#you can hire an artist but you can’t hire someone to add words to a screen…

[danothan]

i open youtube and watch a video and seethe to myself abt how i would be such a good subtitler and then not do anything abt it

[pensat-i-fet]

Want to join me? (Rúben Dias x Reader)

Masterlist

Wattpad

“Morning”

“Morning weirdo, I made you a big breakfast”, says my roommate Jenny when I reach the kitchen island of our apartment.

“Thanks, I need to leave in…”, I look down at my watch, “an hour and a half”.

“But you couldn’t skip your morning run”, she says, rolling her eyes.

“You know it helps me with the stress”.

“Yeah yeah, whatever”.

I can't help but smile when she puts the plate on the table and I see she made frittata for today’s breakfast. My favourite post-workout meal.

“So, tell me about today”, she says, sitting down to drink a cup of tea and keep me company while I eat.

“I’m taking the train to Manchester and doing a shoot there. Nothing too exciting, really”.

“Is it a campaign or an editorial?”

“Editorial. For Men’s Health Portugal. Really random for them to hire me but someone cancelled very last minute and I guess I was the only good option. The entire crew is Portuguese. It should be fun. I won’t understand a word they say all day”.

“And who’s the model? He is probably really hot. I’m so jealous”.

I laugh at her comment. “Some footballer. I don’t know”.

“I truly hate you. You know I love football and you just say that it’s some footballer. I hate you”.

“Jen, I barely know who plays for England and you want me to care about who plays for Portugal?”, I say with a shrug.

“There are six Portuguese players in Manchester but only one good option for that shoot”, she says, ignoring my comment.

“Well, I’ll let you know when I get there”, I say, taking my empty plate to the dishwasher so I can head to the shower. “Breakfast was perfect, thank you”.

“Ew, go shower now, stinky”, she says, getting away from my sweaty hug and I laugh all the way to my room.

**

Four hours later, I’m finally on set, getting all the clothes ready. Not that this footballer will be wearing much. The brief I got sent said that only trousers and shoes will be needed. I guess the ladies and the gents who like him will go crazy when they see him showing off his muscles in all the photos.

I shake my head at the thought. I never got what’s so fascinating about footballers.

“He’s ready”, says one of the women working at today’s shoot.

“Great. Thanks”.

When I get to the dressing area, I see there is a guy with his back to me and looking down at his phone.

“Hello?”

At the sound of my voice, he turns and looks at me for a couple of seconds before smiling. “Hi, you’re the stylist, right? I’m Rúben, nice to meet you”.

“Nice to meet you too”, I tell him, shaking his hand. His really strong hand.

“Ok, I need you to undress”, I say, quickly realising I’m too used to working with female models. When I look up at Rúben I can see him smirking at me. “You know what I mean”.

“Do I?”, he says, but I choose to ignore it.

“Someone will be here soon to do your body make-up. But I need to check if we got the right size for your clothes”.

“Can’t you do it? The body make-up?”, he adds the last part when I look up at him, confused.

“I’m not a make-up artist”.

“That’s a shame”, he whispers.

“What was that?”, I ask, pretending to not have heard it.

“Nothing”.

I'm thankfully saved by the real make-up artist, who starts to fuss around him the moment he takes his shirt off. I don't understand what she's saying to him but I can tell how uncomfortable he feels by the way he's smiling. I have to bite my lip to hide my smile at the scene in front of me.

"I was told your shoe size is 10.5. Is that right?"

"Yes", he answers and I start to put each pair of shoes next to the trousers he'll wear them with.

"Big feet for a big boy, huh?", tells him the make-up artist, laughing and staring at the arm she's holding to apply the make-up.

This time I can't help it and a small chuckle escapes my lips. Rúben gives me a "it's not so funny" look, which only makes my smile bigger.

"Ok, I'm done, darling. Your turn", she tells me with a wink.

"Here, put this on", I say to Rúben, passing him some green joggers while I turn to get the matching shoes.

Thinking that he is done getting changed, I turn again to find him bending down to put the joggers on. I know I shouldn't, I know it's unprofessional, but I can't help but stare.

How is he even real?

A beep on my phone wakes me up from the beautiful dream that is Rúben.

Jenny: how is it going? Who are you doing the shoot with?

Me: guess.

Jenny: Rúben Dias.

Me: how did you know?

Jenny: he's the fittest out of the six Portuguese in Manchester 🤷

Me: he's alright, I guess.

Jenny: take a photo of him for me. Please!

Me: Jennifer, I can't do that. They could fire me if they find out.

Jenny: then don't let them catch you.

"You ok?", asks Rúben.

"Yes. Umm…would you mind if I take a photo of you? For my…eh…the behind the scenes".

"Take as many as you want".

And so I take the photo. When I go to check it I can see his cheeky smirk. Is it permanently on his face?

Jenny: I'm dead. It was nice meeting you 🥵

Me: you're so silly. I gotta keep on working. Talk to you later.

I put my phone away and walk towards Rúben to fix his outfit.

"Ok, let me pull this down a bit", I tell him, pulling his joggers down slightly, the way the photographer wants them. "And…the jacket", I say, getting a matching jacket and tying it around his hips. Trying to stop the slight shake of my hands.

I can feel my face getting hot and can only imagine how red it looks. Ridiculous. It's not the first time I dress a male model for a shoot, what's wrong with me?

"Ready. You can go with the photographer".

Seeing Rúben pose for the camera is an experience. He's so confident. Many would call him arrogant but I just think he knows how hot he is and loves it. There is nothing wrong with that.

When I look at the monitor, I can tell the bottom of the trousers I purposefully put higher to better show off the shoes look a bit weird, so I walk to where he is to put them down quickly.

I hear the photographer talking to Rúben again and I wouldn't have thought about it twice had he not changed to English so I could understand him.

"Sorry, she distracted me", he says, making me turn to see him smirking at me again. And making my already red face even redder.

This is going to be a long shoot.

**

Three outfits into the shoot, the photographer seems annoyed at something.

"What's wrong with him?", I ask Rúben, pointing at the photographer while I help him put on the next outfit.

He moves so he is closer to the people talking before answering me. "He thinks something is missing. That I need someone else to pose with me for some of the photos".

I roll my eyes at that. Photographers and their last minute changes of mind.

"Should have decided that first. Who's going to find a model now?"

"What about you?", asks Rúben, making me freeze and frown.

"What about me?"

"You could pose with me".

"I'm not a model. I know my otherworldly beauty might have fooled you but I'm just a stylist", I tell him, rolling my eyes.

"You are fit".

"Excuse me?", I say, eyes wide open.

"I mean as in being in good shape. Do you exercise often?", he answers, looking at my arms and shoulders that are now exposed since I took off my jumper and I'm only wearing a tank top.

"Yes, I love doing sport".

"Perfect", he says, smiling. "And you are also fit in the other sense of the word, by the way".

And with that he leaves me to talk to the photographer. What did just happen?

I don't really know what to do with myself while I see them talking. How I wish I could understand them right now.

"Rúben tells me you could take a couple of photos with him", tells me the photographer. "It's just what we needed. They are bringing some women's clothes you can wear. And you can style yourself", he laughs.

"I'm not a model", I say, not knowing what else to say.

"Don't worry, I'll guide you. And you've seen many models working. Just copy them".

Right, as if it was easy.

"I can't do this, Rúben", I tell him when the photographer is gone.

"You can. It'll be fine".

"Oh, there you are", says the make-up artist who is back but not for Rúben, she's here for me. "You don't need much done. Just a bit of foundation and mascara and done. Right, Rúben?"

"Yes, she doesn't need your help at all".

That smirk again. It'll be the end of me today.

"Here are the clothes", tells me one of the assistants who is carrying a rail full of women's sport clothes.

I pick a few outfits that will go well with what Rúben has to wear and look at him.

"Can you leave?"

"Why?"

"I have to get changed", I tell him, showing the clothes I have in my hands.

"I changed in front of you".

"Not the same thing and you know it. Go now so this can be over soon".

He obliges, laughing while he walks back to the shooting area.

I look at myself in the mirror and leave to join Rúben before I chicken out.

I see him standing and waiting until he turns to me and smiles again.

"Want to join me?", he says, arm extended towards me.

"I don't have another choice, do I?", I say, ignoring his chuckle.

"Ok", says the photographer, "I need you a bit closer…there. Your hands on your hips and your body turned to Rúben", he says, moving my body so I am posing just how he wants me to. "And you are almost perfect, Rúben, but how about we try with your hand on her back…right there. Yes. Not lower, this isn't that kind of shoot", he says, walking away and laughing.

He immediately grabs his camera and starts shooting again.

"Yes, you are exactly what we needed. Come to the monitor so we can see the photos".

We do as told and I position myself next to the photographer, mostly out of habit. I can feel Rúben by my side and then his arm moves so he can put it on the table that the monitor is on. After he does the same with his other arm, he cages me in between the table and him. I try not to blush again, but when he leans in and his arm touches my bare back, I can't help but feel goosebumps all over my body. When I look at him to see if he's noticed, he's already looking at me. I hate him.

"One more photo and we're done", claps the photographer and we go get changed.

For this final outfit Rúben is just wearing some plain black joggers that of course look perfect on him. I decide to wear a nice turquoise set to add a pop of colour to the photo.

"Wow", he says when I walk back to where he is.

"What is it?"

"That outfit on you is…wow".

"It's just some shorts and a sports bra. I wear this to the gym all the time", I shrug.

"When do you say is our gym date, then?"

Him and that smirk.

"You can lift her with just one arm, right?"

"He what?", I ask, looking at the photographer wondering if he's gone mad.

"For the photo. I want to try something a bit different. He can lift you by the waist and you put his arm on his shoulder", he mutters, thinking. "Look".

And so he helps us get in the pose he wants. Once we are ready, I can tell Rúben is holding me tightly so I don't fall. But he also isn't making much of an effort. That's how strong he is.

"That was perfect! Perfect! It's a wrap everybody!"

"You can put me down now", I tell Rúben. And so he does. Slowly. Which is nice because it means he's being careful, but it's also torture because of the way our bodies touch while he's putting me down. My blush is back, but I'm not the only one being obvious about how I feel right now.

"I'll go get changed. I need to get to the train station soon", I say, wanting to put some distance between us so I can think rationally again.

"Wait", says Rúben, following me. "What about that date?"

"What date?"

"Our gym date", he says, looking me up and down, his brown eyes looking darker than normal.

"I thought you were joking", I laughed.

"I wasn't. Or we could make it a dinner date if you want to".

"I…".

"Here", he says, writing something down on a piece of paper. "My number. Let me know when you are free for our date", he says with a wink before leaving.

I guess I'll have to find a free day on my busy schedule to come back to Manchester.

[rantrambles]

Ever get so upset you make a Tumblr account to vent?

I haven’t even listened to The Penumbra Podcast yet but it’s on my list because it’s insanely popular and the cosplays I’ve seen are hot as hell (A+ to all the cosplayers I’ve seen you’ve done great work). Now, with the recent news surrounding the podcast, I’ll wait till it’s done if I ever do get into it. I’m Asian and part of the LGBT community but I’m not nonbinary so I can’t say much about the trans represention in the art but I wanted to add my two cents on the matter as a person of color and someone examining the situation from the outside. Also, before I get deeply into it, I’m not the only person of color with opinions on this matter so if people have their own frustrations and criticism with the racism in The Penumbra Podcast and/or the new artist they hired, definitely listen to them too. These are my own personal opinions, and I’m sure other people will disagree and that’s fine. We’re all going to have different views on this so bear that in mind. Also, feel free to correct me or add anything if I’ve missed some information. Here’s a great breakdown of the whole situation for those that don’t know what happened. Finally, I was very hesitant to post this, but I felt it was important because I make a statement at the end on how race should be presented in a podcast format so if you are interested in making a podcast and want to have a diverse range of characters, please skip to the end to read those thoughts.

I’ll start off by saying, I’m not even that upset with the new artist that The Penumbra Podcast hired. I know that statement alone is controversial but I don't personally know them, and I’m not going to judge who they are as a person by a few pieces of art they’ve made. They are the least of the problems that I have here. Since the announcement and the backlash, I’ve been scrolling through the artist’s Instagram account and I can tell why people find the designs offensive, but I’m also comparing the designs to the artist’s other work, and I honestly believe that’s just their style. They’ve exaggerated the features of just about every character they’ve made, regardless of race or gender. From what I’ve seen the sharp angles and overly round curves in the anatomy that make some of the character’s features more jarring are how they prefer to draw. I’m sure they’re capable of drawing more realistic proportions but for the most part they’re art aims to call attention, be bold, and create distinguished features. Not inherently a bad thing on its own.

And yeah I’d understand the issue if this were a scenario where the artist heard how these characters acted in the podcast and thought “hey, obviously this character is a black woman because they are super strong and therefore must have big muscles, no other woman could look like that” or “hey, this character has to be Asian because they act super seductive sometimes better draw them as such.” But from my understanding the race was already decided by previous official artists and a general description of the characters were already generated by the audience, similar to how The Magnus Archives leaned towards drawing scrawny Jon with black, greying hair and dark skin. The new artists couldn’t really change those features even if those features aren’t described in canon because a depiction that strayed too far from popular fandom interpretation would make the character’s unrecognizable to the fanbase. 

I think the reason this became such a big issue for most people is because the new Penumbra artist used their exaggerated art style when making these characters and people of color and nonbinary folks already see themselves drawn as these exaggerated caricatures all the time (with those images being used to further discriminate against them). I’m sure the artist didn’t mean for their art to be offensive, but that of course doesn’t change how it was received. 

According to some, the poses and expressions the artists chose did not fully represent the characters entirely and only served to further perpetuate harmful stereotypes, and I’ll have to take their word for it because I still haven’t listened to the podcast so I have no idea how the characters act. But again much of the criticism is based on the one line-up and doing a deeper dive into the artist’s work I managed to find artwork that was much less offensive. Here some art where Vespa is depicted in a non-violent pose and one where Vespa is in a threatening pose but not an overly violent one. Here is Peter drawn in a non-seductive pose. Hopefully, the artist truly does keep the criticisms in mind as they work on the new official art. I’m just not the type of person that wants to get the pitchforks out and cause this particular person to lose a job they seemed really excited about over their old character line-up, especially when that person is also part of a marginalized group.

Again, that’s just my opinion on that particular artist. Those who are offended by their art are still valid in how they feel, and the artist should absolutely take their criticism to heart to better how they represent the characters.

What I’m more upset about is that I think The Penumbra Podcast should never have released official art for their characters in the first place and that’s their mistake that they refuse to own up about. They have made it clear that the story was never meant to portray characters of colors, a fact emphasized by the fact they hired mostly white actors from the start. They only started releasing art of the characters to get a profit. And the thing is they know what they did was wrong. All I had to do was search Penumbra Podcast racism and there is a note on their website saying that they archived some old official art.

“We have discontinued all Penumbra merchandise that uses the original character designs, and in the meantime, any profits on the sales of that merchandise will go to the For The Gworls project. We also realize that the depiction of these characters as POC, while not appropriate for us to use in our marketing and merchandise, has nonetheless become personally meaningful to many POC listeners. For that reason, and because we do not wish to distance ourselves from our mistake, we are keeping these images on our website for archival purposes. Though we do want to make it clear that many of the main/featured voice actors are white and that we did not write the characters to represent any specific POC experience, you are, as always, free to imagine these characters in any way that you like.”

I went to their shop and they still sell posters and pins with the character’s faces on them, but they are donating it to a good cause so hopefully that stays the same. However, I still find it a little uncomfortable that they are still selling character merch and have plans to continue selling character merch. They have no right to dissuade the fans that already found representation in the characters, but they also have no right to profit off the representation that was built, regardless if they made the story. 

Let’s compare this to another piece of popular media. I love Avatar the Last Airbender and, I liked the ATLA voice actors just fine but there should have been more people of color doing voice acting behind the screen too. The voice actors for that show were mainly white too, however, the creators knew that they would be making poc characters. That’s what makes the difference. Did they still choose to go with mostly white voice actors? Yes. Could they have done better and pay more people of color? Also yes. But I’m not as furious at them because they did their research on the cultures they were basing the ATLA world off of and intentionally gave us a show where Asians could see characters that looked like them represented on the screen. The Penumbra Podcast did not do any of that. Again, they openly admitted that it was never their intention to make the character’s people of color when they made the podcast so that goes to show no research was made to properly represent specific cultures. The color of the character’s skin in their official designs therefore became more of aesthetic choice rather than representation, and it wasn’t even their aesthetic choice to begin with!

Race isn’t a color you can just throw onto the character because you feel like it. So I want this to be a lesson to anyone that wants to make a podcast: if you want to include poc characters please do some research into the cultures you plan to represent the way you would with any other form of media. Just because the audience can’t see the characters and just because it’s harder to smoothly introduce the character’s appearance doesn’t mean you’re allowed to be lazy on how you present the characters. Do research before you start writing the first episode and take the time to hire poc actors. Hiring poc actors is actually the least that can be done to show representation. Also, since the audience cannot visually see the race of the characters on a podcast and it can’t typically be described the way you would in a book, you’ll have to be creative. It’s not my job to say how, but my suggestions would be, before the fans come up with their own image of the character, you need to establish race in the first few episodes or release character profiles on a website so that the fans know you canonically intended the characters to be of a certain race even if you aren’t able to mention it in the actual podcast. If you are unwilling to do any of these then the best route is to avoid stating race at all and allow the audience to build their own representation into your form of media. However, once this happens, you are not allowed to profit off popular fan interpretations. You lose all rights to create official art or images of the characters. You cannot use “we have a diverse cast of characters” when you market your story. It doesn’t matter whether you created the content or not, you did not create the representation for those minority groups.

It’s one thing for fans to build their own inclusivity into a form of art like a podcast, but it’s another thing for the creators who never worked to make the representation happen to take advantage of the representation that the listeners built for themselves. Thank you for attending my TedTalk.

[dreamii-yume]

not a request but, Idia seems like the type to make a hentai game based on his darling correct? so he uses that as a base to have experience to woo his darling. but now as he tries it irl, he's confused it worked in the game. so why is the darling crying? is there a glitch somewhere? thoughts?

It all started when he thought that you looked like a character from an anime he watched once. He was a fond of the character so, he couldn’t help but to observe you more than he should, hiding his excitement throughout. There, he found out that you don’t just share a similar appearance but a similar personality as well, the perfect embodiment of that character. Idia almost thought that you were some kind of base for that character, cosplaying even, but you were from another world, weren’t you? Could it be that you’re actually that character and just got reincarnated into his world without knowing that you’re an anime character yourself!?

Reverse Isekai, was it? A twist in that overused genre where the fictional character is the one who gets to be trasported to the normal world. Idia was there on the peak of its popularity, reading all the manga, novels that he can find, watching all the anime adaptations along the way. Then the premise just gets redone over and over again that it slowly became boring. Even if they add twists here and there, it still ended up the same.

But now comes you, a real person that got transported into his world! A person who just happens to look and act like the character from one of his beloved shows! You can’t blame him for being this intrigued by your existence! Because how can he not!? This is an otaku’s dream coming true right here!

And best of all...You have his favorite character archetype! How awesome is that!?

Before he knew it, he was all over you. Well, not really...Since he was too shy to actually talk to you, and all he was just doing is either hide behind that tablet of his and a wall at least five meters away. He had already embraced the joys of being a loner and is practically a master of running away from social gatherings or talking in general, but now that it came to this, it became a double-edged sword.

Ortho said to just build up the courage to talk to you if he so badly wants to and he does. He really, really wants to talk to you, at least once...Or twice...Or thrice- The point is that he really wants to. But as supportive as the little brother of his is, he makes it sound so easy. Of course, someone who doesn’t know jackshit about making friends would never be able to master that skill that easily. He cringes at the thought of doing so without any experience, you’d probably see him as another creepy otaku.

Then, it came to him...A thought that proves that he was actually the genius that everyone claims him to be.

Experience. Of course! He’ll just have to gain experience so he can level up! With that, he can conquer your route doing just that! And what better way to do this than to combine it with something what he’s well-experienced with?

So, he started working. His fingers worked on the holographic keyboard faster than he’d ever been, creating a dating simulator game in less than three days. Ortho himself was surprised to see his usually unmotivated and borderline depressed brother having this intense look in his eyes. Idia barely ate or sleep during all of that, but he doesn’t care, what matters is that he finished it.

He finished the game that can finally help himself out, a dating simulator with only one character to focus on. A character who’s basically a spitting image of you and named after you, he even sneaked in some voice lines that he secretly recorded you saying. Idia had observed you longer to know what to write in the game script, which choices you would make, which words you would say, there was even different sprites and assets of you, depending on your emotions! Though, his hand seems to have slipped and before he knew it, he had already hired some Top-tier doujinshi artists to draw some Not-Safe-For-Work CGs of you for some Not-Safe-For-Work scenes. Yeah...He thought so far ahead that it just kinda turned into...Those kinds of simulation games.

But he regrets nothing.

...Other than the fact that he should probably keep this game away from Ortho as much as possible.

Anyway, it was probably one of the games that he took his sweet time with. Even though it was a game that he himself created, it was like he had developed some form of amnesia and was marvelled at his first time playing such masterpiece. All the twists and events left him in awe, squealing at every single CG when your character goes as little as holding his in-game character’s hand. The more...special scenes had him gulping down his own saliva as a physical reaction, the moans and groans that he recorded from you was when you were stretching in the morning, or when you’re startled or exercising, and yet, it fits so well with each sex scene. His face flushed and his pants felt so tight as he read through the dialogue box, his hand later slipping underneath them just so he could relieve his excitement.

“(Y/N)...Hehe, (Y/N)...♡” He blissfully moans as his hand goes up and down his cock, biting his blue lip in anticipation. Sweat was dripping down his forehead and his flaming hair burned a brighter blue, expressing his excitement. His imagination was going ballistic, imagining your own tightness around him as he slid in and out of your slick insides. The closer the scene reached its climax, the faster his hands became, determine to release at the same time as your character. “Haa...(Y/N)~♡ It feels so good...So good...Haha...”

With a satisfied moan, his own strings of semen shoots against his screen, perfectly coming just in time as your character appears, all flushed and exhausted. Idia let out a sigh, calming down from his high with a few strokes here and there to make sure of a satisfying release.

“Haa...Idia-kun, I love you ♡”

That was his favorite dialogue, no matter how many times he replayed this scene, it never fails to arouse him, making him all warm on the inside. A huge blush covered his cheeks as he smirked, slowly building up into an unhinged chuckle. He brushed his hands down the tainted screen, smudging his cum even more as he imagined it as your face. “Aah...Me too...I love you too, (Y/N)~” He whispered, shivering in excitement. “Aw...I can’t wait to have you for real...Wait for a little while, ‘kay? Hehe...”

This plan was a success and certainly helped him gain the confidence and experience that he needed to finally talk to you properly. Memorizing all the available scenarios and route he can go to, he just felt like he can do just about anything right now. With all these knowledge in mind, you surely won’t be weirded out and things wouldn’t be as awkward as he had already formulated a full conversation on his head. A bad end flag was still left arise, but it was placed so low that Idia can’t just spend another batch of his precious time with it, nothing would go wrong if he just do what he practiced, right? For that reason alone, his birthday was coming up and for the first time in forever, he could use a party as an excuse to talk to you. It doesn’t matter who comes anyway, he’ll have Ortho to accommodate them, Idia’s main focus should only be directed at you.

Plus, if he was going to confess on his birthday, then that’s just a major advantage! Plenty of stuff happens when it’s your own character’s birthday in any game, developers becomes extra generous with the drop rates in gachas, they give you more game currency to spend, and extra scenarios with your favorite characters! Sometimes even free stuff of your choice! This would definitely put his chance rate well above what he expected, it’s you after all!

“Happy birthday, Idia-senpai. I brought this gift for you, I hope you like it.” Ah, there it is, his goddess’ voice echoing through the walls. You said that you were going to conduct a birthday interview with him which got his heart beating like crazy. W-Were you going to start the confession event here!? With all these people!? That’s too daring! Though, that’s really charming of you, and a part of him actually wanted that to happen so he could finally point his fingers to these losers-

But no, unfortunately, he doesn’t have that much confidence to give and so, he ended up having to push you somewhere more secluded. Somewhere more...private. Like his room for example- that’s a good place, right~? Nobody can interrupt this interview that way and...and they can do play all sorts of games right after too...That’s fun, isn’t it!?

The interview was surprisingly fun, although it really just consisted of him ranting to you all about his interests. He ended up spilling all facts about his favorite idol group, games, and movies, his big mouth going off on a tangent once again because of that one question. This wasn’t exactly part of the plan, he was planning to give off a smooth vibe to it but he guessed he was just a tad bit under-level for that. Anyway, you ended gracing him with an adorable giggle so, it doesn’t really affect his motives! He’ll still conquer your route like he did with the game!

A few more questions about his favorite and least favorite food comes, Idia couldn’t help but be impatient. When were you going to activate the scenario, huh? The love confession event, it was the one question that he was waiting for. His heart was ready, his body was ready, his everything was ready...So, why were you standing up with a satisfied look on your face? Aren’t you forgetting something here?

“And that concludes our Birthday Celebration Interview! Idia-senpai, thank you for answering all my-“ Idia’s heart skipped a beat as his hands automatically grabbed your hand and pulled you down, rather aggressively.

“W-Wait! Wait, wait, waitwaitwait-“ Idia stumbled over his words, his face flushed as he stared at you with a crooked but nervous smile. “U-Um...! T-There something else...That I want to tell y-you...”

Oh, no...This was that one scenario in the extreme difficulty mode of the game, where you’re not triggering the confession event at all. You’re probably so conflicted with your emotions that he has to do it himself as the main character. It’s not the original route that he’s going for, but it’s fine, he has the script of this mode in memory too, he should be able to pull it off...That’s weird though, he never remembered activating anything to play in this difficulty...Whatever, real life really is something else, isn’t it?

You were surprised and quite honestly, bothered at his sudden outburst but that’s fine. You were the same in the game too, he just had to take control of the situation. “I-I...” He gathered the words in his head, his face heating up than it ever did before.

“(Y-Y/N)...I like- No...” He stammered as he tries his best to form a nervous smile, his heart was beating so fast but that’s not really something new. “...I love you, (Y/N)...”

Idia heard a slight gasp from you but delusions took over his mind before logic can come bursting through, rendering him practically heart-eyed at the situation. He was distracted, but he still waited for your response even if he was already a hundred percent convinced that his confession was a success. It has to be, he had already seen this exact scenario in the game for a millionth time. “...D-Do you...love me too, (Y/N)...?” He fiddled with the tip of his burning hair, leaning close to you as he knows that it’s a special skill that increases his success rate up to at least twenty percent. “...You l-love me too, don’t you~? Hehe...♡”

Yes. You’re going to say yes. You always had said yes in the game as there was absolutely no reason for you to say otherwise. Everything that happened before this went according to plan, he followed every route, said the correct dialogue choices, so there’s no way that he can fuck this one up. He had definitely conquered your route for real this time!

“Ah...” But he had to wonder though, why were you averting your eyes for? That’s cute, but you don’t have to be shy...Just say that you love him too, he can hardly wait! “Idia-senpai...”

“...I’m sorry.”

Idia blinked, his body freezing on its spot as you bowed in front of him so respectfully. Your mouth began to move to deliver more words of explanation for him to understand, but he just couldn’t hear anything else anymore.

What did you say? You’re...sorry? Haha...For what though? That’s weird, that’s not what you were supposed to say, even if this was set in extra hard mode. He did everything correctly so, no matter what difficulty he’s in, you should be able to accept his confession every time.

...Is it a bug in the system? A glitch that he didn’t see?

You called out to him once again, you called out his name and upon looking up, he could only see your face. So full of concern and pity, but no signs of falling in love whatsover. No...You shouldn’t be looking at him like that, what the hell just happened?

This is all wrong...!

Before Idia could even properly process anything, he had found himself on top of you, both frustration and anger building up inside him. His hand, albeit really shaky, had found itself a dangerous clasp around your neck and your expression suddenly turned white. You’re struggling underneath him, like a deer caught by a hunter, kicking and scratching his arms away. But you were scared, he could tell by that look in your eyes, he could easily squeeze your neck in this position after all.

“I-Idia-senpai...!” He heard you call out but your voice just bounced off his ears, he was too distracted by his own shock. This was not in any of the scenarios that he formulated inside his mind, and he created thousands, for Hades’ sake! His breathing became unstable as he began to hyperventilate, sweating immensely as he tries to wreck his brain for whatever the hell he was supposed to do in this scenario. This wasn’t how the game continues after a confession event! Was he too inexperience or under-level to conquer your route? Did he miss a side quest from you or something? What did he do wrong? Was it the lack of gifts of affection? Normally, you were supposed to say that you love him too, embrace him before the two of you share a kiss and-

...A kiss?

Oh...Oh, that’s right! Maybe this is where the code got rewritten and that the kiss should come first now? Maybe your character was taking a different turn, you were probably shifting to other character types to accommodate your new-found feelings...You’re being a Tsundere, aren’t you~? So cute, but you don’t have to push him away though, he’ll keep coming back to you anyways.

...And so, in hopes of desperation, that’s exactly what he did, he leaned down at you as he smashed his lips onto yours. You widened your eyes with a muffled scream coming out of you, but Idia kept your mouth busy as it is. He was on cloud-nine, enjoying your soft lips against his chapped ones so much so that he just instinctively started grinding his hips against yours. You were starting to panic, but that’s fine, that’s a normal reaction. Both in real life and in-game.

By the time that he finished selfishly sucking up your lips, ultimately creating a little bruise on the side, he pulled away with a string of saliva connecting both your tongues together. Idia giggled to himself, the feeling of your lips and tongue was still lingering on his that he can’t help but be hungry for more. However, looking back at you, he blinked as tears suddenly began to stream down your cheeks. Your chest heaving up and down as small hiccups comes out of your every sob.

It made him panic slightly at first, but then remembered a scenario like this once in the game...Though, it wasn’t a scenario as drastic as this one, that he’ll admit. “A-Ah, you shouldn’t cry...” He tried comforting, letting go of your neck and wiping your tears away with a nervous smile. “Y-You’re not supposed to cry after a c-confession event, it’s not in your file...”

You flinched at his touch. “S-Stop, please...L-Let me go...” You whimpered, lifting your arms up to try and shield yourself away from him. “I-I won’t tell anyone, I-I swear-!”

Idia’s hand twitched, quickly covering your mouth as a nervous rection so that he wouldn’t hear the words that he doesn’t want to hear anymore. He felt scared to touch you now, seeing how defensive you got, his little angel’s crying and it’s all because of him. Your words certainly impacted him, but he shook his head instead, he has to keep himself from looking down.

“...You shouldn’t say that either, that’s not in your script.” He said with a bit of stricter tone onto it, attempting to show you how capable he can really be. He grabbed your wrist and forced your hands open, revealing your terrified expression. “Don’t worry...It’s just a little twist on the story, I’m sure. I just have to restart the system, right...?”

“I-I’ll fix you up soon enough, H-Honey~” You watched him with eyes slowly widening in realization and terror as he started to untie his tie, to remove the birthday outfit that he clearly dislikes. You were frozen, you can’t move, not like you could do much with someone as big as Idia straddling above your stomach but you were left immobile with fear. His use of love words sounds extremely clumsy and Idia himself cringes at the sound of it coming from his own mouth but he’s enthusiastic. That doesn’t make it any less terrifying for you at all.

The game’s not finish yet. It’s just as he expected, there was a little glitch that needs a little fixing. It was the cause of a scenario as unreasonable as this one to appear. But it’s fine. He can fix it all up, he can fix you all up and when he’s done with that, he’ll definitely conquer your route for real this time.

After all, there’s no game that he can’t finish, that would be a shame to his Otaku title! It doesn’t matter if it’s his birthday, he’s going to work all night to fix this very unpleasant glitch in you. What a pain~ Idia wonders what kind of price he’ll get from you after this.

...Not that he’s going to complain anytime soon lol

Idia has the personality of an ugly bastard. Just saying *cough*

[writhingcreature]

I LOVE the idea of jock/nerd Mericcup and cheerleader/jock Rapunstrid, do you have any more headcanons for that au?

I tried writing this and got distracted and now O have to start from the beginning so... let’s try this again

- Hiccup keeps trying to ask Merida out but his awkwardness and self Doubt keep tying his tongue and hands and feet and he fails again and again. Merida knows what he’s trying to say but she wants to give him the chance to do it since she knows it might hurt his pride if she asks him. Eventually she does anyway though and Hiccup is so relieved he’s been put out of his misery he kisses her right then and there and everyone’s like OoO

- Hiccup and Astrid are neighbors and they grew up right next door to each other. Like, saw each other through the window and climbed onto each other’s roofs and such. They did that thing where they opened their windows and just... talked if they were too lazy to climb up onto the roof. So they’re like actually really close friends. As kids Astrid always found Hiccup annoying and it was like “your mom is friend with my mom” but eventually he started tutoring her and she thought she was doing fine at school but suddenly she was acing everything and it all made sense and after that she thought Hiccup was cool

- Merida and Rapunzel live quite a bit from each other but Merida skateboards and Rapunzel goes on morning bike rides and walks and jogs and skates (on rollerblades) and really ANYTHING that gets her out in the morning. They end up meeting when Merida falls off her skateboard and busting her knee - Rapunzel took care of it with the med kit she always takes with her everywhere. After that they were best friends and upon hitting middle school, joined sports together to figure out what they liked. Rapunzel was good at cheerleading, being very petite and acrobatic, and Merida was better at the classic sports (soccer, hockey, baseball, football, etc.). They do figure skating together. When Merida had to fight to be on the guys’ team, or just. Create a girls’ sports team, Rapunzel was there to support her every step of the way.

- Astrid and Merida are on a team together. Astrid does either hockey or soccer (or maybe both Idk which seasons they are but it feels like they’d be in different ones) but eventually Merida talks her into joining every one that Merida is in too. They get each other SO much and eventually develop like a secret language. No one knows if that’s true for sure, but these two girls can communicate without moving their body or saying a single word and it’s so effortless and perfect a system that people thought they were dating for the longest time. When someone finally brought it up (it was Snotlout) the two laughed so hard and so long that he blushed, and they NEVER let him live it down. It was just so absurd to them....

- Astrid and Rapunzel actually happened pretty fast. Everyone thought Astrid would take charge, and normally she does. She’s confident and sure of herself and has fingers in SO many pies, and she doesn’t ever shrink from any competition. Everything seems very easy for her and she never falters off fumbles... that is until she tries to talk to Rapunzel. Because Astrid can affectionately bulky Hiccup and Merida already gets her so well that she doesn’t have to try to communicate with her. But Rapunzel is... her opposite in a lot of ways. She’s small and soft spoken and artistic. Her mind is creative and her hands are gentle and her eyes are huge and her smile is warm. Rapunzel is this golden stream in a fairytale and Astrid is.... probably a rock. Of some kind. Anyway, the point is Rapunzel approaches her with that pretty smile and those large eyes and very clearly asks her out and Astrid’s lucky that Merida’s there to say yes for her because her mouth forgets how to move

- Rapunzel cheers SO LOUD for Astrid every game, and they start to sit on the bench together if there’s any free time. During the half time show, Astrid cheers just as loud for Rapunzel and the phrase “THATS MY GIRLFRIEND” gets thrown around a. Lot. They get super competitive all the time and end up having so much fun. Rapunzel is a bit of a softie and let Astrid win a lot in the beginning until Astrid called her out and called her a loser (affectionate) and from then it was ON. No one thought anyone could beat Astrid at anything until Rapunzel came around.

- Hiccup tries to follow what’s happening in the games but he often gets really distracted and confused and ends up analyzing the plays and bombarding everyone with questions afterward. Astrid and Merida eventually directed him to Rapunzel, who actually listened to him and realized how genius his ideas and observations were. They started to talk with the coach about ways to make the team better, and Hiccup eventually starts to just. Help the coaches in general and no one even asks anymore.

- Hiccup has a cat named Toothless and he and Rapunzel are the BEST of friends. Astrid didn’t like him at first but softened upon seeing Rapunzel and Hiccup be so adorable with the little creature. Toothless HATED Merida for the longest time no matter what she tried and it made everyone laugh constantly. Eventually the little thing warmed up to her but for a while there Merida stayed by Astrid “where it’s safe” as she said.

- Rapunzel also has a pet chameleon and she DOTES on that thing. She knows everything about them and anytime anyone asks about Pascal she just wants and rants and rants about fun facts. It’s the only time Astrid will without complaint Listen to someone just talk facts and knowledge. Astrid usually finds it so boring but Rapunzel is so adorable when she goes off about this thing she’s so passionate about that Astrid doesn’t even mind.

- After watching Hiccup with Toothless for a while, Astrid gets her own cat named Stormfly and they are a DYNAMIC duo. Stormfly is almost as well trained as Toothless a lot sooner, and they just have this very clear understanding. Stormfly doesn’t hate Merida, so the red head prefers this cat, and Toothless often glares at her for hours for it. Rapunzel and Stormfly take to each other even faster than Rapunzel and Toothless did. Rapunzel smells like Astrid and Stormfly is HERE for it

- Rapunzel and Merida take riding lessons on the weekends. It was something they looked into when they were really young and when they finally convinced their parents to let them it was the single best thing to ever happen to either of them. Riding Maxmimus and Angus are the best parts of their week in most cases (unless something special happens) and the horses are considered as much their pets as the cats or chameleon. They end up buying them after they get out of college and securing a house for all four of them with a big enough back yard to keep the horses in. It’s a good time.

- Hiccup works as a mechanic, fixing mostly cars but also small stuff like bikes and the such in his free time. Toothless came to him missing a leg, so Hiccup comes up with a lot of really clever contraptions and systems to help Toothless move around the house without Hiccup’s help. He still prefers to be lifted into bed, but anywhere else is free game.

- Rapunzel gets a job at first at a diner, where she spends her highschool and college career working her butt off. It wasn’t the best experience but it achieved the goals Rapunzel needed to so she could go to college and become an art teacher instead. It wasn’t the best paying job, but it allowed her to show others why she valued painting so much, and left plenty time in the year to also go traveling if she wished. She’s very good at saving money so she makes it work.

- Astrid works a lot of fast food at first and even takes a stint at the diner with Rapunzel, but her short temper ends up getting her into a lot of situations where she hates her job and ends up leaving after six to eight months. Nowhere was very good for her until she finally got a job at a gym where she ended up learning a lot of really fun skills like self defense and axe throwing. She did it for so many years and got so good that she was hired on as the instructor, and she’s never been happier than in a position where if a man pushes the limits or a Karen tries her patience, all she has to do is sink an axe into a target and turn to them with a raised eyebrow and ask, “What was that again?” It works every time and unless someone has an actual problem they don’t bother her.

- Merida struggles with work. She gets every job under the sun, taking stints at the diner with Rapunzel and the mechanic’s shop with Hiccup and even eventually at the gym and fun enter with Astrid. She gets bored very easily and doesn’t keep a job more than like four or fives months at Max. Ever. She doesn’t think she’s good at anything and might have peaked in high school... until she discovers archery. In an attempt to help her out, Astrid pitches to the fun center to add archery as an activity, and Merida begins to come to it. Unfortunately they can’t really find a teacher who knows what they’re doing and Merida is the only one who shows up so for a while it’s threatening to shut down. But then Merida teaches herself via the internet and insane amounts of practice, and tries out for the job. They give her the position, but tell her that without customers it’s still going to go down.

- the four gather ALL of their friends and begin mass sharing any and all information they can get out there about the fun center and Merida’s growing skills and how helpful she’ll be as the teacher. They just spread the news and encourage people to at least try it out. Through sheer force of Will and hard work, they get enough people with interests peaked who end up coming. Merida’s classes are full of all kinds of people of all kinds of ages, and she loves it.

- none of them get paid a LOT, but Rapunzel and Hiccup are very good at saving money and slowly, Astrid learns as well and between the three of them they can get things figured out even if Merida doesn’t want to waste energy on budgeting and planning everything out and such. When the fun center is out for winter time, and school is out for Summer, they start taking temporary jobs that pay a lot more money. These jobs end up being labor intensive, but they always try and work together and combined, they can find the fun in even the most annoying jobs. Sometimes Hiccup will join them if he’s having a slow time at work, but he never lasts long and the girls tease him a lot about it.

- Yes the hall live together and yes they have “family nights” where they all go out and do something fun once every month, and they eat dinner and breakfast together as much as they can and they’re all very close and mean a lot to each other god I love them.

There are obviously a ton of other characters in this little world I’ve built so if you have any questions feel free to ask!

[hyucksong]

nct dream as roommates

a/n: *romantically calls you bro* 

lee mark 

the roommate that walked in on you taking a shower on the first night you moved in and avoided you for a week afterward

he even went as far as browsing different apartments to live in because baby boy was too afraid to face you

sometimes wakes up before you and he always prepares your coffee or tea and sets it by your bed for you when you wake up…sometimes sits on the edge of your bed to watch you

asks you to do his laundry because he doesn’t know how to separate the colors

you’re fine with doing them because he tries his absolute bestest with everything else, and it’s so cute

the first time he did the laundry you were sick…and you got a whole new wardrobe of pink clothing the next day

always does the dishes and you do the laundry…he’ll clean the living room and kitchen if you clean the bathrooms…he’ll go grocery shopping…only if you go with him

asks you to do his hair when he meets up with his friends, and if you say no he says “okay” and then pouts until you agree

you really like photography but hiring models is expensive so you always ask mark to model for you

and he always agrees, blushing while doing so

make-up artists are expensive too, so you also get him dressed up and add whatever you want to his face

(once you did a fairy photoshoot and he had freckles and pink cheeks and your heart did the thing) 

this time you need him to sit still for hours because it's supposedly a big photoshoot with a few other photographers coming too, so there’s a lot of looks to get through 

you do the first look before you get to the photo site to save time

he thinks nothing of you curling his hair until he looks up at you and time slows as his heart stops…

because you smell like vanilla and your nose is scrunched in concentration…because your breathing is heavy as you run to the bathroom to get more things before you’re late…

because you’re biting your lip while looking at him, admiring your own work, proud of the way the make-up came out, but a little disheartened because it looked like you put a little too much blush (even though you only put a little) 

and mark thinks,,, oh no

fuck

huang renjun

your best friend since you were a child

you’re used to ‘living with him’ because you practically lived with him as a kid; you were always at his house spending the night or vice versa 

he wakes you up an hour after he gets up because ‘he needs his peaceful time’

claims that ‘you’re the worst person to live with’ but refuses to look for another apartment because ‘no one else can handle you but me’

(in reality, he knows that there will never be anyone else he’ss comfortable with as you) 

he wakes you up by throwing a pillow in your face and or flopping on your bed next to you and bouncing a few times

once got really scared because you weren’t waking up no matter what he did, and when he started to tear up you opened your eyes and pushed him off the bed 

you just didn’t want to be woken up that day and tried to ignore him, but apparently, you ignored him for too long because he genuinely freaking out on the inside

he’s watched ‘what’s eating gilbert grape’ okay he was SCARED

he didn’t talk to you for three days after that....only started to wake you up again because you made the effort to wake up before him and make him breakfast in bed with hot tea

he expected you to leave his room after you gave it to him, but you just looked at him for a minute before sitting on the bed next to him, getting under the covers with him 

he focused on the fact you were taking up all the space instead of the now-familiar thrum of his heartbreak against his ribcage

(he’s felt it for the past fewyears, he’s gotten used to drowning it out) 

“y/nnnnnnn what are you doingggggg”

“shut up i made the breakfast, can’t i at least sit next to my favorite boy?”

...he’s your favorite boy?...okaythatwasreallycutebuthe’llneveradmitit

“o...kay...”

blushes when you lay your head on his shoulder in bed, watching whatever he’s doing on his phone, because your cheek is warm against his shirt and its bleeding through onto his skin and weiowioegfhowieh

but also yells at you when you take a bite of his toast and bolt out of the room, giggling

“yAH y/N”

lee jeno

the roommate that was awkward for the first month because he didn’t really want to room with a girl because then he can’t spend saturday with the boys 

then he brought them home one day without telling you and was expected to get his ass Whopped but you were drinking vodka and crying while watching Cars so

yeah you were the perfect roommate for him

you drink together

saturday may be for the boys but sunday is for drinking your problems away with your roommate 

can’t cook but will make BOMB desserts for you both every friday...also fridays are pizza nights and you both order a large cheese pizza with ranch on the side and a pint of dr.pepper

yall have the same diet but he has a six-pack and you don’t so you call bullshit on health and everything it is

both of you fall asleep on the couch all the time, TV still playing the game soundtrack with the controllers on the floor, blinking from low battery

jeno alwayswakes up before you, and he doesn’t admit it, but he loves to watch you sleep

you just look so...ethereal 

even with the drool

ANYWAY

you are one of the bros...he’s even taken a shit when you took a shower before -- that’s how close you are 

then one day you get dressed up real pretty and he’s making fun of you, laughing “you never look this nice who’s holding you at gunpoint”

“i’m going on a date jeno hop off my DICK”

“,,,what”

immediately felt defensive and was questioing who could like you and why you were going on a saturday night when it was busy on the streets and also please call the guy and cancel the date because he wants to watch toy story with you and eat pasta why are you going out with someone has he met him why haven’t you told jeno about this guy you know what you should just not go

and it’s when you walk out the door rolling your eyes, promising to be back home before 9pm with a cute shirt on and nice perfume on when jeno realizes 

that damn he hates to see you leave,,,but he loves to watch you go

(and he might have the teeniest, weeniest crush on you) 

lee donghyuck

the type to never clean the dishes and always makes you do them even if he cooks because he hates the feeling of wet food

then one day he sees you v e r y stressed over school work and he just...cleans the whole house

you come back from the library and you’re like,,,the fuck where’s haechan and what have you done with him

in turn, you buy him a headset that he’s been wanting for the past year...and you think he’s about to propose to you after you give them to him

but in all reality he’s just so happy that you even remembered something so trivial...like he talking about them once (1) and you remembered?

...cute bitch

he’s a big prankster, but in an endearing way, so whenever he goes too far you never really stay mad because he’s just a little unaware of the anger his pranks cause

plus you always get back at him 

always :)

you both are basically the same people; you’re passionate about your studies and he’s passionate about gaming and dancing

yall are the bad bitches that no one messes with 

BET that yall wear matching fits whenever you two go out together

you get together to watch his favorite youtubers do let’s plays of popular games

one day yall sit down to watch some outlast 2

and boy

did you underestimate the scare factor

so now you’re three episodes deep into the let’s play and your head is buried in haechans stomach because you’re laying down facing away from the TV, clinging to the poor boy

he doesn’t know if his heart is beating so fast because of the jumpscare or because of the way you look up at him when you ask if the scary part is over yet

he doesn’t like seeing you scared with tears in your eyes...but the way you’re clinging to him makes him want to watch a thousand more scary episodes...

...if it means you’ll cuddle with him

na jaemin

the best roommate you could ever ask for

he loves to clean and cook, not to mention he’s an absolute sweetheart!!!!!!!

you started to live with him because you had posted an ad on a website for a roommate and he sent back a reply

but the texts used so many of (=｀ω´=) these emojis you just assumed it was a girl

he was not

every night before you go to bed, he’ll walk into your room and whisper “good night, sleep well” to you before petting you head and walking out

people always wonder if you’re dating, but you always reply that it’s just the way he is

until one night you invite your (asshole) project partner to your apartment and she flirts with him endLESSLY,,, not doing her work or anything, just talking with jaems

like it’s pissing you off, and you think it’s pissing him off, and you’re about to send her home when you notice the storm outside and you realize,,,, you’re too good of a person to do that

so she sleeps on the couch, and you do the same, just so you can keep an eye on her and so that she isn’t left alone with jaemin at any point (poor boy looked like he’s about to combust if she tries to talk to him again) 

and jaemin does his usual routine even with the extra company, stroking your head and even going as far as to place a kiss on your forehead

“what about me, do I get a kiss” the girl annoyingly asked

“no, you’re not yn” and hE WALKS AWAY AND CLOSES THE DOOR TO HIS ROOM 

there’s silence in your head as you process his words, a little shocked and confused as to what he means, but most of all, your thoughts consist of;

oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit

you might have just fallen for him (let’s face it, you’ve been in love with him (just not as long as he’d been in love with you)) 

zhong chenle

not going to lie, you two did NOT get along in the beginning

you were each other’s first roommates, and you knew he was extroverted, but you underestimated the differences between your personalities

like,,, no please don’t invite the dreamies over again for the eighth time this week I can’t focus on homework with all the screaming

but even with all the head-butting, the chores are split evenly because he’s practicing to ‘be marriage material for his future wife’

you don’t care as long as he just does what he’s supposed to, and you two aren’t exactly the closest

but there are times when you connect, like on lazy Sunday afternoons where you both just relax on the couch...anywaY

and he always rolls his eyes, telling you that ‘you need to stop being a hermit and make some friends’

‘get some confidence’

‘why don’t you put any effort into how you dress’

it hurts a little...you know you’re not the prettiest and you don’t really try anyway

but to have it pointed out to you just...stings

and after a guy rejects you (after you built up courage for a whole years to confess to him) your confidence is at an all-time low (he said no because ‘you were too bland’ like wtf fUCk you)

and you’re just crying and eating spaghetti o’s, telling chenle as oon as you walk into the door that you’re ‘too sensitive for his bullshit today’ 

to which chenle doesn’t care... then he sees your puffy eyes and asks wha happens

you tell him, and he just gets...angry

(and jealous?)

he goes on a tangent, mocking the guy, saying that ‘you’re the most doen-to-earth natural beauty’ he’s ever seen and that ‘any guy who doesn’t fall in love with your cute sarcastic personality’ is dumber than a rock

he grumbles for the rest of the night, sitting and watching movies with you; it makes your heart swell that he’s getting so mad for you

and at the end of the mini-movie night, and he strokes your hair saying  that you’re ‘his little introvert’,

you decide that ‘opposite attract’ is 100% true

(and chenle notices that you have very pretty lips)

park jisung

you two are dorm roommates at a dance school, and y’all are so cute all the teachers LOVE you

like you both just spend so much time together it’s ridiculous

yall walk to class together, then from class to class together, eat lunch together, after school activities, walk back to the dorms, meet each other’s friends, go out on the weekends together...everything

it feels weird to not be with him

(the teachers have a bet that you’ll be dating before your senior year)

the dorm is just a studio apartment with two bedrooms (your parents both pay a lot for space) 

so chores aren’t too hard, in fact, you both usually spend the last few hours of daylight on Sunday nights straightening up your apartment from the hectic week before, to start off completely fresh and new

nothing big ever happens on Sundays around the home, but one day jisung (who went to hang out with chenle (he invited you but you pouted and said you had too much hmwk)) found a little puppy on the side of the road

and then proceeded to sneak into the dorms with it, hiding it under his shirt

when he showed you what he found, you couldn’t be mad...it was just so cute (both jisung’s little smile and the puppy) 

but you noticed it was shivering, and you whined, ‘jisung you didn’t even notice it was cold oH My GoD, go get it some water and food’ while you set up a nest of blankets for the little guy

hours later when the puppy had eaten and subsequently fallen asleep in your lap, you turned to jisung

‘let’s name it mousie’

‘what that’s dumb’

‘it’s not dumb! i wanna name it that because it looks like you whenever you sleep! it's so cute hehehe’

you thought jisung was WHAT when he slept

jisung didn’t talk for a whole minute, drinking in your words and thinking about them over and over again, in the meantime you were just smiling down at the puppy

your cheeks were red with happiness and your nose was a little red from sneezing (because the puppy was covered in pollen from being outside) and your gaze was filled with such love that jisung shivered

you let out a sigh and plopped your head on his shoulder, and all his feelings he’d ever had for you exploded in his chest, and he tensed (though if you noticed, you didn’t day anything)

you just kept and petting the dog

and damn did jisung want to be that dog

[icollectyoursins]

Kishibe Rohan x Reader SFW + NSFW

Anon said: “Consider Rohan sfw and nsfw hcs? And in nsfw Rohan could be a top,,? Prrtty pleade hhh, since there is only one work of Rohan ;;”

I hope these are good, not too familiar with Rohan, so I hope you like it!

Wanna know what I’m willing to write? Rules here!

Have a character, but no idea? Prompt list here!

Looking for more? Master post here!

WARNINGS: Making out, stands used in inappropriate ways, fingering, voyeurism, dildos, fucking machines, spanking, hand jobs, blow jobs, oral, face fucking, cock warming, nipple play, nude modelling. 

Word Counts: 2201

SFW

Rohan is a jackass who cares. In the beginning, he’s very private and stand-offish, but he does warm up to you eventually, though he’s still nicer in private than he is in public. He claims this is because he’s a “celebrity” and can’t have his fans see you too close together yada, yada. It’s bullshit and you know it, but you have the feeling it’s because he’s not used to people being close to him. 

Yes, he does have a binder dedicated to paintings, drawings, sketches, etc. all for you. Some are a little on the artistically lewd side, but most of them are of your hands holding something or your smile, your face and shoulders. Some of them he asked you to model for, others he quickly sketched down while you weren’t paying attention and then finished later.

When he’s not holed up inside, he enjoys walking down to either parts of Morioh where he can people watch or down to the park where he can study wildlife (and maybe draw you playing with ducks). 

You are literally never bored in his house. He has every book under the earth and so many loose painting supplies that he painfully lets you use to fool around. (Though let’s be honest, He likes that you take an interest in his job and would be more than happy to give you tips.)

You know what? Rohan is a backseat artist. He watches every stroke you make over your shoulder and tells you maybe you should move the hand this way to make it more natural or add some light shading here to make it dynamic. It may come off as a little pretentious at first, but if you keep with it, he’ll notice the improvement and (occasionally) tell you how good you’re doing while being a total blushing mess.

    You sat in the window seat, knees up with your back against the wall. Resting on your thighs was a sketchbook. Currently, you were just idly drawing lines of shading onto a face. Rohan himself was also busy colouring in his most recent page, though every now and then he would catch himself looking up at your silhouette, lit up by the light in some kind of halo effect.

     Finally, he caved in to his curiosity. Setting down his pencils, he strode over to you. You didn’t notice until his face manifested itself over your shoulder. Startled, you jumped, causing your pencil to make a long line on your artwork. 

     “Jesus, warn me next time.” You said, grabbing your eraser.

     “Have you been struggling with the nose?” He completely ignores you, still staring at your drawing. The paper was clearly marked up by the eraser with deeper marks from where the pencil was.

     “Yeah, actually. It’s either too big or too small. Kind of just gave up.” You carefully tried to erase the long line but wound up taking away parts that you were actually happy with.

     “Be more gentle with the pencil, it’ll make it easier to erase.” He suggested with a monotone.

     “I tried-”

     “And then you got frustrated and pushed harder. I admire your persistence, however, if something isn’t to your liking, walk away and come back. Remember to look at the picture as a whole, not just the nose.” You rolled your eyes, gently tossing your pencil onto the window seat. As much as you wanted to appreciate the advice, you had heard it all before. You were getting sick of it, frankly.

     Rohan took note of your agitation, studying your face carefully. “You’ve improved, though!” You looked up, a little shocked. What? “The eyes are well done and your shading is very even. Good job.” 

     What? Your cheeks grew hot. That was the first bit of praise you had heard from him. About your drawing, at least. He looked down into your eyes, then felt his own face getting hot. He turned away. “Go take a break. I’ll help you when you get back in an hour. I’ll be timing you, don’t be late.”

Like I have said, he’s not overly fond of affection in public (in the beginning), but he can’t deny that holding your hand or feeling you on his arm makes him feel pretty good. The first few times, he’s internally a mess, though he won’t show anything other than a light tint of blush on his cheeks. But when he’s relaxing at home, he enjoys having you under his arm, leaning against him or with one of your heads in the other’s lap. He’s not used to people and even less so used to affection, but can be worked up to being more comfortable with stuff like kissing in front of the Morioh gang and the like.

When he’s comfortable, he is so cocky. Like, boarder line makes out with you in front of literally anyone just to prove you’re his S/O. This always makes you blush so much (unless you’re into that.) More often than not, he’ll have an arm around your shoulders, hand in pocket, looking so smug and proud and cool. 

Pet names? He can either go one of two ways, depending on his mood. Either it’s just your name or babe OR it is every teasing name under the sun. Oh, darling can you do this for me? Oh, baby, oh, honey, oh, my love, oh, my flower. It’s usually used to get something from you or to get you to do something a little out of the box.

I can see Rohan as being the kind of person who is very strict about his bath time and hates when people interrupt him. On the rare occasion, he’ll let you in with him with the promise of either massaging him or something else *wink, wink*

NSFW (Dominant specifically)

Rohan literally does not shut up during sex. Praise, degradation, mocking, you name it! As a writer and an artist, he knows how to stitch words together in a masterful way that never fails to make you hot in the face.

Uh, yeah. He’s used Heaven’s Door on you before. Did he do it to learn your kinks? Maybe to put some kind of loose control over you in certain situations? Looking for people you find attractive for potential erm... art inspiration (voyeurism)? The world will never know.

Staying-on brand with HD, he absolutely uses it to learn everything that you enjoy in the bedroom. He knows how to make you squirm, where to push to make you scream, how to make you beg. He knows everything.

Particularly enjoys using this “power” to finger you, pressing into every sweet spot (that he made more sensitive with HD), licking over the edges of your hole in a way that just makes you dumb (either hole, not picky!)

     A delicate finger was trailed up your twitching hole, making you shiver. Rohan had already stretched you open enough for it to easily slip in again. You were so sensitive from being teased over and over again, but with no relief that you cried out, tears threatening to burst forward.

     He curled his finger up into a particularly sensitive bundle of nerves, slowly pushing into it more. You groaned and whined, blabbering out his name along with various ways to beg. He shushed you carelessly, sounding annoyed by your desperation. God, you wish you could move! You would give anything to be impaled by him right now. Or anything for that matter.

     He removed the digit quickly, then promptly smacked your ass with a flat hand.

     “Quiet.” You had no choice but to listen to him, involuntarily shutting your mouth and stifling your whimpers. “If you want something, be polite about it. Do you know how to be polite?”

     You nodded your head, a single tear trailed down your cheek. Your hole was teased again, repeating the same process as before. Rohan was such an asshole, but god if you didn’t love it.

If you have established a relationship where he has complete control over everything you say or do, he will abuse it so much. Just, tells you to sit still, turns on a wand or vibrator and just tortures you to the point of tears. You can talk, he didn’t take that away (mostly because he wants to hear you beg), but the position he put you in on top of the order. It’s too much for you. 

He’ll do the same with a dildo, a fucking machine, his own dick, does not matter! Once you give him that power, RIP to your organs.

Alright, now. Voyeurism. This man is a freak and does not try to hide it when it’s under the guise of “art.” Again, if established, he will hire random people to do whatever he wants to you. If you’re okay with it, he’ll record it for later research. 

Rohan is a weird jealous type, so he checks out every person you meet and makes sure they’re perfect (ie. not competition and someone you’ll enjoy). Very rarely does he let you pick out the people. Like I said, he’s a weird jealous type. Likes to see you with other people, but not with other people, you know?

There is only one person who he considers competition that he wants you to fuck at least once and it’s Jotaro. Are we surprised? No. Dude is built like a god and has the goods to match. Even Rohan can’t deny it. He would probably want to join in as well, but Jotaro would never do anything like that.

Mmmm, punishments for being bratty? Ooooh, yes. Smack my ass like a drum! Makes you count, absolutely. If he’s in a bitchy, lazy mood he’ll use a paddle or something like that, other than that, he uses his hands. 

As you’ve probably surmised, he likes having control over you in the bedroom, so it’s no surprise he also enjoys tying you up and has a particular fondness for swings where he’ll hang you up and tease you until you can barely walk. 

I mentioned baths in the SFW section, now let me elaborate. Doesn’t like sex in the bath, he hates when the water gets everywhere, but loves when you worship him while scrubbing him down and will allow you to work him up with a light hand job. This usually leads to a blowjob of some kind whether it’s gentle or rough.

Speaking of! His favourite part of sex is probably oral. From sucking bruises into each other’s necks, rough kissing, right down to holding you against the wall and choking you with his dick. Or a dildo, if he wants something a little more adventurous like mirror sex with him taking you from behind and making you watch yourself choke over and over again.

Cock warming is only ever used as punishment for being too needy, but he will keep you in his lap until you’re in tears. He is absurdly patient when it comes to sex.

     You whined, grinding yourself onto Rohan’s dick. He chuckled before letting out a theatrical sigh. Your grip on his shoulders got harder and you buried your face into his neck more.

     “What’s wrong, (Y/N)?” He trailed a soft, teasing hand up your thigh. “You wanted attention, yes? Then, why are you complaining? Now, up, I need another look at my reference.”

     You sighed, tired and riled up at the same time. With new vigour, you sat up, leaning back to show your artist his latest obsession. He hummed in appreciation, taking a minute to admire his muse before licking a warm stripe up your sternum making you gasp. He stopped, giving you a look of warning.

     “Don’t move.” You gave him a curt nod, trying your best to follow your command while he returned his tongue to your chest, exploring your skin’s taste. He flicked over your nipple with the tip, testing your resolve before wrapping his lips around it, sucking harshly. A moan fought its way through your throat as he became more feverous with his suckling. 

     Rohan hummed with you, theatrically mulling over the saltiness, then switching to the next one. Satisfied with the redness around your nipples, he pulls back, looking you over once again. A lightbulb seems to go off in his head and he reaches for his sketchbook which only made his cock shift inside you, rubbing against your walls in a delightfully painful way.

     “Rohan-sensei,” you moaned out. Admittedly, you didn’t like calling him that, but he insisted you call him sensei during times like this. 

     “Stop moving, you’re ruining the picture,” he chided. “Go back to the way you were, darling.” He leaned back, rolling his hips into you to punctuate his words as well as tease you. 

Model nude for him. Whether you like it or not, he will ask you to do it and, if he’s in a sexy mood, you will be asked to do uncomfortable positions that will definitely leave you sore the next day. “It highlights how the muscles work for a new character I’m drawing” or so he says. Other than that, he’ll just let you pick somewhere comfortable and sexy to lie down. 

[witchvspatriarchy]

Feminism vs Female Empowerment vs Feminist Exemplification

In the past years this thread of labeling anything that’s female positive as feminist has really skyrocketed and it bothers me greatly. Great female representation and female empowerment does not make a thing feminist. Something that illustrates, explains or describes a feminist value or point of view does not make that thing feminist.

What defines something as sexist or empowering or feminist is the context and the message or objective that it wants to convey.

There are men in the industry who are progressive and works towards equality by hiring more women, and actively trying to give us better female representation. There are women who direct women in films about women and who try to maintain a crew or team of mostly women. In both cases, none of this makes their project or them feminists.

The majority of the entertainment industry responds and caters to The Male Gaze – it does so even if there are no men operatively involved in the project, because 99.9% of people in the industry do not make art, they are here to make money.

And although it is based on what we commonly call artistic careers, that does not mean that there is a really artistic background or objective in the things being made – it’s purely commercial in a vast majority.  The ultimate goal of the entertainment industry is to sell. Therefore, much of this "art" is not progressive, thought-provoking or subversive in any way, specially if the person in charge believes that this could cost them money. The main objective is to market to the consumers and they do so at the expense of everything - this includes quality, values, points of view, consciousness and self-awareness. And this is when two very interesting things happen: Faux Feminism & Female Exploitation.

Female Exploitation is when the person in charge believes that what sells is quiet, beautiful and sensual women – this is the main thing, and the character's story is secondary (so much that most end up being just eye candy or as a manic pixie dream girl). In this case they think of subversive and thought-provoking as something that can harm their income. So the actresses talent and creativity doesn’t really matter, as long as they’re pretty and sell.

Faux Feminism is when the person in charge believes that the money is in the feminist pov and they make films that could pass as feminist and with strong female characters that follow closely and/or represent the political climate and feminist discourse of today – but that does not make the product feminist, mainly because in most cases they do this in the most superficial way for a monetary gain. Keep in mind, in this cases they don’t explicitally use the word feminism in attachment to whatever their selling, but it’s very obvious.

And sometimes is neither of these, but instead Casual Feminism - when something could represent, stand for feminism but that wasn’t the intention at all. Feminists saw it and were like HECK YEAH.

Is feminist a project in which mostly or only women participate? Is feminist a project where the main roles are 99% female? Is feminist a project that addresses sexism? Is feminist a project that’s inclusive? Is feminist a project with independent and empowered women? Is feminist a project that criticizes the way in which society treats women? The answer to all this is NO.

What defines whether something is feminist or not, is first and foremost if whether its exhibitors/creators are feminists or if it was written to represent/stand for feminism explicitly and consciously. If I wear a shirt that says I am feminist, that does not make me feminist. Being a fan of Beyonce, Taylor Swift, Emma Watson or any other feminist does not make me a feminist. Reading one feminist book does not make me feminist (it’s the start, if so I decide). I'm just wearing something, following a person, consuming a product. And many artistic products are attributed the term feminist when they are not in the slightest. If you assume that it is feminist because it exemplifies feminism or is potentially empowering for women, that does not make it feminist. Talking about self-love, girl power, sorority and sexism does not make you a feminist - it makes you self-aware of your rights, strengths and weaknesses and that is excellent and encouraged, but it does not make you feminist.

Why? Because Feminism is a philosophical, social, political, economic and artistic current. What makes a feminist person a feminist, above all, is that they identify themselves as such, with all the awareness of what feminism is because they have studied it or are constantly studying it or have the intention of studying it.

We can long and dream for a feminist awakening in the entertainment industry, but precisely because of that we should not label just anything as sfeminist, because labeling something or someone as feminist when it is not is a disrespect to the person or product and misleading; and it is harmful to the people and products that are feminist and that are mostly ignored, criticized, received in a negative way and usually overshadowed by pseudo-feminist products with better marketing, plus it only helps to preserve the misinformation and misunderstanding of what feminism is and superficializes it. Not to mention it can perpetuate some misconceptions.

Something or someone not being feminist does not mean it is sexist and there IS feminism in the entertainment industry, but very little and it usually suffers from detractors from the industry itself; so what we find mostly is female empowerment, in an initial and often diluted facet.

So no, we can't call it feminist but we can call it empowering since many women feel that spark of strength, they feel identified and reflected accurately, maybe they even feel understood - and that is something very valuable. We can also use them as an exemplification of feminism, there are many artistic projects that are not feminist but serve to explain, illustrate or describe a feminist point of view because they showed it excellently.

Let’s see some examples of what I’m talking about:

Mean Girls is a great example of a feminist movie. It represents and portrays feminist points of view and feminist values consciously and with the intention and awareness of doing it directly from a feminist stand. It has the feminist label very big and very visibly. It was written by a feminist (Tina Fey), inspired on the novel of another feminist (Rosalind Wiseman). The director is not a feminist, as far as we know, but that doesn’t take away from its value as a feminist piece of work in any manner.

Legally Blonde is another great example of a feminist film. The writers, Karen McCullah and Kirsten Smith are both feminists, Kirsten notably being a Riot Grrrl. It is based on a novel written by a feminist (Amanda Brown). And just as Mean Girls, it represents and portrays feminist points of view and feminist values consciously and with the intention and awareness of doing it directly from a feminist stand. It has the feminist label very big and very visibly. Also, it is very female empowering.

Now let’s talk Harley Quinn, because is a very interesting one.

First, let’s talk about her in the comics. She wasn’t created by feminists. She isn’t coded as feminist. She is not written as a feminist character. She is not female empowering for most of her story. Nor she or her story are an exemplification of feminism. The character is not meant to represent or embody feminism in any way. So is she a feminist character? No.

Now, in the movie Birds of Prey. Again, she wasn’t created by feminists. Was the script written by a woman? Yes, but not a feminist woman. Is the movie directed by a woman? Yes, but again, not a feminist woman – the director even said in an interview that she didn’t want to “sound too much like a diehard bra-burning feminist”. The film had an all women crew. Again, Harley isn’t coded as feminist - she is not written as a feminist. The character is not meant to represent or embody feminism in any way. BUT is it female empowering? HELL YES. And the movie as a whole is a great exemplification of feminism, this is another quote from the director: “a harlequin’s role is to serve, they’re nothing without a master and so the movie is about Harley Quinn becoming her own master. And not just Harley, but the Birds of Prey as well. All these women go through something and they’re all trying to break free from their own chains”. So is the movie feminist? No, and so are not it’s characters. But we can and should embrace and celebrate Harley Quinn from a feminist point of view.

Is Hermione Granger a feminist character? No. But she is female empowering and an exemplification of feminism. The actress who plays her, Emma Watson, is a feminist but that doesn’t magically makes all the characters she portrays feminists or well written female characters.

On the other hand, Lisa Simpson IS a feminist. Is the voice-actress a feminist? I don’t know. Are the creators feminists? I dont know either - but it doesn’t matter because Lisa is a feminist and she is explicitly portrayed and written as such, she voices feminism and is meant to embody and represent a feminist (even if it’s an 8 year old one) – and she does so very well if I might add.

So stop calling everything “feminist” and stop telling people that if they believe in equality they are inherently feminists even if they dont want to use that label themselves, stop this specially towards people (I’ve seen this in comment sectons). In my experience, there are three types of women who refuse the feminist label:

1) The Closeted Feminist: a woman that’s not afraid to speak up about their opinions but doesn’t describe themselves or their povs with the word feminism even though their arguments and discourse has a feminist stand that is based on feminist theory to the point where it’s obvious this person has immersed themselves in feminist books, podcasts, films, documentaries, etc – this could be because labeling oneself as a feminist is dangerous. Either in their house, or in the society they’re a part of – and with this I mean that it could actually lead to abuse or active persecution. Not everyone has the same freedom, background and opportunity you do.

 2) The Double Agent: they say they don’t need feminism and they don’t believe in it but they still stand for equality and justice. Usually this person doesn’t really understand what feminism is because they have never cared to learn about it and yet they go round commenting on feminist blogs about “how feminists are wrong” – this person believes the patriarchy’s version of what feminism is. This person is aware of the injustice and inbalance but thinks feminism is sexism towards men, hatred of men and that is used for women as a women-victimizing campaign to get pity points and advantages. This are the people that said Taylor Swift played the victim for 13 years.

 3) The Free Woman: she doesn’t believe in feminism, she probably voices hate towards feminism and feminists and thinks very low of them because “she doesn’t need feminism” because she loves the men in her life and has “never suffered sexism” first hand so it doesn’t exist. The Free Woman and the Patriarchal Feminist have in common that they feel feminism victimizes women and is sexism towards men. The difference is one thinks inequality is a myth and the other one knows it’s still a thing.

If ya’ll read all of this KUDOS TO YOU and THANK YOU. I’ve been thinking about this for almost a year and it took me a long time and effort to write this and put my thoughts into words cause I’m really bad at expressing myself and lack communication skills. I’d like to write too about the difference between Feminist Icon – Feminist Woman – Iconic Women, just because I’m tired of that mess too.

[writeblrfantasy]

excerpt from a council of golden swords: tattooed cairic king

planned this scene weeks ago, forgot about it, enjoyed writing it immensely. poor kayani, they're so in love

anyway i hope you love this as much as i loved writing it, acogs has been kicking my ass this week and this was a nice battle won

~

Asma crosses her arms. “Take off your shirt.”

Kayani chokes on their own saliva. “What?”

“I’m going to paint you. Take off your shirt.”

Kayani stares at her, open mouthed, a thousand indignities resting on their lips. Asma taps her foot, paintbrush held between two fingers, frowning impatiently. No excuse, no argument, no plea will ever sway her. She is unmovable.

Kayani stares at the floor and loosens the laces of their shirt before whipping it off. They ball it up and stand there holding it until she snatches it from them and tosses it on the sofa. “Sit on the stool,” she says, “and for Cai’s sake, stop looking so stiff. Actually look like you want to be here. You don’t even have to smile. Just look a little less queasy.”

Queasy for a different reason, Kayani thinks, but obediently sits on the wooden stool in the center of the red, blue, and gold room. The yearly trip west, spent in close quarters with almost all of the Cairic army, has driven the modesty out of them, but everything is different with Asma.

She sits on the ottoman and drags her easel closer to her, a tray of paint pools sitting beside her on the sofa. The easel legs scraping against the floor makes Kayani startle. “Relax,” she orders in a tone that’s anything but relaxing.

Kayani folds their hands and tries not to slouch. The hairs that itch when they fall into their eyes will be the least of their worries over the next few hours. Why else would Asma paint them shirtless if not just to torment them?

Once Asma has everything apparently set up to her standard, she looks up and rakes her eyes over Kayani’s torso. Her breath hitches. “You have so many tattoos. I forgot you would.” Her voice disturbs the quiet of the room, breaking a sacred peace, or however peaceful the two of them alone can get.

“Isn’t that why you wanted to paint me shirtless?” Kayani asks. “Why else would you?”

She hides her face behind the canvas and doesn’t bother with an answer. Kayani prepares for a long set of hours filled with waiting, an aching back, and keeping their walls firmly up.

After ten minutes of silence, Asma working quietly, she asks, “What does that one on your chest mean?”

Kayani resists the urge to look down and earn themself their first don’t move, idiot. They could trace the lines of the * in the darkness, in their sleep. “The death of my mother.”

She gasps. “You got tattooed when you were just a child?”

They shrug. “I’ve known some babies who got tattooed after birth because of a difficult or scary pregnancy, complications that should’ve killed them. Parents, too. We use our tattoos to cope with many things, many emotions, but prominently grief. For many people, the experience itself of sitting there for ten hours while a needle pokes into your skin—it helps.”

“By enduring pain?” Asma asks.

Kayani shrugs. “Some people find solace in pain. It’s something real they can grip onto.”

“That’s the funny thing,” Asma says, peering out from over the canvas. “It isn’t.”

Kayani’s eyes drift to the tattoo on her forearm, she follows their gaze and pulls her sleeve down. Kayani remembers it all too painfully well—her poorly stifled tears and cries while getting it, their own desire to comfort her squashed by the hatred in her eyes. It’s their fault she has it.

“What about that one?” she asks, gesturing to the wings covering their shoulders.

“Are you asking because you’re genuinely curious,” Kayani asks, “or just trying to fill the air?” They want to poke further into her reasoning, but they don’t want her to change her mind and throw them out. Alone time with Asma is bliss as much as it’s torture, and they’ll take every last bit of it.

“I got the wings one year after becoming king,” Kayani says. “To celebrate not being assassinated.”

She snorts. “Get better guards.”

“I am my own best guard besides Ajar and Samad. I didn’t want to trust anyone else. The palace guards on rotation can only do so much against an assassin hired by someone who was angry I became king and not my sister.”

Asma rolls her eyes, the soft strokes of her brush soothing to listen to against the faint chatter of birds. “And the one on your back?”

“You’re not painting that one. You can’t even see it right now.”

“Answer the question, dimwit.”

Kayani grins. As much as they love to nag Nikolai about being attracted to the ones who seemingly want nothing to do with you, they’re no less guilty. “I got the first part done after I survived the Trials.” After healing up upon their return, they went straight to the royal tattoo artist. They knew exactly what they wanted: Ajar and Samad standing side by side, blue eyes pointed to the moon.

The two of them are right outside—if Kayani’s quiet, they can hear them scratching at the door—but an ache for them runs through their chest regardless. Sometimes they’re convinced the three of them share a soul.

“I would’ve gotten the outlining done before I left for the Trials for good luck and gotten it filled in after I came back, but I didn’t want to deal with unnecessary pain. I got the second part added on after I came back from my first trip west with the army. That time, I did do it in two halves for good luck, like many of my soldiers.”

Going to get those outlines and later the full lines done with their soldiers had been one of the most rewarding experiences of their life. Sitting beside ten others in a salon, all laughing or grimacing or telling stories to work through the pain reminded them that they could still mix with normal people. Winning the Trials didn’t make them special in the soldiers’ eyes, and Kayani liked it that way.

Their second back tattoo consisted of a light brown stag leaping across the center of their back, over the dogs. “Each trip after was another add on.” They’ve since added a grassy field for the stag and the dogs to rest in, stars for the moon, flowers and sparkles in a mix of reds and browns.

“Your entire body will be covered by the time you die,” Asma says.

“That’s the goal.”

As the hours go by, Asma asks, and this? What about this? That one? What are the ones I can’t see? Kayani answers her every question, shares every story, every memory. They don’t tell her about the one on the back of their ankle, small enough to miss. A golden paintbrush.

Finally, when the sun is halfway to setting and Kayani’s lower half has gone numb, Asma announces she’s done. Kayani wobbles to their feet toward the canvas, but she picks it up before they can see it. They sigh quietly but don’t question it—until she turns around.

She’s painted them in a background more heavily red than the wallpaper behind them. It brings out the red in Kayani’s tattoos, which are obviously the star of her painting. The edges of Kayani’s muscles are blurred, but the lines of the tattoos are as clear and sharp as they are on their skin. Their eyes are halfway open, tired, and Asma captured their faint smile at something she said, maybe some memory that took them away.

The sun from the glass wall behind them drips golden light onto light brown skin, a glowing backdrop for the tattoos. Kayani sat with their left forearm up, right hand holding that wrist, but Asma painted the opposite to hide the tattoo there.

Kayani has never had the eye for beautiful artwork, nor the time to study why people devote their lives to it, but this makes them reconsider. Not because it’s them, of course, they’re not that vain. Because it’s Asma.

“I will call it ‘Tattooed Cairic King’,” Asma says. Kayani can’t take their eyes off her nonchalant expression, the casual way her fingers grip the canvas. She completed this in a day and she acts like she’s holding a piece of cheap furniture. Doesn’t she know all of her artwork will be studied meticulously after her death merely because she’s a queen?

Not just because she’s a queen, Kayani thinks. Because she’s an incredible artist. They wish they had the courage to say so, but knowing Asma, she’d make some crack about their narcissism.

“Where are you going to hang that one?” they ask. “Which guest room or dining hall or office will get the pleasure of seeing my tattoos?

She fixes them with a look. “My suite wall.”

The floor seems to swim under them.

“I thought you hated me,” they manage. “As you pointed out, last time we were together you told me to never come into your sight again.” They gesture to the canvas. “I think that violates your rule.”

For once, Asma’s silence seems to be because of her loss of words, not dramatic pause or the bother of answering a question. “It’s some of my finest work,” she settles on. “I’d like to admire it often. Let people admire it when I’m dead.” She closes her eyes and runs her finger along the top of the canvas. “Also, I’d like to do your back sometime."

“What?” Kayani sputters.

“Oh, come on. If you can survive a needle pricking your skin for ten hours, you can survive sitting still for another six.”

That’s not the problem, Kayani thinks, but only nods. Cai have mercy.

~

kayani being shook by asma's ability to Art is me @ all the talented artists here yall rock

also if you noticed the tsoa inspiration for "and this?" then props to u

acogs taglist (lmk to be added/removed) @magic-is-something-we-create @inkflight @spencer-nyx @writing-is-a-martial-art @ashen-crest @wisteria-eventide @nikkywrites @denkis-phone-charger @myhusbandsasemni @lynolord @ettawritesnstudies @golden-apple-s-blog @chazzawrites @pen-of-roses

[awilddreamermain]

Hi, Chels! Congratulations!! I'm so happy for you! You deserve every follower and more! That is a threat, I'm holding everyone hostage 🔪

I would love to get a MHA matchup, I wanna see who you'd match me with! Got me so curious! SFW & NSFW if you'd be willing!

My name is Chloe but I prefer May, nicknames include May-May, Maybell or Chlo.

I'm 25, pronouns are she/he, Cancer Moon, Aries Sun and Virgo Rising. Quite the weird mash of zodiacs, huh?

My favorite colors are pink (that soft pastel kinda baby pink), red (especially blood/garnet red) and...can I add pink again? Any shade of pink this time. Bubblegum or hot pink.

Favorite AU's include A/B/O, Mafia, Historical, Fantasy and does Mythical Creatures count?

Oh...oh boy, I gotta look deep for some fun facts that aren't just...facts but I'll do my best!

1) My sneezes are so short and high pitched I go "chu".

2) I have vitiligo, makes me look like a dog because it's mostly around my mouth and my right eye so I have a spot!

3) I have atrocious balance, my knees and shins are always banged up because I cannot for the life of me walk correctly.

4) I have a stutter, on top of speaking so quickly it turns into a jumbled mess. So good luck understanding what I said because I have no idea either.

5) I have a growing unicorn plush collection. My favorite is Cupcake, one that's actually taller than I am. Big chunk.

My likes are pretty simple. Cute & soft sweaters, blankets, warm coffee and strawberry milk, pastries and the cold! Winter is my favorite season. History, particularly the Medieval and Victorian times.

My interests revolve around creativity and you could say they're my hobbies as well. Drawing in particular, I used to do digital but I'm stuck with traditional pencil and paper at the moment. I'm dipping my toes into painting and its very fun! Obviously writing and reading and if I'm not doing of those listed then I'm definitely playing video games.

Personality I might say I'm quite split down the middle. At first, to a complete stranger I might come across as cold, stoic, with a resting bitch face, that just wants to get whatever I'm outside for done so I can leave. I'd create a witty or sarcastic comeback if I was given sass by a Karen but with my speech issues? I'd be lucky to get one coherent word out at her...and spend the rest of the day fantasizing what could've happened. So I'm rather quiet, agoraphobia hits hard in large or crowded places so I'm an anxiety riddled mess on the verge of a panic attack. In private or with people that I'm comfortable with? Complete opposite. Happy, bubbly, cracking puns and jokes so get those groan worthy reactions. I try to be the "mom friend" and get over my issues if someone is having it worse, I'll march up to a counter and ask for ketchup if someone wanted it but was too scared to do it themselves. The shoulder to lean and cry on, I'm highly empathetic and understanding, compassionate at times. But I have to actively try and keep myself positive and say good things about myself because I do fall into the pit of self-loathing and hate.

For appearance I'd say I'm average height, pale with white splotches that are inching larger due to my vitiligo, chubby, ashy blonde, blue eyes, button nose. I'd say I'm decently cute? I don't know if I can rate myself.

Okay I know I said I'd be looking into Zodiac compatibility for this but— I literally just screamed internally "KIRISHIMA" when I was reading this. You two would be perfect omg. This Libra king would do anything for you. For this you're an artist and the daughter of a mafia boss :) I like to think of ship names sometimes so like, yours would either be like Eijmay or Mayjirou or Kiriloe— that last one and first are awful I know so lets go with the second? I can't write a proper stutter for the life of me so I tried to keep your dialogue to the minimum.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ Pairing: Eijirou Kirishima

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀AU: Mafia

⠀Theme Song: You're The One That I Want - Alex & Sierra

How you meet (his point of view):

⠀⠀The gallery was full of black and white suits, tight, floor length dresses with the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses meeting his ears. It was a joyous evening, celebrating the wonderful art work created by the boss's daughter. He had never met her before but he had heard whispers, all good as no one would dare slander the name of their leader's precious little girl. You were the boss's pride and joy, thus he kept you as far away from the darker side of the family business as possible.

⠀⠀Kirishima was still a new hire, a bodyguard of sorts and would consider this his first gig. He had an idea of who he was looking for as he walked further into the mass of people admiring your work but didn't expect what he would eventually come across. You were as far away from the crowd as you possibly could be, guzzling glasses of wine and over all appearing to be a deer in headlights. He couldn't fugure out for the life of him why you seemed so frightened until he watched people approach you to talk, noticing the stutter in your voice when you replied to questions and greetings,your body language telling people to stear clear of you.

⠀⠀So, he did what he was hired to do. "Kindly step away from the lady." He said with a smile, approaching with his large arms crossing over his broad chest as he towered over the guests. They looked at him as if he were a giant shark looking to devour them before scurrying away, leaving the two of you alone. He stood quietly, listening to the voices on the other side of his ear piece as his ruby eyes scanned the area around you. He made sure to not stand so close and avoided in letting his gaze wander.

⠀⠀He couldn't help but admire your skin in quick glances, finding the spot over your eye to be quite adorable. Your silky, ask blonde hair was all dolled up for the event, light make up on your face but not enough to cover the vitiligo. You were stunning and his heart hammered against his chest. So the rumors were true.

⠀⠀You thanked him, voice quiet and careful as you set down your wine glass and clasped your hands together. Out of the corner of his eye he watched you twiddle your thumbs. You didn't want to be here, did you? This obviously wasn't your idea, how could it be? A girl like you, timid as a mouse, didn't want to be surrounded by strangers. "Miss..." He began, thinking carefully because the last thing he wanted to do was piss off the boss and likely get himself killed. But this was his job wasn't it? Making sure you were happy and safe? "Would you like to leave here for a bit? We'll come back of course, but you look like you need some air."

Extra.

He ended up taking you to a drive thru restaurant and got you whatever you wanted, letting you talk about whatever you wanted or sat quietly if you chose not to talk at all If it was quiet in the suv then that was fine too, he just wanted to help you in any way he could. Eventually the silence becomes small talk and then leads to a rather deep conversation about whatever the hell was going on inside that beautiful brain of yours. Kirishima wasn't the smartest man but he wasn't stupid, he wasn't as clueless as most thought he was. You told him how your father made you do this as an attempt to get you out there, to socialize and possibly find a suitor. This was the mafia after all.

The Confession:

⠀⠀It was a tradition now, every Sunday you and Eijirou would go to your favorite café to have coffee and enjoy the early day weather before it got too hot. You sit at the same table, in the same chairs with him facing the door. You get the same drinks and food and just overall enjoy each others company. After that night at the gallery you two became fast friends, which your father obviously had to approve of but thankfully he did. Kirishima was a good man, he's trustworthy and puts you before himself.

⠀⠀The day he approached your father and asked to speak in private was the day he knew he was likely to get thrown in the deepest, darkest depths of the ocean. He has confessed his feelings for you to your old man, who listened intently with a blank face behind his desk. "Sir, I'm in love with your daughter, and with your blessing I'd like to... court her." He was utterly terrified when your father cleared his throat and sighed, shifting where he sat so he could stand and move around the desk. He reached out for a handshake which Kirishima looked up at him with a questioning look.

⠀⠀Your father gave his blessing and now... He just had to tell you, his best friend, that he loved you. God he loved you so much— "Kiri," you interrupted his thoughts, bringing him crashing back to reality," a-are you alright? You seem nervous." He swallowed hard in response but cleared his throat, taking a sip of his cappuccino.

⠀⠀"Oh yeah— definitely." He breathed with a laugh, moving a hand to the back of his neck to scratch. How was he going to say it? "So, uh—" he licked his lips, adjusting himself in his seat multiple times until he groaned and leaned forward. "Fuck, I'm just gonna say it— Maybell, I love you. I have for a long time now and I talked to your father and he said—"

⠀⠀"Said what, Eijirou?" Your eyes widened at his confession and he felt like a complete idiot. Should he had said something to you first? Was this a mistake? What if you didn't feel the same way? God his mind was going to explode—

⠀⠀"That I could... court you. With your permission." You were quick to nod and smile to his surprise, which prompted a grin if his own.

Extra.

Kirishima HAS to be facing the door in any public place you go to. I don't make the rules.

He never let's you walk close to the road, he has to be between you and it at all times when you're walking.

He oders your food and drinks for you when you can't but is there for moral support when you do. He wants you comfortable and happy. He wouldn't ever dare get in your way though, you're a lot stronger and braver than most may think you are.

The Relationship:

⠀⠀On days like this, Kirishima can't help but admire you. He catches himself staring wuite often but he just can't help it. What did he do to deserve such a beautiful partner? He looks at you and all he can think about is how much he loves you and wants to see you smile. He watched you from the kitchen island, leaning against it as you waltz around the kitchen in your pinky fuzzy slippers and one of his shirts that's much, much too big on you. He remembers your surprise when you found his clothing was actually too big on you and how happy you were.

⠀⠀"Maybell?" He hums, adjusting his stance and crossing his arms on the counter. He listened for you to him back in response, a smile on his lips. "You look so cute in my clothes.

⠀⠀You giggled, shaking your head and continued putting the dishes away until Eijirou appeared behind you, arms wrapping around your waist and his forehead coming down on your shoulder. "Need somethin' baby?" You turned your head just slightly, a brow cocked inquisitively. He squeezed you in response, swiftly lifting you and making you squeal. Thankfully you didn't have anything in your hands at the moment. He peppered kisses all over the side of your face, setting you down only to lift you again bridal style.

⠀⠀"I've got all I need right here in my arms." He chuckled and you playfully smacked his chest, letting him carry you to your shared bedroom.

Extra.

TICKLE FIGHTS.

He thinks your sneezes are the cutest thing in the world.

He loves your god awful puns, they crack him up every time.

Adores the fact you're a nurturer, especially with your friends. He thinks you'd make a great mother but if that's something you don't want he respects that.

You take care of everyone, but who takes care of you? Eijirou is always there to be your shoulder to lean and cry on, he's your sound board and is always happy to let you talk about your feelings with him. You're allowed to not be happy and bubbly all the time, he realizes how staying positive all the time can actually do more damage than goof, especially if you bottle everything up.

If on a particular day you're struggling with your speech he's happy to be your voice as well. He understands you better than anyone, even your own father.

Speaking of your father, he can't wait to make Eijirou his son-in-law! He's a good man with a good heart and treats you right, what's not to like?

He has trouble saying no to you and spoils you quite a bit.

The Fights:

...

Extra.

There's nothing, what you say goes and all he can say is "yes dear". He knows better than to argue with you, however when he's right and he knows he is, he finds a way to prove it without making you mad.

The Sex:

⠀⠀"Fuck baby—" he hissed, hands finding your hips and guiding you as you rub yourself on his cock. Your hands are on his thighs and your head is tossed back, giving him the perfect view of your tits. God he loves them, he loves the plush skin of your stomach and your thighs, your ass too, he loved seeing all of you. He was so happy that you allow him this privilege of seeing you, granted you've been dating a while now but still. Your sounds are music to his ears and all he wants is to make more, make you feel so good you're calling his name and making a mess.

He wanted— no, needed, to feel you, to feel inside your warm and wet cunt, to feel it squeeze him and milk him dry. He was quick to flip the two of you over, careful to not hurt you as he did. You gasped and giggled, reaching up to hold his face as he smiled, leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. He loved your taste, he could go on and on about all the things he loved about you all day if he could. "You want it baby?" You nodded excitedly, lip caught between your teeth. He smirked and reached between the two of you, thick fingers tracing a line between your lips and slipping inside your soaked pussy.

"D-Daddy—" you whine, a slight pout on your lips as your face morphs into one of pleasure. He chuckled, pumping his fingers in and out a few times before removing them and grabbing his cock. He coated it more in your slick, guiding it between tge lips of your cunt before slowly pushing inside, groaning at how tight you are. You squeal of course, gasping for breath because Kirishima is an impressive size, you still struggled to take him sometimes but like a good girl you always managed.

"That's my good girl." He cooed, moving so his forearms were on either side of your head. He gave a couple test thrusts, waiting for you to adjust u til you nodded for him to continue.

Extra.

Terrified of activating his quirk while he's fucking you, but he keeps himself under control.

He loves his hair pulled and he loves to be bitten, he especially likes it when you scratch his back when he hits that good spot.

Eats you out for his pleasure mostly, but for yours as well. He loves when you grind on his face and moan his name when you do it. Speaking of, please sit on his face, he loves that shit. He knows how to be careful of his teeth!

If you have pets they CANNOT be in the same roon when you're doing the do, it's just weird.

He'd happily bend you over in the kitchen and do you right there. Hell, he'll fuck you anywhere you deem suitable.

He likes to do a mixture if praise and degradation with you, and edging and overstimulation is a big go-to. He just loves seeing you squirm under him, hr loves hearing you beg and say you need him.

[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 

[struwwelzeter]

Because i miss your design themed rants (it is good word here) i would like you to rank Rammstein album covers from designers point of view.

Ah, I love you. This got VERY ranty.

This is kinda hard because I tend to judge the entire packagaing/notes, and when I count that into it the ranking would be ever so slightly different. I’ll mention it for each I have Opinions (TM) on, but yeah, this is solely going on cover. I’ll only do the studio albums, not made in germany or the DVDs, or this will get too big.

7th: Rosenrot.

I know lots of you are gonna hate me for this. It’s not that I don’t like it, I do, it’s beautiful. Unfortunately it’s ... slightly lazy. It’s I think their most obvious cover and obvious feels like it’s good design but never truly is. It’s got that first idea feel, if that makes any sense. There is always that project where you go “uh can’t think of anything, but this works.” It’s not a bad thing, they clearly still knew what they were doing. It’s just ... that typical photoshop post apocalyptic composit that lost of metal/alternative bands did at some point. They all did it because it’s cool. No argument there. It’s just that I expect a bit ... more.

6th: Herzeleid

I know it’s iconic, but. The execution?! Terrible. The colours of their skin and that flower?! Too different to feel monochromatic, to same same to contrast nicely. Too much texture. What is that?! The positive bit is the placement of the typography because, neat! Most people fail at that. I like the blue-grey there aswell, how about you’d added that to their skin a little? No? Ok.

Also, this (Richard speaking):

“The bloody sleeve! What a crazy situation that was. We approved the photos in a car park without thinking what we were letting ourselves in for. When we saw what the designer had done, we freaked! We looked so… gay! All of us stripped to the waist. It was like an ad for a gay porno film. So we had to say, sort it out. Make us look straight again. Change the sleeve.”

Who in the fuck works like this?! Nevermind, I know it was a considerably younger Dirk Rudolph, but fucking hell, have some self respect, all of you. I know they didn’t know what they were doing, they probably had the management/record company comission it, and that was still the time graphic designers were seen as just pixel pushers from that time it took 3 days to layout a poster. Still. What was that brief?! Could you have sat down for 20 minutes and talk, perhaps?! Also, I hope this is how Richie learned to be the nightmare client I know he is. Don’t approve layouts in a car park, what the fuck is wrong with you.

It’s a pity because the concept? Nice. Sculpted men infront of flowers, what else do you want from life. Why crysanthemes, tho? Too textured in that macro shot. What is that photo angle?! Might try and redo that if I ever feel like it.

5th: Reise, Reise

This breaks my heart a little, because it’s my lonely island album. And it isn’t bad by any stretch. Actually, their album cover game is ridiculous, can I have that established as a general benchmark? It would make for a lot less mental break downs. The thing is ... I like the idea. Make it look like the black box, cool. The problem is the type. It makes it look like “Flugrekorder Nicht Öffnen” is the album title. To be fair, Typesetting is my main thing, and album artists get it wrong (imo) 99 out of 100 times. I wish they would have comitted more and just left the titel off and solved it with a slide in, or a sticker or something like that. It’s just a bit ... weird. What works brilliantly is that it’s very memorable, stands out on the shelf, is unusual, all of that. It’s iconic. I do like it very much but I had to place something here.

4th: Liebe ist für alle da

Now the thing with that album is that it has two covers. If I’d gone by the original one, I’d have to place it behind Reise, Reise. Everything RR has in impact, this is missing. It’s too dark, has too many pieces, it won’t stand out on a shelf. Especially not in the CD age when it was on 12x12 cm. Even on a Vinyl, it’s ... just not that impactful. Sure, the photograph is beautiful but meh. Luckily there is a second option. And that - is almost like a logo. It works as a symbol, and that makes it so strong. Less is more. Brilliant. You can draw it from memory. It’s so iconic, the kind of stuff that starts showing up in subways, drawn on the back of a seat and sprayed on walls. Tell me you never wanted to paint that on a flag and take it to a pride parade. I am sure some of us have.

I do want to mention the booklet in this, because it does bump it up a little too, because where the panorama image fails as a cover, the inside is done so beautifully with the fold out, the type setting, everything. It’s special, and done with love and it shows.

3rd: Mutter

There is just something about this that is so, so, so memorable. Everyone recognises this. If you ask anyone over the age of 20 to describe Rammstein with an album cover only to someone less familiar, is anyone gonna say anything but “they’re the band with the embryo in close up”?! Maybe this is subjective because that’s how I first got exposed to them, but I don’t think so. It’s such a powerful image. It’s both beautiful and uncomfortable, the way Rammstein as a whole and that album in particular is beautiful and uncomfortable. It’s stunning. That’s it. Unfortunately, this one falls apart inside. The went too far with the whole Matrix inspired cyber elements. It’s trendy and trendy never stands the test of time, in that it has the same problem Rosenrot has, but much worse because it’s not even done that well. They could have just used the photos and kept it raw. The type setting on the cover is as good as it gets with albums tho, so I am happy.

2nd: Sehnsucht

Ah, Sehnsucht. The most perfect band shoot they ever had. Helnwein just ... did it. I don’t know, it both defined and summed up who they are aesthetically for the longest time. It’s the visual statement that says “this is Rammstein”. It ... just looks like a band that sings about heartbreak and necrophilia is supposed to look like. Don’t you agree? How else would it look like? Even that omniously coloured beach. It’s as if the predicted the mood of True Detective, only less Hollywood. That darkness we don’t want to see, that can happen anywhere. And where they fell short with Mutter, where they added too much on to these powerful images, they just added the type. Granted, it was the 90s so it’s slightly experimental type. But unlike most type in the 90s it stood the test of time. Add the whole variable cover versions and chefs kiss! Beautiful work. Makes me happy and emotional and ugh.

1st: The White Album

I’m just calling it that now. The Matchstick. You know, good design is made up from three components only: Concept. Commitment. Execution. The concept of this is so streamlined and clean. It’s the entire Rammstein story narrowed down to a single little thing. It’s small and ordinary looking but it can become dangerous and big. It’s underestimated. A little piece of wood with a head of phosphor and calium chlorit and yet you can commit the most legendary arson. It’s the personification of the thing that has become synonymous with them: Fire. It says so much with so little. And then they comitted to that. No useless typography, a simple but oh so well done photoshoot, the simple text on white. They didn’t ad too much additional ideas on to it, they trusted that one to carry and it does. They could have done without the black and white match stick arrangements inside, although I’m not even sure if that’s not just a limited edition thing, it’s a bit too much almost. They got scared a little there. The execution is also well done, I have very little to critique, only that I feel it lacks a tiny bit of love. The thing is, the more minimalist you go, the more love you have to put into each element. I feel like the spacing of the type should have been fixed in a few places but honestly that is being very very picky. Or not. Because if it wasn’t for that, and the teeeeny tiny commitment issue, this should have been a candidate for the packaging grammy. I mean it should be even the way it is, but we all know how those fuckers ignore our boys.

I’m done. Can I use this as application? Do you think if I send them a run down of basically tearing them apart they will hire me?

[blackfemmecharacterdependency]

06. The Fall Festival

3550 Words, No trigger warnings that I can think of. 

Previous

Grace got ready for the dance with her mother. She wanted her to look like “the belle of the ball” and though Grace thought the gown was a bit much, her mother had always been extra when it came to extravagance, and she learned her lesson about trying to step in with her own opinions on how she should look. Mrs. Monroe had Grace looking like a Disney princess. She hired a professional makeup artist (EVEN THOUGH they both had years of experience Grace from dance recitals, her mother being a beauty queen and socialite). 

After her hair debacle on the train a couple of years prior, a world famous stylist for natural Afrocentric hair had been Grace's beautician. She helped her to grow her hair back, twisted it into locs and was always keeping her stylish with the hottest natural looks.

Mrs. Monroe hovered and fussed over her like she couldn’t get ready by herself, the moment all of the professionals had gone to wait for her final presentation downstairs. Grace wasn't used to that. Her mother never had time for her and even when she was expected to look her best, Mom usually didn't get involved. Grace longed for this and relished in it. She couldn't complain, even though it was stifling.

Whenever Simon came up the fire escape, Grace panicked. Her parents DID NOT know about him doing so, and she was ready to have a complete shutdown seeing him appear in the window while her mom was putting butterfly embellishments in her up-do. Simon froze, and thought about jumping off of the stairway when he saw Mrs. Monroe in there, but once the woman looked at him and smiled, he relaxed and stepped inside. “Hi, Mrs. Monroe. I’m Simon, Grace’s frie-”

“Grace has a school dance tonight, Simon,” she said, not interested in introducing herself. “I’m sure after all of this; she’ll explain to me why her fire escape is open and why a boy is using it for anything but a fire.”

“Simon is my escort, Mom,” Grace said in a voice so small that Simon didn’t even recognize it and could barely hear her. She had NEVER been this quiet in all of the years that he had known her. It was alarming, actually, but within a moment, he realized why.

Her mother stuck another butterfly into her hair, with a hard jab and Grace winced when the pin stuck her in the scalp. “I see,” the woman said.

The pageant smile that she had initially given Simon in her confusion was gone and now, a stone like grimace was there, pointed right at Grace with no warmth or emotion. “Stand.” She commanded, and Grace did so, with military-like precision. The woman led her next to Simon and stood her at his side, took a step back to assess them, then flared her nostrils and raised an eyebrow. “No.”

“But, Mom…” Grace said in that same tiny voice, this time pleading. A single look from the woman silenced her.

“Grace, I did not pay thousands of dollars to make you perfect tonight for you to ruin the entire aesthetic with this shaggy boy in a shabby suit that looks like it costs less than your earrings. I’m sure he’s nice, but do we want nice things for you, Grace?”

“No.”

“What do we want for you, Grace?”

“The best,” she said.

“Alright. Now, I’ll give you a moment to say goodnight and LOCK your fire escape, then hurry down for the pre-dance photo shoot.” Grace’s eyes welled with tears as she looked down at her hands, clasping her dress anxiously. Her mother lifted her chin with her fingertips and said in a sweet voice, but through clenched teeth, “Don’t you dare cry and ruin this makeup job, and let. Go. of. That. Dress!” When she said dress, she jerked away one of Grace’s hands with her free hand and Grace’s other hand quickly followed.

Then, Grace whimpered in her tiniest voice yet, “He’s my best friend.”

Her mother looked at her with a mixture of pity and exasperation and shook her head, “We can discuss that another time.”

Grace took a deep breath and almost magically forced away the tears trying to form in her eyes. Simon was horrified by how frightened the woman made her. What would she do to her if she told her to piss off? He wasn’t going to find out tonight, because Grace stepped in line and took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, Simon.” She was using that voice that she used with people whenever she was just telling them what they wanted to hear. That was a voice she used with non-essentials, not with him... “I still want to do the whole pumpkin patch thing tomorrow, if you don’t hate me for wasting your time tonight? Maybe my parents will give you money for the train ride home.”

“I’m not going home! My suit may be shabby, but it was the best that I could do and I tried really hard to look nice for you tonight!” His voice was louder than he meant it to be and he knew that her mother could probably hear him, but he had just witnessed the worst thing to happen to him in months (which was already saying a lot) and he just didn’t understand this version of Grace that he had seen tonight.

She smiled, sadly and touched his cheek, “You DO look nice. I love it. I love that you remembered the colors for your accents, and it's very obvious to someone like me, who knows your type of fashion, that you did put a lot of work into this look. But, what I'm telling you is that there is no way that my mother is going to let you get into the car with me and head to the dance, now. I didn’t expect her to be here! But, apparently my first school dance was an event she couldn’t miss, despite missing several other things that I thought should have been pretty dang important...” She dropped her hand and sighed, “I really wanted to go with you tonight, but it can’t happen now. She made that clear to me. I’m sorry, Simon.”

She looked like she might cry again, but she quickly sucked it up and put on a smile. “We can go downstairs together. You don’t have to take the fire escape…”

“What do they do to you? What do they do to you to make you like this? What could they possibly do for you to treat me this way?” He asked, practically pleading.

“They work hard to make sure that I have the best. It’s my responsibility to be my best for them, and they… they… know what’s best.”

“You don’t believe that, Grace! They’re one of the main reasons that we don’t trust adults!”

“Even if I don’t trust them… I have to do what they say! What else can I do? They’re not gonna just leave me alone and let me live my life. Maybe one day, Simon. Just not tonight… Not now...” Simon had tears in his eyes, but Grace was definitely disassociating.

She had to be strong, because she had to present herself to her parents, the pros who put together her look, and the photographer. She had to be perfect whenever she made her entrance. “Goodnight, Simon.” She gave him a playful tap on the cheek, strummed his face with her thumb and left him in the room alone. Simon covered his nose and mouth with both hands and started to cry.

.

The time it took Grace to smile through the photo shoot pretending that she hadn't just sliced her heart into pieces and fed them to her mother, to get the dress safely into the car, and the drive to the dance… Simon had already made it there. The school was closer to Grace's house than his house was, so he just walked. Anger and resentment fueled his pace.

When he arrived, he went to the bathroom to freshen up and get himself together. He slid into the stall with his jacket off, rolled up his sleeve and looked at his arm for a while. He drifted into a daydream.

They were 10, she was in her ballet garb and he was in his vest, shorts, socks and sandals… she was gonna "teach him a few moves," though he couldn't remember why. All he ever remembered about that day was that he couldn’t focus on a single thing that she said to him because she was standing close enough for him to be more concerned about focusing on her features and whenever she was standing behind him, trying to help him get into position, her hands were on his person and she smelled like fruit and flowers. She usually smelled of nice, expensive products and fruit scented lip gloss, but there was something else that he wasn’t as familiar with, though it was very nice. He found out later it was mango butter. She lathered herself in the stuff to moisturize. She didn’t teach him ANYTHING that day but that he wasn’t really into doing ballet, and that she was the prettiest girl that he knew. Always would be. Tonight, they were supposed to dance together again. This time, in front of people. This time… Maybe it wouldn't just be a huge failure, he thought. But, it failed before they ever even made it there. You're never going to be good enough for her.

Simon pulled down his sleeve, put his jacket back on, "You're just as good as anybody else! You're better than most of the people you've ever known!" He hissed, straightening himself out in the mirror.

Then, he went out to get some punch. There was a table of fountains with various fondues and drinks. He remembered that this was his first dance at the academy and that his former jr high bashes would pale in comparison. Everything was SO formal. It reminded him of photos of his parents at a military ball whenever they were first dating… but then add like a million dollars of decorations and stuff.

Whenever he thought about money, his mind went back to Mrs. Monroe's cold features and empty smile. The way she tore him down like he was a null and Grace just LET her.

If his parents ever so much as cut her an ugly look, he'd bludgeon them. She couldn't even tell her mother "no," for him? She'd been so beautiful in that yellow dress, with her goddess locs pulled up and twisted into a cascading bang, a halo crown and sparkling butterflies with jade jewelry and light green and gold accents in her dress, makeup, and hair. Simon didn't even know wtf chartreuse was until he had to try to find "accents" for his suit. He found a tie, a pocket square and socks! He shined his shoes, like he'd seen his father do. He watched videos to learn to tie the tie and fold the square. He'd exfoliated his skin and gelled his stray hairs to try to keep his ponytail neat!

He was sulking into another cup of punch when somebody said, "Is that Grace Monroe?" He turned and the kids made way for her. Her driver helped fix her dress for her entry. She had that fake ass smile plastered on her face, but the moment she saw Simon, it faded. Then, her real smile quickly appeared and she shuffled over to him. "You still came!" She cheered. Everyone else immediately didn't matter to her, but Simon wasn't smoothed over. He was still very much hurt.

"Your mom can control you, not me," he grunted. She put her hand on his shoulder and he looked at it before flicking it off with a harsh brush of his hand. "We're not here together, remember?"

"Obviously, I remember. But, we're still friends… Right?" She stared at the top of his head as he stared into the cup of punch. It was good. Tasted like pineapples and cream with some spritz to it… but it didn't taste good enough to help him avoid this questioning. It'd have to do for now, because there was no way he dared look up to see how she might be looking at him. The feel of her eyes upon him was heavy enough. "What can I do?" She asked in a small voice.

He glanced at her, looking down at her hands and clutching her dress. He sighed and shifted his eyesight to look at the others in the room with them, having fun without a care in the world. Meanwhile, here they were… both obviously miserable. "Nothing," he finally answered, though he didn't look at her again. "You're clearly a powerless kid, just like me. We thought we were so tough because we could win some fights with nulls and really, we're the worthless ones. Your mom proved that tonight. She could care less about specks like us. These kids treat me like I'm something they stepped in, and I can't do anything about it, because my parents can't toss money at administration if I mess up. But, if I get kicked out, my chances of being successful will decrease three quarters. I'll never be rich and powerful, no matter the fact that I deserve it. I deserve it more than anybody else in this room of fakes and flunkies! I'm smart. I'm strong. I'm fearless. I'm tactical. I deserve respect. I deserve the best, too, Grace."

"You do."

"Then why didn't you have my back!?" Now, he looked at her. He deserved an answer.

"Because… I'm… not... those things. I'm not that smart. I just know how to talk to people. I'm… not that strong. I'm just agile and can dodge a lot of danger. And, I think you saw for yourself that I'm not fearless. I'm terrified of my parents seeing any of that. Everything that I'm not. They'll lose the little bit of love that they have got for me and I can't stand to risk it. I guess I just thought that you wouldn't. That... you could take one night of my cowardice and still love me. I was wrong to expect that. You deserve better, but I'm not someone who can give you that. You were always gonna eventually do great things. I was always gonna skate by on my family name." She wiped her eye and looked at her glove to see a little makeup. "I'll leave you alone now…" She was going to go cry over this. Very uglyish and loudish… but Simon caught her wrist.

They looked at each other. Her eyes were asking him why he stopped her when she was giving him his way out, but he knew as well as she should have.. she was absolutely right. He'd love her through anything. He just wasn't going to say that. "We're supposed to open the waltz," he said. His gray eyes were soft on her and she sighed with relief and hurled herself into him for a hug. He held her. "Don't be so hard on yourself. Your mom's a monster. And she's got a ton of money. I've never seen you be afraid of anybody else and I shouldn't have attacked you about it." She was now fully crying on his shoulder. "Apex never dies."

She smiled and nodded, "We're on this wild train for life." She stood up straight and they stared at each other. Did… did she see Simon blushing? She touched his chin much like Simon had seen her mother touch hers, which momentarily gave him a little nervousness, but she said, "You know, Socks & Sandals… this outfit really makes your eyes POP! Have… have they always been green?"

"My eyes are gray," he said, blushing even more, but also looking offended.

"Thank goodness! That's what I thought they were before now…" she kept staring though. "They're prettier than I remember. Did you do something?"

"Like eye reconstruction or shapeshifting?" He asked sarcastically. She laughed and he smirked. Then, they made their way to the dance floor. Grace was in his arms most of the night. They took photos together, with "friends," and at the booth, and before dismissal, they ducked out to ditch her driver and jump on the train to head into the city.

Grace peeked into her clutch for her mask and saw several valuables that she knew weren't hers. "Simon… what is all this?" She pulled out watches and jewelry to get to her mask.

"That's stuff I found on assholes at the dance."

She looked at him a moment, like she was judging him; then they both laughed. "Please tell me that at least ONE of these items came from Shana!" He smirked and shuffled through his haul to show her a set of keys with a plushie keychain. "Are these her car keys???"

"Looks like those are all her keys. But the keychain is fruit with a face! We love fruit with a face!" Whenever they got off of the train, Simon removed the keychain and threw the keys to the wheels. He didn't have an issue with Shana, but she had made Grace her rival since the recital years ago, so that meant she was Simon's enemy… and tonight, she'd be stuck at the dance.

"It just occurred to me that a mask won't do much when the rest of me looks like this," Grace said, laughing.

"It JUST occurred to you that a face mask wouldn't hide your very conspicuous ballroom gown?"

"Shut up!" She laughed and held his hand as they ran out of the train station. Both of them stuck their tongues out and flipped the surveillance camera the bird as they did.

She didn’t want to go home. They had been going around the city for hours and she was certain that unlike when she was 10, her parents could care less if she was home, so long as she didn’t embarrass them while she was out there.

So, she and Simon waltzed at the creek in the moonlight, unintentionally inventing inside jokes, lounged around the closed mall, stole some skateboards from someone’s yard and went skateboarding at the boardwalk. Grace was much better at it than Simon, despite the fact that she had never tried before and was wearing a lengthy gown. Simon vowed that he was going to get better than her.

They made their way back to her house and Simon tampered with the lock on the fire escape to let her in. Whenever he successfully broke in she gasped and he said, “You owe me 20 dollars.”

“I did bet you 20 dollars that you couldn’t possibly break into my home…” she said.

“Yep.” He held out his hand and she put his stolen valuables in it. “This was already mine, whenever I took it.”

“Yeah, but I’m taking the 20 I owe you out of it, for having held onto your loot.”

He groaned and stuffed his pockets. “If we’d been searched or something, they would presume that stuff was somehow all yours. Me? Obvious criminal.”

“You pickpocketed like a dozen people at a school dance and just broke into my window. You are a criminal.”

“So? That doesn’t mean that they have a right to suspect me as one!” She laughed and opened the window to climb inside.

Whenever she was on the other side, she turned and smiled at Simon. “Thanks for getting me home safely, Gray Eyes.”

He blushed and she definitely could see it, even in the moonlight. “Of course. Apex sticks together.” He reached out to give her a fist bump, but she rested her hand on his fist, shut her eyes, leaned forward, puckering her lips… like she was going to… going to kiss him. It happened really quickly, so he couldn’t prepare himself properly. It landed on the corner of his mouth and he didn’t know if she meant for it to be there, on his cheek, or directly on his lips. But, he turned slightly for their lips to touch and she gave those a second kiss, then a third. Small pecks, but two on the lips and the first extremely close to them was still... a lot.

They looked at each other a moment, realized that they were holding hands now and pulled them back. “Well, that was a perfectly normal friendship kiss,” Simon said.

“Very platonic affection,” she added, fighting a smile. “We still on for the pumpkin patch tomorrow?”

He nodded and smiled as he went down the stairs and she locked up after him, then watched him skateboard away on the board he had. Gray Eyes… That had to be his favorite nickname that she’d ever randomly given him.

Grace looked down at her frazzled dress, filthy at the seam and torn and dirty in other places. She looked in the mirror, traced her fingertips across her lips that she had just so BOLDY used to kiss Simon and she laughed, climbing into bed to go to sleep without a shower or anything. He had kissed her back. She giggled about it. She giggled herself to sleep...

Next

[eerythingisshaka]

Always

[Yahya Abdul-Mateen II & Reader]

Word Count: 3k

A/N:  I was reminded of a music video that captivated me when I was younger.  This dude named Paolo Nutini made a song called Candy and the video followed a wedding from party to the couples night.  So I got inspired to do this fluffy angsty thing.

“And welcome to the floor, Mr. and Mrs. Abdul-Mateen!!”

Your loved ones explode in cheers and applause as you and Yahya enter hand in hand into the hall.  Spotlights find you both, making you shield your eyes but your giddiness could not be quelled by anything at that moment.  You feel Yahya’s hand squeeze yours tighter, and you see him smiling wide down at you.

The crowd is still raucous but all other sounds mute as you see his lips move to say,  “You ready, baby?”

Your cheeks ache with happiness as he takes you by your waist and lands a smooch on you that nearly knocks you off your feet.  He even had the nerve to get sloppy with tongue which you knew was all for show because sloppy is not a part of his vocabulary.

“Alright bride and groom, come over to the table of honor so we can get toasts started!”  Your cousin you hired as emcee instructs over the intercom to break up the PDA.

Yahya pulls away, wiping his mouth and faking embarrassment as he leads you by the hand to your throne at the head of the main table.

Seeing the smiling faces of your whole family fills your heart as you take your seats.  Feeling your eyes well up, you pull the folded napkin off your plate to carefully blot the tears away.

Yahya lays an arm across your shoulders whispering in your ear, “You alright?”

You nod wordlessly, patting his leg for confirmation.  

“Aww, aren’t they the cutest couple everyone!  We haven’t even gotten to the speeches yet and you’re bawling.  Girl don’t mess up my beat on you!”  Your cousin had also helped with your makeup last minute when the artist arrived an hour and 17 minutes late (you kept count).

You wave your napkin at her to continue as Yahya popped the champagne bottle chilled in front of you, causing yet another whoop from your families.  Yahya fist pumps as he pours it expertly into yours and his glasses.  Your cousin continues the evening with a musical selection and eventually toasts.

Both sides of your families seemed to have their fair share of comedians.  

“It’s about time someone made an honest man out of him!  And the fact he doesn’t mind that you’re cuter than him, sends me!”  his sister guffaws with the crowd at this crack.

Yahya just shrugs, holding you close next to him.

“It’s true!”  You say under your breath.

“You may be cuter, but I still beat you in fashion, hands down,” he retorts.

You sit up and point to yourself.  “My titties are SITTING.  This hair?  LAID.  My dress?  EXPENSIVE and DESIGNER.”

Yahya rolls his eyes.  “See what you did?  Talk.  While my fit speaks for itself.”

You pick up your champagne glass and level it right under his nose.  “Negro, I have half a mind to toss this drink in your face.”

Yahya grabs his glass, wrapping his arm through yours to take a drink while tipping the bottom of yours toward your mouth.

“And that concludes our toasts!  To the happy couple!”  

You peer at him as he winks at you, taking a slow sip.  Eventually you both take a bow and are ushered over to take pictures in the garden area as the DJ spins and the buffet is opened.

The mid afternoon sun was gorgeous against the lush greenery of the environment.

“You still want to take pictures with me?  Since I can’t dress worth a damn,”  you say in a pitiful tone.

Yahya waves at the photographer.  “What’re you talking about?”

You kiss your teeth.  “How quickly you forget.  Can’t wait to celebrate our anniversary with that memory of yours.”

The photographer greets you both.  “Congrats guys.  You both look splendid and beautiful and so in love, I could just add you to my Netflix list.”

“Thank you.  Where do you want us?”  Yahya asks.

The photographer points toward an archway that looks like heaven’s light is misting through it.  As you both walk hand in hand up to it, you put on the funk extra hard.

“Now don’t forget to smile real big for me guys.  Really revel in the love!”

Yahya and you both smile for some traditional shots, your impatience ticking up with each click of the shutter.  The photographer directs you to look at each other and Yahya wraps his arms around your waist as you wrap your around his neck.

“Perfect guys, even got the ring glowing,” the photographer says.

Yahya looks at you with mischievous eyes and an expression like he is holding back a laugh.

You roll your eyes.  “Nothing’s funny.”

“You are.”

“It’s not supposed to be.  How you gonna tell me I’m ugly on the biggest day of my life?”

“Did I ever say you ugly?  In fact I remember confirming that you are cute.”

“And then swiftly saying I dress badly.  What bride wants to hear that?”

His fingers run up and down your spine as he sways from side to side, leading you into his rhythm.

“You know what?  I gotta say it cuz it’s only right.  I am sorry.”  Yahya says genuinely.

You sigh deeply.  “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry I called you cute…”

“YAHYA!”  You yelp, pulling his ear and making him wince.

“Aww, that’s cute guys.  Playful, I like it!”  The photographer naively encourages you.

“Ow ow!  Ok ok, listen, stop!”  Yahya begs until you let go of his lobe.  Yahya massages his abused ear and continues.

“I mean I shouldn’t say you’re cute because you’re not.  You are...so fine.”

“Oh...shut up.”  You say in annoyance.

Yahya holds you closer, gaze lingering on your face.  “You are the sexiest woman I have ever laid eyes on.”

“Whatever,” you say in a less aggressive tone.

“And although I would compliment a woman’s mind before their body, yours keeps me distracted from being able to form cohesive thought, and I do apologize for my ways.”

You naturally rub the back of his head, growing softer in his arms.  “...Don’t apologize for that.”

Yahya shakes his head, moaning an old spiritual groan.  “Noooo ma’am, I must.  I am a gentleman at most times, but you bring out a side I can’t shake that is otherwise.  And I only say what I said about your clothes because you look best with them off of you.”

You snicker and push away as Yahya laughs out loud at your shyness. 

“Come on back here.  You done started something, if you’re not in front of me, our photographer is gonna capture a big moment we can’t show our family in the album.”

You feel exactly what  he means, holding his face in your hands as you shake your head.  “You dirty bastard.”

“That’s your fault, don’t blame me!” 

You pull him in for a kiss, becoming intoxicated with his spirit.  The things that annoy you can be the same things that pull you out of a funk and you love that about him.  His smile, his humor, his sex appeal without even trying and it was all for you until death do you part.

“Gorgeous!  Incredible!  Steamy!”  The photographer cheers, snapping you out of the intimate trance you were under, but Yahya could barely stop himself.

“Save it for later baby,”  you tell him in a husky tone, biting your lip over your over naughtiness.

You wipe your lipstick off his lips as he says, “I love you, sweetheart.  Always.”

“I love you.  Always,” you parrot back.

By the time you both are back in the hall, the part is jumping as your family and friends had their fill of food and drink, stepping to the choreography of the Wobble.  The DJ cut the song prematurely to announce the cutting of the cake as Yahya grabbed the knife to cut a sliver and guide it to your mouth.  You took a humble bite as the crowd applauds while you cut him a piece.  Yahya’s smile lights up as you hold out his piece before shoving it into his lips and nose.  The attendees gasp and laugh as the photographer captures the moment of cake being smashed on Yahya’s perfect grin.  He is stunned but recovers gracefully, licking some cake off his lips.  You clap for him, reaching for a napkin to help clean him but suddenly your body is pulled into his as he plants a kiss on you, making sure to transfer some cake onto you, generating even more laughter from your guests.  

You couldn’t help but laugh into him as he dramatically moves his face around yours, bumping your nose with his and parting to see his masterpiece.  You both laugh out loud, until finally cleaning your fun away and making it to the dance floor for your first dance.  

You can’t keep your eyes off of each other as your song As by Stevie Wonder came on over the speakers.  The floating nature of the opening verse makes you feel even more like you’re in a dream.  Yahya can’t keep his mouth still, singing along with the lyrics and holding you closer than his own skin.  When the chorus picks up, Yahya leads your two step, spinning you around to show you off, hands reaching a little lower than you would usually want in front of family but you didn’t care at all.  You made sure to get your solo dance in front of him, shaking your titties and throwing ass on your husband without shame.

Eventually your families joined the dance floor, surrounding you both with congratulations.  As the night wore on, it was time to head off for the evening.  You both were sent off with well wishes as the DJ continues to spin.  Your ride waited outside as you waved and ran to the backseat to be driven to your hotel.

The quiet of the car was odd coming straight out of the party.  Your ears rang a little bit and you finally felt the effects of walking around in heels for hours, kicking them off.

Yahya looks over at your feet, pulling your leg up on his lap to rub your feet.  “You tired?”

You lean back taking a deep breath.  “A little.  You?”

Yahya shrugs.  “I could stay up a little longer.”  He smirks at you in a sneaky way that tells you everything you need to know.

You chuckle, patting his arm.  “I know baby, we will.  Ooh, just keep rubbing like that.”

“That feels good?”  Yahya asks, get right at the soft pad under your toes. 

“Ohhh, yes!”  You moan, sinking into your seat with pleasure.

“Excuse me!  Sex in the cab is prohibited.  Please refrain.  And congratulations,”  the driver says.

You and Yahya share a glance before chuckling at the driver’s mistake.  “We got you sir, don’t worry about it.  Just can’t keep my hands off my wife.”  Yahya responds, taking your other foot onto his lap.

Arriving at the room of your hotel was an obstacle course.  The dress and veil is a dead giveaway for strangers to take the time to yell congrats at you both.  A wave of relief wash over you as Yahya begins to insert the key and opens the door for you.  You start to walk in but he blocks you.

“What?  I have to pee, come on,”  you hop on your bare feet, whining.

Yahya tosses your shoes inside before looking at you like a disappointed parent.  

“You just wanna ruin tradition, huh?  As a man I have to carry my lady over the threshold.”

“This isn’t our house or something!  It’s just the hotel, carry me later.  I have to go, please!”

“Aight, come on.”  Yahya bends to scoop you up making you yelp in surprise.

“Dammit, you’re gonna make me pee more!”  You squeeze your legs tight and his head tighter as he walks you in.

“I love my baby, pee and all!”  he sets you down but you practically jump out of his arms to the bathroom.  Hiking up your dress, you plant down and release gratefully.  A box sits on the counter across from you  with a ribbon on it that intrigues you.  Finishing, you get up to open the top to see a frisky negligee and thong set.

You shake your head, picking up the barely there clothing and smiling to yourself over what Yahya must’ve looked like having this picked out ahead of time.  Feeling for the zipper on your dress, you get ready to change.  

“Baby!  The alcohol is getting cold, hurry up!  HA!”  Yahya laughs in glee, twisting the corkscrew in to work it open.  With a pop, he got the glasses filled with some wine.

You open the bathroom door and see him shirtless, pouring the drinks.  The room is dead quiet except for the glug of the liquid and you get caught up in his physique.  It’s not the first time, but you feel renewed any time you see him from behind.  The sculpt of each isolated muscle that embedded his back down to the dips above the waist of his pants barely hanging onto his hips.  Although the glasses weigh practically nothing, his arms flexed as if he was keeping the world rotating on its axis.  

When he turns to see you, his body tenses, mouth half hanging open.  He stumbles to set down the wine as his eyes refuse to leave your direction.  You feel so many hormones rushing through your body, it's hard to concentrate on what’s to happen next.  It feels like pins are dancing across your skin as excitement works its effects on you, a primal need for him to touch you whilst keeping your distance.

“You look…”  Yahya’s voice trails off.

“I can dress now, huh?  But you picked it out, so points to you,”  you say cooly as you walk over to the waiting glass of wine, bringing it up to your lips as you watch him watch you.  

“It’s the best of both worlds: that color on you is spectacular but leaves nothing to the imagination.”  Yahya paws at the lace that cups your breast, not quite touching you.  You feel your body pull toward him under his light touch, wanting more but you refuse yourself.  Looking over at the bed you see the rose petals scattered across the duvet.

“Aww, you decorated?”  You walk over to pick up a petal, feeling it’s softness under your fingertips.  His hands snake across your stomach, pulling you backwards a bit so that you feel his desire.

Your breath hitches in your throat, resting your hands over his  while your hips back into him.

“That’s not the only thing I want on this bed.”  Yahya growls into your ear, palming your breast roughly as you feel your body bend over for him.

You’re breathing hard as your body pulsates under his touch, naturally seeking the release he so wants to provide.

“Wait, move a second.”  You override your senses to push away from under him, crawling across the bed to sit on the other end.  The curtains on the windows still show the city lights in the distance for you to stare into.

“Something wrong?”  He asks.

You feel yourself cooling as you get your thoughts together.  “The city is gorgeous, ain’t it...Yahya?”  

“Yeah it’s nice but what’s on your mind?”  Yahya asks, crawling over the bed behind you.

You shrug.  “It’s just crazy after all this planning, it’s done.  This is it: married life.”  You look over your shoulder at him and smirk.

“Well this isn’t all of it yet,”  he says, kissing your shoulder, up to your neck.  You hold his head, leaning into his lips as his hands reach your waist to pull you back onto the bed.

He pulls your negligee over your head as you lay back, enjoying his mouth grazing every inch of skin, feeling the pull of your underwear as he works his lips down your belly.

“You love me?”  You ask breathlessly as your legs lift for him to finish undressing you completely.  He looks over your fully exposed form with hunger, running his hands over your thighs.

“I love you, more than you know.”  

You reach for the button of pants, helping him take off the unnecessary clothes.  As he crawls up to meet between you, you feel your body tense up again.

“I got you.”  Yahya says softly, kissing your breasts again.

You claw the width of his back as you feel him tease against you.  Your legs wrap around him.

“God, I love you so much, baby.”  You moan under him, bringing his face to yours, taking him into you for the first time as man and wife.  

“You still taste sweet,”  you observe from the remnants of cake he ate earlier.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have reminded me about that.  I’m gonna get you back for real now.”

You gleefully accept your fate as Yahya pushes your body's pleasure to its edge.  You become one in a new way that shakes you up as he washes away every doubt and worry with each stroke.  You tasted his ecstasy on your tongue and you welcomed it warmly.  You both had never said I love you so much in one night as you had then, taking in each other's devotion completely, climaxing quicker than you ever had.  If this was married life, you could get used to it.

The next morning, the sun bathes you both in a soft glow, waking you.  You see the half drank wine on the table across from you and the discarded clothing littering the floor.  Yahya’s arms pins you to the bed as you feel the urge to pee.  Grabbing his wrist, you hear him groan.

“Don’t you dare leave me in this bed alone.”  Yahya says sleepily, pulling you in tighter.

You look back at him amused.  “But I have to pee.”

“Again?  Damn.  I’m starting to think you're just trying to run away from me.”

You turn over to look at him, eyes closed with a dramatic frown.  You smack his face playfully.

“Hey.  Runaway bride is before the vows.  It’s too late for me to do that now.” 

He peeks one eye open at you.  “You damn right.  You my woman now, hitched!  Got it?”  

“And you my man, you hear me Yahya Abdul-Mateen II?”   You say, getting up to scurry to the toilet.

“That’s right Mrs. Abdul-Mateen!  Madly in love!  Head over heels...like how I had your heels over your head last night...”

Masterlist

[artistic-writer]

The Contract :: CS Omegaverse :: Ch 8

Title: The Contract Rating: E Summary: Emma had never wanted much in her life, despite being married to one of the richest men in the world. For ten years she has felt like a prisoner in her own marriage, denied the one thing she wants the most, but her husband cannot help but bargain her want like a cheap business deal.  Enter Killian Jones, the Alpha her husband has hired to make sure she gets what she wants. And then some.

AO3 - Ko-Fi (100% of coffee’s bought go towards buying @adognamedkillian toys and treats!)

A/N: Ooooo! It’s here!  THAT chapter (if you have heard me talking about this chapter you’ll know what I mean.)  I’m very excited for you all to read it, and I really hope you enjoy it!

Artwork by me, @artistic-writer and beta’d by the lovely @shardminds who deserve all the love you guys can throw her way. And as ever, thank you to all the ladies in Discord! Thanks ladies!

This is an Omegaverse fic featuring A/B/O dynamics.  Whilst this varies from fandom to fandom, for the purposes of my fic, there will be no mpreg.  Just so you know.  There will however be knotting, breeding, heats and other delicious things that come along with A/B/O.  If you do not know what A/B/O is, feel free to message me :)  Many thanks to @hollyethecurious @shardminds @kmomof4 @darkcolinodonorgasm @resident-of-storybrooke and @ineffablecolors for letting me bounce my complicated ideas of you lol

If you wish to stay away from this fic, blacklist the A/B/O tag.

Taglist:  I’ll be honest, i have lost my taglist for this fic, so if you want a tag, please message me here on on discord (Salem #5158/ itwontalwaysbelikethis@gmail.com) and I’ll add you!  I’ve tagged the following people i KNOW want to read this, but i don’t want to accidentally tag you if you do not like ABO.

@hollyethecurious @shardminds @kmomof4 @resident-of-storybrooke @darkcolinodonorgasm @thisonesatellite @xemmaloveskillianx @hookedonapirate @teamhook @winterbaby89 @carpedzem @courtorderedcake @profdanglaisstuff @itsfabianadocarmo @donteattheappleshook @ultraluckycatnd @jennjenn615 @melly326​ @klynn-stormz @stahlop​

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Killian never liked to cancel on clients, especially when he was giving up the opportunity to sleep with someone as beautiful as Emma, but it seemed his rut had other ideas. It had arrived early, his already frenzied mind sent into overdrive at the thought of not having her, even if her husband was insistent she go away for a week. She would be back before it’s end, but he didn’t want to risk her seeing him that far into his rut, so before she had even arrived home, Killian had told her husband he would be unable to see her until otherwise notified.

He should have known his rut was approaching when, during their last sexual encounter, he had found little things more precise, her scent more enticing, if at all possible, than before, and her body reacting to him more like an Omega than a Beta. One minute they were fucking, and then, before either of them knew it, he was knot deep in his favourite place in the world. It came without warning, his body so tuned into hers that he didn’t know what was happening until it was too late and her body was clenching around his bulb and drawing every last drop of his soul out through his orgasm. It shouldn’t have been so easy to knot a Beta without prior lubrication, but somehow they fit together like puzzle pieces, Emma cut exactly right so that he would fit inside her.

Alpha’s could control their early rut, it wasn’t hard, unless they were a few days in or there was a reason. Emma was a Beta, so there shouldn’t have been a reason he had felt so incredibly starved of her that he had acted so possessive. No Omega scent coaxing out his ultimate arousal, although Emma’s scent did things to him he couldn’t explain, or rut frustration unsated by the woman beneath him. Killian was confused, his mind foggy and in a daze so much that he almost didn’t hear the soft tapping against his apartment door.

He was ripped from his thoughts by the scent first, the absolute sweetness of it wafting under the thin gap under his front door and straight into his nostrils. His body reacted instantly and he stared at the heavy door wide eyed and unable to believe what he was sensing. The smell caused a tickle to stir in his groin, the pit of his stomach falling away from him as he was overcome with the need to fuck, but something else held his attention for a second, something that confused his already rut addled brain.

Emma.

Killian took a tentative step towards the door, the gentle knocking echoing through his apartment once more. The closer he got, the stronger the scent became, and his brow pulled together with his last coherent ounce of thought.

“Killian?” Emma called softly through the door, her voice riddled with agony.

Killian gulped hard, another scent coating his taste buds as he swallowed it down and it sent a ripple of excitement over his skin. He reached for the door, pulling it open quicker than he thought he would, half scared by what he would find on the other side.

Emma looked up at him slowly, her face puffy from her tears and her hair dishevelled like she had been grabbed. She was dressed in just some leggings and a camisole top and was barefoot, despite the temperature outside being almost freezing, and she was covered in a fine sheen of sweat that took Killian’s breath away. He only just stopped himself from growling out loud when he noticed a dark red swell under her right eye, the skin there split open in a small line that had stopped bleeding but was probably going to need a stitch.

Her hands trembled, her fingers interlocking in front of her as she fidgeted, her entire body shaking under his gaze. It felt like forever before one of them moved, Killian finally, against everything reasonable screaming inside his head, reaching out, grabbing her arm and pulling her into his apartment. His hand on her skin was the most calm Emma had felt all day and she let out a sigh, almost thankful for the lightest touch that had somehow eased her pain.

Before the door even closed behind her, Killian was stalking away from her, putting as much distance between them as he could. It was only the first day of his rut so there was minimal control left over his urges, but he had to try to resist them. Emma was clearly here for a reason but as much as his head was telling him to take her, fuck her, breed her, claim her, his heart won out as soon as he saw she had been hit.

“What happened?” He said finally, putting the couch between them and neglecting to look at her, brushing his finger across his own cheek to indicate the reason for his question.

“Graham,” Emma whimpered, her body flushing hot once more. Killian caught the new wave of her heat from the other side of the expansive lounge area of his new apartment, his back pressed to the huge floor to ceiling glass window that looked out over the city. Not even the frozen pane could cool his body, and he rubbed a sweaty palm over his already damp forehead angrily at the man’s name.

How could a man hit his wife? How could Graham have even dreamed of hurting something as precious as Emma? Rage boiled inside of Killian and he tried to focus on that rather than what his rut was telling him to do. He was in such a conflict, his brain telling him she was his when really she wasn’t, urging him to make it so, when he couldn’t. He looked up to her again, the pathetic looking woman in front of him sniffing away her last tears as she met his darkened gaze, his eyes flitting to the pulse point in her neck where he now knew her scent gland was.

“Emma-” he began through ground teeth, her name nothing more than a warning to stay back that she ignored.

“Killian, what’s happening to me?” she pleaded, stepping away from the door and her body instantly feeling the AC in his apartment blasting down onto her skin. It was cool but not enough, the slick between her legs making her even hotter as she felt pulled towards him. “I can’t-”

“You can’t be here,” he warned her darkly, his face contorting as if he was fighting a voice in his head.

“I have nowhere else to go,” Emma said sadly, her voice breaking at the realisation that she was homeless. Her fight with Graham had escalated to abuse, him yelling at her to get out and never come back. Everything she had ever known was a lie, her entire life a shit show with her as the star attraction.

Killian took a deep breath again, raking his hands over his face as he tried to think. He couldn’t kick her out, there were other Alphas living in this building and even he could smell she was unclaimed. It would be like throwing her to the wolves. And he couldn’t leave either. The fury he felt would undoubtedly take him straight to Graham and then to a prison cell, exactly the opposite of where he wanted to be right now.

Where he needed to be.

“The bedroom,” he grunted, nodding behind her to a door. Emma followed his gaze and looked back at him confused. “It’s the coldest room in the apartment, and you can lock it from the inside.” He lifted his gaze, locking her stare with his. “You’ll be safe there.”

“Safe?” Emma asked dumbly. “But I-”

“NOW, OMEGA!” Killian barked, hating himself the second the words left his mouth. Emma flinched, rushing to the door before she had time to question why she was acting so obediently at his tone. It was harsh, demanding and something inside of her was aroused to the point of pain, the throb between her legs intensifying and a new wave of slick coating her underwear.

Killian was on her heels, the newly excreted slick drawing him like a shark to blood in the water, and Emma slammed the door in his face, turning and fumbling with the key in the lock. She gasped a squeaking sound, covering her mouth to hide the fear laced adrenaline coursing through her body when Killian pounded a fist against the wood in rut induced annoyance. Another bang made her jump back away from the door, her eyes flicking to the key that was only half turned in the lock, and she surged forward and twisted it completely until she felt the mechanism slide into place.

“I’m sorry,” Emma cried, unable to stop the tears again.

Killian sighed, his entire body sagging against the other side of his bedroom door, his fingernails scraping down the surface as he regained some semblance of his control. He rolled his sweltering forehead against the surface, cursing his lack of power when it came to his rut, his feral insides feeling like they were in a tug of war with the rationality of his brain. Emma was scared, she clearly didn’t know what was happening and here he was, like an animal, trying to get to her simply because it was the first day of his rut and something had been wafted under his nose. He wasn’t that kind of Alpha and he never wanted to be.

“Emma, I’m sorry,” Killian whispered softly into the surface of the door. “I can’t-”

“What’s going on?” Emma whimpered back, her voice muffled in his ears. “I came here for your help and instead you yell at me.”

“Emma, I’m so sorry,” Killian told her quickly. “As soon as I smelled you, my body-” He began, unable to form the words. How do you explain to someone, who always thought they were a Beta, that they were actually not? For a second Killian was so preoccupied with his own wonderings that he nearly neglected to ask Emma the most important question. “How is this possible?” He muttered. “You’re Omega,” he said, confused by his own words that were more of a statement than a question.

“Tell me about it,” Emma laughed hysterically, shaking her head at her own predicament. “I can’t even fucking think straight right now. One minute I’m at the spa, then Ruby tells me there is a baby, so I rush home, leaving everything behind, including my medication, and then Humbert drops this in my lap!”

“Medication?” Killian asked, his eyebrow bouncing up on his forehead with intrigue. Had Humbert been suppressing his own wife? Had the entire Humbert clan been using heat suppressants and scent blockers on her since she was a child? The thought made him recoil in fury.

“Yeah,” Emma nodded, turning her body until her back hit the door and she slid down the cold wood to the floor. Even the floor felt cool against her skin but she was still roasting, wiggling out of her leggings and tossing them aside. The AC in Killian’s room hummed gently in the background, almost invisible but Emma felt like everything was more alive right now. All of her senses were sharper, her world less muted than before, including her insatiable need to be fucked. “Long story short, I’ve been sick my entire life, this week I didn’t take my pills and I’ve never felt so alive. Apart from these damn cramps and sweating and-”

“And need,” Killian finished for her, his voice laced with a dark passion that made her even more wet than she was.

“Yeah,” she breathed, sighing in relief like his words had been his hands on her, soothing her aches and fixing her insatiable appetite for him.

“Emma,” Killian began gently and she looked at the door as if it was him. “You’re Omega and you’re in heat.”

Emma looked down at herself, skin tacky with sweat, her entire body feeling like it was on fire and there was something inside of her trying to claw its way out. She looked the same, but she felt infinitely different, like she finally had the answer to a longing question she had never been brave enough to ask. It explained everything. The cramps, the want, the never ending need to be filled and it also explained why, before anyone else, Emma had sought out Killian.

“But-”

“You came here because I am Alpha,” Killian explained, his words strained as if he was fighting against his urge to knock down the door. “I’m what you need.”

Emma’s breath caught in her throat, his words taking on a dark, sultry tone that had her skin itching and her clit throbbing. Graham had been right, she was what he had told her, and for years that snake of a man had been trying to suppress her nature because he hadn’t become the Alpha his family thought he would. He was a coward, and a liar, and if Emma wasn’t in an agonising heat right now, she would march back to their house and punch him right in the face.

But she was in heat, a doors width between her and the Alpha she had begged her bastard husband to find her.

Emma ground out a moan, baring her teeth as she clutched her abdomen and doubled over when another wave of pain shot through her. Her body was screaming out for something to make it stop, drawn to the door where she curled against the hard surface and pulled her knees to her chest. Her red cheeks pressed to the cool door, and when the first wave passed, she relaxed her body with a sorrowful sigh.

“How do I stop it?” She whined.

“You can’t,” Killian said firmly. “You can only make it feel better for a time.”

“How?” Emma ground out. “God, please tell me how.”

For a second Killian was thankful for the door, and for the last amount of restraint he had left because when Emma begged him, the primal creature inside of him reared its insatiable head once more and wanted her like nothing else. He needed to fulfill his own desires, ease his own need, and Emma’s begging further cemented his Alpha need to claim her as his Omega. He wanted to take away her pain, soothe her aching bones and look after her like she deserved, but he also knew this was all new to her and a full rut could scare her away.

“Emma,” he whimpered desperately, his hand finding the door handle and his fingers closing around the cold steel. He pushed down on it and the mechanism slid open, but the locked door did not budge, a sigh of relief leaving his lips. “The chest, at the end of my bed, open it.”

Emma’s gaze wandered to the chest he described, the darkened room barely light enough for her to see it before she dragged herself towards it. Her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting quickly once she had stopped pinching them closed, and her body followed his direction obediently without her even realising. Emma traced her fingertips over the lid, his initials etched into the wood right above the latch, which she grabbed and pulled it open.

The chest was deep, filled halfway with what she could only imagine were rutting toys for Alphas without a mate. Her eyes scanned the selection, her throat dry where her mouth hung open, thoughts and images of Killian fucking each and every one of the tiny holed silicon toys making her excrete yet more slick. A tiny moan deep in her throat escaped involuntarily before she blinked her vision clear.

“Okay,” she called out to him in a shaking voice. “Killian, these are-”

“Clean, I promise,” he chuckled. “In there you should see something that looks like a penis but a the base there will be two huge-”

“Got it,” Emma announced in a whisper. She lifted the toy in her hand, the mottled silicone feeling so lifelike in her hands that she felt another rush of arousal pound her core. It was big, much bigger than Graham and a little bit wider than Killian, and as Emma inspected it further, she frowned. “It’s hollow,” she said softly, almost to herself, but Killian answered immediately.

“It’s wearable, love,” he cooed. “I bought it to knot you with. Under the contract, I couldn’t naturally, and until we...I had never-” he paused again, her floral scent clinging to his taste buds. If he didn’t get her to orgasm soon, he was going to lose his mind.

“Was I your first?” Emma asked timidly, her own voice foreign to her ears.

“Aye,” Killian growled, the thought of knotting her again making him even harder than he already was. “Too many too quickly. I think you induced my rut.”

“I’m sorry,” Emma said softly, turning her attention back to the hollow dildo in her hand. It was cold against her skin, slightly too soft for her liking but just looking at it was making her even more horny than she had ever felt.

“If you...fuck yourself with it,” Killian sighed heavily, his words faltering. “It will feel better, I promise.” He turned away from the door, needing to distance himself from the pull of her scent. It wasn’t just her slick, but Emma’s scent gland was spiking each time she felt aroused, which right now was every time he talked to her. He was rock hard in his lounge pants, his erection pressed painfully to the inside of the cotton, and he was almost certain his knot was straining to escape the confines of his body.

Killian made his way to the couch, dropping his lounge pants until they pooled at his feet. He kicked them away with a sigh, running his hands through his hair and thanking any higher power who was listening that he could contain himself in these early stages of his rut, his usual feral nature not exposing itself until at least day three. Naked he felt cooler, if only for a second, before he wrapped his hand around himself and began the familiar regime of coaxing out his orgasm to satisfy his rut related urges.

If he was quick he would beat Emma to hers and she would be safer. He already knew what it felt like to have her heat envelop him, so his hand was a poor substitute, especially when he heard Emma moan from the next room. His ears pricked up, straining to hear the sound he yearned for again, and when she crowed a second time, he couldn’t stop himself rushing to the door, flattening his hands over the wood and pressing his ear to it eagerly.

“Killian,” Emma sobbed desperately, the sound of her lubrication against the toy between her legs watery and turning her on even more. She drove it into herself again, the friction delicious but so obviously fake that she groaned in anguish.

Killian ground his teeth, the muscles in his jaw ticking under the length of his stubble, and he balled his fist, pounding the door in frustration.

“Killian, please,” Emma whined, her voice barely there above the breathy sigh that followed. “It’s not enough,” she pleaded despairingly, now realising hy she had become almost addicted to the welcome stretch and burn of Killian’s knot.

“Emma, you don't know what you’re doing,” Killian grunted, headbutting the door. “What you’re asking-”

“Alpha-” Emma begged in a whisper, the hurried plea tumbling from her lips before she even registered what she was saying.

Early rut or not, Killian couldn’t contain himself any longer. He grabbed the door frame, fingertips clawing the paintwork as he leaned back and pounded his bare foot into the hard, immovable surface. The door gave a little, the wood bowing away from the hinges, but it didn’t give.

“Hurry, Alpha, make it stop,” Emma begged again, her words filling Killian with more rut induced strength than he had ever had, his foot colliding with the door one more time before it swung open and sent the key flying across the room. He righted himself in the doorway, eyes scanning the darkness before he finally laid eyes on his prize. She was beautiful, gloriously naked and prone on his bed, lying on her back with the toy in one hand and her breast in the other, kneading her aching flesh with a soft cry.

Emma wasn’t even shocked when he burst through the door, instead thankful for his scent. It filled the room, powerful and intoxicating, sending her into a lust fuelled spiral that had her tossing the toy aside and clambering to the end of the bed on her knees to meet him. Killian’s hands on her felt like water when she was thirsty, clawing over her skin like he needed to get inside, and despite his dark, aggressive stare, he was as gentle as anything.

Emma clawed her way up his body, fingers dancing through his coarse chest hair, and clutched his face in her hands. She pulled his lips to hers, crushing their faces together as she kissed him. He was her salvation, the only one who could make it all better and when he kissed her back just as fervently, she arched her body into his even harder. Still standing at the foot of the bed, Killian leaned over and without even breaking the kiss, he gathered her up into his arms, holding her thighs around his waist. Emma gasped, breaking the kiss for a second, when his length touched the wetness that coated her almost entirely.

“Oh, Emma,” Killian purred, conflict in his voice, his tip brushing her slickness as he held her. He rested his forehead on hers, eyes tightly closed as he paused, contemplating the ramifications of having Emma in his place. She was married and there was no going back from this, but nothing would satiate his rut like he now knew she could. Like only she could. “What have you done?”

“I don’t care.” Emma shook her head, her slightly damp hair tangling in his fingers as he combed his hand through her locks.

“You say that because you’re in heat, love,” Killian rationalised, the fact he was holding her body to his calming the beast and letting him see sense for a second. “You’ll say anything for an Alpha’s knot.”

Killian couldn’t believe what he was saying. He felt like two different people, torn between what he wanted and what he knew was right. The Alpha in him wanted nothing more than to claim, mark, make her his own, but the man in him knew that even though Graham wasn’t Alpha, he felt like she belonged to him. Graham was a force, and he had no doubt the man would never give Emma the divorce she so eagerly craved, especially now. She was a prisoner to her own life and he had no doubt he would have to fight for her.

“I don’t want any Alpha’s knot,” Emma cooed. “I want yours.”

The touch of Emma’s soft fingertips on his cheek roused him from his inner dispute and he opened his eyes to meet hers. They had softened, the hazel edges to her hues less intense as she stared, boring straight into his, but they were filled with something he had not seen before. Emma had something else behind her desire darkened eyes that he had put there, something that made him realise that she hadn’t just sought him out because of her heat.

Killian saw compassion, the willingness only an Omega could show to an Alpha. Emma had love in her eyes and it was all for him.

“You don’t understand what it means to be Omega,” Killian told her gently, his hand sliding to find her face, his thumb tracing the outline of her lips. The memory of them on his body made his cock twitch and he felt his resolve fading.

“So show me,” Emma purred and the look that she gave him made Killian snap.

When Emma hit the mattress, she had hardly any time to react before Killian was towering over her and sealing her lips with his. He kissed her, hard, like he had wanted to before she had gone away. Like she was the most important thing in his life. In a way she was, deserving to be cherished much more than she ever had before, the way she needed to be.

Killian slid his lips from hers and kissed along her jawline, nipping the flesh as he went. He was already to a full knot, Emma’s newly expressed scent sending him into a frenzy as he neared the gland in her neck. He thrust his hips against her, collecting the nectar she had given in response to him on the tip of his erection, testing her for a sign of hesitation.

Emma whimpered, her arms clutching his body, hands splayed across his broad shoulders and pulling his body down against hers. She needed him close, wanted him so far inside of her she couldn’t take it, and her skin ignited from the contact with his, nipples hardening even further against his chest.

“Omega,” Killian sighed against her shoulder, inhaling her scent with a nuzzle of his nose. “I’m going to fuck you like you need, don’t worry.” He reached down between them, the bulb of his knot rock solid in his hand as he gripped himself at his base and glided into Emma’s scorching core. Her body reacted instantly, fingernails digging into his flesh, head thrown back into the comforter and thighs clamping around his hips like a vice. He hadn’t even moved yet, and Emma was gone.

“Killian, please,” Emma cried, her words catching in her throat. “I need you to move.”

“God, I want to fill you up so badly,” Killian said through gritted teeth, his hands skimming over the smooth curves of her lithe body until they found her behind. He shifted his weight, Emma gasping when he filled her more, and he tucked his hands underneath her buttocks, holding her steady as he shuffled forward even closer to her. Emma cried out again, her pleasure filled moan sending him into a primal state and he turned his mouth towards her ear. “I love you like this, open for me, begging, Gods, I want to breed you, my sweet Omega.”

“Do it, Alpha,” Emma pleaded, turning to skim her lips over his. She pawed at his face, smoothing her thumb over his cheek and searched his eyes that were asking, not for permission, but for reassurance. Emma smiled warmly and gave him a knowing nod. “Trust me. It’ll all be okay.”

Killian seized her lips for another fiery kiss and his hips began to move against hers. She was held in place by his powerful grip, his thrusts long and deep, each one making her cry out as all of the air left her lungs. She was caught between gasping for breath and using what little she had left to call out his name, her nails tearing into the flesh of his back in a desperate attempt to hold onto him as he relentlessly pounded into her.

“Fuck, Alpha,” Emma whimpered, her thighs shaking against his hips as he tore his lips from hers and buried his face into the crook of her neck, his pace increasing tenfold and the bed banging against the wall. “Oh, Killian, yes, you feel so good.”

“Tell me what you need, Emma,” he demanded darkly. “Make me knot you.”

“Fuck-” Emma gasped again, her eyes rolling back in her head.

Her hand found the back of his head and clutched his hair between her fingers, instinctively guiding his lips to the spot on her neck where her scent gland was hidden beneath her milky, smooth skin. Killian’s brow pulled together as he fought to bite down. He wouldn’t until she asked him to, even if she felt like that was what she wanted right now, Killian knew it was just her automatic reactions to her heat. Her body was telling her to do these things, and he wouldn’t make the decision for her.

“Tell me you want my knot,” Killian growled, needing to distract himself from the overwhelming urge to mark her as his own. “Say it, Omega,” he barked, needing to press into her a little deeper, his knot now fully revealed.

“Give me your knot, Alpha,” Emma sighed, tugging his head until his lips were back on hers and she was staring directly into the stormy blue of his eyes between feverish kisses. “Make me come.”

Killian kissed her hard, grinding himself into her with enough force to push his knot inside, her walls clamping down around the painful intrusion that sent her skyward. Emma came hard, her orgasm taking her to heights she had never felt before, the pin prick dots behind her eyelids like stars in the night, a calm serenity following. Killian stilled, their bodies locked together again, and he lifted himself to watch her intently, her body almost paralyzed in euphoria.

Emma started quivering, his orgasm triggering another, and her hand flew up to flatten against his chest. It was a silent plea, his hips only shifting a little but enough to make her roll hers against his knot, eager to draw out every last drop of pleasure from their tie. Her fingernails raked down his chest, clawing through his chest hair and assuredly leaving bloody lines in her wake. As she calmed, her back resting back to the mattress, she let out a soft whimper.

Killian kissed her again, his tongue slowly massaging hers with a gentle caress that had him humming contently into her mouth. Emma’s lips turned up into a smile and she finally opened her eyes, relaxing the grip her thighs had on his body with a blush. The boyish grin Killian gave her back told her she had no reason to be embarrassed, even if she had said things she would have never dreamed of, because there was only one reason for how Killian was looking at her right now.

For the first time in his life, Killian felt complete. Emma’s inner muscles clenched around his knot once more and he gasped, shooting her a smirk when his overstimulated length twitched inside of her and released another load of his seed.

“You’re a naughty Omega,” he teased, kissing her eyelids tenderly. He framed her with his bulk, resting on his elbows and combing her messed hair away from her face.

“Am I?” Emma smirked up at him, nuzzling the tip of his nose with her own. Her hands found his face once more and she toyed with the shape of his ears as he nodded, the elfen tip slightly hard under her fingertips.

“Do you feel better now, love?” Killian asked her, arching his neck into her odd, but very satisfactory grooming technique.

“Much,” she nodded. “The cramps are gone and so has the sweating.”

“For now,” Killian offered tentatively. “Your heat should last about a week-.”

“A week?” Emma squeaked under him.

“Aye, I’m sorry,” he offered whole heartedly. “More often than not it’s only a few days once the hormones settle down.”

Emma scrunched her nose. “How long does that take?”

Killian pinched one eye closed as if trying to recall something he had been told a long time ago. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “Usually this happens to kids in their teens, but in your case it was suppressed for so long, I’m not sure I can give you an answer.”

Emma sighed and Killian felt his heart break. This was all new to her and he wished he could help her through some of the more specific questions she had, but truth was, it was all new to him too. He had never been with an Omega before, let alone one who had been ingesting heat suppressants and scent blockers for so many years. Who knew what kind of damage that had done to her and Killian’s jaw clenched at the mere thought of making the Humbert’s pay.

“What I can tell you is that I’ll be here, for however long it takes.” To emphasize his point, Killian nudged his knot into her further and Emma shuddered in pleasure.

“Oh God,” Emma whimpered, her eyes rolling back in her head.

Her back arched off the bed and she felt Killian’s calloused hands slide over her upper thigh and lift her leg over his hip, allowing him to sink into her even more now she was wide open for him. A fresh wave of slick made their tie slip and Killian growled, diving into the juncture of Emma’s neck where her newly discovered scent gland was emitting all sorts of fresh, sickly sweet aromas that had his heart racing. He could mark her. His body was telling him to. It was right there, throbbing just below the surface but Emma’s hands were on his head once more, nimble fingers tracing the edge of his ear once more and shaking him from his scent induced daze.

“You can’t just turn up to an Alpha’s apartment like this,” he scolded her lightly, rolling his head into her touch. “You should have called.”

“Would you have invited me over if you’d have known?” Emma asked innocently. Killian declined to answer, an eyebrow quirking up on his forehead. “I didn’t think so,” Emma purred, pulling his lips to hers again.

Killian rolled his hips again as they kissed, causing Emma to groan into his mouth. “Stop,” she giggled, unable to hide the grin from her face.

“Or what?” Killian challenged weakly.

“Or we’ll never part,” she smiled. Killian gave her another look, one telling her that maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. Emma blushed under his gaze, rolling her bottom lip under her teeth coyly.

“You’re so beautiful when you smile, Emma, you know that?” He complimented her softly. His fingers brushed over her brow and passed the swell under her eye as he followed the trail of his hand down over the pulse in her neck. “He should pay for this.”

“Don’t,” Emma warned, her smile fading instantly. She grabbed his hand away from her scent gland, rolling her head away shyly.

“I hate that he hurt you,” Killian continued, his blood beginning to boil again.

“Please stop,” Emma begged.

“I hate that I wasn’t there to protect you from this, Emma.” Killian fingers gingerly traced over the purple-pink bruise developing under her eye again before Emma shook him off and turned away again. “I should have been there.”

“Please don’t mention him,” Emma sighed into the pillow, forcing the tears that pricked at her eyelids back inside. She wouldn’t give Graham the satisfaction of making her cry ever again.

“Hey,” Killian coaxed, hooking his finger under her chin and pulling her gaze back to his. “I just want you to be happy, my love,” he told her lovingly, giving her a quick flash of a smile.

She returned it weakly. “I am happy. Right now, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”

“Good.” Killian leaned forward and pressed his lips to the tip of her nose. “Me too.”

[calypsoff]

Eight

I hate and love interviews, I feel my overseas interviews are better than my American ones, “you done girl?” I said to my makeup artist “break is over near enough” Mylah laughed side eyeing me “all done” she walked off, taking in a deep breath “all set! We resume in three, two and one!” turning to Jonathan “welcome back, we have the beautiful Rihanna. Did you ever think you would be this famous? Looking back, did you think you would be known by millions of people? Like you can’t even have space now, we have fans knocking outside” I chuckled “erm, it’s hard. I love to have my space, I find my peace at home and that is in Barbados, this is where I can be me when I am at home. I can drive, I can see my people so I do go back there every time to get peace” I hate when I talk with my hands, now I can notice it, it is actually annoying “do you get asked for pictures there or not? Or are you the people’s princess like you are here” I giggled “am I a princess here? Well in Barbados they don’t hound me, if there are tourists around then I may get it but the people, my people. They call me Robyn; I am Robyn to them. I get all the love and hug for being me, and it’s a great feeling because I have inspired a new generation of talent there, that you can do it. I love my home, and that is my peace” clasping my hands together, I need to stop “I have been Barbados before it’s a beautiful place, so what is next for Rihanna? The empire you are building” raising an eyebrow “empire? Well next for me is I am working on another album and, I have something in the pipeline that I think people will love and won’t see coming, it’s a big collaboration. It’s something I have always wanted to do; I can’t say it but it’s coming. But that is me right now, I have a few projects coming up but I am working on a new album” nodding my head smiling “you know what I love about you? So I don’t keep up with who is dating who but, we all go through horrible break ups but how you and ASAP Rocky, your then boyfriend. The way you both broke up was so fluid, I couldn’t even comprehend how amicable that was, there was no mean words or anything. Just yes we have love for each other but as friends, so smooth. What advice do you give to people that don’t want to be with their partners?” I wasn’t expecting that question “wow, it’s hard because everyone is in different situations but you need make yourself happy, I tried to carry it on but I was doing it for what was around me, so people adored him and us together but I am a happier person now. The would be, go with your heart” even though my heart is in hiding now, I did go with my heart.

Sitting in the car next to Jay Brown “next up Miami!” I spat; I need to start working on my album now. I have been here in London for longer then two weeks and it’s getting too much, I have people that want to add their vocals onto the songs I have kind of already done “yes, I don’t understand and I never got to ask, why did you break up with Rakim when you was both perfect?” I knew he would start “perfect for promotional things, we are better as friends and we knew that. We went wrong when label got involved and got us together” he won’t like that “got involved? We didn’t force you both together” I sniggered “sure, that is what that meeting was for then? Just to say hi to us, we practically had a meeting about it. Doesn’t matter now, we are happy, and we still talk” shaking my head, he is annoying. Men are actually very annoying, Chris included. It’s been about two weeks now, no contact from Chris at all. I did think, let me do it and he didn’t contact me back. He didn’t even read my message either, he hasn’t posted anything at all but delete pictures of his ex. I have posted pictures thinking he would react, no. So fuck him, I guess that is it. More so, my heart is in hiding and has been ever since New York, it hurts but we move on. I mean I didn’t ask for much, I said dick appointments but whatever, my fingers are fine.

Hugging Sonita “I am sad you not coming with me, but we will meet soon. I will be back in Barbados before you know it. I love you” we are now having to split ways, Leandra and Sonita are both going back home “I love you too, this has been great. Just to spend time with you” moving back from the hug “and bitch, meet me in Miami when you can” hugging Leandra “you know me, I will be behind you. Have a safe flight while we ride economy” I chuckled “only the best for two hoodrat bitches” I cackled moving back from the hug “girl fuck you, love you Robyn!” waving them off, Rich picked up my suitcase “let’s go back to the USA whores” I would have got the jet but I rather just fly business class on a plane, I don’t really care for being on a jet. Only when I am with my family I will put us all together but I am working I just fly on a plane, but then you get the added bonus of paparazzi up my ass “you leaving us Rihanna!” one shouted, smiling as I continued to walk with Rich. Get me to the VIP lounge so I can have some peace “love you Rihanna!” as soon as the guy shouted my name the whole airport decided to push and now this is where is gets draining.

“Christopher” I groaned, my vision blurred and the lights. Opening my eyes only to close them again “Christopher, take your time. He is coming around, this is good” frowning with my eyes closed, pain hit me so hard. Opening my eyes slowly “son” my dad’ face all in mine, I am confused “Clinton, please don’t get in his face” hearing my mother say “what happened” I managed to say and then it hit me “Christopher, you are in hospital right now” it hit me, closing my eyes again and it’s there. I got beat up, I knew that shit I did would come back to me, I knew them niggas would come at me for snitching “we will give him a moment, just let him come around” hearing the doctor say, I was beating that guy up when he came at me, I remember but then I blanked out “how long has it been?” my throat is dry, I feel so lost “to be exact, we put you in an induced coma, worried for the injuries to your brain. It has been overall two weeks” I breathed out “oh my god” I said in a whisper, I have been gone for two weeks.

My mom is emotional but so am I, I blanked out but between that time I could have been killed but it makes me wonder why I wasn’t, how am I here. I feel the pain “we was so scared Chris, we thought we lost you. The doctor was saying all sorts of things to us, I told you to move back with us” shaking my head “my own family hate me mom, because I got their son more time for snitching. They hate me here, look what happened. All I did was come to see you both, I left the home to go back and that was it. I am in pain mom; all I did was come to see you. There was one nigga, and we fought and that was it, all I remember” shaking my head “they got arrested son, don’t worry. They got caught, they left you for dead, outside the home. I cried and prayed every day and night, god just to bring you back. You just rest now; you will be in pain. Your face is better, your body is sore. Just to stare into your eyes my baby” I am so angry “I am not even like that, I just want to be left alone” looking away from my parents “I bet I lost my job now too, the only place that will hire a convict like me, even that was done because of who I knew” this is a mess “don’t think about work son, just think of you” so easy for my dad to say that.

My parents left me, they left because of how silent I am. I am laid here thinking, I should be thankful I am alive right now, but I just hate myself, I hate that I am worth nothing now and still I am getting my ass beat. I fought back but they played dirty, second time getting my ass beat and this time I was in a coma, next time I will be dead but the least I won’t need to think someone is going to get my ass if I wasn’t here, I am just a mess. I had so much going for me; I had a life. I had a future, and everyone saw it, now I haven’t. Now I got to be the thug that I am now, I have to protect myself. Maybe I need to go into a crew because if I was in a crew then this shit won’t constantly happen “bro, oh my god. I am so glad to see you!” TJ half shouted, looking to the side of me, he rushed over to the bed “you’re awake, my nigga I was so scared you wasn’t going to actually wake up and we lost you, you good?” nodding my head “I am alive” I mumbled “bro” Barry said, I didn’t need them to come because I feel depressed as fuck.

Sighing out heavily “you are so down ain’t you?” Barry said, “what are the streets saying?” I asked because I am going to be back out there and I bet they are laughing at me, I got beat twice “lot of niggas are upset for you and also, someone hit you from behind. Niggas weak like that, heard that you beat the other guy’ ass but one of the members played dirty, niggas don’t play like that so they look stupid, I wouldn’t worry about them Chris. I want you to worry about you, get the fuck better. I was so scared when they said they putting you in an induced coma, they was worried your brain was going to be damaged” I should be blessed but I don’t feel it “I feel lost” feeling my eyes well up “you cool bro, stop thinking that shit. We got you, I swear you my brother and I am happy you here” TJ being nice as hell “appreciate you both, trust me” I mumbled “my body hurts like mad, doctors are keeping me in and they said they ain’t looking to let me go right now. They want to do scans of my head and shit, I am good though but they ain’t letting it happen. I don’t think I will be able to move anyways, even now just moving my head side to side I am in pain. It’s wack but yeah, I will be here for a while” I better get comfortable.

TJ left to get some drink for himself “I have your phone, it died but I charged it. I don’t know your passcode but twin text you once, that was two weeks ago” Barry winked at me “but Seiko been acting like the widow, it’s weird. I literally said to her y’all are split but yeah. I kept your phone safe, I got you my nigga” I feel so weak even holding my phone “two week bro, I can’t believe it. Do I look bad?” I ain’t seen my face yet “a little bruised up, your hair is a mess bro. I mean looking bad” I expected that, I grinned. Let me see what twin wants, she probably hates me. This shit has been two weeks, I don’t think I will text her back because it’s been that long “damn” I got my password wrong, typing it in again because the phone ain’t recognizing my face of course. The first message I went on is of course Twin, but there is so many others and lots of other messages, but I don’t care for it, I need to know what she has put.

Twin:

Hey freckles how are you?

I want to ignore the message because it’s shameful to answer back after all this time but then it’s rude, but what would I say to her. Do I tell her the truth, let me message her back anyways and if she is angry then so be it.

Chris:

I’m alive, you!?

“I just realised you peeing in a bag” TJ spat pointing, of course he would point that out. Locking my phone “you dumb, I can’t really get up and pee. I don’t even think I am capable of walking at this moment” TJ laughed sitting down “is your nurse fine though? Like she going to wash the royal dick” see what I mean by he is stupid “royal dick!? Where the fuck do you get this shit from” Barry said laughing, my phone pinged in my hand. She’s messaged me back, I am shocked.

Twin:

You could have just not text me…….

Chris:

I jump at your texts but this time I couldn’t

Twin:

Sure

Chris:

Not a lie

Twin:

Sure and anyways I decided to not come for my appointment I cancel

Chris:

Sorry if I upset you for not texting but I been in hospital

Twin:

You got a face on with me when I said dick appointment so miss me with that!

Chris:

I wish that was the issue but it isn’t, I will send a picture to you. Just be ready

I didn’t want to take a selfie, but she doesn’t believe because I was upset with her when she started to speak on me being a dick appointment, it was pathetic, and I was annoyed with her. Flipping the camera around, I actually feel disgusted, I have a bandaged head. Flipping it back over, let me take a picture of my hand with the IV lines, that can work. Taking the picture and sending it to her “rest up, don’t let anything get to you” nodding my head but my phone rang straight away, I don’t think I am mentally ready to be talking to Robyn right now but she is ringing, answering the call “hey” TJ and Barry are both staring at me “oh my god, I am shaking. Are you serious, what happened!?” I can tell Robyn is in shock “it’s a long story, but I woke up out of a induced coma. I wish I could speak to you longer, but I am tired” I feel it “I am literally shaking, which hospital are you in?” I think she is on a plane, sounds like it “we will link up when I am better but just know I am not lying” that is all I wanted her to know “I will find you but just rest, I am actually shaking right now, just take care” I can’t even take care of myself right at this moment.