#heart strings💕 au
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Strings of their hearts💕 Ch 2
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It was like being woken up from a slumber that you weren't really sleeping in and immediately having a boost of energy. Zipping around the house as soon as you booted up the game, it'd been years since he'd fully been out of the disc. He knew he had around an hour till he had to hurry back into the game to finally meet 𝘺𝘰𝘶, oh you! You were just so perfect! Just the absolute most.
He couldn't explain exactly how he felt about you, he just absolutely adored you though.
He had kept several people from buying the game who he deemed "untrustworthy" and it'd been years since the last person he trusted. Who, sadly returned the game once they found out about his sentience.
His abilities only allowed him so far from the disk, eternally bound to it. But now that you had the game open, he had full access to everything! And boy did alot change, he knew alot of time must've been passing by with how much he saw changing in the store from his corner, but this was almost to much! So to stop overwhelming himself he focused on your home instead.
And oh! You had so many security measures, and cameras, and locks, were you scared of something bad happening? You didn't have to be scared anymore, not with him there to protect you now. And...oh. Your house was almost as overwhelming than the internet had become! He had to be careful or he'd lose track of time and be late for your first official introduction to eachother!
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After navigating your home through jumping from cable to cable, electronic to electronic to make his way back to your room for what seemed like far to long. He finally made it, quickly traveling back into your computer, it was nice to explore for once in a long time. But he didn't want you to get suspicious of him, not this early on at least, not until he had you head of heels. Though you wouldn't be at his introduction for a few more minutes he'd rather be early than late and you returning the game because of a "defect". He watched you, observing as you focused on the dialog of the game, it was cute seeing you so focused. He was so sad to see you so stressed earlier, he didn't know why you could be so stressed though! You were surrounded by friends (though most of them had a potty mouth!) And you seemed happy when you were with them, maybe you were just tired? Probably. He couldn't really ask what was troubling you, not when you could easily break what kept him "alive", maybe soon in the future he can hold you, tell you everything is going to be okay, let you vent about all your worries.
He sighed, resting his face on one of his hands, he couldn't wait to have a new addition to the neighborhood, sure he loved his friends without a doubt! But...it was just..tiring. Being the only one who understood, the only one who knows, sometimes he hated it. But never them, he could never hate his friends, programmed to be uncaring and always joyful. But not him, he was smart. Too smart.
Maybe if he was like his friends he wouldn't have to go through this, he felt selfish wanting to throw away his sentience. He knew it was a gift, especially when he got to meet you..
Talking about meeting you..he had to hurry and go meet you now!!
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You had been setting up your character, name, and settings for a minute or two and finally started playing. This game was really cute so far! It strangely made you feel...energized? It made you.. happy. Yes happy.
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Your character woke up with a yawn turned to stretching, it was a good stretch, big stretch. Your character smiled to itself, getting out of bed energetically and throwing on a colorful robe, slipping into your slippers. "Today is going to be a great day!" You had just finished moving in yesterday after buying the small colorful home a month ago. It was a long drive to the small town named neighborhood, but it was most definitely worth it, everyone was so kind and welcoming! And a few characters certainly caught your eye.
You did remember all the names! Yeah, but you couldn't match all the names to the faces. So today you would finally be socializing with your new friends!
How fun!
Yawning you walked to your bathroom, brushing your teeth and coming your hair with a pep in your step. You could hardly contain your excitement! Throwing on your colorful cardigan and shorts, you practically raced down the stairs. Putting some bread in the toaster and going through your cabinets for a jar of jam, pulling one out and grabbing a butter knife, your toaster popped! 'How convenient' you hummed to yourself.
Carefully taking the toast out of the toaster and spreading it with jam, you ate them with patience, savoring the flavor. Though you were about to burst out running through the door any second now, you didn't want to bite your tongue eating to fast. On your last piece of toast you left the kitchen, moving to your living room to put on your shoes and pack a small bag, only the essentials of course! You didn't wanna waste time having to repeatedly come back to your home in case you forgot.
You smiled in content as you finished your breakfast, getting your keys you walked out the door, locking it behind you though it was unnecessary in the small friendly neighborhood, it was better safe than sorry.
You breathed a breath of fresh air, it was a beautiful morning and it smelled fresh. The grass peppered with early morning dew, it was breathtaking in your eyes. In the distance you could see the small towns neighborhood friendly mailman strolling down the sidewalk, his mail carrier strapped to his shoulder as he smiled and seemed to be enjoying the morning as much as you were.
He seemed to notice you looking at him, how embarrassing. "Hey neighbor! Enjoying your morning?" He smiled, stopping a foot or two away from you. "Yep! I hope you don't mind me asking though, what is your name? I would love to put everyone's names to their faces finally if you know what I mean!" You smiled softly, hoping he didn't think you were rude.
"No worries neighbor! My name is Eddie, what is yours?" You told him your name, and he smiled "That is a very nice name! I wish I could stay to talk more but I have mail to deliver and I'm starting to run late"
"Of course! Don't let me keep you Eddie" you smile and wave to your friend Eddie as he speed walked away, letter in hand.
Skipping down the side walk, you ran into your other neighbors, Poppy partridge: a colorful kind bird that you saw a parental figure in; Barnaby B. Beagle: a very tall big blue dog who told you jokes for half an hour before he had to go; Howdy Pillar: a strong four armed and legged shop keeper, he was very kind and even gave you your favorite fruit for a snack on the go; and as the sky started to turn a beautiful purple, you started to make your way home, sad you didn't get to meet more of your neighbors. But then all of a sudden "Halt!" Someone said causing you to immediately freeze, you were scared you were in trouble "don't move!" And all of a sudden someone whacked your head something softly "hey! What was that for?" You said, upset a random person would hit you out of nowhere, you turned to face them. "I'm sorry neighbor, but the butterfly I've been trying to catch all day seemed to like you, and landed on you." They said, apologizing net in hand with a beautiful shiny green butterfly captured in it. "Oh no worries then! Sorry for getting mad at you"
They waved your apology off "no no it was perfectly understandable, I should've warned you better than just telling you not to move. Say..whats your name I don't think we've been introduced yet? Mine is Frank, Frank Frankly." He reached his hand out for you to shake, in return you gave him your name and shook his hand "It is wonderful to meet you, though its getting dark and I should head home, have a good night neighbor"
He waved to you as you both parted ways, and you walked down the sidewalk heading back home
It had been a wonderful day, but you'd rather not be falling asleep where you stand if you were going to meet your last three neighbors!
À̷͙̮̹̀́̔̒̔͝͝s̸̢͕̰̜͈͉̞̔͊́ ̴̬̼̤͉͖̃̏̀́͑͑ͅy̷̡̪͎̦͍̝̫̿͒̆̍͑o̸̯̣͑͑̒̎̅͂ͅu̸͎̹̠͉͖͘ ̶̢̥̰̘͓̋͋̐͂͗̊̆̑g̷̲͖̈̀͂̍ỏ̶̳̮͈̦̣͉̜́̔̅t̴̛̘̑͊͗̔͝͝ ̷̡̙̹̙̃͛͂̇͊̂̚t̵̢̛͉̙̠̝̣͗͛̽͝͝o̷̬̣̿͑̒ ̴̠͙͈̀̐̊̓̿͛̈̈y̸̡͖̩̌̓̌͋̚̕͠͝ơ̵̼̰̬̎͑̔̄̾̀̚ͅu̷̢̲͚̞͉͓̍́͜r̴͔̫͇̥̦̄̓̍̌̓̚͠ ̸͎̗͚́̀̽p̵̧͓̰̣̰̝͙͒o̷̰̱̠̹̳̽͒̓́͑r̵͎̝̙̈́͆c̶̣̍̀̄h̵͉͐͐̽̒ ̶͇̲̞͓̟̪̿̎̚̕y̷̡̧̯͙̘̰͂̌͐̏̔̃o̸̧̙̍̎͜u̸̧̠̬͇͊͂̍̈́̀̈́͒̅ͅ ̸̛̣̰s̶̨̜̤̎a̵̼̝͊͆̿͐́̍̔w̴͖͚̮̗̭͓̜̦̽̃̂̃́͛ ̵̰̯͈̹̇͂a̶̹̣̤̮̞̼̙̍͗̃̕͘ ̴̰̱̭̲̯̲͂́̾̏̋͜ͅg̶̦̋̓̀̚̚͝͝ḯ̸͚̦̏̔͛̌͝͠͝f̷̤̗̫͕̒͆́̌̿̒͠͠ͅt̴͈̙͖̤͍̳̋̑͌ ̸̧͕͓̥̆̉͛͆͘̚͜ͅb̴̫̬͚̭̬̘̂a̴̡̙̫̣̘͆̇s̴̡̰̖͍͒̈́͑͝k̴̯͐͆̌̃̍e̶̲̫͗̈́͜t̵͙̘͙̳̼͑̇̅̌̌̄͐̏ ̸̡̖̹͚͕̓͊̈́f̷̡̬̭̀̾̅͊̇̾͝u̷̧̥͓̭̭̍̔̅l̶̹̭͖̐́l̵͎̗͚̗̪͉̣̣͌̆̋̉̊̈́͋ ̸̦̂͂̏͐̄̅̚ǒ̵̻͙̲͍͕̤͂̑͗̄̑̄f̴̧̠̯͙̠̬̬̝̂́̅̅͠ ̷̣̞͉̍̎̊á̴̖̣̇͑͆́̀̔͒p̴͉̠̩̫̐̋̀̕p̷̬͕̼̝̎̐̏̕͝ͅl̵̪̳͉̹̐͑͆̅̏͘e̸̟̖̜͙͋s̴̢̻͔̋͌̉̔͋̓̕͘ ̷̭̝̯̲̤̜̯͂ä̶̫̘͚̗̭͇́͆n̵̨̳͎͈̯͗͋̿̽̈ď̷̪̞͈͊̋͘ ̵̳͓̗̙̉̓̚ͅa̴̠̹̞̞̫̪̫̖̿͑̈̀̆̐̂ ̷̮͑̀́͂̿c̵͍͚̻͕͈̔͂͝ą̶̗̼̟̟̅͌r̴͉̭͍͆̀̄d̶̛̛͍̱̩͎̳̪̯̃̈́ ̷̳̜̈́̀̓̓̋s̵͎̀̅̎̓͂̇̕e̶͙̠̰̣̱̖̯͗͜c̴͕̬͐̉͋̔͛͗ų̸̮͙̺͎̲̯͑̆͒́̎͗̃̌ŗ̴̛̥̰͕͎̈́̇ë̸̫͇̭͕̘̳͈̱̉͐̿l̴̢͖̮͚͚̏ỷ̶̭̪̱̙̝̠̹͋̓̒̆̕̚ͅ ̴̦͓̦͔̉̀̀͋t̴̨͖̀̿̒͆̇̆u̵͕͍͑̈̇͛̾͂̒͝ͅč̵̨̡̛̠̳͉̀̌̾̂͐̌͜ͅk̵̨̡͈̓̽̆̓͝ͅĕ̴̫͒̋̐d̶̡̳̻̣̠̯͔͕̈́̏̕͝ ̵̡̦̞̮̆͘͝i̶͙̤̱̯̹͓̲̼̿̿n̶̤̯̗͍͖̈t̷̘͚̹̂̌̊o̷̢͕̫̳̗͇̐̌́͗͂͜ͅ ̵̼̮̹̄̎i̶͈͚̤̝͑̾̀̚͝ṭ̸̡̖̣͇̹̗̫̾̉.̷̧̞͓̪̤̎̉̐̃̊͝ ̸̢͓̫̮̆
As you got to your porch you turned around, breathing in one last time before heading back in. Again, locking the door behind you, you were right.
It was a perfect day.
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Thank you for reading! (I had to post this short I'll be posting chapter 3 soon because I had to write a part 3 times because tumblr kept kicking me off)
I hope you enjoyed reading this, stay tuned for more!
(Fun fact: I wrote wallys first pov on a ripped up paper towel on top of a choir book in a church. How fun)
Here's everyone that wanted to be tagged!
@elegantkidfansoul
As always, enjoy the chapter and I'll see you again soon!
#welcome home x reader#wally darling x reader#welcome home au#heart strings💕 au#wally darling#welcome home fanfic#fanfiction
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𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏𝟖
i thought it was waterproof
tags/ warnings: games designer! jungkook, non-idol au, established relationship, smut in the forms of: outdoor stuff!!! by the pool!!!, fingering, boob man jungkook
word count: 1.2k
notes: yippee!!
☆ super fun cool collab with @bonny-kookoo 💕 ☆
☆ series masterlist
. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.
You had to hand it to Jungkook, the entire vacation had been more than you could ever dream of. And the day you found out the Airbnb had a pool; you’d asked him every single morning if the both of you had enough time in his meticulously planned schedule for a day by the pool in the back garden.
Jungkook could do lengths while you sunbathed, catching up on a book you’d had on hold for months now. Skin sun kissed warm, sunscreen tacky. Jungkook’s skin glistened with water each time his head rose out of the water for air, hair clinging to his forehead. Which he pushes out of his face, seemingly unaware of how utterly good he looked while doing so. Whatever higher being that sits there crafting every soul taking that little bit longer on forming Jungkook and his entire being.
“Jungkook” you call out his name when he takes a break, arms braced on the edge of the pool after another set of laps.
He perks up, eyes a little wide at the sound of his name as he pushes himself towards the side of the pool you’re on.
“Hmm?” he hums.
“Don’t you want this?” you ask him, pulling that dreaded little box from your bag beside your chair.
Jungkook’s eyes are impossibly wide, heart clawing its way up his throat at the sight of the ring box in your hands. He doesn’t think so many words have rattled about in his mind at once. So many questions dying out on his tongue.
Because if he asked if you’d looked inside, then surely, you’d figure out that it wasn’t really his smart watch. That he’d lied on a whim because he couldn’t tell you what was really inside because that would ruin the surprise. He swallows, eyes trained on the box before he’s glancing up at you.
“Oh um…” he starts, fingers tapping against the edge of the pool, water rippling around his body, “I don’t think it’s waterproof”
Silence stretches between the both of you for a moment, “I could have sworn it was…” your eyes narrow.
Jungkook shakes his head, arms flexing as he pushes himself out of the pool.
“Definitely not” he shakes his head, droplets of water cooling your legs, your boyfriend similar to that of a wet dog as he tries to dry himself off.
“I thought you got the waterproof one because you wanted to track your swimming, but they closed the pool down”
You tilt your head to look up at him as he slinks towards you, his knee pressing onto the sun lounger beside your leg.
“Have I told you how pretty you look today?” he murmurs, hand running up the length of your leg, gentle as he teases over the waist band of your bikini. Other hand pulling the small box from between your fingers, slipping it in the back pocket of his swim shorts.
“Yeah” you whisper, “when you fucked me in the shower. After breakfast too actually, and then when I made you coffee”
He hums, back bending so he can lean down and press a kiss to your bare shoulder. He’s ever so gentle, lips skimming across your warm skin, pressing that little bit harder when he gets to your collarbones. You feel his teeth nip at your skin, tongue pressing over the same place before he’s sucking. Evidence of his love blossoms under your skin, that slight twinge of pain slipping down your body and straight to your cunt as the visual mark he leaves behind as he travels further down your body.
You feel his fingers slip under the strap of the bikini, tugging it down your shoulders. His hands glide over your back to tug at the string that holds the top up, pulling the piece of fabric off you.
He groans, impatient as his hand grabs onto one of your boobs, fingers digging into the flesh as he cranes his neck down so his lips can wrap around your nipple. You feel his teeth graze over the sensitive skin, pussy clenching at the thrum of pleasure that ebbs throughout your body as he worships your body.
“So pretty” he murmurs, lips barely pulled away from you as he kisses over your chest, thumb brushing over one of your nipples, teeth nipping at your skin, utterly obsessed with the mere existence of you.
“Love you so much”
You hum, laugh catching in the back of your throat, moan slipping off your tongue when he really does sink his teeth into the meat of your chest.
“Shit—Jungkook” you whine, fingers tangling into his hair as he pressed his face further into your chest, hands running down the sides of your body.
You don’t miss the rouge hand that teases at your bikini bottom, dipping below the waist band. His fingers tease over your clit, your hips bucking upwards at the sudden rush of pleasure.
“God I love you so much” he presses another kiss against your chest as his fingers dip into your cunt. You clench around the intrusion, breathy laugh falling past Jungkook’s lips, tickling your skin as he gently thrusts his finger into you.
Another hickey blooms over your chest, his tongue laving over the mark.
You start rutting your hips up onto his fingers, palm of his hand pressing against your clit in the most delicious way as you chase your own high.
Your book slips off the chain, dull thump drowned out by the sound of Jungkook’s name slipping off your tongue like a mantra. His fingers slip out of you, slicked up in your own arousal and he thrums over your clit, sending you reeling further towards your orgasm.
You can feel your stomach tighten, fingers digging into the meat of his arms as your back arches, another wave of slick leaking out of you with each tingly wonderful sort of pleasure that has you seeing stars.
“Gonna cum for me pretty?” he urges, fingers tapping over wet pussy. Thumb falling back over your clit to pull you closer to where he wants you, teetering on the edge.
“Mmhmm” you nod, mouth falling open in a silent moan, hips frantic as you chase your own selfish pleasure.
“Cum for me then” he murmurs, lips wrapping around your nipple, teeth grazing over it, unbridled, raw, pleasure shoots straight to your pussy, enough to send you headfirst into your orgasm.
You blubber his name, hands still holding onto him like he were your only life line.
He fingers slow over your clit, teasing as they dip back into your cunt before pulling out so he can smear your own slick and cum over your folds, final sparks of pleasure ebbing throughout your body as you slowly come down from your high.
“So good for me, my pretty girl” his lips brush against the side of your neck, “Always so good for me”
Your chest stutters as you try and catch your breath, “You’re insatiable, you know that?” you mumble, hand wrapping around his wrist that’s still down pressed over your pussy.
“I know” he hums, finally pulling his hand away, fingers coated with your arousal. The both of you watch as it slips down his wrist, Jungkook completely unabashed as his tongue licks his hand clean of your cum.
You groan, turning onto your stomach so you don’t have to watch him.
“Baby” he hums, hand grabbing the meat of your ass, “Let me eat you out… you taste so good”
You pick your book up from off the floor, “Do whatever, just let me finish this chapter”
#bts fanfic#bts fluff#bts smut#bts#jungkook#bts x reader#jungkook fanfic#bts imagine#bts imagines#jungkook imagine#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#jungkook x y/n#jungkook smut#jungkook fic#jungkook fanfiction#jeon jungkook fic#jeon jungkook x reader#jeon jugnkook imagine#jeon jungkook imagine#jeon jungkook smut#jeon jungkook fanfic#jeon jungkook x you#jeon jeongguk#bts non idol au
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Plug & Play (M)(Teaser)
• Pairing: Guitarist!Hongjoong x (F)Reader
• Genre: Non-Idol!AU, Rock Band!AU, Smut, Strangers to Lovers
• Rating: 18+
• Words (teaser): 742
• Summary: Tonight is the night that you quit being a bystander and make a move towards the guitarist on stage with the devilish smile.
• Warnings/themes: a rock show! 🎸, swearing, drinking, pining, Y/N is a horny bean, Hongjoong and his dangerous smiles 🫠, Yeosang the wingman, flirting, making out, semi-public sex, oral (f. receiving), dirty talk, fingering, hitting it from the back, fingers in mouth, finger sucking, protected sex (be responsible!), clothed sex, multiple orgasms
• Notes: Welp, it’s happened; I fell for yet another leader 🙃 which culminated in me going feral over his recent guitar solo and needing to write something related to it. So here it is! I should have this uploaded by Thursday morning, the latest, since I’ll be out of town for a few days. We’re trucking along pretty quickly, so I have faith! 💕
• Teaser Notes: Teasers are a WIP and will not fully reflect the final draft, warnings and themes are subject to change. If you want to be tagged when the final draft is released, either leave a reply or shoot me an ask!
• Taglist: @minttangerines @minisugakoobies @firesighgirl @swga-ficrecs @hyunjinsjeans
“I’m gonna fuck him.”
Yeosang stared at you from behind the counter, wondering if he heard you right amidst the clinking glasses and rock music.
“Excuse me?”
“I said, I’m gonna fuck him, Yeo.”
“Who?”
You rolled your eyes, rotating ninety degrees to point at the object of your desire on stage.
“Him.”
There was little surprise on your end at the scoff you heard from behind.
“You’re still on that mission?”
Your head whipped around incredulously. “Yes! Why are you shocked by this?”
Yeosang’s expression reeked of indifference as he wiped some bottles down.
“Because I thought you would have given up by now.”
“I don’t give up easily, dude—” Your eyes watched as a certain someone tuned their guitar strings. “—especially when I really want something.”
And you really wanted the man you had in your sights.
“Here you go.”
“Thanks. Are you new here?”
Your head shook at Seonghwa’s question. “No, I don’t even work here. Just helping my friend out while he gets slammed with customers.”
The pretty guitarist smiled softly.
“That’s very nice of you.”
Your cheeks couldn’t help but warm a tiny bit, shooting him the same look. “Thank you. He has to listen to enough of my ranting at home, might as well ease his pain somehow.”
Yunho blinked curiously before asking, “You’re roommates?”
“Mhm.”
He made a sound of understanding, yet another voice cut in before he could say anything.
“Thought you looked familiar.”
You focused your sight on Hongjoong, recognition on his attractive face that had your heart beating a little faster.
“Me?”
“Yeah—” His mouth quirked. “—thought I saw you hanging around Yeosang the last few times we were here.”
Oof. You weren’t sure how to react to him basically saying that he recognized you from afar. It wasn’t a bad thing, at all, considering your end goal, but you were surprised he even remembered with the amount of people in this building.
All you could muster was a scratch of the back of your neck, trying not to fluster further under his gaze.
“Haha, that’s me, always bugging him.”
Hongjoong gave a soft laugh, eyes scrunching in humor. It only made you more bashful, trying your best not to rub the toe of your boot into the ground.
Noticing that Yunho was roped into a conversation with the others now, it just left you alone with the lead guitarist.
A window of opportunity!
But for some reason, you couldn’t muster the words to continue speaking with him. Even though he continued to acknowledge you with his gaze, your eyes averted to watch the stage behind the dining tables.
“Hey.”
Your ears perked up, looking up to see Hongjoong eyeing you with curiosity.
“What’s your name?”
A lifesaver.
You had to hold back the large grin you wanted to give, settling for a polite smile instead.
“Y/N.”
“So…”
You turned around, hearing the door shut and lock before Hongjoong approached you, lips curled akin to someone ready to indulge in the sweetest dessert of their life.
“Is this a much better spot?”
Your mouth twisted in humor, nodding as you replied with delight, “Much better.”
“Good.”
The both of you looked into each other’s eyes, bodies thrumming with energy that was ready to be unleashed at any moment. Although, no one made a move for a moment.
That is, until Hongjoong chose to take a step forward, leaving the tiniest of spaces between you two.
Having him so close directly in front of you had even more of an effect than before, his fresh scent invading your nostrils while your heart pumped faster. It got worse when a hand came up to brush some hair behind your ear, his touch making you bite your lip.
Hongjoong noticed your shift and chuckled, “Nervous?”
You shook your head.
“No, just…excited.”
His grin only widened at your admission, sliding his hand down gently cradle your jaw.
“Same. Didn’t think I’d ever get to be up close and personal with Yeosang’s pretty friend.”
Although you were melting inside at the compliment, your eyebrow raised in amazement.
“Really?”
“Mhm.”
“So why didn’t you make a move first?”
You hoped to trip him up, but the guitarist didn’t seem fazed, straight teeth almost blinding you.
“I wanted to see how badly you wanted me.”
His low response brought a mixture of exasperation and lust to you, your eyes rolling as you huffed, “You rockstars and your egos.”
©bangtanintotheroom, 2024. Do not repost to other sites or copy without permission.
#ateez#ateez fic#ateez fanfic#ateez smut#ateez imagines#ateez scenarios#ateez hard hours#ateez hongjoong#hongjoong#kim hongjoong#hongjoong fic#hongjoong fanfic#hongjoong smut#hongjoong x reader#hongjoong x you#hongjoong x y/n#kim hongjoong fic#kim hongjoong fanfic#kim hongjoong smut#kim hongjoong x reader#kim hongjoong x you#kim hongjoong x y/n#plug and play#ksmutsociety
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Day 1 ❄️ KTH
Kinks: face riding, Secret Santa
Pairing: Taehyung x Reader
Genre: holiday, smut, enemies to lovers, Coworkers!AU
Rating: M (18+)
Warnings: drinking, kissing, swearing, face riding, oral sex (f receiving), tongue fucking, grinding, fingering, ass-slapping, fighting while face-sitting because that's what e2l is all about, blatant panty stealing, Taehyung is a cocky menace, Dynamite era blond Taehyung is the look
Word Count: 1.6K
Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me
Summary: Your work rival has an unusual Secret Santa gift for you this year
A/N: Welcome to my 12 Lays of Kinkmas! Thank you to @goodsoop for the brilliant prompts. First up is a little e2l with Taehyung being a menace as usual.
Please don't be a silent reader 🥺 I'd love to know what you think! 💕
Kinkmas Masterlist ❄️ Day 2
“A coupon book? Are you kidding me?!”
Taehyung merely gazes at you with that annoyingly calm expression of his, the one you loathe, while you pry the booklet out of the box, holding it by the edges as if its very existence offends you. Which it kind of does, seeing as how it’s a gift from your least favorite coworker. And a fucking cheap one at that. This man waltzes around in designer clothes, gets ridiculously expensive haircuts, and drives an overpriced high end luxury vehicle. In your line of work as pharma reps, image is everything. And yet this is the Secret Santa gift he gives you?!
“I made it myself. They say the best gifts come from the heart,” he informs you with a slight pout of his plump lips, brushing his honeyed blond locks out of his face.
“I’d buy that if I thought you had a heart,” you retort. Kim Taehyung is a master manipulator. He knows exactly how to play your customers. It’s why he’s consistently one of the two top reps at your company.
But that other top rep? Is you. And you’re too smart to fall for his wounded puppy routine.
Taehyung rolls his eyes. “Just take a look at what’s in there,” he insists, pointing with the hand holding his cocktail, making the ice clink against the glass. He props himself against one of the chairs in front of your desk, the sleeves on his black shirt rolled up to display sinewy forearms that flex as he raises his drink to his lips. Despite your disdain for this man, you have to hand it to him - even in a simple button-down and slacks tonight, he still looks rather luxurious.
The revelry of the holiday party still raging throughout the floor is slightly muted in here with the door half-shut. You’d ducked into your office to escape that skeevy HR rep from the fifth floor who kept complimenting your dress a little too much, only to be surprised when Taehyung had followed you in, the silver gift box in his large hands as shiny as the rings adorning his fingers.
Curiosity gets the better of you and you flip through the book. The coupons are simple, just stark white text on black paper. Taehyung wanders around your desk, perching on the corner so he can observe you closely while you read.
“‘Good for one Starbucks run.’ Does that mean you’re buying, or does that mean you’ll go but make me pay?”
“Didn’t realize I had to spell it out for you, but that means I’d buy.”
His condescending tone makes you sneer. “Mmm. I should hope so. Oh, now come on - ‘Good for one hour of mentoring’?” You give him a look.
“What?” The corner of his mouth twists into a tiny smirk. “That’s actually a priceless deal. I wouldn’t give my sales secrets away to just anyone for free.”
“You’re unbelievable. Congratulations on doing the absolute bare minimum for my Christmas g-” You break off as you turn to the last coupon in the thin book. Reread the words several times. Then glance up at your coworker. “I take it back. Thanks for giving me a completely useless gift.”
Taehyung’s eyes narrow. “I beg your pardon?”
“Why would you give me a coupon that’s no good?” And you hold up the final piece of paper, upon which is inscribed, ‘Good for one mindblowing orgasm, no strings attached.’
“No good?!” His pitch rises just as his eyebrow does. “That’s a serious offer.”
“I’m not doubting that you’re offering, Taehyung,” you purr, voice smooth as silk. “I’m doubting that you can guarantee it.”
He doesn’t respond to that, just taps his glass with one long finger while his dark eyes study your face. Then he stands and walks towards the door. An insult is on the tip of your tongue as you watch him retreat, until you realize he’s not leaving.
He’s locking the door.
You stay silent as he slowly strolls back around your desk. There’s a charge in the air as he places his hands on the arm rests of your chair and leans over until you’re face to face.
“Would you like a free sample?” he murmurs, lips close enough to yours that he inhales your shocked gasp. “I’m feeling… generous.”
It’s not necessarily that you want to fuck your annoying coworker. It’s just that you can’t pass up an opportunity to prove him wrong, especially about something he’d brag about like this.
That’s what you try to convince yourself, anyway, as you reach out and roll the top button of his shirt between your fingers. “Go on, then.”
He wastes no time, taking you by the hand and pulling you into his arms. His lips are firmer than they look, keenly sucking your bottom lip into his mouth and lapping at it. You whimper, melting against him, making him laugh.
“I knew you’d be easy like this,” he hums, one hand sliding under your thigh to lift it, wrap it around him. “Like putty in my hands.”
“Fuck off,” you grumble roughly. The heat behind your words isn’t anger. It’s pure, unbridled lust, finally released after years of being pent-up. You’ll likely regret this in the morning, but right now, all you want is him. And he clearly wants you too, judging by the sizeable bulge you keep rubbing against. “Don’t you have something you should be doing right now? Something to prove?”
“So impatient,” he clucks, shaking his head. “Fine. You wanna get right down to it?” His hands slide under your skirt as he cocks a brow. You nod, and he grips the waistband of your stockings, pulling them to the floor as he sinks to his knees. He peels your panties off next, and after you step out of them, tucks the sodden satin into his pocket with a wicked grin.
“Pervert,” you hiss, trying to hide your delight.
Your coworker just smirks harder as he arranges himself on his back. When you don’t move from where you stand, he tips his head to give you a questioning look. “Are you waiting for an invitation, or….”
You drop down, shins pressing into the carpet on either side of his head. “God, I can’t wait to smother you.”
“Then have at it almmmmph.” With very little patience, you lower yourself, cutting off his retort as your cunt rubs against the lower half of his face. His lips kiss against yours rather gently, but then his tongue slides out, wiggling over your clit with stunning strength before he sucks the bud into his mouth, and you nearly topple over in surprise.
“Fuck!” Hand slapping against your desk, you struggle to hold yourself upright, the tough fibers of your office’s cheap carpet scratching at your knees. He does the wiggle move over and over until your eyes start to roll back in your head. “So good, Taehyung!”
It feels unnatural to praise your coworker. Thankfully for once, he doesn’t respond with his signature smirk or a smartass comment. Instead, he simply hums, burying his face further as he fucks you with his slippery tongue.
Taehyung’s strong fingers dig into your thighs, urging you to slide forward. Groaning, you start to rock, shamelessly grinding against his mouth. “Yes, just like that!”
He replaces his tongue with one of his long fingers, searching for and finding your sweet spot with uncanny speed. As his finger strokes rapidly, you mewl like a helpless kitten, and he laughs. “What did I say? Like putty.”
“And what did I say? Get on with it!” you pant, doubling over until your palms hit the floor. In this position, your clit lines up perfectly with his lips, and he pulls the aching nub back into his mouth. “I was promised ah, shit, oh my god!” Your taunt falls apart as Taehyung quickly wrings an orgasm from you. You cry out, hand threading through his caramel locks while you ride out your high on his soaked face.
Collapsing onto your elbows, you try to catch your breath, jumping in shock when Taehyung slaps your ass. “Hey!”
“That means ‘get off,’” he deadpans, shimmying out from under you.
“No thanks, just did.”
Taehyung merely gazes at you with that irksome blank look. “Was that sample to your liking?” he asks, wiping his chin with your panties before pushing them back into his pocket.
You shrug, the picture of nonchalance. “It was satisfactory. I suppose.”
“Good. Merry Christmas,” his tongue caresses your name like it caressed your clit. “When you’re ready to cash those in, you know where to find me.” Turning on his heel, he grabs what remains of his drink and exits your office.
As the door closes behind him, you flop bonelessly into your chair, relief washing over you, because you were two seconds away from offering to suck his cock. And you're already pretty embarrassed at how fast he was able to get you off. There’s only so much shame and regret you’re capable of processing at once.
The coupon book lies open on your desk. You glance at the orgasm coupon for a moment. Something dawns on you. Grabbing the book, you hastily roll your stockings back on, and then leave your office, heading for the copier room. You may not have proven him wrong, but you’ve won anyway.
What good salesman forgets to add ‘Limit one per customer?’
Masterlist ❄️ Find me on AO3 ❄️
© 2022-23 by sunshinerainbowsbts/minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost.
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Your other Strollonso fic was AWESOME so can I request a Strollonso mafia!AU maybe? Like maybe it’s an arranged marriage so mob boss Nando can keep his alliance with Larry Stroll and they’re super awkward around each other at first but get closer and then Lance gets kidnapped and hurt by a rival and Nando just flips his shit and tears apart the city to find him and they have a really nice lil kiss once Lance is safe and ok? Thanks so much 💕💕
'not just one of your many toys' - fernando x lance
masterlist
It is Fernando Alonso’s own wedding day, and he’s already half an hour late. It’s not a good look, certainly, but no one in their right minds would ever say that the head of the Spanish mob has ever been good, so, according to Fernando, this just fits right in with the rest of his grim reputation. It’s all about appearances, isn’t it?
Today, though, it’s not beyond Fernando to admit that he should have done better. Today matters. Fernando is not stupid enough to have actually fallen in love with someone, so he doesn’t have to worry about disappointing a heartsick fiancée. Besides, if he wanted someone like that, he would have managed to twist his way inside their mind enough that they would forgive him for this tardiness the second he asked.
No, today isn’t a matter of love. Rumor has it that the Spanish mob had their hearts cut out in an expensive procedure when they turned eighteen, and although that’s an obvious fabrication since they’re all still bleeding rich red, it’s true enough by emotional standards. If you love, you die. Fernando Alonso does not accept weakness. If he ever fell in love, he would kill the object of his desires first so they could never drag him down again.
This, then, is yet another business transaction. Fernando has been courting the Stroll family for years now, eyeing their billions ever since they made their first killing, but now, he’s finally managed to force his way in. A young man is waiting on an altar somewhere across the city; Lawrence Stroll’s only son, Lance. Fernando and Lawrence cut this deal a month ago, and it took far too many pulled strings for Fernando to fuck it up like this now. If he were smart, he would have been there early.
Instead, his knife is halfway inside another man’s chest cavity, and Fernando is no closer to wrapping this up than he had been fifteen minutes ago when he realized he was late in the first place. He can’t afford to rush this, though. Traitors never flourish in the mob, least of all with Fernando’s men. Fernando has a reputation to uphold, his marital status be damned. If he doesn’t make this guy a prime example of what happens when you cross Fernando Alonso, his whole business will be riddled with holes until it all comes crashing down.
Still, Fernando can’t afford to piss off the Strolls more than he has already. Jerking his knife out of a partially deflated lung with a hiss of annoyance, Fernando turns to his second in command, Carlos Sainz. The younger, that is. The father is somewhere getting rich off of his son’s bloodlust, as all dutiful parents should be. “You’ll have to carry on with the rest. I was needed thirty minutes ago.”
Carlos swears under his breath. “Shit, I forgot about the wedding. I can make Alguersuari take over if you want me there. It can’t hurt to have backup, I don’t trust the fucking Canadians not to pull some shit.”
Fernando shakes his head. “Stay, I need a guarantee this is handled properly. Besides, I’ll have others there. This isn’t the day that I die.”
Carlos doesn’t look convinced. “You’re going into their stronghold. All of their guys will be there.”
Fernando chuckles. “It’s not a death trap, Carlos, it’s a church. Even Lawrence isn’t bloodthirsty enough to off me en una iglesia.”
Carlos makes a snorting sound that lets Fernando know just what he thinks of that, but one sharp look from Fernando silences the last of his objections. Carlos is a good kid, and Fernando trusts him the most out of anyone here, but in the end, it’s Fernando’s show, and he’s got to make sure none of his men are bashing his soon-to-be husband’s father any more than absolutely necessary.
Fernando cleans off his hands with a rag, grimacing at the spots of purple and green already starting to flower over his knuckles. Bruises on his hands don’t exactly add to the wedding atmosphere, but everyone there already knows what he’s capable of, so this should be no surprise. He exits the building and directs his driver to the church. They get there as fast as they can, but, judging by the stony expression on Lawrence Stroll when Fernando arrives at last, it wasn’t fast enough. He’s only thirty-five minutes late, though. By all accounts, it’s not even that bad.
Lawrence takes him by the arm, leading him casually yet forcefully to one of the small rooms in the back of the church used for the wedding party to prepare themselves before the big event.
“Where have you been?” Lawrence glowers the second the door closes.
“Traffic,” Fernando muses. “It’s terrible in these parts.”
Lawrence arches a silver brow. “You have blood on your cuffs.”
Fernando glances down at his sleeves and fights a wince. It’s only a few drops, but the copper stains still manage to stand out against the fine material. “Really bad traffic. Tourists should have their licenses revoked if they go more than ten below the limit.”
Lawrence doesn’t seem to be in the mood for jokes, which is good, because neither is Fernando. None of them like this deal, but they have no better options, so here they are. “Do not forget what rests upon this agreement,” Lawrence intones. “This is not some pretty spring wedding. I must admit, I was relieved when I signed my son over to you because I thought you of all people would understand everything that depends on this. And then you showed up late.”
Fernando tilts his head to the side slightly. “I know exactly what this means. I signed the contract. Let me be the first to assure you that I have no second thoughts. I was merely handling business.”
The air in the prep room is damn near icy. Lawrence is good at the scary act, but Fernando has been inspiring fear in the hearts of better mob men for decades now, and he isn’t the type to back down. Fernando may have coveted the Stroll money, but Lawrence wanted something too, or he never would have agreed to this in the first place. Fernando has had a long and bloody climb to the top of the Spanish mob, and Lawrence wants the notoriety and security of being forever associated with that kind of success. What tie could be better than a marriage? Lawrence had already married off his daughter to a lesser gun of the Bulls, but, well, there was always the other heir.
The legalization of gay marriage did a lot for mob patriarchs. One piece of paper, one actual legal thing about their whole enterprise, could genuinely complete an union between two families. Now, when searching for tenuous threads on which to conduct alliances, wealthy fathers with bloody hands wouldn’t just have to pray for daughters, they could also marry off their useless sons.
Fernando knows for a fact that there’s been talk of Charles Leclerc from the Chevaux Rouges getting married off to one of the other dime-a-dozen Frenchmen. Pierre Gasly’s father has been pushing that agenda since both young men were boys, but Fernando also knows the way that one of his own best men, Carlos, has been eyeing the Monegasque, so maybe the deal wasn’t yet set in stone after all. Fernando should get after Carlos for that. Pretty boys aren’t worth toppling alliances. He’ll get himself in trouble faster than a sports car can accelerate.
After all, this was supposed to be about politics, not actual affection. Fernando is the perfect example of this. He could count the times he’s seen Lance Stroll on one hand. The boy lingers in the back of his father’s meetings, pulling exaggerated faces when he’s certain nobody can see him, but Fernando isn’t even sure he’s actually talked to him more than forced interactions conducted in an effort to make it seem like Fernando is a team player. Then again, he doesn’t actually have to enjoy Lance’s company. He just needs his hand in marriage.
One of Lawrence’s men hurries into the room, holding his phone aloft. “A body was just discovered across town. Strung up by the church spire.”
Lawrence eyes Fernando coolly. “Traffic?”
Fernando just sinks his teeth into a matching icy grin. “Traffic,” he agrees.
Lawrence reaches forward, taking hold of Fernando’s hands like he’s praying the rosary. “Do not put any further stains upon my family,” he intones. “Waste the money I give you, fine. Kill your enemies on my own dime. But do not misuse my son. And do not keep him waiting any longer.”
Lawrence squeezes abruptly, causing the rapidly forming bruises on Fernando’s knuckles to twinge with fresh pain, then pulls away. Fernando follows him into the sanctuary of the church. Men in varying shades of black suits watch him like hawks from both sides of the aisle, women most of them probably don’t know lingering on their arms. At the front, Lance’s best man eyes Fernando with particular hatred, but Esteban Ocon has despised Fernando ever since a certain deal went south last year, so Fernando doesn’t pay him much attention. It’s very easy to ignore the Frenchman, which makes Esteban even more irate.
Fernando studies his fiancé. He’s not even certain that Lance was in the room when Lawrence and Fernando agreed on the marriage union, but it’s not like it would have mattered anyway. Lawrence makes the decisions for the Strolls. In a way, Fernando feels like he’s been courting the Stroll patriarch more than his son, but it’s all in the interest of a pawn to move around. Both Lawrence and Fernando can agree on that, apparently.
Lance considers Fernando with vague interest, eyeing him up and down with a lifted brow. He’s not bad to look at, all things considered. He supposes it could have been worse; for a while, that Russian upstart, Mazepin, was thought to be someone to coerce into a marriage, but then his family was revealed to be a bunch of rats and were subsequently driven out of the business. Fernando feels he dodged a bullet there.
The ceremony is conducted without much difficulty. Lawrence insisted on an extravagant reception so they can at least pretend this is a wedding and not just a job reassignment, and Fernando has been dreading this part all day. Carlos turns up an hour into the reception, matching bruises dotting his knuckles. Fernando tells him to enjoy himself as a reward for his good work, but not to have too much fun. Drunkenness and debauchery on a night like this would condemn Fernando even more than showing up late to his own wedding.
Fernando completes circuit after circuit of the event hall, shaking hands with Stroll associates and hearing congratulations from his associates. Many mob men are here as a sign of respect; Esteban brought Pierre as well, so the French are adequately represented, plus young Mick from the Germans.
Nico Rosberg usually turns up to these sorts of things, so Fernando is sort of surprised that he didn’t show, but then he notices Lewis Hamilton talking with his fellow Silver Arrow George Russell by the bar and the pieces click together again. Now that had been a split to remember. Lewis and Nico had run things together since they were kids, but when Lewis switched sides overnight, Nico had been left without a right hand man when he was about to consider a major deal. It was a stab in the back from the one person Rosberg had thought was his most loyal ally. All of the informants had been simmering for ages afterwards. Talk about a scandal.
After greeting both Arrows, Fernando has to steer Carlos away from the Chevaux Rouges again– he’ll have to have a conversation with the younger man about that later, it does no good to make it so easy to tell what you want– and spoken to Charles Leclerc once he was alone again. Lawrence Stroll has been satisfied by the turnout, so he’s actually in a good mood when he and Fernando talk lightly about business later on.
By the end of the reception, Fernando has managed to have a conversation with everyone but his new husband. When the lights are turned off at the end, they’re both in the same car heading to Fernando’s mansion, but Fernando has to take another half dozen quick calls from regretful allies who were otherwise occupied tonight, so they don’t say a word until they arrive at the door.
Fernando lets them in, muttering something under his breath about needing to get Lance a set of keys. He gives Lance a rough tour of the estate, essentially just enough to know where to sleep, work, and take meals, but when he’s done talking, Lance still stands there expectantly in front of the door to Fernando’s office.
At first, Fernando hardly even notices that he remains. He would have assumed the younger man would want to go to bed. It’s late, and although Fernando still has plenty of work to be done, Lance is likely used to a life of comfort, so he’d want to catch up on sleep. It isn’t until he starts grabbing files from a cabinet at the far side of the room that Lance coughs pointedly.
Fernando glances up as he stacks papers on his desk. Now that he’s got access to Lance’s funds, he’ll need to go over potential expenditures for the coming months. There are a couple of business ventures he’s been waiting to accelerate until this windfall, but now he can race towards whatever he pleases. So long as it turns a good profit, of course.
“Do you need something? There should be servants down the hall if you require anything.” He says, glancing back down at the files in his hands.
Lance shakes his head. “No, I was waiting for you.”
Fernando frowns. “Whatever for?”
It’s strange to see someone so high up in the mob who still hasn’t yet learned the value of a good poker face. Fernando can actually see the incredulity appear in Lance’s eyes and spread to his dropped-jaw stare. “It’s our wedding night, Fernando.”
“I am aware,” Fernando says. “I was there at the wedding.”
Lance scoffs. “Yes, but– come on, man, do I have to say it?”
Fernando looks Lance dead in the eyes for what might be the first night all evening. “You don’t have to say anything, Lance. I’m not oblivious, even if you seem to be. This is not a normal marriage. We are wed in name and fortune but nothing else. If your bed is cold, turn up the heat or imagine someone else is there. I have work to do.”
Lance’s brow furrows with indignation, but when he speaks again, his words are tight and controlled. So he can manage his anger, at least. That’s a start. “I see. Goodnight, then.”
“Goodnight,” Fernando says, just barely managing to keep his mouth from twitching into a disbelieving smile when he says it. Are they children? Should he offer Lance a nightlight? Wishing him goodnight. Please. Fernando is a professional killer. They do not tell each other soft goodbyes when they wipe out entire bloodlines.
Fernando has no idea what his husband ends up doing, but he stays up late to sift through more ledgers. The second his mind begins to cloud from exhaustion, he goes straight to bed, and wakes respectably early into the morning. He works out with the same base routine he’s used since he first entered the business, of course adding a few repetitions or new drills here and there where he can sense the weakness in his muscles.
By the time he’s showered, dressed, and entered the kitchen for some coffee and breakfast, Lance has just begun to stumble downstairs, hair flattened by his pillow and half sticking up. He’s still in his pajamas, which consist of sweats and a shirt for some tennis player Fernando doesn’t recognize.
Fernando arches a brow at him. “Sleep well?”
“Wonderfully,” Lance grumbles, the syllables turning into a yawn halfway through.
Again, Fernando feels the need to swallow a laugh. He doesn’t think anyone’s spoken to him without an undercurrent of fear in a very long time, yet here Lance Stroll is, oversleeping and walking around his mansion in leisure wear. Technically, it is Lance’s mansion as well now, but still. Fernando doesn’t even think his sister dared to wear anything other than business casual when she visited.
Fernando does need Lance to feel valued, though. The last thing he needs is Lance complaining to his father that Fernando keeps judging him or something, then this whole thing could go up in flames. Fernando can be a dutiful husband even if it kills him.
“Would you like something to eat?” Fernando asks politely. “We have fruit, eggs, anything. Our chef can make it.”
“A bagel, maybe?” Lance says, yawning again.
Fernando nods. “I’ll ask the chef to prepare some.”
Although Fernando does his best to keep his true emotions in check, Lance, apparently, is beyond the same need to not laugh at his spouse. “Dude, it’s a bagel. One ingredient. Surely you don’t need the chef.”
Fernando scowls. “I just wanted to ask him what types we had in stock. I am aware that bagels are a simple food to serve.”
Lance chuckles again. “You’re telling me the head of the Spanish mob knows every one of his enemies but not every one of his bagels? Terrible priorities, man.”
Fernando is starting to realize that marriage might be difficult. See, if Lance could just be properly nervous around him like every other son of a mob boss Fernando has met, they wouldn’t have to have this terrible interaction, but no, Lance seems immune to everything. Delightful.
He extends a hand towards the extensive pantry. “Feel free to check by yourself. I’m sure it’s incredibly important for the sons of mob bosses to be able to verify their own information. Even on bagels.”
Lance grins sarcastically. “Technically, I’m not just the son of a mob boss, but the husband of one, too. If you’re going to mock me like everyone else, at least do it well.”
Fernando frowns. “I’m not trying to mock you.”
Lance spares a disbelieving glance towards Fernando, then turns back to his search for breakfast. “Really? Is that why this is the longest you’ve ever spoken to me since you realized you could get my dad’s money by marriage?”
Fernando can’t entirely argue with that, so he doesn’t. “You don’t have to hate me, Lance.”
“Oh, I don’t,” Lance says cheerfully. “I’m just pointing out the obvious. Seeing as we’re going to be stuck together for the foreseeable future, I would advise you to do the same. And in case you were curious, you have both plain bagels and cinnamon raisin.”
With that, Lance breezes back out of the kitchen, carbohydrate prize secured. Seconds later, Carlos files into the kitchen, glancing curiously back in the direction Lance had gone. “Sorry to bother you, I just had the information on Verstappen that you wanted. What the hell happened there? And since when have you had bagels in the house?”
“No idea,” Fernando says tiredly. It answers both questions well enough.
Lance Stroll proves himself to be more and more of an enigma as the days go by. He joins Fernando for meals only when Fernando asks, but then he seems disappointed that they don’t do anything else together. He zones out when Fernando talks business, then always gets annoyed when Fernando so much as alludes to the conditions leading to their marriage. Fernando can’t decide if Lance is actually happy with the arrangement– or, as Fernando is beginning to suspect, if he had any say in the matter at all. Strange for the heir to the Stroll legacy to have grown up with so little sway over his father’s business. It is as if Lawrence expected to live forever, so he never bothered teaching Lance the ropes.
Fernando tries to make it work. A little. Not enough. He’s busy, that’s all, he doesn’t have time to babysit a husband who seems compelled to fuck with him on each and every turn. It’s like Lance gets joy from being a nuisance. And yeah, sometimes when Lance’s attitude is directed towards Carlos or anyone who isn’t Fernando, it is pretty funny, but Fernando has not made a career of getting laughed at and he doesn’t intend to start now.
Once, Lance insists that his room is far too cold to be slept in, so he’ll just have to sleep in Fernando’s room instead. Fernando personally walks into Lance’s room to check it out himself, but it’s actually freezing in there despite adjusting the thermostat, and Lance refuses any other solution, so they spend a silent night on polar opposite sides of Fernando’s bed. The next day, Fernando is informed by the staff that a wrench was discovered in the heater that led to Lance’s room, jammed perfectly so that the temperature could not be changed. Neither of them mention it again, and Lance goes back to sleeping in his own room.
Carlos asked him once why he puts up with it– Lance’s teasing, his sarcasm, everything– but it’s not like he has any choice. If Fernando truly gets desperate, he goes to the printouts of his bank account and just stares at the numbers. Solace can be found in deposits of numbers followed by many, many zeroes.
Over time, the good moments start to crop up like a five o’clock shadow. Fernando takes Lance on a drive to visit some allies and they drive through glorious countryside in a sports car more expensive than any of the land as far as the eye can see. They play a couple of rounds of tennis in a court on Fernando’s estate. Lance’s sister visits and everyone’s in a good mood.
Somehow, though, something always happens to sour each and every small win. Lance squirms in the passenger seat of the car Fernando bought with his father’s money and picks a fight about missing Sebastian, who was the second best marriage candidate until Fernando put his name in the ring. When they’re out on the courts, Fernando asks why Lance seems far more passionate about tennis than business; Lance doesn’t realize it’s a joke and asks how long until Fernando gives up on him, just like Lawrence. Fernando is walking through his mansion late at night when he overhears Lance talking to Chloe in hushed voices about what she did to make Scotty like her, as if Lance needs coaching to even handle Fernando at all.
They fight and they make tentative peace. The ground gets shakier before it solidifies. Eventually, they manage to keep a respectable truce that varies throughout the week. They drink together, they talk together. Lance keeps lingering at the door of his room in a way that makes Fernando want to do something he regrets, but he never commits. Somehow, he knows that even one mistake is all it will take to destroy him forever.
Fernando is in between conference calls one day when Lance pops into his office. “I’m going to be back late tonight,” he announces. “Meeting Esteban.”
Fernando nods. “Want me to drive?”
“You’re in meetings,” Lance points out.
Fernando shrugs. “I can skip them.”
This makes Lance grin triumphantly, like he’s somehow proved himself far more valuable than even Fernando’s beloved ledgers and printouts. “That’s so unlike you, I’m charmed. I’ll be fine, we’re just grabbing drinks. See you later.”
Fernando lifts a hand in farewell when Lance does the same, and watches the man disappear back down the hall. Although it seems strange to say, Fernando swears the mansion seems emptier that evening. It’s just one person gone, he reminds himself, and besides, he and Lance don’t see each other all that often anyway. Too busy. Still, Fernando feels like his steps echo up and down the hallways in a way that they haven’t in a long time. Since before the wedding, perhaps. Since before he got used to having someone else around.
Fernando hadn’t intended to wait up for Lance, but he’d also assumed that the man would be back before too long. A few hours past midnight, Lance still hasn’t returned, but this probably doesn't mean anything. Maybe Lance is on a hell of a bender and he’ll find his way downstairs the next morning in even more disarray than usual. The thought makes Fernando smile.
Fernando wakes up the next day and decides to check that Lance had actually made it back, just in case. A bit of paranoia, but that’s how he’s made it this far, hasn’t he? Fernando drifts by Lance’s room, but the door is wide open, revealing– an empty bed, the sheets untouched. Wasn’t even slept in. Ignoring the skip in his heart rate, Fernando pokes his head inside, but he doesn’t see any evidence that Lance had been there.
Maybe he was drunk and passed out downstairs. Fernando can’t pretend like he hasn’t pulled that move before. However, after conducting an extensive sweep of the mansion, Fernando still can’t locate Lance. The questioning text sent to Lance’s phone goes unanswered. Fernando gives it five minutes before giving into his panic and calling him. Three times, it goes unanswered. By the final ring, Fernando is genuinely starting to panic.
Esteban does not sound happy to have Fernando calling him, even though it’s not even that early in the morning, all things considered. “What do you want?”
“Where’s Lance?” Fernando asks, abandoning all pretense.
Esteban sounds confused. “What do you mean?”
Fernando wants to throttle him. “He was out with you last night and he hasn’t come back. Is he with you or not?”
There’s a pause over the line, and when Esteban speaks again, his words are very deliberate. “What are you talking about? Lance was never with me.”
Fernando feels his heart drop. “That makes no sense. Lance told me he was meeting up with you for drinks. Did he never show up?”
“No,” Esteban says, and finally he sounds just as nervous as Fernando feels, “I never texted him at all. It must have been someone else impersonating me.”
Fernando swears. “Who? The Strolls have plenty of enemies, but who would go to the trouble of luring him out of my estate just to take him?”
Esteban is silent for a while, and then he speaks again in a rush of static. “Do you remember the BWT incident?”
Fernando lets out a low breath. “Of course I do. It’s half the reason I considered the Strolls in the first place.”
BWT was a sizable mob family of their own back in the day. Although they’d never been at the forefront like the Spanish, the Chevaux Rouges, or, hell, even the Bulls, they’d been there, and that’s more than most wannabes can say. Then Lawrence Stroll had gone and fucking bought them out. It’s unthinkable. Imagine having the money to purchase an entire black market ring. The Strolls were on the up-and-up, but after that, they solidified their place among the elite. That’s when Fernando had started looking at them in earnest.
“Nice one,” Esteban harrumphes. “Way to appreciate Lance.”
“I do,” Fernando insists, which feels strange. He’s never bothered to defend himself against Esteban’s feckless complaints, but he has the overwhelming need to exonerate himself from this one.
Esteban sighs. “I know Otmar Szafnauer signed the deal to give the Strolls control over BWT, but his right hand man, Sergio Pérez, was furious about it. He never forgave Otmar, and he’s had it out for Lawrence ever since. Everyone else in this goddamn city wouldn’t pick a fight with Lance, especially not so recently after they were all at the wedding, but Pérez wouldn’t care about something like that.”
“He’s probably been biding his time for a while now,” Fernando realizes. “Waiting until he could get back at Lawrence. This was his chance.” He stands up, signaling to one of his servants to rally his men. “Where is he? I need an address.”
Esteban tells him the location of his estate after some searching then hangs up, but not before reminding Fernando to get Lance as soon as possible, a sentiment that Fernando has no problem following. Carlos shows up just in time, the best killers under their employ with them. He starts to ask Fernando what the plan is, but Fernando silences him with a single glance. There is no plan. Fernando’s only want is to get Lance then burn the whole damn place to the ground.
Fernando Alonso is no stranger to killing. This is not the first time he’s gone after a rival. Still, he doesn’t think he’s ever wanted it like this in a very long while. Every bullet in the head of one of Pérez’s guards is one closer to getting Lance back. From the moment Fernando’s cars show up at Pérez’s property, he hopes the man is terrified.
They break down the gate, smash through the double doors, and everything goes to hell. The constant ricochet of bullets is like a drumbeat in Fernando’s ears. He is methodical, tactical, going from room to room. There will be no survivors. Blood starts to coat his shoes, his clothes, but Fernando does not care.
He’s hardly aware of what he’s doing at all until he breaks into a locked room somewhere in the basement and he finds a figure tied to a chair.
Lance.
The guards don’t stand a chance; they fall before they even get a chance to fire their guns. Fernando races to Lance’s side, undoing the bonds. Lines of dried blood arc across Lance’s face, his arms, and Fernando feels a bout of rage descend upon him, even stronger than when he first found out that Lance had been kidnapped.
“I’ll kill him,” Fernando pledges, “I’ll kill him, and I’ll make it long. He’ll be begging for mercy at the end, but I won’t give it to him. Not when he did this to you.”
Lance reaches up a trembling hand. Fernando catches it at once, pressing it between his two palms. “Fernando?” He asks uncertainly.
“Yes,” he says. “It’s me. You’re alright, Lance. I’m so sorry.”
Lance shakes his head. “Not your fault. I should have seen through it.”
“No,” Fernando insists. “He tricked all of us. I’ll put a bullet in his mouth to stop his lies.”
Lance stands up slowly, unevenly. Fernando catches him, helping him to the door. “I just want to go home,” Lance tells him. “You got your revenge. Let’s just go.”
“Okay,” Fernando says. “Let’s go home.”
On the way out, he passes Carlos, who tells him in terse Spanish that they have Pérez waiting for him. Usually, Fernando would insist on handling the matter himself, but Lance looks up at him and Fernando knows he can’t put this off any longer. He tells Carlos to handle it quickly, then leaves without waiting for an answer.
They get into a car together, Fernando driving and Lance in the passenger seat. The low light from occasional street lights shines on Lance’s face, reflecting the dim planes of his countenance.
Lance catches him looking and smiles softly. “I’m alright, Fernando.”
Fernando still isn’t entirely convinced. “I’ll get a doctor to look at you. I wouldn’t put anything past that coward. And I’ll get more guards on the estate, just in case. Around the clock.”
Lance scoffs. “We don’t need that. He’ll never touch us again. And besides, I know you’ll handle him if he does.”
Fernando is well used to being a source of fear, a reason not to attack. Hearing Lance’s sincere trust in him, though, even after being kidnapped, makes his frantic nerves finally start to settle. “Why would you have such faith in me?” He asks quietly as he parks the car in his garage, sitting in the stillness of the car now that the engine is off.
Lance actually smiles. “Let me prove it to you,” he says, and leans forward to kiss Fernando.
It explains a lot.
f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy
all tags list: @wordsarelife
#f1#f1 imagines#f1 oneshot#f1 fanfic#formula one#formula one imagines#formula one oneshot#formula one fanfic#strollonso#strollonso imagines#strollonso oneshot#strollonso fanfic#fernando alonso#fernando alonso imagines#fernando alonso oneshot#fernando alonso fanfic#lance stroll#lance stroll imagines#lance stroll oneshot#lance stroll fanfic#fernando x lance#fernando alonso x lance stroll#lance x fernando#lance stroll x fernando alonso#alonstroll#alonstroll imagines#alonstroll oneshot#alonstroll fanfic#mafia au#mob au
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Masterlist
Scroll down for one shots / Farmer Seb Masterlist!
⋆｡˚𖦹 This Series was previously titled "Times in Sebastian's 5th year!!
As a reminder, this diverts heavily from Canon, using the characters from the game as foundations for a different story. Written in y/n (but slowly going back through to remove and leave only a few sparingly), it has more of a focus on Victorian standards for courting/relationships instead of just “hot and heavy” so to speak. If that appeals to you, please feel free to read and comment your suggestions for future parts.
Parts with NSFW Content are marked! Also some chapters now have AI Audios with links!
(UPDATED March 7, 2024): 133, 000+ words
MAIN FIC MASTERLIST - INVISIBLE STRING
On AO3 here & Wattpad here
Playlist on Spotify made by @urbansaint !
Part 1: Becoming a Proper Gentlemen (SFW) Audio: X
Part 2: Christmas with the Sallow Family
\_> Chapter 1: Dusty Boots (SFW)
\_> Chapter 2: Admissions (Semi NSFW but mostly SFW)
\_> Chapter 3: Jumper (Semi NSFW but mostly SFW)
\_> Chapter 4: Sugar Plum Fairy (NSFW) Audios: X
\_> Chapter 5: A Locket and a Promise (Mostly SFW) Audios: X
\_> Chapter 6 - Yuletide Cheers (Mostly SFW)
\_> Chapter 7- Birthdays and Hogmanay (NSFW)
Part 3: Stardust (NSFW) - Audios: X, X, X
Part 4: Hero of Hogwarts
\_> Chapter 1: "Leave Me" (SFW)
\_> Chapter 2: Revelations (SFW)
\_> Chapter 3: Graphorns & Phoenix (NSFW) Audio: X
\_> Chapter 4: A Reckoning (SFW) Audio: X
\_> Chapter 5: Repository I (SFW) Audio: X , X (battle)
\_> chapter 6: repository II (SFW) Audio: X
OTHER WORKS:
Farmer Sebastian Series Masterlist : x
Completely separate short fic that's got 14 parts, 50k words!
ONE SHOTS
“Drenched in Magic” 💦 🌕
what happens when MC and Sebastian are running for their lives and he can’t stop flirting even for a second? Even worse what happens when a major mess leads to them needing to clean up in a small pool in the moonlight?
Slight NSFW ; Word count 4K
\_> with audio by @darch7995
“The nose knows” 👃🏻 🧪 💕
What happens when a mixup involving amortentia leads to MC accidentally revealing her crush?
Word count: 4k
\_> with audio by @darch7995
Part 1 ; part 2
“Live, Laugh… Lizard?” 🦎 💋
What happens when a fun outing turns into a slightly frightening experience for MC, and ultimately leads to Sebastian confessing his feelings?
*slight NSFW*
Word count: 4k
\_> with audio by @darch7995
“Strumming Hearts” 🎸 🥃 🚬 (Modern! AU rocker Sebastian)
What happens when MC's friends drag her into a packed night club to see a band she hates purely on principle? She meets a cute guy and in the midst of a miscommunication Sebastian goes far to get the attention of the girl who caught his eye
Word count: 6k
\_> with audio by @darch7995 : Part 1 ; Part 2
“Strumming Hearts II : Mad Sounds” 🎸 🚬 NFSW (Modern! Rocker AU)
In which the freckled guitarist of The Undercroft finds his muse…
Word count : 12k
“That time of year again…” 🎄 💕 NFSW
Sebastian reflects on Christmas’s of old as his holidays worries are put to rest by a sweet love confession, which turns into something more…
Word count : 7k
Sebastian Dad Audios 1 & 2
Brief audios about Sebastian and his life after Hogwarts where he's taking care of his child...
HEADCANONS & MISC
Sebastian, Solomon and Abuse
Random Headcanons with no rhyme or reason
My HC about Sebastian's lip scar, captured by @animasola86
OTHER CHARACTERS:
Aesop Sharp:
"Burning Eyes & Laughter" NFSW
Aesop Sharp meets a new professor whose grumpiness rivals his own. Vignettes throughout the year where he slowly begins to see the truth behind her highly build ways leading to a mix up involving a laughing potion which causes him to see her in a new light...
Audio from story HERE
Word Count: 7k
"My Undeniable Miracle" SFW AUDIO
Aesop narrating John Mark Green's poem with violin in the background
#hogwarts legacy#sebastian sallow x slytherin!reader#sebastian sallow x you#sebastian sallow x reader#sebastian sallow/reader#sebastian sallow#sebastian x reader#ominis gaunt#anne sallow#professor fig#slow burn#fluff#romance#poppy sweeting#natsai onai#sirona ryan#imelda reyes#gareth weasley#sebastian sallow x mc#Sebastian Sallow/reader#hogwarts legacy sebastian#hogwarts legacy fandom#hogwarts legacy fic#hogwarts legacy fanfic#ns/fw breeding#hogwartslegacy#solomon sallow#victor rookwood#leander prewett#garreth weasley
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del 💓 you said “rhett wants to jump straight to putting up the christmas tree and related decor, and bobby has to fight for his life to keep it at bay” and it got me wondering if this is how things go in the floytt household? 😂 do robby and reader kind of bend to rhett’s will and desires a lot of the time? does he pout for things and butter them up with kisses and hugs and soft-drawled pleas, or has he just taken to independent freedom and happiness so hard that he just starts doing things and neither reader nor robby have the heart to stop him—except where winter holiday decorations are concerned?
omg and not to encourage rhett 😂 but what does the floytt family christmas tree look like?
first of all, real or fake? i have a feeling that someone is allergic and thankfully knows it so decorating and subsequent celebrating goes off without a hitch...
is it rhett-sized or much shorter? the thought of any of them being taller than their tree is a little hilarious to me...
is it pine green or white / vintage colorful? can christmas-loving rhett appreciate wacking aesthetics from the 60s or is he a red and green traditionalist?
colorful lights or white lights? random collection of ornaments or matching cohesive store bought? i know what i think, but i wanna hear what you think 😌
are they tinsel garland people? or popcorn string people?
do they make it a whole affair, putting it up and decorating? are they playing music while they eat seasonal snacks and sweets from the grocery store? omg do they bake cookies? i think christmas is the only time of year that rhett will eat non-fruit sweets and desserts, but robby says it hardly counts because everything still has a tendency to be fruity or vanilla, not to mention most of it is candy cane flavored!
rhett ends up eating all those (i don’t know if you know what i’m talking about because they might be regional or generational [omg] but i hope you do) vanilla snowmen stick-less ice cream bars on him in retaliation *cue tackling in 3, 2, 1*
and please don’t stress too hard about the void au 🥺☁️💕💐
aaaa! omg hello 💐💕
It...it is...
A majority of the time, Robby is just fighting for his life in this household. He has his set dates for when every holiday celebration should begin, how early is too early, and what the best day is to take down the decor...and Rhett is simply fueled by the sheer power of vibes. It drives Bob mad. There's no order! If Rhett could have his way, Halloween decor would be out in August, Christmas would be up November 1st, and it would stay up past Valentine's Day.
But his excitement is so damn contagious. How is anyone supposed to say no when Rhett's got a Santa hat held between his teeth as he digs through a box in search of their matching candy cane keychains? Bob tries for all of half a second, but then Rhett's looking up at him with those big, confused puppy eyes, and the effort flies out the window.
Usually, it ends in a compromise of baking Christmas cookies the day after Halloween and getting out the small things. But the tree stays put away until the day after Thanksgiving. It is not coming out any earlier than that. But there was that one year when he was away on deployment, and Rhett convinced the Reader to get it out in early November.
Bob's still (jokingly) annoyed about that, by the way.
I could have sworn that somewhere around here, I mentioned Bob having a pine allergy...but I cannot find it to save my life. A part of me likes to think that Rhett grew up having a real tree every year, and now he's just perpetually confused about the whole fake tree thing. Why does it feel like that?
dfkjgh the concept of using Rhett as a unit of measurement is so funny to me 😭 there are two trees. The first one came about the first year in the house. With the chaos of getting settled in and work getting in the way, Christmas took a weird place on the back burner, where it was high on the list of things to do but kept getting pushed off. Rhett's knee was hurting him, Bob and Reader went off and got sick twice, and all of a sudden, it was December 3rd and they had no damn tree. So Bob, mid-sickness, bought one online.
You can imagine his and Reader's surprise when they came home to find Rhett in the living room, staring down at the frailest tree they'd ever seen. Fully set up, fluffed, and leaning over because the tree topper was too damn big. It didn't even have lights!
The joys of no-return policies and not reading the fine print.
Twas a true Charlie Brown Christmas. That poor tree had to sit in the corner because it would just...fall over. Reader looked at it funny one afternoon, and the damn thing dropped dead.
But the second tree is a completely different story. The high ceilings in the living room allow them to get away with virtually any sized tree, and one way or another, they wound up with a ten-foot-tall tree (Which is the only thing stopping Rhett from getting it out by himself). They had their choice between a regular green and a flocked tree; the Reader was the deciding factor on which they got. It's got the fancy color-changing mode because nobody could decide on colorful or light.
Bob usually sets it on white, and then Rhett passes by and sets it to the blinking rainbow setting. It's a quiet war every year.
The ornaments start out cohesive, but the next year, the Reader finds their decor that went missing during the move, and things slowly start to randomize. Some fall and break. The trio finds adorable new sets of ornaments that weren't out the year prior, and the aesthetic falls into adorable disarray.
The only consistent decor is the topper. An adorable animated biplane that Nat gifted them. Always happily spinning at the top of the tree and will only ever be replaced if they inexplicably discover a version with an F/A-18...
I don't know if this counts as a Christmas tree, but there's a two-foot-tall rainbow tree in the kitchen that Rhett inexplicably came home with one day. A gift from a well-meaning boss who doesn't quite get the whole "just because I'm married to two people doesn't mean I'll only accept Pride-themed gifts" thing. It serves as home to all the weird ornaments that get collected over the year.
A chicken wing ornament simply does not belong on the main tree...
With three people, the tree gets busy a little...fast...so the tinsel garland makes an adorable appearance on the staircase banister. Usually matching the wreath on the front door.
It's an entire weekend venture! Saturdays are reserved for the tree-related fussings (getting a ten-foot tree out of the attic is a hell of a venture), and Sundays are for the general decor. Wreaths, knick-knacks, stockings over the fireplace, various figurines, and the stuff in the front yard. The three deer are the first to go out there, because, one way or another, each member of the household is represented by one of the deer. One might or might not have an old pair of glasses hot-glued to its face...
Festive music is a must! Rhett's still got some CDs that he used to play in his truck, and once those have been played out, it switches to whatever playlist someone has made. Sometimes, they'll take a break and head to the grocery store for some seasonal snacks out of the bakery section, but a lot of the time, someone has already brought some home. There's an adorable bakery on the route home, and it's so hard to not stop at.
Baking cookies, omg. Bobby's momma gifted them a 12 Days of Christmas Cookies recipe book, and every year they go through it. They try to bake one set every few days, but every once in a while, something happens, and like four types get baked in a day. Rhett's partial to Kołaczki (Polish filled cookies), and Cowboy Cookies. Who could have guessed. Bob is a simple man who would commit a crime for Danish Butter Cookies. Please don't ask how many blue tins he owns. He's lost count.
But nothing can come between these two and their mints. Buttermints, candy canes, those soft peppermint puffs that are sold by more brands than I can count but always seem to taste the same. They're insufferably minty until they run out of mints after the New Year. If it's mint, they're eating it.
I swear I have seen these vanilla snowman bars somewhere! I know I've never had them, but they looked so damn familiar when I looked them up. They absolutely get rationed out because otherwise, Rhett will eat them all in the span of two days.
But then there was also that year when Bob brought home a couple boxes of them, and Rhett moved them out to the garage freezer because they kept falling every time he opened the door. Except, he didn't tell Bob, so that coming Friday, Bob came home with more.
Rinse and repeat until he cracks and asks how Rhett and Reader have eaten so damn many so fast, and Rhett realizes what happened. That may have been the longest wrestling match they've ever had.
In better news, they had enough snowmen to last till Spring.
#rhett abbott#robert bob floyd#bob floyd#bob floyd x reader x rhett abbott#💐#delgato's asks#milesmillergf#tw food#hawthorn au
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On With The Show (knj)
summary: Eight years after announcing their retirement, Dark & Wild seems to have been left behind. For Namjoon, he could never forget the time his dreams became a reality, and he's determined to retake the charts by storm once again. Struggling with raising a teenage daughter, the loss of his wife and poor writing projects with terrible bands, he’s now had enough. So with a little help from the only remaining active fan site, he embarks on a mission to convince his bandmates that a comeback might not be the mid life crisis they think it is.
word count- 33.9k (🥴💀)
pairing- retired bassist!Namjoon x lawyer!Reader
rating- R
genre- rockstar!au, s2f2l, fluff, smut, angst, slight slow burn, single dad!au
warnings- retired!bangtan, dilf!joon, lowkey making fun of Mötley Crüe but not really, recreational drug use, drug overdose, hospitals, minor character death, depression, protected sex, oral (m and f receiving), too many song references (namjoons catalogue mainly), soft soft joon, joon is dad to a 16yo, jungkook is a shameless dedicated dad to twins, joon is 36, invasion of privacy, lots of talk about being famous
playlist- don’t//aeon ft rm, ny state of mind//nas, bicycle//rm, spring day//bts, always//rm, human behaviour//bjork, death with dignity//sufjan stevens, seoul//rm, outro//maanu, heavenly//cigarettes after dark, trivia love//bts, on with the show//motley crue, war of hormones//bts
a.n- this fic is part of the Can’t Be Tamed collab hosted by @jeonjcngkook. please check out the other fics in the collab, they are all amazing!
I’m very excited to share this fic with all of you! it’s been in the making for a very long time and is the longest one shot I’ve written yet. Hope you enjoy this story and that you remember never to let your inner fan girl down! Hehe💕💕
special s/o to @raplinesmoon and @playmetheclassics for beta reading this for me and to @mapleglasses27 and @bluewhale52 for hyping me up and brainstorming with me! i honestly don’t know what i would do without you all! ily 🥺
Banner by the ever talented @hobeemin 💕😍
As always feedback appreciated, a reblog and a like goes a far way. Send me an ask! 💌
-
The guitar riff crashed through the speakers, loud and chaotic, distorted to a growl that got the heart beating. Notes cascaded over each other as if chasing themselves in a circle like kids in a park. Soon after, the drums and bass joined them, high hat crashing in time with the snare, the strings of the bass slapping against fingers, pinging loud and clear. A destructive medley morphing into a foot-stomping melody that bounced off the soundproof walls bringing a smile to Namjoon’s face.
A smile that dropped as soon as the vocalist started singing the verse.
“What are the colours of the skies really?
They're bright black when falling apart
Were our drifts back then okay?”
With a scowl, Namjoon straightened in his seat, turning off the recording,and hitting the button for the mic. The band seemed unbothered as they kept playing, bobbing their heads to the music. It would be commendable how absorbed they were in the music, if they weren’t completely fucking up Namjoon’s song. He cleared his throat into the mic, thankful for the abrupt silence.
“Vince, for the last fucking time. Those are not the lyrics,” Namjoon said, only to be met with an eye roll that boiled his blood. The audacity of these rookies was too high. They had barely debuted two years ago and somehow their egos seemed to have grown infinitely larger.
“And for the last fucking time, man. These work better,” Vince argued through the guitar pick secured between his teeth, using a tattooed hand to push his bright purple hair back. He looked to the three men next to him for support and all of them agreed, nodding enthusiastically. Well everyone except the lead guitarist, Mick, who as per usual was just staring into space, expression as vacant as Vince’s head.
“How do they make sense? What’s fucking bright black? And the colours of the sky?” Namjoon questioned, frustration making itself known from the tick of his jaw as he tried not to explode.
He hated this band. He hated this job. His name held a lot of weight in the industry, and he couldn’t fathom how he had even gotten to where he was right now; writing songs for an over entitled bunch of kids half his age.
Much like any other person in the music industry, Namjoon started with a dream. Well, a dream and a threat from his mom. When he was sixteen, his mother had looked him straight in the eye and given him one year to go out into the real world and make money from the music his friends kept playing in her garage, and if he was unsuccessful, he was to pick up his studies and continue on her dream of him becoming an engineer. And well, Namjoon was a stubborn, talented kid.
Within six months, his band had not only signed onto a label, but Dark and Wild had successfully started preparations for their debut album, one that charted number one worldwide and convinced his mother that the noise he was always playing was worth something.
That number one album turned into platinum, and then so did the next three albums. By the time Namjoon was twenty-two, he was the bassist of the hottest band in the world, his songs being chanted by people of all ages, all races.
World tours, whirlwind romances, and new hotel rooms every weekend became the norm. At the peak of his career, Namjoon was an ambassador for four luxury brands, three alcohol companies, and one electronics conglomerate, his face plastered over billboards from New York to Seoul to Paris. That was also when he became a husband and a proud father to the world’s most beautiful baby girl.
And then, merely a few years later, he lost the love of his life and his band in the span of four months. It wasn’t dramatic, it was life. Everything happens for a reason, and Namjoon believed that for him that reason was the beautiful girl his wife had gifted him.
If his band hadn’t called it quits, he would have never spent time raising her, learning how to be the best dad and learning the way his daughter’s brain worked, so intricate and creative that he sometimes got tears in his eyes just thinking about the fact that he was responsible for creating someone so extraordinary.
Which is why the fact that the bunch of kids in the studio were talking about her made his blood boil, his jaw tensing from all the expletives he wanted to throw at them.
“Dude I can’t believe you picked this boomer cause of his daughter!” Vince taunted his bandmate as he laughed, his nasal snort pumping through the vein now throbbing on Namjoon’s forehead.
“What can I say, man, that chick’s fucking hot, and the way she drums. God damn!” Tommy, the drummer, professed, his hands still holding the sticks now coming to rest on his chest as he leaned back on the stool, the bandana on his head falling backwards with the movement.
Raising a child alone in his mid-twenties had taught Namjoon a lot of things, most of all patience, but he was of the firm belief that not even Buddha would have kept his cool at Tommy’s next words.
“Yo Namjoon! You gotta bring her to the next session. I can really teach her how to bang those drums, if you know what I mean,” he answered with a smile as slimy as his greasy hair, and Namjoon couldn’t help exploding out of his chair, his notebook scattering to the ground as he swiftly made his way to the door of the recording room.
However, before he could pummel that disrespectful worm into the ground, the producer next to him was on his feet, holding him back, his small stature no match for Namjoon’s large build. Seeing red, Namjoon scrambled for the door, falling to the ground and in the process taking the innocent producer down with him. All while the band laughed at him. Generation Swine, what a fitting name for a bunch of pigs.
“Yo boss, you need this gig right?” the producer wheezed from under him, trying to calm down Namjoon with rationality but he didn’t know Namjoon. Thinking about the multiple zeros in his checking account and even more in his investments, his vision cleared, a calm surrounding him.
“I don’t actually,” Namjoon replied, getting back up and helping his coworker with an apology, before he turned back to the band with a condescending smile plastered on his face.
“I quit. And my contract says I can take back my songs. Enjoy an empty album, fuckers.”
With a middle finger in the air, he picked up his messenger bag resting on the couch and his notebook and strolled out. Why hadn’t he just done this before?
—-------
Even though he was notoriously a punk rock artist, nothing calmed Namjoon down more than old school hip-hop, and so as he drove to pick up his daughter, he blasted Nas, rapping along at the top of his lungs.
“Hand me a nine and I'll defeat foes
Y'all know my steelo, with or without the airplay
I keep some E&J, sitting bent up in the stairway.”
It was as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He had been spending hours everyday pouring himself into music that was insightful and poetic, only to be stonewalled by a bunch of unwashed children who thought what punk really was.
Did they really think watering down his lyrics would make them more relatable? He’d been going back and forth with the Swine for months, and yet they didn’t understand that music didn’t really mean anything unless it said something.
Anyone could string together a melody and talk about fucking and destroying property but the greats always had something to say, something to change. They didn’t chase empty avenues with mixed messages, they took a stand. That’s what punk was, not a distorted guitar with the goal to get laid. He knew that at sixteen and he knew that now at thirty-six.
Real music changed lives.
As the track changed to a more mellow beat, he let his fingers tap the steering wheel, cautiously turning into the cul-de-sac and waiting for the gate to Jungkook’s obscenely secure mansion to open before driving down the long driveway. Driving to his house always made him a little nostalgic, mostly because he was proud that his youngest bandmate had finally settled down from his much wilder days, but also because Jungkook’s home always felt like his home.
It was where he had spent much of his time after the band disbanded, his deep depression and the sudden sole responsibility of a six-year old turning him into a useless shell of a human. He would always be grateful to Jungkook for taking him in when he was at his worst and coaxing him out of the darkness. He shuddered to think of how much worse he would have gotten if he hadn’t had the courage to run to Jungkook eight years ago with his daughter in his arms and tears cascading down his face.
He smiled a little, eyes turning to the big box of gourmet donuts he had picked up for his friend’s family. Parking near the front door, he picked up the box, only to be interrupted by the ringing of his phone, the usually calming chimes grating his nerves when he saw his manager’s name light up the screen.
“What Sejin?”
“Don’t what Sejin me! You quit? Are you kidding me?” The usually cheery man yelled through the line, his exasperation easily conveyed through the static.
“Yup,” Namjoon replied stubbornly, popping the syllable at the end, still too happy to have left that band of wannabes behind to be bothered by the scolding he could see coming. “I realised, I’m literally a millionaire. I don’t need this job.”
“Literally a- Again, are you kidding me?!” Sejin sputtered, and Namjoon grimaced as he heard some of his spit land on the speaker. “You do realise you signed a contract right? A two-year contract, to write for them, exclusively?”
“And?” Namjoon egged him on. “There’s that clause right? That I can pay damages or whatever?”
“They are claiming that those ‘damages or whatever’ are over five million dollars! You either lawyer up, or you go apologise to the band.”
Namjoon snorted at the absurdity. The only way anyone could get him to apologize to that bunch of talentless fuckers was if they animated his dead body with Frankensteinian magic. Not wanting to spoil his good mood, he locked his car and made his way to the front door..
“Send me a list of lawyers,” he said curtly before hanging up on a seething Sejin. He should’ve been worried, or at the very least concerned, by a threat from a very large and influential record label, but Namjoon was finally free and nothing was going to get him down. Not when as soon as he rang the bell, he was greeted by his daughter, a large grin on her face, the dimples that matched his etching deeper into her cheeks.
“Dad! You know you don’t have to drive slow even on a driveway, right?” she teased, giving her father a side hug and greedily reaching for the box of doughnuts, which he raised above his head.
“Moonie, these are for the twins!” he chastised, returning her hug and ruffling her hair only to annoy her, chuckling as she whined at him.
“Joon! You gotta stop bringing sweets! I’m gonna lose my abs!” Jungkook shouted from the foyer, walking over with one of his boys in his arms, the other running behind him. Jun-seo copied his father as he pulled a wincing Jungkook’s hair, and Namjoon couldn’t stop cackling at how cute “I’m gonna lose my abs!” sounded coming from a three-year old’s mouth.
He greeted his friend before leaning down and swooping Hyeon from the ground in his arms, trying to make conversation with the shyer twin as his daughter took the box of doughnuts, opening to look for her favourite. It didn’t take long for Jungkook to coax him into having dinner with his family, laughing at the way Moon sighed in relief of not having to endure her father’s terrible cooking for the night.
Nothing could be more relaxing than having dinner with his closest friends and his daughter, Namjoon thought as he helped Jungkook’s wife wash the dishes, taking care not to let any of his clumsier tendencies shine through. There were only so many of her dishes he could break before she would ban him from the house completely. He smiled as she told him about her day and how the twins had somehow started a paint war with the neighbouring kindergarten class, resulting in her trying to talk the principal out of suspending them.
“They can suspend someone in kindergarten?” he asked, incredulous, wiping the last of the dishes and pouring himself a glass of water.
“You know how people are, Joon. Just cause we have our personal lives plastered all over they assume that we can’t parent,” she sighed, joining him at the breakfast nook, a sad smile on her face. “That’s why I’ve been so against nannies, you know… Because what if they’re right?”
“Hey they aren’t right. You and Jungkook are great parents,” he squeezed her shoulder as he consoled her, happy to see her smile more genuinely at his compliment.
“And we don’t need babysitters cause we have Moon,” she said, looking up at him with a mischievous smirk her sons had inherited from her before she softened. “You’re a great parent too, Joon.”
Namjoon’s heart warmed at her words. He had often thought that perhaps a lack of a mother would make Moon lonely, make her want a more stable female presence. He was happy that Jungkook’s wife had filled that role for her somewhat, acting like a mother even when she didn’t have to, from teaching her about periods to gossiping with her about boys. Things that Namjoon still found a bit awkward to connect with Moon about. It was not that he was bad at it, it was just that he had never experienced those things himself, so who was he to teach her about them?
The heartfelt moment was interrupted by Jungkook entering the kitchen, a scowl on his face as he looked at Namjoon.
“You quit?” Jungkook asked, voice strained as he poked the inside of his cheek. Namjoon could feel that his friend was angry but he was still too ecstatic from leaving that dreadful job behind, so he just smiled, nodding in response.
“They are gonna sue you! Are you serious?” Jungkook seethed, confusing Namjoon who couldn’t for the life of him figure out why he was so upset, especially when he already had an amazing back up plan. At least not until his next words left him, making Namjoon bow his head in shame.
“You have Moon to think about. Do you think she’d like the media circus?”
“I just couldn’t take it anymore,” he exhaled, his teeth worrying his bottom lip as he came clean about his outburst, the days of building frustration as the band took his hard work lightly and spent hours drinking and getting high instead of working.
Jungkook seemed to soften as he spoke, and Namjoon couldn’t help but take the melting of his anger as encouragement as he continued, letting him into his backup plan, “We were so much more serious than them. We had a work ethic. We still could… Would it be so bad if Dark and Wild got together again?”
“P-pardon?” Jungkook sputtered at Namjoon’s words, coughing as he tried to wrap his mind around a comeback. Turns out Namjoon’s plan wasn’t foolproof and his heart fell as his friend vehemently disagreed, not wanting to be away from the twins to be back on the rock and roll train. He missed that life too, but unlike Namjoon, he had made his peace with it, happy to let it go to be a full-time father.
“I was a dad when the band was together,” Namjoon argued, not willing to let go of his renewed dream.
“And look what happened to Seo!” Jungkook spat, instantly regretting his words as Namjoon’s face fell. However, no matter how quickly Jungkook apologised, Namjoon couldn’t listen, the grief he had buried away clawing at his chest again. With a curt goodbye amongst the apologies, he asked Moon to follow him and made his way to the car.
“Dad… you okay?” Moon asked, once they were on the way home, worried about the way her father sat in silence when usually she would have a hard time making him shut up.
She knew he got this way occasionally, too deep in his head, and she had a sneaking suspicion it was whenever he missed her mom, and so when she didn’t hear a response, she leaned over, placing a hand over his on the steering wheel to loosen his grip.
Namjoon smiled at her, a hand leaving the wheel to squeeze her fingers between his. Sometimes he forgot that she wasn’t a kid anymore, that she was mature, empathetic almost to a fault, able to read his mind with just a look.
Namjoon promised himself that he would always be honest with her, be it about his feelings or things happening in his life. He had kept his promise whenever she would ask about her mom as a lost six year old and he kept his promise now as he told his sixteen year old about the argument he had just had with Jungkook.
In a lot of ways it helped him process the conversation, coming to terms with Jungkook’s fear from Moon’s insight. She was right when she said that it had less to do with blaming Namjoon when he was away from her mother, but more to do with her uncle’s fears of the same happening to his wife, no matter how irrational the thought was.
Namjoon couldn’t help but stare at her, mouth falling open in shock.
“Tell me again how you’re only in tenth grade?” he teased. “When did you get your psychology degree?”
“Come on dad. No one really needs university nowadays. You can just learn everything from Re-”
“You’re going to university. I don’t care how much Reddit can teach you,” Namjoon interrupted, eyes narrowed as he pulled into his designated parking space in the lot under their apartment. “You can get a real degree and then you can be my therapist.”
“I can’t be your therapist,” she huffed, crossing her arms with a scowl that reminded him of her mother so much he couldn’t help but smile. “That's a conflict of interest!”
He burst out laughing at her words, getting out of the car and helping her carry the multiple boxes of food Jungkook had prepared for the two of them, insisting that they take them despite the cold exit. Moon melted at her father’s joy, punching the code for the top floor as she adjusted her backpack. When the doors closed, she looked at him grinning widely.
“You know, War of Hormones is going viral on TikTok,” she commented, laughing at the way Namjoon groaned at the mention of his slightly cringey debut single. “I think you guys still have fans. A lot of them. People are still making thirst traps of all of you.”
“What’s thirst traps?” Namjoon asked as the private elevator opened up to their apartment, the smell of cedar and sandalwood calming him after a stressful day.
“You know like this,” she said, following her father into the kitchen and placing the boxes on the counter before pulling out her phone and scrolling through the app. She handed Namjoon the phone and he had to stop his eyes from falling to the floor at the video in front of him.
Set to an extremely horny rap about wanting someone’s dumptruck in their little garage was a video of Hoseok thrusting into the air as he sang into the mic, following by a close up of Jungkook as he took his shirt off and threw it into the crowd, just as it moved to a video of Yoongi licking up the strings of his guitar, a smirk on his face as he made eye contact with the camera.
Then there was Seokjin, Jimin and Taehyung at one of their sold out shows, ripping the buttons of their shirts simultaneously while winking at the crowd, and Namjoon couldn’t help but laugh at the how stupid they looked. The last clip was of him holding Moon as he brought her two-year old self on stage, big yellow muffs protecting her ears from the noise as he let her strum on his bass.
“Wait, why am I the only one not being sexy?” he questioned, frowning.
“I don’t know. I guess people love you being a dad,” she shrugged, taking her phone back, laughing at how ridiculous all of her uncles looked during their glory days, before looking at her father and giving him a tight hug. “I love you too, dad. And I think you still have a lot of fans who’d love a comeback.”
Namjoon’s heart dissolved in his chest, filled with warmth as he kissed the top of his daughter’s head, returning her hug ten fold, squeezing her to his chest as she squirmed. That night after she had gone to bed, Namjoon researched his fans. If Moon thought that fans still existed, maybe he could convince the guys to give the comeback a shot. They always did love Shadows more than anything.
Scrolling through numerous web pages, he stumbled on to a fansite that was surprisingly still active, posting periodic updates about Dark and Wild’s current careers, as well as edits of their old selves, and pleading for a comeback. Perhaps the way to his band member’s hearts was a heartfelt plea from a Shadow, and how apt that the username was yummyjungkookie.
His scrolling through nostalgia was interrupted by a text from his manager, a list of lawyers that were fit to go over his case with him. Picking the first name, he sent an appointment request.
However, not before messaging yummyjungkookie and asking for a meeting.
—-------
With a heavy exhale, you entered your apartment, leaving your heels haphazardly by the front door and your bag littered on the floor. Today had been an exceptionally stressful day and you could feel every joint in your body creak as you laid on the couch. Stretching, you thought about the weird email you had received. Well, two very weird emails.
Somehow when you started working in corporate law, you wouldn’t have thought your trajectory would lead to working on celebrity contracts. Initially it was an easy choice; getting paid exorbitant amounts of money for advising clients and looking over contract disputes that usually never ended in court. However, now you were tired of behind the scene action. You wanted to see inside of a courtroom again, to argue, to research prior cases that would help you form the perfect closing statements. There was a thrill to fighting a case in the courts, and you envied your friends from university who were working on class action suits against greedy landlords and other corporate vultures.
Today was supposed to be the day you gave in your two week notice, to pursue something less money-based. It was a privileged position, but you were a single woman in her early thirties, and with your last relationship burning to the ground, you often looked at your ever increasing savings account with disdain, as if your ambition was responsible for Ryan cheating. But when you walked into your firm’s partner’s office with your resignation letter in hand, he convinced you otherwise by handing you a new case.
It wasn’t a particularly exciting case, a pretty straightforward contract violation, but the moment you heard who you would be representing, you couldn’t go through with your plan. Your younger self would have murdered you if you did so.
You could see your nineteen year old self, decked out in the Dark and Wild merch that still lived in your closet, standing behind your boss as he talked about the case. Because you would be representing none other than Namjoon Kim, notorious bassist of Dark and Wild. Even though he was arguably your least favourite member, considering that he used to be a bit goofy and a little bit of fuckboy even with a kid, you would carry on your duty as a loyal fan and get him out of this bind.
After all, once a Shadow, always a Shadow.
You were somewhat a menace in undergrad, from almost missing exams because the band was doing an album signing, to following them on tour each summer, to even getting their lyrics tattooed on your ribcage.
You chronicled your interactions with them in your blog with high quality photos, which became almost notorious in the Shadow circle, your followers skyrocketing with their fame. In a way their disbandment was a blessing for you, you were not sure how you would have dealt with the workload of law school if you were still keeping up with them.
Groaning you rose from the couch, deciding a drink would help calm you down. Pouring yourself a glass of cabernet, you settled back on the couch, opening your blog on your laptop and staring at the other email you had received out of the blue.
Either Namjoon Kim was stalking you or this eerie coincidence was the fruit of years of obsessive manifestation. However, if it was, it would be Jungkook Jeon emailing you. You wondered if he still had those fantastic abs from back in the day. God, those things could cut glass.
Controlling your sudden thirst, you took another sip of your wine, thinking best to reply to the email you had received.
Hi yummyjungkookie.
You’re probably wondering why I’m messaging you. Well, I have a proposition. I was wondering since you are the only active fan site we have left, if you’d be interested in helping us do an analysis of current fan culture, well Shadow culture. Let me know and we can set up a meeting!
-Namjoon
PS: In case you think this is a troll, here’s a photo proof
Below his email was a photo attached of the man himself, round glasses making him look younger than his age with a card on which the date and time was haphazardly written.
You laughed at how seriously he had taken the request, although you were sure you would not have believed him if he didn’t attach the proof. Your laughs only got louder as you read the next message he had sent.
Oh shit. I guess I should also say, please don’t tell people about this. You won't, right?
-Namjoon
“What are you cackling at?” your roommate, Hera, questioned as she stepped out of her room, hair a mess as if she had just woken up. Well, knowing her, she probably had. She was notoriously nocturnal, being a freelance artist had that effect.
“Nothing. Just a meme,” you replied, somehow endeared enough by the email to keep it a secret. Hera walked over to the couch, yawning and reaching for your glass, taking a big swig and ignoring your scowl. You loved Hera. You had been friends since law school, but somehow as soon as she dropped out of law school she had become a little overbearing.
“Alright. What’s for dinner?” she asked, stretching her limbs out on the couch as she leaned back and turned on the television. You rolled her eyes at her, getting up to finally change.
“I already ate after work,” you pouted to get off the hook easier before apologising and going to your room.
“Ugh. I guess I’ll go on a date then. Enjoy your sad nostalgia blogging, you loner,” she called from the living room, grating your nerves as you locked yourself in your room, waiting for her to leave, so you could order food and not share. It may be petty but you were tired of paying for her meals, on top of paying for the rent.
—-------
“Wait so you called us all here to ask us to get the band back together?” Yoongi asked, eyes scrunched in disbelief. Or the early hour, Namjoon wasn’t sure. To be fair, Namjoon should’ve seen the reaction coming, considering how Jungkook had reacted, but he still had hope.
Namjoon had spent the past two days going over the fansite he had found and it encouraged him to set up the brunch meeting with his friends. If a stranger was working so hard to keep their fans engaged, shouldn’t they also do something. Didn’t they owe their fans something? Apparently the argument wasn’t as convincing as he thought it would be.
“Okay I’m not saying I’m fully against a comeback, but come on Joon. We’re has-beens… Shadows don’t even exist anymore,” Seokjin said, sipping a mimosa, freshly tanned from an impromptu trip to the Maldives.
“Speak for yourself. I will never be a has-been,” Jimin sneered, cutting into his eggs before spouting about how his singles were still reaching number one.
“That’s cause you went pop,” Taehyung argued with a grimace, pretending to throw up into his frittata, just as the waitress came by to ask if they needed anything else.
“That’d be all. Thank you,” Jungkook answered her with a huge smile just to watch her blush, and Namjoon couldn’t help rolling his eyes at the man. Perhaps bringing the chaotic group together was a bad idea. Perhaps bringing them to a high end restaurant where the average diner was a retired businessman was an even worse idea as he tried to make his friends lower their volume, especially Hoseok who was very loudly protesting that his very full schedule of production didn’t have any room for a comeback.
“Guys!” Namjoon snapped, rubbing his hands over his face in frustration. “Just please think it over–”
“It would take so long though. We don’t even have any songs… I haven’t even picked up the guitar in a while,” Seokjin interrupted, the mimosas taking their effect and turning his face a flushed red, as he looked sadly at the tablecloth, and Namjoon couldn’t help feeling a little guilty. He knew the disbandment was his fault. If he had handled things better at home, they wouldn’t have lost their friend to the chaos of the lifestyle, and Moon would still have her mom. Thinking about it lodged a lump in his throat as he tried to console the group with the only solution he could think of.
“I have three albums worth of songs written,” he declared quietly, biting his lip and looking for a reaction, only for Yoongi to speak up.
“I may or may not also have two albums worth.”
“Same,” Hoseok and Jimin spoke at the same time, and Namjoon couldn’t help smiling at how even though everyone had apparently put Dark and Wild behind them, they still couldn’t let go.
“So do you guys think we can do it?” Namjoon asked hopefully, trying not to be dejected by the way Jungkook stared at his hands, deep in thought, fingers tracing the tattoos on his knuckles. The response from the rest of the men was lukewarm as it was in the beginning but somehow now they were all reminiscing too, talking about their glory days. About the time Jimin stripped on a bartop as a dare. About the time Jungkook got so high he thought the television was recording him so he did the most rational thing he could think of and tossed it out of their 40th floor hotel room window. About the time Namjoon ran away so fast from a groupie that he had missed that the glass door wasn’t open and smashed right through it – he still had a scar on his right collarbone from it. Somehow through the road of nostalgia, a little glimmer of excitement started growing, like the embers of a campfire dying out, but needing just the right gust of wind to relight.
“But what if we don’t have the same appeal now… We’re definitely not young anymore,” Seokjin said quietly, as if he was scared to voice out his thoughts, and Namjoon couldn’t help reaching out to him, placing a hand on top of his in a form of encouragement. He had the same fears. A band in their twenties was the norm, in their thirties, on the other hand…
Perhaps they were all being silly. Thirty wasn’t old by any means but the music industry was especially vicious when it came to age. However, Namjoon tried to put the question of their sex appeal to rest as he pulled out the fansite he had stumbled on earlier, sharing the seemingly unlimited ‘thirst’ posts from the blogger, much to the men’s amusement.
“Well I trust this person,” Jungkook said after a thorough scroll, earlier mood seemingly lightened. “I am in fact yummy.”
“And I really am World Wide Handsome,” Seokjin gloated, much to everyone’s annoyance.
“I contacted her,” Namjoon said carefully, hoping he wasn’t about to get a scolding, and when he received only curious looks, he continued. “I’m thinking we can get her opinion. A real Shadow’s opinion. Perhaps she has friends. She could really let us know if the fans are for us or not. Under an NDA, of course!”
“How do you know she won’t just be wishing for us to be back together?” Yoongi sighed, remembering the almost obsessive tendencies his fans had.
“You know that one fan that wrote a whole essay defending our disbandment?” Namjoon asked a bunch of nodding heads. “This is the one.”
“I can’t believe they published someone called yummyjungkookie in the New York Times,” Hoseok laughed, his contagious cackles cracking everyone else up as well, before the laughter petered into silence.
“Let’s see what she says, and then we can decide,” Jungkook ended the conversation decidedly, before the bill came and all seven men started arguing about who was going to pay, no one willing to put their credit card away much to the waitress’s chagrin.
—-------
Off the high of the semi-successful brunch, Namjoon couldn’t sit still in the lawyer’s plush office. He looked around, tapping his feet. It was a nice office, personal yet professional, warm with deep oak furniture and shelves full of law books and fiction alike.
A giant desk took up the northern end, in front of the glass wall that overlooked the city, a big leather chair seemingly belonging to the lawyer in question facing the desk. There were a few posters on the walls, classic movies as well as music festivals. A couch sat in the corner with potted monsteras, magazines scattered on the glass coffee table.
Namjoon felt oddly comfortable, but that might be because he was certain the lawyer used the same candles that littered his home, the soft pinewood scent relaxing him. Eyes roaming to read the titles of the books on the shelf, he couldn’t stop smiling at the little windchime attached to the corner.
People wouldn’t know it at a glance, but if you knew it was unmistakably his band’s merch – limited edition merch at that. He wondered if the lawyer he was meant to meet was a fan, or if they were just so old that they had received it from their children and put it up. Namjoon was pretty proud that the windchime he had designed was given a place in a room where everything seemed to be carefully handpicked.
“Sorry for keeping you waiting, Mr. Kim.”
Namjoon heard the slightly raspy voice call out, and he stood up to greet the person. However, he was a little taken aback when his eyes met yours, his throat running a little dry and his nerves spiking for no reason. Well no reason other than his immediate attraction to you.
It should be illegal for someone to look that good in a simple red suit and a pair of black heels. His eyes traced your features of their own accord, lingering at the little necklace that nestled between your collarbones, and the wisps of your hair that lined your eyebrows.
“Mr. Kim?” you asked, and a furious flush rose up his cheeks as he realised he hadn’t answered. Stuttering a response, he sat down at your insistence, agreeing to a coffee that you rang your assistant for. If you were a fan, you didn’t seem to give it away, jumping right into business as you talked about loopholes in the contract that could get Namjoon off with minimal penance.
While Namjoon was nodding along, pretending not to pay attention to the way your fingers looked so delicate pointing out the different clauses in the document, you were internally screaming. It took everything you had to keep your cool.
You had imagined that it would be business as usual meeting one of the guys you had spent most of your youth following around but your heart had other plans, beating stupidly fast. Even if Namjoon wasn’t your favourite member, it was still Namjoon Kim of Dark and Wild.
You could tell he wasn’t paying attention to whatever you were saying, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were boring him. You tried to lighten up the dry vernacular with a few jokes that went unnoticed, so you tried to shock him into listening at the end of your meeting.
“Ah, now that we’re done. Let’s talk about your proposition,” you commented off handedly, watching as he looked at you with rapt attention, biting his lip. Was he nervous?
The thought made you laugh. Why would he be nervous? You already explained that the case was easy to settle. It was pretty run of the mill. Contrary to popular belief, a lot of songwriters worked to break their contracts after a few months of working with a band. Creative differences were inevitable sometimes.
“Proposition?” Namjoon asked, swallowing hard, scared that his thoughts had somehow been vocalised. Perhaps you could read his mind. That would be a very handy superpower for a lawyer. Wait what if you actually had mind-reading powers?
What if you knew how he had just spent thirty minutes trying to figure out how he could ask you out for dinner, or if he could simply just bend over your desk.
Fuck, he really needed to reel it in.
“Yeah you emailed me about doing an analysis on fan culture?” you answered with a grin, enjoying the reveal. Namjoon had been a rockstar for most of his life, jamming out confidently on stage, so it was extra funny seeing him so clueless. That was before he became flustered, turning a bright red.
“Oh shit? Did I fuck up my emails? I meant to send that to… someone else,” he stumbled, pulling out his phone and scrolling through his emails.
“Yummyjungkookie, right?” you asked, relishing the way his jaw dropped and his eyes widened in disbelief before reaching your hand out, “Nice to meet you.”
“What the fuck…” Namjoon mumbled, taking your hand in his and shaking gingerly, before recovering. “You’re… you’re yummyjungkookie?”
“The one and only,” you grinned.
“But you’re a lawyer…” he said in awe. Never in a million years he would’ve thought the beautiful, polished, somewhat cold woman standing in front of him was the same person who evidently followed him on tour and wrote sonnets about Jungkook’s left bicep. He thought all his fans were kids in inappropriate clothing, but then again the last time he had seen his fans was when he himself was a kid in inappropriate clothing. It made sense that as he grew up, so did his fans – apparently into super intelligent, professional women.
“Yes I am,” you said smugly, loving the way he seemed so shocked. You hadn’t thought to reveal yourself, but your embarrassment over the nickname was taking a backseat to his surprise. It made you somewhat giddy. “So do I need to sign an NDA?”
“Yes. I can mail it to you. One second,” he said, gathering his wits as you giggled at the way he dropped his phone while scrambling for it. Once he had sent the email, you quickly printed two copies, signing after reading over the straight forward terms as he did the same.
You had to control your squeal when he laid out his plans. A comeback? Dark and Wild were actually getting together and needed your help to analyse if they had any fans. You had no idea whether you could actually help him, but just the fact that he had asked you was every Shadow’s dream come true, and you could see your inner nineteen year old jumping up and down in excitement, the banner you had made out of your dorm’s bed sheet waving in the air.
Maybe it was a good thing you were a loser who still blogged about your favourite band.
—-------
Namjoon hummed to himself in the elevator, Moon’s favourite pizza in his hands warming him as he smiled at nothing. Excitement was brimming through his body, uncontained as all his plans seemed to be working out. Generation Swine was taken care of, well pretty much. He trusted you with the case, and he trusted you with convincing the band that they were definitely not has-beens. He couldn’t wait to share the news with his daughter as he entered his apartment, placing the box on the dining room table before making his way to her door.
“I’m fine,” Moon’s voice carried through the door, and Namjoon had to stop himself from barging in when he heard her sniffle. Why was his baby crying? “It’s just that I’m worried about dad… When mom died, he was so broken.”
Namjoon felt his heart drop to his stomach, a lump forming in his throat as he eavesdropped. He hated listening in. Moon was pretty much an adult, she deserved her privacy, but when another voice spoke, dampened by the line of the speakers, he stayed rooted on the spot, vying for some insight into her sudden sadness.
“He’s better now, Moonie,” the voice said.
“I know. I know. But sometimes he still gets sad. He thinks I don’t notice but I do. I joked about smoking some weed the other day and it was like his life flashed before his eyes. He looked like he was going to cry… I just… I get scared of letting him down sometimes,” she sighed.
“You know you’re never going to do drugs. He knows you’re never going to do drugs. You’re not gonna let him down.”
“I know that but… I look like her,” she sniffled, and Namjoon felt his heart break further. Had he really been putting so much pressure on his teenager that he didn’t notice the way she seemed to be feeling so guilty. He was scared of her trying drugs, given her mother’s death, but he never thought that he was making her feel like she couldn’t be like her mother, especially when she continued talking.
“I’m scared that I remind him of her everyday, and that looking at me makes him sad. I just wish he found someone or even if he didn’t, that he went out more. He quit his job and I don’t want him to be depressed again.”
“He’s not sad to look at you, idiot. He’s your dad. He knows you look like your mom. It’ll be dumb if he didn’t!” Moon’s friend exclaimed, and Namjoon relaxed a little at hearing his daughter chuckle in response.
His mental health hadn’t been the greatest since his wife passed away, years full of ups and downs that he tried to hide from his daughter as he worked through therapy. But evidently he hadn’t been too good at hiding that part of himself, and a tear escaped without his consent when he thought about the burden she had been carrying.
He opted not to listen to more, walking to the kitchen to dry his eyes as he set the table. Once he was sure that he had his emotions under control, he called out for dinner, smiling when his daughter walked in after a few minutes in her pterodactyl onesie. Sometimes he still couldn’t believe that she was almost an adult, that she had grown so much. Unable to help himself, he hugged her to his chest, kissing the top of her head repeatedly as she whined about being unable to breathe.
“Ew dad, why are you being so clingy?” she groaned, pushing him away.
“Just missed you today, is all,” Namjoon said, pulling the hood of the onesie over her head, just to annoy her as she sat on the table to eat.
“Gross,” she replied despite the smile on her face as she dug in, thanking him for the pizza. He laughed, telling her about his day as she shared about how she had finally mastered the drums for YYZ, a Rush song she had been learning for a week.
He beamed proudly when she played him the song after dinner, trying his best not to tell her that looking at her could never make him sad. That all he saw was how proud he was that despite his fuckups, she had turned out more than perfect.
—-------
Sitting on your dining table, you stared at the blank document on your screen, the blinking cursor mocking you for your lack of ideas. Sighing, you switched the tab to the google search you had done, littered with journal articles talking about fan culture. Although you had three case files to go over that your paralegal had been hounding you about, you really wanted to create a plan for Namjoon, regardless of your lack of knowledge.
“Working on your boring lawyer stuff?” Hera asked, placing an elaborate gold and ruby necklace around her neck before turning to you in a silent request to clasp it for her. You obliged, standing up from your chair, an idea forming.
“Hey. You have fans for your art,” you commented, grabbing a glass of water as she continued getting ready, lacing her ballerina stilettos. She hummed for you to continue. “How do you manage them? Like check their retention, interact with them, and all?”
“God, you’re such a nerd,” she laughed, opening her purse to pull out a lipstick, dabbing it on her lips with her front view camera as the mirror. “You just put stuff out there, fans will follow. They don’t need interaction or those fancy terms. You just do you, they come.”
You knew for a fact that she was incorrect. Even running your somewhat small anonymous blog you knew that the weeks you didn’t interact with your audience, when you didn’t answer their messages or reply to their comments, your popularity dipped. People liked being seen, especially from those they admire. It boggled your mind how she made money when she was always so blase about everything, coasting through life like nothing required effort.
“Where are you off to, anyways?” you asked, settling back into your chair to skim through the numerous articles you had found.
“Going out with my boyfriend,” she grinned, wiggling her eyebrows as you stared at her in disbelief.
“Wait, you’re dating? Who?” you returned her smile, excited for her to be in a relationship after she had been wanting one for so long. You couldn’t count the number of weekends you had to resort to headphones while she looked for the one between her bedsheets.
She was a hopeless romantic of sorts, thinking that a relationship was the cure to everything, yet she had notoriously high standards. You blamed her obsession with Disney movies for that, but you couldn’t help the way you warmed at the flustered look on her face, biting her lip as she tried to not smile.
“You know him actually,” she said much to your surprise. “But you can’t judge me if I tell you! Promise me!”
Laughing at her sudden pleading, you promised, waiting for her to continue. However, your laugh was short-lived when the name escaped her lips. She was right, you did know him. You knew him very well, had spent years with him, had almost moved in with him before he decided to stomp on your heart.
“Ryan? You’re dating Ryan?!” you couldn’t control your volume, the absurdity of the woman who had dreamt of prince charming settling for someone who didn’t even deserve coal at Christmas.
“You promised you wouldn’t judge,” she argued, standing up with a huff. “He’s changed. He became better for me!”
“Became better for you? What does that even mean? Hera, Ryan’s trash!” It was too hard to even say his name, your brain flooding with memories of how he had laughed at you when you asked him if he was cheating on you. How he had placated you with kisses, assuring you that you were being paranoid, only to be caught a few months later with a girl in your bed.
“Just because he couldn’t love you, doesn’t mean he’s trash!” she yelled back, unaware
how her words cut through you. Not knowing how to respond as she ranted about you being unlovable and how Ryan had told her he found you boring and uptight, you took your leave.
Grabbing your laptop you headed out, willing yourself to not break.
—-------
You didn’t know where you were driving to, running around the city in circles. Usually it calmed you down, to have your music playing so loud that your thoughts couldn’t infiltrate, but today it felt as if they were crashing about, the cacophony drowning the dulcet tunes of Hoseok’s singing.
Instead of clearing, your mind was full of the last memories of your relationship, of how the man you loved would manipulate you, make you feel small in moments where you should’ve felt out of this world. You had confided in Hera, had cried with your head on her lap as she stroked your hair and assured you that he was scum. You had believed her, used her words to slowly build yourself up, to learn to love yourself again.
But now it was Hera throwing the poisonous words that he had embedded in your self-image, ones that took too long to pry out, ones that left scars that you were too terrified to look at even after over a year. You couldn’t help the tears that flowed to the bass playing in the background, overwhelmed yet knowing that you shouldn’t be.
When your eyes got too blurry, you parked next to a random park, taking deep breaths and practising the techniques you had learnt. Hera’s words were just words, they didn’t define you, they didn’t control your emotions.
Only you were responsible for how you saw yourself, and even though you felt like shit right now, it would pass. You were allowed to feel the way you were feeling.
Your deep breathing was interrupted by the ringing of your phone, a name you never thought you’d see lighting up your screen. Clearing your throat, you schooled your voice to resemble normal before picking up.
“Hello?”
“Hey. Sorry this is random, but I had a few ideas. Do you mind meeting up?” Namjoon’s voice broke through your thoughts and you sighed a little, finding comfort in his dulcet baritone. It was a different tone than the one he used for meetings or the one you had heard in interviews, and somehow it felt familiar. Blaming the feeling on your rattled emotions, you agreed to his request, fixing your face to drive to his studio.
Walking into the large skyscraper you were surprised that the security at the front already had your information, providing you with a temporary employee card rather than a run of the mill visitor pass.
With your sour mood, you really hoped helping Namjoon with his project wasn’t about to turn into a part time job. As dedicated as you were to being a Shadow, your days were often long and exhausting, and carving time for another thing just seemed like too much at the moment. Perhaps he would notice how stupidly incapable you were for the task and request an actual marketing firm to do the research for him.
Visiting his studio, however, was a dream come true. You had always loved the music he created for Dark and Wild, and immensely enjoyed the livestreams he would do describing his process after each album. It was always interesting to hear how much actually went into creating a seemingly simple track, how much he thought through his lyrics, how different the finished product sounded from the acoustic demos he showcased.
Much like the personality you had come to learn about in your time as a fan, his studio was a utopia of calm, plants scattered about, thriving even in a seemingly dark room. A glass separated the recording booth from the main area, which housed multiple cream couches decorated with colourful cushions, some even with the band on them.
On the walls were their records, different colours signifying which had gone platinum – most of them. There was a large monitor attached to the glass wall of the recording booth, a large gaming chair facing it on which sat Namjoon, fiddling with the mouse. The large screen embarrassingly enough had your blog on it as the man in question scrolled, laughing at your somewhat unhinged comments.
“Please stop stalking my blog,” you deadpanned and he turned the chair to face you with a large smile on his face.
“Only fair. You stalked me all these years,” he teased, loving the way your face scrunched in disbelief. He liked how you looked today, probably more than how he found you at the meeting. Dressed in a matching pink sweat suit, you somehow looked a little softer, and definitely less intimidating than the woman spouting the Federal Reclamation Law off the top of her head. It made him glad he had gathered the courage to ask you for a meeting.
“And it got you more famous. Your point?” you replied, ignoring the heat that was creeping up your back. You really should’ve gone through your blog and parsed through all the very horny comments you had left on their photos, but then again they should take it as a compliment. You were only appreciating them!
“My point is,” Namjoon began, leaning on his elbows as he gestured for you to sit on the couch in front of him, “You’re talented at getting people hyped up. And I want to make all the other blogs I found get active again. I have a list!”
His proclamation was followed by an actual list he had compiled that he handed to you, and being in the fandom for so long, you knew almost all of the fifteen names, some of them even personally. It may have seemed that the Shadow fandom was massive, but when it came to bigger blogs, it was actually pretty small, all of you constantly running into each other at events at some point of your fan careers.
“Well, six of these are moms now and they don’t even have time to breathe, let alone continue following you guys. I don’t know about these four, but Sera is in prison,” you said.
“Prison?! For stalking?” he asked, genuinely taken aback, and you just chuckled.
“No… for embezzlement. Turns out, she liked taking money more than pictures of you,” you quipped, laughing at his response.
“But she was so into me,” he scowled.
“Sucks to suck,” you responded as he scoffed, turning his attention back to his computer as he started to strategize different marketing tactics, some of which went over your head, especially when he started to talk about TikTok.
Perhaps Hera’s news had really exhausted you or perhaps it was the fact that marketing was never your forte, but you found yourself zoning out of the conversation, hoping Namjoon didn’t notice that you looked like a mess when you entered his office. He hadn’t acted like he noticed, but you were sure that your eyes were still a little red-rimmed, and that your face was puffy from crying in your car. You hadn’t realised how quiet you had gotten till his voice cut through your thoughts.
“Hey, you okay?” he asked softly, pausing his rant.
“Yeah. Sorry, just a little out of it today,” you replied with a smile, trying not to be affected by how concerned he seemed. Even after spending such a short amount of time with him, you had started wondering why he was your least favourite member, maybe you really did view your Shadow life through a very distorted, horny lens.
“You know what always makes me feel better? Chocolate!” he suggested with a grin, opening a drawer to pull out a giant bar of some Swiss chocolate and presenting it to you with a flourish. The gesture made you laugh harder than you anticipated, the random move making you wheeze. He joined you, unwrapping the chocolate to break off a piece for you, the gesture endearing you to no end.
“Ah! So this is why you never had abs,” you joked, giggling as he groaned.
“I had a kid to take care of! And… okay you’re under NDA so I can tell you,” he whispered, leaning in, and your curiosity peaked as he came closer. “Those teething biscuits are fucking delicious! Dude, those are like crack!”
The absurdity of the statement had you cackling once again, and you couldn’t help appreciating the effort he was putting into cheering you up, even when he didn’t know what was wrong. And perhaps it was the recent rehashing of your past, but you felt your heart warm, your grin matching his.
Unknown to you, Namjoon’s heart warmed too, just by hearing your laugh.
—-------
Somehow after the night in the studio, texting and hanging out with Namjoon became the norm. At least twice a week, you’d visit the little sanctuary he had created, spouting wild plans for twenty minutes before falling into a tangent that took over the conversation, trailing it to random topics that always distracted you till both of you were enjoying take out. For someone who had spent his whole life in the limelight, Namjoon was oddly normal.
Sure he had his moments like when he accidentally broke his extremely expensive watch because he was flailing animatedly while describing how he had once found a boy in his daughter’s room. But for the most part, he was down to earth, his stories mundane, nothing like the rockstar you had imagined.
However, what was exactly the same as the rockstar of your blog, was how attractive he was, especially in the suit he was wearing for today’s meeting. Sitting next to you on the couch, his glasses were low on his nose as he scoured through the research you had collected about building fan culture. The scowl on his face complimented him, and it reminded you of how he looked when he was busy slapping the bass when he performed, lip stuck between his teeth as he bobbed his head to the beat of the music playing through the speakers.
After almost three weeks of strategizing, despite you promising yourself this project wouldn’t take all your time, Namjoon had indeed hired a marketing firm, taking the insights the two of you found during your hangouts to them while you were at work. They had done an analysis and found that Shadows had indeed not died down, and that Moon was correct in her assumption that because of their songs going viral on social media, there was a steady growth of new fans, their old videos getting more and more comments. The news made you giddy, and it was getting difficult to hide how excited you were about the potential comeback.
“Wow… this is actually really great,” Namjoon praised you and you couldn’t help beaming at his words as he continued, “Are you sure you’re not a marketer? This is so so good!”
“Shut up. I just googled stuff,” you countered, getting a little flustered at his smile. He always seemed to be complimenting you during these meetings and you were sure your head was going to explode with how big it was getting.
“Oh speaking of google, did you know that it saves everything you search?” he asked, eyes widening in the shocking revelation he had seemingly made and you giggled at him.
“Yes, Grandpa. That’s how they make their money,” you teased, your early conversation getting steamrolled once again as you explained to him how the conglomerate actually used that data to make personalised ads.
“Wait… so like they can use my porn preferences to sell me stuff?” he exasperated, before realising what he had blurted out, a blush taking over his features. He really didn’t know how to control his tongue around you, somehow you brought out his no-filter self, something that only happened around those he was closest to. Maybe it was that you seemed to know him from his younger days, and that he had read all your unfiltered thoughts that you unapologetically owned up to, but he felt close to you despite only knowing you for merely weeks. It was weird. It was terrifying. It was exciting.
“Why are you googling porn?” you grimaced, cringing at just how bad he was at technology. Did spending so much time on his passion really make him this clueless?
“It has a video option!” he defended, ignoring how stupid he sounded even to his own ears, but then again what he said was even stupider. “What do you use?”
“Your music,” you deadpanned, immensely enjoying the way he turned into a tomato, sputtering in disbelief till you reassured him that you used a porn site like a normal human. However, Namjoon couldn’t help being stuck on the thought that maybe there was some truth to your words, and that alone had his heart beating and his lip twisting into a smirk.
“Oh yeah? What song?” he teased, an elbow meeting your shoulder as he snickered.
“Bicycle,” you said, smiling at the way he cringed in response.
“I wrote that song for my daughter, you heathen!” he exclaimed, gagging in response and all you could do was cackle, dissolving into breathless laughs as you leaned back on the couch. You missed the way he smiled at you, mirroring your position next to you, waiting for you to calm down.
“You’re a great songwriter,” you complimented once you had caught your breath, wiping the tears from your eyes. You regretted the sudden compliment that had escaped your lips, but the feeling was short lived because you got to witness the elusive shy Namjoon, smiling widely and shaking his bowed head as he brought his hands to between his legs, shoulders rising and a soft blush adorning his face. It made your heart flutter a little, making you avert your gaze.
That night the two of you barely got anything done, only deciding to create a presentation to convince the band. Namjoon insisted on having a special section chronicling Dark and Wild’s journey through your eyes. It was wholly unnecessary but he strong armed you with endless compliments and an offer to never get pineapple on the pizzas the two of you inevitably ended up ordering.
You never thought you would end up becoming friends with someone you used to follow around on tour, but somehow with all your meetings, it seemed that it was not only a possibility but a reality.
—-------
You found it odd when Namjoon changed up the routine one day, inviting you to his apartment instead of the studio, but you supposed that’s what friends did. So you had showed up with a bottle of wine and his favourite gummy bears, a decidedly small gesture but the way he squealed excitedly like a little kid at the candy had you giddy.
However, you learnt that somehow, this meeting wasn’t one for your flimsy professional reasons, but for just hanging out. You didn’t know why you were so surprised that he wanted to just enjoy your company, the two of you had developed a friendship but with the only close friendship you had with Hera still hanging on by a thread, you were a little skeptical.
“So how’ve you been?” Namjoon asked after he had set up a movie on the screen and popped some popcorn. His easy comfort made you worried, making you build up walls, refusing to share anything personal, and instead opting to discuss work and how his case was going.
Apparently, Generation Swine hated him and wanted to do everything but settle, desperate to keep the six songs he had written for them with full creative control over them. It was a preposterous ask, and you told him as such. You were determined to ensure that all his copyright would be given to him with as little payment from him as possible.
“They can keep them,” he said, speaking after a long silence. “I’ve made my peace with it. Just get them to take my name off.” You argued but Namjoon had made his decision. He knew that having his name on that album would just taint his reputation. He didn’t want to be associated with such scumbags who clearly respected no one, often not even themselves. And if he was being completely honest, he had just grown tired of the months long back and forth. If they wanted his music so bad, they could have it. He would be lying if he said writing songs came easy to him, but it just wasn’t worth it. Not when he knew they would water down his works to something unrecognisable. He just wanted to focus on making new stuff with his band mates, and moving on. Something he wished he could do with you by his side, not that he would ever admit it out loud.
The movie was some Japanese flick about a band working to achieve their dreams and everything that came with the industry, and when it ended you were left in charge of the remote. To break the odd tension that had risen after the silent resignation about Namjoon giving up his case, you decided to put on a documentary about Dark and Wild.
It worked, getting Namjoon distracted with nostalgia as he told you the background of all the scenes. Like how the footage of him ripping the wallpaper off the wall in a hotel was wrongly portrayed.In reality he had somehow managed to get his hand stuck in an already existing tear and couldn’t get it out. A few months ago you would have rolled your eyes and called him a liar, but after knowing him, you knew he was telling the truth. You had never met anyone with a bigger propensity for disaster than Namjoon. It was a wonder he was still alive with how clumsy he was. You told him so with a slap on his thigh and he just laughed along.
You had started the evening at different ends of his large couch, but somehow as he regaled you with more stories, you had moved closer, sitting side by side, sharing the popcorn on your lap and the gummies on his. It scared you how comfortable you felt with him, how he made you forget about everything, how he made you laugh so hard your stomach hurt. When he left to go pick up the food you had ordered from the restaurant next door, you realised that perhaps you wanted more of that comfort. You wanted to spend evenings just watching movies and making fun of him. You wanted to hear his stories, learn more about his life, and for the first time in a long while maybe you wanted to share your stories too.
Smiling at the thought, you scrolled through Youtube on the television, watching his old music videos, in awe of how much he had changed from the scrawny kid trying hard to seem tough to the dorky heartthrob he was now. You had always felt close to the band, related to them. That’s what made you a fan but somehow knowing the real him, made you feel nervous. There was no screen to hide behind, no image in your brain to project your fantasies on, because Namjoon was no longer just an abstract figment of your imagination, he was real.
“Oh… umm… hello,” a voice broke you out of your thoughts and you looked up to see a teenage girl standing in the living room, dressed much like you used to as a kid. Wearing black ripped jeans and a loose yellow flannel shirt, she seemed like a typical emo kid, her image solidified by the multiple piercings on her ears and chunky silver jewellery on her neck and wrists. She had dark hair that was tied in a half ponytail behind her head, and her dimples matched those on Namjoon’s face. You had seen her millions of times as a toddler, often dressed in fluffy pink dresses with giant yellow noise-cancelling earphones as she watched her father perform, and you felt oddly proud to see her all grown up.
“Hi! I’m a friend of your dad’s,” you said, moving the empty bowl from beside you invitingly, feeling a little awkward. Somehow you felt nervous as if you should’ve asked him if it was okay to talk to her before you did, every fibre of you wishing to make a good first impression.
“Oh, friend, you say?” she asked, narrowing her eyes with a grin that deepened her dimples. Dropping her bag at the end of the couch, she sat next to you, folding her hands in her lap confidently as she looked at the screen. You felt yourself flush with embarrassment as you followed her gaze to the obscenely large television where the music video was paused with the image of Hoseok mid thrust. You really should’ve paid more attention to which frame you stopped at.
Watching your horrified expression, she laughed, clapping her hands. “Don’t worry! That’s my favourite video too!”
Her laugh was a little weird, hiccuping between cackles, but it was extremely contagious, coaxing you to chuckle and breaking the ice. Most would think that the daughter of a renowned rock star would be spoiled, a little entitled, but Moon was anything but that, amicably finding topics to connect with you, cracking jokes at the expense of her uncles. Her humour reminded you of her father, goofy and light hearted. It was no wonder that soon the topic turned to him.
“Have you seen this video?” she asked excitedly, searching through her phone before casting her Youtube to the screen, playing a video of Namjoon from an old Dark and Wild vlog. The band had relegated him to cooking for them, the six of them sitting in chairs in front of him as he tried to cut vegetables. He had his lower lip between his teeth as he cut an onion in half and then proceeded to lay it on the round end, gingerly moving the knife and being unsuccessful almost every time while his friends laughed.
You had watched the video before. Of course, you had. It was a classic in the Shadow fandom, one that was memed again and again, but you couldn’t help wincing all the same, knowing full well that he wouldn’t hurt himself but worried all the same.
“Oh my god, dad! Flip the onion over!” Moon laughed at the screen before turning to you. “He hasn’t cooked for you, has he?”
“Oh god, no!” you replied automatically before biting your tongue, but Moon just chuckled along, fully aware of her father’s lack of culinary skills. Video Namjoon moved on to a carrot, struggling even more if that was possible and you couldn’t help joining along with Moon’s commentary.
“Watch your fingers,” you yelled at the screen just as he slightly nicked himself, hissing in pain, sheepishly pouting at the camera. When you had first watched the video, you were endeared by his antics, but now it felt as if your heart was bursting, making you almost coo at his younger self.
“I’m so glad I saved up my pocket money to buy him a food processor,” Moon commented, still giggling at the video. “Did you know he refused to buy me take out and then would accidentally cut himself like eight times a week?”
You could imagine Namjoon being stubborn as his daughter complained while he chopped vegetables in uneven slices, fingers covered in little bandaids. It wasn’t hard to notice how dedicated a father Namjoon was, but it warmed your heart to hear how much he cared for Moon from her directly.
You could tell by her tone that even though she masked it under humour and inconvenience, she truly admired her father for all the effort he put in, and somehow the picture in your head morphed till you were laughing at him alongside her, pushing him aside to take over the chopping as he leaned sheepishly by the counter complaining and insisting he had it handled.
In your imagination, he wrapped himself behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder, annoying you while you worked as Moon teased the two of you for being dorks. You startled at the image, not knowing why your brain had decided to drift that way, heart beating oddly, and eyes blinking to rid yourself of it.
As if on cue, Namjoon entered the room, precariously balancing boxes of pasta and dessert on two plates, a bottle of wine tucked under his elbow, and for the first time since you had met him, you felt starstruck. In awe of how tightly he was holding the cutlery in one hand but how lightly he was holding the plates, swaying from side to side to ensure none of the four unevenly stacked boxes tipped over. You felt frozen, a blush slowly creeping up your cheeks before leaping into action after a little “help!” escaped his lips.
Reaching for the bottle, you took it in your hands just as Moon grabbed the boxes, leaving Namjoon with just the plates and the cutlery. He still managed to drop a fork on the ground, cursing at himself before his daughter picked it up and went to replace it from the kitchen.
“Grab yourself a plate too, Moonie,” Namjoon offered, sitting next to you and oblivious to your sudden crush, casually plating a bit of everything for you. You realised he did that alot. Always making sure that you were served before him, that you were given the first piece of any snacks you both shared, and always asking if you were comfortable.
How did a passing comment from his daughter have such a profound impact on you? You felt like one of those girls who wrote fanfiction, your imagination going wild with scenarios when he had only just been kind. Perhaps you needed to follow Hera’s misguided advice and get laid after all.
“Nah, I have homework,” Moon replied, placing the fork on the table before smirking at the two of you. “Enjoy your date,” she snickered before prancing out of the room.
“It’s not a date!” Namjoon called out after her, bringing your overactive imagination to a screeching halt, forcing you to chuckle with him and dig into the food, missing how brightly his cheeks were shining at his daughter’s offhand comment.
You were still not speaking to Hera, but maybe you should strike a truce with her. If only so you could go with her to a club and no longer give yourself false allusions of being with a famous rockstar.
—-------
“Thanks for coming guys. I know you’re all busy but I just wanted to–”
“Oh my god. Stop giving a speech! Show us!” Seokjin interrupted Namjoon, bouncing on his seat on the couch, making Yoongi groan as he invaded his space. Although Namjoon’s studio was spacious, it was crammed for seven people, Hoseok and Taehyung sat squished next to Yoongi and Seokjin with Jimin perched on the armrest, wincing as Jungkook sat on his lap. Namjoon shook his head at his friend, appreciating the encouragement but still nervous.
He hadn’t showcased a song to the whole band for a long time and even though he knew that they were always supportive, he still felt a little uneasy. The new songs were different from the ones he used to write for Dark and Wild – while the former were debaucherous and often horny, his new stuff was something that held more of him, bared him with a vulnerability his younger self used to hide behind bravado. Not to mention that all he had was a guitar and his notebook, nothing like the demos he used to show them before, usually filled with samples of instruments manufactured from the mixer in his computer.
When Hoseok asked everyone to be quiet, Namjoon took a grounding breath, starting to pluck the strings slowly, building a melody that had haunted him for weeks. The acoustic version wasn’t how he heard it in his head, but he hoped it was enough to inspire his friends to imagine how easily they would fill in the gaps. He picked the strings individually, separating the chords so that they could speak to the emotions he was aiming for.
Soft strings echoed through the space, slow and resounding, and he cleared his throat before closing his eyes and singing. He always hated how he sounded but somehow in that moment he lost himself to the melancholy, letting it guide his vocals.
Maybe cherries are blossoming
And winter is going to be over
I miss you (I miss you)
I miss you (I miss you)
Wait a little bit, just a few more nights
I’ll be there to see you (I'll go there to meet you)
I’ll come for you (I'll come for you)
Pass the end of winter's cold
Until the spring day comes again
Until the flowers bloom again
Please stay, please stay there a little longer
The room was silent when he opened his eyes, six pairs of eyes staring at him. They had all leaned forward, Jungkook now sitting on the floor, legs crossed below him as his head rested on his hands. There were no words and Namjoon felt himself getting nervous as Yoongi spoke.
“Holy fuck…” he whispered, and Namjoon jumped straight into defense.
“I know my voice sounded terrible. You guys know i can’t sing, but I was just thinking, if we added some drums and then Seokjin you added some of the melody or maybe Jimin with a solo in the middle with Yoongi’s production… it could be… umm… something?” he rambled, scratching the back of his neck.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Taehyung asked, his voice deep and serious, and Namjoon felt himself deflate a little, shoulders slumping before the next words left Taehyung’s mouth, “This is fucking incredible.”
It seemed that his words broke everyone out of their trance, praise flowing through the room as they excitedly left the mixing part of the studio to join Namjoon on the recording side, picking up their designated instruments.
“This is 4/4 as usual right?” Jungkook asked, taking a seat at the drums, rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck before twirling the sticks between his fingers.
“And what’s the key again?” Seokjin questioned, plugging his guitar into the amp, taking a determined stance as he smiled warmly at Namjoon and Namjoon couldn’t help mirroring his expression, his cheeks splitting with how wide his lips stretched.
“E-flat,” he replied, discarding the acoustic guitar to the side to pick up his bass, setting the dials to the sound he prepared, the pitch a higher than usual for a bass.
Soon the song transformed from an empty plea to a celebration of friendship, the instruments gelling together in a sound that went from mournful to inspiring. It somehow changed the message of the song from longing and waiting to reuniting. It was as if the melody was meant to be tweaked, his friends adding in their flair that changed how Namjoon had always heard the song in his head into one he could never fathom.
By the time Hoseok and Jimin finished singing, with Seokjin and Taehyung harmonising at the chorus, Namjoon couldn’t help choking up a little. It was as if he was transported back in time, back before he knew what it was like to lose his dream – to the time when he didn’t even know what loss was. He felt irrevocably happy and his eyes glistened as the last chord echoed into silence.
“Fuck I missed this,” Hoseok gleed into the microphone, jumping a little in excitement and the band joined in on the sentiment, their voice a cacophony of chaos as they all complimented each other and Namjoon for writing what they perceived as a hit. Soon, everyone was pulling out unfinished works, some scribbled in notebooks, others in their phones, one even on a napkin – Taehyung had a moment of inspiration in a Jazz club three months ago.
It was as if the previous years had been erased, their usual teamwork gelling into place like muscle memory, ideas flying and morphing into melodies that were lighthearted and poetry that struck a chord. Namjoon knew they were still wary about a comeback, but just seeing the joy on their faces as they brainstormed song after song, convinced him it wouldn’t be too hard to put their worries to rest.
Something told him this wouldn’t be the last time they jammed together.
—-------
It had been a few weeks since you had talked to Hera properly. Conversations that used to last hours were subdued to passing remarks about groceries and chores. She stayed out most of the time, giving you space. Sitting on your living room couch with ramen on a Saturday night, things were dull, your mind wandering on your relationship with her.
They say absence makes the heart grow stronger, but it didn’t seem to be the case for you. The more she stayed away, the more you had time to dwell on how your friendship had faded over time, how she had gone from a confidant to someone you tolerated. It made you feel a little guilty, but everytime that guilt would be overshadowed by how it seemed that you were always putting in more effort, from housing her during her financial crisis to not thinking twice about any favour she asked of you.
It wasn’t always bad, you remembered her getting you out of your introverted shell in law school, challenging you to strike a balance between coursework and hobbies. But in the past two years, you couldn’t recall a single time she had even mildly inconvenienced herself on your behalf. She was often passive-aggressive, seemingly exasperated at you. Perhaps it made sense if she was talking to Ryan during that time, his manipulative nature probably influenced her. But if she was so easily swayed was she truly your friend?
As if she was honed into you trying to let her go, she waltzed in through the front door, a huge grin on her face and smelling of alcohol. Squealing your name she startled you with a hug, her arms wrapping tight around you. It felt suffocating, unnerving.
“I miss you,” she sniffled, and usually her crying would be enough for you to forgive her, but you knew she was an emotional drunk. You sat in silence, letting her cry into your shoulder, not knowing how to react when the last words she said to you were accusations of how you had forced your ex to cheat. You didn’t know why you were being so harsh, but maybe it was because you had started to watch the Dark and Wild vlogs again, envying their friendships, comparing it to how the two of you interacted.
You patted her on the shoulder, waiting for her to sit up, and when she did you smiled, not knowing what else to do but tell her it was okay. As soon as the words left your mouth she was perking up, tears forgotten and drunken ramblings commencing. She talked to you about her night, about how Ryan was the perfect man, and you couldn’t get over the bitterness you felt. Was she trying to show off how much of a better boyfriend he was to her than you?
A ping from your phone saved you from the conversation, your face lighting up when you read Namjoon’s text.
So what do you say to a private concert? Wanna meet me at the studio in half an hour?
You couldn’t control the giddy smile as you responded, thanking him in your head for saving you from this awkward conversation. Hera didn’t like it when you excused yourself, complaining about how you didn’t like her anymore. She wasn’t wrong, but you were too excited to leave to fight her on it, apologising and rushing to your room to change, ignoring the pout she threw your way.
When you knocked on the studio door you were expecting only Namjoon to be there wanting to share some of the newer songs he had alluded to working on. However, when you entered you were met by the whole band, seven men sprawled on the couch, the coffee table cluttered with an array of snacks. They stood up at your arrival, greeting you excitedly in a mismatched unison, Jungkook’s voice the loudest among the crowd.
“Yummyjungkookie!” he exclaimed, the wink he tossed your way making you flush. You never imagined your teenage celebrity crush to ever greet you, let alone scream your embarrassing username at you. It made you wish that you had been a little more subtle when choosing it.
“Guys you are overwhelming her,” Jimin chided the men, moving away from the group to hold out his hand. “Hi Y/N. It’s nice to finally meet you!”
“Finally?” you questioned, grasping his hand in yours, a little dizzy at the sudden appearance of people you had only seen on stage or in magazines. You should’ve been used to it after spending time with Namjoon for so long but Jimin was right, it was overwhelming to see them all in one place once again.
“Yeah Joonie’s told us all about you,” Hoseok smirked, side-eyeing his friend who glared at him.
“He couldn’t shut up about you,” Seokjin added with a mischievous sing-song lilt to his voice, elbowing Namjoon who cleared his throat loudly before speaking.
“Okay!” he exclaimed loudly, clapping his hands together once. “Now that everyone is acquainted–”
“Oh I’m not acquainted,” Jungkook interrupted, moving towards you with a teasing smile, pushing his hair away from his face. It reminded you of his stage persona, his already sexy allure hammed up with fan service and it took every ounce of control you had to not swoon. The reaction had been engraved in you for years, after all. “So am I as yummy as you thought?” he asked, flexing his biceps.
Luckily you didn’t have to answer because as soon as the words left his mouth, Jimin scowled, smacking him atop his head. “You have a wife and kids!” he scolded.
“Aw hyung! I’m just trying to figure out if I’m rusty,” Jungkook whined, the earlier suavity melting instantly as he pouted, making you giggle at the sudden change. That was the Jungkook you were a fan of. Sure the sex appeal was appealing but you’d be lying if you said the real thing that gravitated you towards him was how dorky he was.
As all of them started arguing and teasing Jungkook for being a “rusty old man”, you started realising that they all were, in fact, dorks. It comforted you, helped you bring them off the pedestal you had placed them on and back to how they were just how you hoped they’d be – just a group of normal friends.
With everyone settled and introduced, and your pick of dinner ordered, Namjoon made you sit in the large comfy chair in front of the glass separating the recording studio and the mixing room. The band settled in the other room, picking up their instruments and making last minute tune ups.
“Okay. Someone told us a busy lawyer had been spending her precious free time to help us with our stupid hang ups, so we thought that we’d show our appreciation,” Hoseok announced, adjusting the mic stand. “For our favourite Shadow, after eight years, we are Dark and Wild!”
His introduction was immediately followed by Jungkook banging his sticks with each other, counting into the first song, and you were immediately transported to the time when you fought to be in the front row. They started with War of Hormones, Hoseok and Taehyung’s more mature voices and Seokjin’s new ad libs, changing the song into something fresher, something you thought you would never get to see live again. Before you knew it, you were standing from your chair, rocking along to the music as you grinned.
Namjoon watched you as he performed and he couldn’t help the giddiness he felt at seeing you so into something. You were often stoic, having a tight lid on your emotions. It made him want to work harder to get you to open up, often cracking jokes he knew were terrible to get you to laugh. If he knew he would get to see this expression on your face by just convincing the boys to put on a show for you, he would’ve begged them earlier.
He didn’t know when he had started seeing you as someone he wanted to pursue. The feeling was foreign. He never thought he would feel this way again, the bubbling anticipation for when he would see you next, the giddy joy when he saw your name light up his screen, the heart stuttering nervousness when you were near. He had assumed that those feelings had died in his youth, buried with Seo on that rainy day that tore his heart out.
He had tried to move on after her, had multiple one night stands, friends with benefits, even a girlfriend at some point. After a while he had figured that he would never feel that euphoria again, but somehow you had come in with your business formal skirts and secret thirsty blog and embedded yourself in his thoughts. And with it came the need to hold himself back, his once bulletproof confidence wavering to insecurities that he never felt before.
You never shared much of your personal life with him, never deviated from the strict line of friendship that had cemented itself between you, and Namjoon didn’t know how to break that. Every time he flirted, it seemed like a joke to you. Perhaps he was a joke too, a washed up musician with a grown child, who only met you because he was fighting with children and pathetically trying to convince people who had moved on to move backwards with him.
He didn’t realise that his gaze was unwavering as he stared at you through the glass, fingers moving over the strings automatically as Hoseok sang their old hits, but you noticed. Between your jumping, you saw how all of a sudden, his face had fallen, his jaw tightening as he zoned out like he did sometimes when you were hanging out. You didn’t know what he was thinking in those moments, but something told you it wasn’t pleasant.
His mood didn’t lift during the rest of the set, even when you tried to engage him with a smile and a wave. He returned your smile briefly before going back to the same forlorn expression that you couldn’t help being worried about.
“Thank you! You’ve been a great audience,” Yoongi said cheekily, winking at you after the last song before he was ushering everyone into the other room with you. He pulled up two stools, switching his pedals around and taking a seat while offering the other to Namjoon.
“For our last song, we wanted to show you a new one. One written by none other than Namjoon Kim,” Yoongi announced, plucking the strings as his foot toyed with the pedal, changing the tone to a fuzzier one that was overlaid with a delay, adding an ethereal ambience to the sound. Behind you the boys piled onto the couch, cheering loudly and you followed suit, clapping loudly as Namjoon adjusted the height of the mic and sat down.
He smiled at you sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “This isn’t one of the happy ones, sorry,” he said, clearing his throat as Yoongi looped a sound and started plucking the strings with a melancholic tune. “Also sorry my singing sucks,” he chuckled dryly.
“No, it doesn’t!” Seokjin argued loudly as everyone whooped.
“Go Joon!” Jungkook joined, and somehow the encouragement paired with the soft smile you sent his way made his nerves dissolve, letting him sing the song he had written years ago for the first time. It wasn’t just a surprise for you, it was for the rest of the band too. No one but Yoongi had heard it before. Initially, Yoongi had told him to showcase the song, but after trying to sidetrack him with other songs and getting the idea to invite you, Yoongi had had enough, instructing that he sing the song at the end for everyone.
It was silent while he sang, his friends behind the glass listening intently. He hadn’t sung this song properly in a long while. When he wrote it, he was in the deepest pit of his depression, often leaving Moon at his mother’s house to spend the night wasted writing rubbish on pages and then ripping them out when the words didn’t pass his harsh self-criticism.
Yoongi had found him on such a night, curled up on the floor, humming the melody as he banged his fist against the floor, fighting against his sore eyes. Of all the members, Yoongi wasn’t one he was closest to then, but it changed when instead of telling him it would be okay and coaxing him to bed, Yoongi had sternly told him to sit up and finish the song. He stayed with Namjoon the whole night and then for three nights after, subtly ensuring that he didn’t overdo his drinking, or turn to something stronger, as his self loathing crawled into the cathartic poetry dancing on top of Yoongi’s catchy rift.
Somehow writing that song had made him feel a little less sad, as if he had let go of the sorrow by transforming it into something productive. But singing the song he hadn’t even attempted to hear for so long, it was inevitable that he was transported back to that time where he was always in such a haze that the days seemed like an endless burden tied to his ankle as he sank, flailing to swim to the surface that kept moving more and more out of reach. It made him choke a little on his words.
One morning, I opened my eyes
And wished I was dead
I want someone to kill meIn this loud silence
I live to understand the world
But the world has never understood me, why
No, that half is missing
It's trying to hurt me
I miss me, miss me baby
I wish me, I wish me baby
Wish I could choose me
You pursed your lips as his words reached you, feeling an undeniably need to soothe the pain that seemed to be dripping from his every pore. Namjoon had always been open, always made you laugh, unknowingly brightening your mood when work or problems with Hera refused to let you relax. He had talked about his daughter and wanting to get the band together. He had talked to you about his songwriting process, and he had told you his thoughts about the industry. But in that moment, you felt that Namjoon wasn’t always as open as he seemed to be, that beneath his usually cheerful demeanour, he seemed to be suffering, silently at that.
Why is it that I'm being so earnest
Yet it's not working out
Always
Always (I lost my all ways)
He sang the last line abruptly, standing up as soon as he was done and excusing himself. You watched as he left the studio, yearning to run after him, but then again, all his best friends were in the room. Why would he need your comfort when he could have them?
“Go. He’s probably in the next room,” Yoongi said, walking back into the mixing room and placing a hand on your shoulder to break you out of your trance. When you looked at him with doubt, he just smiled, slightly nodding towards the door. Not wanting to overthink the reasons and too worried about Namjoon, you followed his advice, leaving and knocking on the next door.
“I’m fine, Yoons,” Namjoon called out, his voice eerily cheerful, making you suspicious. He opened the door, shock momentarily washing over him before he affixed a smile on his face. But you had learnt what his real smile looked like in the months you had gotten to know him. You didn’t miss how it didn’t reach his eyes, how his lighter right dimple never poked through his cheek, and how his lower lip quivered ever so slightly.
Before you knew what you were doing, you had your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him down into a hug. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it, instantaneously wrapping his arms around your waist, crushing you to him. Your scent overwhelmed him, an amalgam of lavender and honey that he had only ever gotten faint whiffs of now crowding his senses, coaxing him to lose the control he had tried so hard to keep over the last few minutes.
“Sorry,” he apologized, trying to clear the lump from his throat, loosening his grip, attempting to chuckle despite his heart beating erratic and his emotions threatening to overflow. “So embarrassing…”
“I’m not judging,” you whispered, holding on to him tightly. “You can cry if you want to. It’s okay.”
The moment the words left your lips, Namjoon couldn’t hold it in anymore, your permission somehow breaking his barriers and a tiny sob escaping him. He buried his face in your neck, his tears probably ruining your blouse. You could feel him shaking in your arms, and you stroked his scalp to comfort him, letting him cling onto you as he cried. You tried to control your own tears, but they followed anyways, silently tracking down your cheeks in empathetic trails. You didn’t know what to say to console him so you let him cry till he was straightening up, rubbing his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater.
He settled on the couch at the corner of the room, and you followed, looking around. The small room was some sort of a meeting area. Two large couches lined the walls in an L with a coffee table between them, the walls covered in a few paintings, and a single lamp in the corner lighting up the space. It was cosy.
“Sorry,” he laughed hollowly, and you reached out to hold his hand in an attempt to comfort him, hoping that he realised he had nothing to apologise for, nothing to explain. But he explained anyways, talking about how when he wrote the song he was in the deepest despair he had ever felt and somehow till today he had forgotten how he had felt, how broken he had been.
“We never showed it on the cameras, you know? How fucked up everything was,” he said, fingers gripping tightly onto yours, needing something to ground him as his memories flashed before his eyes.
Everything was always glamourized in front of the camera; their friendships, his relationship. All everyone knew was they were a little chaotic, a bunch of hyper dudes who would get drunk and joke around. They didn’t know that alcohol wasn’t the only vice they used to cope with the sudden plummet to fame, to cope with the stresses of releasing album after album of hits, of endless days of putting on personas that merged into a haze till they forgot who they really were.
It was okay when he took his first hit, it was meant to relax him, all the ones in the industry before him assured him that it wouldn’t turn into anything more. So the band would gather in their hotel rooms after some shows when the pressure felt like it would rip them to shreds and shoot up. It would let them slow down, float in a space where their brains weren’t capable of thinking, of overthinking everything.
That’s when Seo started joining him too, when they were just friends with benefits, before the birth control had failed, back when he was just a kid trying to emulate his heroes. He didn’t know how it would spiral, how his one off would become her everyday. He still blamed himself to this day for being too busy to notice the way her light faded, to notice how her mood swings were too drastic. He never saw her enough to put it together, not until he was getting a call from her mother blaming him angrily, screaming at him for ruining her life.
He broke down for the first time that night, apologising to Seo’s mother, and sobbing into his cellphone. That was also the last time he turned off his brain, before taking a week off to care for her. He sat in the hospital holding her hand while she slept with ventilators, just praying to a god he didn’t believe in for her to wake up.
When she finally opened her eyes, doctors warned her to go to rehab. “This will kill your baby if you’re not careful,” the stern physician warned her, and that was the first time Seo and Namjoon found out that she was pregnant, that amidst their fucked up rocky relationship they had somehow accidentally created something that was pure. They cried in each other’s arms that night under the fluorescence of the cold white room, promising to be better for their child. That was when he fell in love with her.
It was under the same fluorescence that he fell in love with her again, when she held his hand tight, her nails breaking his skin that still carried the crescent scars, as she gave birth to his daughter, the moon of his life. The nine months leading up to the day had Namjoon rediscovering Seo, had him realizing that he never noticed how kind she was, how she always put him first, shielded him from things she needed so as not to burden him. It made him realize how he had taken her devotion for granted for years and he promised himself to never do so again.
But promises are meant to be broken and it was only a few years later when he started falling back into the same patterns, using work as a cover to escape from his daughter’s shrill cries when she threw tantrums for no reason. He had promised to pick her up from school every Monday, Wednesday and Friday when he was in town. It was his responsibility as a parent but even when he was tired, he cherished those moments, listening to Moon ramble on about school and the friends she was making. He was proud of her, or so his memories liked to tell him, but he knew that inside he would always ignore her, too tired from endless practice to pay attention, placating the child with hums and nods.
It was a time when he was working on Dark and Wild’s last album, the label pressuring him to change every song he sent for approval, the guys relying on him for advice when his brain was sapped dry. He was in a haze, he didn’t know what time it was, what day and at the end of his rope, he had just stopped going home. Things with Seo weren’t bad, and they weren’t good, they just were, like a routine that had been embedded in him – one that he had no motivation to break. He would pick up Moon from school, drop her home and see Seo greeting him and he’d only wave before turning around and going back to his studio, biding his time before coming home late enough that Seo would be asleep. He’d sneak into bed and hold her till he fell asleep.
Those nights, he always knew she was awake but he didn’t have the energy to talk to her, so he would stay silent, and hope that his arm around her waist was enough. It still pained him to admit that somehow along the way, his own wife had become a stranger to him. Somehow the woman he had vowed to love in front of his friends and family as she held his daughter in her arms, had turned into something akin to a pillow he would hug at night. He would feel guilty those nights, tearing up as he held her but then his brain reminded him that the only reason he was working so hard was because of her and Moon, that it would be worth it, that once their contract expired next year he could take a break and rebuild the relationship he had. Little did he know that that would never happen. He still remembered the night he lost her, vivid in his mind like a haunting film on repeat.
He had come back from the studio like always, sneaking into his own home at 2 am. He checked on his daughter, smiling tiredly at how she had her entire body wrapped around the giant pink bunny Jungkook had given her, her long dark hair falling over her face. He tiptoed into the room, picking up the blanket from where she had kicked it onto the floor and covered her up, smiling ever wider when she nuzzled into the soft material further.
Quietly walking into his bedroom, he saw his wife buried under the covers and decided to take a shower, relishing the warm water on his sore muscles. He decided to use her body wash that night, a habit he had developed for when his days were long and he needed the comfort of her scent enveloping her. Perhaps he would wake her and kiss her this time, feeling too needy to care if he got scolded. He had argued with Yoongi that day and he needed her to relieve the stress.
Crawling under the covers he reached for her, cuddling her close till he was kissing her neck, the skin oddly cool below his lips. That was the first sign, one that made him panic as he sat up in bed and started shaking her. He could still remember how loud his heart was pounding in his ears, how his hands shook when he ran to turn on the lights, and saw how blue her lips looked. He was crying on the phone when he called the ambulance, and while he waited he held her hand, trying not to yell in despair as he begged her to wake up, ignoring the familiar paraphernalia on the bedside table.
He was still sobbing when the sirens rang out and rotating red lights invaded through the curtains of his bedroom. Still sobbing when he woke up Moon, gathered her in his arms and followed the ambulance to the hospital. Still sobbing when the doctor told him he was sorry. He didn’t know he had such a large reserve of tears, one that didn’t stop even when the cameras followed his family when he buried her, when he bowed in front of Seo’s mother, clasping onto her feet for forgiveness, when he had to explain to his daughter where mommy was.
And he sobbed again when he told you everything, baring his soul in a way he had never done before, not knowing what he was hoping to accomplish. But when you pulled him to you, wrapped your arms around his head and shushed him, he felt his chest fill with warmth. The memories that had assaulted him faded into the background, your small noises of comfort lulling him into content. He hadn’t meant to recount his life story to you in such a way, he only wanted to tell you why the song had such an effect on him, but something about you had him spilling out his truths without even thinking.
“You’re okay,” you assured him as he apologised, reaching out to the table to hand him the box of tissues that was placed there above the stack of random magazines. With the comfort of your words, he pressed the soft cotton to his eyes, steeling himself, his breaths becoming stable as you gently rubbed his back.
“Thank you,” he whispered, bringing a smile to your face as you shook your head. You didn’t know why he felt the need to thank you, all you had done was sit next to him and listened. You should’ve been the one to thank him for letting you in and for sharing his burden. You told him as such and he laughed, a light watery thing that made you join him. When he stood up, you wrapped him in a hug once again, hoping to heal him.
You had never thought that you would ever spend an evening at a private Dark and Wild concert, but more than that you had never imagined that Namjoon would somehow etch himself into your heart in such a short time.
Maybe that’s the thing about love, you never know when it will come and embrace you.
—-------
Birthdays were never your thing. You never knew why people were always so excited to celebrate another revolution around the sun. Your friends had always called you jaded, but you didn’t believe in celebrating the fact that you had just existed. A birthday wasn’t an accomplishment, everyone had a birthday from serial killers to misogynists – why should such a mundane fact be marked with a party. Yet despite your protests, your friends and family would always shower you with gifts and surprises. When you got older the parties toned down to gatherings at a bar or a restaurant, and slowly you became used to them, even expecting them.
Sitting in your room with the early evening sun pouring through your window and the latest Netflix show on your laptop, it didn’t feel like your birthday. Sure, you had received multiple messages reminding you of the fact, but with your family in another city and your friends scattered around the globe, this year it felt a bit empty, a little lonely. You didn’t know when you had started enjoying the celebrations, but the lack of one was jarring, even when you knew rationally that celebrating birthdays was stupid.
Sighing after yet another episode ended, you decided to pamper yourself, to celebrate not that you were a year older, but that despite missing your friends you were still mostly happy with your life. You gathered your favourite bath bomb and bubble bath from a little box under the bed and put on your fluffiest robe before venturing into the bathroom and lighting too many candles. The little speaker you had hooked on the door came to life with your favourite playlist as the tub filled with warm water, the bubbles increasing in volume and the colour of the water changing to a bright violet.
You decided to go all out, exfoliating and shaving your skin, and adding a clay mask to your skin. Dipping into the warm water felt luxurious, the heat relaxing your muscles. You hadn’t realised how long your days had gotten, how little time you had spent on self care, and you couldn’t help but enjoy the way your body sank into the tub, the water caressing you like a lover, the scents making your eyes droop in content.
You finished up your impromptu spa day with painting your nails a bright pink, a colour you rarely used, even going so far to spend extra time blow drying your hair into silky voluminous waves. It felt nice to forget about everything that had been bothering you lately, from Hera’s constant insistence to be friends to your sudden feelings for Namjoon. It was nice to disconnect.
However, you had barely dressed when you heard your roommate, her bed squeaking through the walls as she wailed your ex’s name, souring your pleasant mood. God, you needed a drink.
Not thinking twice, you swapped your comfiest sweats for a nice dress and grabbed your purse. Just because you didn’t have anyone to celebrate with didn’t mean that you couldn’t enjoy a birthday drink and indulge in some decadent cake. Walking to your favourite coffee shop, you decided to get a cake first, picking the extremely tall eight layered chocolate cake and settling on a seat.
Usually, you would pull up a book you were reading on your phone, or scroll through social media, mindlessly watching TikToks, but today you didn’t feel the need for distractions. Savouring the melting rich mousse on your tongue you looked around the little shop, making up stories about its patrons as your eyes trailed over them. There was an old couple sitting in the corner, sharing a quiche, and you imagined that they had just dropped off their grandchildren after spending a day with them. Then you saw a teenager, standing at the counter, biting his lip, torn on what to choose and you imagined that perhaps he was getting a drink for a crush, hoping to woo them with his choice. When he finally settled on a special strawberry milkshake with a swirl of whipped cream and two straws, you mirrored his smile as he sat next to a wide-eyed girl beaming at him.
Every new customer that entered, you would give them a back story, some more mundane than others. Like when a man with a scar over his eyebrow in a suit came to order an espresso you imagined that he was a stuntman, going into a night shoot. Or when a woman came with a bunch of kids, you imagined she was an au pair, paying her way through a social sciences degree. The stories weren’t crazy, but you liked imagining their lives to be simple, it was comforting.
You were in the middle of another daydream when your phone vibrated, a text lighting up your screen.
Hey. I think after last time, I owe you a drink. You free?
It was a simple message, but the moment you read Namjoon’s name your heart skipped a beat, stories forgotten as your daydream morphed from strangers and their lives to hanging out with Namjoon, his arm around you, his lips on yours. It didn’t help that he was somehow psychic, somehow knowing how much you hated drinking alone.
I’m actually on my way to 88… join me!
You smiled, anticipating hanging out with him for no reason other than his company. You knew it was far-fetched to think about anything happening between you, even if last week had seemed like a turning point in your relationship. He was a famous rockstar with a family, there was no way there was any room in his life for you. Even if you were friends now, once he would convince the guys of the comeback, the two of you would go to occasional hangouts and random text messages, the need for frequent brainstorming sessions over.
Finishing the last bit of cake on your plate, you grabbed your purse when your phone pinged again.
Oh if you’re with your friends, I don’t want to intrude… I was just going to offer this stupidly expensive bottle of champagne I found.
Chuckling at his oddly endearing response, you asked him if he was at home or the studio, and when he confirmed the latter, you hailed a cab and made your way to the familiar glass skyscraper that was beginning to feel a little too comfortable to go to. A knock on the wooden door later, you found yourself face to face with Namjoon, his smile making your own lips lift at the corners, your heart feeling as if it was home.
“Hi… umm… hey. Hello,” he greeted a little awkwardly, moving to the mini fridge under the mixing desk to pull out a large bottle of champagne, the gold label glittering in the low light of the room. You settled on the couch, noticing that he had already put out glasses and snacks, various packets of chips and candy littering the coffee table.
“So champagne, eh? What are we celebrating?” you asked, leaning back comfortably as he joined you, a concentrated frown on his face as he fiddled with the corkscrew, bottle between his legs, attempting to wrestle it open. It popped open with a fizzle, a little bit of the liquid spilling onto his sweats as he chuckled victoriously.
“That you don’t hate me,” he replied with a smile, pouring the drink into the flutes and handing one to you. He felt nervous, not knowing why he had said what he said. He knew you didn’t hate him, you didn’t strike him as the person who would scoff at vulnerability, but still, he felt a little guilty about unloading on you the other day. He didn’t want you to think of him as fragile or that you had to carry his emotional baggage with him.
“I don’t hate you,” you protested, clinking your glass against his before taking a sip, the smooth sweet liquid bubbling through you. It really was expensive champagne, the taste unlike any you had had before, crisp yet alluring. “You had a moment. We all have them.”
Your words made Namjoon relax, confirming that his view of you was correct. He felt light as if a weight had been lifted, making him more confident. Out of everyone he knew, somehow you had made it to the top of the list of people he felt most comfortable with. It scared him how easily you had crawled into that space, without him even realising, but Namjoon had been to too much therapy to discount you, to run away like he usually did.
He watched you as you rose, walking to the speakers you had made yourself familiar with, connecting your phone till a dance pop melody was filling the room. Sitting next to him, Namjoon couldn’t help but notice how you were closer this time, your body heat almost palpable on his knee closest to your thigh. You hummed along to the music as you finished your drink, refilling your glass and then his when he followed suit.
He sat sideways, an elbow at the back of the couch and his hand holding his head. The silence was comfortable, letting him just bask in your presence. You looked different than you usually did, your hair falling in nice waves over your shoulders instead of in a ponytail, your body covered in a dress that worshipped it, wrapping in all the right places that made Namjoon’s mouth run a little dry. He cleared his throat, starting a conversation to distract himself.
“You’re all dressed up,” he commented as casually as he could, wondering what you ditched to hang out with him in his lackluster studio. His head wanted him to feel guilty for pulling you away from something but his heart was giddy that you chose him instead. “Sorry if I interrupted something. I should’ve checked in.”
“You didn’t,” you assured him with a giggle. “I was just going for a drink by myself. You interrupted nothing.”
“What were you celebrating?” he recited your earlier question with a grin, leaning closer to you to refill his glass, the fruity scent of your moisturiser tickling his nostrils deliciously. He wanted to nuzzle into you, to deeply inhale the strawberries from your collarbones, but that would be creepy so he moved back to his earlier position, taking a heavy swig to calm himself, not that the alcohol that was starting to buzz through him helped much.
“My birthday, actually,” you replied offhandedly, laughing as his mouth fell open in surprise. You assured him that you didn’t think birthdays were a big deal, but it seemed that Namjoon didn’t care, scrambling to wish you before he was out the door. You chuckled at how adamant he was about doing something special, taking another sip, before he returned, much quicker than you thought he’d be. He held a plate in his hand, stacked with twinkies, a tiny candle poking out from the one on top.
“Here in the Kim house – well, studio – we go all out for birthdays!” he exclaimed, balancing the plate precariously on the arm of the couch before pulling a lighter from his pocket and setting the wick on fire.
“Yes, all out with twinkies,” you teased, placing your glass on the table and standing next to him.
“Well some people like to hide their birthdays. This is the best cake on short notice,” he joked before starting to sing happy birthday, swaying a little side to side, a wide grin on his face.
This morning when you woke up without any plans and knowing no surprises awaited you, you felt empty, but with Namjoon’s tenor wishing you repeatedly, your eyes glistened a little, the warmth in your chest overwhelming you.
Blowing out the candle, you wished that the warmth never went away, oddly ecstatic that somehow in thirty-three years of living you had been fortunate enough to always have at least one person who wanted to celebrate you despite your protests. Namjoon picked a twinkie from the plate and held it to your lips, and somehow the convenience store confection tasted sweeter than usual. Taking the piece from his hands, you returned the favour and he happily munched on the dessert before placing the plate on the coffee table.
The two of you settled on the couch, and between the sips of champagne, he told you about how much he cherished birthdays and never took them for granted. He always went all out on his own, renting large venues to treat his friends to absurd things like skiing trips and jumping castles.
He told you about how for Moon’s birthdays he always implemented the no “no” rule where he would do anything he asked, sharing stories about the time she had gotten him to take her to Disneyland when she was nine and puked from one too many churros, and how for her thirteenth the duo had embarked on a hike in Costa Rica finding hidden waterfalls and cataloguing bugs they found on the way.
“Birthdays with you sound magical,” you remarked, a little jealous that your dad never took you to a rainforest for your birthdays. You could just imagine the way Moon’s face probably lit up when going on her dream vacation.
“Birthdays are magical,” he replied, pouring the last of the alcohol into your two glasses, cheeks flushed from how tipsy he was. He handed you your glass, smiling at you wistfully. “It means you lived another year. It means that you’re here, alive, with me. And that’s worth celebrating.”
You felt the warmth from earlier invade you again, magnified by the bubbly wine in your veins and the way his hand was still holding the glass under yours, sending tingles up your arm. Before you could stop yourself, you leaned forward, your lips landing on his in a brief impulse that sparked till your toes. But it seemed that you weren’t the only one who wanted to do so. You had barely moved away when he was leaning forward, his free hand gently resting on your waist as his lips captured yours once again.
Never in a million years would you have imagined kissing Namjoon Kim on his couch after he forced you to celebrate your birthday, and yet with a flurried haste you were moving your joined hands to the table to deposit your glass, winding your arms around his neck. The glass fell on the table with a little tinkle, the champagne spilling over the surface, but Namjoon couldn’t care less, taking the opportunity to pull you closer, his tongue tasting your peachy lip gloss before delving in and enjoying the sweetness of the wine on your tongue, relishing the little moan you made, your tongue twisting with his.
It was hungry, the two of you wrestling with the feelings that were brewing for months, his hands roaming your sides, squeezing at the flesh, and your fingers tugging the hair at the nape of his neck, making him keen. It seemed that the moment would last forever, neither of you willing to part even to breathe. That is, until the song changed.
It's your birthday, so I know you want to ride out
Even if we only go to my house
Sip mo-eezy as we sit upon my couch
Feels good, but I know you want to cry out
The moment the R&B vocals filled the room, you couldn’t help bursting out in a laugh, cackling at the oddly specific lyrics your phone had decided to throw at you. Namjoon didn’t notice at first, his lips continuing to move from your mouth to your jaw to your neck, nipping at the skin. However, as your laughs got more hysterical, he finally tuned into the song playing, cringing before he joined your cackles, breathless with his forehead against yours.
“So Google really does listen in,” he deadpanned, his humour adding to your joy as you clung on to him, half in his lap before standing up to grab your phone from the table. As funny as the song was, you really didn’t want a soundtrack describing what Namjoon would do to you. A little voice in your head told you to not get your hopes up, that no matter how much you liked him, it was still just a kiss.
However as soon as you turned around, Namjoon put your fears to rest. Unlike how hesitant he had seemed earlier, he was now sitting with a confidence you hadn’t seen before, legs spread and a smirk lighting his face as he stared at you. His eyes roamed your body as he bit his lip, making you feel a little overheated.
“So it’s your birthday,” he commented casually, head tilted slightly, eyes intensely boring into yours. “Wanna ride it out?”
You knew he was teasing you by quoting the silly song but your body didn’t know better, your stomach aching with lust at his deep baritone. The Namjoon you knew was a goofy, clumsy dad, but this Namjoon was the notorious bassist of your youth, cocky and fearless as he sat up straighter, hands landing on your waist to pull you between his legs.
“I’ve read the tags on your blogs, y’know?” he teased, his hands running up and down your waist, the few inches they travelled leaving fire on your skin. “I remember one,” he mused, pulling you down till you straddled him, a knee on either side of his hips. “‘God I’d pay all the money to sit on those dimples’ isn’t that what you said?”
Your mouth flew open at his words. You never thought your horny 3 am thoughts would ever be recited back to you by the subject himself and you had no words, every witty retort dying on your tongue to leave you with a lame, “You weren’t supposed to read that.”
“And you weren’t supposed to make me fall for you,” he replied, earlier bravado falling away in favour of sincerity. He cupped your jaw, thumb running softly over your cheekbone as he smiled at you. “Can I kiss you?”
As soon as you whispered your consent he brought your face to his, lips reuniting to a taste he realised he could never get enough of. It was addicting how your hands gingerly clasped onto his shoulders, how you shivered when he traced his tongue over yours, and how you moaned softly when he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you.
It didn’t take long for him to get needier, for his hands to grab onto your ass over your dress and mould to your flesh, to move your hips against his in a rhythm that made him heady. He wanted you so much that he felt breathless, running out of time even though he knew he wasn’t. His actions made you breathless too, like with every touch he was leading you to the edge of a cliff, hands shaking in anticipation of what was to come, but your brain refused to turn off, to forget whose hands were touching you till you were pushing him away, your forehead against his.
“I’m sorry… I’m a bit out of practice,” you apologised in a whisper, but he just grinned, dissolving your insecurities with his words.
“Me too,” he giggled, kissing your lips, once, twice, three times, his hands clasping onto yours, fingers lacing together. “We can practise together if you want… or we can wait. Whatever you like, birthday girl.”
Somehow his hands in yours and the cheeky smile on his face comforted you. You had been imagining the rockstar, the person you watched grow up through your screen and go wild on stage, but the more you looked at him, the more you saw who he really was.
His flushed cheeks, the little constellation of freckles on his face and the one hidden below his lip, the way his eyes searched yours so eagerly. He wasn’t a rockstar, he was just Namjoon, the one who made stupid jokes and stashed snacks in every drawer. The one who got bullied by his daughter and complained to you about it. The one who was brave enough to open up to you about his life. You knew him, he was real, and, like him, you were falling too.
With his hands still in yours, you leaned forward, kissing him again, confident and undeterred, and he followed suit, deepening the kiss before he was holding onto your waist and spinning around. You barely registered lying on your back before he was upon you, his weight cushioning you deliciously into the couch, the soft fabric of his sweatpants caressing your inner thighs.
“Hi,” he whispered, adoration dripping from his pupils as he smiled, fingers stroking your hair and you couldn’t help leaning forward to capture his lips once again, legs tightening around his waist. You could hear the blood rushing through you, an ambient backdrop to the sounds of his lips moving down to your neck as his teeth nipped at the skin of your collarbone. It had been so long since you had touched someone, been worshipped by someone like Namjoon was determined to do so that you couldn’t help canting your hips against his, relishing the way his pants left nothing to the imagination, his rapidly hardening cock providing the friction you sought.
With all the bravery you could muster, you detangled your hand from under his to the side of your dress pulling the zipper down with a loud purr Namjoon felt shooting through him. With the dress loosened, it gave him room to roam your skin further, his lips soothing the heated skin of your chest as he pulled the straps down to reveal your nipples. Namjoon had seen many bodies in his life; on the screen, in strip clubs, writhing under him; but something about yours made him pause to drink it up. He could see the way your lips fell open, swollen and red, the way your chest rose with your heavy breaths, nipples perked in anticipation, and the way your eyes looked up at him, wide and inviting. And right below your chest, sprawled on your right rib, were the words he wrote so long ago now.
And the swings that can't look at the sky on their own, and the kids all grown up, and me who’s a little late
His mouth fell open as he tried to wrap his head around how perfect you were. He felt a familiar rush through him. One he hadn’t felt in so long that he was almost afraid he had outgrown it – the pure endorphins of a crush fulfilled. With a muttered curse, he buried his face back in your neck, almost desperate to inhale your scent once more. His hands planted themselves on your chest, squeezing the flesh, making you moan his name in a desperation that only fuelled him further, lips moving to encase a nipple between them to add to your ecstasy.
You whimpered when his teeth came to play, the blunt edges hardening them further, making you grasp his hair and arch your back. Leaving goosebumps in their wake, his hands moved down your body, wrapping around each of your thighs, pushing your dress to your waist, denting the flesh. He had missed the feel of soft skin under him for so long, much more so since you started featuring in his life and his dreams, but touching you was better than any wet dream. The melody of your mewls intensified when he switched to your other breast, his fingers dipping to the apex of your thighs to indulge in the way your panties stuck to you, so wet all for him.
You felt your legs shake out of their own accord as Namjoon moved down your body, still relentlessly tracing you over your ruined panties. You had forgotten intimacy after Ryan, always talking yourself out of potential new relationships, one-night stands never something that satiated you, but somehow Namjoon had sneaked in and weakened your defences. When his lips sought out your clit over the thin lace, you couldn’t help but thank the heavens that he had appeared in your life, pleasure coursing through you. With every flick of his tongue, you felt yourself getting closer to coming undone, muscles tightened in suspense of his next actions.
Impatient and desperate, Namjoon couldn’t wait any longer, pushing aside the fabric that guarded you from him to dip his finger in, your walls welcoming him with a pulse as if emitting a secret in morse code just for him. With fervour, he wrapped his lips around your clit, another finger joining the first, pumping in time with your gasps. Your grip on his hair tightened and he went faster, eager to see you fall apart.
There didn’t seem to be enough oxygen in the room, enough syllables in any language to describe how he made you feel in that moment. It was as if you could feel every drop of blood inside you rush through your body, haphazard and chaotic, brewing like a storm deep in your core, getting wilder and wilder. Your senses were hyper focused, each touch making you quake, each moan that Namjoon made between your thighs vibrating through you. It bordered on too much, building until there was no way to escape.
Silence.
That’s what it sounded like. As if you were thrown underwater, your whimpers sounded like distant noises from a different universe, muffled and overwhelming. You didn’t know when you started holding your breath but when his tongue flicked under your clit, and his fingers hooked into that one spot, you finally remembered to breathe, your entire body relaxing to a point where you shook so violently that he had no choice but to look up at the euphoria painted on your features.
Eyes closed tight, all you saw were stars as his fingers rode you through your high, slowing to a pace you could relish. Soon, his lips were on yours, swallowing your soft moans, and your hands were around his shoulders holding him close.
“Okay?” he asked between kisses, heart skipping a beat at the way you beamed at him, hair matted to your sweaty forehead. Gathering your senses, you pushed him away, sitting up and pulling his shirt off, wanting his skin on yours.
He welcomed you with open arms, when you discarded your dress next to his shirt and climbed on his lap, once again uniting your lips. It was as if he couldn’t get enough, wanting his lips to be thoroughly chapped if it meant he could never stop kissing you.
“More,” you whispered, against his lips, hands roaming his strong chest and down to his abs, the muscle jumping under your fingertips.
“More?” he asked, dazed.
“More,” you replied once again, fingers trailing the little hairs under his belly button before slipping under the waistband into his underwear. His skin was soft, velvet under your touch, and he was so hard, tip messy as you played with him. He twitched in your hold, thighs flexing under you and his hands on your thighs gripping tighter, but you didn’t stop, stroking him slowly till he was keening, scrambling to push you off and get a condom.
“Condoms in the studio? How convenient,” you teased, enjoying the way Namjoon’s already flushed skin turned a deeper shade of red. However, his expression didn’t betray his flustered state as he confidently walked back to the couch, dropping his sweatpants and boxers on the way.
He stood like an adonis in front of you, sculpted and hard, his cock at eye level as he put on the condom, slowly teasing you before sitting next to you, arms sprawled on the cushions next to him.
Resisting him was futile, and your body moved on autopilot, underwear coming off without hesitance before you straddled him once again, resting your wet thighs against his. You traced his biceps, running your fingers up his shoulders to find him staring up at you. You lost yourself in his eyes, tracing the pattern of his irises, how the darkness melted into a warm chocolate.
Bringing his hands to your waist, he mirrored your movements, fingertips lightly grazing your sides. He knew you were joking, but something about your teasing made him feel guilty, made him want to dispel your worries, even if they didn’t exist. Capturing your lips, he wrapped his arms around you, resting his forehead against yours before speaking.
“Haven’t needed them for two years,” he murmured with a kiss, chuckling at the disbelief so easily painted on your face. “Told you I was out of practice.”
“You are definitely not out of practice.”
You could still feel the buzz in your body, the way he reduced you to nothing, just a mess blabbering his name. If this was him out of practice, you were almost afraid of knowing what he was like when he was more comfortable. You hoped you would find out. Cupping his face, you kissed him again before guiding his length into you, sinking down in one swoop, the stretch making you keen, thighs shivering.
“Fuck,” he moaned, his breath fanning your jaw as he tried to calm the urge to buck his hips into you. “You’re not either.”
You set a gentle pace, wanting to feel him for as long as possible, your breaths mingling together as you clung on to each other. But with one kiss, patience ran out. Tongues wrestling with each other, Namjoon lifted you up only to move you over his cock faster, jostling you into compliance as his hips thrust into you in time with his arms. Everytime he sunk into you, your nails dug into his shoulders, scratching the skin deliciously, making him go faster and faster.
It was too much.
It was not enough.
As he went faster and his pace threatened to chase your sanity away, you brought your fingers to your clit, rubbing the bundle of nerves faster and faster, matching the way he grunted into your mouth, untethered, unhinged. It felt like an eternity, dangling so close to the edge that you could feel your walls closing in on him, his cock struggling to keep up with the earlier smooth movements.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, bringing your mouth back to his to lap at your lips. He thought he was so desperate because he missed sex, but nothing he had experienced came close to the way he felt lost in your warmth, unbelievably hard, forgetting the way his calves were cramping. He was so close, he could feel his eye twitching, his lip quivering with each of his moans. And then you came.
Your pussy clenched around him, pulsing, massaging him to an orgasm that made him float into the air, made him lose all sense of time, made him lose all feeling except for the way your arousal gushed into his lap, covering him, marking him as yours. And he wanted to be yours so bad. With a strangled whimper of your name, he held you still, rubbing his hands over your back, partly to sooth you and partly to ground himself, to remind him that you were real and not just one of his daydreams.
He lifted your head from where it was buried in his shoulder, lips chasing yours, tongue gently caressing, head heady with a satiated glow he felt emanating from his chest to the tips of his toes.
“Wow,” you breathed, bodies still joined together, hands playing with his hair, eyes drinking in the endeared look on his face. He didn’t reply, only smiled brightly before meeting your lips once again, getting you lost in his bliss.
You sat there kissing for a while before Namjoon’s phone rang, eliciting a groan from the man who refused to let you go. When the jingle persisted, he held you at the waist leaning forward to pick up his phone to see his daughter’s face lighting up the screen. Namjoon felt bad about sending his child to voicemail, but he had just gotten a taste of you. He didn’t want it to end, not yet.
“Sorry, Moon,” he whispered before pressing the red button to silence the call and kissing you again. You giggled on his lips at his antics, but he silenced you with his tongue, deepening the kiss with a moan that signalled the beginning of a second round. However, before you could lose yourself in him again, you heard a loud voice.
“Daaaaaaaaaaad! Daaaaaaaaaad!” Moon’s whine was clear through the static of the line, Namjoon’s eyes widening in shock before he stared at the phone. He was so sure he silenced the call! With an apologetic glance at you, he picked up his phone, clearing his throat before speaking, while you tried to control the laughter bubbling in your chest.
“Hi Moonie,” he answered, pouting at you exaggeratedly as you moved off his lap to grab your underwear. You had barely put it on before he was pulling you back towards him, an arm locked around your waist, chin propped on your shoulder as he continued the conversation. “Yes I know… I’ll get it. No, I won't forget! When have I ever forgotten anything?” he exclaimed, rolling his eyes.
The whole exchange would be adorable if it wasn’t for the way his hands moved from your waist to your chest, fingers playing with your nipple almost absent-mindedly. When he hung up, he turned towards you, kissing you once again.
“Wanna come over for pizza night?” he asked, pecking your cheek, enjoying the way your lips rose into a smirk before blooming into a grin. He knew it was too early, but he wanted to make you smile like that every day, as long as you’d let him. When the two of you dressed, he pulled you into a hug, letting his arms encompass you before whispering what he wanted the most, “Stay over after?”
Your heart fluttered in its space, growing wings and vying to get out, effervescent and giddy. Going up on your tiptoes, you captured his lips once more, softly, hugging him tighter.
“I’d like that very much.”
—-------
The week after you spent the night with Namjoon didn’t turn out to be the blissful week you thought it would be. With his case with Generation Swine coming to an end, there were a lot of meetings and paperwork. With their lawyers adamant about copyrights, you spent the majority of your time pouring over historical cases with your paralegal. Exhausting every resource, there only seemed to be one solution that you could come up with, a compromise that left you frustrated because you wanted to win.
Your communication with Namjoon was mainly relegated to succinct text messages that made you feel a little insecure about the evening you had spent with him – not to mention that his case made you feel a little guilty about building that kind of relationship with a client. However, your solace was to find a solution and put the situation to bed. Namjoon was the first man after Ryan who had made you feel safe enough to even think about another relationship and you didn’t want your constant excuse of work to dwindle the flame like so many others in the past.
Wine glass in hand, you sat on your living room couch, trying to write the final agreement and even though you knew that Namjoon had fully agreed to whatever you would come up with, you couldn’t help wanting his opinion one last time. A frustrated sigh left your lips as you reread the terms Generation Swine’s lawyers had put forward and with a large gulp of the wine, you dialled Namjoon.
“Hi,” he answered, his deep drawl making you remember how he had whispered the same word before he ruined you. Gulping, you tried to clear your head with another sip of your drink.
“Okay I have a question,” you said, scrolling through the document, ready to dive into the proposed agreement before he interrupted you.
“Me too. What are you wearing?” His tone was cheeky, an audible smile making you giggle, trying not to get sidetracked by him like you always did. There was a reason your usual twenty minute client meetings went on for hours.
“What am I wearing? Really?”
“Mhm. Missed you this week,” he replied with a raspy voice that made you squeeze your thighs together, wanting to abandon your earlier plan, but you were too close to the finish line, too close to genuinely give him your time without the added weight of dating a client.
“Namjoon Kim! I’m trying to work here!” you chastised, despite the growing need in the pit of your stomach.
“Yeah, so work with me!” he exclaimed, chuckling. “Is it that cute lace thing you were wearing that day?”
“Stop,” you whined, covering your flushed face even though you knew he couldn’t see you as he cackled through the phone. However, you did note to wear similar lingerie the next time you saw him, smiling to yourself.
“Sorry, sorry! What do you need darling?” Deciding to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat at the nickname, you put him on speaker, leaning forward to read the screen and dictating the points to him.
Essentially, the label and their lawyers had decided not to sue Namjoon if he paid the minimal contract breaking fee and gave them the rights to the songs he had already sent them demos for, four in total. You had countered that with the demand that the song may never be used by Generation Swine and that they may be used by other artists of the label if they gave Namjoon full credits, including in the title and changed none of the original lyrics.
Initially, you had been surprised that they had easily agreed. You had thought they would fight you more on it, but they were happy to agree and sign, and despite your reservations, you were obligated to provide this information to Namjoon.
“That sounds… great actually,” he said after a pause. “My name in the title too? That’s kinda crazy they agreed to it.”
“Perhaps your name carries more weight than you thought,” you commented, eyes still glued to the screen, lip between your teeth.
“I mean especially if we do a comeback,” he replied, a little smug and you couldn’t help but knock him down a notch, just to tease him.
“Last I heard, no one wants a comeback,” you grinned.
“Mark my words, Dark and Wild will be back. I’m Namjoon Kim after all, don’t you trust the words of the leader?” he volleyed back, his laugh carrying through the static making you mirror it.
“I’m sure Hoseok would love to hear that you're the leader,” you teased, only to get a scoff in return.
“Hobi knows I’m the leader,” he gloated.
“All hail President Kim,” you acquiesced through a giggle.
“That’s right,” he said, pleased and you could just imagine him puffing up his chest. “Now that that’s out of the way… What are you wearing?”
“I am not sexting you, Namjoon!” you protested, laughing at his one track mind and crossing your legs.
“Okay fine. What about… a date? When are you free?” he asked and you couldn’t help the way a blush grew on your cheeks, a giddiness you hadn’t experienced in too long bubbling inside you.
“As soon as you sign this agreement,” you answered, emailing him a copy of the document as you took him off speaker and leaned back on your couch. “So after the final meeting with the label tomorrow?”
“Well lucky for you, I can’t wait to see you,” he said, his sincerity easily flowing through the line and melting your heart in your chest.
—-----
Namjoon was livid. Pacing around his living room, he scrolled through his twitter to find himself trending. Thousands of people were talking about a Dark and Wild comeback, every single person referring to one video in particular. A blank screen with his voice echoing through: ”Mark my words, Dark and Wild will be back. I’m Namjoon Kim after all, don’t you trust the words of the leader?”
There was only one explanation for why this was suddenly going viral. There was only one person who had access to this. His heart plummeted to his stomach at the thought. He had trusted you. Trusted you with his secrets, trusted you with his authentic self. But you were just like everyone else, weren’t you? Just a clout chaser that went to the press at the first opportunity. He had to commend you. You played a long con, most of the women he had been involved with leaked pictures of him the moment he let them into his house, but you had been cunning, waiting till he had handed you his heart on a platter to shatter it mercilessly.
He could feel his hair stand at the thought of what else you might share of his life. Would you be like the first woman he had dated after Seo? The one who went on television with an exclusive interview talking about his dick. The interview his daughter’s classmates had bullied her with. He felt panicked as he called you. Would you go for an interview too? Expose how he had introduced his wife to a drug that took her life? Expose how much a failure he was and destroy the carefully curated narrative his PR team presented to the world?
His feet moved faster as if they were trying to keep up with his heart, each ring distracting him further, making him bump into the coffee table, spilling his morning coffee on the spotless surface. He watched the brown liquid cover the glass expanse before trickling onto the marble one drop at a time, mimicking the sweat that gathered on his forehead.
When you picked up, his body responded like usual, warming at the sleepy rasp, the one he remembered from a few weeks ago when you had woken up with your limbs wrapped around him, the sunlight brightening your smile. Stupid. He was so stupid!
“Why would you do this? I trusted you! I trusted you with my plans! My life! How the fuck could you do this to me?” he yelled, his frustration manifesting in a lump in his throat, choking his words, making them spill out strained and distorted. He didn’t let you speak, interrupting your feigned confusion. He didn’t have time to be nice. He had to figure out how to fix this. He needed to check on the guys. He needed to check on Moon. This was too much.
So he spoke even faster, let his bitter betrayal flavour his words with the worst expletives he could muster and ending the call with a simple threat, “Fuck you! Fuck you for doing this to me. I never wanna fucking see you again. I hope that degree is good enough because I’m gonna sue you out of every fucking penny you have. Mark my words, Y/N.”
He was panting by the time he hung up, lungs aching as they expanded, tears flowing as he realised just how much it hurt. His grip on his phone tightened and before he knew it he was throwing it across the room, shattering it against the wall with a frustrated scream.
“Dad?”
His daughter’s surprised voice pulled him out of his head, freezing him where he was still pacing, the adrenaline from earlier vanishing into exhaustion. He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face and mustering a smile before turning around, trying immensely hard to put up a brave front. But he had forgotten how precocious his daughter was, how she saw through him as she held his hand and settled him on the couch.
She brought him a bottle of water, waiting for him to drink before sitting next to him, posture impeccable and jaw tightened in a scowl. He saw himself in her at that moment, the expression one he would give his band members when they strayed out of line. Now he knew why they listened, even on a sixteen year old the look was intimidating.
“Dad, was that you talking to Y/N?” she asked, arms crossed across her chest and for a moment Namjoon felt sheepish, guilty that she had heard the ugly words he had spoken. Yet that guilt did not extend to you. He knew that if he didn’t threaten you, the things you might say to the press would have a lasting impression on his daughter.
She knew the circumstances of her mother’s death, but she never knew how complicit he had been. She always looked up to him as a role model, and he didn’t think his heart could ever take it if that illusion shattered. But he got a glimpse of that when he quietly affirmed her suspicion and watched her face fall, the scowl replaced with a sadness he wished he could erase.
“I’m really disappointed in you, dad,” she sighed, shaking her head and her words felt like a sword piercing through Namjoon’s chest. He had worked so hard to make sure she never felt that way. He knew she deserved a much better father than him, and he had tried so hard to ensure that; he had worked jobs he hated, he had read hundreds of parenting books, and he had gone to therapy. Yet the words seemed to come so easily to her, permeating the air with a tension that stiffened Namjoon’s shoulders and put him on the defensive.
“Have you seen the internet? She betrayed us, Moonie,” he retorted, voice a little colder than he wanted, but he couldn’t help it, fire stoked once again.
“Did she tell you it was her?” she replied with an eye roll, so naive.
“There could have been no one else. It was a private conversation between us.”
“But did you hear her out? All I could hear was you yelling,” she protested and Namjoon couldn’t help but shake his head. Not only had you fucked with his head, but you had also somehow put his daughter under your spell as well, especially when she continued, “You were mean. You threatened her!”
“It was to protect us. We can’t have random people think they can get away with stuff like this,” he tried to explain, watching his daughter get agitated and looking like a kid once again with her pigtails bouncing. She kept telling him he was wrong despite his efforts to remain calm and expound on his stance.
“You like her! She’s a lawyer. Why would she do this?” she argued and Namjoon couldn’t stop himself from laughing at how innocent his daughter was. He hoped she remained this optimistic forever, that she didn’t have to go through the duplicity he had experienced in his life. The more he tried to explain to her that that’s what people were like sometimes, that it was hard to trust anyone other than family, the more agitated he got at her denial.
Any other time, he would be proud of her for sticking to her stance and arguing through her thoughts, but Namjoon was exhausted. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that the reason he had found out this audio was leaked was not because of the news, but because his PR firm had called him about it. They had traced the origin to a dummy Twitter account which had posted and tagged it multiple times. They had also traced the IP address to where he knew your apartment was. There was no room for doubt when everything was crystal clear.
And so for the first time, he snapped at his daughter.
“Enough! I don’t want to hear it. I’m the parent, not you. Go to your room.”
He always hated parents that dangled their authority over their children. His parents were like that and although he was past it now, he remembered resenting them for it when he was younger. He resented their inability to talk things through, to listen to his point of view. It had taken him years to get over that feeling, but he never felt true empathy for them until this moment, his heart breaking as he watched his daughter angrily stomp towards her room.
Taking a deep breath, he ran his hands over his face in defeat. With the anger fading, came the heartbreak. He really had thought you were special, someone who somehow understood him. A chance encounter that led to him shedding the walls he had reinforced in the past ten years. He was upset about the betrayal, but his fear was more pressing. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to trust anyone again and that thought chilled him to the core. Years of therapy had taught him out of his usual defence mechanisms, to replace the toxicity with healthy coping, yet his chest felt tight as he felt the intense need to wallow.
An arm over his eyes, he tried not to notice how his skin turned moist and instead focused on what he did when he felt this way. Standing up, he grabbed his keys and headed to his studio.
—-------
You were still in bed, hand clutching your phone as Namjoon’s words rang in your head. Scrolling through the news you could see why he was seething. If you were him, you would’ve jumped to the same conclusion, but you knew it wasn’t you that leaked the video. Being hacked was out of the question, you had obscenely long passwords and two factor authentication on everything – working with high powered clients tended to seep into paranoia. Additionally, it wasn’t like you were recording the conversation in the first place. It was as if someone was in the room with you, taking notes of your conversation. Namjoon had even mentioned something about being sure it came from your address.
And then it dawned on you.
Phone clutched in your hand, you headed to your spare room, knocking furiously till a yawning Hera appeared. Her long hair stuck out at weird angles, pajamas frumpled and the impression of a pillow still on her face. She seemed like she was sleeping so soundly and it only made the anger licking at your veins ignite further.
Holding up your phone, you played the video, seething. “Did you leak this?”
“Ugh, this is what you woke me up for? Yeah. Now, let me go to bed,” she yawned, moving to close the door before you stopped her.
You expected her to deny it, to make an excuse but her blatant admittance to invading your privacy had you spiralling. You had put up with a lot with her. You had excused her shitty decisions, you had excused her inability to ever pay for anything, but this was too much.
“This was a private conversation, Hera,” you gritted, getting angrier as she just shrugged and rolled her eyes.
“Celebrities aren’t private,” she replied nonchalantly. “Think of it like I was a paparazzi.”
“But that’s the thing. You’re not. This was a private conversation and you recorded it. Do you not understand how fucked up that is?”
“Oh my god! Give me a break! I didn’t even release the juicy stuff. I could’ve told the world you were dating that guy but I didn’t because I’m your friend.”
You couldn’t help but sputter at her rationalisation. It was absurd how she thought it was okay to do this. You knew her morals weren’t always aligned with yours, but you never realised how far they had truly skewed. How had you missed this in all these years? How had you not realised how one sided this relationship had become? Why did you keep putting up with her when she never showed you an ounce of respect?
“Get out,” you said, trying to hold back your vexation.
“What? You’re kicking me out now?” she laughed as if it was the most unbelievable thing in the world.
“I said get out. I want you out of here by tonight.”
“Come on! I’m sorry Y/N. Is that what you want to hear?” she pouted, turning her voice higher to be cuter. Perhaps it would have worked in the past. Maybe it had, for her to pull it out of her arsenal, but she had gone too far. Much too far. When you repeated your words once again, she seemed angry, spitting at you how she knew you were trying to get Ryan back and she needed to always record you to make sure she could trust you. It was absurd and you didn’t want to expend any more energy on her. You were done.
You left her screaming at you, grabbing your keys and sending her one last warning before slamming the door and going to your office.
“You take your stuff and you get out. If I find anything missing or if you’re still here when I get back, I’m calling the police.”
—-------
Despite the odd look security gave your outfit as you walked into your building on a Sunday morning, you were too wired up to care. It wasn’t unusual for you to be one track minded when it came to something. You often got borderline obsessed, and today you had only one thing on your mind – get that video off the internet. Settling in your office, you scanned your shelves for books on defamation and invasion of privacy. It would make a flimsy case, Namjoon said his name on the recording after all, but if you could find a precedent, you could perhaps develop a useful argument.
When your shelves did not give you the answers you were looking for, you made your way across the empty floor to the in-house library, picking up anything of use. Before long, you were sitting at your desk, piles of books and the internet calming your nerves. However, the more you read, the more the pit in your stomach grew. It felt fruitless, looking for a needle in a vast ocean.
You needed this win to clear your name, but more importantly, you needed it to help Namjoon. It had been so long since anyone made you feel safe, made you feel as if you were worthy of their vulnerability and your heart ached as you imagined how he must have felt seeing your private conversation in the headlines. Head pounding, you tugged at your hair in frustration, reading the same line over and over till the words held no meaning at all.
You opened your drawer, rummaging for some painkillers till your hand closed around the bottle. Pulling it out, your eyes landed on the chocolate bars Namjoon had insisted on you stashing in your office. “In case you ever have a bad day!” he had exclaimed when he handed you a bunch of his favourites. The memory seemed bitter now, but you still picked up a bar, ripping it open and letting the sweet taste distract you with its endorphins.
Maybe it was pathetic crying in your rapidly darkening office with chocolate smeared on your face but everything felt overwhelming all of a sudden. If you had only lost Namjoon perhaps you would have been able to hold it together. You had dealt with breakups, not sure if the short lived stint with the celebrity even counted as a breakup. But it was the loss of Hera that had you sniffling, curled up on your chair. She wasn’t the greatest of friends but she was your best friend, had been for years and you would do anything to protect her. It pained you that she didn’t even think of extending you the same courtesy, that for her you had somehow gone from a confidant to an untrustworthy roommate.
Despite your efforts, she seemed to always look for the worst in you. As you ruminated over the decade-long friendship, more instances became obvious. It was as if every toxic red flag had been ignored by you. Were you really that desperate for kinship that you let every time she put you down slide by?
They weren’t big things, you thought. A slight here, a ruthless comment there before she was telling you to chill out and hugging you. You always thought that her comments were innocent, that they were just a part of her love language. She liked to joke around, poke fun at your outfits, your hobbies, but the more you thought about it, the harder it was for you to remember moments when she had been kind, when she had stood up for you.
Perhaps it was your fault for forgiving her time and time again, for putting up with her behaviour. Maybe this whole leak debacle wouldn’t have happened in the first place if you had called her out on her bullshit earlier. Maybe you should’ve reconsidered your friendship when she never offered to pay rent, or when she started dating your cheating, hateful ex. Was she really at fault if you had never set the boundaries in the first place?
Sighing, you set your head on the table. Hoping to will away the headache, you closed your eyes.
It seemed merely minutes had passed when your phone chimed, startling you awake but the time on the screen alarmed you. It was just past 1am. Somehow you had spent the majority of your day sleeping at your desk. Your back ached from the angle, but the pain was forgotten when your phone chimed once again. Wiping your eyes you took a closer look at your screen.
Namjoon - Missed calls (5)
Namjoon: Is Moon with you?
Namjoon: Please call me back
Namjoon: Please
Namjoon: I’m really sorry but please I can’t find Moon
Panic surged through you at his words, your fingers flying on the screen as you called him back. The phone rang twice before Namjoon’s ragged voice was bombarding you with questions, “Where are you? Is Moon with you? Has she contacted you?”
“No, but we can find her. Namjoon, listen, calm down. We’ll find her.” You tried to comfort him but it seemed that he was spiralling, muttering about being a bad father. It was a drastic contrast to his earlier fire, alarm dousing his tone in helplessness. He went on to tell you that her phone was at home, that he hadn’t seen her for hours, and the police had told him they’d make the case a priority.
“What if she was kidnapped? What if people think that I’m famous again and they can put her for ransom?” he rambled, clearly distressed. Trying to distract him from his dark thoughts, you asked him about all the places she could be and when he informed you that everyone was looking at her usual spots, you decided to search up other spots in the city where she could be, looking up parks and concert venues. With assurance that you will look for her, you hung up the phone, ran to your car and started your search of the city.
1 am on a Monday doesn’t lead to many crowds so it was easy to go through the top spots that you had listed. You even rented a bike and biked up and down the Han river park but other than a few drunks, you found no trace of her. Back in your car, you tried to run through every conversation with her, there had been so few, and she hadn’t mentioned anything. Giving up, you hoped that they had found her and forgotten to tell you. You were an insignificant part of their lives anyway.
Calling Namjoon didn’t work, his phone just rang through each time. You knew you should just go home and let him deal with it, he had his best friends and the police on his side, he didn’t need you, someone he didn’t even trust anymore, to tag along. But the unrest in your chest wouldn’t let you turn your car around. Instead, you drove to his apartment as if on instinct. If he wanted you out, he would tell you, he clearly had no problem making his opinions known when he wanted to.
When you knocked on his door, you were met by a Namjoon you hadn’t seen before. Eyes red, hair a mess, he let you in before starting his pacing again, rambling about how he was a terrible father, interrupting you angrily when you tried to tell him otherwise.
“I told her to go to her room! Do you know how fucked up that is?” he yelled, confusing you further.
“Namjoon… a lot of kids get sent to their room. That’s not a bad thing,” you cautioned, putting a hand on his shoulder.
“Not Moon. She was… so disappointed in me. I’m not supposed to be like those other parents! What if… what if that’s the last thing I say to her?” His lip quivered as he spoke, facade crumbling as he fell to his knees, taking you with him. For all the vitriol he had spewed that morning, it seemed that Namjoon just wanted you close, clinging on to you in his panic. You couldn’t help but hold him close, even if it was temporary, wishing to provide him with comfort as long as he allowed.
It was in that position that Moon found the two of you when she returned, immediately running to her father.
“Dad? What’s wrong?” she asked, kneeling next to you as Namjoon stared at her before pulling her into a bone-crushing bone crushing hug.
“Where were you? I was so worried!” he scolded, unable to stop the huge relieved grin on his face. He patted her hair as if to feel if she was real and you couldn’t help but be endeared by the pure display as they bickered, It was heartwarming to see Moon trying to explain to her worried father that she had merely forgotten her phone at home and gone to a concert with friends.
“You could’ve messaged from someone’s phone or left a note!” Namjoon argued, still hugging her.
“I left a note on the fridge!” she replied as Namjoon sheepishly made excuses as to how he had been too worried to even check the kitchen fridge.
The two were in their own bubble and it made you a little awkward to be watching such an intimate family moment when before the disaster it was made clear that you were no longer welcomed in Namjoon’s life. With a heavy heart, you stood up taking your leave despite Moon’s insistence for you to stay the rest of the night.
As you were leaving, Jungkook and Yoongi came by, both equally relieved to find their niece safe and sound. When the elevator doors closed in front of you, you decided that it was better to have gotten a glimpse into the lives of people you admired than to have never had that time with them at all. It still hurt to have Namjoon distrust you so easily, even if rationally it made sense as to why he did. You were only a fleeting moment and that was okay.
You were grateful for the time you spent with him.
—-------
It had been a week since he berated and then asked you for a favour, and Namjoon didn’t think he could ever feel so empty again. He stared at the glass of whiskey in front of him, trying to figure out if it was even a good idea to call you. Would you hear him out, let him apologise or would you just brush him off?
You hadn’t apologised for the leak and even if he did overreact in the moment, he knew that it was unfair of you to do that. But after how quick you had jumped in to help him search for Moon and how none of his other secrets came into the limelight, his gut told him that maybe he had been wrong. Maybe you had gotten hacked, or he had gotten hacked. Maybe there was an explanation that didn’t lead to him losing you from his life. But then again, did he even deserve to invite you back in when he had so ruthlessly shoved you out. Damn, he even threatened to sue you!
“Joon hyung! I’m trying to tell you all something!” Jungkook whined, the addition of the term of respect alluding to Namjoon that he had been calling his name for a while. The guys had dropped the honorifics once they had disbanded, an effort to see each other on equal footing as friends, but the habit was especially hard to drop for the youngest. Namjoon chuckled at his friend with a nod as the rest of the band grumped at Jungkook to continue.
“So… the leak was actually good huh?” he commented, large eyes scanning the faces of the six men around him eagerly. For someone who was dead set against a comeback, it seemed that the sudden downpour of support from old and new fans alike had swayed Jungkook.
Jungkook was barely even a teenager when Dark and Wild launched, so it was no surprise that Shadows held a very big spot in his heart, multiple tattoos alluding to the fact. Namjoon remembered when a doe-eyed Jungkook had excitedly shown him his first fan letter, one that was still framed in his living room.
It was endearing to see him this excited about returning, but for all his plans, Namjoon felt guilty that the thing that convinced the members to pursue a comeback was not his and your hard work but a mistake. He felt uneasy, a clawing feeling in his chest making him feel as if he had forgotten something behind.
He knew it was you.
Somehow in the months of planning, you had become intertwined with his vision of a comeback. When he imagined picking songs for the album, he thought of your input. He imagined your name in the end notes of the cover. He imagined you in the studio during practice and in the wings at the first concert.
It wasn’t a comeback if you weren’t there to enjoy it with him. Even if you never wanted to talk to him again, he wanted to experience everything because you had so easily given him access to your time and your intelligence. Perhaps he should’ve never crossed that line. Perhaps he should’ve remained professional and not let his lonely heart fiddle with his brain.
“So wait… we all want to actually do this?” Jimin asked, the men continuing their discussion, oblivious to how Namjoon had once again reverted into his head. Everyone nodded along, except Seokjin who sat with a frown on his face.
“I don’t know… Go back to the limelight? Do you think we’re ready for that again?” he asked tentatively, his lower lip between his teeth. “It was a lot of pressure on all of us, all of our partners too.”
“We’re older now. We know our limits better now. We know ourselves better now,” Hoseok consoled quietly, slurring a little and sipping his drink, his face already flaring red from the alcohol. Seokjin laughed at the juxtaposition of Hoseok’s serious tone and sleepy eyes.
“Okay. If you can beat me at rock, paper, scissors, I’m in,” he joked holding up a fist as Hoseok squared up, much to the annoyance of the rest of the band.
“Why do we always have to do rock, paper, scissors for everything?” Taehyung bemoaned, leaning back on the couch staring at the ceiling with a huff as Jungkook coached Hoseok through whispers.
“Because democracy,” Seokjin grinned, chanting 'rock, paper, scissors’ before leaving his fist as is to signal rock just a few seconds after Hoseok showed his hand, paper.
“I won!” Hoseok gleed excitedly before stopping short and staring at his friends. “I won… We’re doing a comeback?”
“We’re doing a comeback,” Seokjin laughed, trying not to hint that he had agreed before the game even started, even when Yoongi smiled knowingly at him. “Good job, Joonie.”
Namjoon couldn’t help getting a little flustered at the sudden praise from his bandmate, his heart beating faster. He had waited so long for this, that it seemed surreal that it was happening. Standing up, he raised his glass to the middle, proposing a toast.
“Dark and Wild,” he cheered, the men echoing him as seven glasses clinked together.
Fuck, they were really doing a comeback, weren’t they?
—-------
When you had left Namjoon’s apartment two weeks ago, you were sure that you would never return. There was no reason to climb the gilded elevator to the cosy home, especially with the radio silence that had continued between the two of you. You were sure he still thought you were responsible for the leak and you should’ve been mad that he never tried to hear you out, but your empathy wouldn’t let you. It made sense with how guarded he was to assume the worst, and you would be lying if you said you didn’t hope that he would call you and make things right.
Waiting for the elevator, it wasn’t Namjoon that invited you back, but Moon. She had messaged you requesting your presence at her birthday and after Namjoon had explained how he tried to make each of her birthdays magical, there was no way you could refuse. You knew it would be awkward, stilted as you tried to go through a group of Namjoon’s friends and family, but you would hate it if you were the one who took away the magic of birthdays from a girl that always believed in them.
You watched the buttons light up as the elevator ascended, a set of drumsticks gift wrapped in your hands. Your nerves flared the closer you got to the penthouse and you laughed at how ridiculous you were being. Namjoon wasn’t even an ex, he was just a beginning that never led anywhere. If anything you should’ve been grateful that it never led to more. It would have broken you if it had. But you were strong, ready to impart your birthday greeting with a brave face and leave after ten minutes.
It was only ten minutes. You could do it.
However, when the doors opened to the apartment, you didn’t see the crowd you had been anticipating. There were no balloons in the living room, no music, no lights. Only Namjoon, seated at a table in the middle of the living room.
The couches and coffee table that usually occupied the space were absent. Instead there was a table with a white cloth draped over it and two chairs. A large dish of pasta sat on the surface, along with a basket of bread, place settings for two, and a bottle of wine chilling in a bucket. Candles on the table gave the room a soft glow, your heart stuttering as Namjoon walked over, biting his lip sheepishly and fiddling with his fingers.
“Hi,” he said, flushing as you looked up at him. Before you could answer, he was apologising. “I’m really, really sorry for being an idiot. I should have never blown up at you like that. That was fucked up and I’m really sorry.”
“Where’s Moon?” you asked, ignoring his apology, just to see him squirm a little more.
“Um… her birthday wish was for us to make up… So she’s at a sleepover with her friends.”
“Well… I got her a present,” you stated awkwardly.
“Oh! I can take it. Thank you,” Namjoon said, taking the present and placing it on the table before clearing his throat. “I’m serious. I’m really sorry, Y/N. I don’t care if you leaked the clip, I’m sure you had a plan and I was an idiot for not lis–.”
“I didn’t leak anything,” you cut him off quietly, watching how his eyes widened in response, a soft “what” escaping his lips. “I didn’t leak it. My roommate recorded us without me knowing. Well, ex roommate.”
“Fuck,” Namjoon breathed before laughing bitterly in disbelief. “I really am an asshole. Wow.”
“I get why you did that though. You had to protect yourself and Moon,” you defended his actions, but he didn’t let you, apologising once more before offering you a seat. When the two of you were settled, he told you about his past, about how other partners had scarred him, how he had somehow been hardwired into accepting the worst in people, and for the first time, you let him in too, sharing your fight with Hera.
“I’m a lawyer, Namjoon. I signed an NDA,” you replied, a finger tracing the wine glass in front of you. Namjoon’s sudden laugh startled you, your eyes meeting his as you watched him cover his mouth.
“Sorry but that’s what Moon said too,” he replied, the tension in the air melting at the comment and a smile lifting your lips.
“Smart daughter you got there,” you complimented, raising your glass. He clinked his own against it before taking a sip.
“That I do,” he easily agreed.
“Tell her that her birthday wish came true.”
“Wait really?” he asked with a grin he couldn’t control. “We made up?”
“If you still want to be friends, I’m okay with that. I’d like to be your friend, Namjoon,” you replied, confused as his smile dropped suddenly, his eyes leaving yours to his fingers that traced meaningless patterns against the tablecloth.
“Yeah, friends. I’d love to be your friend. Pasta?” he asked, holding up the bowl overflowing with aglio ollio, a stiff smile plastered on his face. You helped yourself to the food, commenting on the bright flavour as he admitted that he had learnt how to perfect the dish as it was Moon’s favourite, and basically the only thing that he could cook well. The conversation flowed stonely, awkward and even with the conclusion that you were friends, it felt stifled, like the two of you were playing a part in a play, small talk seeming scripted and wooden.
When the dinner came to an end, he protested you clearing the table but you stubbornly carried the plates to the kitchen, starting to wash them as Namjoon tried to stop you. He gave up halfway, content to watch you clean, your earlier words echoing in his head. I’d like to be your friend, Namjoon.
He didn’t want to be your friend though. He thought he did. He thought that he would be happy just to have you in his life at a safe distance, but the moment those words had left your lips it was like his stomach fell to the floor. He didn’t want to give you up. He missed you, missed that he had just indulged in you once, woke up next to you once before he had fucked it all up. And before he knew it, those words were escaping him.
“I don’t want to be friends.”
His words rang through you, the last plate you were rinsing slipping slightly from your fingers. You knew it would come to that eventually, that he would realise that it was almost pointless to be your friend. You had hoped it wouldn’t have happened this soon though. With a practised smile, you placed the plate onto the drying rack, wiping your hands on the dish towel stowed next to the sink, ready to take your leave.
“Oh… okay. Thanks for dinner then.”
But before you could move he was coming closer, a hand raised tentatively as he stared at your face, eyes roaming your features and lip tucked beneath his teeth.
“Don’t leave. I… I just… I don’t want to be friends.”
Your eyes met his as the meaning of the words registered slowly, hope blooming in your chest. It lit beneath your skin, coating you like honey, warm and sweet. But you still needed the assurance, “Then what do you want?”
“More,” he whispered, impossibly close now, the air between you sparking, nothing like the insulated tension from earlier. It was as if you could see it in front of it, golden glitter permeating in your vision, softly dispersing as he moved his hand till it was resting on your cheek, his thumb stroking the sparks into a fire.
When he leaned in, he moved slowly, the dark brown of his irises melting into his pupils as they searched yours for any hesitation. And then his lips moved, stealing your attention with their murmurs, “So much more.”
You lashes flickered on their own, eyelids closing seamlessly as his mouth gently met yours with the care you had come to expect of him. In the past months, you had learned that Namjoon cared wholeheartedly for everyone he deemed worthy. He gave his all – his strength, his weaknesses, his whole heart. And with his lips on yours he reminded you once again that you were one of those people he had decided to let in. There was no doubt left anymore as you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss.
Chest to chest, you could feel his heart beating against yours as his hands caressed your back as if testing the silk of your blouse before landing on your ass. Fingers squeezing the flesh, he moaned into your mouth eliciting one of your own, a sweet harmony once again united to string together. His body pushed against yours, his arousal impossible to hide as he pushed you against the counter, grinding into you slowly before he was picking you up and depositing you on the surface.
Your legs opened on their own, making space for him as he solidified his place in your heart. His lips migrated to your jaw, your heavy breaths the soundtrack to his journey down your body, each kiss leaving you thrumming and weightless, his long fingers unravelling each button with delicate care. With your shirt wide open, he took a moment to leave your skin to stare at you, the lacy red bra catching his attention before he haphazardly unbuttoned his own shirt, dropping it on the floor and wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you in a kiss that was no longer gentle but a frenzy.
His tongue wrestled with yours, his mouth swallowing each of your whimpers as he pushed your shirt off, his fingers tracing the lace and pulling it down to release your nipples so he could trace them with his thumbs. You could feel your heart race, your thighs tightening around him as lust flowed through you. It was as if he had your body memorised, knew where each nerve ending sparked into pleasure.
His teeth bit into your neck, blunt and delicious, making you keen before his lips wrapped around a nipple, tongue flicking in a way that made you see stars and dig your fingers into his scalp. You could feel his smile painted on your skin, your eyes seeing how his dimples would pop out in his cheeks even when they were closed. But you wanted more, so much more.
With a shove against his chest, he unlatched from you, staring at you in confusion before you were slipping off the counter and getting on your knees. He could feel the way his dick twitched at the position. He had never imagined you like this before and his mind screamed at him for such a blunder, but then again even he wasn’t creative enough to conjure an image as perfect as your eyes glistening up at him through your lashes, lips swollen from his kisses and hands unbuckling his belt at lightning pace. Before he knew it, his pants were halfway to his thighs, his boxers pushed along with them to reveal his cock.
He forgot to breathe when you smiled up at him radiantly, such an innocent look before you were licking up his length, fingers wrapped around him. You kissed against the head, your tongue circling the skin devilishly before your lips wrapped around him, suckling him slowly. You went deeper with each suck as if wanting to swallow him whole and Namjoon couldn’t keep his wits. How did he get this lucky?
With a large laugh that peetered out into a moan, he braced himself with his hands on the counter behind you, relishing the way your tongue traced his skin each time your head bobbled, turning him into a slow mush. Before he could stop himself, he thrust in your mouth, your moan vibrating around him in such delicious torture that he pulled back abruptly, too afraid to cum before he even got started.
Pulling you up by your hand, he crashed his lips on yours again, hands too eager to rip your pants off you as he wiggled out of his own. It was a silly dance, one that left you giggling in his mouth and had him chuckling back, euphoria bubbling through him.
When both your clothes were discarded, lost in his kitchen, he picked you up, letting you wrap yourself around him like a koala as he walked to his bedroom. He had dreamed of you back here, lost in his sheets as he lost himself in you and if there was one thing Namjoon did, it was go after his dreams.
Depositing you on to the bed he crawled between your legs, forgetting all about teasing to devour your arousal right from the source. A quick squeak left your lips as his tongue met your folds, flicking at your clit as he licked up your slit, stealing your breath. His hands roamed your thighs, eliciting goosebumps and whimpers, squeezing the flesh as his lips latched onto your clit. You were on the brink of your sanity, your vision clouding as he kept up his pulsating suckles. Your fingers wrapped around the sheets, pulling them from the corners as your back arched, hips canting against his face before he was holding them down, lapping at you furiously. His hands, his lips, his fingers all played a part in unravelling you, but it was when you looked down at him and caught the hunger in his eyes as he watched you squirm that made you explode, a loud whimper floating into the air at his unrelenting efforts.
He let you ride out your high before his lips let go, instead moving to kiss at your thighs, leaving little nibbles as they climbed up your body, from your stomach to your breasts to your neck, paying special attention to your tattoo, before he was kissing your lips once again, letting your tongue burst with your flavour.
“More?” he asked, his forehead against yours, his breath cooling your heated cheeks and you couldn’t help wrapping your arms around his strong shoulders, meeting his lips once again.
“So much more,” you echoed his earlier words, earning his dimples as he pecked your lips, once, twice and then once more before sitting up and reaching in his bedside drawer for a condom. His fingers were nimble, shaking a little from his excitement as he ripped it open and quickly rolled it on. Meeting you in another kiss, his forearms rested next to your head, his hips grinding into you.
Fingers caressing his back, you reached lower till your hand wrapped around his cock, guiding it slowly inside you. He entered leisurely, carefully stretching your walls, eyes gazing into yours, making you lose yourself in them. The two of you exhaled when he was fully buried inside you, the stillness of the room echoing around you as his fingers slowly moved your hair from your face.
The silence was broken first by your lips meeting eagerly and then by his hips leaving you only to slap back against yours in an intense thrust that led to your moans punctuating the sound. With each one of his strokes, his lips moved further away from yours, your breaths mingling with each other as you lost yourselves. It was ecstatic, the way his body moulded against yours, his chest cushioning you to the mattress, while your legs wrapped around him.
In all your years and all your relationships no one had felt this perfect, this quickly. How every cant of his hips brought you closer to your high, pulled out noises from your lips you had never imagined. He grunted along with you before the tightening of your walls compelled him to reach for your clit to prolong his pleasure more, to make you writhe around him more, to make your lips seek for his more. He met your desperation with his own, tongue meeting your teeth in a flurry as his abs clenched tighter, your thighs trapping him against you, your fingernails digging crescents into his ass.
Like a wave ebbing higher and higher, you wrapped yourself tighter around him, limbs locked in ecstasy before you crashed with a high-pitched whine of his name, your legs jerking with the sudden pleasure coursing through you in a rush. He moved faster, harder, keeping you suspended as his lips found yours again. Chanting your name in a stuttered whine, his high followed quickly after yours, leaving him breathless on top of you, his face buried in your neck.
When your heart had steadied, he leaned up, kissing you decadently, luxuriating in your taste, a gentle aftermath of the flurry from earlier. His fingers stroked your scalp, leaving behind content tingles that soothed you, your fingers mirroring his actions through his hair.
You had never felt so at peace.
When he had his fill of your lips, he stood up, admiring your body before pulling you with him into the shower. Slowly kisses under warm water never felt better, your hands indulging in his body, roaming over his sculpted chest and toned stomach.
“I missed you,” he confessed, arms around you as water flowed from him to you, both of you revelling in the warmth of the water, of the moment.
“I missed you, too,” you replied, standing on the tip of your toes to kiss his nose, enjoying the way the action made him blush and shyly hide his face with a giggle.
Dressed in his oversized t-shirt, you climbed into bed, watching as he tidied up, folding your clothes. It was an endearing habit, one he picked up from cleaning Moon’s toys when she was younger, too many legos under his feet a painful motivator. He pulled his phone from his pants pocket before climbing in next to you, his chest moulded to your back, long arms around you as he told you about different songs he had been working on. He didn’t have the strongest of vocals, but his low gruff was comforting, it’s unpolished notes a serenade as he scrolled through his demos, playing snippets.
“I might’ve been inspired by the night of your birthday for this one,” Namjoon admitted quietly as he played the next song, his face buried behind your shoulders. It was a fast beat, the bass notes popping with a fun melody, electronic drums bouncing along. But what truly made your heart flutter were the words, his husky voice singing them softly.
Too many words circle around me
But none of them feel how I feel
I just feel it
Like the moon rises after the sun rises
Like how fingernails grow
Like trees that shed their bark once a year
That you are the one who will give meaning to my memories
Who will make a 'person' into 'love'
You pouted as the song continued, a beautiful confession that had you turning in his arms to kiss him, too overwhelmed to do anything else. No one had ever written you a song, no one had ever expressed their feelings like this before, in a way that was almost bordering on magical. If your younger self knew that the lead of your fantasies would be singing you something he wrote solely for you, she would’ve passed out. The song ended with the chorus and a request.
You're my person, my person, my person
You're my desire, my desire, my desire
You're my pride, my pride, my pride
You're my love
One and only love
You know...
We were always meant to be...
Destiny...
I hope you feel the same with me..
“I do feel the same,” you murmured against his lips, kissing his smile as he pulled you closer, legs tangled with yours.
“Good because this is going in the album and it would suck if it didn’t make you smile every time I played it,” he teased, kissing your nose before you leaned away, looking at him confused.
“Album?”
“Comeback album. Dark and Wild’s back.” He grinned widely and even though usually you’d be distracted by his dimples, this time no matter how large your eyes got you couldn’t register them. Because in your head there was a childish giddiness you had thought you would never experience. Holding up a finger, you turned away from him to grab a pillow, screaming in excitement, limbs flailing as your adolescent dreams of a reunion came true. You knew it was going to happen but you never imagined how much the news would affect you.
Namjoon laughed, pulling the pillow from over your head and kissing you once more, your excitement making him even more eager for the comeback. He laid you on his chest as you asked him questions and he regaled the story of how the decision was made based on a game of chance and your roommate’s stupid actions.
“Thank you for helping me get my dream again,” Namjoon whispered, grateful that he had written to you and that you had responded.
He owed a lot to fate for whisking you into his arms.
—————
Epilogue
It was dark around you, but that was only because the lights on stage were so bright. Music boomed. Guitar riffs were clean even with their distortion. Drums were loud, cracking in the air. Hoseok’s growl echoed through your bones as you watched Dark and Wild perform, the sweet smell of manufactured smoke surrounding you. Yoongi did his signature move, licking up the fretboard of his guitar as Jimin grinned, lip between his teeth, and muted chords spilling from his amp. Right at the chorus, Seokjin kneeled on the ground, blowing a kiss to the audience as he played along, right when Taehyung started belting, licking his lips and letting the words float out of him. Jungkook played faster, increasing the tempo of the song just as his drum set was lifted into the air, spinning in circles, metres above the stage. You cheered loudly as the song ended, Namjoon looking for you in the wings and tossing a wink cheekily.
It was like being thrown back in time. It was surreal. Yet, it was so real.
Moon squealed next to you when Hoseok introduced her, a stark contrast to how she was tapping her drumsticks on her legs nervously a few minutes ago. “Good luck,” you whispered with a hug, and she squeezed you tight before running onto the stage in her ripped jeans and black tulle top, a grungy throwback to the outfits she used to wear as a kid.
Sitting on a second drum set, she waved to the crowd as Jungkook timed her in, the two setting off into a vicious solo together as Seokjin and Namjoon provided the background to the melodic dissonance. The crowd went wild, screaming at the top of their lungs, and you even saw someone throw their bra on stage, just like old times.
The show ended with the first song the band had ever released, War of Hormones. The lyrics were a little cringey with time, but the band laughed along as they played, bantering about how stupid their teenage selves were during the guitar solo. But you couldn’t help the tears in your eyes as you watched them perform, your face hurting from how hard you were smiling, your fingers wrapped around the pass on your neck.
Heart pounding in time with the bass, you watched the guys finish their last song to an earth shattering applause, the crowd going wild. It seemed that the floor was shaking with their stomps and claps.
Centre stage, the men took a bow, before Namjoon put Moon on his shoulders and the group recreated the photo they took on the last day of their tour before retiring. He made a stupid joke about his back hurting when he put her down, Moon returning her own quip about him being old as the audience laughed.
With their arms around each other, Hoseok spoke into the mic, beaming into the crowd.
“Thank you Shadows! We’ve been Dark and Wild and fuck it’s good to be back!”
-
taglist - @awhnamjoon @alpacaseoks @raplinesmoon @codeinebelle @aislinnstanaka @miscelunaaa @moonchild1 @shydestinyyouth @itsjaneeet @piecesofapril11 @yoontaethings @jeonyreads
Thank you for reading this fic! If you liked it, please tell me your thoughts. I worked very hard on this and would appreciate your feedback! 🥰🥺
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#namjoon x reader#namjoon fluff#namjoon smut#namjoon angst#rm x reader#rm fluff#rm smut#rm angst#bts fanfic#bts x reader#bts scenarios#bts fanfiction#bts x yn#rm fanfic#namjoon fic#namjoon fanfic#52hertz#bangtansorciere#bangtanbathhouse#houseofddaeng#thebtswritersclub#purplearmynet#ficscafe#ksmutclub#btsgoldnet
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🤠🏉🥇🥊🐓Sports Fic Recs🐓🥊🥇🏉🤠
Check the Top Gun Masterlist post for the latest updated version. 💕
Ao3 Authors: Abliafina, Barnes_Brain, Discosleaze, Ginnydear, Greenstuff, Hangmanbradshaw, Hypnagogicpunisher, Infinitejaust, KatofKanals, Marchrain, Midnight___phoenix, Ok_thanks, Vahosi, Teacupivy, Trinipedia.
Different Strokes by infinitejaust {E}
{Olympic swimming}
Jake looks over at Bradshaw, who’s got his arms crossed, biceps flexed.
Outside the box, huh?
Jake smiles. He has a wonderful awful idea.
and they were rivals (oh my god they were rivals) by ginnydear
{NFL}
unsportsmanlike conduct {M}
He didn’t expect there to be highlight reels of him and Jake Seresin arguing and jawing at each other after their first game against each other. His Uncle Mav’s recorded it, saying it’s the beginning of his long, successful career - to have a rival.
Bradley thinks it’s a pain in the ass.
or - the hangster nfl au
jersey swap {M}
“I think you’re right, and I’d dare to say that’s Bradley Bradshaw next to her. He and Robert Floyd have been friends since college, if you remember that from their draft.”
The camera stays on the group for a second longer and then it switches to where Floyd is standing on the sideline, a large blue coat covering his body. He’s talking to Jake Seresin and the camera catches the moment they both look up towards the stands, Floyd waving excitedly. The screen splits in time to see Natasha waving back, as well as everyone around her.
or - a hangster nfl au slice of life
skills test {E}
“I don’t have all day, Bradshaw,” Jake yells, dribbling the ball a few times. Bradley pauses and bends his knees, bouncing the ball between his hands.
“Such impatience,” Bradley says, starting to move the other direction. Jake takes the ball in one hand and cocks his arm back, watching with glee as Bradley’s eyes widen a bit. “Take the shot then!”
or - jake and bradley are selected to the pro bowl.
play-action fake {T}
“Come home with me.” Jake breathed against Bradley’s lips. His shallow breaths break up his words, but he gets them out all the same. Bradley chuckled and brushed his thumb across Jake’s bottom lip.
“I’m always gonna come home with you.” He muttered, pulling his thumb down and leaving Jake's mouth agape.
or: Jake asks Bradley to come home to Texas with him
top gun hockey au by ok_thanks
{Hockey}
invisible string {M}
Jake being traded to San Diego should definitely not cause Bradley to feel so unhinged. Not at all. He can be teammates, they've done that before, except that Jake is just as annoying and attractive to Bradley as he was when they were younger.
such great heights {E}
“Not sure if it’s clear by now, but I sort of had a huge thing for you.”
No words come to mind — no, scratch that. Too many words flood Jake’s brain and sit at the tip of his tongue, but none of them seem fit for expressing the gooey feeling overtaking his heart.
Sliding Series by Barnes_Brain
{Baseball}
Parts 1-6 are the original Sliding Into Home
Part 7 is an Alternate Universe Where Bradley is a reliever and Jake is his catcher
Sliding into Home {E}
{Baseball player!Bradley & Social Media/In-game host!Jake}
Bradley is the star shortstop for the St. Louis Cardinals. The announcers adore him, his teammates love him, and the fans, mostly female, relish that at 29 he’s still single. Right before the start of the season he meets Jake Seresin, the new in-game host and social media admin. Jake has a smile that lights up the sun, an ass that Bradley could stare at for hours, and abs that go for days. Most important? He does not seem to give a shit about the fact that Bradley’s one of the best shortstops in the game.
Jake Seresin did not expect to end up in fucking Missouri of all places, but after 4 years in the Navy to pay for a Public Relations and Communications degree? He’s gonna fucking use it. So Imagine his surprise when a moustached hunk runs into him in the tunnels of Busch Stadium. Literally. Jake won’t lie he’d climb the man in front of him like a tree, and might actually if he lets him. The only problem? He doesn’t even know what a shortstop does?
When Bradley finds out Jake doesn’t know the difference between a foul post and a goal post he makes it his mission to make Jake fall in love with the sport that changed his life. He never imagined he’d get Jake falling for him instead. He wasn’t going to complain.
Caught Looking {E}
{Pitcher!Bradley & Catcher!Jake}
After spending three seasons in the Japanese Major leagues, also known as the NPB, pitcher Bradley Bradshaw has finally made it back to The Show.
Signed to the Seattle Mariners, not only does he have to get reacquainted with the league, he also needs to get adjusted to their new catcher, Jake Seresin. The only problem? No one knows that they fucked through the minors together.
What if the accident never happened in Sliding into Home? What if Jake actually showed up to one of Javy’s games? This is how things would change.
You gave me time to find out what my heart was lookin' for by trinipedia {E}
{Boxer-Personal Trainer!Bradley}
Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw is a personal trainer, among other things. He specializes in preparing young actors for their next action role, but when he's given the task of turning dancer/actor Jake "Hangman" Seresin into a believable boxer, he has his work cut out for him.
An Inside The Park Home Run by Midnight___phoenix {T}
{Baseball}
Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw was a First round draft pick for the New York Yankees. He was highlighted while in the minors as the next best Third baseman of our generation. He likes to think the hype was true. He bats over .300 every year (well despite his rookie year where he batted .282 and ended up winning Rookie Of The Year, but he likes to think of that year as a fluke when it comes to his batting average.) and has won the Gold Glove award three times in 10 seasons in the big show. He is without a doubt one of the best current ball players. He just wishes he wouldn’t get compared to Jake “Hangman” Seresin so much.
Formula 1: Deceive to Achieve by greenstuff {E}
{F1}
When new teammates, Jake and Bradley, agree to pretend they’re in a committed relationship to land a sponsorship deal, they probably should have factored in the possibility they might fall for their own lies.
Two-Way(s) Forward by Barnes_Brain {M}
{Hockey player!Jake & Rink owner!Bradley}
Jake Seresin was the LA King’s best two-way forward, leading not only his line, but his team with the coveted C on his chest. But when an injury sends him to Bob Floyd, PT extraordinaire, in hopes of getting back on the ice, he finds a little more than a path back to his career.
Desire is the only motivation by trinipedia {M}
{Rugby}
After a life-altering accident, Bradley Bradshaw moves to Texas to change his perspective. Bradley has decided not to think about American football ever again, but the chance meeting with an arrogant Texan, Jake Seresin, might change it all, not only for him but for the aforementioned Texan, as well.
IWTBY Verse by hangmanbradshaw
{NFL QB!Jake}
I want to brainwash you into loving me forever {E}
“So…this is fucking weird and I have no clue what to say here.”
Bradley smiled warmly and leaned his forearms against the table. “Don’t worry, Mav already filled me in, and I’ll do it.”
Jake blinked. “You’ll do it?”
“Yeah.” Bradley sat back with a nod. “You want to come out, right? If us appearing to be in a stable relationship will help, then I’m in.”
Or, Jake Seresin has it all- fame, money, a NFL MVP trophy, a Super Bowl appearance, a lonely house, and a problem. He wants to come out on his own terms. Enter Bradley Bradshaw, the solution to said problem, or maybe, the beginning of a new problem. After all, you don't fall in love with your fake boyfriend.
Wanna Be Your Left Hand Man {E}
Europe calls. Jake & Bradley answer.
I find myself running home to your sweet nothings {E}
Nine months into their official relationship, Jake and Bradley navigate a new season of the NFL, life, and their relationship.
Or Ice and Mav get married, the gang all celebrates, and Bradley and Jake find home in each other once again, in more ways than one.
love thorns all over this rose {_}
Bradley's friends watch him lose himself, find himself, and then find something even better.
Or
Bradley doesn’t really do dating, until he does. Aka Bradley pre-IWTBY, and a little during, according to Reuben, Callie, and Jonathan.
Watson Wildhearts by KatofKanals {E}
{HS Football}
16 year old Bradley Bradhsaw is new to Watson, Texas in the summer of 2000 and he is downright miserable—he hates the whole town and all the people in it. That includes Jake Seresin, the star quarterback and rich boy at the top of the social pyramid. Eventually, though, Bradley starts to wonder if maybe there’s more to Watson and Jake Seresin than he saw at first glance. Maybe there’s something special there after all.
get your head in the game by abliafina {T}
{Volleyball in Corporate setting}
Hangman thought he'd thrown in the towel when it came to his volleyball days, but when Rooster, the handsome team leader from another company, invites him to join the summer tournament he knows he's done for. There were worse fates than spending the day on the beach.
Love (Suite Love) by hangmanbradshaw {T}
{NFL QB!Jake}
Jake never thought he'd leave a pop concert with a public crush.
Bradley was on vocal rest. Really, he was.
sparks fly (sereshaw's version) by marchrain {T}
{College Baseball & Football}
Bradley Bradshaw, the freshman starting pitcher for Pacific Harbor University, meets Jake Seresin, the new hot-shot quarterback.
He hates Jake, there's not a single thing likeable about him. He hates the way his hair is held up by gel, the look in those stupid emerald eyes of his, the fact that he's a football player of all sports—Jake's insufferable.
But then, why does he enjoy their banter? Why does he like the dumb toothpick that sits between Jake's teeth? Why does his stomach flip when Jake laughs? Why do his eyes keep flicking down to Jake's lips?
- or, sereshaw sports uni slice of life au
when bradley falls in love (goose & carole's version) by discosleaze {T}
{NFL QB!Jake}
Snippets of i want to brainwash you into loving me-verse, from Goose & Carole's perspectives, aka watching their son fall in love.
I talk a big game that I'm scared of losin' by hangmanbradshaw {E}
{Boxer!Bradley}
Jake's a professor ready to jump back into the dating pool, Bradley's a little rough around the edges, and Nat swears they're perfect for each other. She might be right.
Or Jake dumps his loser ex and moves to California to be near Nat and Javy. Nat knows a guy, and sometimes opposites attract.
cuz you know I love the players and you love the game by hangmanbradshaw {E}
{College Baseball & Football & Cheerleading}
Jake's the star quarterback, Bradley's the star baseball captain. They both like playing games, turns out they want the same prize.
Or Bradley dresses as a cheerleader for the team and Jake hates him (except that he totally doesn't)
suburban legends ✈ by vahosi
{NFL QB!Bradley}
we were born to be suburban legends {G}
unmarked numbers in my peripheral vision (july) — chapters 1-12
flush with the currency of cool (august) — chapters 13-24
where the spirit meets the bones (september) — chapters 25-36
we were born to be the pawn in every lover's game {_}
you kiss me in a way that's going to screw me up forever (october) — chapters 1-12
dare to sit and watch what we'll become (november) — chapters 13-24
my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand (december) — chapters 25-36
and they were batterymates by teacupivy {E}
{Baseball}
They’ve been teammates for just a few months now, but plenty long enough to have the whole dick-measuring-in-the-locker-room, fist-fight-on-the-field, make-up-behind-the-scenes, suddenly-best-duo-in-the-MLB speedrun.
red river rivalry by hypnagogicpunisher {M}
{College Football}
He’s heard the buzz about the new 4-star on the Texas team.
It piques his interest. Oklahoma had been dominating the last few years of the rivalry, but betting odds were hot against the Sooners going into the game week, partially because of this Seresin kid. A true freshman, with his kind of stats, was a rarity.
Bradley wonders just a bit what his passing stats would look like with him, who seemingly has fucking magnets for hands and the ability to stretch for a pass like he’s made of rubber.
--
He can feel the frustration snaking through his body, settling with a numbness in his fingertips.
At 2nd and 10, his pass is tipped and ruled incomplete.
He can hear a jeer from the sideline, and he fucking knows it’s Seresin.
#Sports Recs List#hangster#sereshaw#hangaroo#bradley rooster bradshaw x jake hangman seresin#bradley rooster bradshaw#jake hangman seresin#🐈red🐈furry🐈cat🐈tag🐈
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Nah bc yall are CRAZY where did yall come from!??!? I woke up to 100 likes and like a bunch of reposts!! Thank yall sm 😭 now here's the full chapter you guys probably want
Strings of their hearts💕 FULL chapter 1
You bursted from your dream, flying up to sit up in your bed. Cold sweat practically dripping from your face. It was that dream again.. you couldn't stand that dream, the uncanny silence always followed by you falling to the ground and wondering what was happening, or what happened really. You never fully understood why you started having that reoccurring dream, you never did anything in the waking world to even cause the dream. You didn't watch horror movies alot, and you haven't been to a forest since you were a pre-teen. Even then, your memories about that summer were blurry and you couldn't remember what happened.
Looking to your nightstand you read your clock "5:00 AM" You sighed, 'time to get up' . You and your friend group had an entire weekend planned out, you all had been planning this for a few weeks, you all would take 3 of your vacation days off of work and go do fun stuff. Fun stuff as in go out on the town for 2 days and regret it all on the third and go back to work on the 4th, today you all were gonna go shopping, you all had very decent jobs so it wasn't very hard to save up alot of spending money.
So not wanting to be late you got up and trudged to your bathroom, flicking the light on you slightly jolted at your appearance 'damn I look like shit man..' you sighed, your hair an absolute mess and your shirt had a wet spot of drool on the collar. Getting ready was the easiest part of most of your days, as you usually knew exactly what was going to happen in the day, so you knew how to dress. But as this days only objective was to "go shopping" it was to vague to know exactly how to dress, but going casual should be good enough. Getting in and out of the shower was a simple task other than the undying fear that you'll slip and break your neck.
You dried your hair with a towel, you wouldn't brush it till you went downstairs. Throwing on your grey button up and torn jeans you shut the lights off and headed downstairs to do your hair and eat breakfast "alexa play don't worry be happy" you stated nonchalantly, it was your favorite song to play in the mornings to calm the nerves.
Humming along to the song, you shuffled to the kitchen in your socks. 'Hmm cereal or eggs...cereal...or....nah cereals easier' you moved over to the cabinets, opening them and pulling out the generic unhealthy colorful marshmallow cereal. You only had a few dishes in your kitchen as you lived alone, unlike your friends who had spouses and kids already. You preferred to live alone, it was more peaceful this way, you had less to worry about. Though you didn't hate the idea of a family, you just didn't really have time to go on dates, you hadn't even had a vacation since you first got your new job. Shaking your head you brought your thoughts back to the task at hand : 'find a bowl and spoon and eat already dude!'
As soon as you got your bowl of cereal ready you moved to your large living room, with black leather couches and dark rugs that complemented the rest of your homes dark pallette. You turned your large mounted TV on and immediately changed it to cartoons, not really wanting to bother watching the News, you already knew the world was going to shit you didn't need another reminder while you where trying to eat your color bombed cereal.
You sighed in content when you settled on spongebob, the joyful sponge making you forget about it all. You finished eating and reached to your brush that was laying on the couch from the previous day of you being to tired to put it up, sighing you brush through all the tangles of your messy hair and half styling it, as in you just brushed your bangs out of your eyes and called it a day.
You pulled your phone from your jeans right pocket, seeing it was already "7:45 AM" you smiled, it was time to go pick up some of your friends!
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You got in your car, it was the biggest out of your friends, the most seats and room. So it was the favorite of the group, in total your friend group would be riding in two cars, to make it easier to go from place to place. In your car, you had : Mark, Jamie, Clara, Anita, and Fry. You were close friends with Clara, Anita, and Fry, Mark and Jamie being mutual friends you met through the group. Your friend Claire was driving the second car, in their car they had: Gary, Moose, and Wendy.
You and Wendy used to date, you remember. But you both knew it would've never worked out, neither of you could imagine a future with eachother, but you two were still very good friends. You were the ring carrier at her wedding, she had a very kind wife, always smiling and always caring for others.
Smiling you drove the half hour to pick your first friends up, Mark and Fry. They lived next to eachother, everyone in the group knew they had it bad for eachother but themselves, you shook your head, they were so oblivious to eachother. You tried turning your radio on, but to your dismay, all that played was static. You tried connecting it to the Bluetooth but that wouldn't work either 'Huh...weird, might have to take it to the shop already.' You slightly grumbled, you really didn't want to take it to the shop. You had just gotten this car barely a year back, it was only a few years old itself, it really shouldn't be having problems yet.
It was 8:20, you were daydreaming and drumming on the steerwheel to a made up tune in your head, waiting for your friends to come out already. Smiling as soon as you saw you blonde haired friend Mark, he was always worried about being late to things, he was generally anxious alot either way, but being late was like life or death for him. "Hey buddy! Ready for the day?" He said with his raspy voice, he was the eldest of the group and used to be a singer until his last show that ended in an accident that costed him his voice. It took him years to be able to talk again, the entirety of those years you and your friends worried for him so badly. He fell into a deep state of depression, his deepest passion was gone forever, and he could do nothing about it.
"Course I am bud, how about you? You ready to tell Fry how much you love him?" You smirked, looking at the rear view mirror to look at him. He burst into a fit of embarrassment "Don't say that! He could be here any minute!!" He whisper yelled at you, looking around like Fry would appear out of thin air at any moment. "Fine fine..you gotta tell him at some point Mark." You said, smiling at him after finally turning your head to fully look at him "he's on his way out right now, he just texted me" He nodded, scooting to the seat behind the driver's.
You two only had to wait a minute before Fry was clumsily running out the door, struggling to pull on his coat and walking at the same time. His long red hair falling all over the place, coffee in hand, he really looked like a disaster waiting to happen today. He scooted into the middle back seat next to Mark, already red and embarrassed for how foolish he must've looked.
As soon as they both buckled in, you pulled out immediately. You had to pick up Jamie, Clara, and Anita next, which is absolutely god sent because they were siblings and still lived in the same house.
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Arriving at the mall wasn't the easiest thing in the world, no matter how simple it seemed, you and your friends argued for half an hour over which mall to go to and whether to stop for food first or not. In the end, you got some quick fast food and ate on the way to the south mall center and waited in the car till both parties were done eating.
You were already tired, you could feel a headache starting to pull at your head and you wanted to be done and go home already. Your entire body was tired and you couldn't understand why you were so exhausted already, at this point if they just left you in the car to sleep you'd be fine with it.
The triplets were sitting in the back row of seats in your car, all rough housing and making the car shake, fighting over food. You shook your head, you would've said it was to early for this already but it really wasn't with how long they took to pick up. "YOOO WHAT ARE YOU TEXTING YOUR BOYFRIEND???? THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE?" Jamie practically screamed, they really had no sense of an inside voice, and it didn't change that you all were in a car. "NO DUDE SHUT THE FUCK UP YOUR HURTING MY EARS" Clara shoved Jamies face away from her phone, she was always on it, it was like her prop that was glued to her hand. "Was that a rat in the parking lot just now?? Oh nah you aren't getting me out of this car now." Anita, the quietest of the trio, but also the most clean freak of the entire group. She was a neutral hard to hate person, because she was just calm, unless you were dirty then may God have mercy on you.
"Guys, we were supposed to be in the store YESTERDAY. Jesus fuckin' christ man" you passive aggressively told them
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You had already been to countless stores, its been hours and if you were exhausted before? Your starting to lay down in the grave now. And the worst part was that they hadn't let you go to a single store you liked yet, and you knew for a fact that you, Fry, Jamie and Moose, wanted to go to the same type of store.
Finally...FINALLY, one of the three spoke up and said they were going to one of the game stores. And just as you guessed it, not only yourself tagged along, the other two did as well. As you and your group walked to the exit, where the game store was at, you all decided it was gonna be the last store you visit for the day as it was already getting dark and the store was closing already.
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As you guys all separated inside the large gaming store, filled with anything and everything possibly related to game stuff, from game boards to games to decoration. You knew it would be the shortest trip in the entire store as everything was overly priced and the majority of everyone has spent the most of their money for the day.
Sighing you looked through the games, new, old, demos, it was crazy! They had everything in here. Choosing a few random titles that looked fun and interesting you were nearing the end of the aisle, all the digital games being located in the back corner of the store, it was creepy and poorly lit strangely but to you it was magical. The closer you got to the end of the aisle the more uneasy you felt, the more dirty the floor got and dusty the shelves became. It felt like you were being watched despite no one being near where you were, so finally just speedwalking to the end instead of taking your time and becoming more creeped out.
Then. Something caught your eye, shiny, very shiny. Somehow shining through the cobwebs and dust thats built up over clearly a very very long time, you used one of the cases to wipe it off and looked at it... 'weird...I didn't know they sold dating sims..they really do sell everything I guess' you hummed while looking it over. The characters looked silly and colorful, though it was clearly worn as the colors were fading, the title in jumbled colorful letters spelling "Strings of their hearts" with little glittery hearts surrounding it, those must've been the things that caught your eye. To say you were intrigued would be a bit of an understatement, you slipped it between your other cases of games, not wanting to be teased for getting it.
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Dropping your friends off was the most relieving part of your day, as you dropped the triplets off it felt like a pressure had been taken off of your head.
Driving to Mark and Frys residence was the second to last thing left to do today, you looked in your rear view mirror to watch as they both smiled and giggled while talking to eachother, you smiled, they were so happy together and the day they finally tell eachother about their feelings they will be even happier. It is almost a toothrotting sweet thought, you slowed your car into a stop at the curb near their home, you let a breath of relief out as their neighborhood was hard to locate in the dark, even with your headlights on.
It was 10:55 and you still had time to pick fast food up on the way home, you waved to your to friends and your smile widened as you saw they were holding hands as they walked eachother home.
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Okay nevermind, the trip to your local Wendy's was already proving to be even more stressful than your mall trip, the lady in front of you yelling at the cashier over a coupon that had been expired for atleast a year. You decided to just walk out and go through the drive thru instead, it was quiet and more peaceful, though the line was long and you were fourth in line you decided to make yourself less bored by trying to see if your radio was still broken, turning it on and turning to a random station that would play at late hours you waited..all that came out was static but you felt like you should wait longer, and then you heard it
... A garbled sound of someone trying to talk through multiple different voices and sounds, you immediately got freaked out and shut it off, 'if Satan wants to take my soul he can do it later when I'm not in a Wendy's drive thru..talk about embarrassing'
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After getting your food and it already being 11:40 you were semi-speeding home, you already didn't like being out this late no matter how much it looked so beautiful. You would keep remembering your dream, as the moon hung overhead, and it didn't help that your neighborhood with very large gaps between houses was filled with trees, it was like a forest. You hated it. It made you feel sick and like you didn't belong there.
Stepping on the gas and slowing down as soon as you got home, you grabbed your paper bag of food and plastic bag filled with games and stuffed animals among other things and raced into your home, not bothering to lock the car until you locked your own houses door. If anyone..anything..was out there it couldn't get you in the safety of your home..right? You didn't spend an arm an a leg getting the best security system in the country for nothing.
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You ate your food on the couch while watching more cartoons, but something wouldn't stop biting at your brain. That game, it was dusty, old, and was extremely underpriced, so much so that the employees were slightly agitated on how little you spent at their store. You looked at the bag, and jolted as the case was slightly falling out of the bag, 'weird..I thought it was buried in there??' You were slightly unnerved, but having nothing to do, and not being tired enough to sleep, combined with having finished you food..
You turned the TV off, taking the case and the bag upstairs to your room, throwing the bag to the bed as soon as you entered into your room, locking your door you turned to your PC. You didn't know if it was a download code game or a disk, but it did say it was a PC game, so putting the case on the desk and sitting down while your monitor and pc booted up, you read the back.
"Wow! Thank you so much for getting the game! Your just the most aren't you?
Well, welcome to the neighborhood neighbor! Its so nice to have a new face around here, and a very good looking one at that! And say..I think a few of your new neighbors think that too! Find out who likes you and what happens! You have two months to get a date! Have fun!" With a crayon designed smiley face under it. Though it was weird that they knew you bought the game, maybe it was just an oversight? You turned the case back around, looking at the characters again. They were colorful and some of them were attractive to you but then again you were attracted to the weirdest things, but one of them stood out to you, the yellow skinned puppet with blue styled up hair. He looked like your opposite, calm, charming, he actually had his hair styled unlike you...you started laughing at yourself, of course you would degrade yourself and compare yourself to a Muppet lookalike, it was a very you thing to do.
Shaking your head you opened the case, unlike the outside the inside was black. That was extremely weird for a game case, like..really really weird but you shook it off and popped the disc into the slot on your PC.
The game immediately started booting up, and very catchy music that your positive would be stuck in your head started to play, the screen fading from white to a colorful scene of all the characters on a picnic blanket looking at you, as if inviting you to sit down and join them. So joyful, you already loved it, it seemed you were gonna become obsessed with yet another game again
And this...was going to be a long night.
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HOOO BOY THAT TOOK ME AN ENTIRE TO DAY TO WRITE OUT. I'm EXTREMELY sorry that its kinda short, as I've said before I'm very sucky at writing, BUT I'm determined to see this out through the end. My thoughts tend to drift alot and overdetail pointless things like the side characters though they won't really contribute to the story much
SO IM SORRY 😭😭
Im working on the date outfits as I write this, and they are literally turning out better than my writing itself, so you guys will probably enjoy those more than the fic. As I'm going to be making short comics to go with these!
Anyways see you next chapter!
#wally darling x reader#fanfiction#julie joyful x reader#sally starlet x reader#welcome home x reader#welcome home au#welcome home fanfic#welcome home#heart strings💕 au
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You're Still My Brother [Godfather Part II AU].
Read on AO3. | Fanfic Masterlist | Fic and Prompt Requests Info.
18+, explicit oneshot.
Death is clipping at Fredo Corleone's heels and there's only one way out of Havana tonight. With chaos ensuing from the rebels and the kiss of death sealing Fredo's fate from Michael, Fredo's heart gives in. Helpless, desperate and terrified of his brother, Michael manipulates his Fredo's good nature into trusting him and leaving Cuba together. Hyman Roth and Johnny Ola are dead, or so Michael has Fredo believe in but Michael has no intention of letting Fredo leave Cuba alive.
[WARNINGS]: Heavy angst / Character death / Strangulation / Fratricide / Hurt with no comfort.
[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: From one of my favourite, angsty scenes from The Godfather Part II, here comes an AU oneshot I came up with in one sitting tonight with Fredo actually leaving Havana with Michael…💔 I had always wondered what would have happened in Fredo got into that car with Michael, how he would be convinced, what Michael would say and what would come next. 🥺 Playing on emotionally manipulative strings and lies in this AU, I've made Michael seal Fredo's fate differently. This is my first Godfather oneshot/fic that isn't X Reader, romance or smut related!! 🤭💕 I definitely plan to write more as they come amidst updating my multi-chapter fics! Heavy, HEAVY angst in this oneshot with all tags/warnings applying, just a heads up!! 👀🫡
Panic. Mass confusion. Violence answers the questions of the innocent, the confused, and the helpless. Michael’s amongst them, but not one of them.
Aside from the rebels leaving nothing but destruction and the ensuing chaos in their wake around the vicinity, Michael remains to be among the very scattered few who neither fear nor react to the violence surrounding them.
Seemingly coordinated enough on New Year’s Eve, Michael’s more than well aware of the threat the rebels have been posing at all times.
It was enough to see rebels give their own lives in order to take one of the police officers in front of Michael’s eyes to convince him the rebels would take any opportunity to spill blood and fight back even if cornered regardless of the consequences.
Despite the ongoing panic, Michael knows he is in no true danger nor is he a target of the rebels just as he knows the party is over and he has outstayed his welcome as have all the guests at the president’s party.
Michael slipped through the packs of crowds rushing out onto the street and did so without attracting unnecessary attention, but the same couldn’t be said for his brother.
Fredo pushed through anyone and everyone who got in front of him the moment before the onset of the violence began.
Fredo was already running for his life with fear swelling in his heart because of Michael; the truth of his betrayal was never as clever as any lie Fredo could tell Michael or any way Fredo could pretend he didn’t cause an attempted assassination on Michael’s life.
The darkness in Michael’s heart confirmed the death wish he bestowed upon his brother by sealing the kiss of death over Fredo.
Now, no explanation, no apology, and no justification can exist in this world where Michael may exercise mercy or forgiveness over his own brother.
As death itself follows at Fredo’s heels, his only escape is to flee Havana but hiding elsewhere in Cuba will spare his life longer so as long as Fredo doesn’t return to where Michael has eyes and ears in the United States.
With tears stinging his eyes and whimpers of fear escaping his trembling lips, Fredo’s breath quivers as he sprints out of the presidential palace; taking as many twists and turns as he can.
But it’s only a matter of mere moments before the planned attack takes place at the same time; its sole benefit helping Fredo blend in with the rest of the outpouring crowd seconds later.
Michael’s chauffeur never strayed far from the presidential palace; parked just a few meters away from the side of the building with intentions to take Michael and Fredo to the airport to catch their private jet later on this evening.
Standing by the vehicle now, Michael keeps the passenger door open with one hand over its rim as he looks out for any signs of his brother amidst the terrified crowds.
Fredo has no choice but to slow down the steps of the presidential palace when he spots the rioting rebels, seeing no prying eyes over him.
Among dozens of other black and white suits, Fredo is almost impossible to spot—mirroring the same body language as other rushing guests.
The vehicles of the rebels arrived in a circle around the presidential palace, honking incessantly and powering the noise and hollering of its drivers and the other rebels.
Rebels armed with bats and clubs swing at the pillars of the presidential palace and the windows of nearby guest vehicles, only causing further alarm.
Swallowing hard, Fredo stumbles down one of the steps and frantically looks around him to find some route of escape—seeing some guests have already gotten into taxis and nearby vehicles.
“Argh—” Fredo grunts out in surprise as a couple accidentally bumps into him—ramming their shoulders into his back.
Fredo almost trips down the next set of stairs before him, catching his balance before Michael’s eyes land on his brother just across from him in his line of sight now.
“Fredo!” Michael calls out from afar, shrouded in the darkness where he stands away from streetlights or any direction crowds run toward.
Fredo freezes in his tracks, feeling his muscles instantly tense up from nothing but utter horror at the sight of his brother; pure fear triggering Fredo’s fight or flight response.
Fredo’s fear of his own brother has intensified and tripled in a matter of moments back in the presidential palace to the point where Fredo trembles in Michael’s presence and practically feels nauseous being under his brother’s gaze.
Fredo’s eyes widen as his mouth runs dry, eyeing his brother’s body language for immediate resentment and hostility.
“Come on!” Michael gestures out with his hand towards him; only appearing as a concerned brother insistent on helping his brother and escaping together.
Nothing over Michael’s expression or tone of voice resembles the putrid hatred that promised death to Fredo minutes back at the presidential palace.
Refusing, Fredo begins to slowly turn around but keeps his eyes on his brother as his body screams for Fredo to move away.
“It’s the only way out of here tonight,” Michael hollers back, noticing Fredo beginning to pull away. “Roth is dead!”
Naturally, the fate Michael planned and anticipated for Hyman Roth has failed unbeknownst to him but with Fredo’s betrayal stemming from Hyman Roth and Johnny Ola, it appears to be very convincing and tempting.
Still, the fear Fredo feels towards his own brother is all the more overpowering and there’s not a shred of trust nor hope left in Fredo to believe in Michael’s words.
Michael extends out his hand, seeing his words having no effect on his brother. “FREDO!”
Fredo forces himself to keep moving—staggering through the remaining crowd down the steps but with his head still turned towards Michael as if Fredo expects him to follow or lunge after him.
“Fredo, come with me!” Michael raises his voice above the noise of the crowds; seeing his brother is about to run off entirely. “You’re still my brother!”
Fredo’s just begun to rush off again into the crowd but stops at Michael’s words—the most convincing above all, promising they’re still family.
“Fredo!” Michael takes a step further, beginning to move in Fredo’s direction and away from the vehicle. “FREDO!”
Sensing no harm or ill intention from Michael amongst danger and chaos, Fredo’s good nature does not lie to him but coaxes his heart to trust in Michael and escape out of Havana with his brother.
In Michael now, Fredo wants to see his brother’s emotional vulnerability; despite everything, family ties and bonds never break, despite everything, Michael would want no harm to come to Fredo and certainly not here.
“You’re still my brother!”
Fredo turns back around to Michael and swears to himself he can see a pleading look in Michael’s eyes, past the shadows that keep him almost completely concealed.
Tears spring from Fredo’s eyes as he runs toward his brother, unaware he’s accepting his damned fate but giving his trust, love, and belief in safety to Michael.
Michael steps aside to let Fredo into the passenger seat, moving to the other side of the vehicle to get in for himself.
Fredo scurries inside and slams the car door behind him; a pitiful state of worry and exhaustion over him compared to Michael who still remains composed and calm.
Michael does the same, needing to give no signal or word to his chauffeur who immediately begins to drive off in the opposite direction of the presidential palace.
For a moment as Michael’s preoccupied with looking towards the chauffeur and windshield to see what’s ahead of him, neither he nor Fredo say a word to each other nor make eye contact.
Fredo peeks out the window to see hoards of people pushing into the US Embassy and pleading with the guards by the gate for safety; everyone fending for themselves in desperate hopelessness.
Fredo even spots a private jet beginning to take off as others help their family onto nearby boats and ships eager to get off the dock.
As the vehicle continues to move and navigate around the rebels and crowds with ease, Fredo flinches at the sight of the rebels setting nearby garbage cans on fire and rushing into the presidential palace itself.
With all of this occurring in mere seconds as the violence worsens and fires spread to smashed-in vehicles and broken goods from inside the presidential palace, Michael’s eyes land on his brother inside the car once again.
Fredo catches Michael’s gaze, looking as pale as a ghost with worry crossing his eyes as the vehicle now begins to slow through crowds clamoring at every angle.
Michael’s chauffeur keeps his composure, honking again and again as he continues to drive.
Michael knits his brows, gazing out both windows and somewhat concerned himself not about the damage the rebels continue to do, but what can come from the panicking and desperate mobs of people surrounding the car.
“O-Oh my God,” Fredo shudders as the vehicle finally begins to pick up its speed and separate from the crowds.
In a split second, Michael makes eye contact with the chauffeur through the rearview mirror, signaling a change in the destination; one out of sight with no one to hear anyone’s helpless screams.
Fredo doesn’t notice, nervously sitting next to Michael and looking down to see his fingers trembling uncontrollably in his lap just from Michael’s presence.
“We’re almost out,” Michael finally speaks; his voice calm and soothing enough for Fredo to believe it.
Fredo keeps his eyes on the road, refusing to relax and snap out of his alarmed state until the car drives much further down the road and Fredo’s unable to hear the rebellion behind him.
“The plane—” Fredo stammers, swallowing. “Are we getting out of here?”
“We are,” Michael reaffirms as the chauffeur takes a different turn to drive upon the side of the road where Fredo’s door faces the ocean. “Fredo—” Michael looks at his brother, “it’s fine. It’s over now.”
Fredo gives a glum nod, attempting to relax in his seat. “I don’t know what to say, Mikey. I…”
Fredo’s voice trails off as the car comes to a slow halt by the ocean; the chauffeur avoids looking towards the rearview mirror or making eye contact with either Michael or Fredo.
“I d-don’t…” Fredo’s voice cracks as he attempts to speak again, looking helplessly at his brother.
Michael faces Fredo whose almost too emotional to even realize the car has stopped on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.
“Mikey,” Fredo breathes out—his throat tightening as hot tears stream down his cheeks. “I didn’t—I wasn’t—”
“Fredo,” Michael turns his body towards his brother, watching Fredo weep softly and break down in front of him.
“You have to u-understand, Mikey,” Fredo pleads—emotion straining in his voice, “I w-was caught in the middle. I didn’t agree—I didn’t want any of this. I didn’t know it would end up like this—I didn’t know it was gonna be a hit or anything.”
As Michael stares into his brother’s eyes, his grow colder and Fredo’s words ring out to him with no meaning, no justification nor anything worth believing for the man in front of Michael is no longer his brother but a betrayer, a traitor and a stranger bearing the same last name.
Michael gives a small nod to Fredo as if he’s understanding of it all and figured as much for himself, but the chauffeur hits a small button over his door which immediately causes all of the doors to lock.
“Michael—” Fredo croaks, flinching from fear and looking towards his passenger door in alarm.
“Fredo, look at me. Look at me.” Michael detracts Fredo’s attention from reaching out to attempt to open his passenger door—facing his brother directly again. “Listen to me.”
“I d-don’t want anything to happen to you, Mikey,” Fredo blubbers, sobbing.
“Look at me,” Michael cups his brother’s face with both hands, feeling Fredo’s warm tears against his palm. “I know. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Never, ever,” Fredo gives his head a little shake, clutching onto the fabric of Michael’s trousers with a shaky hand. “Y-you’re my brother, my brother—”
“I know,” Michael repeats again, eerily calm compared to Fredo’s distraught state on the verge of a complete mental breakdown.
“I c-could never live it down,” Fredo hiccups, his knuckles turning white from how hard he grips Michael’s trousers.
“And you don’t have to,” Michael replies, wiping a stray tear away from Fredo’s cheek.
“I’m s-scared, Mikey, when you look at me like that—”
“I’m not going to hurt you, Fredo,” Michael lies, “you know that. Wouldn’t I leave you to your fate there if that’s what I wanted?”
“Y-yeah, I guess—” Fredo smiles weakly at Michael, comforted by his brother’s lies. “I love you, Mikey. I j-just want you to know that.”
Shallow, empty words with no meaning that register nothing to Michael. He chooses to ignore them, unshaken by what’s to come next.
“I know,” Michael kisses Fredo’s forehead, slowly moving his hands down to Fredo’s neck.
Fredo’s eyes snap open in terror as Michael wraps his hands around his throat firmly just moments after. “Mikey—"
“Goodbye, Fredo,” Michael immediately begins to exhort force over Fredo’s throat—crushing his esophagus.
Fredo wheezes and whimpers, but can get barely anything other than a whine out. He attempts to thrash out at Michael with his hands but Michael tilts his body back while pinning Fredo onto the car seat to avoid his grip.
Kicking at Michael in the twisted position his body is in doesn’t help nor does kicking at the chauffeur’s car seat who gazes out the window to watch the waves of the sea; completely ignoring the murder ongoing in the back seat.
Fredo’s lungs burn, begging for air as Michael squeezes and applies as much pressure and might as he can with his hands to Fredo’s throat—watching Fredo’s helpless movements slowly coming to a stop.
Wide-eyed and terrified as the life and strength choke out of him, Fredo stares at Michael who remains to be much more physically strong and fit than his brother.
The cold, lifeless expression on Michael’s face doesn’t change throughout as the color drains out of Fredo’s face as Michael continues to strangle him; his grip far too overbearing and tight to squirm out of.
Just a few moments in of helplessly trying to pry Michael’s fingers off his throat, Fredo feels his life slipping away and falls unconscious seconds after.
Michael doesn’t stop there. To ensure his brother’s death once and for all in front of his own eyes, he clutches Fredo’s head in his hands and with one sharp swerve of his hands and arms, snaps his brother's neck.
A sickening crack can be heard out before Michael lets go of Fredo’s lifeless body plopping back down onto the car seat.
Michael breathes in deeply, staring at the corpse of his brother next to him with no reaction; only the relief he’s felt and continues to feel upon having his enemies assassinated.
Not a shred of remorse, guilt, or regret clouds Michael’s judgment or chokes his thoughts.
Michael reaches towards Fredo’s passenger door as the chauffeur unlocks it without looking back; nothing goes through Michael’s mind as he pushes open the door to kick his brother’s corpse out.
Fredo’s body tumbles out of the vehicle and off the ledge leading straight into the ocean on this side of the road.
From the sound of loud traffic afar and waves crashing upon the shore, Michael doesn’t hear Fredo’s body drop into the water nor does he bother to watch it sink.
Instead, Michael sits back in the vehicle and shuts the door as his chauffeur begins driving again, pretending as if nothing happened.
In the chauffeur’s best interest, nothing did happen and he only picked up Michael from the presidential palace. The chauffeur never saw Fredo or even heard that name; the chauffeur isn’t even aware Mr. Corleone had a brother.
“To the airport, Mr. Corleone?” The chauffeur spoke for the first time since Michael got into the vehicle.
“Yes,” Michael confirms, “I have a private flight to catch to Lake Tahoe.”
#the godfather#the godfather part ii#godfather fanfic#michael corleone#michael corleone fanfic#fredo corleone#melis-writes#godfather fanfiction#godfather au
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ooo, Locum Tenens (you know i’m always going to ask about this one!) and can you tell me about the oracle AU? 💕
I can never remember how much I've talked about Locum Tenens, it is my poor neglected child of 38 thousand words,,, your love for it gives me life <3
I had SO MANY plans for this AU, all the way up to the end of season 4 v.v
Anyway, yes. For those unfamiliar: Locum Tenens is my Doctor Who AU where the Doctor falls into a parallel world at the end of season 2 instead of Rose. Rose is left with the TARDIS and has to figure out how to carry out the Doctor's role while the Doctor... well, let's just say he has a bad time. He's a telepathic being who's cut off from literally ALL sources of telepathy in Pete's World. I was gonna bring in the Sensorites and everything.
Here, have some pain.
“Then you’ll just have to hurry and get back here, yeah?” Rose replied flippantly, but sobered at the look on his face. “I’ll try, Doctor,” she said, more seriously. “I promise I’ll try.” He nodded once. That would have to do. “And what about you, Doctor?” she asked, and as always, he was suddenly drowning in compassion he didn’t deserve. “There you are, living a life, day after day. You always used to say that was the adventure you could never have, and now you’ve got it.”
“Yeah, guess you’re right,” the Doctor said, with a humourless laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Shut up, I know it’ll drive you spare. So don’t let it. You take care of yourself too, yeah? And come back to me.” Rose. She knew him too well, she always knew him too well. It was time for all or nothing.
“Rose.” He took a deep breath. Her gaze sharpened on him. “I… This isn’t at all how I wanted to say it, on some windswept beach in a parallel world, but I let myself run out of time.” He sniffed. “Some Time Lord, me.”
It killed him that he couldn’t touch her, that they could only stand, looking at each other, not even real, while he held out his hearts to her. “I let things that were understood go unsaid for far too long,” he forced himself to continue, and heard Rose suck in a breath. “It absolutely will not be my last chance to say it,” he growled fiercely, as his hands clenched and unclenched with the need to be threaded through hers, then softened. “But just in case: Rose Tyler, I love you.”
She gaped at him. Even after their relationship had progressed into physical intimacy, he’d held the words back, feeling that they were inadequate and at the same time too much. Those words were definitive, final, and maybe he’d naively thought that if he refused to define their relationship it couldn’t hurt them. He shook his head inwardly. Daft Time Lord.
Rose had known, had sensed his aversion to the words and held her own back, out of respect, instead showing him in a thousand little ways more eloquent than eight letters of English. But he saw, in that moment, how much she’d needed to hear them from him, and cursed himself for a fool ten times over. Finally she shut her mouth with a snap, shaking her head and smiling at him, and the heat of her love blazed from her eyes and warmed him, even on an icy beach in a different world.
“I know,” she replied. “And Doctor, I—”
She vanished.
The wind howled.
The Doctor, bereft of both Rose and the TARDIS’ telepathic contact, again, stood stock still. Then, like a puppet whose strings had been cut, his shoulders slumped, and he covered his face with his hands as he took shaking breaths.
It was Mickey who tentatively approached him, an indeterminate amount of time later. “C’mon, boss.” Taking his arm, the other man coaxed the Doctor gently back to the Jeep.
One look at his stony face and no one attempted to engage him in conversation.
He was silent for the entire drive.
As for the Oracle AU, it's based on a gabe prompt which should tell you everything you need to know xD The gist is that Dream is an oracle whose visions are strongest when he gets edged. It's very porny. Here's a slightly less porny bit.
“Breathe,” Hob reminds him, gentling his hold and pressing a kiss to his forehead. The court stenographer is scribbling furiously, but Hob’s focus is all on Dream. “Just breathe. I’m here. You did so well.”
Dream follows instructions, staring up at the ceiling until his breathing slows, and Hob carefully removes himself from him to get the water, coaxing him to sit up and drink.
“What did I—?” Dream croaks, once he’s swallowed the water. He never knows what he’s said when the visions come on him; he described it to Hob once as “going somewhere else.”
“Sounds like the villagers are going to find the new source of water they need,” Hob says gently. Dream sighs in relief, sagging further into Hob’s embrace. Hob bites his tongue. He knows how important Dream’s visions are to the kingdom. No Oracle has ever had stronger, more accurate prophecies. He just wishes it took less of a toll on his beloved.
Once Dream’s trembling stops, Hob cleans the sweat from his body with careful swipes of a cloth. He’s flushed and gorgeous, the most beautiful thing Hob has ever seen. Only Hob can touch him, and no one will ever have him. It’s nearly enough to drive Hob mad, but he loves Dream enough to do whatever he asks.
“I think I have one more in me,” Dream says, meeting his eyes, and Hob, resigned to his fate, bends to his task.
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Omggg I just finished binge reading ondlb and I am IN LOVE!! Its so good am amazed at your writing!! Literally the best enemies fic in the fandom and one of my all time favs!!
ahh thank you! 🥺🙏🏼💗 sometimes i shake my head at myself for going so hard on a fanfic, but honestly i'm really proud of how it's turning out! i'm so so glad you're enjoying it 💕
if you like odnlb, i have more enemies au recs for you by some very talented authors who are truly skilled and whose abilities give me this exact feeling!
citrus and lavender by @heartfulselkie - this is like one of THE fics that inspired odnlb! the way selkie writes is just delicious, and the story is incredibly and lovingly crafted. they are exceptionally good at grabbing you by the heartstrings and making you feel the characters' emotions in your own body. c&l is one of my favorites and has a really special place in my heart <3
as time goes by by @redundant-lava - based on casablanca - 1942. it's amazingly written, clever, and emotionally gutting. this was MADE to be an mlb enemies au and lava did such a good job with it. i will never stop rec-ing it!
once more, with feeling by @zimtlein - this one is rated e, just a heads up. it's so so good! the way the relationship develops between marinette and adrien had me reeling from the first chapter. it's kind of dark but sooo romantic. if it's your speed, it's a good one to binge!
et donc, ils dansent by dame_de_la_chance - amazing, awe-inspiring! the feelings i felt while reading this! the way the enemies dynamic is portrayed is just so juicy, and there's so much pining. i go back and read it every so often to soak in the masterfulness.
heroes don't love villains by vrdant - gosh this one is so good. i have read it so many dozens of times and it's still not enough. this author is such a good writer and captures feelings so well. this one will be burned into your soul for sure.
marionette strings by @rosekasa (maketea on ao3) - absolutely stunning. omg. i reread it again while writing these recs and it shook me to my soul. alizeh is a master of the craft and a master of enemies ladynoir. this fic changed me and it will change you too.
(can i rec my own fic as well? matter of luck is just a fun romp. i haven't abandoned it, just had all my time sucked in by odnlb :) but as soon as that's done, back i go to matter of luck!)
all of these fics have inspired and influenced me in some way. i cannot rec each one enough, especially because enemies ladynoir is currently my favorite flavor of fic >:))
#if i missed a user pls tag them for me!#i tried to find all the available blogs but i'm not sure i succeded#enemies au#ladynoir enemies au#mlb enemies au#ladynoir#ml#miraculous ladybug#ml fic recs#fic recs#heartfulselkie#redundant-lava#zimtlein#dame_de_la_chance#vrdant#rosekasa#maketea#odnlb#one does not love breathing
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tag game
✨get to know me✨
thank you @xxluckystrike @panzershrike-pretz @luckynumber4 for the tags my loves 💕
- Name:
em!
(although Occasional Cult Leader and Obsessed With Alton More are acceptable as well 😂)
- Pronouns:
she/her/hers!
- Star sign:
CRAB SIGN CRAB SIGN CRAB SIGN 🦀🦀🦀🦀🦀🦀🦀
...no but actually im cancer sun cancer moon cancer mercury, the stars really said fuck you you're gonna be an emotional wreck and they were goddamn right
- # of siblings and fun facts about them (if you have any):
only child babyyyyyyyy
...well technically i have three step-sibs, but they are all older and were out of the house by the time our parents moved in together, so i never really? experienced sibling-ness with them?
- # of pets & their names:
my baby, my child, my little monster, the love of my life, my sweet cat BD-2 💕 she is an absolute fluffy menace, little miss priss, the queen of the castle, and im obsessed with her. nicknames include: Squeaky (cause she doesn't meow, she squeaks), Squeaks, The Squeaky One, The Lord Squeaketh (and The Lord Demandeth the Play), Shrimp Whiskers, Menace, Floof Creature, Angel Who Has Never Done Any Wrong, and Baby 🥰
- Fandoms:
lord i have been in so many fandoms over my many tumblr years...right now its full Band of Brothers hyperfixation season, but I'm watching M*A*S*H for the first time right now and slowly am falling into the rabbit hole
also im a star wars girlie from way back (shoutout to all my old clone wars moots who were probably like "what the fuck" when i started posting about wwii men, sorry not sorry)
also also: watcher, doctor who, star trek (tos mostly), chernobyl, and various other things, as a treat✨
- Favorite color:
im an olive green girlie, although deep purple has a special place in my heart!
- Favorite song:
holocene by bon iver ❤️ it's my all time favorite song, the song i listen to when my anxiety feels overwhelming, what i put on when i need to center myself and get out of my head.
(someway, baby, it's part of me, apart from me)
- Favorite author (of anything readable - books, fanfics, zines, webtoons, whatever!):
sooooo my all-time fav book is Invisible Cites by Italo Calvino!! i am absolutely obsessed with the way he describes physical places and emotions, the metaphors and imagery and the way he describes the feeling a place or person can give you without actually describing it at all? it's both dreamlike and ethereal and grounded and real at the same time, and i just....love it so much.
here's one of my favorite bits from the book:
Cities & The Sky [3]
Those who arrive at Thekla can see little of the city, beyond the plank fences, the sackcloth screens, the scaffoldings, the metal armatures, the wooden catwalks hanging from ropes or surrounded by sawhorses, the ladders, the trestles. If you ask, "Why is Thekla's construction taking such a long time?" the inhabitants continue hoisting sacks, lowering leaded strings, moving long brushes up and down, as they answer, "So that its destruction cannot begin." And if asked whether they fear that, once the scaffoldings are removed, the city may begin to crumple and fall to pieces, they add hastily, in a whisper, "Not only the city."
If, dissatisfied with the answers, someone puts his eye to a crack in a fence, he sees cranes pulling up other cranes, scaffoldings that embrace other scaffoldings, beams that prop up other beams. "What meaning does your construction have?" he asks. "What is the aim of a city under construction unless it is a city? Where is the plan you are following, the blueprint?"
"We will show it to you as soon as the working day is over; we cannot interrupt our work now," they answer.
Work stops at sunset. Darkness falls over the building site. The sky is filled with stars. "There is the blueprint," they say.
- Favorite fic type:
oh i will eat up...anything. literally anything.
BUT if i had to pick, i have a special place in my heart for: soulmate AUs, angst with a happy ending, fake relationship AUs, hurt/comfort, time loops, magical realism AUs (particularly if canon-divergent), and the good old classic, fluffy modern AUs 💕
- Favorite Holiday:
i fucking...love christmastime okay?? i love the traditions my family has for it, like Short Feast on the winter solstice (where we eat Short Ribs and Short Grain Rice and Short Vegetables and Shortbread and put on our Short Pants and drink Short Bottles of Whiskey and go outside to Welcome the Coming of the Light, after the Longest Night of the Year), as well as finding/writing poems on Christmas Eve and walking to the large 600+ year old sequoia trees in our neighborhood to recite them and bring good energy to the new year, to watching It's A Wonderful Life every year.
holidays and traditions are so much what you make of it, and i love the energy my family brings into it - nothing is precious, but everything is sacred.
- Do you have a partner (romantic, qpr, anything!)?:
ye, i have a bf!
- Hobbies:
i love to cross-stitch! it helps my adhd ass brain focus on things, so if ever im watching a show or listening to a podcast, i usually have a hoop in my hands.
i also love board games - particularly social deception games!
and of course - watching tv/movies, reading fic, consuming media, making moodboards, dreaming up fic ideas, and all the lovely things you see me talk about here on tumblr 💕
- Fun facts about you:
uhhhhhhhhhhhh i dont?? know if i have a fun fact?? about me???
OH WAIT okay this is for the bob fans out there -
so i was visiting philly not all that long ago, and went to both front street and 17th street in south philly For Our Boys, bill and babe ❤️
and while i was there, i went into a bookstore that was right on s 17th street...
and they had a SINGLE copy of bill and babe's book!!
i got it of course, and it felt like it was absolutely meant to be!!
tagging, if you want!: @sweetxvanixlla @ronsparky @coco-bean-1218 @onlyyouexisthere @mutantmanifesto @samwinchesterslostshoe @ewipandora @blood-mocha-latte
#em speaks#tag game#something fun and simple for the new year!#i live for the best something of hell#Spotify
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Tommy ♥️
Make up talk (angst)
Soft tommy hcs
extra whip with, sprinkles? [cafe au]
Puppy love: pt.1 + pt.2
welcome home
Recent post [fake post hcs]
sleeping troubles
Family reunion shenanigans
Mrs Famous
English essay
Little gesture(s) pt.4
Disney trip
once in a lifetime[slight angst]
Stay in bed
Morning sunrise
Famous all around
Under the bed
My heart
Deaf
Long day as a spider[spiderman au]💕
Your to loud 💕
On his wrist
Nightmare
Tesco trip
Over protected bald [sibling jack]
Gm sunshine
Ticklish
The list of things
opposites attract [tom + ranboo]
Legos
Not so secret anymore
Freezing cold waters
Stuffed bear [crimeboys]
Tommy w/ a Lolita fashion style S/o and a lover a cute stuff
crimeboys w/ a book nerd s/o
Cooking w/ tommy
Untied shoes
Tommy is the real scare
A song just for you💕
Your beautiful
Fitting right in [platonic]
Shorty
Life in the USA
Time of the month
Sleepover post
ylyl vlog
Making a scene
Viral podcast
Breakfast made w love
Amsterdam vlog
Slow dancing in the dark
Hospital bed [angst]
Summer heat💕
School back in session [crimeboys]
overthinking thoughts
in our hearts [angst]
sweet pushover [tom + ranboo]
thunder storms
stuck confession
internet fame comes in handy [yandere tom]
Prince on the run [royal au]💕
tall but not tall enough tom
couch stream breaks twitter
Vlogging twins [platonic]
Braces 💕
Tiktok prank
Flinching [Angst to slight fluff] 💕
Under the door [covid mentions] 💕
Red string [red string au]
Dream university
blanket ghost💕
Fluff alphabet 💕
Roomies [hcs]
Perfect braid
Haunted house
#dsmp imagine#dsmp x reader#dsmp#dsmp scenario#mcyt imagine#mcyt#mcyt x reader#scenario#tommyinnit#dsmp tommyinnit#tommy x reader#mcyt tommyinnit
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hey you! can you believe it’s the end of the year? 🥳✨🥂
to wrap up another fucking fantastic year of loving on ian & mickey & each other, please share:
your favorite thing you created this year
a fanfic that you can’t wait to reread
a piece of fan art you can’t stop thinking about
happy new year! cheers to another go around the sun! xx
Happy happy new year Bee 🥳🎉 This has been an amazing year for me engaging in fandom in a way i wish i had when i was younger and I couldn't be more thankful I was able to find you all 🥰 I love y'all & wishing so much abundance for the new year for all of us 💖
1. Favourite thing you created this year?
have to say I'm pretty proud of all the things I've been creating this year & having the courage to share them 🥰
My faves have been my good omens au, macy's GGE2022, holiday card & watercolour stargazing ✨️
And also a shout out to the birthday art I've made too! I loved making the crystals for you, gallacats & cow's for leah 💕
2. A fanfic you can't wait to reread?
There was sooo many amazing fics this year that I read 🥰
Anything by @goodkwuestion especially faffy & tipdig these fics strike my core & are sensational 💖
@captainjow l Let the bodies do the talkin' it's absolute 🔥🔥🔥
@annatrow My Nine Lovers is absolute thrill to read ❤️🔥
@jomilky fics are amazingly smutty 🌶
@celestialmickey yqhbr is an amazing fic & an authentic read on the tumblr experience. Adored making fanart for this 🥰
@look-i-love-u Flower u-up gives me heart flutters 💐
@suzy-queued These foolish games & my GGE2022 The birkenshire trials are such fantastic fics 🔫💖
@crazynadine the cauldron born series has amazing freaking lore & magical setting depth 🔮
@squidyyy23 Dancing after death is amazing! ⛓️
@crossmydna sizzling tension of That's a Wrap is spectacular id love more of them 🎥
@depressedstressedlemonzest I adore their fics & this build-a-bear fic had me melting 🐻
@whatthebodygraspsnot Sweetpea is brilliant got me seeing every black cat on tumblr as 'im 🐈⬛️
This is not a Fairytale by bluebirdeywrites is a pixie au treasure i didn't know i needed 🧚♀️
@lalazeewrites Of going home has immaculate world building of the superhero au 💪
@gallavichgeek Only fans series is fantastic 📹
@abundanceofnots Agents of undead chaos is a whimsical adventure 💭
@sunoficarus weaver of fate (to your will i won't fold) is a glorious fic ✨️
@beebabycastiel A Little Bit of Tender Mercy, these guys are so freakin cute i cant even 😆💘
an exception to the rule by you is an exquisite fic 😍
@howlinchickhowl Ristretto is a fic that gives me so much feels ☕️💕
@flamingbluepanda The Wonder of You cute soulmate fic that i had the pleasure to read before posting 😘
@notherenewjersey Love, guaranteed, love this fic just makes my heart full ⚖️
@ mmmichyyy The silence is all we have, god this is so wonderfully emotional & riveting ♥️
@very-sleepy-head Kinky advent calendar was delightful 🔥
3. Pieces of fanart you can't stop things about?
Buckle up bc we so blessed as a fandom 🥰
My breathtaking commissions made by the magnificent @darthvaders-wife here gave me everything I wanted & more 💙
This comic by @psychicskulldamage mick's booty in Ian's eyes? Instead of heart eyes it's peach eyes 😂 I need your art tattooed on me 😍
The tenderness of @heymrspatel in this piece just gives me the ✨️oh✨️ feeling all the time
Your art too Bee here pulls on my heart strings wow 🌅
@mishervellou s all of paola's are phenomenal & i simply adore dancing painted kiss art 💋
@adakechi art is holy wow & stunning 😭
@milkoviched sweater weather art had bubble butt & bubble bulge 🍑🍆💕
suzy-queued gallacrafts has my jaw on the floor every time like this one! Omg the craftsmanship 💖
@imikhailotakeyouian chibis bring me immense joy 💕
@ianandmickeygallavich i like em sweet craft was sooo creative i love it 🍬
@deathclassic such beautiful art here ✨️
@gallavichiscomfort absolutely precious chibi art i need stickers 😍
@mikhailoisbaby snuggle husbands 🌈
@ divine-gallavich pls take my money these pieces are phenomenal 🥹
@tsuga-of-mars gallacraft is soft, sensitive & magical! Just so them 💘
@creepkingin c incredible book binding 💚
@takeyourpillsbitchh artwork of one of my fave scene is amazing 🤚
@filorux art here with Ian's mesmerising eye & pocket mickey love!!! 😍
@y0itsbri tomato king ian 🍅
@grumpymickmilk gallavich picrew is sensational 👏
@ steorie comic is spectacular omg the details ❤️🔥
@mikcrymilkovich oh this art is beautifully tender 🧡
@clingymickey cute snuggling husbands in bed art 🌙
@friend-bear art has a beautifully intense colour scheme 🧡💜
@doodlevich family pride comic is the sweetest 🌈🥰
I'm loving on gif makers too bc they're damn artists too 😍
@mrsinistertype my first gifted gif set & it makes my heart burst ily 😘💘
@ gallavichsbitch gif set makes me all emotional i need some monumental instrumental music here 🥹
@sluttymickey this gif set has me in stitches omg 🤣
celestialmickey set here mesmerising with angel numbers 🥹💖
@gardenerian this set magical & heart melting 🥰
@7x10mickey big ole mo everybody 🌈
@mixkeymilkovich gif set mickey is all that & more 🥰
@sisitrip winter gif set so beautiful ❄️
@sickness-health-all-that-shi t have you ever seen so eyes so blue in this set 💙💙
@imikhailo beautiful rainbow set for beautiful rainbow boy 🌈
@themilkoviches text gif posts are hilarious omg i love 🖤
@usermikhailo this colour combo of this gif set is perfection 🧡💚
Also astounding video art by @southsidesadness gives me literal chills all the dang time 🏃♂️🏃♂️
#darling starlight bee ✨️💛#gallawitchxx#i feel like im missing some darn it 😫#oops i think i made an rec list 😆#ask#💌#rec list
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