shop to her heart’s content.

“Excellent work as always, darling.”

“Right so–I don’t understand why you’re suddenly venturing into this new business.”

Hwang throws his hands up as if it wasn’t obvious to her. “Because…it’s fast money, Miya. And believe me–with the way your mother spends it, I need other ways to make it. This way, we don’t have to wait months for you to sell the next piece of artwork from the old man’s collection.”

“But wouldn’t this trigger any alarms?”

“Princess–when have I ever done that? This wasn’t like 10 years ago. We’re well-connected now. Rubbing shoulders with the right people…Besides–I’m only doing this until your wedding with that kid. Once that happens–we’ll shoot straight from then on. I already have a plan for the prenuptial agreement to work in our favor–”

He paused when Miya made a face–he immediately corrected himself. “I mean, in your favor of course,” he smiled at her sweetly.

“Fine, but how much longer until everything is official? I want to keep his eyes from wandering around–”

“Aw, princess–have you started to grow fond of your mark?”

She rolled her eyes and pursed her lips. Her father always taught her to never mix business with pleasure. Jin resisting her advances has made him irresistible to her. “It’s not that, daddy. I’m just saying–I don’t want him trying things–such as getting out of this deal.”

He chuckled. “He most definitely will not. His father’s hands are tied. He can’t even say anything to anybody lest he incriminate them. He’s solid.”

She scoffed. “That’s his dad but what about him? What if he–finds someone else?”

Hwang shrugged his shoulders and waved her off. “Ah, so let him fool around. As long as he’s married to you–that’s all that matters.”

“That’s not what I want and I will never allow it,” she says with a little more aggression than intended.

He smiled proudly at his daughter. “Well then, do whatever you can to keep him close to you. And defeat is not your color, darling. Remember that.”

She lets out an exasperated breath. “You don’t have to remind me–I know that. Anyway, you need to be careful with your dealings. Especially with this new business venture that you’re into.”

“I know, honey. I slipped up a little bit in the last quarter and got a little too excited with how much I made overnight but I think I managed to allocate everything nicely. This new, smaller firm is handling our books this year. They have a good reputation so that should work in our favor,” he explains.

“Right but doesn’t ‘small’ mean that they’re a little more focused?”

He snorts, dismissing her concerns. “Nah. They don’t have the manpower to do that. I looked into them. Three senior accountants, two juniors, a couple of clerks and one administrative assistant? There’s no way they can comb through all of that and fulfill the rest of their client’s needs all at once. If anything, they should be grateful that we’re giving them any business at all.”

“Are you sure that you have everything documented in a safe place?” She momentarily glances at the large painting that hung on the wall, directly across from her father’s desk.

“Miya–that’s for me to worry about.” He picks up his crystal decanter and starts to pour himself his afternoon drink. “Your focus is to keep that boy in-line. Let me worry about the finances, alright?”

He takes a huge sip of his drink. “Go on–run along now. Go get a massage or something to calm yourself down. Lord knows I need one.”

******

Later that week at the office, the air seemed to shift. You sensed that certain things were afoot.

This morning’s meeting involved stacks of binders, various papers covered in neon highlighted strips, and sticky note flags were strewn across the table. Between those piles sat several mugs of coffee–one for each office employee--all of which, were currently seated in the conference room with one common goal.

You don’t know how the whole office managed to do it but you were able to close out the rest of your clients’ cases which cleared everyone’s plates to solely focus on this problem-client. Their name was pretty unusual but you had since dubbed it as the ‘apple’ client due to the distinct golden apple logo printed on all of its materials.

Of course, it also helped a little that you hadn’t been spending much time with Jin. You were able to churn out work quickly and more efficiently–not that you hadn’t before but this time, you weren’t distracted as much.

Although admittedly, there were some days in that span of two weeks that you’d love nothing else but to be distracted.

“Hoseok-ssi, what are the next steps for the ‘apple’ client?” one of the senior partners asked, bringing you back into reality.

You had been meeting almost every day this week about this client’s books. As it turns out, you weren’t the only one who spotted inconsistencies on these documents. Hoseok and the other senior partners had flagged a few lines that they missed in the previous reports and compared it to the new books.

Hoseok rubbed his eyes–they were tired from lack of sleep and going through pages and pages of reports from previous quarters. He was also able to call in a favor from the government to ship copies from previous tax documents filed in the last five years. Income and certain profits were all meticulously woven into different accounts and names but the team found all of these discrepancies and documented them.

It was strong enough evidence for a tax evasion case.

“It looks like they rerouted many of their earnings and categorized them as losses–which is technically a legitimate write-off,” he explains. “Then there are some of these sporadic flights to Europe and the Caribbean…last month alone, there was a documented 2-week private flight to Paris and then about a week later, money shows up in this one account and then gets moved into the ‘losses’ category. What gives?” It was a rhetorical question and the answer was staring everyone in the face.

“Smells like an off-shore account transfer to me,” one of the junior partners comments with a snicker.

“Right, and look at this spike in earnings in the last quarter this year alone. I mean–a steady gain of 1.5% early this year then all of a sudden it jumps up to 15%? C’mon…a freaking decimal point? At least try a little harder,” another senior partner chimes in.

“Maybe he thinks we’re a bunch of idiots who would overlook it,” you chimed in.

Everybody around the table zeroes in on you.

You shrugged. “Look at the last five tax years…it seems they skated by most of the year then all of a sudden, things spiked in the last quarter? There’s a clear pattern here. My thought is that these big firms are on autopilot–this company keeps asking for late-filing extension dates–per usual–since that’s within their right. At that point, these auditors are up to their ears in paperwork. They’re probably thinking–’screw it, just file the paperwork.’”

“But not us,” Hoseok says.

“Nope, not us,” you agreed.

“I take it that we are all in agreement about this,” Hoseok asks the room.

Everyone murmurs in affirmation.

“Good. I’ll call my guy at the bureau to tip him so that they can launch an official investigation. We can probably file all of the paperwork by the end of the day and the ‘apple company’ will get served by the feds in a few days, by my estimation,” he says confidently.

“Great work, everyone! Let’s keep doing what we’re doing. This company will most likely put up a fight but we have our records and great intuition on our side. We’re definitely not fucking around here!”

Everyone in the room chuckles. And on that note, Hoseok adjourns the meeting.

*****

Kim Namjoon has always been cerebral. He thought outside the box quite often and almost never took things at face-value–and that was something that he picked up from his father.

If something didn’t quite fit, he spent time and energy trying to learn the reason why.

His father was a licensed lawyer but ran a private equity insurance firm. It proved to be lucrative since his family was well-connected in high-society–and anybody who was somebody knew who to trust to secure their most valuable assets.

However, one could say that they were the “least wealthy” of the Kims. Even though they were still notably affluent, they preferred to live more practically than lavishly. Nepotism could only get you so far, so for decades, they charted their own courses while maintaining the family wealth.

Jin’s father unfortunately had to follow in his father’s own footsteps to keep the company legacy going while Namjoon’s father was allowed a bit more…flexibility. He was able to go to law school across the country, pass the Bar exams, and had a bit more freedom to explore what career path he wanted to take.

Namjoon tried his hand at law school as well but that wasn’t where his passion lied.

He loved art. He would spend his school breaks walking through museums or visiting historical sites. He had the time of his life when his father allowed him to take a gap year before college. While most of his contemporaries lounged around or partied, he spent hours staring at the Mona Lisa at The Louvre, toured Frida Kahlo’s La Casa Azul, and stood marveling at Juan Luna’s nearly 8-meter wide oeuvre, Spoliarium. He traveled the world as a young man, immersing himself in art and different cultures.

After he graduated college, he was still a bit undecided on what he wanted to do so in the interim, his father offered that he spend some time working at his insurance company. He accepted, hoping that something might pique his interest

Namjoon found that he was most at home with the insurance investigation unit after shadowing staff in different departments. Although insurance investigation wasn’t solely focused on art, his expertise and passion for it coupled with some law courses enabled him to assist collectors, artists, dealers, insurers, and cultural institutions.

The team’s investigative capabilities included investment and art fund frauds, forgeries, counterfeits, thefts, misattributions, price manipulation, collusion, and kickback schemes. They sought to reduce risks, resolve disputes, and recover losses.

Namjoon mobilized that department into new horizons and eventually branched off, starting his own insurance investigation firm–though he still directly worked with his father. It was an unparalleled partnership. And because Namjoon’s business grew prolific, he often contracted with both private entities and the government–mostly assisting with the white collar crimes unit for the latter.

His company specializes in the investigation of complex frauds and financial crimes. He employed the best licensed investigators to gather critical evidence that would provide clear, concise, courtroom-ready reports – to support litigation, prosecution, settlement negotiation and financial recovery.

Since Namjoon and his father chose not to go into commercial investments or private equity like their peers and opted to go into pseudo-law enforcement, they had a handful of disgruntled families upturning their noses on those Kims. It was their family’s philosophy to keep everyone clean and accountable–no matter how much money or power they held. However, they still had several friends that stuck around–like Jin’s family.

The senior Kims got along well and they were very much like brothers. Call it an unofficial Kim ‘family tradition’ but they, too, were initially pitted against each other by their own fathers. And like their sons, they discovered that they had more in common than differences.

******

Jin has spent the entire week plotting with Namjoon–or more like following his lead.

They sat in Jin’s apartment, having this conversation. He had gone back to his house once this week to check on a few things but stayed at the apartment in the city. He found some comfort in the feeling of being close to you.

“I went over the contract again with my lawyers, Jungkook, and Dae.” Jin was more level-headed this time and his team had more than ample time to go over all of the fine print.

“We found a clause in it where I think that we might have an out. But…we’re definitely going to need a lot of creativity here,” Jin says as he slides the relevant pages that contain highlighted paragraphs.

Namjoon hummed as he eyed the highlighted portions. He chuckles to himself after reading through the last point before the signature lines. “This definitely sounds like dad’s doing…I think that maybe he had a feeling that Hwang was trying to play him. In a way, he kind of saved your dad’s ass by adding this.”

Underneath all the legalese, these paragraphs insinuate that:

→This contract is voidable if Party B (Richard Hwang) decides that the partnership is no longer beneficial or profitable. In that case, Party B is entitled to withdraw his initial investment in addition to interest including but not limited to liquidating collateral (Moon Industries) and other assets to cover future profits initially agreed upon with Party A (Kim Daesung), at any point.

→ Party A (Kim Daesung) may withdraw from this agreement if collateral (Moon Industries) is able to turn over 300% of initial investment of $20 million or reaches an equal or greater company valuation, whichever comes first. If Party A or any of its subsidiaries decide to terminate the agreement before the agreed upon value is reimbursed, Part B is entitled to assume control of Party A’s subsidiaries and become majority shareholder under Party B is fully reimbursed. In addition to this, the reimbursement must come solely from the collateral and its profits, barring any financial supplement from its parent company (KimCorp).

→This contract will be declared null and void if either undersigned party is subject to any criminal prosecution.

The first point was hopeless because it hinged on Hwang’s whim–he would void the contract only if or when he felt like it…and it didn’t seem like there were any signs that he would let up soon.

The second condition was the point of contention. This was the new stipulation that his father added since Jin had initially reviewed the contract. It stated that his father could get out of the deal only if Jin’s company, Moon Industries, is able to pay Hwang the absolutely ridiculous amount of $60 million.

Currently, his company was valued at $50 million but it was still less than the cash that he had on-hand or other assets that he owned. He was really counting on fronting half of that and then asking his father to meet the difference–only, the new language on the contract stated that all the money needed to come from Moon Industries alone and without any financial assistance from KimCorp.

The third condition was their only hope–but it wasn’t going to be simple. They basically have to prove that Hwang is doing something illegal then get him arrested and prosecuted for it in order to void the agreement. Otherwise, if Jin tries to force a breach, Hwang will seize all assets to be able to recoup his original investment plus interest.

It was why Jin was understandably stressed the whole week. Aside from the fact that he couldn’t see you when he wanted to, he was trying to figure out ways to get out of this shit-deal. Then maybe–he might be able to hang on to his company and you.

The great thing about being in Namjoon’s line of business was that he had access to the top private investigators in the country and had a direct line to law enforcement, if a certain case was high-stakes enough.

The initial plan was to have one of Namjoon’s more discreet guys to tail Hwang around.

“What if he gets wind of this?” Jin asks apprehensively.

“My guy blends in very nicely. He’s been working the field for the government for years before he decided to switch to the private sector.”

“Wanted more money, I guess?”

“Don’t they all?” Namjoon said rhetorically as he scrolled through his computer.

“So he follows Hwang around and then what?”

“I asked him to mostly pay attention to routines–guys like him are creatures of habit–especially one who’s able to infiltrate high society as easily as he has?”

“Do you think he might have something on dad?”

“That’s what we’re going to find out. And you still haven’t talked to him about it?”

Jin sighed deeply. “Not yet. I’m just…acting like things are normal–like you said to.”

“Good. We don’t want to spook your dad and if Hwang ever gets a hint of it, we don’t want him to do anything that might mess things up. But at some point, you have to have a conversation–just to help us fill the holes,” Namjoon suggests.

“Right. That makes sense.”

Namjoon ran a standard background check on Hwang based on his connections. It all seemed pretty clean and boring. The only thing that he found was that Hwang had changed his legal name a few years ago–opting to go by his current western name instead. He probably thought it would be better for business.

“So uhh–how are you and–”

Jin glanced at his friend sideways and tried to sidestep the question but there was no use. He went from feeling perpetual joy to having that portable rain cloud hanging over him again. There was a slight difference this time since all you asked for was some time–and he was giving it to you. He fought every instinct to lurk and you threw him a line every now and then. He didn’t have much choice but to take what he could get.

“She asked for space…with good reason,” he said glumly.

Namjoon and Haejin had warned Jin beforehand about all of the secret-keeping–and he was definitely paying for the consequences. However, Namjoon wasn’t one to point and laugh.

“Well–you know that I’m here to listen if you ever want to talk about it,” he says as he looks up from his laptop screen.

“Thanks, Joon. I really appreciate that.”

Not wanting to linger on a sore subject, he decides to center it back to the topic at-hand.

“So when do we find out when your guy finds something useful? Does he just send you updates periodically?”

“Yep, pretty much.”

Just then, Namjoon’s phone pings.

“Ah–his ears must have been ringing.” He checks his notifications and reads the message that had just come in from his asset.

“He says wants to meet tonight. Somewhere nondescript.”

“I might know a place,” Jin responds.

******

“Two orders of steak and eggs, a chocolate milkshake, a side of french fries, and a short stack of pancakes–aaand I’ll be right back with your coffee.” Jimin says before he starts to take a couple of steps away then stops abruptly.

“Did you want any cream?”

“No, thanks. Just sugar,” Namjoon responds.

“You got it!” Jimin walks away from their table to retrieve the carafe and check in on a couple more of his tables.

“Hungry?” Namjoon asks his friend as he stares at the spread in front of them.

“I didn’t know how long before your guy showed up and honestly, I’ve been tense all afternoon–and tension usually makes me hungry,” he says, already cutting into the steak and stuffing it into his mouth. “Eat up–best steak and eggs in the city,” he urges with a mouthful of beef.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Namjoon says, chuckling as he reaches out for a fry.

“Hey–get your own,” Jin says as he puts his hand over the plate of fries.

Namjoon scoffs. “You have two entrees in front of you. You won’t miss two fucking pieces of fried potatoes.”

“Yes, I will! Get your own.”

They stop bickering when Jimin returns with coffee and pours it into Namjoon’s mug.

Jin pauses in scarfing down his food and turns to Jimin in an attempt to make casual conversation. “So…looks like you have a couple of new staff, huh?”

Jimin tries to stifle a grin. “Yeah, they’re cool…it’s not the same as working with YN though. She hasn’t worked during the weekdays for a couple weeks now and only comes in on Saturdays. She usually makes the shift more fun,” he says to Jin with a slight lilt in his voice.

Jin knew that you temporarily stopped working at the diner during weeknights–you mentioned it to him on one of your text check-ins. What he didn’t know was that you still came in for the Saturday shift. He thought about accidentally walking past the diner this weekend during lunch–perhaps it wouldn’t be as creepy if he did it during the day instead of the evenings.

“Anyway–will there be anything else for you guys?” Jimin suddenly breaks his train of thought.

Namjoon smiles and tells him ‘thanks,” before he heads back to check in on other orders.

Just then, a man with a buzz-cut and dressed in all black enters the diner. Namjoon spots him from the entrance and waves him over to their table.

“Jin–this is Zedd. Zedd, Jin.”

“Just ‘Zedd’?”

“Yeah, it’s better that way,” Namjoon says.

Zedd declines any offers of food from Jin–to which Namjoon makes a sour face. Shortly after, he begins to give a quick rundown of his findings from the last week.

“Right–so, as we expected, Richard Hwang has a pretty monotonous routine. Leaves his penthouse at 6:30AM–and this is after he’s watched the stock exchange open at 5AM, local time. His driver then takes him to the office and he stays there for about three hours before he takes off to take a meeting off-site. After an hour there, he takes off for lunch.”

“That’s a pretty early lunch,” Jin says.

“Well–early lunch at The Fairmont–to meet with a woman,” he says wryly, insinuating that something other than eating meals was occurring in that hotel room.

“Just to note–I found out that the woman is an employee at his office…”

Jin rolls his eyes at the predictability.

“Did someone say, ‘The Fairmont?’” Jimin interrupts.

“Yes,” Zedd deadpans then continues his report. “Anyway, this woman he’s meeting is named–” he paused to check his notes, “Sora Ahn–his executive assistant. I think that if we get to her, we could get a sneak peak at his entire schedule, who he’s meeting with, all that info.”

“Sorry to interject but–I happen to work the valet there during the day. Pretty good money,” he remarks.

Jin and Namjoon’s eyes bulge.

“Hang on–you work there?” Jin asks. “YN has never mentioned that.”

Jimin chuckles. “I don’t expect her to divulge my whole life story to anybody.”

Zedd seems interested in Jimin all of a sudden. “What times do you work there?”

“Why? Ooh! Are we doing a heist?” Jimin asks excitedly.

Zedd bursts his bubble right away. “I’m sorry to break it to you but this is not Ocean’s 11.”

“Jimin–this can help us get rid of the biggest problem that my family has…and in turn, it helps me and YN,” Jin explains.

He shrugs. “Well…if it helps YN, I’m in. What do I need to do?”

Zedd instructs him to stop by Namjoon’s office in the next two days to go over a strategy, to which Jimin agrees. Afterwards, Yoongi rings the little bell by the kitchen window alerting him of a few orders that were ready to deliver to the next table.

After Jimin leaves, the three men carry on with their conversation about Zedd’s findings.

“What about the wife?” Jin asks.

“The wife is…relatively interesting. She leaves around 9–goes to the Country Club for about an hour then drives two hours out to the casinos.”

“Gambling?” Jin is slightly taken aback but then realizes that Hwang’s wife must be bored out of her mind. His mom had casually mentioned that she was having some challenges making friends at the Country Club.

“Yeah–she loves high-stakes blackjack and poker. Spends hours there then leaves to drive back around 4AM only to get up and do it all over again the next day. I hear she’s got quite the account over there,” Zedd says.

Miya’s mother loved card games but she wasn’t very good at any of them. She bought in more often than she cashed out, leading her to sink deep into debt.

“I’m shocked there hasn’t been a hit out for her yet–some of these casinos don’t play,” Jin says.

“It could be cause for…extenuating circumstances,” Namjoon suggests.

“Namjoon-ah, in English, please?” Jin was tired and Namjoon had been spitting out so many legal terms in the last few days that his head was spinning.

“It means–this could make Hwang want to try something not necessarily legal to bail his wife out.”

Jin made a face. “Wouldn’t he rather get rid of her since he’s got a chick on the side already?”

“It’s possible that he’s keeping her around for a purpose,” Zedd suddenly speaks up. “It could be that she knows some things and he’s making all of these efforts to placate her so she wouldn’t flip.”

These were all speculations but it could be plausible–especially since Hwang was inching closer to one of the biggest mergers that he has ever orchestrated–Jin’s marriage to his daughter.

“How soon before we can delve deeper into whatever else he’s got going on?” Jin didn’t want to sound impatient but he was also up against the clock. In just under two months, if he can’t buy himself out, there was no other way for him to back out of this deal.

“Well…since we don’t have anything specific that we’re looking for yet, apart from tax fraud–I mean, right now, we’re just trying to figure out routine patterns to find anything unusual–I’d say in a month?” Zedd estimates.

Jin sighs in frustration. “That’s cutting it too close, Joon. And even if we find anything–do we even know if it’s strong enough to get him prosecuted–and eventually invalidate the contract?”

Namjoon didn’t have an immediate answer for his friend at this moment but he made a helpful suggestion.

“Maybe it’s time you talked to your dad? Find out if he knows anything?”

******

The following weekend, it took some coaxing from his mom but together, they were able to free up Jin’s dad’s weekend. Jin said that it had been a while since they went out to fish. It so happened that it was also dungeness crab season in the area–and his dad couldn’t resist fresh-caught shellfish.

“Thanks for coming out with me, dad,” Jin says as untangles the ropes on his crab trap.

“I miss the days when we used to go out here with your uncle,” his dad says somberly as he stuffs raw chicken into the small, metallic bait cage that was to be attached to the bottom of the net. After he hands Jin the bait cage, he secures it with cable ties and tosses the metal ring overboard.

“I would have asked Joon but…you know how he feels about crabbing,” Jin out loud in his squeaky, windshield-wiper chuckle.

His dad laughs along with him. After a minute, both men calm down and sit in silence for a bit.

“I know why you asked me out here, son.”

Jin glances sideways at his father.

“And I’m sorry but–I cannot tell you why I made that change to the contract.”

“But why? Why when my future and the company’s future is on the line? Is the company in trouble? Is it your pride?”

He shook his head adamantly. “I’ve made a terrible mistake, Jin…and I didn’t want to put you at risk.”

“Put me at risk? At risk for what?”

He shook his head again. “No, Jin–”

“Dad, please…I need you to tell me. It’s just us here. Please? Not only is my future at stake but…my own happiness is on the line, too.”

This wasn’t how he envisioned telling his father about you but at this point, what else was there to lose?

“I’ve met somebody…and she makes me really happy. But she can’t…I cannot love her fully if I can’t get out of this. Please, dad. I rarely ask you for help–you know that. I need something–I need information on Hwang to help all of us get out of this contract.”

His father’s chin quivers but he covers it with his fist. “I made an illegal trade, Seokjin,” he breathed out.

“Wh-what?”

He knew it was dangerous to tell his son because it could incriminate him too but he was feeling trapped.

“Hwang–he…he fed me an insider tip on a certain patent. I–I had no idea that the information wasn’t public yet.”

Jin’s eyes bulged. His father was not a risk-taker. He has always known him as somebody who plays it safe, a stickler for the rules. Insider trading was definitely the last thing that he would ever think of doing simply because it was illegal to invest in stock based on information that was not publicly available. If found guilty, the insider tipster and “tippee,” can be criminally prosecuted.

“I was drunk and wasn’t even aware that I had made the investment…I really can’t tell you all of the specifics–”

“No, don’t–” Jin says instinctively. If this was indeed an illegal trade, Jin still needed plausible deniability–what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him…as much. “J-just…try to be as vague as you can.”

He nods and takes a deep breath. “Ah…next thing I know, I’m waking up in his suite with an alert that I just made all of this money overnight. I panicked as soon as I realized what it was. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough,” he chokes out.

“Dad–who else knows about this?”

“Just me and Hwang. I cashed out within two hours and then he was on me like a leech. He told me that he didn’t think that the information was legitimate but since we had both profited from it, we could enter into a partnership.”

“Dad…” he says in an exasperated tone.

“I–I declined and said I would just pay him the money that I made from this bogus investment. Then he said I couldn’t give him that money because it would incriminate him and that federal agents would find out.”

His dad paced around the boat.

“He came to me with a proposal. He said that this information wouldn’t get out and it would stay between us if–if I revised the contract especially relating to the pre-nuptial details. I was backed into a corner, son. You have to understand…I couldn’t even talk to your mom or Min-jun,” he almost said in a whimper.

His dad was in a panic. This was the information that Jin needed–but at the expense of his dad getting caught in the same web. He had to find another way to resolve this–and one that would preferably keep his father a free man.

“Have you spent any of the money that you made?”

“God, no! I know what that means. If I spend it, that’s one step closer to getting on the government’s radar. It’s why I haven’t touched it and it’s the same reason why–”

“I know. It’s why you can’t help bail me out of this deal. That’s why you changed the language on the stipulation.”

He sighs in regret. “I…I’m sorry, son. That was one bit of information that I made sure to put in the revision. I would love nothing but to help you–I’m really regretting meeting Dick Hwang.”

Jin chuckled at the nickname. It was then he realized that his father still gave a damn about him.

At some point during this ordeal, he thought that all his dad cared about was sustaining the business, ensuring that the family legacy continued. Jin’s father was only going by what his own father taught him. He wanted to break the cycle but family responsibilities had to come first.

This was why when Jin decided to start his own company, his father didn’t think twice and even provided him with the capital. He wanted to live vicariously through his son’s dreams.

“Guess I’m just going to have to work harder in the next few weeks.” Jin looks at his father then sighs.

“Seems so,” he says regretfully as he starts tugging at the crab trap’s rope before starting to slowly pull it up towards the boat.

Jin puts his gloves on, pulls the bucket closer and picks up his shellfish gauge in case they catch anything that’s too small. If they do, they’d have to toss it back into the ocean. Namjoon would be proud.

“So–you’ve met someone?”

“Uh…yeah,” he says ruefully.

“Why that tone?”

Jin sighed heavily. “She’s been trying to keep a safe distance until I’ve taken care of the problem at-hand.”

“Ah…” he gives a knowing nod as the net finally breaks through the water’s surface. They see more than a half-dozen crabs caught in the net. Jin eyeballs them and tosses those big enough into the bucket. There were a couple of them that he was unsure of and points the gauge around the fullest part of the shell. When they don’t touch the tips of the tool, he promptly tosses them back into the water.

Jin’s dad checks the trap again and they decide to toss the net overboard one more time.

“Is she good to you?”

He nods. “I feel like she’s more than I deserve.”

“How’s that?”

Jin rubbed the back of his neck. “Ever since I met her, she’s made me happy. So far, all I’ve brought to the table is–unintentional hurt.”

“It’s not like you to be self-deprecating.”

“I know, dad. When I’m with her, I just want to be my best self around her. I feel like I’m failing at that.”

“Seokjin–I’ve never known you to be a failure. If anything, I’ve seen that it makes you fight harder for whatever it is that’s giving you trouble.”

Jin didn’t answer and instead stared at the open waters.

“Is she worth the trouble?” He asks.

“Yes,” Jin responds without hesitation.

“Then you’ll know what you have to do.”

******

Later that evening, after watching the second installment of the true-crime documentary, you cleaned up in the kitchen and helped your dad with his bedtime leg stretches before calling it a night in your room.

While stretching the kinks in your neck, you hear your phone buzzing on your nightstand. You walked over to check on the caller ID.

You contemplated sending it to voicemail but this whole time, you had mostly kept your communication within texts. This was the first phone call in a while.

“Hi.”

“Uh–hi.” He sat up from the couch, surprised that you actually picked up.

“What’s up,” you asked softly.

“I just wanted to hear your voice.”

It made you smile into the phone. “Are you okay,” you asked him.

He sighed audibly. “No,” he said simply. “I miss you.”

Your heart ached for him. “I miss you, too.” You caught your lips between your teeth after you said it–trying to keep your emotions in check.

He leaned back against his couch cushions, squeezing his eyes shut. He caused this rift between you two. It’s been an agonizing two weeks–it’s the longest that you’ve been away from each other. He couldn’t help but feel that door completely shutting him out–especially after his talk with his dad over the weekend.

“Are you still there,” you asked.

“Yeah,” he responded after a beat.

“What’s wrong,” you asked. He had that voice–that same melancholic tone that he had when you first met him at the diner.

“I’ll be fine, baby. Why don’t you talk to me about your day–or just anything. Please?” He really just wanted to hear your voice, hoping it would make him feel like he wasn’t carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He sounded desperate but you didn’t want to pry so you humored him.

“I’ve been watching a pretty interesting crime miniseries about some forgeries.”

He chuckles. “Anything interesting?”

“Forgeries are always interesting to me,” you say.

“More interesting than Night Stalker mysteries?”

You rolled your eyes. “They are not even in the same category so that is not a valid comparison.”

“I stand corrected then. So what forgeries are we talking about here?”

“Anything. From bank checks, bearer bonds, artwork, wills…there’s one case in particular that’s local. There was a family who felt that they were cheated out of their father’s fortune because of a forged will.”

“That’s interesting…have they solved the case?”

“That particular case is still ongoing. They haven’t found anybody who could properly authenticate the will.”

“So who got the money?”

“Apparently, the person who wrote the will had shut out his family and gave all of his money to a trusted caretaker. They wouldn’t name the caretaker on the show since all cases filed by the family were dismissed and eventually settled out of court. They don’t even live in the area anymore. All I know is that the main points of contention were their father’s land and some oddball art collection–all of which the caretaker took.”

“Art collection, huh? That sounds like it’s right in Namjoon’s wheelhouse.”

He folds his arm behind him then leans back on it while sitting on the couch. Although Jin wasn’t saying much, he was simply enjoying the conversation with you. It feels like a lifetime since you both just talked–about anything. He switches the audio to speaker and rests his phone on his chest.

Without knowing it, you did the same while you leaned back on your pillows. “If he’s into it–he might be able to look it up. They mentioned something about one of the paintings that was reported missing…they said it was the most valuable in the collection. I forgot the name of the artist but I can tell Namjoon what the documentary series is called if he wants to check it out.”

“I’m sure he’d nerd out over it.”

Jin’s finger hovered over the video call button. And before he knew it, the question had spilled out of his lips.

“Can I see you?”

There was a beat of silence.

“But if you’re not comfortable–I under–” His phone started blinking–alerting him to a video call.

He scrambles to pick it up off his chest to hold it upright. He instinctively brushes his hair back quickly before he answers. His screen goes black for a moment before his self-view video switches to the inset and your face comes into the forefront.

“Hi, stranger,” you greeted him as you watched his smile fill your screen.

“Hey, beautiful.” You couldn’t help but smile back at him.

“How are you?” You asked.

“Much better now,” he responds. “How’s your week been?”

“Uhm–pretty busy. We’re…getting some case files together to officially launch an investigation on this client.”

“Wow. That escalated pretty quickly–weren’t you working on those books for a couple months?”

“Yeah. The ‘apple’ client seems to think that they’re pretty adept in hiding money but–we found it...Well, majority of it, at least. It’s still enough grounds for a case.”

He chuckled softly. “What did you say the client’s name was?”

“Oh, we just call it the ‘apple’ client because of the company logo. It’s a golden apple in the center with a silhouette of a tree behind it with its–”

“Roots growing beneath it?” He interjected.

You furrowed your brows in confusion then giggled all of a sudden. “How did you know?”

Part 8 (prologue)◥

Part 8◥

Taglist: @deepseavibez @shameless-army @nooneinvitedfascistbarbie @twogyuu @jakepralta @arisud @justmewondering-recs @taleasnewastime @se0kedinluv @bangtannoonalvg

[open]

[lanternworks]

Nao - Yandere MBTI

CW: Toxic relationships, general yandere-ness

This is based off of the Yandere MBTI by @ddarker-dreams​ 

I thought it was really neat when I first read it a while back and highkey wanted to apply it to my own OCs that I consider canonically yan or to have some yan tendencies, or those that I think would be interesting in a yandere au.  As for Nao, I believe he’d best fit CAMS. The rest is under the cut! 

.[Cruel] or Reverent

Nao doesn't particularly fall neatly into one of these or the other and which he leans more towards wholly depends on his current mood. True reverence is reserved for his late master and only him. He tends to latch on to those with traits similar to his late master- whether in personality or appearance. In fact, it wouldn't be a stretch to say that he's trying to find someone who could fill the void left by said master. 

His darling isn't as much of an equal partner as they are a treasured item- the centerpiece to his private collection. If anything it's more that he isn't cruel without reason, though those reasons vary and if he feels he's been too soft for too long, he'll simply orchestrate one. He'll dote upon and spoil his darling when they're in good standing, and then turn around and remind them how utterly replaceable they are the moment his mood changes. He's volatile and nearly impossible to predict.

He likes to see his darling happy, but he won't make great strides for it; it's a bonus but not a necessity. However, he just as much enjoys seeing their tears; something about it makes his heart skip a beat- maybe it's the helplessness, the vulnerability of crying in front of someone. He also has a habit of dangling freedom or his own -feigned, albeit- vulnerability in front of them, waiting to see if they'll take the bait.

One thing stands firm though: they're still his whether they make the time with him "enjoyable" or outright hellish. 

.Delusional or [Aware]

He runs on the border of aware and delusional: mostly aware but sometimes teetering over onto the opposite side. The delusion shows itself mostly in regards to his former master or if he ever crosses the point where he’s beginning to be genuinely honest with them. He’ll manage to delude himself into believing that now that his sentiments have changed towards them, theirs should have changed towards him as well. 

Before this, however, he’s generally a very lucid yandere. He knows everything he does is against their will, that they don’t love him, and more importantly that they aren’t the role that he’s cast them into. All the same, refusing to fit certain expectations that come with that role is a surefire way to invoke his ire.

He’s very much so chasing something that he once felt and his darling’s just the one tasked with making him feel this.

.[Manipulative] or Honest

Everything leading up to when he has his darling fully within his grasp is manipulation; saddling them with more and more debt under the guise of just doing them favors, just trying to help them out, making them feel as though they owe their life to him. He does it all with such a nice smile- there’s no ulterior motive there at all! If that doesn’t work, misfortune may find its way to them one way or the other. Something happens and they have to leave their current home- maybe it’s just a temporary displacement and Nao’s all too eager to provide a temporary home with him that soon becomes permanent.

Nao will make himself the only source of comfort his darling has, leaving them the choice between isolation or time spent around himself. Everything he gives to them, every privilege they get...it’s all just another thing to hold over their head and use to get the behaviour that he wants out of them.

He’ll confide in them occasionally, make it seem like he’s baring his soul. It’s all part of the mind games, however. Nao likes to let his darling believe they may be close to getting the better of him, like he’s letting his guard down before pulling the wool from over their eyes. He doesn’t lie all too often but just the same he rarely ever gives the full truth, only cuing his darling in on what he wants them to know and how much of it. Just enough truth to blind themselves with it.

He might start to feel some remorse on the off chance he develops actual feelings for his darling and not just the role he's forced them into. He'll never let them go of course or ever apologize, but he’ll start to feel a bit of a guilt pang and chastise himself for growing soft. If it goes further than this he might even start being more honest and genuinely confide in his darling. If he ends up rejected during these shows of vulnerability, however, he’s liable to become outright violent.

.[Strict] or Lenient

A collector at heart, Nao is possessive of what's his- whether that be trinkets, valuables, or people. How strict or lenient, cruel or kind he is scales to his darling's behaviour. 

He has enough connections that he could get away with being lenient and letting his darling live separately from him yet constantly under his ever looming shadow, but he has an almost innate drive to monopolize which will inevitably lead to his kidnapping of said darling. They'll live with him above the shop after this, isolated from essentially everyone except himself and the pipefoxes.

Much like with his clients before he begins to seek payment, Nao allows his darling an adjustment period; he is, after all, aware that this is probably quite jarring for them. He expects resistance and meets it with a calm, unfazed demeanor. There are consequences for acting out of course, but he prefers them to be more akin to “"learning opportunities”" than hard punishment. They'll be on a strict schedule during the adjustment period and certain privileges can be won or lost, good behaviour is rewarded and bad behaviour is quickly cut out. Their attitude is comparable to a storm for him: even the strongest of squalls die down eventually, and he has no problem playing the waiting game.

While he himself can be a cruel yandere, he expects his darling to be quite reverent of him: lavishing him with attention, compliments, letting him rest his head on their lap as they feed him grapes...it would all make for a very content Nao and likely earn them a little more leeway.

[wallgirl]

The Little Nereid Part 13

Record of Ragnarok fanfiction

Poseidon x OC

Word count: 1,200

Dynamene, youngest of the 50 Nereids, has lived most of her adolescence as a servant alongside her sisters at Poseidon’s palace. But with her coming-of-age birthday and other developments, what she initially thought was just admiration of her master blossoms into something stronger and more passionate… and painful. Loving someone like Poseidon is not easy period, let alone as your first love. But Dynamene is young and naïve, and all she wants is a chance to be at the sea god’s side.

Categories and warnings: Romance, angst, unrequited love, coming-of-age, earn-your-happy-ending, slow-burn (ish); no sexual content. There will be some graphic violence in the future.

Updated regularly; will have about 20 parts total.

—

"Anything?" Poseidon growled lowly at the sailfish that approached him gingerly.

"No, my lord," the sailfish squeaked. "I'm deeply sorry. There has been no sighting of her." It's fins fluttered anxiously.

"Search again. No one rests until she is found. No one."

"Of course, my lord." The sailfish jetted hastily back out into the sea.

Poseidon exhaled through his nose in frustration. It had been hours since he had received word that Dynamene had run away, and there was still no clue as to where she might have gone. He himself was checking all the spots he knew the Nereids frequented near the palace, but they had all come up empty-handed. He was running out of patience. The Nereids that had stayed behind from the trip to their family home had all scattered out into the ocean as well, searching every spot they could think of that Dynamene might have gone too. It frustrated him to think that there were places she liked to visit that he didn't know about, but he snapped at himself for this. Now isn't the time.

He surfaced quickly back at the palace's beach, ocean droplets running off his body as he strode without a break in his pace from the water onto the sand. The preliminary search was turning up empty-handed. Now it was time to look deeper for clues as to where she might be.

He walked the palace halls towards her room, boots clicking heavily. He doubted anything about her escape was premeditated, but it might hold some clue as to where she might have gone.

Once he reached her door, he paused. The door creaked open before him, as if inviting him in. He'd never stepped foot in her room before, and to do so now felt almost invasive. Preposterous, he thought to himself. This is my palace, and this room belongs to me. He entered without a second more of hesitation.

It was strange to think that in the past thousand years, he'd never been in this room.

He approached the boudoir first. There were no cosmetics or other care items on it, save for a single hairbrush and a few hair pins. Her bed was unmade, the blankets tossed hastily to one side. He could picture her the morning of their departure, rushing to get ready for the trip. It was an almost comical thought.

Taking a moment to slowly scan the room, he noticed a glimmer of something blue peeking out from under her pillow. Without hesitation, he flipped it over.

A thin blue satin box laid beneath.

He stared at it. It was the same box he had presented her the bracelet in. Had she been sleeping with it under her pillow all this time? Irrationally sentimental.

He replaced the pillow with more care than necessary.

How could he have known, all those years ago when the Nereids had first come to the palace, that something like this would happen? That the little girl who had shaken upon first introducing herself would someday look at him with unadulterated affection in her eyes instead of terror? He knew many people were drawn to the idea of being at his side. He had power in excess; something many were eager to get a taste of.

But Dynamene had no interest in or need of power. She came from a privileged family, and she led a charmed life. She was sheltered and naïve. Ulterior motives had no place in her pure, simple world. In her mind's eye, she saw him only as a figure of romance. What a sight that must be, he pondered. Trying to imagine himself through the view of an infatuated adolescent girl made his lip curl.

But as misled as her affections might be, they were genuine. She was concerned for him. She wanted to talk to him. She took every chance to catch a glimpse of him. And he had no idea how to respond to it.

No, he was lying to himself. He was already responding in his own way; giving her gifts, entertaining her attempts at conversation, and spending time with her. He was unconsciously encouraging her feelings. But why?

He thought of her wide gray eyes, and how they seemed to hold nothing but love and earnest desire when she stared at him. He'd never seen such a look in anyone else's gaze before. Not for him. It was new, and strange, and all for him. He didn't want her feelings to belong to anyone else. He wanted to matter the most to her. And at the moment, the sun rose and set over him in her eyes.

But things couldn't continue the way they were, in this strange limbo. What would her family do? After this disaster, there was no way they would approve of her staying at his palace. At least, not her sisters. Her parents might be another story. If he gave them his word that he would not harm her... Well, how could they refuse him, anyway? Dynamene already more-or-less belonged to him. The moment her parents had released her to his custody, she had become his. Any show of her still belonging to her parents' house was superficial. They had no power to go against his desires. He was Poseidon, one of the most powerful of Olympus. They were inconsequential in comparison.

Pulling himself out of his thoughts, he felt a faint hum of power coming from somewhere else in the room. His eyes narrowed. The sensation was faint, but insistent - it could only belong to that of an Olympian. There was something in this room that had been imbued with power by an Olympian other than himself.

He quickly honed in on the source; the tall dresser directly across from her bed. He strode to it rapidly and pulled out the bottom drawer.

Tucked in a heap of fabric was a golden pomegranate, faintly glowing with godly power. He grit his teeth, immediately recognizing the power's signature as belonging to Hera. What was an item imbued with Hera's power doing in Dynamene's room? He lifted it with one hand, examining it thoroughly. It appeared to be a blessing of some sort; she must have given it to Dynamene during her recent visit.

He swallowed hard, anger rising once again. If she had anything to do with Dynamene's disappearance, she would find herself meeting the same end as their worthless brother, relations with Zeus be damned. The pomegranate formed a faint crack on its gilded surface; he was squeezing it too tightly in his rage. He replaced it back in the dresser for now. Dynamene had chosen to keep it hidden for some reason, but why, he had no idea. Only Hera was able to answer the questions he had now, but he couldn't leave for Olympus when Dynamene was still missing. Finding her took priority; interrogations could wait until later.

Besides, he was no idiot. Why would Hera have given Dynamene, who was so enamored with him, a blessing, if not to push her into a relationship with him somehow?

He pushed his anger to the back of his mind for now. He had to find Dynamene first. He would sate his wrath later.

Pulling himself back together, he left her room. He had to return to the beach. If need be, he was going to search the whole ocean himself.

—

Author’s Notes: Poseidon is such a strange guy.

You know, I was thinking... If he was perfect and completely steadfast in his beliefs, would Sasaki's taunts have gotten to him? Naw. Poseidon is just a superpowered man chasing perfection, and unable to live up to his own ideals. That's a little tragic. Of course, doesn't make him any less messed up. But determination is sexy. I wonder where those ideals came from anyway, that gods should be perfect and this and that? None of the other gods around him his whole life were perfect. Maybe just an excuse for his own superiority complex? Or is he a deeply insecure individual deep down? Gahhhh the world will never know.

[igotyouniverse]

Breathe Me - Chapter 1 [nct vamp au]

Description: After dropping out of college and coming home for the first time in two years, 22-year-old Ava Lee gets caught up in a mystery surrounding the people she thought she knew for so long. Between friendship, affairs and true love the young women finds herself being pulled into a  nightmare she would never wake up from.

Pairing: Oc x Taeyong , Oc x Johnny [several side-pairing involving Mark, Ten, Lucas and Jaehyun.]

Included Members: Taeyong, Johnny, Mark, Lucas, Ten, Jaehyun, Doyoung, Haechan (maybe more)

Genre: Drama, Romance, Angst, Action, Fantasy

Warnings: none (this chapter)

suggestive content, strong language, violence, blood, death. probably more, not sure yet (later chapters)

a/n: Here it comes! After years of procrestination I finally managed to write the very first (very boring) chapter of my vampire au with nct! Anyway, the main drama will start in the next chapter so stay patient and bear this one with me. It took me long enough, haha. All the warnings will be for later chapters so don't start reading if u dont feel like reading stuff like that qq If someone wants to get tagged please send me a message, ask, comment or whatever qq

I really hope you guys enjoy it, it was a very heavy birth. ♥

ch.2 || ch. 3

                                                   †

The girl sighed deeply and took a look outside the small airplane window. She saw how the plane slowly drove into the prepared parking lot and felt how her level of anxiety rose with each second. Even though the flight was 18 hours long and her legs started to hurt she didn't want to stand up. Standing up meant for her to actually leave the plane, get her luggage and meet her family which would sooner or later lead to them asking all these questions. It wasn't like she didn't miss them.

She missed them very dearly. She missed the Sunday morning brunches with her neighbours, the movie nights where her dad would always pick out a movie because he'd pout if not, she even missed  her little brother Mark bursting into her room without knocking and asking her some totally stupid questions. She missed catching up with her best friend. She missed all these sleepovers when all they had to worry about was who the cutest boy at school was and what they'll do together once they were adults. She craved for all these past memories. The last time she set foot onto this ground was two years ago at her very first spring break after leaving home, moving to a town thousand of miles away, not knowing anyone.

She heard a beeping noise which indicated that the passengers could stand up and get out but she waited. All of them seemed in such a hurry to leave the plane, grabbing their belongings, everyone trying to get out first which ended in a crowded queue inside of the plane. She stretched her legs as much as possible, not making the slightest move to stand up.

Her eyes wandered back to the window, allowing her to take a glance at the sky, she wished to be into again. It was still quite bright outside, even though it was nearly evening, the sun nearly blinding her when she looked up, leading her to cover her eyes with her hand. The sunsets were so different in the States than here, in South Korea. Her eyes tried to focus on the slowly fading sun, leaving the sky in beautiful pinks and oranges with just a hint of soft white clouds.

Her mind started to spin, thinking about all the things she had to explain to her family sooner or later. But for now she needed to stay positive and hide the fact that she – the oh-so-perfect – student managed to drop out of a university, her parents nearly went insolvent to pay for to allow their daughter to get the best medical education they could think of. At the beginning the girl actually thought that it was her biggest dream to become a famous surgeon but after a short while she had to face the ugly truth that the job she so desperately wanted to do as long as she could remember just wasn't her thing.

She tried so badly to keep on and thought that it's just a phase every young adult went through when they started university but every time she talked to her friends at university she saw that that wasn't exactly the case. Everyone was so focused and motivated to become a successful doctor or surgeon they underwent the torture of endless sleepless nights, insane pressure and the feeling of not being able to even cut an onion correctly, which the professor didn't even care to make better. Every day she got told that she would never be able to work in the medical field and could try herself with some more basic and easy studies. It didn't matter how hard she tried to remember all the lectures and do her assignments – she failed miserably at everything.

Of course, her family didn't know. She was way too afraid to burst the bubble her parents created around her, leaving her in that perfect, white spotlight, portraying her like some sort of angel on a pedestal for everyone to see. They loved to talk about her in front of everyone, telling them that she'd be a successful surgeon, working hard and publishing groundbreaking articles, making herself a name in the medical community. Maybe even getting some famous award. Everyone in that small town knew about the smart daughter who got into one of the best medical universities in the United States, who worked so hard she was barely home.

She couldn't bear to see the disappointment on their faces once they see what she really was – a failure. She managed to hide her dropping out of university so well, she created her web of lies carefully over the last year, she sometimes even believed what she was saying. But as soon as her alarm clock went off, remembering her to go to work at a small corner café to pay her rent and even save some money in case her parents might throw her out, she had to face real life again. The life in which she dropped out only one year after starting, loosing hundreds of thousands of dollars and leaving the incident in her resume forever.

She was glad she got a job in the café as it belonged to the parents of one friend she met at college, who managed to get in because of a scholarship. They allowed her to work as much as she could to save money and even helped her sometimes.

“Excuse me, Miss?”, a soft and gentle voice made the girl leave her deep thoughts and look up. A beautiful, young flight attendant smiled down at her. “You need to leave the plane, please.”, she said in sweet yet demanding voice  and got her luggage out of the cabinet above for her. The girl didn't realise that the plane was already as good as empty. She thanked the attendant, grabbed her bag and went out of the plane into the airport, feeling her legs shaking more with each step she took.

She pulled out her smartphone, turning off flight mode only to get bombarded with dozens of messages, mostly from her mom asking if she already landed and that they waited for her at the gate. After that she only texted emojis. Hearts, heart-eyes and some other stuff which made her feel even more anxious. How could she disappoint a mother as proud as her? No, she needed to keep her secret for a bit longer. Maybe until her brother messed up. But what could he possibly mess up which would overshadow her dropping out of college? Maybe if he committed a crime.

Mark was different from her, She didn't know how but he actually managed to tell their parents that he doesn't want to become a doctor or lawyer, and instead insisted of becoming an author or journalist. To say her parents were unhappy would be an understatement. They were more than angry and told him to pay the tuition himself. They believed it was just a small teenage dream he had but when he finished High School and started working at the local bookstore to save some money to actually study creative writing they realized that he was serious. That small incident happened just 14 months ago, yet he continued to work there and save up. He even managed to visit her every couple of months, as she didn't want to come.

When she arrived at the luggage claim the suitcases were already out on the baggage belt and she waited as long as she could, watching her lonely suitcase making its turns on the device, purposely ignoring it until it was the only one left and she had to grab it. Her phone vibrated in her pocket again.

Mark [06.07pm]: Where r u?

She rolled her eyes and just put it back in the pocket of her jeans as she headed towards the exit. The girl took a deep breath, putting on the brightest smile she could manage and stepped out of the doors. Her family wasn't hard to notice. Her parents held a way too big and bright  banner in their hands

WELCOME HOME AVA

Ava tried to keep her smile up and waved at them. “Oh, honey welcome home!”, her mother shouted as she lowered the banner to hug her daughter tightly. “I'm so happy you're finally home again, our doctor!.”, she said and patted her back softly. She felt her dad joining the hug and giving her a warm smile as well, joining her mother in telling her how happy he was to have her back home. Ava clenched her jaw, trying to smile as honest as possible.

“You're really squishing me to death guys.”, Ava chuckled and was glad when her parents finally let go of her. She looked up and saw her brother Mark smiling at her.

“Come on, give your favourite sister a hug.”, the girl laughed, making her brother chuckle before embracing her in a loving hug as well. The last time she saw him he visited the campus a few months ago. Of course he didn't know she dropped out then and nearly choked on his water when she told him. She knew he wouldn't tell their parents but he thought it would be better if she told their parents as soon as possible, which she didn't of course.

“Happy to have you back.”, Mark said and squeezed his sister one more time before he let her go and took her suitcase.

Ava stretched her body slowly before getting into their car, really not wanting to sit down for another hour but apparently she had to. As soon as she sat down and put on her seat belt her mother turned around to look at her and smiled.

“Tell us, honey, how is Stanford? Is it going well, yes?”, she asked and Ava felt like she needed to throw up.

“Yeah, everything is fine. I handed in all assignments last week and I have a good feeling.”, she chuckled and felt guilt crawling all over her body. She smiled slightly and turned her eyes away to avoid her mother proud gaze, yet she could feel Mark eyeing her.

“Ah, that's so great, honey. Your father and I just talked to the Lee's from across the street and they told us their son wants to apply to Stanford, too. We told them you could talk to him and give some advice.”

“Sure.”, she just sighed and pulled out her phone again, hoping her mother would understand her silent plead to leave her be. Her mother smiled again and turned back to talk to her father about what she'd make for dinner on this special occasion.

Ava checked the other texts she got, scrolling through them. She smiled when she saw a text from her best friend, sending her a picture from her in her nurse uniform. She looked so cute, proudly standing in front of the mirror in the dressing room, posing with a finger heart.

[Ava 06.54pm] Cute! Just landed, on my way home. Wanna hang out later?

[Yunmi 06.57pm] Can't. Night shift today but pick me up tomorrow morning and get breakfast? The café next to the bookstore finally opened!

[Ava 07.00pm] absolutely! Can't wait. Miss you so much ♥

She scrolled through the remaining texts just to feel a little disappointment in her body after not seeing what she so desperately wanted to see. But then again, she didn't expect to see a text from him after he ignored each and everyone of hers the last two years. He didn't even care enough to wish her a happy birthday in November so he probably couldn't care less texting her when she came home.

She sighed lightly and looked outside the car window, seeing how the landscape came and go in front of her eyes and how the sky got all these beautiful colours in it, she could even see the moon already. A wave of tiredness crashed over her exhausted body as she decided to close her eyes for just  a moment.

The girl felt someone poking her arm multiple times, calling her name.

“Wake up, we're home.”, she heard Mark say and groaned, before rubbing her eyes.

“Yes, I'm awake, you can stop poking me.”, she said when her brother continued to poke her arm with a grin on his face.

“Don't make me hit you.”, she warned and slapped his hand away.

“Pff, please.” he answered mockingly and jumped out of the car before her fist could reached his body.

Ava chuckled , getting out of the car stretching her stiff body slowly, hearing all her joints crack at once.

“How old are you? 80?” Mark said teasingly, getting out her suitcase from the trunk.

“Trust me, I feel like it.”, she yawned loudly and slowly got up the stairs to their house.

She inhaled the sweet and calming scent of her mothers vanilla candles as soon as she set foot into the house, taking of her shoes before she walked further inside. It hasn't changed a bit. The beige coloured walls still had pictures of the family on them. Ava smiled and looked at the picture of her and her family from her Highschool graduation three years ago. She smiled when she saw the exact picture her parents had chosen. Mark and her making some weird pose while her parents rolled their eyes.

“Honey, dinner will be ready in half-an-hour, okay?” she didn't realize that her mother was standing right next to her and flinched a bit.

“Yeah, sure, thank you, mom. I'll start to unpack then. Love you.”, Ava said, kissing her mothers cheek softly before going up the stairs into her old room where Mark already put her suitcase and bag.

Her room hasn't changed either. Of course, it looked a bit colder as she took all her personal stuff with her to the US when she moved out, but it still felt comfy with it's cozy beige sofa and her queen sized bed, which her mother already prepared for her. She closed the door behind her and looked outside the big windows, which connected to a small balcony, which was only hers. She remembered how mad Mark was when she got the room with the balcony and not him and grinned. She stepped outside for a moment to breathe in the still warm air, listening to the rustling sound of the trees as a mild breeze blew through them.

The small wooden bench she made herself with her dad back when she was younger still stood in the very same corner and even had pillows on it and a blanket, indicating that someone still used it even while she was gone. Probably her mother when she wanted to have some time and space for herself, she thought and smiled before going back into her room.

She stretched her stiff body once again before squatting down and opening her black suitcase to unpack her things. Ava only brought some clothes and other necessities with her as she didn't believe of staying home for a longer period of time. She rented her tiny apartment, or as she preferred to call it, her shoebox to a friend from university who looked for her own place as long as she stayed with her parents so she didn't need to worry about paying rent. So she just packed her essentials and hoped to keep her pretty little lie for some more months to figure out what she actually wanted to do with her situation now. She wasn't even sure if she wanted to stay in Stanford . She just knew, she didn't want to stay here in this tiny town where everyone knows everyone.

She loved the size of New York, she loved the vibes, the people and even the stink it had. It was charming in some kind of way and she enjoyed the anonymity she had. She liked living in the famous city which never sleeps but it didn't feel like a complete home to her yet and maybe never would. Not to mention, that she was just working in a café which was barely enough to live so she needed to get something more permanent very soon. But she had no idea what that could be. Maybe she'd apply to another university, maybe she didn't want to go to college at all. But what were her options anyway?

Ava groaned, throwing a stack of clothes into her closet in frustration, before squatting down again to fold them neatly. She felt her phone vibrating in the pocket of her jeans and sighed when she saw the name of the person who messaged her blinking in front of her. She opened it and thought about her answer for several minutes before she decided to ignore it for the moment and maybe get back to it later, unsure about her wanting to meet the sender or not.

She furrowed her eyes as she looked at the clock hanging at one of her walls, showing that it was way later than she expected and her mother still hadn't called for dinner yet. She put the last of her belongings in the connected bathroom she shared with her brother and checked her phone to make sure she didn't receive a text from him telling her dinner is ready. Ava didn't realize how hungry she was until she thought about the dishes her mother was probably busy making and her mouth started to water. She really missed good Korean food. There were quite some Korean restaurants in New York but of course nothing tasted as good as her mother's home cooked meals.

Just as she wanted to open her door and check downstairs she heard her mother shout from the kitchen that dinner was finally ready. She opened her door and could already smell the kimchi and meat her mother apparently made and couldn't wait to finally taste it.

“Coming! I'm getting Mark”, Ava shouted back and wanted to knock on Marks door, telling him to come down but the boy who opened the door wasn't her brother.

“Oh, hey Ava. Haven't seen you in forever. How are you?”, Johnny asked, seemingly surprised but a small smile appeared on his pretty face.

He hasn't changed a tiny bit. He still looked as gorgeous as three years ago when she left and never heard of him again. His hair was still black but a tad longer than before. It framed the contours of his face just perfectly which made it hard for her to look away and think about how she was mad at him for ignoring her for the past years, even though the last thing she remembered with him was actually something very nice. Or that's at least what she thought it was. Apparently he thought differently and had to treat her like air. Not even daring to step a foot in their house when she came home for spring break once.

“Umm, fine. Are you staying for dinner?”, she asked, trying to sound as calm as possible but she couldn't hide a tint of anger in her voice, yet the anger mixed up with other feelings she was way too bad at hiding.

“Yeah, I invited him. He basically lives here anyway.”, she heard Mark say behind Johnny who didn't seem to sense her displeasure over his invitation. Why do they have to be best friends? She asked herself and secretly hoped for Johnny to disappear or something. But of course that wouldnÄt happen.

“Please, the food gets cold, come down.”, she heard her mother saying from the foot of the stairs with her hands stemmed in her hips, still wearing her red-dotted apron.

“Actually, I'm not hungry.”, Ava said taking a step away from Johnny as his simple presence made her legs feel stupidly weak.

Her statement got quite unbelievable when her stomach started to growl from the heavenly scent of her mother's food.

“Doesn't sound like it.”, Mark said and raised his brow looking at his sister questionably.

“I'm really not hungry and I'm meeting a friend. Can we postpone our family dinner to another time?”, she said while purposely emphasising the term family to show her displeasure about the clearly unwanted guest guest.

Before her mother could answer something Ava ran down the stairs, giving her mother another short kiss before running outside, leaving her house behind.

She took a deep breath before letting out some vulgar curses towards the situation and especially the person causing her to still feel all these things.

Ava pulled out her phone and messaged the only person she could think of, who might get her thoughts somewhere else, even if she might regret it in the morning.

masterlist

[ve1vetyoongi]

Mic Drop | myg

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: smut, angst, fluff

au: rapper!yoongi, photographer!oc

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

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

word count: 29k (rip)

rating: definitely explicit

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

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

Introducing Runch Randa!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One, two, three, four...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your lyrics.

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

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

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

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

You snap a picture of your brother smiling victoriously.

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

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

"Does he ever lose?" You murmur

Runch Randa! Runch Randa! Runch Randa!

--

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

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

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

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

Why now? What did he have to prove?

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

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

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

Even you, their own daughter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Gloss?"

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

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

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

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

Namjoon is frozen, breathing heavily.

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

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

A beat of unbearable silence.

"What are you doing here?"

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Namjoon doesn't laugh.

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

"Get off me!"

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No turning back now...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gloss! Gloss! Gloss!

Something about it feels dirty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is that Runch Randa?

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

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

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

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

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

Gloss might take the trophy once and for all.

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

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

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

"Y/N? Where are you going?"

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I assume Namjoon sent you here, then?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He's my brother."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh no."

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

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

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

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

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

"Just trust me, Y/N."

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

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

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

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

With a deep breath, you do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His fingers are still wrapped around your arm, an electricity buzzing through your veins when you feel him lean in closer, pulling you towards him just barely.

His lips. Chapped and so close to yours. God. You think you want to kiss them. Just to know how it feels. You've never seen them up this close before. Not close enough to feel his hot breaths puffing against your forehead. Not close enough that if you just lifted your chin a little bit...

Yoongi lets out an embarrassed cough, jolting you out of your thoughts. "That was a close one, huh?" The spot where his hand resided feels cold when he rips it away.

Yoongi's face is wiped of any emotion again. He's not completely slick though as when he finally speaks again he sounds husky, the betrayal in his voice surprising even him.

"Are you okay?"

What were you supposed to say to that? I almost got caught with my brother's enemy and then thought about kissing said enemy. No, I don't think I am okay.

"Fine. Thanks."

Yoongi offers you a hand, getting to his feet and pulling you up after him before he leans across your body to flick on the lights.

The yellowish stream burns your eyes but allows you to take in the room around you. There's a keyboard in the corner, piles of sheet music strewn across the wooden desk beside it. A pair of speakers hooked up to a worn looking sound machine. A mic and a pair of headphones slung over the back of the mismatch wheely chair tucked beneath a desk.

A studio.

He must notice the way you look around with wide eyes, redness creeping up his neck as he busies himself by kicking some of the clutter on the floor behind the desk. "Wasn't expecting guests."

It definitely wasn't the high tech producing set up you were provided with back at Big Hit, no hifi system or fancy computer programmes. The furniture was mismatch, like someone had collected a bunch of spare puzzle pieces and shook them up in the box until they made a picture.

Somehow of the pieces still manage to seem somehow inherently Yoongi; the basketball tee with GLOSS on the back draped over his chair, even the empty water bottles overflowing in the trash can. The tiny framed picture of a younger looking Yoongi next to a woman you think you recognise but can't quite put your finger on.

"Genius lab?" You snort, nodding towards the sign hanging haphazardly above the monitor.

Yoongi shrugs. "What can I say? It's true."

"Confident." You muse.

You share a smile. It's strange. Familiar. The way his eyes crinkle and even the husk of the chuckle that follows reminding you of when things were good, back when you considered Yoongi to be a sort of friend. Before things got fucked up.

"You'll take it back when I win."

Old habits might not die hard but the rational part of your brain registers the implication of his words, even beneath his playful facade. The studio suddenly feels cold. Nostalgia dissipates. You remember why you're here.

"Why didn't you just let them find me?"

"You know as well as I do that Namjoon risks getting disqualified if Jimin causes a scene and gets himself caught snooping around here."

You huff an exasperated breath. For all Yoongi's talk of  having the upper hand he sure did seem reluctant to use it. "Isn't that what you want? What's stopping you? Want to drag it out or something?"

Yoongi lets out a breathy laugh, crossing the room and ducking into a drawer in the far corner. He returns with two glasses and a murky bottle of something strong, already a quarter empty as he pours some out. He offers the second glass towards you but you wave it away.

"Suit yourself." He takes a swig of the dark liquid, squeezes his eyes shut. "Because I want to win fair and square."

You shake your head. "All of this. Just for a stupid trophy?"

He eyes you over the rim of his glass, swirling the liquid with an overconfidence that makes you grit your teeth in annoyance. "So Namjoon knows how it feels to lose something he loves." He looks you up and down then, coughing and turning his head when you notice it. "Yeah. I guess it's for the trophy."

Yoongi is despicable, you think. Is he really so fame hungry that he will destroy anyone standing in his way to get it? Even Namjoon? Sure, your brother has his faults but if there is one thing you know it's that he loves being on that stage. What happened between them that makes Yoongi think he deserves it more?

"So its a revenge thing, then. And what if you lose, huh?" The way your voice raises makes you wince. Yoongi slams his glass down and flashes you an are you serious face.

"Y/N don't you see? I have nothing to lose. Namjoon already took everything. My life, my family, my fame. Everything. You know how it feels to have it all dangled in front of your face? And then get it ripped away like it was never yours to begin with?"

Yes. You'd never tell him that, of course. But you did know. You had to watch Namjoon perform your songs every night through a camera lens. Snapping shots of him in his element and wishing those picture perfect moments were yours. What did Yoongi know?

"I see him on the big screen, on stages I dreamed of. Crowds screaming his name. It was supposed to be me, Y/N. Meanwhile I'm sat here," Yoongi gestures to the shabby studio you find yourself in, liquid sloshing over the edge of his glass. "In clothes I printed myself, making music in a shitty club for free because nobody will even listen to my shit."

He's panting by the end of his spiel, knuckles pressed to his eyes as he tries to regain his composure before he lets too many of his weaknesses show. Something resonates inside you, softening the anger towards him with what you recognize as sympathy.

"Then why do you still do it? Make music?"

"Because it's the only thing that never left me alone."

You sigh. While you're collecting your thoughts something catches your eye — a Polaroid picture, tacked onto the plasterboard behind his computer. It's of a smiling Yoongi and much to your surprise, a smiling Namjoon, arms wrapped around each other like nothing could ever break them apart. You briefly wonder why he kept it, if he hated Namjoon so much.

You turn to him again.

"Don't make me regret saying this but you're good, Yoongi. Like really good. Your performance earlier it was...amazing. I mean that."

Yoongi's stern eyes soften with surprise. He almost seems pained, like the simple compliment means more to him than you expected.

"So, you don't have to do this. Big Hit has connections, I could get in touch with a couple record labels--"

He stiffens again. "What? Are you my manager now? As if any record label would take a chance on the biggest Mic Drop loser in history, Y/N, don't talk shit."

You trail off. It's true and you know it.

He swallows hard. "You know what I think? I think you're here because you know that I might actually win this thing. As much as Namjoon knows how to play dirty he doesn't have the talent. He never did! That's why he's using you to write his material." His laugh makes you shiver. "How can he even call himself an artist? It's pathetic."

That's all it takes for your patience to snap. Is the way your blood boils with a sudden and insatiable rage because of the way he bad mouthed your brother? Surely you didn't actually believe him? No, everything he said was a lie -- it had to be.

Your hand curls into a fist, anger spilling over as you charge at him full force. Yoongi barley flinches, his fingers deftly curling around your wrist before it can meet his jaw and pulling you into him at the waist so he can slot his bottom lip between yours.

"Fuck yo— hmf?"

Your eyes widen as you register his slightly chapped lips moving against your own, remnants of the amber liquid he poured down his throat earlier sour on your tongue, a surprised gasp leaving you when Yoongi flips your bodies and slams your back roughly against the wall, settling himself between your legs.

"Gonna finish what Namjoon started, sweetheart?" When he pulls back you're panting, eyes trained to his parted lips with wonder.

He kissed you. Yoongi kissed you. For real.

His warm breath still mingles with yours as you try to choke a response, anything. Yoongi's eyes have a dark glint to them and god you should hate him for winding you up like this but being this close to him just feels too good.

Then, before you can think better of it, you grab his collar with your free hand and smash your lips together in a tangle of teeth and tongue that makes your entire body burn with relief.

The groan he lets out against your mouth tells you he wants this too. "Fuck, couldn't help myself." He pants. "You're driving me crazy."

You feel a dampness throb between your legs when his hands tangle in your hair, lips never leaving yours as he pulls you across the room and drops into his chair.

A whimper is pulled from your lips when his palms cup the flesh of your ass beneath your dress, though it's not in protest, dizzy with desire when he pulls you into his lap and bucks his hips so that his half hard cock brushes against your clothed heat.

"See what you do to me?" He pulls back to smirk at your swollen lips, a much needed breath entering your lungs, filling you with another bout of restless desire as Yoongi's eyes scan your face hungrily. It feels too good even though it should be so wrong.

"W-we shouldn't." Your mouth is dry, words coming out a little unsure which gives away just how much you want to keep going. "What if--"

A particularly harsh thrust of his hips makes you moan softly, head falling into the crook of Yoongi's neck. He growls when he catches sight of the growing wet patch on the front of his jeans, testament of his effect on you as much as you hated to admit it.

"What if Namjoon finds out?" His hand shoots between your legs, pads of his fingers tracing your clothed core, the coarse lace of your panties adding a delicious layer of friction against your folds. The delicate touch sets your body alight, skin burning to let go and submit to the feeling despite the voice in the back of your mind screaming no!

"What if Namjoon finds out that I make you this wet?" Your panties are sticking to your heat by now so it would have been futile to deny it. He smiles smugly when your legs shake and you throw an arm around his neck to keep your balance.

"S-shut up." It's meek and it only makes him laugh darkly, the husky sound sending shivers down your spine as he leans in closer to nibble on the lobe of your ear.

If you didn't know any better you would think he was unaffected by this. Your chest heaves with desire and your hands itch with a yearning to touch him but Yoongi appears the epitome of composure, maintaining sinful eye contact as he pulls your panties to the side. The only give away is the way his cock twitches against your leg with each jerk of his hips, a funny sense of pride erupting in your chest knowing that he wants you too.

Open mouthed kisses drag down your jaw, lingering at your neck. His teeth nibble at the sensitive skin, tongue laving out to soothe the sting and it feels too good to worry about the bruises his sinful lips leave behind as a reminder of your weakness Namjoon could never know of.

"Look so pretty marked up, sweetheart." The pet name makes your clit throb, head throwing back as his mouth attacks the sensitive spot on your neck like he knew it was there all along. It's almost concerning how quickly he has you falling apart in his lap. How easily he turned you into a shuddering mess, barely able to form coherent sentences in between breathy gasps at the sensation of him making you his for all to see. "Show everyone that you're mine, hm?"

When Yoongi removes his hand from your core you slap a hand over your mouth to stop a whine of protest from escaping. Yoongi's eyes narrow, palming his bulge through his trousers as he watches you writhe in his lap with amusement, every twist of your hips falling short and providing no relief for your pulsing clit, already missing the feeling of his hand cupping your mound and considering how it would feel skin on skin—

Oh god. What am I doing?

You let out a groan, but not the good kind.

"What?" Yoongi seems to read your mind, snapping you back to reality when he pulls your panties to the side. He circles your entrance teasingly and you can't help the way you whimper. "Don't act like you don't want to sink down on my cock, Y/N. You could ride me right here and nobody would ever know."

"H-how can I trust you?" It would ruin Namjoon if he found out. He was already stressed, already growing distant from you. This had to stop before it went too far. Before there was no going back.

"Because I can make you feel like this." A lithe finger slides into your heat, easy because of how you drip over his hand. "Think about how much better my cock would stretch you out, hm?"

Each drag of his finger against your velvety walls has you squeezing your eyes shut. The sensation is overwhelming, and when he adds a second digit  you feel your repose crumble. Lust seems to crash over you like a wave, clouding your thought with a hazy desire to just give in and let Yoongi take you, uncaring about the repercussions now as you push down to meet his thrusts so he hits deeper than before.

"Fine." Your words are slurred, too busy chasing the feeling between your legs to see the way it makes Yoongi's eyes light up. "J-just hurry up and fuck me Yoongi."

"Well well," Yoongi settles back against the wall, looking between your bodies to watch the way his fingers disappear into your soaking cunt with an expression almost primal, his own breathing ragged now as he tries to resist turning you over and fucking you into tomorrow then and there. "Never thought I'd actually get to hear my name on your lips like this. Say it again."

A sharp flick of his wrist has you falling against his chest, pulsing around him. "Yoongi!"

"That's right," He licks his lips, free hand unzipping his jeans to relieve the pressure on his length. "Me. Yoongi." The way he mimicks your breathless tone makes a hot blush rise in your cheeks, aware of just how fucked out you must seem right now but too horny to care. "Been waiting for this. Ah shit!"

You take it upon yourself to hurry along the process by reaching into the waistband of his boxers to wrap a hand around the shaft of his cock. It pulses at your touch, the pace of Yoongi's fingers in your cunt stuttering as he flies forward, knuckles on the hand gripping your thigh turning white as he tries to regain some control while you stroke him firmly.

"Fuck your hands. Sinful. Knew they would be. God you're going to kill me if you keep this up, I swear." The worlds tumble from his mouth in one heaving breath as you twist your palm around his sticky head, enjoying the way his thighs twitch with a want to buck into your fist and his nose flares with the effort it takes to resist.

His cock feels girthy in your palm, hot and heavy as you help him shimmy his jeans around his thighs. When his cock slaps back against his stomach, impossibly hard and leaking with anticipation you feel your mouth water.

"Like what you see?" He almost taunts.

You bite your lip. "I don't think you're gonna fit."

It must have brushed his ego because the tip seemed to flush an even deeper shade of red. "Wanna sit on it and find out?"

A nod is all it takes for Yoongi to slide your panties to the side, slapping your hands away to grip the base of his cock and line it up with your entrance.

You both groan in unison when he pushes into your heat, the stretch burning with every inch, fingers clutching the fabric of his tank top at the sensation of finally being full.

"Fuuuck." You see his tongue snake out to wet his bottom lip when his hips finally join flush to yours, hair sticking to his already damp forehead as he allowed you to adjust. "So fucking tight for me, princess."

His cock throbs impossibly deep inside you when you unconsciously clench around it, feeling your face flush as you whimper for him to get on with it and fuck you already.

"Shh, patience." His thumb pulls at your bottom lip, setting it free with a pop. "Move."

At his command you do, bracing yourself on his shoulders. You raise up, feeling every ridge of his length until just the tip remains inside your heat. Then you are slamming back down and flushing at the groan which tumbles from his chest.

"Such a slut, taking my cock so well." His palms feel hot on your hips, dragging you up and down through the motion that has you panting.

Yoongi looks utterly amazed at the visual of you sinking down onto his length, unable to stop the satisfied grin settling into his features when you cry out after a particularly deep thrust. "Imagine if Namjoon could see you now. Falling apart on my cock?"

"Can we — hnng — not talk about my brother when you're in my fucking guts?"

"Why?" A whine leaves you when he slips out of your cunt, grabs you by the ass, and hoists you to your feet, roughly bending you over the desk until your cheek presses against the cold surface. Yoongi tugs your hands behind your back, cock already sinking back into your heat before you can protest at the emptiness. "Worried he'll think you're a slut for taking my cock when I'm the one whose going to fucking end him?"

"Yes!" You cry, unable to hold back now as you feel his cock hit deeper than before with every ram inside you that fills the room with the slapping sound of his pistoning hips, brushing your sweet spot each time and making the coil in your stomach tighten.

God, this is so wrong and you know it. You know it shouldn't feel so good when Yoongi's hands tangle in your hair, pulling you so that your back arches flush against his sweaty chest. Know how many people would be hurt if they knew how much you love it, how you push back into his thrusts, eager for more.

"Shit, you're squeezing so tight." His voice sounds strained now, thrusts turning sloppy as you feel him shudder. "Close, shit. Where can I—"

"Inside me. Want you to f-fill me."

"Holy sh— always wanted to hear you say that. Okay, fuck."

A few more pumps of his cock and he's spilling inside you, the feeling of his release coating your walls enough to have you falling over the edge unexpectedly too, vision turning black as you cum with a cry.

The only sound that fills the silence is your heavy breaths mingling with his as your arms give out. You're silently grateful, as much as you hated to admit it, for the strong arm around your torso that holds you to him when your legs turn to jelly.

Yoongi slips out of you, admiring the way his cum leaks down your trembling thighs. The emptiness makes you keen, clenching around nothing.

"Made such a mess of you, kitten."

The sound of his zipper makes your heart sink, stiffening as he tucks his spent cock back into his pants. For a second you think he's going to leave you like this, shame caressing your cheeks as you envision how fucked out you must look.

But then, Yoongi's palms are back on your thighs as he kicks the chair from under his desk and pushes you roughly onto the cushion. "Think you can go again for me, princess?"

"Wha--?" His swollen lips make you loose your words, the way his tongue tantalizingly caresses your bottom lip drawing a choked whine from your throat instead.

"Fuck, always thought you'd make such pretty noises." It's mumbled gruffly under his breath, like he's confirming it with himself rather than addressing you. He pulls back to stare at you spread out for him, lidded eyes widening at the visual of your skirt pooled around your waist, legs kept open by the rough grip around your thigh that exposes your swollen slit. The way your arousal drips down your inner thighs along with his own release has him swallowing thickly. "Like being filled with my cum, huh? Such a slut."

Yoongi traces his fingers up your inner thighs, thumb applying a gentle pressure to your clit, legs struggling to fall shut around his hand to escape the over stimulation. "P-please Yoongi, I can't."

"You will." It's growled against your neck, hot breath making you shudder. "I know you can take it."

A knee slips between your thighs, holding them open so his fingers can deftly continue their brutal attack on your sensitive folds. Each drag of his knuckle up your slit makes you whimper, the way the pads of his fingers rub firm circles into your clit making it pulse. The feeling is more intense than before, borderline agonizing as a warmth builds in the pit of your stomach again.

Eventually the pain starts to dissipate, turns into something closer to pleasure when you feel a single digit slip into your heat, the slide made easy by the fact that his cock had already stretched you out and his release lubed you up nicely. Each pump makes a lewd squelching noise that has you biting your lip to stop from groaning unabashedly, Yoongi's gaze fixed to the sight of his knuckles disappearing inside you.

When you buck up into his touch again, desperately circling your hips to try and grind your clit against the heel of his hand, Yoongi lets out a dark chuckle. The muscles in your cunt tighten, skin damp with sweat as you fuck yourself on his hand in search of a second high that burns ever closer.

"Look at you, all needy again from just one finger. All fucked out again even after I stretched you out."

With that Yoongi removes his hand from your heat all together, leaving you gasping and clenching around nothing as your release falls farther away, unable to resist the groan of frustration that passes your lips.

"Don't stop!" Your head lolls back against the chair, thighs trembling with desperation to feel his touch again. "I was so close--"

"Suck." Yoongi raises his fingers to your lips. You notice the way they gleam, sticky and white in the studio lighting. The pads of his fingers smear the wetness across your swollen lips as he pushes for entry which you gave to him eagerly, humming around the digits. "Be a good girl, hm?"

He all but groans when your eyes flutter open and lock with his, tongue swirling around his fingers teasingly, enjoying the taste of your own arousal mixed with the saltiness of his cum, almost in sensory overload at the thought of how much better his cock would feel in your throat.

"That's it." A knuckle drags down your cheek possessively, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "Good girl."

A sticky trail of spit follows Yoongi's fingers when they leave your mouth with a lewd pop, your breaths coming out shaky and desperate as you watch his eyes zone in on your aching core.

The sight of him dropping to his knees is enough to have you squeezing your eyes shut in anticipation, whimpering when his hot breath grazes over your throbbing clit. "Wanna taste you for myself."

And with that his tongue runs a rough stripe up your slit, eyes falling shut as he hums against your folds contentedly.

"Fuck Yoongi!" Your eyes roll back as he laps a few teasing licks across your bud, body turning to putty when his hands roughly pull you down the chair so that he can attach his mouth to your mound fully.

A guttural moan rises from his chest when you grind your core against his face, knuckles turning white as you clutch he chair like it's the only thing keeping you grounded, stopping you from floating away and losing yourself to the feeling of Yoongi's tongue teasing your already wrecked hole. An impatience rises in your stomach every time his nose grazes your clit, pushing your hips more forcefully to chase the relief it brings.

"So eager." You knew he'd have a smirk on his face if his lips weren't already occupied, wrapping around your clit and sucking with just the right amount of pressure to have your fingers tangling in the blue locks that spill loose from his bandanna now, holding him to your core so that you can rock against his tongue easier.

"Close sweetheart?" The way your chest heaves and little gasps spill past your lips as you chase your high must give away the effect he is having on you. You nod breathlessly and to your surprise Yoongi places a chaste kiss to your folds before pulling back all together, leaving you writhing and desperate for him to make cum for the second time. "Did I give you permission?"

Your heart beats furiously as your release slips away once again. Yoongi only stares at you intently. His lips glisten with a mixture of both of your releases and the thought alone makes your core ache. A loose shake of your head makes his eyes darken, licking some of the dampness from around his lips. "Gotta use your words, baby. Did I say you could cum?"

Dizzy with arousal, your words sound slurred and alien to your own ears. "N-no."

"Good. Now ask nicely."

"Please." It comes out whinier than you anticipate but Yoongi's hands twitch against the flesh of your thighs, giving away the fact that he likes it despite the way his mouth presses into a tight and unforgiving line. "Can I cum? Please?"

A deep laugh leaves his bitten lips. "I don't think you deserve it." His head dips back down between your legs, sloppy kisses pressed to each of your thighs as he edges ever closer to your dripping core. "I want you to count, okay?"

"O-oh, okay." He attacks your clit again, tongue swirling where his teeth graze across the pulsing bud. You're so sensitive that you're sure just the light brushes of his lips will send you over the edge if he keeps going.

"G-gonna cum if you--"

"Don't." The authority in his voice makes you gasp. "Didn't I say to count? One."

"Fuck!" Hot tears streak your cheeks when he pulls back so just his hot breath ghosts across your glistening folds. "I..I was so close!"

"Hey, hey." His hand reaches up to stroke your cheek, a strangely gentle action in comparison to the bruising grip on your thigh. "You're doing so good. Trust me, okay? Wanna make you feel good."

For the second time that night you nod, putting all your trust into him for reasons you are too fucked out to dwell on there and then.

When his tongue snakes out to tease your clenching hole again it draws an agonizing cry from you, the coil already tightening in your belly. You shut your eyes.

"Don't" The hand on your chin tightens, forces you to look down at where his face is buried between your legs, authority lacing his words again. "Keep your eyes on me."

As soon as you lock eyes he gets to work again, humming out a "good girl" before you're losing yourself again to his tongue and he has to plant your feet down roughly to stop your hips from bucking too much.

Before you know it your clit's throbbing again and you're about to fall over the edge but before you can even let Yoongi know he's pulling back with a pant, practically gasping for air but still flashing you a shit eating grin. "Didn't think I was going to let you, did you sweetheart?"

"Two." You manage to breathe. "Two!"

By now you're sick of the teasing, a hand coming between your own legs to finish yourself off, ready to come undone whether Yoongi likes it or not. Before you can get your way, Yoongi's swatting your hand away. "Desperate slut. Wanna cum that bad huh?"

"Please!" You practically whimper.

That seems to do it for him, his eyes glazing over with what you recognise as lust. As if the last of his self control just snapped. Anticipation makes your blood run hot.

"Then make it to three and we'll see if I'm feeling nice."

"Shit!" Yoongi's tongue plunges into your heat with a new found eagerness, thrusting in and out like a man deprived. You manage to maintain eye contact this time, falling apart at the way he groans in appreciation when he tastes himself, fucking your hole with his tongue mercilessly like he wants to get every last drop of his cum.

His thumb finds your clit and the coil in your lower belly tightens too rapidly for you to comprehend, tugging on his hair as you cry out. "Yoongi!"

"Cum for me."

His permission is all it takes to have you falling over the edge into a shattering orgasm that makes your vision turn black, mind wiped of any hesitation and guilt and replaced with a single word, over and over again: Yoongi.

When you finally take a gasping breath, he's there, rubbing encouraging circles into your hips and leaving kisses across your stomach that makes something in your chest warm, heart beating a little faster and not just from your orgasm.

"So fuckin' pretty when you cum." You're sure that's what he murmurs against your damp skin. "Can't believe I had to wait this long."

You furrow your brow. Yoongi sits back against his heels, wiping your arousal from his mouth with the back of his hand and flashing you a lazy but satisfied smile, looking awfully pleased with himself. Like this was his biggest dream come true.

It dawned on you that it probably was in someways -- what better way to get back at an old friend than by fucking his sister?

You suddenly feel like an idiot for letting him charm you, guilt washing through you, flying forward when your chest aches with regret.

Yoongi notices how you pale. "Are you okay? If that was too much then I'm really sorry--"

"Too much?" You suddenly feel exposed beneath his gaze, shuffling around to pull your skirt around your thighs, eyes roaming the room hurriedly for your panties so you can get out of here and quick. "This is all too much, Yoongi."

"What?" He puts a hand on your shoulder to stop you as you brush past him but the way you jolt at the touch makes him rip it away like he touched a live wire.

"I...shouldn't have come here. This was a mistake."

Namjoon's face was embedded in your mind. The way his eyes would crumple with betrayal if he found out you came here at all -- let alone let Yoongi take you so intimately. And you hadn't even tried to stop yourself from falling into him, gave in to your emotions too easily and allowed Yoongi to use you as a swipe at your own brother.

"Why? Didn't seem so upset when you were coming on my tongue." The scoff in Yoongi's voice makes you freeze.

"I can't stop you from hurting Namjoon," Your lip quivers and you have to press your nails into your palms to stop the tears spilling over. "But do you really have to hurt me, too?"

"Y/N, wait--"

Your hands shake as you grab your bag and head for the door. "Shit happened between you and my brother, I get it. But we were friends once, Yoongi. Doesn't that mean anything to you? We can't see each other again."

Your tears are warm in contrast to the cold evening air as you take off into a run, needing to get as far away from Yoongi and the evidence of your own betrayal as possible.

By the time you stumble back into the Big Hit company building, the studio is empty. To your surprise, words seem to flow out of you easier than they ever had before, a heart shaped stain appearing on the formerly empty page of your notebook.

--

Sleepless nights were becoming your norm. You had barely slept a wink since that night, not when every thought was plagued with guilt, the same name running circles around your mind, the same dark eyes and swollen lips and messy hair tauntingly appearing in your mind whenever your head hit the pillow.

Yoongi.

That night with Yoongi felt something like a dream, a hazy memory, the only evidence of it being real the fact that every time you closed your eyes you could feel the way Yoongi's hands burned your skin, how his lips moved perfectly in sync with your own.

As much as you knew it was a mistake, something that should have never happened, you couldn't help the way your heart throbbed every time you replayed it over and over in your mind, repeatedly, until you felt like you were going insane with guilt. It was eating you alive. But sometimes you would remember the way you felt when he was pressed up against you and every ounce of regret felt worth it.

You hated yourself for it, and you knew your brother would hate you to, if he ever found out.

He could never find out.

So, you take to avoiding Namjoon altogether. It wasn't that hard really, you knew his schedule well enough to be a step ahead of him at all times, and it wasn't as if he was enthusiastic about your company to begin with.

Of course sometimes your paths have to cross, but you still can't look Namjoon in the eyes when you slip into one of the Big Hit practice rooms where you know you'll inevitably find him.

The music hits before you even open the door. Namjoon is dressed in casual clothes, cap pulled down low over his face as he raps into a mic, the way his voice husks a tell tale sign that this was not the first time he'd gone over the same verse.

He seems stiffer than usual, all elbows and knees as he scrutinises his own form in the wall to floor mirror. You've seen him perform this choreography flawlessly hundreds of times so your brow furrows with confusion each time his feet miss a beat or his knees literally buckle under the pressure.

On the far side of the room sits a row of men and women in formal suits. Investors, brought in to bet on the contestant most likely to win. They watch Namjoon with intent eyes, some shaking their heads in disapproval, others whispering insults below their breaths.

Is that really Runch Randa? Pfft, he'll never win with footwork like that.

Jimin stands close by, hopping from one foot to the other and wincing with every mistake Namjoon makes. He's been making desperate phone calls for the last week, pleading with any investor he could get ahold of to take a chance on Namjoon which was hard to come by after the royal media fuck up the other day at the after party.

This was Namjoon's only chance at a do over — he needed their money if he wanted to win this thing. The judges were expecting a show from him. Smoke machines and good lighting are expensive, after all.

Namjoon, however, only seems interested in the reactions of your parents sat in the back row, expressions grave. He's chastising himself, self loathing evident in his eyes every time he stutters over a lyric. He knows how hard they worked to establish Big Hit and the disappointment in their eyes as it slowly slips through Namjoon's fingers like sand makes even you feel jittery with nerves.

For a brief moment you're grateful that you are practically invisible in this room, no eyes even glancing your way as you join them. You're glad that Namjoon takes the brunt of the pressure. You never were the strong sibling after all.

The music cuts, Namjoon coming to a stand still. He crumples at the knees, forehead pressed against the polished linoleum floor as he tries to catch his breath.

Jimin slumps into a chair, head in hands. That tells you all you need to know.

Investors leave the room, some sending apologetic looks towards Jimin with a shrug. Others deposit their cheque books back into their briefcases, taking pity on the pleading smiles and firm handshakes from your parents when they apologise for Namjoon's lacking performance. One even pats Namjoon on the back, following the small crowd as they leave the room. "Take a break, buddy."

Nearly everyone has filtered out before Namjoon gets to his feet shakily, slumping down into a seat beside you. You don't acknowledge him, afraid of what you might let slip if you do, fiddling with your camera as a distraction.

It's him who breaks the silence.

"How's the song coming along?" He seems disinterested, clicking his knuckles with no real intention of listening to your response.

"Fine." Another lie. It wasn't coming along at all, really, but now is probably not the best time to tell him when his nerves are already heightened by his failure to gain any crucial investments.

His eye is still slightly swollen from the fist fight a few days ago, a permanent line forming at the bridge of his nose that wasn't there before. You almost didn't recognise him. He stares at his own broken reflection in the steamed practice room mirrors vacantly, like he doesn't  even recognise himself.

A few moments of uncomfortable silence pass. Namjoon's heavy breathing slows to a regular pace.

"I know you went to see him."

It echos menacingly through the room and you stiffen, clutching the floor beneath you for support. Namjoon's hard eyes still don't look your way but you see him analysing your reaction in the mirror. The way your mouth gapes speechlessly tells him everything he needs to know.

"Not even gonna try and deny it?" His head shakes in disbelief.

You throb with guilt. "H-how did you find out?"

"I have people everywhere keeping an eye on him, Y/N. You're lucky the paparazzi didn't catch you, because it sure as shit looked shady. My own sister," He scoffs around the word, as if it tastes bad in his mouth. "Siding with him?"

You place a hand on his forearm, surprised to find him shaking beneath your touch. "I'm not siding with him, Namjoon."

"Then what are you doing?" He roars, ripping his arm away.

What was I doing? You don't even know yourself.

It takes everything inside you to keep the expression on your face neutral, to wipe away the regret and the sadness and the fear that makes your voice wobble.

"We just talked." You had to avert your gaze, scared that somehow your disingenuous eyes would give away what really happened with Yoongi — a little more than talking to say the least.

"About what?"

"The secret, okay? I wanted to protect you—"

"Protect me?" Namjoon pinched the bridge of his nose. "How is meddling in business that doesn't even concern you protecting me, Y/N?"

"Have you forgotten that what you're — we're — doing is against Mic Drop rules? That you could be disqualified or...worse! Get your trophy revoked?"

"Pfft. Yoongi won't say anything.."

"What makes you so sure?"

"It's me he wants to hurt. I know him, Y/N. He'd never forgive himself if you—" He eyes you carefully. "If anyone else got dragged into this. It's between me and him, that's it."

Your head is spinning. You remember a time when things weren't this way, back when Yoongi and Namjoon were friends. Partners. What happened between them that made them so hell bent on destroying one another?

"There are things about Yoongi that you will never understand, Y/N. Things he did that can never be forgiven."

It briefly crosses your mind that if Namjoon could cut Yoongi, his best friend, out of his life, just how easy it would be for him to do the same to you if he found out just how unforgivable your betrayal was. A funny feeling pools in your stomach, a distance settling between you and Namjoon as, to your dismay, you realise just how much you have in common with your brother's enemy.

"But what about you, huh? Why should he forgive you? You took everything from him! I'm not surprised he's back to kick your ass. If you ask me it's him who should be holding a grudge—"

Namjoon's hands clamp onto your shoulders and you recoil from the contact. You're breathing hard, the tears welling in your eyes threatening to spill over any second.

"Listen to me. He's trying to get in your head. You need to stay away from him Y/N. He's bad news."

"Tell me why! Help me understand!"

Namjoon's face is grave. "Some secrets are best kept that way. It'll only make it worse if I tell you."

Before you can protest he's striding across the room and hitting the play button on the boom box in the corner, music blasting from the speakers again.

"Joon—"

"Just stick to taking pictures and stop getting involved in business that doesn't concern you."

Then his body is twisting across the room in time to the music with an intensity he didn't possess before. Like a machine on autopilot.

You shove your camera into your bag and let the door slam shut behind you.

--

"We were a mistake."

The cursor flashing on the empty document on your computer screen feels like it's taunting you.

"Please don't tell my brother what we did."

You've been like this for the last week. Holed up in one of the tiny studios at the Big Hit company building, head swimming with beats and melodies and lyrics that just won't seem to fit together. Not when your mind is preoccupied with a more pressing issue.

"Are you thinking about me as much as I'm thinking about you?"

Yoongi.

God, how are you supposed to write this song for Namjoon when all you can think about is his enemy?

You don't know why you're still so hung up on Yoongi. It's not as if what happened between you meant anything. It was just a spur of the moment mistake. You were both tense and needed someone to help blow off some steam. That's it. Nothing more, nothing less.

Right?

You'll never admit that deep down, a part of you wants to see him again. To check that he's real and that you didn't imagine the whole thing. To see if he is going as crazy as you feel.

That's when the answer hits you. The only way to make this right is to end things once and for all. Tie up all your loose ends and tell Yoongi that you and him were a one time thing. Make sure you were on the same page.

Then maybe you'll be able to concentrate on helping Namjoon beat his ass.

A sudden confidence grips you, standing up abruptly from your desk, alerting the attention of Hoseok who up until now has been quietly engrossed in the track he's producing.

"Where are you going?" He asks.

There's an address burning at the forefront of your mind. You have the route committed to memory. How long it'll take to get there. How long it'll take to get back before anyone else at Big Hit notices your absence.

The only place you knew where you might find Yoongi.

"I won't be gone long. Cover for me if anyone sees I'm gone, 'kay?"

Hoseok eyes you curiously and pulls his headphones to sit around his neck. "O-okay but don't you think you should take an umbrella? It's raining and you might catch a cold — oh."

You don't hear him, the door already slamming behind you.

--

In hindsight, Hoseok was probably right. You're soaked before you even get half way to Yoongi's studio.

Not that you care. Not when there are so many things you want to say to Yoongi. So many questions only he knows the answer to.

Not when you're about to see him again and you're giddy and nervous and scared of the way your heart feels like it's about to bust out of your chest.

You don't really know why you're doing this. For Namjoon's sake? To ease your own guilty conscience? Both?

You shake your head before your confidence can deflate and focus on putting two feet in front of the other instead, trying to take your mind of your destination by focusing on your surroundings. You always liked this part of town, with it's bustling roads and street vendors and buskers. Here it's easy to forget, to just close your eyes and let the buzz of cars and the melody from a nearby street guitarist and the torrent of ice cold rain whisk you away, like life is operating at double the speed but you're too caught up in your own thoughts to care.

So caught up in your own thoughts that you don't spot the guy handing out flyers on the side of the street until your face is colliding with his shoulder.

"Shit, I'm so sorry!"

The guy lets out a groan as you helplessly watch his flyers flutter to the ground like autumn leaves, disintegrating on the rain dampened street.

"Does nobody look where they're going any more? My boss is going to kill me..."

The guy gets to his knees and starts grabbing as many flyers as he can by the handful.

"I'm so sorry, at least let me help?"

You hear him sigh deeply but he doesn't stop you when you drop down beside him.

You stamp on a flyer before it can be whisked away by the breeze. It's ruined. The rain makes the ink bleed into a black blotch in the center of the sodden paper, but if you squint you can just make out the barely legible print.

Live Classical Piano - 7:30 - 9:30 Every Wednesday At The Coffee House!

A throat clears, shaking you back to reality, and a nimble hand thrusts towards you, palm up, waiting for you to deposit the pile of flyers you collected.

"Just gonna stand there all day, sweetheart? Some of us have a job to do."

Shame heats your cheeks. "I wasn't looking where I was going, I'll pay for these —"

Its then, as you let your hood fall down, that the boy stiffens. You look up slowly, meeting a widened pair of piercing grey eyes for the first time. The very same eyes you haven't been able to get out of your head all week.

"Wait...Yoongi?"

It's him. He's here? A coincidence surely but it sure as shit doesn't feel like one.

Just seeing him knocks the breath out of your lungs.

Yoongi blinks a few times, eyes wide with disbelief. Then he's ripping the flyers from your slackened grip and grabbing you by the wrist, dragging you behind him to the side of the street where you're just out of view from passerby's.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" He deadpans.

You take in the way his mint hair clings damply to his forehead, shirt darker in places where droplets of rain soak into the fabric. He's wearing one of those traditional pianist outfits with the funny tuxedo jacket and a little black bow tie strung around his neck that looks like it came from a bad Beethoven Halloween costume. It catches you off guard. No wonder you didn't recognise him before. Not exactly hip hop.

"What are you doing here?"

Yoongi glances over his shoulder warily. "Look, you can't tell anyone you saw me here okay? Did Namjoon send you?"

"What? No--?"

"Just leave, Y/N. Before someone sees you here and tells your precious brother that you've been hanging around with scum like me." He spits, drops your arm and starts in the direction he came from.

"Yoongi, wait!" You blurt, throwing your hands up in frustration. He freezes."Can we...can we just talk?"

Yoongi nearly does a double take. He's usually full of jibes but this catches him off guard. "Talk?"

He backtracks, though you notice the way he keeps a safe distance between you. It feels silly considering how much...closer you were just a few days ago. You wonder, as his eyes look you up and down, if he's thinking about it too. If you crossed his mind as much as he crossed yours.

"Listen, I don't have time for this, I need to go get some more of these flyers..."

Your heart drops, embarrassed for even entertaining the idea that he would want to see you again.

"Please?"

He hesitates. You're sure he's going to blow you off again but then his eyes fill with something scarily close to concern. "Shit, you're shivering."

Your hair hangs in heavy tendrils around your face, droplets of cold rain caressing your cheeks. Your knees knock, arms wrapped around the damp hoodie clinging to your torso to retain some warmth.

Yoongi shrugs off his jacket, despite the way his own teeth chatter. "You're going to catch your death dressed like that."

You stand there dumbly as he holds it out to you. He kicks a stone with the toe of his sneaker awkwardly when you finally wrap it around your shoulders.

"I thought you didn't want to see me again." It's almost accusing but you're sure you hear a trace of a pout in his voice.

"I...I didn't want to." Yoongi looks up. "But I think we should talk about you know...us."

Yoongi bites his lip, like he's having an inner debate. Like he's about to do something he knows he shouldn't.

"Fine. Let's talk. I, uh, guess I have some things I need to say to you too." He scratches the back of his neck. "But not here. Could I—would it be weird if we got coffee or something?"

Definitely weird. That's what you should say. But you don't.

"Okay."

You don't miss the way Yoongi's cheeks turn a little red.

--

The coffee shop Yoongi takes you to is a quaint little place, definitely not the sort of establishment you expected rough-around-the-edges Min Yoongi to frequent with its exposed brick walls and mint green espresso mugs with smiley faces on the side that give it a somewhat cosy appeal.

"I work here," He explains when he sees your eyes roaming. "Needed some extra cash."

You nod. Makes sense. The smell of pumpkin bread and coffee beans is still a welcome relief from the bitter chill outside.

The guy at the counter nods in greeting when Yoongi approaches, already grinding up coffee like he knows his regular order. Yoongi flashes him a tight smile. You figure they know each other, not that Yoongi seems the type to mingle within barista social circles but then again he is full of surprises today.

They share a few hushed whispers, staring not so subtly in the direction of where you sit hunched in one of the corner booths, but you just ignore it by watching a rain drop crawl down the window with rapt attention.

Words barely pass between you and Yoongi until you're both seated, him with a coffee you learn he takes black and you with a much too sugary frappe which you take to stirring with your straw nervously, chin in palm.

It's Yoongi who finally breaks the silence.

"What are you thinking?" He looks at you expectantly over the rim of his mug. For some reason it makes you nervous.

Guilt niggles at your repose. The cafe is alive with indistinguishable chatter, a coffee machine whirring loudly nearby. In reality, you merely blend in to the hubbub. But as you watch Yoongi fiddle with the rings on his fingers in anticipation of your response it's like a hush has fallen and all eyes are on you. Judging, like they know how wrong it is for you to be here.

He's been the only thing on your mind all week but now you're here in front of him it's like your mind is blank.

"Did you tell anyone?"

Yoongi blinks. "Namjoon's secret? I said I wasn't going to say anything—"

"No. Our secret. Us..." It feels foreign, referring to Yoongi and yourself as a unit. You hate to admit it makes your heart beat a little faster. "Namjoon knows."

Yoongi's coffee cup clatters to the table and words rise like bile in your throat, everything you've been bottling up inside tumbling out before you can stop it.

"Namjoon knows! He found out about us somehow and now everything has gone to shit and...I shouldn't even be telling you this! God I'm an idiot! I just don't know what to do—"

Your wailing is interrupted suddenly by a warm hand covering your own. Yoongi's hand. The touch is gentle, comforting, something about the squeeze of reassurance it provides calming your hyperventilating. It feels right.

Why does it feel right?

Yoongi must misinterpret the puzzled look you flash him as a warning he's crossing a boundary because he retracts his arm jerkily, a flush creeping up his neck.

He glosses over the weird moment hastily.

"Slow down, go back. He knows?" There's a lilt of surprise to his voice. Either he's a really good actor or he is just as panicked as you by this news. "And you think I told him?"

"Well, not exactly. He knows some of it — not everything! — he thinks that I just spoke to you after the show...I assumed you would have filled in the blanks by now."

Yoongi laughs breathily. Relieved. It flummoxes you. Shouldn't he be satisfied that his plan to get under Namjoon's skin was a success?

"Y/N, there were hundreds of people at the gig, anyone could have seen us. Jimin and Hoseok probably told him. You act like I tried to seduce you just to get revenge, or something." He gulps back the last of his coffee and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before his expression suddenly turns serious. "You don't think that right?"

"Isn't that exactly what you did?"

Say no.

Yoongi opens his mouth and then shuts it again. He doesn't deny it.

Something in your chest twists with disappointment. It scares you shitless and you know you have to end this — whatever this is — before there's no turning back.

"Look, it — we — were a stupid mistake okay? I need to know that you're not going to use this against him. It would kill him."

"Mistake?" Yoongi's face drops. "Didn't I say you could trust me?"

It sounds somewhat pained, like he wasn't expecting you to think so lowly of him. His eyes soften with a certain gentleness now and you almost feel bad for thinking they could ever look at you with sinister intentions.

"Do you regret it? What we did?"

You hesitate. You want to say no so badly. But that's not why you came here.

Pull yourself together!

"Yes."

He raises an eyebrow. "You really believe that?"

"Do you regret it?"

"No." His eyes glint. You can't breathe. "Which is exactly why I'll never say a word. I don't play that way. Fair and square remember?"

You're speechless. All you can get out is a measly oh as you stare at the coffee in your cup and process.

"What did Namjoon say anyway?"

Your fingers find the patterns carved into the surface of the wooden table top, feeling the grooves as a distraction from the embarrassment flushing your cheeks. "He told me not to come back and find you."

A wry smile creeps across his face. "But you did?"

Even Yoongi is accusing you now? God, you played right into his hands. He's probably enjoying this. That you broke Namjoon's trust again, all for him.

The worst part is that you can hardly bring yourself to care. Sitting with Yoongi still feels deliciously indulgent — seeing his face again, feeling the heat of his body where your knees brush under the table finally satisfying a craving that had been growing inside you since that night in his studio.

"He doesn't control me."

He just nods. "I get that." His fingers tap in time with the sickeningly happy radio tune that plays overhead, eager to change the subject, like he's aware that he already said too much. "How is Namjoon anyway? You written him a song yet?"

Not allowed. If any information gets leaked about Namjoon's Mic Drop stage the first person he'd blame was you. You had to keep your lips tightly sealed.

You shrink back into your seat. "You know I can't tell you that."

"Okay, then." Yoongi throws his arms over the back of his chair, a cheekiness in his voice, like he's testing the waters to see how you'll react. "Ask me something instead. I'll tell you whatever you want to know. Shoot."

That's allowed, right? Where's the harm. If it doesn't involve Namjoon then it can't hurt him...

"Okay..." You purse your lips, eyes travelling around the dimly lit coffee shop. "Why do you work...here?"

Yoongi nods to the stack of damp flyers beside him. Live classical piano. "I play piano here sometimes." He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. It's kinda cute. "Needed some spare cash and this was the only place that could take me at such short notice."

"You play piano?"

He nods and you follow his gaze to the grand piano stood unoccupied in the corner. You imagine how Yoongi would look bent over the keys. How his fingers would move across the instrument with concentrated precision. How the tune would mingle with the warmth of the coffee shop on a cold evening.

"I didn't know you like classical music?"

"I don't. Not really." He cocks his head, finding the right words. "Namjoon has investors right? People who just throw money at him?" You nod, somehow ashamed. "Teaching me to play piano was my mom's investment in me. She always said it might come in handy some day."

You nod. "And do you have to wear that stupid costume every time?"

"This?" A snort leaves you when he shoots you a look, a shy smile finding the curve of his lips. "Don't mean to brag but it's a huge hit with the older ladies."

You can't help but laugh when he smugly tugs at the bow tie around his neck, unable to miss how his eyes light up. You share a smile that makes you feel light headed.

"I'd have to see it to believe it."

"Well, you know where to find me if you're ever bored and need a good laugh on a Tuesday, Wednesday or Friday evening." He shifts in his seat. "Or you could just come back to my place, y'know if you wanted to —" You frown, the easiness that had settled between you dissipating as you both sense the inappropriateness of his suggestion. "I know I shouldn't ask, it's just I have a piano and—"

For some reason the rational part of your brain taps out and your heart says fuck it.

"I'd love to."

--

"So, where do you live?" You ask when you finish your drink and nervously copy Yoongi who is already getting to his feet.

"Oh about that...I live in the apartment upstairs actually." He chuckles sheepishly."Cheap rent, you know?"

It takes you by surprise but you don't press.

"Oh. Right."

Yoongi extends a hand towards you. The thud in your chest gets faster when you slide your palm into his and he pulls you behind him to the foot the stairway you had disregarded upon entry, the distressed baby blue door at the top labelled RESIDENTS ONLY seeming strangely inviting.

Yoongi gestures for you to go first and you've barely ascended three steps before a voice rings out behind you, making you freeze like a child caught in a mischievous act.

"Use protection you two! And close the door so that Odengie's innocence isn't compromised this time!"

The barista from before rounds the corner, a tray of empty mugs in his left hand and a cloth for wiping down tables in the other.

You suppress a laugh. "Odengie?"

"His goddamn sugar glider—" He says it more to himself rather than in response to your query, flashing the tousled haired boy an exasperated look. "Really, bro?"

The other man either doesn't notice or doesn't care. "What? He's too young to learn how baby sugar gliders are made." His eyes suddenly flit to you and, as if remembering his manners, he deposits the cloth onto a nearby table and reaches a damp hand through the staircase to shake yours with a friendly smile. "I'm Jin, by the way."

You take it cautiously, wiping your now wet hand on the back of your jeans. "Nice to meet you?"

"Come on," Yoongi is flushed red as he pushes you up the rest of the stairs with a pressure at the small of your back. "We'll be back down in a minute, chill okay?"

Yoongi shoulders his way into the apartment, pulling you across the threshold alongside him, but not before you catch a glimpse of Jin's teasing grin poking around the staircase, words reaching your ears before Yoongi could slam the door shut in time.

"Oh, so it's a quickie? Have fun!"

A laugh escapes your lips, Yoongi pressing his back to the door with a sigh of relief. "Sorry about him. He's my roommate. Kind of came with the apartment, you know?"

You glance around at the small maisonette that unfolds before you curiously. It feels more like a dorm room, a mismatch pile of shoes piled at the entry way, a pair of beanbags substituting a couch surrounding a small gaming set up littered with empty pizza boxes you presume belong to Seokjin.

"Ah. He's part of the furniture then."

The other corner of the room is littered with an assortment of vinyls strewn out beside a pair of speakers and a record player, the needle still hovering over the grooves of an album by an artist you don't recognise. Yoongi's touch to the decor, you suppose.

"Guess you could say that. He's not so bad once you get over the uh...small rodents."

You trail behind Yoongi into what you assume is his bedroom, if the frameless mattress which lay on the floor in the corner beneath the window with sheets unmade and strewn across the floor messily was anything to go by.

He flicks on the set of fairy lights tacked to the wall, a surprisingly homely touch that makes you think Yoongi isn't as cold as you believe him to be.

Yoongi approaches a clothes rack stuffed with a variety of stage outfits. "Here." He pulls an oversized hoodie from one of the hangers, throwing it at you from across the room. "You're clothes are still wet. Wouldn't want to catch a cold. You can wear this until they dry."

"O-Okay." You stand there dumbly. He isn't expecting you to strip right in front of him, is he?

He seems to sense your hesitance, turning around so his back is to you with wide eyes. He plays it off by grabbing a selection of clothing for himself, shuffling past you with eyes trained to the ground. "I'll use the bathroom. Tell me when you're done."

You are soaked through to your underwear but you leave them on since Yoongi probably didn't have a spare pair of panties laying around you could borrow. The fabric of his hoodie is soft and warm when it slips over your otherwise bare skin and you breath in the woody scent that seems to embrace your entire body, ignoring the way it makes your head dizzy, and roll up the large sleeves to free your hands before calling to him that you are done.

When he re-enters the room, pulling a grey beanie over his head haphazardly to match the much more Yoongi appropriate outfit of a simple white tee and sweats, his breath hitches at your bare legs peeking out from the bottom of the garment. His lingering stare makes you hug your torso self consciously, eyes never leaving you even as he grabs the pile of sodden clothing you discarded earlier and lays them neatly over the radiator to dry.

You practically hear the way he swallows awkwardly when his eyes lock with yours, caught in the act. He's quick to lighten the mood.

"Well...here she is."

You turn as he moves across the room to the piano occupying the opposite wall, wood stained dark but bleached slightly in places by the stream of sunlight which washes its surface from the opposite window. The stool beneath it scrapes against the scuffed floor boards when Yoongi makes enough space to seat himself on top of the blue velour cushion.

"I know it's not much — nothing like you're used to I mean, but it makes music just the same."

He must take the way you hang back near the door frame as a sign of your distaste which couldn't have been further from reality; it's simply to allow you to study the way Yoongi sits with his back perfectly straight, fingers lingering over the keys like he knows the piano as well as an old friend. And, though you'll never admit it, the way your heart thumps at the thought of being in Yoongi's most private space.

"Where did you get it?"

"It was my mother's." The breath you suck in is slightly too harsh. "Like I said earlier, she liked to play, before she..."

Died. The word never passes between his lips but it sits heavy in the air like a weight.

Yoongi's eyes avert yours so you don't press any further, instead focusing your attention to the pattern of scratches embedded into the piano's lid, unable to help the way your fingers trace the coffee cup rings littering the surface like rugged halos. "It's beautiful."

The side panel is littered with lines, carved deeply into the wood with a penknife; a makeshift height chart like the one you had on the back of your bedroom door as a kid. Your drop to your knees to squint at the nearly illegible words scrawled next to the markings that ascend almsot to the top of the instrument.

Yoongi aged 3...Yoongi aged 4...Yoongi aged 5...

All the way until Yoongi aged 7 where they stop completely.

You frown but he lets out a soft laugh, somewhat pained. "That's when she got sick. I grew up quickly after that."

Straightening up, you swallow thickly, unsure what to say, so you just settle for changing the subject instead.

"So, what can you play?"

Yoongi fiddles with the open sheet music book on the piano stand. His fingers tremble slightly as he turns the worn pages before finally settling on a sheet that is lightly crumpled and ripped around the edges and coffee stained and ferociously dog eared at the corners. Tell tale signs that he had played this piece before, over and over again.

His favourite, you perceive.

Sure, he had literally fucked you into next week already but your hands get clammy at the knowledge that Yoongi feels comfortable enough to share such an intimate tidbit about himself with you. Music means a lot to him after all. Anyone can see that.

You catch a glimpse of the piece over his shoulder.

Romeo and Juliet - Love Theme.

Yoongi notices how you raise a brow at his choice.

"I know I said I don't like classical music but this arrangement is different. You know the story right?"

High school had given you enough general knowledge about Romeo and Juliet for you to nod in confirmation.

"It's like you can feel the passion they have for each other in every note, you know? Like nothing could ever come between them."

His words are so earnest they make your heart ache. You hadn't put him down as the hopeless romantic type.

"I mean not really. They still die in the end." You counter. He frowns.

"But only because of their fucked up families. It's their feud that comes between them in the end. This piece comes before all the shitty parts. If you play it over and over again it's like they never stop loving one another."

His hands fold in his lap and he sucks in a bashful breath, nose scrunching with embarrassment at his dramatic outburst. "It's stupid. I know. Forget I said it."

"No, no I understand completely. Maybe if they weren't so busy fighting they could have listened to their hearts. Right?"

"Right." He scoots across the piano stool, patting the empty space beside him with an encouraging look. "Sit."

Like a magnet you find yourself drawn to his side, shivering when his shoulder brushes yours. His arms hover over the piano, poised and relaxed, concentration etched into the hard lines of his face.

"Ready?"

You can only nod. And then he starts to play.

Yoongi's fingertips eagerly caress the keys of his piano, eyes lifting from the sheet music to gauge your reaction while his hands carry the melody on autopilot, the pretty silver rings he dons glinting with every movement. His neck is bent slightly, allowing his head to bob and sway along with the rise and fall of the rhythm, eyes screwing shut as the composition reaches its most pivotal sequence.

He's practically raking the keys now, pure passion and violent emotion splashing every inch of the room. You shut your own eyes, hands clutching the bottom of the stool until your knuckles whiten, like you might float away with the beautiful tune if you don't ground yourself.

When he said you could feel passion with every note he wasn't wrong. You could feel his passion clear as day.

Slowly, he comes back down from his high, wrists coming to a standstill. All he can do is take in heaving, ragged breaths, body slumped down, spent with the sheer effort expelled in his performance. Oxygen is lodged in your own lungs as you take in how how his bangs stick to the beads of sweat prevalent on his forehead

You recover before he does, unconsciously fumbling around in your tote bag, hands curling around the Polaroid camera you bring everywhere just in case a photo opportunity arises.

They never usually do. Until now.

"Stay like that." The viewfinder raises to your eye and you snap a shot of him with precision, the soft click that emanates through the room making Yoongi's eyes snap open.

The picture dispenses from the camera, black square fading out to reveal a hazy image as you shake it back and forth. Yoongi, face relaxed, lashes pressed softly to the tops of his cheeks with a lazy smile.

It's the Yoongi you remember. Your Yoongi.

He smirks when you slide it into the back pocket of your jeans, cheeks glowing with a contentedness you hadn't seen for a long time. "You always did like taking pictures of me."

"Shut up."

When your hand tentatively closes over his where it still rests on the piano, it's his turn to shoot you a curious look. With a shaky breath you flip his palm, slotting your fingers together perfectly, and lean across the piano to press your lips against his.

His mouth is softer than you remember, not attacking with the rich taste of lust but rather caressing your lips gently, sweetly. Taking your time to commit each tickle of breath against your nose, each slide of his bottom lip between yours, to memory. Everything other than the dizzying sensation of his tongue tracing your bottom lip disappears. All your worries, reluctances, regrets,  just dissolving like the setting sun.

Everything feels safe here with him. Everything feels right.

It barely lasts a minute, not much more than a delicate brush really, but when he pulls back you are already breathless, immediately starved of the satisfaction that came from finally feeling him against you again, tasting the spearmint mixed with something so inherently Yoongi you didn't quite realise how much you were craving.

Yoongi sighs blissfully. You need more.

Your hands tangle in the front of his T-shirt but before you can pepper his mouth with a series of further eager kisses, his free hand plants on your shoulder and pushes you back carefully.

"About what you said the other night." His eyes are wide with concern, trained to your lips, resisting the urge to capture them again with all his self control. It made your heart flip. "I don't want to hurt you Y/N. We don't have to do this—"

"I want to. So bad." His thumb caresses your knuckles. "I trust you."

In that moment, it's true. You trust him more than you've ever trusted anything in the world.

"But Namjoon..."

His words fade out when you lean in for another reassuring peck. Namjoon's name falling from Yoongi's lips doesn't make your skin crawl like it usually did. In fact you feel nothing at the mention of your brother.

"To hell with Namjoon. I'm a big girl. I know what I want."

Yoongi grins, hand coming to cup your cheek tentatively, eyes crinkling with what you could only describe as liberation. "And what's that?"

Your eyes narrow in on his parted mouth again.

"You."

His eyes darken and then his hands are tangling in your hair and pulling your chest flush to his in a kiss that is far rougher than before. No more beating around the bush. Just passion as you crawl into his lap and kiss him like it's the first time — or perhaps, more accurately, the last time. Like the world will end if you part for a single breath.

Fingers find the hem of his shirt and you're pulling it up his torso greedily, heart beating a little faster when you feel his warm skin beneath your fingertips. His chest is softer than you expect, a perfect contrast to the strong arms wrapping around your waist to pull you back to his lips.

It's not long before you feel his pants fill out underneath you. The feeling is all too familiar, reminding you of how it felt to be above him like this in his studio. That night feels like a life time away as his hands grab your hips and press you roughly down onto his crotch.

You both groan out at the feeling, something intense, something primal, heating up between your legs as you circle his clothed length, want and need blending into one as your core dampens with every twist of your hips.

Yoongi breaks away from your lips with a gasp when your fingers reach between your body and find the sensitive head of his cock, a wet patch forming on his sweats. His eyes are shut, head thrown back against the piano top as he bites into his thumb to stop little moans tumbling from his swollen lips.

He shoots upright when you slide down his torso, hardwood cold against your bare knees, fingers fumbling with the strings of his pants. When you finally get them open and slip your hand beneath the waistband, Yoongi all but groans at the feel of your cool palm grabbing his hot cock skin on skin.

You shimmy his sweats around his thighs, mouth practically watering as you eye up his pulsing length, unable to resist stroking it firmly with your fist. A hand covers yours.

"Wait!" A strangled noise of agony rips from his chest when your grip loosens, desperate to buck up into your touch but managing to stay firmly planted to the stool in favour of gaining your consent. "Are you sure?"

You scoff teasingly. "Would I be on my knees if I wasn't?"

His laugh is breathy, half a moan as you pick up your pace again. "Just nervous — ah!" A soft kitten lick to the reddened tip of his cock has him flying forward, knuckles white as they grip your shoulder.

"Min Yoongi gets nervous?" The precum that coats your tongue is salty, makes you itch to take him into your mouth fully.

"Shut up." His breathing is ragged, hands hovering over your hair. "Didn't think this would happen again. Needs to be perfect — holy fuck Y/N."

You give no warning before you sink down on his length, his hands finally tangling in your hair and tugging lightly when your nose presses to his pubic bone, groaning around him when you feel the head of his cock pulsing in the back of your throat.

"So warm, shit."

You come up for air, lips wrapping around his head and enjoying the way his thighs trembled when your tongue runs teasingly along the underside of his cock. His hand pushes at the back of your head, forcing his length further down your throat than you're expecting until you gag around his girth.

"Shit, sorry."

The groan that follows doesn't sound very apologetic though. The visual of your drool coating his painfully hard length mixed with the sensation of your warm mouth engulfing him whole nearly has him blowing his load then and there, utterly fucked out and oblivious to the string of groans leaving his lips when you finally come up for air. Tears streak your cheeks and Yoongi wipes them away with his knuckle tenderly.

"God, look at you." He's breathless, amazed. "C'mere."

A hand cups your elbow, pulling you to your feet so he can connect your lips again, humming when he tastes himself on your tongue. His hands are all over you now as he wraps you in his arms and stumbles backwards your back is pressed to the mattress in the corner. It dips in the middle when he crawls over you, tucking away strands of hair that fan around your face like a halo before his mouth is on you again like he can't quite help himself.

A series of open mouthed kisses caress your jaw, then your neck, all the way down your chest. Yoongi's eyes flick up to watch your face, lips parted with want as his hands fiddled with the hem of his own much too big hoodie swaddling your body.

"Can I?"

Your hand threads into his hair encouragingly. "Please."

A gasp passes his lips when he finally pulls the fabric over your head, eyes following his curious calloused hands as they explore the expanse of skin exposed to him now you're left in just your bra and panties.

"So beautiful." He traces his fingers down your shoulders, down the valley of your breasts, across your stomach. The light and delicate touches have you shivering, writhing for more. Almost as desperate to feel him everywhere as he is to worship every inch of you.

His touch stops at the hem of your panties. You're already working on the clasp of your bra, a violent nod the only permission he needs to drag the fabric agonisingly slow down your legs, unhooking them from your ankles carefully.

When he looks back up you are completely bare, laid out beneath the stream of half-sun-half-moon bathing the room.

Yoongi pounces, lips wrapping around one of your nipples greedily, tongue swirling around the hardened bud until you're gasping his name over and over.

"Can't believe you're letting me see you like this."

Hands wrap around your thighs, legs falling open, the way he licks his lips as he takes in your glistening heat not going unnoticed.

Yoongi's head shakes in disbelief, mumbling words which sound an awful lot like so pretty and fucking gorgeous as his head dips and he continues his trail of earlier kisses, tongue laving over your inner thighs and edging ever closer to your aching core.

"W-wait." Yoongi freezes and comes up to meet your face. His breath is hot against your cheek, eyes scanning your face for hesitation.

"What is it? Are you okay?" He's frantic, swallowing nervously as his palms cup your face. "Want to take care of you this time. What is it? Tell me."

"I'm fine. More than fine." You brush your noses together. It makes him smile. "Just want to feel you, that's all. Now."

Yoongi lets out a dramatic sigh, voice high and whiny. "But I've been dreaming about how you taste for days, Y/N. Literally. Dreaming about it."

You don't mention how you've been replaying the visual of his lips wrapped around your clit and edging you over and over again since it happened, just stroke his cheek in mutual understanding.

"Too bad. You'll just have to wait until next time." His features light up at the promise of a next time. Another moment like this, just you and him.

His face falls into the crook of your neck, nibbling the sensitive skin teasingly as a hand trails between your legs. When the pads of his fingers circle your entrance you whimper, clit throbbing with want when his hand pulls away nearly as quick as it came.

The want only intensifies when he brings two of his arousal coated digits to his mouth with closed eyes, guttural moan vibrating your flush chests when he savours the taste of your arousal coating his fingers.

"Next time." He hums and you are sure you nearly came untouched.

"Need you. Now."

He wastes no time taking his achingly hard cock into his fist, placing a supportive hand on your hip as he lines himself up with your entrance. You whine when he drags the tip up and down your slit, giving some brief but much needed stimulation to your clit.

Before he can push inside though you place a hand on his chest to stop him. He doesn't have time to dote on you again though because without further ado you're whipping off the beanie that still sits snugly around his head, throwing it across the room with a smirk.

His eyes glint fondly. "Whoops."

The room has grown darker by now, only lit by the gentle sparkle of the fairy lights and Yoongi has to feel around in the sheets to find your hand. In the same moment he tangles your fingers together beside your face, he pushes inside with a gasp.

Unlike the first time in his studio, Yoongi is in no rush. He wants to savour it. He fills you slowly, so that you can feel every ridge of his length dragging against your velvety walls. When he finally bottoms out and your hips press flush together, you squeeze his hand. Tight. It's this small action that tells him everything he needs to know. Explains the funny feeling in your chest without ever saying the words.

Your legs wrap around his back automatically when his hips begin to rock, angling your body so that he hits so deep with every thrust it steals the breath straight from your lips. Arousal drips from your heat down onto the bed sheets, making each slide deliciously smooth.

"Yoongi I.." It almost slips from your lips. The deepest, darkest secret that you haven't quite admitted to yourself yet.

Yoongi just ups his pace, exchanging words for actions to show you he feels the same. Fucking you a little harder, a little deeper. More sincerely. It compensates for the words neither of you know how to say.

"I know." You feel so full, so warm when he places his forearms at either side of your head to press you into the mattress. "I know."

All the yearning inside you disappears. All that matters is you and Yoongi now, nails scratching up his back, his forehead pressing to yours so that your moans mingle together until you can't tell whose was whose any more.

With a fucked out moan against your lips he's spilling inside you, sending you over the edge with him, hissing as you clench tightly around his cock.

All thoughts are wiped from your mind. Apart from the sensation of his cheek pressed to your chest, hot breath against your collar bone. How you can't believe you lived in a world without Yoongi in it. How you never want to go without him again. How you don't think you can deny how Yoongi makes you feel anymore even if you tried.

The stars behind your eyes fade, and when you come back down, Yoongi is hovering over your body, lips parted and eyes blown out, mesmerised. He's sweaty and smiling and you can feel the way his heart beats in time with yours.

"You okay?"

"Never better." His smile stretches into a grin when your words slur together. "—'m so happy."

A soft, chaste kiss is pressed to your forehead and before you know it Yoongi is tangling your legs together and wrapping the sheets around your bodies, entwined as one.

Me too. You knew that's what he meant. You'd dwell on it another time. For now your eyes are falling shut, satisfied as you inhale Yoongi's scent on the sheets...

Before a blissful slumber could take you away, you're interrupted by a series of knocks against the bedroom door. Both you and Yoongi shoot upright, exchanging a puzzled glance.

"I thought you said it was gonna be a quickie. Come on man, I need to use the bathroom!"

Yoongi groans into the pillow.

"That's it. I'm getting a new roommate."

--

As the weeks go by you start spending less and less time at the Big Hit office, turning up late to your shifts or clocking out before they were up. The perks of being employed by your parents is that they can't fire you in good conscience, you suppose.

Instead you increasingly find yourself at Yoongi's apartment, writing lyrics at the piano when he was around (sometimes even when he wasn't) or down in the coffee shop, helping yourself to hot chocolate refills on your work breaks. Jin joked that you'd need to start paying rent soon.

Just like how you were able to pick apart each of the boys' influence on the apartment the first time you went there, your own presence was becoming ever apparent.

In the way you spilled sugar on the counter when making tea and always forgot to clean it up, much to Jin's dismay. How some of your own hoodies and pyjama pants had begun to smell like Yoongi's washing powder, ending up folded neatly in his laundry basket and stowed away on his clothing rack like they belonged there. The way his piano top was littered with open notebooks filled with your messy scrawl and pens with the caps lost and half empty mugs stained around the rim with your chapstick.

Yoongi seemed wary at first, cautious to let you get too comfortable around him, dropping you home late at night once the lights in your house switched out and you knew it was safe to go inside.

But eventually he started to crave the little things that reminded him of you, unable to stop the smiles which crept onto his face as he loaded the dishwasher with the mugs and carried you to bed when you fell asleep at the piano stool.

Your bed. That's what you'd taken to calling it now.

Yoongi hated to admit that he was weak. When he got up on stage he was Gloss, hard faced and brazen and ruthless. But here with you, the facade he tried to uphold seemed to crumble into nothing. And the worst part was that he loved it.

Even when he was performing at the club or practicing for the competition, his thoughts always ended up wandering back to you. There were times when your schedules clashed or it was too risky to see each other or times you were simply too exhausted once you got home, falling into bed as soon as you crossed the threshold. But the knowledge that you were always there waiting for each other became the only safe place he knew and that was enough.

Of course you still had to oversee Namjoon's Mic Drop stage, it was your job after all, but that never seemed to come up when you were together. Just watching movies on his laptop or laughing at ungodly hours while you filled each other in on anecdotes that happened in the time you were apart, retreating beneath the sheets when Jin banged on the wall because it was four in the morning so would you please shut the fuck up.

For the first time in a long time you felt happy. Like you belonged somewhere that was all your own. No more answering to Namjoon or your parents. Just your own heart. And it always seemed to lead you back here to Yoongi, straight into his arms.

And as much as you hated yourself for it, you could feel your resentment for Namjoon growing. You'd be damned if you let him take this away from you, like he'd taken everything else.

Eventually, you stopped crawling through your bedroom window like a goddamn teenager and your parents stopped questioning why you never came home anymore. The cracks between you became a chasm. And right now, Yoongi was the band aid holding you together.

--

When Yoongi returns home later than usual, he's not even surprised when he ascends the stairs and find you and Jin laid out on the bean bags, already tipsy on red wine and giggling at his disgruntled expression.

That is until you take in the weary lines that had etched their way into his forehead, how his eyes look sunken and puffy. How his hands tremble against your waist when you pull him into your arms, body swaying back and forth lightly in your grasp like he could topple over any second.

You know what overworked looks like — after all, you had tended to Namjoon plenty of times when he refused to stop at his limits, barraging through them instead, a habit Yoongi also seemed to possess.

Ordered to stay on bed rest, Yoongi slumps face down into his pillow, letting out a long groan of relief when the mattress cushions his aching limbs.

You're already tucking him in, half way to the door to prepare him a hot cup of honey and lemon to soothe the husk in his throat from rapping too aggressively when his arms loop around your waist and pull you down to snuggle into the crook of your neck contentedly.

"Yoongi, let me go." It's futile, his grip is firm and he is already kicking the sheets over your body and pressing his cheek to the left side of your chest where you're sure he can hear how your heart races, a pout evident in your voice. "I want to take care of you."

"Mmf you are.." Words already slurring with the beginnings of sleep, he smiles groggily when you fall slack in his grasp and press your cheek to the top of his head in defeat. "Stroke my hair please?"

As soon as your fingers tangle in his blue locks he lets out a sigh of relief, like he'd been waiting to feel the touch all day.

Watching his face relax as he drifts off, you bask in the warmth of fulfilment singing your very nerve ending and silently wish that you can stay like this forever.

Just you and Yoongi against the world.

At some point your own eyes fall shut.

--

You're awoken by the sounds of muffled sobs.

The dark room momentarily disorientates you, heart quickening as you realise you're not in your own bed. Eventually your eyes adjust to the blackness, taking in the piano stood sturdily in the corner, breathing in the scent lingering on the pillow beneath your cheek and you're washed with a wave of comfort.

"Yoongi?" You croak.

The sheets are ripped from your body as Yoongi's form shoots upright. His bare back is damp with sweat, visible in the moonlight creeping through the slanted blinds, mattress rocking slightly with every sob that wracks his frame.

"Go back to sleep." His voice is gruff , but forcibly so and you hear the tremor lurking below the surface.

You sit up beside him. His face is buried in his palms. The sight makes your heart ache.

"Are you okay?" You're still new to this. Sure you're tangled up in his sheets most nights but you're still learning the ropes, unsure how best to comfort him. You settle for gently patting his shoulder, wincing at how cold and distant the action feels.

"I said go back to sleep." When his face emerges from between his hands you see the tell tale tracks of tears streaking his cheeks. Even when he wipes his face with the back of his palm there's a steady stream of them dripping down his chin.

"Is that what you really want?"

Yoongi presses his mouth together in a tight line, eyes black and empty as he tilts his head back and takes a shaky breath. That's when he crumbles. "Please stay."

"Oh, Yoongi." It's barely a whisper, afraid that if you speak too loud he'll shatter into a million pieces. He's like a scared kid, knees hugged to his chest as he wipes the hot tears from his eyes with a hard rub of his knuckles.

Yoongi stiffens when you fumble under the sheets to find his hand. You think he might pull away as you link your fingers with his but to your surprise he pulls your interlocked palms into his lap and squeezes so hard you feel the circulation in your fingers cutting off. The way he chokes back another sob stops you from complaining though, already cupping his cheek and tilting his face towards yours with your free hand.

"Why are you doing this?" His eyes squeeze shut, fresh tears sliding down his face and doing nothing to hide the slight tinge of red beneath them that tell you he's embarrassed to be seen like this. Vulnerable, so unlike the hard faced Yoongi you had come to know.

"Because I want to." You squeeze his hand and feel him squeeze back weakly. "You can tell me anything, you know."

Pressing his forehead to yours, Yoongi leans down and captures your lips between his own. I know, it says.

This is different to the way he usually kisses you. There's no hunger, no hands on your neck and your thighs that set you alight with desire. Just a sense of yearning, like he wants to be closer to you, the plump flesh of his lips slotting between yours like a perfect puzzle piece, slightly salty from his tears. It makes you ache all over, like you're somehow connected and sharing his pain.

He pulls away, sharp exhales tickling your face as he scans your eyes for any sign of hesitation, any sign that you're going to leave him here alone. This is side of Yoongi that you have never seen before. He always said he isn't good with words and you know better than anyone that he hated admitting that he needed someone. This was is his way saying he needs you.

And in that moment you feel a piece of your heart flutter into his hands.

"Nightmares." He mumbles, swallowing thickly and tipping his head back against the headboard, expression pained "Just nightmares."

"Want to talk about it?" You sit back next to him, and when he rolls his neck to face you. He looks unreadable again. Eyes void. You half think he's going to push you away, turn over and fall back asleep and leave you to stare at the ceiling alone with the silence.

But he doesn't. Instead he lets out a deep sigh, shaking his head at himself as he pulls you into his arms, stroking your cheek fondly when your head comes to rest on his chest, burying his nose in your hair.

"Why can't I say no to you?"

"Guess I have that affect on people."

He snorts lightly, the first proper reaction he'd given you and you're pleased at his amusement. Pleased you were able to comfort him somewhat.

Unspoken words cloak a heavy silence for what feels like hours, just tracing mindless patterns on his arm and listening to the way his heart slows to a normal pace beneath your cheek, grip around your torso never faltering. When his breaths dwindle to soft puffs against your temple you think he's already drifted off.

Until, "Do you remember when I convinced Namjoon to sign up for Mic Drop the first time. The day after my mom died?" His voice is gravelly, both with sleep and a sign of his withheld tears.

"Of course I do." You swivel in his arms to blink up at him curiously. Sure you remembered. After the funeral, your parents had taken Yoongi in — a repayment they called it. For helping Namjoon achieve his dreams. Of course, that was before you realised just how much Yoongi would help.

Yoongi became a part of the family for a short while. An extra seat at family dinners. Another pair of shoes by the front door. Another bed in Namjoon's room.

"Back then, I was too trusting. I thought that they wanted to help me...I thought that they saw me as their son." He spits the word with the bitterness of a man who was stripped of the title of 'son' before he knew what it really meant.

You think back to how Namjoon and Yoongi used to be. Joined at the hip, everyone used to say. Brothers.

"I think they did—"

"No." He stiffens. You bite your lip. "Namjoon never cared about me. He just saw me as a way to get to the top. And it worked."

You feel a pang in your chest.

"I'm sorry, he's your brother. I shouldn't be talking about this with you."

Yoongi almost turns away but you stop him by pressing your lips to his briefly. Telling him its okay. You understand.

"The nightmares." You say with an eagerness to change to subject before you could dwell on it too hard. Before you could admit to yourself that Yoongi was right. "You didn't say what they were about?"

"I'm getting there." He lets out a strained chuckle and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. The action makes you shiver.

"The last time I saw my mother she said that she wasn't scared to die. She was just scared that she'd miss seeing me on the stage. She was the only one who believed in me." The next words come out choked. "She said that if she couldn't be there to see it then I needed to make as many goddamn people watch me lift that trophy as I could."

Mic Drop was never about the fame for Yoongi after all. It always ran deeper than that; a need not a want. A vulnerable promise left unfulfilled.

The realisation makes you blanch. All this time, all these years, you hadn't been able to see the real greed right in front of your eyes; your own brother.

The image of Yoongi, crumpled and broken on that fateful day all those years ago makes its way to the forefront of your mind.

The same anger flashes across his face now. "Namjoon took that from me. I don't care about the fans or the money or the trophy — none of that shit! He took my dream Y/N. Do you understand how that feels?"

You find yourself nodding, slowly at first and then with vigour as the dam inside you breaks and your own tears flood. "I do. I understand."

And you do. You understand why Yoongi is so determined to win Mic Drop. You understand why he hates Namjoon as much as he does. You understand how it feels to always fall second best to Namjoon, to be outcasted.

"I keep forgetting her face. I can't hear her voice in my head anymore." Yoongi's crying again now, heavy sobs no longer able to be contained. "But in the dreams she's so clear. The disappointment in her eyes, its so clear, Y/N." His words are interrupted by hiccups that leave him gasping.

"I'm sorry." You whisper once he calms. It's all you know how to say.

"Not your fault." He flashes you a watery smile, wiping away the tear on your cheek with his knuckle. It makes your heart flutter, even despite the guilt weighing on your shoulders.

You feel useless. It wasn't your fault directly but you couldn't help but feel like you wronged Yoongi. All of this happened right in front of your eyes but you were too blinded by Namjoon's broken promises to see it. All this time you had let Namjoon make you think Yoongi was the enemy.

"I'm here now." Hands plant on either side of his face, eyes meeting his. "I believe in you."

He doesn't need to say anything. The way he kisses you speaks louder than words.

All you can do now is hold him, tangling your legs with his and pulling the covers over your intertwined bodies, stroke his cheek with your thumb and pepper kisses to his strained forehead which relaxes beneath your affections.

"I'll make this right." You whisper into his hair after his eyes flutter closed and the sun starts peeking through the window, watching dust particles floating in a stream of light in the room's golden glow through lidded eyes. "I promise."

--

"I like this." Jimin nods enthusiastically along to the track playing through the headphones Namjoon placed over his ears. "Sounds like a hit to me."

Namjoon's face contorts into a scowl. He disagrees, obviously, if the disgusted shake of his head is any indication.

Mic Drop is just a few days away and Namjoon had decided to scrap his entire stage after Jimin scored a couple big last minute investors who suggested he do something new, something exciting. Something that pushed Runch Randa's limits.

It was a bold move, this close to the big day. But Namjoon was cocky, said that he had enough experience in the industry to win in his sleep. Practice was a waste of time anyway.

"Next one." He waves his hand, barely even glancing in your direction as you press a button that cuts off the track and makes another one start playing.

The bass is louder in this one and it makes Jimin startle backwards, the headphone jack slipping loose so the music plays through the speakers instead.

"Hoseok and I still need to put the finishing touches on this one but it's pretty catchy—"

Namjoon cuts you off with a sharp no, it was too upbeat for his Mic Drop performance. Said he needed something with grit, something that would make the judges feel something.

"Let me see that." He gestures for you to get up, slumping down into the chair you occupied and slotting himself beneath the studio desk to scroll through the open folder on the computer screen.

He skims through countless tracks, demoed and ready to be recorded at Namjoon's disposal — you were something of a writing machine, always scribbling down lyrics on receipts from the store or on the back of your hand and paired with Hoseok you were a dream team; he always seemed to find a beat that fit perfectly. Unfortunately Namjoon's straight face gives away his disinterest in any of them.

"None of these will work." Namjoon throws the keyboard down with a force that makes you wince, jaw tightening as he presses his knuckles to his eyes in frustration. "I'm going to fucking lose."

You are about to tell him to write the fucking track himself like everyone else if none of yours were good enough for him but Jimin flashes you a glance. Don't make things worse.

You settle instead for a hand on his shoulder. He tenses at your touch. It had been a while since you'd been in the same room for longer than ten minutes and when you take in the gauntness of his cheekbones you briefly wonder if he's been eating properly. He always did forget when you weren't around to remind him.

You suck in a breath to give you strength. "There must be one that you like."

His lips purse and he disgruntledly goes back to scrolling again, clicking on a couple titles that draw his interest. You and Jimin let out simultaneous sighs of relief.

"What's this?" Namjoon's eyes narrow as he presses play on a track that sends you flying forward, heart in your mouth and colour leaving your face as a song plays that you swore to never show to anyone.

Yoongi's song. The one you wrote after that night in his studio. Probably the best song you had ever written.

"That's not — I was supposed to delete that one." The heat in your cheeks as you push him aside roughly to wrestle with the pause button has you hiding behind your hair, as if he would somehow know this wasn't just an ordinary song. That it was a song about his enemy, for god's sake.

Namjoon's slaps you away from the computer, head bobbing to the beat and you fall back into your seat in defeat, fingers crossed behind your back that he would hate it as much as the others.

"I love it."

Oh no.

"This is the one!"

Shit shit shit!

"A-are you sure?" You're rambling now, words slipping out way too fast and Jimin seems puzzled at your lack of elation at Namjoon's decisiveness. "I'm sure I could write something much better if you just give me some more time—"

Namjoon's arms pull you into a tight embrace before you can finish, your nose ending up smushed against his chest as he practically vibrates with excitement. Your body goes stiff, hands dangling at your sides awkwardly. Considering Namjoon's coldness towards you as of late his sudden display of affection takes you by surprise. Mostly because despite your physical closeness it only makes you feel even more distant from your brother.

A sigh of relief escapes when he finally sets you free, only to be replaced with pure horror as you watch him stick a USB drive into the computer and load up the song before sliding it in his back pocket with a grin while you have no choice but to stand there helplessly.

"I'm totally gonna win!" His change in attitude is abrupt but seems to soothe Jimin who nods enthusiastically. You feel sick. "I can't wait to see the look on Yoongi's face when he hears this shit."

The smirk on his face washes you with dread. If only he knew.

Yoongi was right. Secrets always find a way to come and bite you in the ass.

--

Every rap of your knuckles against the run down studio door seems to echo ominously through the alley like an omen.

"Y/N?"

As soon as the bolt wrangles across and the wooden panel flies open to reveal a disgruntled Yoongi, a warmth seems to thaw through the icy evening chill that, along with your nerves, is making your knees knock together.

His chest is warm against your cheek when he pulls you into his arms, the smell of cologne and black coffee consuming your senses. It's enough to make your tense limbs fall slack, curling into his firm frame instinctively. Finally. You can breathe again.

"Hey." He mumbles sweetly against your temple, a trace of a smile in his voice like he was happy to see you. You silently wonder if he'll still be so happy once he hears what you have to say.

The studio is basked in darkness, the contours of his face barely visible in the blue glow emanating from his desktop monitor. There's a dent in the cushion of the adjacent chair, Yoongi's hair sticking up at the back where the pair of headphones slung around his neck had sat moments ago.

"I can go if you were working, wouldn't want to interrupt." As the words are leaving your lips you cross your fingers, selfishly hopeful that he would send you away and you could avoid the conversation that was about to follow. Blame it all on circumstance, leave saying that you at least tried.

But that would be keeping a secret. It would make you just as bad as the rest. And the thought of him finding out from someone else was enough to make your palms sweat and enough to keep your feet planted against the carpet determinedly.

Yoongi's hands find you like he can't bare to keep them away, dragging you across the threshold without hesitation. "S'fine. Work better with you here anyway." He smiles and you try to return it but your lips are pressed into a permanent line, like they're scared the daunting words you have to say will come spilling out before you were ready -- if you ever would be ready. As you slump into a chair and watch him wheel another one around to face you with his arms slung lazily over the back, you realise there is no going back.

Considering the countdown to Mic Drop was nearing its end, less than twenty four hours to go before Yoongi would be stood opposite Namjoon on stage in front of thousands, he looked the epitome of relaxation, unlike the nerves in your chest making you jitter.

"Jin's on his way with takeout, I would've asked him to get more if I knew you were coming but I'm sure we can share— babe, are you alright?"

Babe. The endearment had started slipping from his lips frequently recently. At first he tried to cover it up with nervous laughter but now he was brazen, enjoying the way the word tasted on his tongue. It would be so easy to force a smile, to push "the right thing" to the back of your mind and let the selfish part of your heart accept his affections, even knowing you're about to hurt him.

But the clock ticking away on the wall sounds deafening with every beat of silence that follows, twisting the rings on your fingers until you could no longer distinguish the sound from the sinister thrum of your heart.

You can't hold it in any more.

"I need to tell you something." It comes out a hoarse whisper, nearly unintelligible beneath the stream of hip hop from the hifi system in the corner.

"What is it?" Yoongi's concerned eyes never leave you as he reaches over to switch it off, the room now draped in a shroud of quiet. The reality of the situation seeps into every dark corner and right into your bones.

"It's about us. Kind of."

Yoongi rolls closer, stopping your teeth from nibbling your cuticles by slotting his fingers between yours like a perfect puzzle piece. It seems to ground you, like you're filled with helium and he's the weight stopping your feet from floating off the ground. For a second you think everything will be okay. Nothing, not even this betrayal, could come between what you had.

"Did Namjoon find out?" Even in the dim light you see the panic stricken raise of his brows. When your head shakes in a violent negative they smooth back down, relieved, as if nothing you could say next would be worse than that. No matter how hard you try to meet his eyes you can't.

His hand squeezes gently then. You muster up the courage to squeeze back. Perhaps it would soften the blow that was about to follow.

"His song. The one I wrote for Mic Drop...it's about you. I thought you should know. Before you hear it for yourself."

Nothing but an immeasurable silence followed. "Oh."

Yoongi is unreadable, almost as if he didn't hear the words hanging like heavy storm clouds over your heads. You expected him to be angry, to shout -- even cry, maybe. Not knowing how he was feeling was even worse than any scenario you had imagined. Made you feel like you were back to square one and he was shutting you out of the window into his soul you'd worked so hard to wriggle through.

For a second you think the sudden cold against your palm is a result of the numbness coursing through your veins like you were dunked in ice water, but then you see his hand retreat to his lap, eyes wide and staring at it in disbelief like he'd been scalded.

"I...I don't understand." He sounds choked, face contorting with pain. Like it does when he wakes thrashing in the night with a bad dream. Unlike those times though, he doesn't levitate towards you for comfort, just stares at you vacantly like he's far, far away despite being physically close enough for your knees to brush.

"It was written after the first time we...y'know...here--" You glance around, convinced your mind is playing tricks when you see a vision of you in Yoongi's lap across the room, lips attached like nothing else in the world mattered. It feels far away and out of reach when the real Yoongi gets to his feet, creating a distance between you that is foreign, his form staggering across the room so that you could see the way his back tensed beneath his t-shirt when he grips the edge of his desk for support, processing.

"I don't understand."

"I was emotional. It just happened--"

"No. What I don't understand is why you're letting him perform it?" Fists send a stack of sheet music flying to the ground. His lip trembles, face red, with anger or affliction, you can't tell which.

"Yoongi--" You reach for him, fingertips barely grazing his arm before he's smacking you away with a violent shake of his head. He'd never resisted you before. Not even in the beginning.

"You expect me to just sit back and listen to Namjoon of all people rapping the lyrics my girlfr-- that you wrote dissing me? This has to be a fucking joke."

"It's not that kind of track!" You hug your body pitifully. It's the only thing you can do to stop yourself from falling apart as his mouth spits a venom that makes your heart shatter. His eyes fill with one thing. Betrayal. "I'm sorry. I just...I can't keep choosing between you anymore, Yoongi. He's my brother."

"And what am I, huh?"

Every second that passes, every stutter or attempt at explanation that leaves your mouth makes Yoongi crumple. You see it in the way his adam's apple bobs, how his shoulders slacken.

For some reason you can't open up. Tell him he means more to you than anyone ever had. That you thought your heart might really break and bleed out on the carpet if he didn't feel the same way.

Instead you settle for, "Why are you so mad? It's my job! I had no choice."

Without warning he's rushing at you, trembling palms capturing your face and pressing his forehead to yours. His breaths shake, chest heaving as he battles internally with the words flying from his lips like a ghostly breath across yours.

"Because I fucking love you, Y/N! Can't you see it? I fucking love you and your bastard of a brother always finds a way to ruin things between us!"

His admission stuns you, the tears welling in your eyes spilling over in a silent stream down your cheeks.

He loves you. He loves you.

"Yoongi--" Words just won't come. Nothing feels right.

Because you love him too. It had taken you this long to admit it to yourself but it was clear now. Every breath, every beat of your heart, every fucking song you would ever write was for him. It scared you before but now, stood here in front of him, you know it's true.

Something hopeless niggles at the back of your head, stops you from spilling everything to him. If he loves you, how can he expect you to choose?

If words couldn't make him see the truth then you'd just have to show him the only way you knew how. Straight from your heart.

You're crying as you dig around in the bottom of your bag to retrieve a USB, pressing it into his curled fist firmly and begging him with your eyes to understand. "Just listen to the song. Please. It'll explain everything. I promise."

You begin to back up and his hand shoots out to stop you, pulling you roughly into his chest which only makes you cry harder, tears creating a wet patch on his T-shirt.

"Please don't leave me. Not again." It's a fragile whisper.

It's all too much.

"I can't choose any longer, Yoongi. This has to end."

With one last look at his crumpled face you flee from his studio with eyes just as watery as the first time you'd walked down this very alley. Except this time it takes all of your strength to resist running back into his arms.

Yoongi can only stand there and watch you go, the USB hot against his hand.

This has to end. The words make his chest burn and he hates it. Hates feeling weak. You always make him feel so fucking weak.

If he can't have you then he had no choice but to do everything in his power to make sure he got the next best thing.

Suddenly it all seemed clear. Yoongi knew what he had to do.

--

The arena is almost desolate when you creep inside.

Just a sea of empty seats stretching out from both sides of you where you sit in one of the stands, nibbling the skin around your thumb and watching Namjoon pace the stage below.

It's gone midnight by now. Most of the crew went home hours ago. Not Namjoon though. He stayed to practice some more. Said he couldn't get the choreography quite right.

You tried going home but you couldn't get the fight out of your head. Everything reminded you of Yoongi and your thoughts started to wander. Did he hate you? Was he listening to the song right now? Why hasn't he called? Why is your own bed not as comfy as the one you shared with Yoongi?

It all got too much eventually. Something told you that you weren't welcome at the apartment so you ended up heading towards the only other place you knew, surprised to find your brother had the same idea.

A single spotlight illuminates the stage as Namjoon twists his body in time with the one, two, three, four he unconsciously mumbles under his breath, face contorted with a stark concentration that flits to impatience when his foot slips and he misses the beat. Again. It just about sends him over the edge.

"I can't do this anymore!" A microphone squeals and hits the ground with a thump. It reverberates through the arena, your hands flying to your ears as you watch Namjoon let loose all his anger on an innocent amp stand before collapsing into a heap at the edge of the stage. "Fuck this shit!"

You're flying down the stairs to his aid before he can do any serious damage to the stage equipment — or worse, to himself.

Namjoon scoffs when he hears the stage creak under your feet. "Nice of you to show up."

It stings. You snap.

"What happened to you, Namjoon?" You look at his sunken cheekbones, his curled fists, the blackness behind his eyes. "I don't even recognise you anymore."

He just sniffs and says nothing. The distance between you feels bigger than ever.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

A secret? Since when did Namjoon abide by a policy of honesty?

He takes your shocked silence as a yes.

"I'm calling first thing and dropping out of the competition."

Your world stutters to a standstill, breath knocked out of your lungs.

Dropping out?

"Shit Joon...if this is about Yoongi—"

He waves you off.  "No. This is about me."

You can't breathe. This can't be real. "I don't understand..."

"I've made up my mind. I can't do this any more. I used to love being up here you know?"

You follow his gaze, out over the empty arena. The last time you were here every seat was filled. You were down there, part of the crowd, packed into the cramped space with barely enough room to breathe.

Imagining how it must feel to be up here comes easy. If you close your eyes you can hear the screams, feel the body heat. Smell the sweat and the anticipation. See thousand faces looking up in awe. At you. It makes your blood run hot.

You much prefer being up here, you decide.

Namjoon brings you back down. "Now it just feels like a chore. I look out and all I see is disappointed faces. I can't pretend for them anymore."

"People travel miles to see you Joon! No one is disappointed."

"Not the fans. They love me. Well, Runch Randa, at least." He cracks a half smile. "It's me whose disappointed. In Kim Namjoon."

You always thought your brother was sure of himself. He's cocky, confident and above all fearless. It's his biggest strength (and his most irritating quality sometimes) but it's what you always admired most about him.

Clearly you didn't know your brother as well as you thought you did.

You bite your lip. "Why?"

He turns to face you, leaning back into his arms while he searches for the right words and, little to your knowledge, gathers the courage to confide in you.

"Because I re-entered Mic Drop for all the wrong reasons. I just wanted to prove myself, you know? Win for real this time, not just by default." He swallows. "But then I saw Yoongi perform. And to be honest? I saw you. I saw how much you care about the music. How you come alive when you're writing lyrics or when you're in the studio." His smile is woeful. "Im supposed to feel like that. But I don't. I never did. It's like I'm always asleep, y'know?"

You did know. Every time you lifted a camera. Every time you pressed the shutter and snapped another shot of Namjoon on stage you felt your soul grow exhausted.

It makes the distance between you and Namjoon close a little. For once you understand each other and you don't have to hide how you feel any more.

"I can't stop thinking that it's your name the fans should be screaming. Not mine. They deserve better than me."

"But you're the best performer I know!" You rush. It always seemed like he wanted to keep you out of the spotlight at all costs. "Why now?"

He lets out a deep sigh. "I'm a selfish person, Y/N. I thought I was protecting you from... all this." He gestures around him. "The late nights and the paparazzi and the criticism and a fucking manager on your back all the time." His eye roll makes you snort, sharing a brief smile at the image of hardworking Jimin mumbling into his headset like a man posessed.

He's quickly serious again though. "Fame comes with a price. But I realize now that the price is worth it if your hearts in the right place and...what I'm trying to say, Y/N, is that mine never was."

You let your chin fall into your palm. Huh. "So that's the big secret?"

"Actually...there's something else." He shifts nervously. "I know about you and Yoongi."

You freeze, scrambling to your knees with wide eyes. "Wait, Joon, let me explain—"

"Let me finish!" Namjoon brushes you off with a breathless laugh, nodding to himself, as if finally coming to a solid conclusion about coming clean when his eyes meet yours. "He's in love with you."

This time it feels like the whole world goes into overdrive. You forget how to breathe.

"What...how...huh?"

It's Namjoon's palm squeezing your knee reassuringly that brings you back down.

"He always was. Even back before things got messed up." A deep breath. Something was coming, you could tell by the way his eye twitched nervously. "That's why me and Yoongi fought. That's why I...I lied and said that I wrote the song the night of the Mic Drop final...accused him of plagiarism—" Your mouth gapes. "I know! I know. Don't look at me like that. I can see the irony."

It all makes sense now. She's a part of this, Namjoon, whether you like it or not.

The reason Namjoon sacrificed his best friend wasn't for fame but for your sake?

You want to fly at your brother, scream at him for keeping this from you for so long. For turning you against Yoongi. For keeping you from the only person to make you feel safe. Feel Happy.

But his eyes are void of anything other than regret and you can tell his betrayal had been playing on his mind all these years.

"Point is, I didn't want you to get hurt." He shuffles awkwardly, not knowing what to do with your silence. "That's not an excuse, I know. Do you hate me?"

"No." Your voice sounds small. His chest heaves with relief. "I just wish you had been honest with me before. Saved us a ton of trouble."

"I thought I was doing the right thing. But I was a shitty brother in the end anyway."

It's strange. Even after all the fights and the resentment and the goddamn secrets, you don't think Namjoon is a shitty brother. Sure, his actions and intentions were shitty there was no denying it. But now it's like the puzzle pieces finally click into place and the full photograph comes into view, crystal clear.

All this time, he just wanted to protect you, when you should have been protecting him. He was hurting too, you just never knew it.

"It's not too late, Joon. Just be happy for me okay? I think..." If Namjoon plucked up the courage to tell you his secrets then it was only fair that you did too. "I love him too."

A pinkish tinge caresses your face when you finally admit it, both out loud and to yourself.

You love Yoongi. And now all the cards are on the table there's nothing holding you back from it.

Now you just need to tell Yoongi.

"I know. You think I don't know who that song is about?" The grin that spreads across Namjoon's features is sincere."And I am. Happy for you, I mean."

Now the truth is out in the open it feels like your wounds are already beginning to heal. You place your hand over his and squeeze it tight. It was time to forgive.

A thought suddenly strikes you. "So what are you gonna do now?

Namjoon fumbles in the back pocket of his jeans, thrusting something towards you. A polaroid picture. The same photo you'd seen at Yoongi's studio.

He kept it, too?

"This kid." His finger jabs at the innocent face of a younger Namjoon, arm wrapped around the shoulders of his best friend. "I didn't get enough time to live as him before I became Runch Randa. I think it's time to just live as Namjoon for a while."

"But what about Big Hit? It'll fall apart and mom and dad will kill you—"

"No it won't. They have you. I already talked to them, in fact. There's a stage with your name on it right here." He pats the ground. "If you want it, that is."

You blink, stunned. You? "I...I don't know if I can."

"I believe in you." Namjoon says. "And I'll be cheering you on from the front row."

You'd have to think about it long and hard but you can't help the grin that appears on your face. Things were going to be okay.

An urge rises in your chest to tell Yoongi this news. To see the way his face would light up as you started the journey to following your own dreams, like he always said you should.

You and Yoongi were going to be okay.

"Hey! Maybe I should try photography now I have some free time." Namjoon tugs at the camera strap around your neck, lifting his eye to the viewfinder and laughing when you cover the lens with your hands. "Damn I'm kinda good!"

You bump his shoulder teasingly, the belly laughter that spills into the arena feeling like the most natural thing in the world.

You're only interrupted by approaching footsteps. Jimin bursts into the arena.

"Namjoon," he pants. "I have some bad news."

--

It's compulsory for all competitors to attend the crowning ceremony. Even those who get disqualified.

RUNCH RANDA BLACKLISTED FROM COMPETING IN FUTURE HIP HOP COMPETITIONS AFTER PLAGIARISM SCANDAL SURFACES.

Just one of the devastating headlines that hit the media after the judges panel received an anonymous tip in the form of a USB stick that exposed Namjoon once and for all. The same USB that you pressed into Yoongi's hands just hours before Namjoon's disqualification.

RAPPER GLOSS TO SNATCH MIC DROP TROPHY IN SHOCKING REVENGE FOR HIS BRUTAL DEFEAT.

Namjoon reads it aloud in the back of the car. He laughs at the end but it does nothing to lighten the mood.

The windows are tinted but you can still see the hoards of fans lining the streets, eyes steeped in betrayal.

You should hear the way they boo as your brother drives past. You should hear the way they chant his name instead.

Yoongi! Yoongi! Yoongi!

But you don't. You don't hear anything. You don't feel anything. All you can think of is the same three words, throbbing in your chest over and over again.

I love you.

Did he mean them at all?

"Y/N? Did you hear me?"

"Hm?" You look up. Namjoon's staring at you with concern.

"Your phone's ringing again."

It's no surprise when you pull out your phone and see a contact picture of yourself and Yoongi gracing the screen. He's been calling all morning. It takes every strength inside you to tap the red decline button.

"Aren't you gonna talk to him?"

Another call lights up the screen.

"Not like this."

With trembling fingers you shut your phone off all together.

--

Paparazzi cameras flash brazenly as you step out of the black company car, following Namjoon with your hood pulled tightly round your face. A hoard of body guards usher you through a back door to the arena. The main entrance is reserved for notable guests only, you learn.

While Namjoon's presence usually makes the room buzz with an electric energy, there's no excitement when he enters now. An awkward hush falls like a shroud as he elbows his way past pitiful stares. It's like someone died. In a way it's true; there's no trace of Runch Randa in Namjoon's hunched stance. Here, the dead still walks for everyone to see.

Jimin's waiting by the stage door. No words are exchanged as he slips passes into your hands. Namjoon's has a big red strike through the word TALENT, "guest" scribbled all too generously below it to match your own.

It's nearing show time. They're just waiting for you to take your seats, Jimin says, though you barely hear him. You're too busy imagining what you would do if you bumped into him right now, heart pounding whenever you catch a glimpse of blue or hear a laugh you're convinced you recognise.

Deep down you know exactly where you have to go to find him. To find Yoongi.

"I'll join you in a second, okay?"

Namjoon looks nervous, the first time you've ever seen him with such a severe case of the jitters. His smile is empty when you rub his forearm reassuringly. "Don't be too long. If I'm gonna do this I want you by my side."

You manage a smile. "Always."

With that, Namjoon takes a deep breath and pushes out into the life of the arena and you find your feet numbly carrying you down back corridors you know by heart until you reach his dressing room.

Your heart is blind, you think. Even now the shattered fragments ache for him, beat a little faster knowing he's just behind this door.

Why can't you go back to hating him, just like you did before? Deep down you know it's because you never really hated Yoongi. You don't think you ever could.

Forgiving him, though? Some wounds never heal, no matter how badly you want them to.

You pause outside the door. The stupid gold star that used to be there has been scraped off, replaced with a new name tag. Gloss. You put your ear to the wood. Nothing.

A deep breath and you find the handle. Should you burst in and give him a piece of your mind? Knock and enter politely? You can't help but scoff. Shouldn't he be the one coming to find you?

He calls your name before you can do either.

"Y/N?"

Fuck. Is hearing his voice supposed to hurt this bad?

You don't know what you're expecting when you turn around. Something different about him perhaps. A sign that he isn't the person you had grown to know. Grown to love.

But there he is. All messy blue hair and bitten lips and eyes a little red around the edges. Your Yoongi.

Your arms curl around your body like a band aid, holding you together. You can't crumble. Not now.

He looks stony but his eyes flicker with tender remorse when he sees the tears staining your cheeks.

His hands reach for you instinctively. The same hands that make love to his piano in the shitty apartment above the coffee shop. The same hands that could make you fall apart with even a delicate touch. You want to run into them so bad it hurts. But now they're stained red with betrayal and he chokes when you recoil.

Seconds feel like hours as you just stand there taking each other in like it's been years. It's only been a day or two. Maybe three? You can't remember. They all rolled into one meaningless blur of angry tears and insomnia.

You had a whole speech prepared for the moment you finally faced him again. But there are no words that feel right. You just need to know. If he meant every touch and every inside joke and those three words that make your heart soar despite how badly you want to hate him. And there's only one way to find out.

"Why did you do it?"

Your voice sounds timid and scared, like you feel. He winces.

"Y/N, let me explain—"

"Explain what?" Your voice raises shakily."How you lied to me? How you used me?"

He rushes towards you and it takes all of your strength to draw back, especially when his eyes look so frantic, so desperate. Like he's having one of his nightmares. It tugs at your heart because this time the nightmare is real and you're living in it.

"It's not like that—"

"Did you ever even want me? What about all that fair and square bullshit you told me huh?"

"Of course I wanted you Y/N...want you." His eyes fill with pain. "This wasn't meant to happen. I know how this looks but I just panicked!"

You rush at him, fists curled like that day in his studio except this time he doesn't stop you when you start hitting his chest, vision blurry.

"He was going to pull out! Namjoon was going to let you win! So that I could -- we could be happy!"

"What I...I don't understand?" His mouth gapes, processing. "But you didn't..." He swallows, like remembering is painful. "When I confessed, you didn't say it back. I thought we were over! I thought I had nothing to lose, Y/N. He had already won..."

You remember your words. I can't do this anymore. A misunderstanding that would never have happened if he just—

"Did you even listen to the song?"

His face drops at the mention of the song. "No." He looks like he might cry. "I was angry! I...I acted impulsively. I never got the chance..."

You bared your soul in that song in ways you never thought you could. He wasn't supposed to find out how you felt about him this way. Not here, when you're falling apart and there's nothing you can do to stop it. But it all comes tumbling out before you can change your mind.

"I wrote that song because I love you, Yoongi!"

Silence. He has to grip the wall to steady himself.

"Y-you love me?"

"I love you." The words feel indulgent on your tongue and even now as they hang heavy in the air and you're overcome with an indescribable combination of grief and longing, you mean them with every bone in your body.

You rush at him. You can't help it. Can't resist how your head falls into his chest and how you cry harder when you breathe in his scent one last time, sobs muffled by his hoodie. But he hears them, you know he does, because his hands are trembling when they pull you closer like you're fragile enough to break.

"I love you. So fucking much it hurts, Yoongi."

You're weak. You're so so weak.

You don't know why you do it but you grab his face with both hands and then you're kissing him. Showing him how much you need him, how much you mean your words. His hand cups your jaw like always and his lips press back with a tender desperation and you believe him. You believe that he loves you. Whole and true. Because in that moment, with his lips on yours, everything is okay. He's your Yoongi and you're his Y/N and he loves you.

But then you pull back and he's crying too and everything's broken and your heart goes numb.

"I'm sorry. God, Y/N I'm so sorry. If I could take it back I promise I would."

You muster up all the strength you can. You know what you have to do.

"I'm giving you a choice, Yoongi. You go out on that stage and pick up that trophy and we're over. For real."

He tries to kiss you again, grabbing at you frantically when you turn your cheek.

"Y/N, don't do this. We love each other. That's all that matters right?" He musters up the closest thing to a smile he can manage, like he's convincing himself more than he is you. "You don't have to—"

"No." You pull away from grip. It feels cold and wrong. "I have to do this. If you love me like you say you'll...you'll understand."

You turn but he grabs your wrist, pins you in place.

"I can't lose you to him again, Y/N. I...I already lost you once and I don't think I..."

The hard faced Min Yoongi you once knew is gone. All that's left is the vulnerable man in front of you who holds your heart in your hands with a grip so tight it scares you.

"He can't win...please."

You suck in a final breath.

"Please what? Don't make you choose between me and that stupid fucking trophy? You did this to yourself, Yoongi." You turn and this time he lets you. "The only person pushing me away is you."

"Y/N please, wait!"

You don't dare turn to look at him as you walk away. Not even when he pleads or you hear him fall to his knees, a strangled sob echoing down the hall. You're scared you might run back to him if you do.

You don't let yourself break down until you turn the corner. Yoongi doesn't follow.

--

"I'm okay." You assure Namjoon as you take a seat beside him inside the arena. It's a lie, of course. No amount of cold water splashed on your face in the bathroom could prepare you for this moment.

You're just in time. The ceremony is already starting. The host is taking the stage and the lights are dimming but you're too numb to care.

You go out on that stage and pick up that trophy and we're over.

Your decision is final. There's no going back. You've cried all your tears. You've said all that needed to be said. All you're left with now is a sickly feeling in your stomach as you look down at the trophy sat in a display case center stage.

We love each other. A slither of hope tugs at your heart strings. You barely manage to suppress it.

"Sorry! Excuse me!" The empty seat to your left sinks under the weight of Hoseok as he clumsily stumbles into the arena, late as always.

He offers you a smile which turns to a frown when you only stare past him vacantly, straining your neck to keep an eye on the stage.

A hand covers yours. You freeze at the contact, only relaxing when you peer through the darkness to find Hoseok staring at you gently. His voice is a whisper. "Whatever happens I'm here for you, okay?"

A wave of emotion crashes through you and you think you might cry again. You can't make your lips sound out a response but Hoseok understands and you feel a little stronger when you turn your attention back to the ceremony knowing you have someone by your side.

"As you all know there have been some...complications with this year's finalists." The host coughs and fiddles with his tie awkwardly. "But we are glad to announce that we do in fact have a winner here with us today!"

The crowd chants Yoongi's name again. Namjoon stiffens. Your free hand grabs his and he squeezes it tight.

"So without further ado, I would like to welcome this year's winner, Gloss!"

The crowd goes wild but the sound is drowned out by a ringing in your ears. It's like you're underwater, holding your breath as you wait and wait for him to take the stage and all the oxygen to slip away.

One...two...three...

You get to ten seconds, then twenty seconds and then thirty and by the time you get to forty you feel yourself break the surface, take a heaving breath.

You're floating. He chose you.

He loves you! Yoongi loves you! He—

No.

You're seeing things. You must be. That can't be Yoongi's face lighting up every screen in the room. That can't be him crossing the stage and taking the trophy from the hands of the host with a smug grin. That can't be Yoongi holding it up in the air like a martyr.

That can't be your Yoongi. This is a stranger.

You crash back to reality when Namjoon wraps his arms around your waist and you realise your sobbing. Sobbing so hard it hurts your chest and your lungs burn with misuse and you're sure the tears will never stop.

"It's okay! Shh."

Nothing is okay. Nothing.

Yoongi's face is still blown up on the big screens in painful detail. The smile on his face falters when he looks out into the crowd and spots you instantly. Sees you crumple.

There are two things Min Yoongi ever loved in this world.

His music and you.

The trophy feels cold in his hands. The crowd gasps as he rushes to the edge of the stage and calls out to you.

"Y/N wait! I'm sorry—"

You hear his voice through the speakers but it's too late. You're already running.

Yoongi's mic drops to the ground.

--

Yoongi's nightmares are back. Except this time they're different.

When he closes his eyes you're there. Smiling and laughing like you used to. His heart warms and he reaches for you...

And then he realises it's not you. Just a picture, blown up on the big screen as you cross the stage at the front of the room he's suddenly aware he's in.

He glances around at the indistinguishable people around him, all smiling and clapping ferociously. Why isn't he happy?

The bottle in his hand is half empty. He's realises he's screaming. So hard his throat burns and his lungs beg for air but you don't even look his way. He screams your name, over and over again. Nobody seems to hear him.

Namjoon's there too. Bouncing a baby on his knee, maybe one or two years old if he has to guess.

"That'll be you one day," He whispers, but its deafening to Yoongi. "Only the very best for my niece." The baby giggles up at him, stubby fingers wrapped around his thumb.

She has your eyes. The very same eyes Yoongi would look into like they held everything in the world. The very same eyes Yoongi saw fill with pain on the last day he saw you before things got messed up.

She has Hoseok's nose. And his mouth, too, small and heart shaped. The resemblance is uncanny as Hoseok appears beside Namjoon, takes the baby girl into his arms and places a sweet kiss on her forehead.

Then there you are. The same old Y/N. The same smile that makes your eyes crinkle and the same laughter than makes his heart melt. The same girl who used to love him.

Though it's clear that that much is no longer true. Not when you lean up to kiss Hoseok on the cheek, Namjoon drawing you into a hug when you present the trophy in your hands to them with an elated laugh.

A family.

It feels like he's been punched in the stomach.

Yoongi always thought winning Mic Drop would mean he had everything. Fame. Money. Glory.

He didn't need family. He always got by on his own.

It took holding the whole world in the palm of his hand to realise none of it meant anything if he didn't have you by his side.

You were his everything. But he was too stupid to see it and he let you slip away.

It's too late now.

A hand appears on his shoulder. It's cold, grip bruising. The voice that comes next gives him chills every single time.

"So was it worth it?" Namjoon asks.

Yoongi tries to answer but his vision is blurred with hot tears now and he's on his hands and knees and he's screaming.

And when he wakes up at ass o clock, sweaty and gasping for air, he still finds himself reaching for your warmth beside him.

But all his fingers find are cold sheets and bitterness.

extended a/n: okay so if you have reached this far then you are a TROOPER. a trooper who i love and appreciate endlessly for reading 30k of my waffle lmao im so sorry <3 ksksksk so this fic has been in my head for the longest time and in my drafts for almost five months so im super attached to it and putting this out is like the scariest ever?? i really put my heart into this piece, like y’all don’t understand how many times it’s cropped up in my dreams and I’ve woken up like MUST WRITE. it’s far from perfect but i tried my best!! i can’t tell you how many scenes had to be rewritten until i was happy enough with them bc this fic is literally my baby in every sense of the word and i wanted to get it right :( although that just made the ending even more SOUL DESTROYING to write for me ugh i had the ending set in my mind before i even started writing but there were moments where i jus wanted yoongi and oc to be happy ever after :( but alas, I feel like this ending was far more realistic for them and i couldn’t go against my gut sigh. there may be a few drabbles planned in the future tho to make up for the angst :) Anyway!!! I’ll stop rambling. Thank you for reading this far, if anyone has. TROOPER. love you <3

updated 12/01/19: drabble #1 | drabble #2 | drabble #3