#i made this super quickly so its not perfect but here's my entry!
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So, lads, lassies and laird's, I've been watching the Fallout TV series. I'm about halfway through it. The Fallout series are video games that I like a lot - I haven't played them all, but I'm enough of a fan that I've legit made FOOD from The Official Vault-Dweller's Cookbook gifted to me by my late nephew (I was drinking homemade Nuka-Cola yesterday). The super-fans are going to wank and whine about the lore-details, but I take it as its own entry and am enjoying it so far (even though I miss the NCR). I'm actually SURPRISED that a live-action show based on video games is as good as it is. (They usually suck, this is pretty good...)
Anyway, just what does this have to do with Trigun (other than both things taking place in post-apocalyptic desert settings)? Well, there is the 200+ year old guy (ghoul) with the long shot up duster which I addressed on this blog before as "Perfect wardrobe - if anyone makes a live action Trigun, pay attention to this). Cooper isn't quite the "Vash" here, though... his morals are more... Wolfwood? Left of Wolfwood? He's actually an excellent study in broken morals as he used to be a very decent guy in his pre-war life...
No... it's how main character Lucy is giving me some inspiration.
Lucy is the Vault-Dweller. She comes from a sealed underground Vault that her ancestors fled into to escape the bombs. The Vaults, however, were never meant to save anyone. Lucy's Vault currently has a population-problem (everyone's getting incesty), it's connected to two other Vaults and there's a trade-thing going on, including for breeding, but there's definitely something weirder going on that the series is unfolding... And everyone in her Vault is super-idealistic. They're all peaceful people who live by peaceful ways and they have an agriculture-area (NOT AT ALL unlike the Geoplant-room / recreation room of a SEEDS ship!) that is set up to simulate Nebraska.
So when Lucy goes out into the outside world in her quest to find her kidnapped father (is stuff that happens in episode 1 really a spoiler???) she's just very... trying to do things peacefully and with good morals in this... wrecked and horrible world. She cites The Golden Rule a lot.
But then... she gets quickly and progressively "grittified." She has to do some awful things to survive and carry out her quest, although she actually sticks to her moral code. (So far, I've only seen her directly kill once, in self-defence, and it is arguable that the subject was in the realm of not-human-anymore and death-was-a-mercy) and she was shocked by it. And immediately after, she did a kindness to someone who betrayed her simply because she decided that she was not going to let the world change her. "I will never become you."
Reminded me of Vash a bit - Born in a sealed metal spaceship with artificial environs, not unlike a Vault (save that SEEDS was actually meant to save Humanity, not experiment on it, not that...um...experiments didn't happen *tugs collar*). The SEEDS folk that we meet (Rem, Luida, Brad) seem to come from an optimistic, idealistic perspective in contrast to the survival-world of the desert planet. Instead of a world to colonise / recolonise according to a peaceful plan sold to their ancestors, it's a dog-eat-dog nasty world where murder is common. And yet, Vash sticks to his guns and keeps to ideals and doesn't let him change him for the worse by his own hard-won decision, in spite of absolutely everything.
This, of course, also has me thinking of my WIP fanfic in which Rem survives and what I was doing in direction in that with her and continued survival having to face a post-Fall world and no longer being a pedestal-figure for Vash, but having to be a real person and surprising him and gaining grit (in a strictly in-character way).
So, of course the story of this TV series, being what it is, is jogging my brain.
#trigun#trigun maximum#trigun stampede#fallout#fallout tv series#trigun fanfiction#fanfiction inspiration#one man and a crate of puppets
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Week 9: When is it Going to be Spring Already???
No one told me it would be so rainy, windy, and cold in March. Like I was getting jealous of Ann Arbor weather. I seriously had to pull out my sweaters and puffer again.
But, there are two positives things about this rainy, windy, and cold week. First, look at how beautiful the buildings get. This is the plaza I live right off of.
Second, this weather is perfect, what I call, “Museum weather.” If you haven’t caught on already, one of my favorite things about living in Madrid is the huge variety of museums. But, I can never justify spending hours inside a museum if it’s sunny out, because then it’s perfect park weather. So, I had been saving the Reina Sofía for a weekend exactly like this, and I also took the opportunity to go visit the Museum of Illusions, Palacio de Cibeles, and the Chamberí Ghost Station this week.
Similar to the Robot Museum from last week, the Museum of Illusions was a small, lesser known museum. It’s actually in a few major cities around the world, and it was another good way to spend a couple hours after school. My favorite exhibit was a vortex tunnel where you had to walk on a bridge that was stationary while the screens lining the tunnel spun. Even though I knew that the bridge was stationary, it still made me feel like the bridge was spinning, and it was hard to walk straight. It was super cool!!
After we visited the museum, I tried a pastry filled with Lotus-flavored cream. I had never seen that flavor before back home, but I’ve been seeing it everywhere here, so I decided to try it and it was sooo good!! It was the flavor of the Delta Biscoff cookies, which I normally don’t love, but there was something about it being a cream that made it so much better. I really should’ve taken a picture of it…
Hosted by Comillas, I also went to Palacio de Cibeles this week to see an exhibition on a collection of old Madrid street signs and learn more about the building. I feel like when you think of Madrid, Palacio de Cibeles is one of the most iconic buildings that represent the city. The ornate outside and its grand size definitely makes it one of the most recognizable symbols of the city. It was super cool to learn that the building was originally built as a central post office for telegrams, and later letters. People could come from all over the city and deposit their mail into boxes for specific cities, allowing them to call someone over in the morning from Barcelona for dinner the same day! Now, it’s used as a City Hall. I love that the building has free entry for people to go inside and view rotating exhibitions or grab a bite to eat. I'm including a picture of Palacio de Cibeles on in the sun too, since the clouds really don't do it justice.
Over the weekend, I went to explore Estación Chamberí, an old station in the Madrid metro station that has since been abandoned. Although the tour is free, tickets only release every month, and they sell out pretty quickly, so I had been waiting for this visit for a while. I didn’t know that the whole tour would be in Spanish, but I was surprised that I was able to understand about 95% of it. I guess my Spanish is getting better!
Walking into the station, everything was so well preserved that it felt like I time traveled back into the late 1900s. White tiles lined the walls, and tiled art and paper line routes and ticket fare charts were right at the entrance. Opened in 1919, I learned that the Madrid metro was modeled after the one in Paris. The station, however, closed in 1966 because the station was curved and sloped, so when they expanded the city and consequently the metro, from 4 cars in a train to 6, the bend radius was too large, and the last two cars snapped. So, it was then abandoned. It’s funny though because getting to the station was kind of a hike, and I couldn’t help but think how nice it would be to have a metro station in the area. The Chamberí station is also widely known as the “Ghost Station,” since people used to sleep in the station after it was abandoned. When line 1 goes past it, passengers would see people moving around and thought there were ghosts.
The next day, I went to the Reina Sofía. This was the last museum I had to visit in the Golden Triangle of Art in Madrid (which consists of the Prado, Reina Sofía, and Thyssen-Bornemisza). I knew this museum was more contemporary and modern than the Prado, so I was excited for the visit. I was lucky to visit during a special exhibition about Picasso’s works during the year 1906, which was when he started developing his unique style. They also had pieces from other artists that showed where Picasso’s inspiration came from, which was really cool to see. Something I learned was that his works were heavily influenced by African art, which was seen as more primitive than European art at the time, and Picasso started introducing it as a part of European art. Obviously, a highlight was seeing the Guernica in real life, and I spent a while digesting everything going on in the painting. It was also cool to see the planning for the painting and how it changed from the first iteration to the final that’s now in the museum.
While the Reina Sofía was definitely more contemporary, it was almost a little too modern for my liking compared to other museums of contemporary and modern art. Having gone to all three museums now, I think the Thyssen-Bornemisza is my favorite since it has works from the 1300s all the way to the 2000s, with really amazing explanations of each era. So if I had to recommend one, it would be that one. But, I still enjoyed it a lot! Here are some of my favorite pieces from my visit by Dalí (first two) and Juan Gris.
And, on Wednesday after my second Fluids exam, I decided to walk home since it was the one slightly less cold and cloudy day we had. On my way home, I went to Templo de Debod again for the sunset, and it ended up being so beautiful! Here are some pictures of the gorgeous sky. This is seriously one of my favorite spots in Madrid, and I’ll definitely miss it when I leave.
Overall, this week was definitely more relaxed (much needed), and it gave me a good chance to go out and explore things that were on my tourist list for my time here in Madrid.
Seriously hoping for some sun soon,
Isha Venkatesh
Mechanical Engineering
Comillas — Madrid, Spain
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How I Use Notion To Organize My Life
I discovered notion last year after falling down a YouTube rabbit hole, and I cannot believe how perfect the tool is for me. I constantly have a million thoughts in my head, and on-going tasks to track. Notion has simplified that process immensely, and made it possible to make a fully customizable portal that suited my preferences.
First, I have my dashboard. Notion is the first app I open on my computer every time I use it, and this page serves as my hub to everything else that I use on a regular basis. (Forgive the alignment since I screenshot this on a tablet - it’s perfectly spaced on desktop!) Everything here is either a link to a website that I need regularly, or linked to a page where I can record / track more information that I need to remember.
I also have pages like this where I keep track of long term goals and larger scope projects. I use the toggle feature to take notes on topics that I want to remember quickly, databases to organize meeting minutes and resources, and to-do buttons for goals I may have. This page in particular tracks the personal projects that I undertook last semester. My favorite part about this is how easy it is to move everything around, and how I can move all of this to its own toggle once I start the new semester. Out of sight, out of mind, and a cleaner overview.
I will also sometimes create pages to break down my revision for exams by topic. When a class is especially difficult, this helps me keep track of how many topics I have left to review, and I can shuffle the order in which I want to study them with ease. I also have separate pages for my reading and watch lists, where I add tags based on the genre. People are constantly recommending content for me to consume, and it’s easy for me to pull out my phone and enter it like this so I don’t forget. The tags allow me to filter my database based on my mood, and make the decision making process much easier.
Lastly, my favorite part about my notion is my to-do list tab. Before you laugh, yes I am a computer science major using a kanban board to track daily tasks. It’s highly effective lmao, don’t come for me. Whenever a new thought about something I want to do crosses my mind, I add it to the not started column. I add the essential tasks for the day (based on my google calendar) to my in progress column. Whenever I start a task, I also move it from not started to in progress. When something is fully complete, I move it to the completed column. I display the date that each task was last updated so that I can keep track of how long it has been since I have seen that entry, which helps with accountability. Lastly, at midnight everyday, the completed column automatically resets, and so I wake up to a blank canvas of tasks waiting to be completed everyday. Tasks completed in the past are stored in the backend, in case I ever need to reference them. I literally love this system so much, and it has increased my productivity immeasurably.
And that’s about it for my notion. I’ve barely made a start to what I really want to do with it, especially with the release of the notion api recently, so this is bound to evolve soon. However, I am super proud of her, and I hope that it inspired you all as well. Love, M :)
#university student#university stuff#university struggles#college stories#college studyblr#cs studyblr#college studyspo#college#studyblr#university#csblr#college study tips#computer science#aesthetic notes#study notes#lecture notes#notion#m rambles#online school#organization#study tips#student tips#productivity#programming
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a spell for you - hwang hyunjin
→ synopsis: he had spontaneously chosen you as a victim, leaving you with nothing but the desire to return his motives.
→ word count: 11k
→ genre: hogwarts au, enemies to lovers
→ pairing: slytherin!hyunjin x gryffindor! gender neutral reader (feat. jihyo (twice))
→ warnings: one mention of the reader's period (it's not necessary for context, but just know that it is there)
→ author's note (super quick haha): i feel like i could have done a lot better with this, so perhaps there will be a rewrite in the future if this one disappoints you. happy, slightly belated, new year!
i.
His hair catches the light with a shimmering pang. He brushes a hand through it, tucking a pestering strand behind his ear. Intently, he watches beside him, where his friends are shoving each other and threatening a fight. His lips are parted, threatening a smile.
"Stop trying to steal my potion," Changbin shoves, his grip on the glass bottle tightening as Seungmin reaches for it.
"You're the one who took it from me!" Seungmin whines, defensively hitting the inner elbow wielding his potion.
"No fighting in my classroom," Professor Nam breathily warns, leaning back in her chair defeatedly. She found it too difficult to try corralling them anymore.
You scoff.
Hyunjin turns to you, a smirk pulling the corner of his lip. "What? Got a problem?"
You roll your eyes. "Your presence is breaking my concentration. Why don't you go fight with Seungmin and never come back? That sounds perfect."
"What're you even concentrating on? The test you're gonna fail anyway?" Hyunjin jabs, puffing out his bottom lip in fake sympathy.
"Says the one who has worse grades than me."
He drags his chair closer to your desk, robe trailing slightly behind. His heavy breath casts a warmth against the back of your hand. "That's no way to talk to a superior."
"Superior?" you glance up, laughing. "Slytherins will never be superior to Gryffindors."
"Why is that?" Hyunjin cocks his head, a small, amused smile playing on his lips. His eyebrows jump with curiosity.
"Because snakes will only ever stay in the grass. Lions can at least jump."
He nods. "True. But a snake can kill a lion with its venom, and then your jumping is pointless."
From the seat in front of you, Jeongin groans. "Shut up already. Ravenclaws are the best and it's time you all admit it."
In unison, you and Hyunjin mutter, "Never that."
You look to him, his eyes in the same amount of shock as yours. You slam your textbook closed, shoving it into your bag. "Gross."
As you're standing from your chair, he coos, "If you're going to the common room, you should change."
"Why would I change for you, Hwang Hyunjin?"
"Because there's a stain on your pants," he smirks.
You grimace, tossing a dismissive wave over your shoulder as you leave the classroom. Nam doesn't care. She's too busy filing her nails and trying to keep Seungmin and Changbin from decapitating each other. You know, a normal day in her classroom. Plus, the bell is nearing its drone.
The hidden entry shifts for you as you approach. "Thank you, madam," you shout to the portrait above you.
The lady hums. The cement crackly replenishes itself behind you as you relish in the abandoned common room. Everyone is in classes, or should be, at least. You rush up to your room, tossing your bag and immediately changing into a different set of pants.
Sure enough, on the butt of your previous plaid ones is a small brown splotch. It can't be your period, so you slowly get closer to look at it. The waft of chocolate tickles your nose.
"Hwang Hyunjin," you grumble. He's probably sitting in that classroom still, snickering with his friends at how gullible you are. But hey, at least the stain kind of blends in.
ii.
The idea of revenge had seemed a waste of time in your formative years. Until your eyes locked with Hwang Hyunjin's in your first year. Those beady little pupils that followed every move you made. Tactical. Always ready to sink his fangs.
His first prank had been a simple fart joke (as fresh teenagers love). With the wave of his wand, he summoned a low groan right behind you. His acting skills were put to use as he brought a hand to his nose. "Ew, Y/N farted!"
Your cheeks flushed as you confusedly turned to him. You snapped, "No, I didn't."
Though, his choir of laughs had drowned your defense and left you with the heat of shame. He smiled back at you as he sat down, his dark wand still poised in his fingers.
Now, as you sit in the dining hall with hyperactive attention and a dismal pull for hunger, the target enters. His blond hair is pulled back into a ponytail, with a few straying pieces. There is a quirk to his lips as he talks to the friends at his sides. You can feel the bass of his laughter in your shoulders.
"Hello? You in there?" Changbin waves a hand in front of your dazed eyes.
"What?" you turn back to him as Hyunjin takes a seat in his usual spot.
He sighs. "You scouting him again?"
"I have to get back at him," you mutter, picking up your fork before you stab the noodles on your plate.
"Y/N," Changbin whines. Your steely eyes look to him, and he immediately softens, caving in on himself.
"You're a Gryffindor," you start, twirling the noodles, "better start acting like one."
"Are you saying I can't be friends with both of you?"
You shake your head. "Never insinuated that. I'm standing my ground, and you shouldn't be preventing me from doing that."
Changbin looks to the other faces listening in, but all of them are little help. Jisung catches his eye, shaking his head. Defeated, he sighs, turning back to his meal. He drowns the words on his tongue with water.
The dinner session ends rather quickly (thanks to your rambled thoughts). Students bustle to return to designated common rooms for the night. Your eyes are glued to the back of Hyunjin's head. He's in no hurry, evidently, because he is still seated at the table, eyes crinkled with laughter. The cold wood of the wand is a familiar feeling in your palm. It's comforting. It reminds you of a time where Hwang Hyunjin was merely a classmate. How simple life was.
The hollowness he had claimed in your stomach deepens when he finally stands. You
point your wand at him carefully, suddenly grateful Changbin isn't here, and whisper, "Confundo."
The trademarked confident stride caves in on itself as the boy shrinks. He glances around. Upturned eyebrows and lost eyes. You rush to walk past him, a small wave and a smile. He doesn't seem to recognize you.
You can't help but laugh.
iii.
Your head is held high as you're walking to your first class of the day. Last night hasn't stopped replaying in your head, and the smile has yet to fade. He looked so lost. His eyes were wide and puppylike, and it even sent a jolt through your heart. Finally, he'd gotten a piece of his own medicine.
A barrier stops you from going further. It tugs you back by the sleeve of your blazer, leaving you to stare back into the somewhat lost eyes of the boy you had terrorized.
"What do you want?" you mumble, glancing down the hall. If anyone were to see you two, this close, they'd know something was up.
"What spell did you use? I can't shake it. I've been awake all night trying to get rid of it."
You chuckle and shrug. "Well, it's already lost some of its oomph. Only time can cure you."
You try to continue your path, but he grabs your shoulders and spins you back to look at him. He leans close to your face, and your breath chokes you. His eyes are no longer wide with innocence. They hold a knife back at you. "What spell did you use?"
"Confundo. Why, do you think I cursed you?" you scoff, squirming beneath his palms. "I'm not that mean, Hwang."
He lets go of your shoulders, staring at his shoes in defeat. You stumble a little. "Dumbass," he mutters, "We have an exam today. I can't concentrate on something like that, especially since I was up all night. Why would you do this?"
A sprout of something dizzying scratches your chest. You lean onto your toes as you whisper, "Should have thought about that before you started this mess."
You continue your walk to class with newfound guilt. Behind you, Hyunjin mutters, "I'll get back at you. Big time."
Your day had always been thwarted by the presence of Hwang Hyunjin, for he was always in every class. But today, he's not there. You presume he's caught in the Slytherin tower, curled in a ball as he tries to dispel his confusion. Mayhaps he's even sleeping. In a way, you kind of miss his antics. The way he tossed his head back and let his hair cascade at the fate of gravity simply for the muse that it 'helped him think.'
You found yourself smiling at your exam packet, and you instantly recoil. Hyunjin's an asshole, and he deserves everything he gets.
Changbin nudges you. You glance at him and he begins to fight a laugh. "What're you thinking of in that pretty little head of yours?"
You look back to your test in alarm. "Nothing," you whisper, warily glancing at Professor Nam, whose eyes wander up and down the aisles.
"Is it Hyunjin?" he leans toward you.
You shake your head, hissing, "Absolutely not."
Professor Nam skips over a row to you. "No talking. I'll take points if I catch you two again."
Changbin settles back into his test, leaving you with thoughts of your own. As you aimlessly bubbled in answers seemingly obvious, you thought to Hyunjin. Maybe you were a little out of line with the confundo incident, but it was your turn for revenge. You glance up at his empty chair when you finish the test. In the far corner of your head, you swear you can hear his obnoxious laugh and breathy, "I told you so."
Overhead, the bell rings. It dismisses everyone from their classes and momentarily dismisses Hyunjin from the warmth of your thoughts. You pass your exam forward, quickly scavenging your things together and following the pack into the halls. Nam's class is the last of the day, and it's Friday. Your weekend is free ahead of you, and you consider inviting Changbin and Jisung to a picnic or something.
A hand claps down on your shoulder before a deep laugh shakes in your ears. "Y/N! I heard what you did to Hyunjin. Genius, I must say."
You glance to the owner of the voice, meeting the glimmering eyes of Kim Seungmin. He looks down on you with a warm smile. So unlike a Slytherin.
"Thank you," you straighten your posture as you continue walking.
His hand doesn't move from your shoulder. His breath is hot against your ear as he whispers, "But if it's just between you and me, you're gonna wish you didn't do that."
Shivers trail the back of your neck to your wrists. When you look at him, he's still harboring that welcoming grin. "Ciao," he removes his hand to wave at you. Then, he starts in the opposite direction, against the wave of traffic.
You walk the rest of the way with your eyes glued ahead. A Gryffindor does not back down. They are brave, you remind yourself.
The Fat Lady allows you entry into the common room, but the hallway is backed up. You stretch your neck to try and see above the crowd, though nothing but heads of hair taints your view. There's a pit in your stomach, and before you can shove through, you already have an idea what's going on.
The Gryffindor common room has been plagued with the stench of Hwang Hyunjin's mischievous antics. It is drenched in a potion of Nidore, resembling the smell of untreated B.O. Han Jisung plugs his nose as he glances around. He catches your eye, muttering, "Do you smell this?"
Your eyes are lazed with irritation. Curtly, you nod. "Yeah. Hyunjin did this. I'm sure of it."
Jisung whines, tapping his foot impatiently, "Why can't you two just keep your tricks in class? This is violating school rules. He shouldn't be in here. He's a Slytherin!"
You bite on the inner piece of your lip as heeled steps echo closer. The presence of a tall woman sends anxious goosebumps down your spine. You turn to her, though you're sure you look pitiful.
"What is the meaning of this?" she shouts, looking among the students for any clue.
Jisung nudges your arm.
"We have reason to believe it was a Slytherin's doing, madam," another professor slips into the room, promptly covering his nose.
"Do we have a name for this Slytherin?" she crosses her arms and purses her lips.
The professor shakes his head, looking to his freshly shined shoes. Faintly, he wonders if the smell will ruin them. "No. Not yet."
The headmistress sighs, waving her hand. "Gryffindors are to report to the dining hall immediately until this mess is covered. Start an investigation at once."
"Yes, ma'am," the professor's head falls as he pushes back through the crowd, which is now graciously evacuating. Those simple words were all they needed.
You feel bolted to the floor. All you can do is stare at the bun atop the headmistress's head. Hyunjin had gone too far, but you had triggered this. Jisung grabs your wrist and pulls you out.
He takes you up the hall, into the bathroom. He closes the door behind you.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he whisper-shouts.
You shake your head, a rock lodging its way into your throat as you avert his sharp eyes. "I fucked up."
"Obviously."
Han Jisung is standing with his hands on his hips, his eyes looking like they're about to bulge from his head. He must be disappointed. "What're you gonna do about this?"
"I'm gonna have to tell McGonagall."
Jisung sighs, taking a long look at you. "If you think that's what's best, go on." He opens the door for you.
You trudge back to the Gryffindor common room. The Fat Lady grants you entrance, though she says, "It sure smells in there, love. I wouldn't stay long if I were you."
When you reach the end of the hallway, McGonagall is no longer there. Instead, there's a blond boy who laughs quietly to himself. He looks back at you. "I knew you'd come back."
"Hyunjin, what the hell do you think you're doing? You went too far. You could get expelled over this, you know?"
He shakes his head. "I won't get expelled. My family's donated too much to this school. You should have seen the look on your face, though."
You blink as he stands. "Have you ever stopped to think about other people for a change? I'm nothing without this school."
Hyunjin sucks his teeth. "Should have thought about that one."
You open your mouth to retaliate, but overhead a voice takes over. "Y/N Y/L/N of Gryffindor and Hwang Hyunjin of Slytherin, please report to the headmistress' office immediately."
Hyunjin wraps his arm around your shoulder, the tips of his fingers trailing a path along your collarbone. "Shall we?"
iv.
"I can expel you. Is that what you would like?" McGonagall inquires, pushing her glasses up on the bridge of her nose. Around her, papers float as she pointedly looks for one in specific.
"No," you mumble.
Hyunjin tips his head back, allowing his hair to fall back. There is a menacing curl to his lips.
"Your antics have been going on for how long? Nearly six years?"
Your gaze is locked on your shoes. They need a shining, you note.
Hyunjin begins chuckling. "You're not actually serious about expulsion, right? My family would never let you hear the end of it."
McGonagall plucks a paper from the air, looking at it. "No, Mr. Hwang. But keep up your attitude and I'll make the remainder of your time here a living hell."
You look at Hyunjin, whose eyes wait for yours. He smiles, offering a sharp pierce to your heart. Your eyes shoot back to the floor. The toe of his shoe pierces your vision, inching to nudge yours.
"What I think is appropriate," McGonagall starts, plucking another paper. "is that you two seek a middle ground. I am requesting that wizardry chores are to be saved for you two, and you will perform them together. I am uncertain on the duration, still, but I assure you it will not be comfortable."
Hyunjin scoffs. "You're gonna make us do laundry or something?"
McGonagall sighs, looking up at him. She offers a pitying smile. "It'll be much, much worse than that, Mr. Hwang."
"Thank you," he sarcastically remarks.
You look up to McGonagall, bowing your head gently. "Thank you for not resorting to expulsion."
"You two are immature wizards, which is incredibly dangerous in today's society. I need to knock sense into you, not allow you the means to rebel."
You don't dare look at Hyunjin, but you're sure he has smoke billowing from his ears. Because nobody, not even the headmistress, should talk down on him. "A Slytherin," you recall him saying, "is the top of the food chain."
"Now," she claps, sending a jolt through you. "Your first task is to remove the potion from the Gryffindor common room. That should be fairly easy for you, Mr. Hwang."
He grimaces, starting out of the office. He swears beneath his breath, and doesn't even make fun of you when you trip and nearly faceplant. Instead, he offers a glance back at you before continuing on his way. Not even a single sly comment.
When you return to the common room, Changbin waits outside. He pushes off the cement walls, arms crossed against his velvet robe. "Oh? Are you two finally allowing your love for each other to blossom?"
You shoot him a warning look, but it amasses to nothing when Hyunjin grabs him by the collar and pins him against the wall. "Watch your mouth."
He throws him to the ground before hesitantly entering the hallway.
"Who pissed in his Cheerios?" Changbin scrambles to stand up again. He seeks you for answers, but falls short when all you offer is a secured gaze on the floor.
The Gryffindor common room is still oozing with stench, but in the center of it is Hwang Hyunjin, the mastermind. He seems more bothered by McGonagall's comments than the smell. He raises his wand of Blackthorn, chanting an unknown spell. The odor vanquishes, leaving you only with the other elephant in the room.
Hyunjin starts out the door, bumping into your shoulder on the way. "Just stay out of my way and we won't have problems."
You huff, staring at the back of his neck, "Be mature for once."
He stops, his head slumping. He slowly turns back to you, venom laced with his words as he says, "You're the reason we're in this mess. Stay out of my way so we can get this over with, okay?"
Ice builds up your ankles. You cannot move. You cannot speak. You're left to watch as he storms out of the room. So much for a stable weekend.
v.
Things truly began with doing the laundry. Muttered remarks fluttered from Hyunjin's lips, though he does not speak directly to you. Nor does he even offer a spare glance.
Then, you had a trip to Hogsmeade. Though, under strict supervision by Professor Kim, whose gaze never left your necks. "Isn't the grocer that way, Mr. Hwang?" he had said. Hyunjin tensed, dark eyes looking back at the old man. Though, he did not speak. He simply moved on his way.
After that, McGonagall had sent for you two to clean the Slytherin dungeons. "Real Slytherins aren't this piggish," Hyunjin grumbled, scrubbing harshly at the moss buildup.
Hesitance built in your veins every time he was around. Though, his gaze has not crossed your skin once. His words, too, were never meant to travel over your robes. He treats you as though you are an imaginary friend who he vowed to erase from his life.
You release a shaky breath.
"I won't be at dinner," you warn your friends for the sixth day in a row. A setting sun peeks through the broad window panes.
"You serving time again?" Minho manages through sips of scalding coffee. For a Ravenclaw, he didn't always live up to the stereotype.
"They're not serving time, per se," Changbin counters. "But close enough."
Chan tugs at your sleeve, pulling you away from the crowd. "Are you okay?"
Tears prick the corners of your vision, but you nod. "Yeah. I'm fine. I just kinda wanna get this over with."
Chan offers a small, sheepish smile. "Okay. Just let me know if you need anything. I may be a Hufflepuff, but I can beat his ass if you want me to."
You giggle, bringing your sleeved arm to brush against your nose. "Thank you."
At the end of the hall, where it halts with the choice of the dining hall or the potions branch of the school, you take a left while everyone else turns right.
Today, McGonagall needed you to clean the bathrooms. Hyunjin, of course, was not looking forward to it. He didn't look forward to anything, you realize.
"Hey," you greet, gently setting down your bag outside the bathroom. The door is still closed.
Hyunjin looks up from his phone. He doesn't say anything, but at least he acknowledges you by slipping his phone into his pocket. His hand encases the doorknob before he pushes it open.
Disgust twists his face as he gags. "What the hell? Have these ever been used?"
"Evidently," you remark, peeking around the doorway to see a pile of green sludge accustomed to the floor.
Hyunjin sighs. "I guess we better get started."
You nod, picking up a mop that awaited. You work in silence. Hyunjin curses under his breath, grunting as he works. When you steal a glance, his face is reddened and there are beads of sweat threatening to drip from his brow.
The sludge, you presume, is mutated moss. It's actually quite common in castles like this one. Nonetheless, it's gross to eliminate. And the smell. Just thinking about it would send shivers down your spine.
On Hyunjin's end of the bathroom, behind the protection of a wall, there is a gurgle and an accompanying shout. "You're joking," he whines.
He steps out from the stall, the white of his undershirt blotched with green and orange. It looks like vomit, but it smells much worse. You don't have time to laugh, for he's gathering his things. "I'm tired of McGonagall making us do her stupid errands. Doesn't she have servants for this? I'm done!" he offers you one last glance before he leaves.
Silence was more comfortable when he sat in it with you.
vi.
You jolt with the realization. Certainly you weren't starting to enjoy Hyunjin's company. That's outright impossible. If anything at all, you were merely starting to see him as a comrade or acquaintance.
But you were not, absolutely not, starting to feel something for him.
The sun starts to leak through your curtains, portraying your sleeping roommate like a silhouette. You sigh, falling back onto the pillows. The ceiling stares back at you with an intimidating uncertainty. Hyunjin wasn't going to be doing the chores anymore, so it would be pointless in talking to him about it. So long as McGonagall doesn't find out that you're working solo, things should be okay.
You travel with the crowd, accepting breakfast alone. Your friends were probably still sleeping. Minho might be awake, but he's likely locked in the Ravenclaw chamber, hiding from the outside world on his rest day.
McGonagall's wishes for today, as delivered by Professor Kim, was to visit Hagrid's hut and obtain a dragon egg. The reason, she did not state. Probably official school business that you had no intention, nor desire, of searching into. If Hyunjin were with you, that'd likely be a different story.
You leave the castle at quarter to noon. It's chilly outside (you probably could have used a jacket) but the sun is held central in the sky. You take a deep breath, admiring the traveling scents of blossoms and lilies. The gravel path crunches beneath your shoes. A bright pink azalea catches your eye. It hangs on the edge of the forest, serving a bookmark among the green. You step off of the path, taking careful steps toward it.
"Wow," you mumble, bringing your palm to it. It's soft against your skin.
You wonder if Hyunjin likes flowers. A smile cracks your lips. "It'd be funny if he did," you whisper to yourself.
A squealing cry causes you to flinch. You turn in the direction of the noise, spotting a pig running for dear life. Its little legs overworking themselves in a blur. Close behind is a hippogriff, tall and muscular. It walks with leisure, for its legs equate to nearly thirty of the pig's.
You gulp. They're bigger than the textbooks lead on. You take a wary step back. A stick crunches beneath your weight. The hippogriff's gaze sways toward you. It cocks its head curiously.
You wished you paid more attention in Care of Magical Creatures. Stupid Hyunjin and his stupid distractions. Why did he even begin picking on you in the first place? Was it chance? Did he know you were a Gryffindor and simply nod and declare you were the one? For whatever reason, it has brought you here.
A Gryffindor shouldn't cry in a situation like this. They should stand tall and tame the beast. Fight if they have to, but that's a shrugging matter. You're not like other Gryffindors, though. Who are you kidding? You're a lousy one.
So you cry. If death is upon you, all you really can do is cry.
The hippogriff opens its beak and lets out a shrill cry. Its heavy footsteps echo into the trees, shaking birds from branches. It poises its hind legs in a crouch, preparing for the hunt. Like any predator, it expects you to run.
You shake your head, glancing to the pink azalea beside your head. You close your eyes, bracing yourself for the impact. You hear its footsteps drawing near.
"Alarte ascendare!" a voice yells. There is a boom and a crash.
Hesitant, you open your eyes. The hippogriff is laying in front of you, bloodied and gasping for breath. A wave of heat washes over you as you dizzily fall to your knees. You try to look for the source of the voice, but your vision is hazy.
Arms wrap around you. They steady you. You look up. "Hyunjin?"
"Shh, it's okay. I'm here," he pulls your head into his chest, resting his chin atop your head.
"What're you doing here?" Your mouth is dry. Any moment, you feel as though you might fall. Through the earth and into an abyss. But still, Hyunjin holds you.
"Same goes for you. Why're you out here unsupervised, huh?" his voice is in a calming whisper. His fingers trace repeating lines through your hair.
"McGonagall wanted us to go get an egg from Hagrid," you tell him, removing the detail of the flower. You didn't need him calling you stupid for straying from the path.
He sighs. For once, he's speechless. He just keeps playing with your hair, occasionally glancing to the hippogriff, who has since long stopped breathing.
vii.
Behind the large wooden doors of the infirmary, you hear a droning voice. "Slaughter of a magical creature on school grounds can be charged with expulsion. Are you aware of that, Mr. Hwang?"
The following voice is much quieter, though you don't have the energy to strain yourself. Your head is pounding, and there's a bandage around your ankle. Your eyes fall on the door. A nurse has her ear cupped to it. Heavy eyelids take their reign over you. The voice fades into the darkness, leaving you cold and lost.
When you finally open your eyes again, there is a face hanging over you. You slowly blink.
"Sleep well?" McGonagall inquires. Her glasses hang low on the bridge of her nose. You're afraid they might fall on you if she stays much longer.
You nod. "What time is it?"
McGonagall steps back, bringing her wristwatch into frame. She tilts her head. "Around 2:30. It's Thursday. You've been here nearly twenty-four hours, you know?"
You fight to sit up. Imaginary weights drag you back. "Don't expel Hyunjin," you find yourself saying, though the words seem foreign. You're not even sure you spoke them in your native tongue.
"Sorry?"
"I said," you pause, taking a deep breath, "Don't expel Hyunjin. It's not his fault."
McGonagall juts out her chin, pursing her lips. "And why shouldn't I?"
You sigh, as though you cannot believe that you're defending Hwang Hyunjin. "I was careless. I strayed from the path to Hagrid's because I saw a stupid flower. If it weren't for Hyunjin, I'd probably be dead meat."
She hums, removing her glasses and pointing the golden frames towards you. "So my plan, it worked?"
"What plan?"
"Of getting you two to mature and see each other as equals."
"I don't know about the whole equals thing-"
"Hush, I don't want to hear it. You two will meet in my office Saturday morning, I expect. I'll send a reminder tomorrow evening," McGonagall huffs, turning to leave. Her heels clobber against the tile all the way to the end of the hall.
Within no time, the nurse is at your bedside, offering you a glass of water and a blonde potion. "Can I get you anything else?" she asks, interlacing her fingers and resting them on the pocket of her apron.
You glance at your ankle. "What happened?"
She offers a weak smile. "I wouldn't be able to tell you. Ask that blond boy who brought you in. I'm sure he knows. Or at least, he'll be able to point you in the right direction."
You slowly nod. "Thank you."
"Yes, dear. Oh, and you should be able to return to your dormitory as soon as you're ready. Take it easy."
When she's disappeared into the office by the set of doors, you sigh. What mess did Hwang Hyunjin get you into? More accurately, what mess did you get yourself into? You can't even find it in you to be mad at him, though logically you should be. Especially with the way he stroked your hair before you fainted. At that moment, he seemed like an angel. A blond-headed angel, whose blood was tainted with the venom of snakes.
Even so, none of this would have happened had he not stormed off. And you'll remind yourself that every time an endearing thought crosses your mind. He may have saved you, but he had essentially set you as bait. Indirectly, but still.
Near dinnertime, you leave the infirmary to freshen up. Your hair was matted and there was dirt smudged on your cheeks. After a quick shower, wary of your wrapped foot, you hobble to the dining hall. Before you settle with a questioning Seo Changbin, you glance at the empty spot of the infamous Slytherin section. The setting sun failed to cast a glow on blond hair, for he was not there. Perhaps he had been pulled from school, and McGonagall has yet to hear the news. Or maybe he's punishing himself for even going after you. Regardless, a swollen hole burns through your chest. It sparks irritation as you push around tonight's meal with the tip of your fork.
"Hey, what happened to your ankle? Did Hyunjin do something? Why aren't you answering my questions? Why are you sulking?" Changbin racks off. "Hello? Anybody in there?" He nudges your shoulder.
"I don't know what happened. I need to talk to Hyunjin about it," you simply say, finally forcing yourself to eat the food. Despite not eating for nearly two days, you felt no sense of hunger. In fact, you felt as though you were about to explode. As if you had eaten too much.
"Ah, I see. You're sulking because you have to talk to Hyunjin."
"I don't think it's that," you sigh, slumping as you look back to his spot. Still, it's empty.
"Then what's the problem?"
You think hard about what you say next. You can't tell him about this weird concoction brewing in your chest, for he'll run with it and send the school into another Battle of Hogwarts. "I just feel off. I don't know."
Jisung nudges your shin from beneath the table. You look up to him. He mouths, slowly and deliberately, "Are you okay?"
You nod, half-certain.
Changbin continues to pester you, despite the lack of responses. Even when you stand to return your tray, he follows. All the way to the common room, he sticks close, leaning over you to whisper more questions. You can't even fathom how he hasn't run out yet.
He grabs your shoulders, spinning you around. "Look at me."
Your eyes feel slow as they scan for his. He continues, "I don't know what's gotten into you, but if you need to talk about it, I am here for you. If it's about Hyunjin, I won't run off to tell him, okay? Family before friends."
"Thanks, Binnie," you force a smile, before breaking away from his grasp and closing the gap to your room. You gently close the door before plummeting onto your bed.
viii.
Hyunjin fails to appear to any class other than Professor Nam's. His seat, though filled, holds a barren figure with bags pulling at his eyes. He spares you a small smile when he catches your stare. He even offers a spare remark about your shoes. "Don't you think it's time to retire those, Y/N? They're all shabby."
But that's all he can bring himself to say. When he turns back in his seat, he slumps a little. Seungmin whispers something to him, and his head barely shakes in response.
You try not to stare at the back of his head. Even it seems to have lost some kind of sparkle to it. The bell blares its dismissal, and the class evacuates immediately. You take your time, for Hwang Hyunjin appears to be in no rush.
"Hey, what's wrong with you?" you block his way when he tries to pass without a single word. "Don't you need to get your quota of insults in? The week's over, bud."
He looks at you like he's never met you. "Oh. Sorry."
He pushes through, brushing past your shoulder. Gently. Not the usual brash interaction.
You huff, stumbling after him. "We need to talk."
"Go ahead."
"Not if you're gonna be like this. C'mon, I wore my ugliest pair of pants to try and get a rouse from you."
He spares a glance at the bright plaid trousers. "Nice."
You smack his shoulder. "What is the matter with you?"
He shrugs. "I don't know."
You stop walking, merely watching as he continues down the hall. There's no point in this, you realize. Arguing with this Hyunjin is like talking to a brick wall encased by another brick wall. Things will resume to their normal pace in due time.
You pull yourself to the Gryffindor common room, barricading yourself in your room. The moment your head connects with your pillow, a single tear falls. It's hot against your cheek.
At quarter to six, you decide to skip out on dinner. You're not sure what you'd do if you saw him sitting at his table, drawn back from the usual conversations with Seungmin.
A card slips under your door, scraping against the hardwood. You sit up to retrieve it. On the front, in large, careful cursive letters is your name. A small letter is inside, reading, "Do not forget our meeting tomorrow morning. 9:00 A.M. sharp. If you are not here, I will have someone fetch you."
You begin laughing. McGonagall's going to have a fit when she sees you and Hyunjin. A vivacious boy with a tongue for quips turned hollow and you, a Gryffindor with a newfound fear of facing him.
ix.
The back of his neck is marked crimson by the amount of times he scratches it during that meeting. His gaze averts yours, even when you know you've burnt a hole in his cheek.
"I'm sure you're aware why I've called you in," McGonagall sighs, crossing her arms as she leans against her desk.
You force your gaze to rest on her, slowly shaking your head.
"I have no choice but to dismiss our project we had."
"You mean making us do chores together?" you question, sure Hyunjin would be proud of you for such a comment. When you glance at him, he doesn't even spare a blink out of routine.
"Well, if you view it as such I'm afraid I can't change that," she nods. You know that if Hyunjin had said that, he'd be getting yelled at. Good day to hold the Gryffindor title, you dejectedly admit.
She scans Hyunjin's face for any sign of life. "You in there, Mr. Hwang?"
His head shifts upward toward her. "Yes, sorry."
"You're awfully quiet," she mentions. He shrugs, returning his eyes to his lap. He fidgets with the dark wood at the tip of his wand.
"Well, if there are no further objections, you are free to leave."
Hyunjin runs with these words, taking his bag and rushing out. He barely even offers a polite quip. You follow him out, a few distancing steps in between. He heads for the Slytherin tower. For a moment, you consider calling out and inviting him to lunch. But you don't. Instead, you go back to the Gryffindor common room, nestling in for a game of chess with Changbin. He's not very good, but at least it serves as a laughing distraction.
The sun falls over the horizon rather slowly, as though someone tugs it back on a pulley system. Changbin wishes you goodnight a bit past eight, leaving you with a distant desire to study. You shuffle to your dorm, preparing to stare absentmindedly at a textbook, when your eyes fall over the emerald robe.
Hmm, you think. Should I? Or should I not? Well, he has been very weird. And you're overly curious. It's swallowing your life.
You sigh, picking it up and swinging it over your shoulders. You pull the hood up, slipping back out into the common room. The students continue their nightly games of Mafia. Not a single set of eyes shoot at you.
Breaking curfew is punishable by copious amounts of detention. Good thing you're invisible to the guard wandering the halls.
Sneaking into the Slytherin tower is rather easy, given the circumstances. The cobblestone corridor leads you to a darkened room emblazoned by the crackle of fire. A blond boy lays on the gray carpet, his eyes vacant as he blinks at the ceiling. His friend sits on a leather couch, shrugging as he says, "I don't know man, you've just been so weird lately."
Absently, the boy on the carpet mumbles, "Sorry, I guess."
"C'mon, talk to me. I'm your best friend, Hyunjin," Seungmin sighs. He rubs a distressed finger across his brow.
Hyunjin shakes his head. "There's just this weird feeling in my chest."
"What?" Seungmin leans forward on the couch, dangling his hand close to the boy's face.
He leans out of the way as he sits up, resting his palm on his heart. "I can't explain it. I feel full all of a sudden?"
"How long have you been like this?"
"Ever since the hippogriff situation."
Seungmin falls back against the plush of the couch. His mouth is agape until a smile creeps upon him and he laughs. "I hate to break this to you, Hyunjin, but I think you've developed a crush."
Your heart catches in your throat like a rock you're incapable of swallowing. It thrums louder than the conversation unfolding. Hyunjin's lips are loose as he glances around the room. His eyes sit on you a little too long, and you slowly back into the corridor.
What do you do with this information?
x.
A harsh sneeze interrupts your slumber. You glance around through tired eyes. It's still dark in the room. Your roommate is snoring lightly.
You rest back onto the mattress, trying your hardest to dismiss a quiet cough. A bead of sweat trickles down your neck. Just what you need, you think as you shut your eyes. Maybe this is karma for sneaking into Hyunjin's space.
You hate the euphoria you experienced when you settled into bed that night. Heart a fluttering mess and cheeks pummeled with heat. Changbin would kill to hear this. Both ends. Regardless, though, you feel way too guilty to talk to Hyunjin. Some crushes are best suppressed, you think. A Slytherin-Gryffindor duo traditionally doesn't end well.
By the time you fall asleep, the sun has begun to rise. Then, by the time you wake up, the sun is ready to fall. You moan when your roommate asks if you're feeling alright. Her shivering hand comes in contact with your forehead. "Oh my God, you're burning up!"
You hiss, trying to pull your covers over your head. She tugs them back down.
"You should go to the infirmary," she says. "I'll help you there."
Hesitantly, you sit up. There's a sour taste in your mouth that burns the back of your throat. A quick palm jumps to your lips as you rush to the bathroom.
"Here," Jihyo comes close behind you. She offers a Ginger Ale.
"Thanks," you say, rubbing your mouth with the back of your hand. You take a quick swig of it, swishing it around before spitting it into the toilet.
Jihyo leads you out of the room with an arm around your shoulder. The common room is empty, aside from a few who sit behind vast textbooks. "Everyone's at dinner," she informs.
You don't have the energy to nod. It's hard enough trying to keep a straight path, even when you're leaning against her shoulder.
"Welcome back," the nurse jokes. You try to smile.
She takes your temperature after Jihyo tells her your situation. "Ooh. 101. Thank you for bringing them, sweetheart."
You take to a bed, slowly leaning to sit on it. Jihyo leaves shortly after, telling you to seek her if you need anything.
"How's your ankle doing?" the nurse asks as she offers you a cup of pills (a fever reducer and an anti inflammatory).
After you struggle to swallow them, you say (through a crackly voice), "Good, I guess. Still haven't gotten the story to it."
She presses her lips into a line, "That boy. I'll have to talk to him."
A strange light feeling punctures your heart. She pushes gently on your shoulders, forcing you to lie down. "Get some rest, dear."
Sleep comes very naturally. There's only a few moments where you struggle to return to it. The next day, the nurse brings you a cup of pudding for breakfast. You ask her what time it is.
"It's around 10. Monday."
You sigh. "I'm missing classes."
"I'm sure your professors won't mind, given you're still feverish," she checks your forehead with the back of her hand.
You eat the pudding in solidarity, watching the small TV across from you. It's displaying The Desperate Housewives of the Wizarding World. It's on all day, which is fine by you, since you're not leaving anytime soon. The final dismissal bell jumps you from your daze.
Only a few moments pass before the large doors swing, followed by the pattering of feet. "Y/N!"
Jisung rushes toward you, his burgundy robes trailing behind him. He pushes his round frames up. "Are you okay? I heard from Jihyo."
You nod. "Yeah, I feel a bit better now."
His hand finds your shoulder and he shakes you gently. "You're not going to believe this."
Your thoughts jump to Hyunjin and your eyes widen eagerly as you wait for him to continue.
"Hyunjin was whining all day about you. He was all 'where are they?' and stuff. Did something happen when McGonagall started that chore thing?"
You fight a grossly parasitical smile, shaking your head. "No. Nothing really."
He stays a little longer, telling you things you missed from the classes you share. As he's departing, you stop him. "Hey, Sung, I got a question."
He turns back to you. "Shoot."
"Can I borrow that magic note passing thing you bought on vacation?"
The good thing about Jisung is he doesn't ask questions. So long as you're not harming anyone, he'll do just about anything for you. He simply returns ten minutes later, gently placing the notepad on the table beside you. "You just write your note and address it. It should be sent immediately. Oh, and the other person receives a pen too," he informs, passing you a normal looking pen.
"Thank you, I owe you."
He waves his hand. "Nah, it's no big deal."
You pick up the pad of paper. It appears no different from normal paper, though it smells rather lemony. You rethink the words over and over before you finally settle. In the center of the paper, you write: I heard you missed me :)
Then, you address it before you can find a reason to regret this.
xi.
You cannot find yourself an ounce of sleep, so you stare at the television screen. It's still playing reruns. A paper fizzles into your lap, the corners materializing before the center. Your note reads back to you. You flip it over, where a new pattern of ink lay.
To Y/N: I'm going to murder Han Jisung.
Your laugh echoes in the large, empty infirmary. The nurse has gone to her quarters, now that the sun has set.
You write back, He has cool magic though!
Not only because it's true, but because you would like to keep this conversation going for just a little longer. Even if it is useless and greedy to want something like this from him.
Few seconds pass before the paper returns. To Y/N: I will give him that. I didn't even know this was a thing. Can we meet up in the Charms hall?
You bring your hand to your forehead. After Jisung's visit and your nutritious dinner of pudding, you feel much better. Like normal, even. Plus, the nurse had told you it's up to you when you want to return to daily life.
So you gather your things and return to your dorm. "Hi, Jihyo," you say quickly before rushing to shower. She is left in a dismal state of shock, staring at the bathroom door.
"I'm meeting up with someone, don't wait up for me," you inform as you pull a sweater on.
"Who?" she asks, bouncing her wand as she jiggles a paper midair.
You glance at her as you pull shoes on. "Classified info."
"Just say it's Hyunjin," she starts. "I can read you like a book."
You giggle. "Then fine, it's Hyunjin."
"Don't set the school on fire, please. I would like to finish my seventh year in peace."
"I don't plan on it."
"Be safe!" she calls as you open the door.
"I will."
You shuffle through the common room and out into the halls. Curfew was nearing. Maybe you should've grabbed your invisibility cloak.
In all honesty, you weren't sure why you were doing this. Until the glimmer of blond hair beneath the moonlight pierces your view. Knowing fills your chest, warm fairies dazzling your skin.
He looks up to you, a smile rushing onto his face. "I thought you weren't gonna show."
"Well, I suppose you're in luck."
He grabs your wrist when you're in reach, "Come on, I wanna show you something."
You allow him to pull you out to the courtyard. A little way's past the quidditch fields, there is a flower box. Filled to the brim with peonies and lilies. There's even a couple pink azaleas.
"Tada," he says, opening his arms to the post.
"You snuck me out of the castle to look at flowers?" you laugh.
"Not just any flowers," he points, crouching down to look at them. "Healing flowers."
"Really?" you inquire.
He looks up at you. Beneath the moonlight, his hair shines and his eyes twinkle amongst the stars. "Yeah. They heal everything."
"How do you even know about this?"
He shrugs, looking into the stamen of a certain peony. "My mom's a flower nerd. When she called most recently, she told me about this spot."
You crouch beside him, "Did she plant these?"
"Some of them. I think she likes azaleas, so probably those."
Your heart skips a beat. "Do you like the azaleas?"
"I-"
From behind you, a voice shouts, "Now I can't keep you away from each other?"
In sync, you look back. McGonagall is standing at the top of the hill, her arms crossed against her silk black robes. "Come on, you two, it's past curfew."
You dawdle up the hill, slightly limping on your ankle. You suppose you should have asked him about it.
When you meet McGonagall, she whispers, "By the way, I'm getting more eyes on you two. No more late night meetings."
xii.
The moon takes its reign in the sky, passing time as though it never wants to leave the throne. There's a waft of nutmeg traveling through the vents. Felix must be baking again.
The lamp on your bedside table clicks on. You look over to Jihyo, who is very much asleep. Her mouth hangs open and her limbs are flailed in varying directions.
A piece of paper forms against your chest. To Y/N: I'm sorry for getting you in trouble.
You shake your head, heart taking fire, as you search for a small piece of room to write: It's okay, I willingly went with you.
You wonder why he's awake. More importantly, why he's apologizing. He's never been one for owning up to anything, so why start now and here?
Within minutes, you receive the paper. To Y/N: I guess she can't police these notes haha
In return, you write: I hope not. Can you smell that nutmeg?
To Y/N: YES IT KEEPS TICKLING MY NOSE!!
To Hyunjin: It's probably just Felix, so I'm letting it slide this once.
To Y/N: Even then, I'm still considering killing him.
To Hyunjin: Same time you're gonna kill Jisung?
To Y/N: Yeah, actually. Thank you for reminding me.
You stifle a laugh, cautiously looking at Jihyo. She releases an abrupt snore, which stands in solitude.
To Hyunjin: Hey btw, do you know what happened to my ankle?
A few moments turn into minutes of twirling your thumbs for a response. The nutmeg retracts its intensity, leaving room for the Sandman to tarnish your eyes with the temptation of sleep. You grow tired of waiting, turning off your lamp and settling into the covers.
Morning comes, but the receiving message does not. You prepare for your day, following the stream of students to the dining hall. Hyunjin is already there, and his eyebags prove his late night. He looks up upon Seungmin's pointing, offering you a wave and a grin.
Nice Hyunjin is so weird.
You smile back. Changbin waits at the end of the food line by the time you get there. "Hey, heard you got caught with Hwang last night," he nudges your arm, raising his eyebrows.
"Nothing happened," you assure.
He nods, though he's not sure he believes you.
You grab a muffin and a carton of orange juice before following Changbin to Jisung, who is nursing a bowl of burnt oatmeal.
"How can you eat that shit?" Changbin grimaces.
You steal a glance in Hyunjin's direction. He's playing a rather intense game of rock, paper, scissors, with another Slytherin. After several rounds of ties, he finally beats the other with scissors. He pumps his balled fists into the air and laughs. His hair falls over his shoulders when he throws his head back.
He looks beautiful.
Maybe you were succumbing to the greed of this desire to be near him. So what if he was a Slytherin? He could be a Hufflepuff and no one would care if you two began seeing each other as more than friends. So why should anyone care if he's a Slytherin?
Jisung presses the tip of his wand against your cheek. "Hello?"
You hastily turn back to him, nearly redirecting his wand into your iris. He flinches back. "Zoned out much?"
"Sorry," you mumble, peeling the wrapper from your muffin.
"It's all good. I was asking if you're coming to Hogsmeade with us this weekend."
You tilt your head, as if the answer is teetering to one side of your brain. "I don't know."
"Come on," Changbin whines. "You've been so disconnected from us recently."
"Plus," Jisung adds, "This is gonna be the last weekend until April."
It's October. You sigh. "Fine. I suppose I'll tag along. But you guys are paying for butterbeer."
You probably would have gone anyway, despite how little you showed interest. Hearing their pitiful whines was just too fun.
"Good. Invite your boyfriend," Changbin nods to Hyunjin, who is walking down the aisle to get breakfast. He marks your gaze, turning a bit to come talk to you. A heat jumps to your chest, slowly rising to your face as he claims the seat beside you.
"Hi," he simpers, his eyes squinted and his teeth glimmering beneath the drowning sunlight.
"Hi," you return the expression. Not because you have to out of politeness, no, but because it's so hard not to.
"Are you going to Hogsmeade this weekend?" he asks, the smile quickly dissipating when he realizes Changbin is just over your shoulder. Eyes of a hawk, that one has.
You open your mouth to speak, but Changbin has already gathered his words. "Yes. They're coming with us."
You thrust your elbow back, nailing right between his ribs. He wheezes, doubling over. "Yeah, I'm going," you tell Hyunjin.
"Good. Meet me at the sweet shop around one," he pauses, turning to Jisung, "I won't keep them long. Promise."
Jisung shakes a free hand as he pools oatmeal onto his spoon, "No, it's fine. Take as long as you need."
Hyunjin smiles. "Nice. Okay, I'll see you later," he stands, patting your shoulder as he walks by.
"What a nice guy," Changbin manages with a smile, though he's still clutching his chest.
xiii.
His gaze is tilted upward as he watches the chocolate dragonflies dart to and fro across the ceiling. There's the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of his lip. It twitches ever so slightly when a dragonfly threatens to sit on his nose.
"Hey," you greet. He jumps a little, turning to you. The chocolate bug has vanished, fluttering up to its haven.
"Oh, hi. I didn't think you'd get here so quick," he laughs.
You glance at your wrist. "It's 1:05."
He shrugs. "Aren't Gryffindors normally late?"
"Aren't Slytherins not the type to wait around for a Gryffindor?" you retaliate.
He nods, pointing a finger at you as his eyebrows furrow. "Touche."
He buys you a chocolate frog, despite your complaints that you could pay for your own. "No, no, it's on me," he insisted, shoving his money into the cashier's palm before you can say much else.
You perch atop floating stools, staring at him as he tries to wrangle his frog. His mouth hangs open with anticipation as he tries to guide it there. There's a tug at your chest that compels you to smile.
"So why'd you want to meet with me? I thought you were still in your sulky phase," you tease.
He looks up at you. There's a film of innocence to them. For a moment, you forget his reputation. He blinks, summoning a twinkle to the corner of his right eye. "I wanted to ask you for some advice," he finally says, rather confidently. His posture straightens and a cocky smile finds his lips. The Hyunjin you know.
"You didn't knock a girl up, did you? Because I will not be helping you get out of that one. You may be cool, but not that cool," you ramble.
His frog jumps from his palm, hopping away into the niche of chocolate animals with a poised ribbit. Hyunjin rolls his eyes, though a contradicting smile forms. "I was looking for this spell."
You lean closer, interested. "And? Which one?"
"Amortentia."
You pull back. That's a love potion. "Why would you need that?"
He sucks air in through his teeth, glancing away as he informs, "Well, I wanted to use it on you, but I thought maybe it's best not to drug you."
You laugh despite the thundering of your chest. Your fingers find the corner of a Wizard
Card, routinely picking at it to distract yourself. Hesitantly, you mumble,"What are you trying to say here?"
"God, Gryffindors are so dense," he throws his head back, a bubbling laugh bursting into
the air.
"No, I just want to hear you say it."
He groans, gaze slipping back to yours, "I like you a little bit."
"A little bit?" you challenge, recalling his fit in the Slytherin common room.
Hyunjin rests his arms on the table as he leans closer to you, your noses nearly touching. "It sounds like someone told you something. You don't seem very surprised," he hesitates before adding a quiet, "or appalled."
His lips are so close to yours. You can smell his green apple chapstick. You find yourself at a loss for words, for his lips keep your gaze. Oh, what the hell. You close the gap between you, allowing your lips to mingle for a few seconds before pulling away. There's a small giggle to your words as you say, "You're not good at hiding your emotions, Hwang Hyunjin. Aren't Slytherins supposed to be good at stuff like that?"
He scoffs. "Aren't Gryffindors supposed to be noble? You snuck into the Slytherin common room!"
"How'd you know?"
He chuckles, "Your shoulder kinda slipped out of the cloak."
This takes a minute to process. It seems like your usage of the invisibility cloak will now be put on hold. You can only look at the oak table, lips pursed in a disappointing defeat.
You rotate your ankles in small circles when you remember. "Hey, by the way, why was my ankle all messed up? You never answered my letter."
"Seungmin came in," he grabs your hand. "But when I was carrying you back to the castle I may have been a little careless and let your ankle run through a bush of thorns."
You smack his arm with your free hand, mouth agape. "You what?"
"It was an accident! I'll make it up to you," he promises.
"How so?"
He draws your lips to his for a quick peck. "What do you want?"
You think, squinting. "Hmm. I can get anything?"
"Within reason," he declares. "I'm not buying you a unicorn or anything."
You shake your head, for what you want is much more simple. "Can we go on cute dates?"
He hums, interlacing your fingers. "Of course."
"Oh! And we have to go to the Yule Ball together-"
"Sure."
"But we're wearing Gryffindor colors."
He drops your hand, pulling away as if your fingertips scalded him. "Absolutely not."
"C'mon, you owe me."
"Not that much. Your ankle will heal. My pride, however, will not."
You sigh. "Fine, we can settle for non-house colors."
"Deal."
xiv.
"I saw him playing with your fingers," Changbin shakes you vehemently after you sit down at the dining table.
"Why won't you let this go?" you ask.
"Well, you see, when a guy who traditionally hates someone randomly asks them to hang out, their friends should be a little concerned."
You look to Jisung, who is more interested in his soup. "Did you watch us too?" you ask.
He barely looks up. "No, I was at the book shop—I think."
You turn back to Changbin, though he's already shaking his hands in defense. "No, the difference between me and Jisung is-"
"That Jisung's smarter than you?" Hyunjin appears, sitting on the bench beside you.
"Yeah, I think it's that," you nod, sharing his smirked gaze.
"No," Changbin defends, "Jisung is only concerned for physical wellbeing after the fact. I care prior to the event happening."
"If we all lived your way, we'd be sheltered," Jisung adds, twirling his spoon.
They dive into a heated discussion bordering an argument. Hyunjin wraps his arm around you, and the sounds of Changbin whining fades to black. You look up at him, "Shouldn't you be sitting with Seungmin?"
He shakes his head. "I got banished for talking too much about you."
You roll your eyes. "Don't sacrifice your friends because of me."
"Hey, you're the one who makes me this way. If I could not be 'Y/N would like this' every time I saw anything that even remotely reminded me of you, trust me, I would."
"Do you really do that?"
"Any time I see flowers," he sheepishly admits. He catches glimpses of the flower beds every day, nearly four times. Sometimes five if he sneaks out to see you.
You chuckle. "Just say you're in love with me, geez."
"I don't want to inflate your ego," he kisses your temple.
A stray comment from Changbin floats into your bubble, "Gross!"
"Speaking of egos, do you have your suit for the ball?" you ask, pushing your spoon into the sea of spinach and kale.
"I guess I should tell my mom about that," he mumbles.
"Hyunjin! The ball is in a week!"
"Yeah, and I also need to tell her we're dating," he laughs dryly, suddenly absorbed with something down the aisle.
You shrug his arm off of your shoulder. "What? It's been nearly a month!"
He looks back at you as if you're arguing over spilled milk. "Life at the Hwangs is very hectic, okay?"
"He's lying," Changbin says. "They only see each other, pay the kids, and leave."
Hyunjin looks ready to punch the sly grin off of his face. Instead, he pats your thigh. "I'll call her tonight."
xv.
He calls to you from across the bustling room. You stand in awe as your eyes lay upon the black velvet of his blazer. In the chest pocket is a red and gold handkerchief, folded to perfection.
"You look great," he simpers, eyes slipping from your exposed collarbone down to the dark green fabric that expands out from your blanketed feet.
He wraps an arm around your waist, whispering, "You're wearing my color."
Butterflies take reign over your stomach, swarming out in packs. You grow shy as he pulls away.
"You look stunning," he presses a soft kiss on your lips.
He drags you over to Seungmin, who chats with Minho in carefully structured quips.
Seungmin takes a long look at your gown, smiling as he comments, "Slytherin colors."
"You know," Hyunjin turns to you, "I was going to get a red suit but they were incredibly ugly so I'm settling for a handkerchief."
You smile up at him, "It's okay, the sentiment is there."
Minho dismisses himself when he spots a cat swaying between dancing feet. Its eyes are wide with fright as it stares up at the unfamiliar faces in search of its owner. Seungmin smiles fondly as he watches the boy pick up the cat, delicately taking it out of the room.
"Where are Thing One and Thing Two?" Hyunjin inquires, leaning against the bar.
You scan the hall. "I'm not sure. Changbin said he'd be here. Jisung might skip out."
Seungmin laughs unexpectedly, receiving a few confused glares in return. He soon clarifies after taking a sip of water, "I was thinking about Changbin having a date. Weird."
He certainly doesn't have a date. When he arrives, the ball is nearly over and his tie is messily made up.
"Did you get dressed in the dark?" Seungmin stares as he approaches.
"Yes, actually. Long story."
A slower song comes on. It's a change in scenery from the previous publike songs. Hyunjin offers you his hand, dramatically asking, "May I have this dance?"
Your hand slips into his, "You may."
He guides you to an empty spot near the edges of the dance crowd, swiftly tucking his arms around your waist. You nestle yours around his neck. For a few seconds, you stare into his big brown eyes, watching as the twinkle shifts in the light. You fight a smile.
"What's the smile for?"
"Nothing," you say, pressing your cheek to his chest so you can grin in peace.
He sighs, though a vibration in his chest tells you he's also laughing. "I know we tease each other a lot, but I love you."
Your heart skips a beat and your breath clogs up in your throat, though your smile never falters. Each day that has passed, it has grown harder to fight saying those words. When you return them, you feel lighter. As though you have relinquished thirty pounds from your shoulders.
"Don't tell anyone I'm getting sappy with a Gryffindor," he fake gags.
"Same to you, snake."
You smile in these moments. With music guiding your feet and a boy who warms your heart, despite his stereotypically shivering attributes. He rests his chin atop your head as he repeats those cursed words, grounding you with him more and more each time. He's yours. And you're his.
Perhaps it's always been that way.
#bandaigaeru#hwang hyunjin#hyunjin skz#hyunjin stray kids#stray kids imagine#hyunjin imagine#hyunjin au#skz au#stray kids au#skz imagine#skz scenarios#stray kids scenarios#hyunjin x reader#skz x reader#stray kids x reader#stray kids hyunjin#skz hyunjin#slytherin hyunjin
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We Wouldn’t Be Us // Charlie Gillespie
IN WHICH: We get a look into the timeline of the reader and Charlie’s relationship from the first date that wasn’t so perfect to the news they get. The relationship has its ups and downs like all relationships do but this one brings the birth of a song. They know in their relationship that anything less just wouldn’t be them
Warnings: Swearing, an argument, allusion to sex (NO SMUT), pure fluff
Words: 3.1k
A/N: I suppose this is an entry for @cherrymaybank’s Valentine’s Day Fic Challenge.
Based on the song We Wouldn’t Be Us by Alexandra Kay
TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX/ASK PLEASE!
Masterlist
Every dress didn’t seem to fit properly no matter what mirror with different light in your apartment you tried. The spare bathroom’s bulb was dying, so that made the colour appear off, and the best mirror was dirty, which would dampen the romantic goal. Nothing made you feel that oomph that you desired for this date.
You could wear the standby little black dress of which you had two options, the clubbing one or the work appropriate one. It didn’t seem right to choose a standard black and no colour for this insanely sweet guy that had this insane energy. With that thought in mind, you dug deeper in your closet for that special dress that you’d never found someone worthy of it. It was your best dress and your most expensive with the tags still on. You would have gone for the maroon dress but it was Valentine’s Day and that seemed like over kill.
Somehow it still fit perfectly despite the length of time from purchase, it was a vibrant green satin with lace matching the colour. The dress's satin ended just below the knee with the matching lace falling an additional six inches past. The A-line skirt was loose flowing contrasting to the form-fitting material across your bust and midsection.
One of your favourite parts of the dress was the off-shoulder bateau neckline that gave a tasteful sneak of your cleavage. The bottom of the thick straps came to make a perfectly straight horizontal line. Across your waist was a one-inch wide satin ribbon attached to the dress that formed a perfect bow that tied the outfit together, no pun intended.
“Whoa.” You breathed stepping in front of the floor-length mirror kept in the spare bedroom, it had once been your roommates’ room before she moved.
You had to admit the dress was magical with it, bringing out all your curves and went with your skin tone. It was a pure shock to see how you managed to make the dress come to life with just a makeup look that was easy to do. All you did next was your favourite beige heels that went with everything. You had just slid on the left heel when the buzzer sounded and slid the right on as you hit the button unlocking the apartment building door.
“This is going to be perfect.” You breathed leaning into the mirror beside the front door. You inspected your lipstick as a knock sounded on the dark brown wood of your door.
“You look gorgeous.” Your date breathed, widening those colour changing irises as he took in your outfit, “You take my breath away. Happy Valentine’s Day”
Your cheeks flushed, “Thank you, Charlie.”
He stepped into the apartment as you quickly went to the kitchen to grab your coat and purse with your essentials. He had gently retrieved the coat from your arms to help you into the cold jacket.
“I know traditionally I would have brought you flowers, but I also know you love books.” Charlie breathed grasping the items in his hands, “So I got these flowers.”
His warm hands held three books. The top one was The Orchid House by Lucinda Riley with a cover that had the background blurry with only the back of a girl in clarity. The girl’s pink dress matching the flower in the upper corner of the book. The next cover proudly displayed The Rose Garden by Susanna Kearsley with red flowers growing down on a stone building. The third one was a light pink book with an anatomically correct heart with flowers growing out of the arteries, veins and valves; a collection of poetry I Saw You As a Flower by Ellen Everett. Lastly, you held Rupi Kaur’s second collection of poetry The Sun and her Flowers that had come out a couple years ago.
“Charlie, this is so thoughtful. You even has a rose one!” You breathlessly spoke gently touching the covers, “Thank you so much for these.”
“I thought we could read them together?” Charlie was bashful as he quietly asked with flushed cheeks. He didn’t know why he felt like this was his very first date all over again.
“I’d love that.” You softly told the Canadian with the manners a mother would be jealous to have in her home. Charlie’s fingers linked with yours as he tugged you out of the apartment into the hallway.
Your hands swung during the short walk from the apartment building to his bright orange Subaru across the street. The sound of the light wind rustling the trees lining the sidewalk mixed with the humming from Charlie was a perfect film score. He was the ideal gentleman even before he asked you out.
You couldn’t wait to tell your close loved ones about Charlie. You could really see this going somewhere. The relationship that is, as you were now on the side of a road with the Subaru’s hazard lights flashing.
“I forgot to fill the tank.” Charlie moaned, pressing his forehead against the steering wheel. His eyes clenched just as tight as his fists.
The Canadian was so embarrassed to have had what he thought was the best date of his life. He’d played music from the playlist he had patiently curated specifically for this date, and he held your hand to the restaurant. He’d already made plans for another date when his car’s warning beeped.
In Charlie’s haste, he’d forgotten to fuel up his car, so here he was with the prettiest person he’d ever seen in his passenger seat. His confidence in a second date had greatly diminished.
“Char, you said Owen was on his way. There isn’t anyone else I’d prefer to be stranded with. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
“I wanted this date to go perfect. This is my first Valentine’s Day with someone.” Charlie admitted turning his head to stare into warm pools of your e/y colours. His eyes scanned the soft smile that appeared on your face as his confession, “I had this whole thing planned out, and now you definitely won’t want a second-”
“I’m gonna kiss you. If you don’t want that, let me know.” You murmured before pulling him in for what would be the best kiss of your life thus far.
Sure his car broke down, but you kissed him anyway. He tasted of the complimentary chocolate dessert from dinner.
A Year Later
A young, admittedly broke couple sat on the cold floor of the unpacked kitchen eating SpaghettiOs. You had only just moved into the studio apartment with Charlie that had drained most of your savings. Had it not been in a decently safe area in the city and a close commute you would have said no.
But it was the perfect starting place for you two as you both were unfamiliar with living with an SO. It sucked on each of your ends to not have a better situation, Charlie wanted nothing more than to spoil you on the first day living together. Unfortunately, it wasn’t possible but sitting on the floor with a cheap candle was imperfectly perfect.
“I’m sorry we’re eating out of cans.” Charlie whispered pointedly, keeping his eyes on the spoon, stirring the red sauce with the beige circles.
“Char this is perfect. As long as it’s you and I then anything is perfect. Besides we didn’t label the boxes, I have no idea which box has our kitchenware.” You admitted glancing at the boxes boarding the edge of the room.
You ate out of cans for at least a week before you had unpacked the kitchen and had the means to buy actual groceries. Living together thus far had been going super smooth until wasn’t.
It was a bad day on both your parts, your entire work was deleted after a computer glitch. Charlie had auditioned for a role he had been really really wanting since he heard about it. Your father came down with the flu axing the plans to meet for dinner; it would have been the first time in six months you saw him in person.
The apartment's atmosphere had been rising and very volatile by mid-afternoon when Charlie blatantly forgot a deal. If he was going to play music, it had to be in the study so you could focus on your work.
Today he’d decided to be in close vicinity to have a virtual jam session with both Owen and Jeremy. He’d chosen the room you were in solely because it had the best wifi reception which you needed as well.
“Charlie, please can you go to the study? I’m trying to finish this!” You cried out as he struck a chord on the electric. His eyebrows came other in the glare he sent you, “I lost all my work last night.”
“The guys and I are working on songs-”
“-Charlie, this is due tonight. I can’t concentrate with-”
“It’s not my fault you have a shitty attention span!” Charlie angrily snapped contradicting the gentle touch on his guitar. He placed it back on the stand to not accidentally damage it, “The wifi is best in this room.”
“I’m very much aware of that Charlie. Out of the two of us, I use it the most. Can you please either move to the study or at least wait an hour so I can finish?” You pleaded with the Canadian actor ignoring the two guys on the computer silently waiting for the fight to be over.
“Why can't you mov-”
“Fine. I will.” You fully stared down your boyfriend for a full five seconds before you harshly closed the top of your computer. It took seconds to gather your work stuff into the leather satchel you stored the computer in, “You didn’t even mute the call.”
Charlie watched as you swiftly pulled on your jacket, “Babe-”
The sound of the door slamming shut cut his sentence before he even had a chance to speak his thoughts. The apartment was eerily silent compared to the sounds of music that always played through the Bluetooth speaker.
The inspiration to play evaporated with the aftermath of a stupid argument permeated the apartment typically filled with love. All three actors quietly said their goodbyes before they ended the video call.
You spent an hour uncomfortably sitting in a cafe finishing up what you’d needed to finish with the argument replaying. Your finger barely hit the button to send the email before you had already stepped outside the business. You spent the walk struggling to draft a text to your boyfriend.
It didn’t matter because when you walked into the apartment, you heard the soft song you’d both deemed yours. It was cheesy, but that was part of Charlie’s charm. Speaking of your boyfriend, he was sat on the floor of your kitchen with matching mugs of brownies.
“I’m sorry. I was insensitive.” Charlie started as soon as your jacket was draped over one of the kitchen chairs. His usually wide smile was as bashful as the one he’d worn on the night of your first date.
“No I’m sorry, Charlie. I could have easily put on my headphones or moved to the bedroom for a bit. The fight was stupid, and I love you so much that sometimes I think I take you for granted. I mean, look at you! You made the brownie cups-”
“Even sitting on the cold floor like when we moved in.” Charlie cheekily inserted, reaching over to hold your hands in his, “I like our tradition. I definitely like how we upgraded from SpaghettiOs to brownies.”
“Me too.” You breathed leaning over to press a lingering kiss on his lips. His hands delving into your hair to keep you close.
The butterflies stormed your stomach as the heat slowly inflated from your toes until it reached your flushing cheeks. Raw emotion pouring into the passionate kiss that only closed down as you broke for air. But you also went back in as that warmth slowly built in your tummies. Charlie’s eyes marginally opened to ensure he wasn’t imagining the Angel he got to kiss.
Finally, with heavy breathing, you pulled apart, but only a fleeting moment froze the time in the apartment. For, as soon as Charlie caught your dilated pupils, his one hand cupped the back of your hand, fingers tangled in your h/c tresses.
Soon enough, you were making up on the kitchen floor with each article of clothing tossed in the vicinity. A shirt landed on the kitchen sink spout. The brownie mugs forgotten as you gave into the passion with your boyfriend. Your lovemaking had you missing supper.
Charlie’s solution was a trip to the local authentic English pub founded by a nice guy from London. You never failed to stop him for a dance in the empty street as his smooth voice gave music for smooth motions. Dancing was a common thing from pulling off the road in Dieppe to dance. You drank and danced at the pub until Jack cut you off at 2am as his pub rules had.
You and Charlie just laughed in a love bubble as the real-world worries faded because you always came together in the rough times.
Months later you returned to Dieppe with Charlie to spend the holidays with them. The entire family together creating such a welcoming atmosphere.
“I’m gonna grab a glass of water.” You informed the group of gals ad non-binary pals who had gathered in Meghan’s bedroom. The group had decided to sleep over Meg’s childhood room with face masks, nail polish and lovely wine.
Meg and Jeannette both nodded to acknowledge your announcement before they returned to their respective conversations. You took a moment to take in the great group of Gillespie and Co you had the honour to be part of. The thirst was only temporarily forgotten in the happy bubble you found yourself in.
You practically skipped to the kitchen, barely noticing the two people in the living room, but their words stopped you in your tracks. Your boyfriend, Charlie Gillespie, stood close to his older brothers Ryan, Patrick and Michael.
“I’m gonna ask her to marry-” Charlie caught himself from finishing the sentence when he saw you standing pale-faced at the opening into the living room.
His entire body was encapsulated by the lights casting in the living room from the Christmas tree. The tree couldn’t hold a candle to the ring of your dreams that promptly had you bursting into tears.
“I RUINED THE SURPRISE!” You sobbed dropping your face into your cold hands, avoiding the gaze of the Gillespie brothers. Had you not been hiding in your hands you would have known the older three had vacated the room.
“Hey, it’s okay.” Charlie cooed with the ring safely put away in the box he had shoved back in his pocket, “You didn’t ruin the surprise. I shouldn’t have been telling my brothers in the middle of the living room.”
Charlie’s warm hands slowly pulled your hands from your soft post-mask skin with such a pretty healthy glow. He could see the remnants of the mask on the edge of your scalp, but it didn’t take away from your beauty.
“I’m sorry.” You whispered, staring up at him from underneath your eyelashes. The soft hazel eyes not upset in the least, things often didn’t go the way you wanted to together.
Take the first date from over two years ago where you and Charlie had waited for Owen to meet you with a jug of gas. You’d shared childhood stories and future dreams. Or the time you hadn’t marked the boxes creating an entire week of eating out of cans and cartons.
Ruining the proposal was almost expected at this rate.
“I knew from the moment I saw you in that emerald dress I knew that you were the One for me. I’ve adored each moment I’ve gotten with you from the spontaneous dances on the side of the road. To bursting into song in the middle of the street.” Charlie shakily started with sweating bands but an open heart, “When your best friend told me the emerald dress was the special one, it melted my heart.”
“Charlie.”
“Other than my belief that this relationship will last, I was only ever sure of one thing in my life. I was sure I would be an actor, but now I’m more sure that my favourite role will be supporting you, loving you and evolving with you as your husband.” Charlie sniffled, taking one hand from yours to wipe the tears flooding his cheeks, “Will you marry me?”
“Yes.” You breathed lunging on your tiptoes to kiss him with as much passion as you could. Your hands caressed the skin of his cheeks; his long tresses tickling your wrists.
“God I love you.” Charlie gushed with a gentle shake of his head. His hazel pinned to your e/c eyes as if you were the most precious gem in the world.
A voice cut the bubble enveloping you, “Well are you gonna put the ring on her finger or what?”
Charlie’s head moved to meet the teary eyes of his mother surrounded by his siblings as they bounced on their feet. You laughed as your now fiance clumsily rushed to slide the absolutely gorgeous ring on your finger.
“Welcome to the family officially.” Jeannette cheered along with the celebratory whistles and yells as the crowd of the family grew more and more. Soon enough, the entire room was overflowing with people congratulating your new engagement.
Months later, you stood in front of that same group holding the hands of your handsome fiance. Both dressed to the nines in front of the officiant.
“I wasn’t looking for a fairytale, because they all end the same. The princess has a conflict that she revolves with the help of the prince. They get married and live happily ever after. I adore how we’re writing our own story that fits our relationship. Charlie Gillespie, I wouldn’t change a thing about our lives. I wouldn’t have it any other way even with the fighting and slamming doors, but we always end up on our kitchen floor making up with two brownies in mugs.” Your vows brought tears among the onlookers along with the Canadian barely keeping it together.
The vows would later be eloquently transformed into lyrics from you with the accompanying melody provided by Charlie. On Valentine’s Day, you played the song on the kitchen floor with a plate of brownies. Three brownies waiting to be devoured.
“Three for each of us.” You wept as you watched as Charlie melted into a puddle of joyful tears. He took no time in placing his hand over your flat stomach.
Yeah, you wouldn’t have it any other way. Especially when Valentine’s Day become more to the Gillespie family; a new little love taking up the day.
(Reader’s Dress In Beginning)
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#charlie gillespie imagines#charlie gillespie fanfiction#charlie gillespie x reader#luke patterson imagines#jatp fanfic#charlie gillespie#luke patterson#charlie gillespie imagine#caitsy and ash productions#CherryValentinesFic
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Maybe She’s Got A Friend
This is my first book, so please be nice! I have a playlist for Bucky here.
“To be fair it isn’t that bad here, just some guys need the shit beat out of them, that's all. 3.22.40” Finishing my journal entry, I placed the small leather book in my trunk by my bed and got dressed. I decided to wear my dress uniform, I really didn’t wear it often. I hadn’t been a field agent for long, but I was pretty well accustomed to the job. At this point, I was used to being sidelined during operations, if even allowed to go at all. I was almost never allowed in the room when my peers were planning the next attack. Only thing worse than being pushed away was the sexual harassment. Usually I ignored the disgusting comments from my peers and continued on, but lately they have been getting worse and worse.
I made my way to the mess hall to grab some breakfast before morning drills. Walking in there I could tell I was getting quite a few looks, I grabbed some cereal and some orange juice. When I sat down, Alfred Hurly, the guy who harrasses me the most, walked up behind me and whispered in my ear “That skirt couldn’t get much smaller, now could it darling?” Before I could even react he reached down behind me and squeezed my ass. I immediately turned around and decked him in the face. I spat at him and smiled.
Walking back to my bunk I was stopped by a lady in a well pressed and tidy dress uniform as well. She had medium brown hair and gorgeous brown eyes. We were similar in height but she, by far, wore the uniform better. She smiled and spoke softly “ Hi, I’m Peggy Carter.” I greeted her with my name. “I just wanted to say thank you.” she said. I tilted my head slightly and asked “What for?” Peggy then spoke, “Well for punching that poor excuse of a soldier, you don’t know how many times I’ve had to floor a good soldier all because he can’t get over himself.” I laughed at that, to be honest it was nice to have another female to talk with. “They just get too pushy, and its not like they want anything outside of sex, thats not what I’m looking for.” She just nodded her head.
“So what made you want to join the military?” I asked. Peggy’s eyes flashed quickly with sadness before returning to their normal state. “Well my brother Michael was killed in action, so I made the rash decision to join. I sometimes regret that decision, but, I still have that vengeful spite in me.” My smile turned into more of a sad one as she explained what she knew of her brother’s death. “I am so sorry, I probably shouldn’t have brought it up.” Peggy looked at me and smiled, “Oh it's alright, there is no reason for me to beat myself up for it, there is nothing I could have done.” We both smiled, I could tell that this was going to be a great friendship.
A Year Later…..
I was sat in the front seat of a car as Peggy and I were escorting Steve Rogers to receive the super soldier serum. I wasn’t much of a believer in this project, but according to Peggy, Steve was the perfect person to become America’s first Super-Soldier. I trusted Peggy, with my life really, so I thought maybe there was a chance. Steve was looking out the window when he spoke up, “I know this neighborhood, I got beat up in that alley.” I couldn’t help but smile at his blunt statement. He spoke up again “And that parking lot, and that diner.” Steve's voice fading as he continued, he was embarrassed. “Did you have something against running away?” Peggy finally spoke up. I only knew Steve for a brief period of time, but from what I’ve heard he’s known for never quitting no matter what. “You can’t say no forever, right?” I knew it wasn’t my conversation but I chimed in, “I know what that’s like. Always having doors shut in your face, never having the chance to open them.” Things went quiet for a moment, then Steve spoke again, “I guess I just don’t know why you’d want to join the Army if you were a beautiful dame.” Steve said it so quickly I almost didn’t notice. I knew he was talking to Peggy so I just opted to listen. “Or uh, beautiful woman. An agent.” I looked in the rear-view mirror and saw Peggy was giving Steve a look of disbelief. “You have no idea how to talk to a woman, do you?” Peggy quipped and I smiled rolling my eyes at their pathetic flirting.
Throughout the rest of the ride they were talking but I just zoned out trying to get prepared for the task at hand. Eventually we arrived and I had to wait outside the store in case anything happened and I needed to break some necks. They went in, and about 40 mins later Dr. Erskine, Peggy, and Steve all came out. I was certainly shocked when I saw Steve. The serum was quite obviously successful and I shook hands with the doctor and congratulated him. He gave me a quick smile before returning to Steve. I walked up to Peggy and smirked, “Aren’t you glad he was flirting with you on the way here. Now you have quite the dreamboat!” I laughed and Peggy jabbed me in the side with her elbow.
About 4 months later….
Peggy and I have been spending less time together, the war is raging on keeping us both busy. Eventually one of our leave days lined up, so Peggy and I just decided to talk about what has happened in the past few months. After talking for about an hour Peggy looked at me seriously, I laughed and asked “What’s with the serious face?” Peggy looked at me and frowned. She knows I can’t be serious outside of work. “ I did something and you have to promise not to hate me for it," she said in a monotone voice. Then my face turned serious. “Dr. Erskine was looking for a new specimen to use the rest of the serum on.” Peggy was getting nervous, I could tell, she was fiddling with the hem of her skirt. “ He was looking for a female specimen, so I suggested you.” I all of a sudden felt a burst of emotions, happiness, shock, unease. “What did he say?” I said my knee bouncing up and down because of my anxiousness. “Well, he said that he thought you would be the perfect perle for the serum.”
#bucky x reader#peggy carter#steve rogers#im too obsessed#the falcon and the winter soldier#first avenger#preserum steve
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An Interview with Mr. Toshiyuki Toyonaga about Fire Emblem (Claude‘s Japanese VA), Pg. 10 (The Grand Finale!!)
Being a Part of FE Like This Is Toyonaga-San’s Dream Come True! And His Thoughts for the Future
How do you feel right now about being asked to appear in official live broadcasts for the FE series?
Toyonaga To be a part of the FE series like this is a dream come true, and I can hardly believe it’s all real. I was so thankful for being requested to come to the broadcasts and that I was able to talk about the series. I think my school age self, who was just a player of Genealogy of the Holy War at the time, would have slowly fainted if you told him where I am now!
Because this is a special series that you’ve loved for thirty long years! If you have any final words that you want to share here at the end, please go ahead.
Toyonaga Something I want to share to congratulate the thirty year anniversary? ...Hmmm… I want to request that they make me another “Waku Koyasu,” and call me “Waku Toyonaga!”※ Laughs.
Image on the right:
We’re giving away a signboard Mr. Toshiyuki signed personally! (see page 97 for details)
Signboard reads: “Nindori November Issue” and “Claude Von Reigan”
Mini Q&A
What is your favorite class in the series?
Toyonaga I use Knights when doing challenge runs, but it would be more accurate to say that I like the feeling after they class change to General and all the hard work pays off a bit. When I’m playing normally, I like magic users. Mages, Sages, and so on… The magic classes are thrilling to use, don’t you think? Their magic stat is high, so they can rout the enemy during the enemy’s phase, but because of that, their HP could be slowly chipped away at. They can easily be killed, and it makes you feel so tense. I think I like the feeling of the thought, ‘Please don’t defeat any more enemies!!’ I personally really like the feeling that they contribute a lot to the fight, but also that any little thing could make their situation take a turn for the worst!
Please tell us your impressions of the illustration made for the promotional card included with this issue.
Toyonaga Where he’s inviting someone to the dance floor? And, of course he’s winking, just like always! Laughs. It’s so unfair when he winks! From the viewpoint as a member of the cast, I’m quickly filled with complex thoughts when I see him and the other characters in a situation where no one knows yet what’s going to happen next. But I wonder if this scene was chosen because it was the most memorable for everyone who played the game, and it is from the Academy Phase where all three of the class leaders are together.
And we’re all really curious about the fact that he’s taking someone by the hand, right?
Toyonaga Yeah… Claude will even do this to male Professor Byleth, so I think that was a bit surprising to see! As the person who performed his role, when I think that this scene, where he takes the professor’s hand, might be what made him so popular with everyone, I feel very deeply that everyone is saying “Thank you for making it!!” Laughs.
Please tell us your impressions and thoughts about recording the FE Three Houses Extra Drama CD: An Officers’ Academy Sleuthing Story.※
Toyonaga Having the three class leaders team up together is something that isn’t possible in the main game, or the Ashen Wolves DLC, so when it was decided that a drama CD would be produced, I was personally happy and glad they were able to do something together. As drama CDs are especially known for their fanservice, I felt that I would be the one amongst the three making things fun and lighthearted. As I performed Claude’s lines, I had the thought in my mind that he would especially carry the burden of relieving the tension between the trio.
Toshiyuki Toyonaga
Birthdate: April 28th, 1984
Height: 162 cm (5’4”)
Title: A jack-of-all-trades who can even do voicework!
Hobbies: using computers, video games, writing, spending time lost in thought
Likes: his house
Dislikes: coriander, sea urchins, oysters, spicy food, people who are too friendly
Favorite tea: darjeeling
Favorite flower: sunflowers, dandelions
Q: Which do you prefer: sweet foods or spicy foods?
A: Sweet foods (I can’t eat spicy foods.)
Q: Which do you prefer: meat, or fish?
A: Meat (I can’t stand the smell of fish.)
Q: Are you a dog person or a cat person?
A: A cat person.
Bonus Can we ask you about Earthbound as well?*
We know that this is a totally different series, but we’d like to ask you about Earthbound as well.
Toyonaga Oh! Ah ha, okay.
It’s a very popular game with Nintendo Dream readers even now.
Toyonaga Wow, really!? That’s amazing! But I had a feeling that was the case. This brings me back to my aunt again, but she played the first game. I was a bit older when Earthbound came out on the Super Famicom, but my aunt bought that game as well. As I watched her play it, I wanted to play it, too. So, since there were three save slots, I believe? She chose one for me to use, and let me play it.
That was so nice of her!
Toyonaga I was stuck on the name entry screen for about two to three hours, choosing my favorite food, and then after that, my favorite thing! I remember thinking while entering them, ‘Why are they asking me something like this?’ and things like that. I loved collecting the melodies. Of course, I also thought that Shigesato Ito-sensei’s script was amazing as well, but I was really moved by the music. I thank the game so much for its superb music! Later on, I was also moved when the third game came out.
*T/N: In the English-speaking world, we better know Mother 1 as Earthbound Zero. The popularity of the Mother series has resurged in Japan, to the point that new merch has even been a frequent occurrence over the past several years! A two page spread about a merch line in 2021 was even included in this issue, so Mr. Toyonaga being asked about the series as a part of this interview makes perfect sense in context.
※Waku Koyasu: Refers to Mr. Takehito Koyasu, the voice actor who voiced Navarre in the first FE radio drama, alongside some other appearances; and is known for being a huge Fire Emblem fan. His passion for the series has led him to perform roles for every game since Awakening, and earned him the title “Waku Koyasu.”
※Three Houses Drama CD: You, the listener, appear as the game’s main character, “Professor.” The story is about the three house leaders and Sothis wandering around inside Garreg Mach Monastery together to search for a very important missing key.
#fire emblem#fe#fe16#three houses#switch#nintendo#nintendo switch#toyonaga toshiyuki#toshiyuki toyonaga#nindori#nintendo dream#japan#japanese#translation#localization#claude va interview
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Unexpected Guests | Sam Wilson x reader
details: Takes place during Captain America: The Winter Soldier, specifically when Cap and Nat appear on Sam’s doorstep. As his girlfriend, you’re there too. And while the guests are unexpected, they are always welcome
“You cut across the grass.”
“You never said I couldn’t.”
I didn’t have to look over my shoulder to know Sam was rolling his eyes at me. We had been running together for the entirety of our relationship. We actually met while running, our morning paths lining up with our similar paces (despite him saying he slowed down to finally catch my eye when it was me ruining my mile time for him). No matter, it was an unspoken rule of ours: you don’t cut across the grass. That’s cheating.
But I didn’t want it to be now, when I had finally beat him to the front door.
I only turned when he didn’t retort back. My hand was halfway to the orange juice when I noticed him standing on the opposite side of the kitchen. He was still breathing heavily, able to control himself enough not to be heaving like a cow (like me), but his eyes were toward the floor. His house, while lived in, was spotless. I didn’t even need to look down to see if there was a spec of dust, there surely couldn’t be.
Besides, that was his thinking face. His worry face. His wonderng face.
The chill of the refrigerator reached him, causing him to look up at me. The breath he had been holding in was released as he made his way to me, side stepping to grab the jug just out of my reach.
He held eye contact for a second, his dark irises blending in with the dark purple of his running shirt. I was about to ask what was on his mind when he went to drink straight from the gallon.
“Sam Wilson don’t you dare-”
My warning went unfinished, as did his rebellious action, when there was a knock on the door. I switched my focus to the unexpected visitor, going to check my watch. The early morning house barely registered as Sam gently pat my legging-clad thigh in a “stay here” notion. It wasn’t a controlling action, but rather his AF training. Something as simple as the mailman would always be a threat to the soldier.
I abided, despite my own military status. Obedience never lasted long with me, though, so it was no surprise that I followed after him after no less than a second. Upon Sam opening the blinds, I faltered, the guests a little too unexpected for my feet to continue.
“Hey, man.” Sam said, only the slightest bit of apprehension in his voice. I was proud of his even tone, talking to Captain America with anything but the girly squeal that Sam used once or twice, was impressive to me. Something told me this wasn’t the first time they were meeting. How else would Steve Rogers be at our door?
“I’m sorry about this.” I tilted my head at the sight of the red head, dazed and confused, beside him. Just as I turned my attention to her, she looked inside. Her eyes darted to Sam, as if taking in his presence for the first time, before looking back and recognizing my figure, too.
“Everyone we know is trying to kill us.” She said bluntly.
Sam’s back was to me and he didn’t know I was behind him still. I assumed his mind was running wild. One second we were joking about fake running rules and now we were faced with two very wanted people asking for refuge. Cutting across the grass seemed less and less like a real issue anymore.
“Not everyone.” I stepped forward, placing a hand on Sam’s shoulder and revealing myself to Steve. He offered me a small smile which I returned, before looking back up at Sam and nodding. My interjection had probably overwhelmed even more. There was a reason he asked me to stay in the kitchen, so I wouldn’t have to deal with this. I told him I wanted to deal with it. Be apart of it. Be in this with him.
I conveyed in the only way I could, in taking a step back to allow our guests in. Sam pursed his lips, before following my lead. I let out a small breath, happy this wasn’t an argument (yet) and went to show them around. I hadn’t made it a foot away when I made the point to look over my shoulder. I didn’t want to admit the chill that went down my spine at the sight of Sam studying the neighborhood like a battlefield.
The good thing: he surely had forgotten about me cheating our race today.
--
"Stop eavesdropping.” I chided from the stove.
Sam sighed, throwing over his shoulder, “Says you.”
“Sam.”
He retreated from his perch at the bottom of the stairs. When I had come downstairs from showing our guests a place to wash up, I had found him, trying to make out whatever joke had Steve chuckling lightly. Ever since I had refused to let him in on the light hearted sentiment, he had stood with a sour look on his face.
Now, he saddled up next to me. If I didn’t know any better, he had just come in from our run. It wasn’t like his harsh breathing came from having two fugitives currently in our bedroom.
“You shouldn’t be listening to them talk.”
“I’m not-”
“Because you should be the one talking.” I shot him a look as I emptied the scrambled eggs into a bowl. “Talking to me.”
Sam let out a breath, his head tipping back against the cabinet. The way he shut his eyes made me think he was trying his best to listen in again but before I could scold him again, he opened his mouth.
“I met him running. I didn’t think he’d show up.”
My eyes found the loaf of bread, my hands following quickly to busy myself. I thought his explanation would make this situation a little less ludicrous. Sam’s attempt at cueing my in only made the whole thing more bizarre. Sensing my staggering disposition, Sam stepped in to remove myself from my menial task.
He said my name, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of my hand. My eyes found his, a guilty look on his face. “That’s all I know.”
I gulped, still feeling unsure. Our lives had become so ordinary since becoming civilians, it was shocking when things got out of place. Having an Avenger in our house was a lot more concerning than anything we had experienced, but I knew we could get through it.
But if I had to stand here one more second not knowing everything, I was going to explode. I told Sam that. Not directly of course. Couldn’t seem to thrilled to see Captain America again. At least not in front of my boyfriend.
I forced a smile on my face, the one of a perfect hostess, before nodding up the stairs. “Go tell our guests breakfast is ready.” Sam didn’t make a move until I hip checked him lightly. “If they eat that sort of thing.” I winked.
They did. Eat that sort of thing. No matter how super human he might be, Steve Rogers accepted the assortment of eggs, bacon and toast happily. When he thanked me for the offer of orange juice, I shot a look at Sam.
Good thing you didn’t drink straight from the bottle.
He rolled his eyes at me, silently challenged me with a look that said Oh like you knew we would have unexpected guests.
Which I didn’t. And I definitely didn’t know that S.H.I.E.L.D’s dirty laundry would be joining us for breakfast either.
I watched Sam butter his toast, looking up every so often as they talked through their operation. He did’t want to admit it, but his interest was peaked at the sound of a fight. Always a soldier.
Especially when he could help save someone.
So I wasn’t surprised at all when I watched he dropped his work file on the table, calling it a resume. The only thing shocking me was how Sam could possibly think any old Air Force pilot could help them.
Bewilderment found its way to me when Nat, Steve’s friend and the redhead who looked way better in my tank top than I ever would, called Sam a pararescuer. I stood up, looking over the picture she held in her hands. She handed it to Steve who I only heard talk at the mention of a certain someone’s name.
“Is this Riley?”
“Yeah.” I said, only shooting Sam a look when I answered for him. He nodded in understanding. I knew all about Riley. Especially how hard it was to talk about him.
“I heard they couldn’t bring in choppers because of the RPGs.” Nat continued. “What did you use a stealth chute?”
The question even puzzled me, an Army brat. It would be impossible for even that kind of technology. Sam clued us both it, offering the folder I had never been allowed to look at.
A dry chuckle escaped me as I caught a glance at the sheet of paper.
“I thought you said you were a pilot.” Steve questioned.
“Me, too.” Once again I put myself in the conversation, an eyebrow raised at the boyfriend I thought I knew well.
While some anger tinted my tone, a playful smile was on my lips. No one liked a lie, but everyone had their secrets. Myself included.
I bit my lip, offering an expected look that had Sam chuckling himself. “I never said pilot.”
He had both of us, me and Steve, there. When we met it was Air Force. Understanding veteran’s liking to keep things in the past, I never pressed on. I cursed myself for giving him a freebie. This was a big thing to keep a secret.
“I can’t ask you to do this, Sam. You got out for a good reason.” Steve said.
His words hit me close to home. Few ever wanted to leave active duty. It was never a choice. Right now, this was a choice.
“Then ask both of us.” I interjected, making my way to the entry table and pulling out the drawer. My own stack of papers hit the table in a similar fashion as Sam’s, the binder clip clacking louder than the manilla folder had.
I shrugged as he looked across the table at the file. “You’re not the only with a resume, honey.” I rubbed his back before sucking in a breathe and facing our guests. “This household has two soldiers in it, not just one.”
Nat smiled at my words, going back to read more in detail about the project I had worked on while my boyfriend was flying in the skies.
Steve was still on the fence so I nudged Sam to convince him.
“Dude.” Sam said clearly after clearing his throat and tearing his eyes from me. “Captain America needs my help.”
“There’s no better reason to get back in.” I added, crossing my arms over my chest.
I saw the approval in Steve’s eyes even before he asked where we could get a hand on one of these things, waving Sam’s folder.
Sam answered with Fort Meade, a familiar sounding base. When he went on to describe its three guarded gates and 12 inch steel wall, I remembered it. How did it come to mind? It was listed as a possible holding place for my own supplies but deemed too insecure.
“Shouldn’t be a problem.” Steve declared, tossing down the folder.
“Mine might be.” I jested after running the measures through my head.
Nat merely shrugged when I explained them and Steve nodded in agreement. it was Sam who was a little fearful. Of what? It was unclear.
“I have no idea who I’ve been sleeping with.” He said once our guests went upstairs and we began to clean breakfast. “Are those towels even from your grandmother?”
"Either from her or the Secretary of the Navy, you pick.”
He said my name, his hand going to turn off the faucet. His face was stern and etched in what looked like...disappointment?
I continued to clean the plate in my hands. “Who have I been sleeping with? Surely not a pilot.”
“At least I was in the right field.” He said through gritted teeth.
I sighed, dropping the sponge and wiping my hands on my pants. “I knew we should’ve talked more on our first date.”
Unappreciative of my jokes, Sam stared down at me, crossing his arms over his chest. He wasn’t angry, just upset. I was feeling the same way, having just found out he was a freaking Falcon. But now wasn’t the time to dwell on that.
Now was the time to talk.
My hands found their way in pulling apart his arms, placing them on my lower back. My fingers clasped around his neck as I pulled his forehead against mine. “I should’ve told you.”
He didn’t release any more of his tension, only agreeing he should’ve done the same. I couldn’t blame him, I still held some anger in locked elbows.
Sensing it, he eased his hands over my arms before pulling my even closer so our bodies were against each other.
“Who would’ve thought this would come about all after I cut the grass?” I finally broke the silence, earning the smallest of smiles from him.
“You can have your work.” He nodded towards the stack of papers, still resting on the table. “But you can’t have that win.”
“Says the pilot with wings.”
“Says the girl-”
His comeback went unheard as I placed my lips on his. He knew who I was now. His wings didn’t change him. Neither did my accessory. Some soliders wore army green and others did the whole camo-face paint. For us, it was a bit more heavy duty.
So much so, we had Captain America at our door asking us to suit up.
But like I said, no better reason to get back in it.
The End
“
#sam wilson#captain america the winter solider#captain america#natasha romanov#the falcon#fanfiction#x reader#marvel#steve rogers#anthony mackie#mcu
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[steve. breeding kink. baby.]
“Wanna know what makes it worse?” Steve leans in and trails his nose along the inviting curve of your shoulder and neck until his lips are adjacent with your ear. “My sense of smell, it tells me when your body is just ripe for the taking. It’s like you’re fucking calling me every single month—begging me to put your little pussy out of your misery. . . fuck and fuck until you’re milkin’ my kid right outta me.”
in which you’re playing with a baby and steve can’t resist himself. (includes steve’s pov, avenger!steve rogers x girlfriend!reader, breeding kink, dirty talk, praise kink, mild daddy kink, unprotected sex.)
do not repost.
—
Procedure requires debriefing at the end of every mission. In this hours-long process, an agent must recap the objectives and the means used to achieve them; deviations to the original plan and why; as well as whether success was gained, and any other pertinent intel possibly acquired.
This routine is mandatory for all those working for and with an organization like S.H.I.E.L.D.; not even the Avengers are exempt from this. Except in this particular case where the titular first of the super-powered team has forgone the professional necessity, and instead, is in search of you.
Normally, America’s golden boy can handle the dangers that occur in such a violent but imperative field. He understands the risks and pressures inherent to his line of duty, and he’s always accepted it, dealt with it because the overall outcome dwarfs the bad.
On this particular assignment, however, the stakes were higher than usual and although the quick snap-quick decisions he made ultimately paid off, it didn’t soften the blow of the sacrifices made. Times like this, he has to wonder if it’s worth it.
The tension weighs on his shoulders and crackles underneath his skin; his synapses are frayed with the memory of each fallen agent, the orders he doled out preambling every one, and the electricity curls his fists and locks his jaw. It’s corrupting that logical part of his brain, and that craving for vengeance can’t be sated with his knuckles breaking a few punching bags.
In rare moments like these, when the serum is pumping through his veins like rabies, there’s one thing to straighten the edges and bring him back from the trenches. That solace is you; your alluring smile and twinkling eyes, the musical carry of your laugh, your seemingly innate ability to figure out what’s wrong and quell the turmoil cycloning inside of him.
So he doesn’t report to Fury like he’s supposed to, doesn’t go over the myriad of errors that only worsened as the mission progressed—no one stops him either.
When employees spot him marching down the corridors, stealth suit still on and rippling across his hulking mass, his strides colliding deafeningly with the floor, handsome and affable features tightened intensely, their only recourse is moved out of the way. Thankfully, they get the hint because if someone hadn’t, he knows he’d snap and do something he might regret.
His senses, formerly haywire in his manic state, have lasered into tunnel focus; his eardrums hone in on the specific sound wave of your crooning voice, and the olfactory nerves in his nostrils guide him in a trail to the source of your intoxicating essence.
Steve slams the door open and storms into the upper, restricted level of the headquarters. His hastened pace slows upon your increased dose, lulling his awareness and distance waning significantly. As his search nears its end, he recognizes where he’s at: the luxurious space designed by and created for Tony Stark.
The doors are open so he doesn’t waste time knocking (not that he possesses the patience to abide by his hundred year old manners). Upon entry, he’s taken the tranquility occupying the atmosphere and the sight of you bathed in the sun’s glow; bright rays beam through the impenetrable windowed wall of the tower while you gently rock the three month old baby perched on your shoulder, probably basking in the dual warmth of you and the star.
From afar, behind you, the brown-eyed girl’s mother stands. With her head tilted and soft gratefulness slanted into her lips, the strawberry blonde’s hip rests against the office’s wet bar and watches fondly as you effortlessly soothe her child’s fussiness into a thumb-sucking slumber.
“Aren’t they cute?” Pepper Potts remarks as he steps beside her. Her gaze maintains on his girlfriend and her daughter. “Morgan would not stop crying for the past few hours, and I did everything to calm her down. I was frazzled and at my wit’s end then I handed her off to her aunt, and now she’s as quiet as a mouse.” She pauses and spares a glance over to his adoration-fixed stare, a slyness twisting into her smile. “I don't know what stage you two are at but she’d make a great mom.”
Steve knows you occasionally babysit for the Starks, but he’s never seen you like this. You’re in your element, swaying back and forth while you hum inaudibly into the infamous delicate baby’s ear. Her small hands are curled around your neck and her face nuzzled into the crease of your shoulder, with the opposing thumb slid between her lips as her big chocolate eyes flutter into a peaceful rest.
Suddenly breathless—but it’s not from the exertion—he has to agree, nodding his head. “Y - yeah,” he answers to both statements because it’s fucking adorable, and while there’s never been a doubt about your caring nature, this cements the fact that you would be an amazing mother. The sensation boils in his gut, and his fingers twitch at his sides. “Has she always been this good with her?”
“Oh, yeah,” Pepper tells him matter-of-factly. “With her, other kids, too. She came with us to the park, and this one kid was screaming his head off and she just went over and poof! He was happy.” Her eyes are back on your slow pacing silhouette. “I would swear she was made for this. I bet she was a nanny in another life.”
His knuckles clench as her words ignite the simmering inferno of his being. Made for this, made for this, echoes in his head and he has to remind himself that he’s in public. But the primal image of you, radiating like an angel with a little piece of him growing inside you, has already carved itself in the forefront of his psyche.
Steve has never been into traditional gender roles, not even when he was in his time and it was the norm (he’s always been a very progressive thinker). But, God, he can’t deny the appeal now that he has you. There’s something so primally satisfying about having you at home, free of any worries that aren’t about your family, potentially—preferably—knocked up.
The carnal urge grips him more intensely than before. Usually, he can suppress that visceral desire to bury himself bare inside you and spill his virility until he further claims you as his. However, receiving a glimpse of you in this maternal state, it has every instinct screaming that you’re irrefutably perfect and primed.
As if on cue, you turn around with the effectively lullabied infant clinging around your neck. After a flicker of surprise, pleasant then concerned, you pad on over to carefully hand over Morgan to her thankful mother. Your attention rivets back to him with a knitted brow gaze.
“Babe, hey,” you greet in a gentle voice. Worry ebbs into your gaze amongst the usual stare of attraction upon dragging across the navy blue material that still clings to his muscular torso. You offer your hand, which he immediately takes, and you guide him out of the office into the hallway. The door shuts behind you, and the sectioned off level is empty, but your voice is still quiet when asking, “What happened?”
You stand barely a breath away, and the proximity pacifies his senses. His stance loosens while a smile upturns a corner of his mouth. “Nothing,” he answers then clarifies, “Nothing that matters anymore, anyway.”
The amendment dwindles your concerned curiosity because it’s honest—he doesn’t need to dwell when you’re standing here—and you can hear it; another lovingly scrutinizing up-and-down glance confirms that his earlier disquietude has settled significantly.
“D’you have fun back there?” he goes onto wonder, eyes flickering over to the closed door. Your earlier titillatingly visage snaps into his brain, and he subconsciously bites down on his bottom lip. “You looked like you were.”
You accept his subject-change with a nonchalant shrug. “Babies like me, and I like them,” you tell him, smiling at the admission. “What can I say?”
“I don’t know. Maybe that you want me to knock you up.” The words fumble out of his mouth before he thinks about it, and while he hadn’t intended on letting it slip, if he did, it would’ve been without the serious fluctuation he blurted it out with.
In a lame attempt to correct his slip of the tongue regarding a topic you both rarely discussed, he quickly adds, “I’m joking.” A surprised expression had crossed your features upon processing his former response, transitioning into something he can’t yet pinpoint if he likes. As if to test the waters—or dig himself into a deeper hole—he says, matter-of-factly, borderline suggestive, “But you know, back in my day, you’d probably already have a few popped out by now.”
“Mr. Rogers!” you gasp in an almost-shocked tone, but your cheeks split with a devious grin. “Are you telling me you want to be a daddy?”
Disheveled by his mission, then upended by your placating presence, he’s more awkward than the day he met you. “Fuck. Look, I’d never pressure you, okay?” For the millionth time, the previous scene plays mentally; he exhales heavily. “It’s just you with her, and I. . . never mind.” He shakes his head, deciding he’s still on the edge from both events today, and dismisses his animalistic inkling. “Act like I didn’t say anything.”
You fold your arms and nod.
“Uh-huh, daddy,” you drawl, scintillating in mischievousness that simultaneously has his heart skipping a beat and his cock jumping. Your smirk widens before disappearing beneath a cascade of feigned innocence. “We can just act like you don’t want me to have your kid.”
His lips part at your teasing twist of his words. “That’s - that’s not what I said.”
“Isn’t it?” You lift a brow. “It is. So, maybe I should find a guy who does. I think any other man would take immense pleasure in going condomless inside of me.” One hand wiggles into your jacket pocket while you peddle away from his orbit; a rectangular plastic ruffles as his reflexes instinctively catch it. “You know, I think Bucky would really appreciate me. I bet he’d have the manners to really wife me up and make me—“
He knows you’re poking fun of him; playfulness alight within your gaze that he usually enjoys. In actuality, he understands there’s zero truth in your jesting and he’d be more amused than jealous. However, currently, the circumstances have corrupted his sensibilities.
“That’s not funny.”
Your laugh echoes musically. “It’s not ‘cause it isn’t a joke,” you say between your giggles, your amusement pardoning your spacial awareness. “I mean—Steve!” Your yelp is louder and even more musical when he surges forth and reigns you in.
Air expels from your chest as his body cages yours against the wall. Using one hand to brace himself above you, his opposing appendage tilts your dazed blinking up. “Now do you really think I don’t want you to carry my kid?” he rumbles. “Because if it were up to me, I would’ve taken claim to your womb the second I saw you.”
Your breathing hitches, and you try to remain unaffected but he’s too keen on your reactions to be fooled. “O - oh?”
“Yeah.” His tongue swipes across his bottom lip. “Wanna know what makes it worse?” He leans in and trails his nose along the inviting curve of your shoulder and neck until his lips are adjacent to your ear. “My sense of smell, it tells me when your body is just ripe for the taking. It’s like you’re fucking calling me every single month—begging me to put your little pussy out of your misery. . . fuck and fuck until you’re milkin’ my kid right outta me.”
A sound, hybrid between a moan and a gasp, escapes your throat; humor eviscerated, desire exudes from you and submerges his senses in a provoking intoxication. The rush sinks into his brain and triggers that visceral frenzy within him but he has no interest in suppressing it anymore.
He releases a guttural groan and grabs your hips. His big hands splay on either side, thumb slightly kneading back and forth, and he draws you in closer. “I can smell you right now, too. Not only how wet you’re gettin’ but that it’s that time for you, isn’t it?” he purrs and nips at your lobe. “You’re mine for the taking.” His teeth catch your pulse, sucking a mark onto the vulnerable skin. “Hm, baby?”
“Y - yes!” you moan wantonly loud as your weight sags into his embrace. “Always.”
“Good—” His hands cinch on your flanks and abruptly hoist you up: prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist and your arms to encircle around his neck. “—cause holding back with you is gonna be impossible.”
With your body clutched around his abdomen, he heads for the closest empty room, scoped out via his enhanced hearing. Unceremoniously, he turns a handle and breaks the lock of the unused office space; two doors down from the main room, it’s smaller but it has a sturdy-looking desk in the center.
He kicks the door shut and sets you down as your lips find his. Although you’re sat down, legs dangling over the wooden edge, you keep your elbows hooked around the nape of his neck and coax a ragged groan out of his chest with the deft stroke of your tongue.
“Shit, baby,” he breathes and parts from you in order to yank your jacket down your shoulders. Tossing it off the side, he reveals a braless tank top and your nipples he can see have pebbled underneath. His imagination takes off once more, envisioning what the already perfect twins will look like in the wake of his seed taking root inside you.
His blood pumps viciously, flowing downward and flooding his cock to strain beneath the oppressive stealth-suit fabric. Like you’re reading his mind, you unhook the utility belt and similarly shove it off somewhere on the side.
Something rustles, and it’s the condom you’d thrown at him. Absentmindedly tucked under the cinch of the belt previously, it falls into your undressing hands. Your eyes rivet up to him, lashes fluttering big, as you hold it between two fingers: halfway offering. “What are you gonna do, daddy?”
At that particular moment, it occurs to him that you’re doubting his seriousness. While abundantly clear you want this, you’re dubious on whether he’s going through it. Which is preposterous, but he figures that the look on your face when he spills inside you bareback will only further his orgasm, consequently heightening the odds of his end-goal.
He plucks the packaging from of your grip, holds it up as your gazes clash and makes a show out of discarding it out of reach. Then he seizes your knees and slides your ass to the edge so your center is flushed against him, rocking into his hardened imprint.
“You,” he answers your query, tone a growl, as he peels your jeans off. He continues on just to shred your panties. “I’m doing you. With nothing to separate me from you, nothing to keep you from your rightful destiny: knocked up with our baby.”
“Please,” is all you utter, but the room’s thick with sensory evidence of your essence.
Spreading your thighs as far as possible, he glances down to spit lewdly on your glistening mound; a long dribble of saliva coating your eager button and slit. He uses his thumb to smear it all over, mixing with the puddle you’re creating, dipping into your sticky folds with his middle finger.
The whole time, you’re choking with these hungry and appreciative little noises. Likewise, you’re watching as he prepares you thoroughly and roughly to wring the cum out of him. “S - Steve,” you mewl coherently and buck into his messy caress. Your fingers are tugging pleading on the lower half of his uniform. “I need you. Please!”
It is about damn time.
His control has been witting away since the first time you called him daddy. He swiftly wrenches the suit down and exposes his leaking, throbbing cock to your tunnel of relief. His size always dwarfs your kempt triangle; an initial observation one might come to is the improbability he won’t fit. But he does, every single time, and in this special instance, he’s going to ensure all of his formidable length is buried in your fertile heat.
He rasps his tip over your clit, plastering his translucent white pre-cum over the engorged nub, then traces down the crease of your slit. As he prods in, his hands span your thighs and help open up your elastic entrance for his ravenous cock. He stretches your tightness slow but unyieldingly while you both watch with labored breathing, transfixed by the sight of your dripping core enveloping his veined and tanned angry stalk until he’s nudging your cervix.
“Good girl,” he grits out, strangled by the electricity prickling his nerves. He slips support underneath your ass, intertwining from the inner to the outer so when he hauls you up, your knees are bent over his elbows. “You ready to make me a daddy, baby?”
“Yes!” You nod quickly with a moan. “Shit, you’re big—and deep. Really fucking deep.”
He chuckles huskily because if you think that now, he can’t wait to see you once he’s truly plundered new depths. “Now, you just hold on tight and let me do all the work. I only want you to focus on givin’ me a baby, okay?”
In the middle of an abandoned office room—possibly a storage area—he heaves you up and drops you back down. Your arms curl around his neck, hands twisting into his suit, while he alters between gravity and his hips jutting forth to drill inside you.
Without any mind to those around you—just you and him—he fucks you with every ounce of strength coiled into his super-charged build. Ignoring the fact that door is unlocked, broken more specifically, and the possibility that there’s likely high quality surveillance cameras watching, your shared sounds of carnality fills the room in between the harsh collision of skin.
Each propelling thrust seems to jostle further than further, carving himself into your inner walls. Like he said before, he handles all the work, effortlessly bouncing your sporadically clenching channel with his inhuman strength and stamina; leaving you to accept and bask in the stimulation his cock is providing and the gift he’ll be depositing inside of you any time now.
Your lips are breathless in his ear, gasping, “Daddy, please,” that has him climbing the rope faster. The beg pours gasoline on an already roaring fire, igniting wildly to burn up his legs then his stomach and on its way to take him under.
“Y’gonna make me a daddy, baby? You’re gonna be a pretty lil’ mommy and take care of us? Is that what you want?” he croons, identifying the way you tighten as your steadily approaching orgasm. “Y’gonna have your pretty pussy squeeze me until I’m shooting my load and knocking you up?”
He’s pretty sure your nails have punctured the suit’s resilient material. “S - Steve, fuck! Please. Yes! Cum inside me—cum inside me—“ you cry out with genuine desperation that his limbs tingling numbly. “I want it. I want you. Please. I wanna feel you!”
His jaw locks and works you somehow even harder. The room is completely engulfed with you, your arousal, the potency of your ovulation, and your future with him; once he releases, it’ll only seal the fact that you’re his and belong to him (as well as vice versa).
“Who’s gonna be a daddy, baby? Who are you making a daddy, baby?” His words are practically slurred while fever coalesces across his entirety. “Who owns your pretty little pussy and your womb?”
“You—Steve—daddy,” you sob as your orgasm seizes up around his cock, giving him no other choice other than to: “Cum inside me, daddy—!”
Something beastly rips out of his chest, and without protest, he gifts you exactly what you want. He burrows into the absolute hilt and fires inside you for what feels like forever. Spurts of ooze finally wane, nudging your fruitful cervix, but even then, he doesn’t dare retreat from your heavenly depths.
The aftershocks force him to set you back down on the desk, still buried and keeping you stuffed. His face nuzzles the junction between your neck and shoulder languorously, and you lazily run your fingers through his hair, walls periodically pulsating.
When he regains the energy, he straightens and pulls out of you until his bulbous head is blocking your entrance; he stops there because he realizes something. “It’s gonna leak, and as hot as that is, I need to keep you full, baby.” Abruptly, he hauls you up and shuffles the position so that he’s sitting on the desk, and you’re sitting on his cock.
Your sensitivity flares around him, and you squeal. “F - fuck!” But you adjust to comfortability, blinking at him. “For how long?”
A smile curls into his lips, and he strokes your cheek while his other hand lays on your belly. “For as long as it takes.”
[masterlist / feedback]
#steve rogers x you smut#steve rogers imagines#steve x reader#captain america x reader#steve rogers smut#marvel reader insert#marvel smut imagines#my writing#marvel imagines#my fics#mANY ERRORS
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ahhh 25 and 12 or 6 with calum hood please!!
I AM SO SO SO SORRH RHAT THIS TOOK SO LONG I HAD A SUPER LONG HIATUS FOR PERSONAL REASONS AND I HOPE YOURE STILL INTERESTED AND NOT MAD AT MEEE 🥺LOVE YOU AND THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING YOU ABSOLUTE ANGEL LOVIEEE
Help me - C. Hood
6: “Shh, you’re safe. I won’t let you go.”
12: “N-no, it’s alright, come here.”
25: “Please talk to me about it.”
GIF is not mine
TW: DEPICTIONS OF DOMESTIC ABUSE/ ABUSE BY A PARENT. MENTIONS OF BLOOD AND WOUNDS, GRAPHIC DEPICTION OF FAMILIAL VIOLENCE, SELF-LOATHING THEMES AND PHYSICAL INJURY.
If this content can potentially trigger you, please do not read. Your mental and physical health is important, so please, take care of yourself. My inbox is always open.
Original story by sarcastically-defensive17
Please do not copy, reproduce or repost without credit or in a manner than removes my username, and/or ownership from the work. Stealing isn’t cool, peeps.
<><><><><>
Not much was known about Y/N. In the entire school, she was the enigma. She had her friends, she was average in her classes, but still, her personal life was kept out of the general knowledge of the student body. Even the teachers knew little about the girl.
Her parents would come to every interview, every ceremony. She would go on trips, she would join in on the fun. She even attended the two week camp they held last semester, and it was the happiest that anybody had seen her.
Calum often watched the girl. He could see how her smile would drop when nobody was looking, how she would constantly flinch whenever anybody would raise a hand or wave an arm around her. He observed her more often than not, as stalkerish as that made him sound.
He was friends with the girl. They shared English and Math and some of the same friends. He enjoyed speaking to her, he loved to see her smile - genuinely smile.
He couldn’t deny the growing feelings he had for her. She was intelligent and kind, her smile could knock the breath out of him, and had done so many times. He seemed to lose all train of thought around her and the feeling was addictive. He had no idea if she felt the same, but he felt his own emotions grow tenfold every time she placed her hand on his arm, or offered her assistance when he was unsure about something, or simply when she laughed at a horrible joke that slipped from his lips.
She was angelic and he couldn’t put his finger on why such a beautiful person could look so skittish at a sudden movement.
He had his suspicions but he knew better than to pry.
However, his mind couldn’t be set at ease when they were placed into a group together. Their due date for their English project was impending, and as his mother was working from home, he chose not to offer his residence for the pair to gather.
“So, your house?” He was waiting by her car at the end of the day, unnoticed by Y/N as she rushed to her vehicle in the same manner she always did. She hadn’t expected him to be there, so when his voice travelled to her ears she couldn’t help but flinch and shy away. He frowned softly at her, “you okay?”
She blinked, tilting her head to look at him. “Excuse me?” Her keys were clasped tightly in her hands and her gaze kept flicking between her door and Calum.
He chose not to focus on the tension she held in her body. “The project?” He reminded her. “It’s due in two weeks and if we keep showing up with nothing done, Stone will be on our asses until we graduate.” He snorted, the sound bringing a small smile to Y/N’s face.
“I, um, I don’t think my house is a good idea,” her voice was soft - fragile. “Wouldn’t it be easier to do it during study? I can’t be out too late.”
“All of my study’s are designated to soccer practice, sorry,” he pursed his lips, pushing off of her car. “I would offer my place but I think my mum would genuinely murder me. She’s working from home and my sister is in the process of taking over all available space in the house with her loser friends.”
Y/N seemed to think over it for a minute. She knew that it would be a bad idea to have Cal come over, but she had no choice. She sighed, nails working carefully to pick at the skin around her cuticles - a bad habit she had adopted.
“Alright,” she nodded. “Hop in, just, there are rules you need to follow, okay?”
“Yes ma’am,” he smirked, pulling the drivers side door open for her when the lock mechanism clicked open.
Her heart pounded in her chest the whole way home. The mere sight of the two story residence made her feel queasy on a regular day, but the upbeat boy sitting beside her made the thought of being at home much worse. She put the car in park, turning to Calum.
Her eyes rarely met his, he noticed.
“Um, you can’t be here after 5. My parents get home around then and they don’t really like visitors.” She pulled her keys from the ignition, clamping her eyes shut for a brief moment. Sure, Calum was her friend - he was a great guy, and Y/N genuinely enjoyed his presence - but she couldn’t shake the feeling that having him at her house would end horribly. “No shoes inside, we need to stay in the dining room and please, if you use the bathroom, put the toilet seat down.”
She didn’t invite people over for a reason, but she dropped the desire to have friends over when her home began to break more. Y/N could barely remember a time when she fell asleep to anything but the sound of expletives, breaking glass or pure aggression.
Instead of questioning the barrage of instruction as she would expect, Calum simply fixed her with a warm smile, “Your wish is my command.”
She had long wished for her parents to go their separate ways strictly to save her from the fear that enveloped her the minute she stepped foot inside, however, she knew it fruitful because she couldn’t go anywhere but with one of them, and even when apart, they were harmful.
Calum followed her rigid form into the house, kicking his shoes off and placing them on the designated racking as instructed. The house was in pristine condition. It was as if there were no life in the environment unless a human was present - it felt cold.
The house was so different from his own. His mother had made sure to hang photos of both him and his sister, pictures from family outings, vacations. His father bought his mother flowers regularly and they always sat on the kitchen counter. His sister even had her own little belongings in the family areas as did he. Y/N’s house had nothing. There was not even a picture of her with her parents. The house was near void of any sort of familial comfort that it made him feel uncomfortable.
He followed her into the dining room, waiting for instruction. The atmosphere put him incredibly on edge and he could feel that there were many rules to be followed to perfection in the house.
Y/N pulled her bag open, placing her books on the table before stashing the bag into a designated nook in the entry way. The table caught his eye. Only two chairs. Both her parents lived with her, but there were only two chairs.
She returned, taking a seat at the small round table. Her eyes darted nervously to a clock mounted on the wall before softening and focusing on Calum’s standing form.
“Take a seat?” She offered. “We have just over an hour and a half until my parents get home.”
He nodded, slumping down in the seat and retrieving his own items for their project.
The time flew by quickly, it seemed. Calum’s presence was warm and he shone like a beacon in the barren home. She could barely take her eyes off of him for fear that he too would burn out like all who have entered before him.
If she could, she would have captured the moment in its entirety, preserving it for the lypophrenic moments that visit her almost nightly.
She was in the process of laughing at a joke that slipped from Calum’s lips when her eyes absentmindedly crossed over to the wall clock.
It was 3 minutes past 5.
Calum needed to leave. Fast.
She was on her feet, face paleing and her hands working to slam the books in front of her closed. She needed Calum gone and she needed to be in her room before either of them got home.
Calum raised an eyebrow at her, following her movements with caution. “What’s wrong, Y/N?”
“You need to go,” she was breathless despite the meager activity. It wasn’t the actions that made her breath escape, it was fear. She knew what would happen if either of her parents arrived home. She knew what would happen if they saw she was in the dining room, or if she had company. Nevermind if that company was a male.
“Oh, sorry,” he smiled softly, helping her clean. “The time sorta slipped away from us. It’s only a few past 5, I’m sure your parents will understand-“
He was cut off as she shoved his books against his chest, “they can’t know that you were ever here.” She felt horrible for rushing him out; almost as horrible as she felt for her lack of hospitality, but she needed him to go. She couldn’t bear the consequences.
She handed him his shoes, opening the front door and pushing him out. His expression was full of confusion and for an instance she thought she saw hurt flash in his whiskey coloured eyes but her state of anxiety was growing and she couldn’t bring herself to react.
“Sorry about going overtime. I’ll see you-“ the door slammed in his face, footsteps hurrying away from the wooden barrier almost exactly after, “- tomorrow?” He finished dejectedly, slipping his shoes on and starting down the path to his house.
He lived in close proximity to Y/N, but the walk did little to quell the hurt in his chest.
Y/N rushed around as soon as the door was closed. She needed to clean everything up in the dining room before one of them got home, but her efforts were fruitless.
A few minutes after she rudely shoved Calum away, she heard an engine die in the front yard. The door opened carefully and closed very soon after. The sound of heels on the floorboards alerted her to the fact that her mother was home. She was in perfect view, still trying to clean away any evidence that she inhabited the dining room.
“What the hell have you done to my house?” Her mother hissed, the sound of keys being thrown onto the hall table bouncing off of the walls, setting the hairs on the back of Y/N’s neck on edge.
Y/N felt her shoulders flinch, acting on their own accord. “I’m sorry, mum. I just felt like studying down here today-“
Her mother was next to her within seconds, cold eyes scanning over every item in the room. “This is a pig sty!” She growled, despite the only objects out of the ordinary being y/N’s textbook, a single pen and a bottle of water. “I go to work, busting my ass to pay for things you need and this is the thanks I get?”
The laughter that fell from the older woman gave Y/N goosebumps. Both of her parents were vindictive and nasty, but her mother was the worse of the two. Quick with her hands, nastier with her words. She has once thrown a plate at Y/N because she dared to ask to add salt to her dinner.
Her father, on the other hand, was a drunk who would prefer to scream insults at his daughter and wife for anything. Despite this, y/n had less fear of the patriarch.
Y/N stayed quiet, too frightened to say anything or to even move to finish cleaning. Her mother didn’t like that and wound her hand in Y/N’s hair, gazing down at her with malice as she yanked her head back violently.
“You ungrateful little brat!” She growled. “You were the worst thing to happen to me, yet I still feed you, and clothe you and keep you here while you sick the life from me like the parasite you are, and this is how you repay me?”
Tears welled in Y/N’s eyes as she struggled against her mother’s hand, “Mum, mum please,” she pleaded. “You’re hurting me.”
“You hurt me every day that you’re still here, it’s the least I can do to repay the favour.”
Y/N grabbed her mother’s hand, attempting to pry it away from her hair, but in the process, her nail scratched her mother’s hand.
Y/N didn’t realise until she was knocked to the ground after a force connected with her cheek. Her head connected with the floor boards, blood quickly spilling from her brow and her lip and cheek throbbing.
“Don’t you ever touch me again, you little bitch!” Her mother screamed in her face, cradling her barely wounded hand like she would a baby.
Y/N struggled on the floor, slowly trying to climb to her feet despite the ache spreading through the left side of her face. She shuffled back, hoping to get closer to the hall so she could get up to her room. Her mother had other plans.
The sound of the cupboard door opening was evident and Y/N barely pushed her disheveled hair from her eyes to see a glass hurtling towards her, connecting with the wall next to her.
The sound was near ear-piercing, a few glasses catching her arms and shredding the skin in various places. Crash after crash - she finally ran out of glasses, starting to move to the next cupboard.
Y/N took the opportunity to get to her feet and run. Her feet carried her to the door, and she was thankful that she always kept we car keys on her person for fear of moments like this.
Her mother called out expletives behind her, but she didn’t bother to turn, instead allowing her body to act on its own volition, climbing into her car and pulling out of the drive as fast as she could.
Her vision was blurring, tears staining the clarity of her sight. Her hands were shaking so ferociously that she could feel the muscles in her shoulders twitching. Her mind was anywhere but the road, but it felt like she moved between destinations so fast, barely paying mind to the road in front of her until she pulled up at a park in the next suburb.
Her fingers worked on the screen of her phone, acting of their own volition until a voice was sounding through the speaker into Y/N’s ear.
“Y/N?” The voice asked, confused, anxious even.
“I’m at the park, on Macquarie Street. I need help.”
To anybody outside, Y/N would have been a terrifying sight. Blood pouring down her face, starting at her brow, a bruise forming quickly on her left cheek, a slight swell misshaping her lip and cuts all over her arm with their own trails of blood.
For Calum, his heart near stopped when he saw her sat on a park bench with her knees pulled to her chest. The sight was a beat more than terrifying. There were no more tears in her eyes, but her cheeks were wet with recent drops. She was staring out into the green landscape as if she no longer inhabited her body. The sun was starting to set behind her.
It took all of his willpower not to rush towards her, simply so he didn’t spook her. She was as rigid as a scared animal, any sudden sounds causing her to flinch.
“Y/N?” He tried softly, stepping cautiously. Her bleary eyes shifted towards him slowly, looking down at his feet before settling into his eyes. Her face shifted into a small smile as she locked onto the warm brown. “What happened?”
With his words, the semblance of a smile dropped. She frowned deeply, a dimple forming softly on her chin before a sob ripped through her chest. Her breathing heaved her body, rocking aggressively as she poured the emotion onto her knees once again. He walked to her faster, resting a hand on her knee and the other on her head.
“Y/N?” She shook his hands off, flinching away from his touch. “Y/N, baby? What happened? Please talk to me about it.”
She gasped, knees unfurling from her near iron grip. She knew the feeling well, it being her third panic attack since she left her home - not her home - the place she used to live. She couldn’t go back there.
Calum knew the signs. He had helped Michael through many attacks before and he acted beyond thought as he sunk to his knees before her, kneeling between her opened legs. His fingers moved to the side of her face gently, as to not cause her any more fear.
The tears had halted again, but she could barely catch her breath. He pulled her head down into his chest, thankful that with his added height against the small park bench, it was not so much of an awkward angle for the frightened girl.
It took all of 2 minutes for her breathing to balance. It was a trick he learned long ago - sometimes physical contact could help Michael with his attacks, and it had proven to be helpful to Y/N.
The silence that followed was pregnant as she rested her head against him. Her fingers had clasped so tightly in his hoodie that he could barely move until she loosened her grip. Slowly, she began to peel her body away from him.
“I- I’m sorry. There’s blood everywhere. I’ll let you go,” she sniffed, her voice airy as she tried to relax her muscles.
“N-no, Y/N,” he stood slowly, choosing to sit next to her instead of on the ground in front of her. “It’s alright, come here. Only if you want to.” He held his arm out, allowing her to make her decision. Slowly, and cautiously, she moved towards him, seeking the comfort of his soft hoodie and his warmth. She let out a shaky breath as she settled in to him. He shushed her softly, moving his arm to loop around her back slowly. “It’s alright, you’re safe, darling. I won’t let you go.”
She mumbled a soft “thank you,” wrapping her arms around his waist delicately. Her forehead nestled into his collarbone, allowing the lower portion of her face to be angled so she could resume her breath maintenance.
“Who did this to you, daring?” His voice was soft, his eyes anywhere but the girl below him. The mere sight of her eliciting a burning rage within his chest. Y/N was so pure, so happy. So kind. The thought that anybody would dare to hurt her - to him, it was blasphemy. “What happened after I left?”
“It was my mum,” her words were incredibly faint, yet Calum’s attentive ears heard every syllable. He tightened his arm around her slightly. “It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last.”
He moved his hands to her shoulders, pulling her off of his chest so that he could survey her face. His fingers were calloused from the strings of his bass, but he made sure to keep his touch featherlight as he ran his finger along her wounded cheek.
It was no, that he finally realized the small scars decorating her eyebrow, her jawline, and even her neck.
“She hurts you?” The thought was unbearable, how could a mother hurt their child in such a way. Y/N was in bad shape, and to know that it was somebody who should love and protect her that did so - he was shaking from fury. “What about your father? Does he-“
“Dads always too drunk to care. He spends his time sucking down beers and verbally abusing us rather than paying attention to the constant crap I get from my mum,” her scoff was full of malice. On the outside, Y/F/N had it all but in reality, her world was a steaming dumpster fire and she spent her time yearning for love. “My parents never wanted me and they have made it obvious. This,” she gestured to her face with a sliced up arm, wincing slightly at the shift of her flesh. “Is because I had stuff in the dining room. Mother prefers I keep my life confined to my bedroom where she can pretend I don’t exist.”
Guilt washed over Calum’s face, “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I shouldn’t have pushed to go to your house.”
“It’s fine, Cal. There was bound to be an issue tonight anyways, it’s just our routine,” she sent him a small smile, eyes full of apology and sadness. “Thank you, for coming to my rescue.”
He let his thumb run across her cheekbone, relishing in the feeling of her skin underneath his palm. “Whenever you call, I’ll be there for you Y/N.” There was nothing in his actions to suggest anything but sincerity, specifically in the way his eyes lingered on hers for a second longer than normal. “You can’t go back there, darling.”
Her head hung slightly. She had nowhere to go but there. Of all of her friends, not one of them would take her in and her closest family was out of state. She had no options.
“That’s the only place I have,” she smiled at him, a miserable smile, but a reassuring one. “I’ll be okay.”
“Come to my house,” he offered, eyebrows raising slightly, a pleading pout on his lips.
“Cal, I can’t impose-“
“You’re never imposing, Y/N.” His brows furrowed. “I’ll always keep you safe, I promise.”
A sigh left her chest, her breathing smoothing and functioning correctly on its own accord, before she nodded. Fighting against Calum was a losing battle, but she wasn’t entirely against the idea. There was something drawing her in to him. Something that she couldn’t identify. Whether it be the damsel-in-distress complex that she had adopted that night, or the butterflies that erupted in her belly when he held her close, she wanted to go with him. She wanted to be safe in his arms.
So she nodded, smiling small up at him, her fingers reaching up to hold his own that were still resting on her scarred face.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead, a delicate gesture full of comfort and with an inkling of the love that she so desired. “I’ll always protect you, darling.”
Tag list: @starshonerose @mantlereid @killerqueenishere @snookiebrookie @theanswertoeverythingisl0v3 @another-lonely-heart
#calum hood#luke hemmings#ashton irwin#5sos#michael clifford#5 seconds of summer#calum hood x reader#requested#caz writes stuff#I’m#so#sorry#this#took#long#thank you so much for the patience#I’m sorry I’m so shit
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hi! i’m not sure if your ship requests are open or not so pls disregard if they aren’t! but here’s my form thing for a marvel ship pls :)
name: Lisa
age: 19
gender preferred: i’m a lesbian so a woman pls :)
preferred pronouns: she/her
occupation: i’m a student! i’m an acting major :)
hobbies: i like acting, singing poorly at the top of my lungs, baking, spending time with my dog, and some writing :)
personality: i’m an ISFJ, but i’m only really introverted when it comes to ppl i’m not super close to! my love language is physical affection and quality time! i have kind of a darker sense of humor but i also love making cheesy jokes, and i just love hugs and hanging out with the ppl i’m close to! i can be a little shy when i first meet someone, but i open up fairly quickly :)
Hi Lisa,
Thanks for your request!
Based on what you told me about yourself I would ship you with Natasha Romanoff. Natasha, just like you, takes a while to open up to someone, but once she does she loves with her whole entire heart. Despite everything she's been through she can see the light and humour in almost every situation and would be there in a second whenever you need help with anything.
I hope you're happy with your ship.
Love,
Charlie
-------
The first thing you hear when you open the door to your apartment is usually a "Hi, love" or maybe a "You're back early", not a loud bang and muffled Russian curses.
Carefully you place your bag next to the door and grab the gun Natasha always keeps on the side table in the entry hall. Making as little noise as possible you sneak through the hallway towards the bedroom, where you could tell the noises were coming from. Maybe Natasha was in danger, maybe someone had broken in, no matter what it was, your heart was beating a mile a minute, even more so when the noises suddenly stopped with a relieved sigh you could tell came out of your girlfriend's mouth.
With a bit more confidence you walked through the bedroom door, expecting the worst. Relief flooded through you when you saw Natasha sitting on the foot of your bed, no enemy in sight, but instead a large suitcase next to her, which she apparently had just finished zipping up. The relief was short lived, however, as your eyes fell to the suitcase again.
"Are you leaving?", you asked.
Natasha, who had been watching you coming closer, shook her head with a slight smile.
"No, we're leaving. Now."
She got up and grabbed your hand to pull you closer. Once you were within reach she pressed a quick peck to your lips.
"You might wanna go to the bathroom first and maybe check if there's anything of yours I've forgotten."
With those words she lifted the suitcase onto its wheels and made her way out of the bathroom. Not bothering to question her behaviour you did as you were told and met her again a few minutes later in the kitchen.
"What's going on, Nat? Are we in danger?"
Realization dawned on her, probably due to your shaking voice and the fear in your eyes.
Quickly she shook her head.
"No, no, no. Everything's fine, I promise. But I have a few days off and I talked Tony into giving me one of his cars so I thought the two of us could go on a road trip."
You raised your eyebrows. You had been expecting a lot, death threats, an assassin, maybe an old enemy escaped from prison, but not a surprise vacation.
"I can't just leave without a second's notice", you told her, a small frown making its way to your face.
Natasha shrugged.
"Sure you can. It's summer holiday, no responsibilities."
Both of you knew that that was a bit exaggerated, but maybe she was right, maybe you could give yourself a few days away from all this craziness, just you and your girlfriend.
"Alright, I'm in."
-------
"In three kilometers, take exit 63. Continue on Rayroad for 10 kilometers", the mechanical voice coming from your phone ordered.
"You could at least tell me where we're going", you told Natasha once more.
The two of you had been driving for almost two hours now and all that time she had refused to let you know where you were headed.
"It's a surprise, love", she said. The same answer as always. Maybe it was time to give up and just enjoy the ride. Der Weg ist das Ziel, a voice in your head said, reminding you of an old German saying you had once heard somewhere.
"If you won't tell me where we're going, can I at least change the song?", you asked, referring to the terrible techno music the radio station had been playing for the last couple of minutes.
"Please", Natasha sighed. Though the two of you had quite different tastes in music both of you seemed to agree that anything would be better than this. So you connected your phone to the car's bluetooth and started a playlist you had once created for situations just like this, composed of songs both you and Natasha liked, or at least tolerated.
"I love this song!", you exclaimed as the first tunes began to play.
Even over the loud music you could hear Natasha chuckling.
"I know. This song was playing in the background when I first asked you out, remember?"
You were embarrassed to admit that you didn't. Though you vividly remembered every other detail of Natasha asking you out for the first time. The way your hands had suddenly gotten all sweaty, the dark green jumper she had been wearing that brought out her eyes, her perfume that you could smell as she leaned closer to talk to you and the way the sunshine had made her hair look as if it were on fire.
"But I remember what song was playing when you asked me to move in with you, two years ago at Tony's party. Though I thought you were joking because you were so tipsy", you reminiscined.
For a split second Natasha turned away from the road to look at you in shock.
"I was not tipsy! I've had like five shots, I could easily take three times as many."
You knew that it was best not to argue with her about how much she could drink without feeling the effects, Tony had tried it once and it did not end well for his liver.
"Do you have that song in your playlist we danced to the first night after you moved in?", she asked. As if she even had to ask, during your conversation you had queued it up so it would start playing next. With a quick press of your thumb the song started playing over the speakers and you turned the volume up just a little bit more.
As if on command both of you started singing from the top of your lungs. You were quite off, Natasha was a little as well, but it didn't matter. Neither did the pedestrians at the side of the road, who could apparently hear you even through closed windows.
Natasha removed one hand from the steering wheel and reached out for yours, giving it an affectionate squeeze before lifting it to her mouth to press a kiss on it.
"I'm really glad we're doing this", she shouted over the music.
With a smile you big your mouth started to hurt you nodded. You were glad as well. It didn't even matter where you were going, as long as you had Natasha by your side you knew it would be perfect.
-------
I hope you enjoyed a small snippet of a road trip with Natasha.
Translation: Der Weg ist das Ziel = Literally something like The journey is the destination, meaning that you should enjoy the journey, but usually used sarcastically (at least that's how I use it)
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It was a pretty Autumn day. The sky cloudless and a perfect deep blue. Pleasantly warm and just the slightest whisper of a breeze. A perfect day for the park, for a trip to the lake, to go to the local super duper mart to buy a costume for Halloween. An unassuming kind of day, one expected to go as mundane as any.
One that should have been mundane.
One that wasn’t.
Jesse was at the kitchen table, enjoying a midday bowl of Sugar Bombs and reading the latest issue of Grognak the Barbarian. A normal routine these days.
Jess had flipped on the TV some moments ago needing the background noise. The monotone drone of the announcer came through in a buzz. Jesse continued her comic. A dog barked in the distance. The news anchor droned on...
Then something shifted. The news anchors usually upbeat voice grew grim. Jesse raised her eyes. The dog went silent.
“Followed by... yes, followed by flashes. Blinding flashes. Sound of explosions... we’re... uh we’re trying to get confirmation,”
Jesse’s breath stilled, something cold and numb washing over her.
“But we seem to have lost contact with our affiliate station...”
There was a pause. Nothing but silence and then;
“Yes, we do have... coming in... that is, uh, confirmed reports. I repeat, confirmed reports of nuclear detonations in New York and Pennsylvania as well as one heading for Boston,” the news anchors voice dipped and then trembled, “My God...”
The world stilled. Jesse’s breath hitching as her fingers involuntarily laxed around her spoon; the utensil dropping into the milk and splashing up onto her shirt and table. She blinked once then twice. The stillness shattered with a shriek from someone she could only assume was her neighbor. The TV now only showed the standby screen.
Jesse pushed herself up from the table quickly and bolted for her door. She was greeted outside by her neighbors all running up the street. Momentarily, she was confused then her eyes caught on the Vault-Tec billboard.
The vault.
She broke into a sprint falling in line with the rest of the panicked crowd all along watching the sky. She couldn’t see the missile. Perhaps that was a good thing. There was a dense crowd leading up the gated, guard-protected entrance. Jesse weaved her way to the front, mind blank.
“Name?” the guard asked firmly. Jesse blinked eyes darting to the sky. Searching for the missile and finding nothing once more.
“NAME?!”
She jumped and stuttered out: “Jesse Lawrence!”
The guard flipped through a clipboard quickly. The was a clamor from the crowd. A cacophony of panic. Jesse’s gaze shot to the skies again. Nothing.
“No ‘Jesse Lawrence’ on the list.”
Jesse blinked. “What?”
“There is no ‘Jesse Lawrence’ on the list. Just Tanya Lawrence and Alvin Lawrence.”
Jesse blinked again. “There has to be a~”
Before ‘mistake’ could leave her mouth, Jesse remembered that when her mother and father applied for entrance to the vault that her app had been declined... over a typo in her birthdate.
They had planned to clear that up the following week; after her parents got back from California...
“I’m gonna have to ask you to step away from the gate, miss,”
Jesse inhaled sharply. “But...”
“Or I will use force to make you.”
Jesse jumped back with a yelp as the soldier lifted their gun, her hands up as she backed away. She turned on her heel afterward. Everything numbing as she absently made her way back down the dirt path into town. She passed neighbor after neighbor that was scrambling up the path to the vault that was an annoyance but now salvation.
She stopped at the oak tree in the middle of the culdesac. Her eyes finally lifting to the sky. Nothing. Maybe they had been wrong. Maybe this was just a scare. Maybe nothing was wrong...
Someone else shuffled up next to her. Jesse’s gaze cut over to them and she blinked.
She had went to school with him. They were part of the same graduating class. She had only recently found out they only lived a block from each other. She found her heart aching. He must have been denied entry too.
His eyes turned to her. She always remembered the young man looking tough, cocky, mean. Right now, he had tears glistening in his eyes and a tremble in his frame that matched her own. They just looked at each other for awhile.
“Jesse, right?” his voice shook. It wasn’t at all what she remembered.
Jesse nodded. “Was it Aiden or Aymin?”
“Aiden.”
It went quiet between them or as quiet as hysteria could be. Aiden had always been a bully. Though he had mellowed out in about 10th grade. From then, they were just acquaintances. Jesse had paid him no mind and he paid her none in return. She had always wanted to try making friends with him. The opportunity was just missed and, now, was gone forever.
“Why aren’t you in the vault, Jesse? I know I saw you and your parents at the vault-tec office.”
She frowned gaze darting away from him. “There was a mistake on my application. I wasn’t put on the list.”
“I’m sorry.” he murmured.
“Why aren’t you?”
“There were only three spots left. So I chose to stay while my sister got into the vault.”
Jesse blinked at him. She hadn’t taken him as the selfless type.
“I’m so sorry.”
“It-it had to be her.”
Silence stole in again. Something flashed in the sky. Her breath hitched.
The missile had entered the atmosphere.
She watched the smoke trail from the tail of it. They had all feared this day. The day when tensions grew to taut. When the war would finally destroy them all. And here they were standing in the fire. She wondered if her mother and father were safe.
She wondered if they knew she wasn’t.
Her legs gave out from under her and she landed on her knees in the dirt. Aiden knelt down with her. They watched the missile’s distance grow closer and closer to the ground. A air strike siren could be heard in the distance. The ground rumbled as vault 111 closed its doors. Jesse could only think about everything she didn’t do. She didn’t get to tell her mother and father ‘I love you’ that day. She didn’t get to know the boy next to her.
A hand connected with hers. She turned to Aiden and he turned to her. Their fingers interlaced. She decided to only look at him. There was a flash followed by an explosion.
And then nothing.
#kyler writes#my writing#mcsm#minecraft story mode#mcsm aiden#mcsm jesse#mcsm aidesse#mcsm: fallout au#tw nuclear weapons#tw nuclear detonation#tw apocalypse#tw gun mention#please ignore the ending of this#and all of the quality actually asdfghjklkjhgfdsa#it is rushed and I am tired as hell#was listening to As the World Caves In by Matt Maltese#had this idea#don’t think it came out exactly how I imagined but#hey! I wrote something!#in one sitting!#enjoy!#also shhhhhh I know the detonation is delayed#if we go by FO4’s beginning#I needed it to be for d r a m a
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Then and Now - Dear Diary
AN: It's been a while since I’ve written Supernatural, or Dean, but I'm back now with a new Series. Gonna be 10 parts in total with a lot of feels and fluffs. I've been toying with this idea since I started re-watching spn earlier this year (thank you quarantine) and then after reading a series by the amazing @percywinchester27 I got inspired and started writing. Shout out to my awesome beta @thorne93, you da bees knees.
AN2: I'm doing a thing where I raffle off a personalised drabble every month. How do you join? Easy, just hammer that reblog button. Reblog is one entry, reblog with comment is two entries. So you help spread my work and you might get a little sumpthin’ in return. Win Win
Pairing: AUDean x Reader
Warnings: Some grade A second hand embarrassment (it gets a bit awkward, yo!) There's some talk about sex in this. Italics are entries from her diary.
Wordcount: 2070
CATCH UP HERE
Summary: It's 2010 and you’re back in Lawrence to settle your family’s affairs after your mom passed. You hope to be in and out of town before anyone really knows you’re there, but that doesn't go as plan. Will a certain green eyed mechanic convince you to come back to the life you once had in Lawrence? Or are you going to return to the real world as soon everything is settled.
Three weeks had passed since that night by the lake, and the farm was back in pristine condition. You had worked tirelessly, day in and day out, with some help from your friends of course. It had been so great to reconnect with them all. Honestly, you were the happiest that you had been in a while. There still was a dull ache in your heart though, one that seemed to strengthen every time you were with Dean. It was hard to be around him, to be his friend when you knew that was all it was ever going to be. And now that there was nothing left to keep your days occupied, that old restless feeling had settled in your bones again.
This life wasn't meant for you. Not on this farm. Not Dean. Not even your friends. It was an unachievable dream, just out of reach, and it was slowly driving you insane. Hope had ignited in you that night by the lake, maybe, just maybe there was a chance for you and Dean, but nothing had happened since then to tell you that that was the case. So now you were convinced you had put more meaning in his words than was really there.
Some days you would stop by the pet shop and say hi to Red, which now was something you looked forward to. Donna told you that he had been a lot happier since you started visiting him, and at times he was a real chatterbox now. You would let him on your shoulder and walk around the store while you talked softly to him, treating him some sunflower seeds here and there. Red greeted you with a high pitched hello every time you walked through the doors, and when you left, he would reach his little foot out as if he was trying to stop you from leaving. At times you wondered if he would make a good travel companion. If he could come with you in your truck as you drove around the country, but those thoughts were quickly pushed aside.
It was another beautiful Saturday morning, music was blasting from your old boombox as you cleared out your closet. It was an old mixed CD that Dean had given you way back when, filled with Metallica, Zeppelin, Skynyrd, and everything else Dean listened to. REO Speedwagon played in the background as you found the stacks of old diaries in the far right corner, hidden under some other junk. A smile played on your lips as you pulled them out, five of them in total, all with different covers around them.
“This is bound to be awkward,” you mumbled to yourself as you picked them all up and carried them with you down stairs.
After filling your cup with coffee, you brought it all with you to the front porch to start what would most definitely be an embarrassing trip down memory lane.
June 1st 1995
Dear diary.
I had a huge fight with Jo today. We were gonna hang out after my guitar lesson and she just kept houding me to play… IN FRONT OF EVERYONE. I asked her nicely to back off, but she wouldn't leave it alone. Then she said I was just scared of embarrassing myself in front of Dean and I was sooooooo mad at her. Like… I swore her to secrecy when I told her about my crush on him and now… God… I don't think I can ever face him again.
She's such a BITCH sometimes.
The word ‘bitch’ was spelled out in big red letters, and you couldn't help but chuckle at your fifteen year old self. Gone were the days when your troubles were this innocent.
There was no entry for a couple of days, just some doodles of Dean's name over and over again.
June 5th 1995
So I made up with Jo. She apologized which I know is, like, super hard for her to do, so we’re good again. She told me Dean has been acting really strange the last few days. Been all quiet and stuff. She said that Benny told her that Cas had told him that Dean asked Cas if he thought I had a crush on him.
Jo thinks Dean has a crush on me too, but I don't think so. The last girlfriend he had was Lisa Braeden and she's so beautiful. No way I can compete with that. I just need to get over these stupid feelings so things can go back to normal.
You skimmed through a few more entries, stuff about tests at school and plans for the summer holiday, then some thoughts and ideas for your birthday. It was all very tame.
But then…
June 14th 1995
HE KISSED ME!!!! I can't believe Dean actually kissed me… and on my birthday. It was so perfect, and his lips were so soft. It was better than I could ever have imagined. I'm so happy right now I could just scream. He asked me if I would go with him to the lake tomorrow and I literally can't wait. I can't even stop smiling.
It was the perfect first kiss with the perfect guy.
Then there was a drawn heart with Dean’s name in it. Without realizing it, your fingers ghosted over your lips as you recalled the kiss. It was a bit frustrating that you hadn't written it down in more detail, but the butterflies that coursed through you told you that you remembered it just fine.
Time didn't really register as you sat and flipped through the pages of your diaries, so when Dean pulled up, you didn't know how long you had sat there. The coffee had long been forgotten and was now too cold to drink.
“What's all this?” Dean asked as he plumped down in the empty chair.
“My old diaries,” you said with a smile. “I found them earlier in my closet. It's so awkward, but I just can't stop reading,” you explained with a chuckle. It was hard to ignore the uproar of butterflies in your stomach at the sight of Dean, but you did your best to push it aside.
“Lay it on me,” he gently ordered with that cheeky grin of his.
“You want me to read you my diary?” You asked in bewilderment.
“Yes!” he exclaimed, laughing.
“Brace yourself for some grade A second hand embarrassment, Winchester,” you warned and he made a point of getting comfortable in his seat. You opened the book on a random page and started reading. “June 21, 1995. It's been a week since Dean and I kissed for the first time, and I still can't believe he asked me to be his girlfriend. Like, for real-” Dean chuckled and you chanced a look up at him, but he urged you to continue. “I mean, I have never been anyone's girlfriend before so I'm not really good at it I think. Like, can I just hold his hand whenever I want now? Or kiss him? ‘Cuz I want to do that all the time. I just don't want him to feel like I'm too clingy or something like that.” Your cheeks burned with embarrassment.
Dean just chuckled. “Why didn't you tell me?”
“About my insecurities?-” he nodded -”I didn't want you to think I was a dweeb,” you said as if it was the most obvious thing.
“That ship sailed long before that,” he said, erupting into laughter when you stuck your tongue out at him. “If it makes you feel any better, I wanted to hold your hand and kiss you all the time too,” he said in an exaggerated sweet tone.
“Ha! Wish I knew that back then,” you mused.
“Go on,” he said eagerly, pointing to the book in your hand.
With a deep sigh, you opened to another random page. “August 7th, 1995. Dean took me to the lake today to watch the sunset. It was beautiful. We talked about ‘doing it’.” As you read the words out loud you giggled and hid your face behind the book. “Oh my god, Dean… It's so awful,” you whined behind the book.
Dean found your embarrassment adorable, especially the smile that followed it, and the laughter. Your nose always scrunched up when you were embarrassed and it was nice to see that hadn't changed. “Go on,” he urged. “I wanna know if we ‘did it’.” Although he knew perfectly well that you didn't, not that night.
“Really?” you asked, peeking up over the book.
“Hell yeah. I'm invested in this now, don't leave me hanging.”
“I told Dean I was scared because I hadn't done it before. He said he hadn't either. I was so sure he had done it with Lisa, but apparently that was just a rumor. I want to do it with him, though. I can't think of a better person to lose my ‘V’ card to. He said he would wait for as long as I wanted.” Even as awful as this was, it was very sweet in its innocence.
“I remember that night,” he said, smiling. It wasn't that cheeky grin from a couple of seconds ago, though, it was the smile one had when recalling a fond memory. “It was a really great night.”
“It was,” you agreed. It was nice to share this with him, even though it was embarrassing, it was a story that the two of you shared, and it was nice to have this reminder of how good things once were for you. You flipped the pages once more, now looking for a specific entry. “August 12th 1995. Dean and I finally did it. It was at the lake in the bed of my truck, but it was as perfect as could be. He was so gentle with me, and patient. It hurt a lot at first, but Dean went really slow and it got better. There was a little blood afterwards and I was super embarrassed, but he didn't care. I’m so glad Dean was my first, because I don't think anyone else would make me feel so safe. Dean always makes me feel safe.” The words trailed off and you looked up at Dean, the air suddenly thick around you.
He cleared his throat before he spoke. “Well, there you have it.”
“Sorry. I didn't know it would turn so… real,” you said quietly, closing the book and placing it on the table.
“No - it's not - don't.... A lifetime ago, right?”
“Right,” you agreed. Clearing your throat, you got to your feet and rubbed your clammy hands on your jeans. “Want a beer?” Now, you were eager to change the subject to just about anything else.
Dean looked up at you with apprehension as he accepted the bottle from you. He didn't know how much longer he could hold back his feelings. It was a decision made with his brain rather than his heart, to wait until he was sure you weren't gonna leave again. Every day was a new challenge, and he had to convince himself all over again that this was for the best, even though he desperately wanted you back in his arms. It was so clear to him now, why no relationship he’d had worked out, because no matter who they were or how happy they made him, they were never you. No one could take your place in his heart, not ever. “You know-��� he cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, looking anywhere but right at you -”that night meant a lot to me too. And not just because I got laid for the first time,” he said with a chuckle. Typical Dean to add some joke into a serious conversation. “But because it was you.”
The truth he spoke was clear in his emerald orbs and it damn near melted your heart. “I guess it was pretty great. Especially for two teenagers who were too immature to say the word ‘sex’ out loud,” you mused, a crooked smile on your lips.
“You know what I think we should do?” Dean asked after a moment of silence.
“What?”
“We should grab some beers and head up to the lake to watch the sunset. Bring some blankets and stuff like we used to do, you know?”
“I would like that very much,” you said earnestly.
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#dean winchester#dean x reader#dean series#spn fanfic#dean winchester fanfic#dean fluff#Dean angst#SPN series#dean winchester fanfiction
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Mic Drop | myg
pairing: yoongi x reader
genre: smut, angst, fluff
au: rapper!yoongi, photographer!oc
summary: when underground rapper min yoongi uncovers the dirty secret behind his biggest rival, your brother and hip hop champion kim namjoon’s success, he is determined to take home this year’s mic drop contest trophy no matter who he hurts along the way. you’re behind the camera, content with capturing namjoon’s picture perfect persona from the sidelines but when his hard-faced enemy Gloss, makes you realise you could be more than just the point and shoot, you start to feel your loyalties shifting.
warnings: multiple smut scenes, dirty talk, dry humping, penetrative sex, fingering, oral sex (both m and f receiving), lots of orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, cum play, cum eating, but also tender fucking lol, very brief mention of death.
word count: 29k (rip)
rating: definitely explicit
playlist: visit my playlist page and select “mic drop.” (all links to be added later)
a/n: ahhh you don’t understand how happy i am to finally put this out into the world!!! i started writing this fic back in july and after a few rewrites (more on this at the end of the post if anyone sticks around until then) she’s finally finished eee <3 also!!! this fic is brought to you courtesy of the love yourself collab! this project has been super fun to be a part of n i wanna say thank you to everyone involved who made it such a welcoming experience! you can check out the masterlist here (link will be added later f u tumblr) to read all the other amazing fics from the incredibly talented authors in this project (literally so talented??? it’s sickening???) (im so excited to finally read them all now im done w this monster lol). all the love as always <3
Introducing Runch Randa!
The host is barely audible over the chants of your brother's name as the lights dim and the arena is sent into a haze of strobe lights.
The air is already heady with body heat and fragrant with sweat from the thousands of bodies smushed together in the pit and beyond that thousands more seated in the stands, phone lights twinkling in the darkened arena like stars. A girl in your peripheral clutches a sign with MARRY ME RUNCH RANDA scrawled in sharpie, torso clad in one of the cheap merch hoodies with your brother's face printed on the front, just like hundreds of others around her.
It's a full house. No one's surprised. The Mic Drop semi-final always creates a buzz of anticipation within the hip hop scene. But this year, with your brother Namjoon returning to compete for the trophy again, there isn't an empty seat in sight.
A buzz pulses through the crowd when the bass kicks in. It makes hearts beat faster, blood run hotter, a crescendo of screams crashing violently through room, the sheer volume enough to make the walls shake in time with the stamp of impatient feet.
It's infectious. Almost. If you hadn't been here a hundred times before, countless nights the same as this one that all started to blur into one somewhere along the line. Different crowds but the same energy, the same hum of anticipation that used to get your bones rattling, your skin hot with suspense. Now it's just routine. Now you feel nothing.
Besides, you're just here to do your job. The photographer. To take pictures, not to enjoy the show. Just like always.
Five seconds. You know Namjoon's set list like the back of your hand by now. Five seconds until he takes the stage and the crowd goes wild.
One, two, three, four...
Like clockwork, the stage lights up and there he is, face blown up in painful detail across every screen. Runch Randa. His stage name pulses through the room, a mantra, chanted until throats turn sore and mouths run dry.
Dark framed glasses cover his eyes but his stance is enough to tell you that he came here to win, his presence immediately filling the empty stage with an energy that makes it impossible to look anywhere else, even for a moment.
He is already damp with sweat, neck glistening beneath the white lights. Like routine you snap a few shots when he taunts the camera with a smirk, brushing a hand through his immaculately gelled hair teasingly, mouth turning up into a grin when the audience roars.
Runch Randa walks across the stage with the ease of someone who lives and breathes for moments like these. Grabs the microphone with two hands, shiny silver rings glinting on his fingers beneath the harsh strobe lights.
You can see his opponents in the front row, nothing but rookies, the intimidation etched into their features visible even from where you stand side stage as they swallow the bitter pill that they stand no chance against him.
Once upon a time you were the same as the wide eyed fans in the pit, filled with an admiration for your brother. He was everything you wanted to be; a whirlwind of fearless, brazen passion when he got up on stage. But things changed once Namjoon won Mic Drop, claiming the trophy at the tender age of seventeen. After that he started filling arenas. Then stadiums. And you were left behind in the ruins of his whirlwind, feeling the Namjoon you once knew slip further away as Runch Randa took center stage, viewing his perfect persona through the lens of your camera with the same sour resentment as the rookies.
Because when a familiar beat permeates the arena, you can't help but close your eyes and imagine the name the crowd screams is yours. That it's you out there instead of him. It's you pouring your heart into the lyrics that you find yourself whispering unconsciously in time with your brother.
Your lyrics.
The lyrics you wrote especially for this performance. The same lyrics that would be streamed by millions, top charts and win Namjoon another stupid trophy to add to his already elaborate collection.
The only reason Namjoon still kept you around was because he couldn't write them himself.
The track ends and the Mic Drop host crosses the stage with a grin. Namjoon's arm is thrust into the air triumphantly.
"And our first finalist is...Runch Randa!"
You snap a picture of your brother smiling victoriously.
"He's gonna win. I know it."
Namjoon's manager Jimin sidles up beside you, grin plastered to his face. It's nauseating.
"Does he ever lose?" You murmur
Runch Randa! Runch Randa! Runch Randa!
--
Mic Drop. The most highly anticipated event in the music industry for its ability to make hip hop artists stars; as well as its tendency to break them just as easily.
Fame. Money. Glory. Just a few of the reasons why rap rookies from across the globe are desperate to compete in the ruthless battle of blood, sweat and rap that is Mic Drop.
They all think they have what it takes. That they have that special something the judges are looking for. Unfortunately, most don't even make it past the auditions phase.
When your brother, Mic Drop legend Runch Randa, announced he would be ditching his celebrity status and stadium concerts to return to his underground roots and compete for the trophy again, it raised a series of questions
Why now? What did he have to prove?
Once the press got wind of the fact that your parent's, CEO'S of the most prestigious record label in the industry Big Hit Entertainment, had run into a spot of financial trouble, everyone assumed your brother's re-entry was a master plan to win the lavish cash prize afforded to competition winners. Sure, you couldn't deny that it was partly true --- Big Hit's stocks were plummeting and a lot was at stake.
Truthfully, though, you knew your brother well enough to see that Namjoon's motives were far more selfish; to put it simply, he was greedy. Fame was his drug. Once he got a taste he could never get enough.
Of course, a cheque signed and delivered by your father's hand shut any rumors down very quickly. Your parent's were good at silencing people if it meant protecting Namjoon's reputation.
Even you, their own daughter.
The name tag labelled OFFICIAL PHOTOGRAPHER was nothing but a cover up for the true reason you spent so much time at Big Hit -- writing each and every one of Namjoon's hit songs. A secret you were forced to keep as you watched your brother through a camera lens.
Which is how you find yourself as his strictly-invitation-only after party, an attempt at building momentum for the big final in just a few weeks time, with a camera in hand.
You're sat in the corner of the A-list club Jimin rented out for the event, swirling the deep red liquid in your glass with a bored disinterest as you watch your brother shake hands with company investors and big buck producers, most of which you'd never even heard of.
These things always seem to drag on, the clock ticking slower with each agonising second spent smiling courteously to uphold the supportive sister persona. Your feet are starting to hurt in your heels and all you want to do is hide away in the Big Hit studio and scribble down the lyrics floating aimlessly in your mind. That's the only good thing about these events -- they give you time to think, a rare relief in between your brother's busy schedules.
"Well, well. If it isn't my favorite lyricist."
A cheerful voice jolts you from your thoughts and when you blink up through the flashing lights you're met with a lazy grin belonging to Hoseok, one of the producers at Big Hit. He's an ex Mic Drop contestant himself, coming fourth and just missing out on the semi-finals three years ago. He never had the stomach for it anyway, he always says, but you never miss the rejection in his eyes.
Hoseok is also one of the only people who knows about your secret. He was hired to help you work on tracks for your brother once he made it big after all, and although he would never admit it you knew he probably had to sign a hefty NDA. Still, you were grateful to have him around — you couldn't deny you made something of a dream team together.
"Mind if I sit?" He gestures with his glass towards the empty space beside you, and you move your purse so he can squash in on the leather couch. "At least some of us are having fun, huh?" You follow his gaze to Namjoon on the dance floor, hands all over some vaguely recognizable celebrity's hips.
You grimace and swig back the remaining alcohol in your glass. "Too much fun, apparently."
Hoseok snorts, wringing his hands. "Y'know, we could get out of here if you're as bored as I am..." His words slur just slightly and you figure his confidence is a result of the amber liquor in his glass. The shy Hoseok you know well returns quickly though as he averts his eyes when you raise a brow. "Not like that! I just thought maybe we could get a drink or something...if you want to?"
You shift awkwardly, having to shout over the booming club music for him to hear you. "I should really stay here. People might ask questions if the sister of the host just...disappears."
"Right!" Hoseok smiles sheepishly then slaps his own forehead. "Right. Forget I ever asked."
You shake your head fondly and turn back towards the dance floor just in time to see Namjoon whisper in the ear of the DJ, music cutting as he takes the mic and hops up onto the small stage to address the party.
Finally! A sign he was going to wrap up the evening for good!
He clears his throat and the huddle of mingling bodies below him fall into an expectant hush.
"Uh, so I'm not usually very good at these speech things --" He pauses and the crowd laughs. You tap your knee impatiently. "But I just wanted to say thank you. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for your support. So, the next round of drinks are on me! I haven't won — yet — but its never too early to start celebrating, right?"
Namjoon raises his flute of champagne and the party-goers cheer just as a flurry of confetti drops from the ceiling. The music starts again and you're too busy picking the brightly colored paper out of your hair disgruntledly to notice the way the room suddenly quietens and the guests part down the middle like prey from a predator.
"Y/N. Look." Hoseok elbows you sharply and flies forward in his seat, whisky sloshing over the edge of his glass. "Shit! Is that--"
Is that really him? What is he doing here? He's back!
You look up just in time to see the commotion as a figure in a black hoodie weaves effortlessly to the front of the room. You don't recognise him but something about his presence gives you chills.
Namjoon is too busy throwing back his drink to notice as the man climbs the stage, his skinny jeans and high tops sticking out like a sore thumb against the sea of dress shoes and cocktail dresses. He clearly wasn't invited.
By the time your brother senses the change in the air, it's too late.
You feel your face pale, choking when the figure finally turns and lets down his hood, revealing a head of blue hair and a venomous smirk.
"Gloss?"
Namjoon turns and his smile dissolves. He just stares stiffly at the person in front of him like he's seen a ghost. In a way you suppose he has -- the ghost of his past. After all, the last time anyone saw this face was five years ago at the Mic Drop final.
It is him! It's Gloss! Why is he back?
The night that changed all of your lives. When Namjoon claimed the Mic Drop trophy and Gloss, his opponent, lost everything.
It's been years since the last time you saw Gloss but you still recognize the distinctive confidence in his gait, the way his eyes flash with something dark as he looks your brother up and down with a breathy laugh.
Namjoon is frozen, breathing heavily.
Gloss' voice is husky when he finally speaks. It makes you shiver.
"Runch Randa. Long time no see, huh?"
A beat of unbearable silence.
"What are you doing here?"
Gloss's chuckle makes Namjoon snarl. You see the way his jaw tenses and his fists clench. He's too wound up; he'll snap if you don't do something and fast.
You get to your feet but Hoseok pulls you back down sternly by the elbow. "Don't." You protest but his grip is too tight so you just fidget helplessly instead.
Something settles in the atmosphere; a nervousness that makes you itch, makes your heart pump into overdrive as you watch them draw closer, eyes narrowed like boxers in a ring, waiting for the other to make a move. Hoseok covers his eyes.
"I wouldn't start celebrating just yet, Runch. The competition has only just begun."
The crowd gasps when your brother's clenched fist swings at his smug opponent. The rapper ducks but not quite in time and you can't remember which comes first — the crunch that crackles through the speakers when Namjoon's ring-clad knuckles collide with Gloss' face or the ear splitting thump of his mic dropping to the ground.
--
The party ends abruptly. Your head spins with confusion as you watch the guests leave in shock. Seeing Namjoon up on that stage opposite his biggest opponent again makes your stomach sick, like you were reliving the events of five years ago all over again.
Deep down you had always expected this moment to come. For Gloss to return looking for revenge or something. After all, Gloss didn't just loose Mic Drop to anyone -- he lost to Namjoon, his former best friend and music partner. Namjoon and Yoongi. They were supposed to win together. But for reasons still unknown, even to you, Yoongi was disqualified moments before the final commenced, plummeting your brother into the world of fame alone.
After that, Gloss all but disappeared, his pitiful downfall nothing but a hip hop legend to those who heard it. No record deals or sponsorships or stadium tours like your brother. A legend in his own right, but for all the wrong reasons. Mic Drop banned duos from competing thereafter.
Eventually you gather the courage to head into one of the back rooms where the rappers had been hauled by security guards in hi-vis jackets after their scuffle. You can hear Jimin babbling before you even reach the door.
"What were you thinking? Punching him? You better hope the press don't get ahold of this or else you're in big trouble—"
"Let me go!" Namjoon grunts to Jimin whose face is almost as red as his own. "I'm gonna end this once and for all."
"You'll do no such thing," Jimin tuts, pushing him firmly by the shoulder so he slumps into his seat with a roll of the eyes, other hand pressing his phone to his ear. "Do you even understand the amount of damage control I'm going to have to do to? — hold on, yes, this is Park Jimin speaking..."
The room smells of disinfectant and medical gauze and you spot Namjoon instantly, surrounded by an abundance of medics. His breathing is still ragged, the vein on his neck standing to prominence, knee bouncing as he impatiently waits for his ruby knuckles to be bandaged, too engaged to notice your arrival.
To your left you're surprised to find Yoongi. He's the epitome of composure despite the heavy tension in the air. He grabs a roll of bandage and begins to patch up his own fist, eyes lighting up with something you can't put your finger on when you slide into the room.
"Well, look who decided to turn up. If it isn't Namjoon's little sister. Long time no see, Y/N."
You freeze. It's been years since you heard him say your name. It makes you feel funny.
"Yoongi." You swallow. "What are you doing here?"
His shit eating grin makes your blood boil. "I take it you haven't heard yet, then."
You roll your eyes. You should be checking on Namjoon not humoring whatever stupid motives his opponent has. "Heard what, Yoongi?"
"I'm re-entering the competition, too."
You stagger backwards. Yoongi? Re-entering the competition? Mic Drop?
"But--you were disqualified--I don't understand?"
"I was disqualified. Disqualifications are only valid for five years, according to the rule book. Who knew?" He smirks when your eyes widen. "And I think you'll find that my sentence is up. I'm gonna win this time, once and for all."
"I don't think you know what you're doing, Yoongi—"
"There's more." He licks his lips. "I know your secret."
Your heart stops, mouth running dry. You throw a glance over your shoulder. Namjoon is still engaged, swatting away a medic's ice pack with a scowl, thankfully too busy to notice when you draw closer, voice a harsh whisper. "W-what secret?"
Yoongi lets out a dark chuckle, wincing just barely when he touches a damp cloth to the cut in his lip, a red splotch forming on the fabric. "You know exactly what secret I'm talking about, Y/N. Wouldn't it be ironic if someone slipped a tip off to the judges panel about Namjoon's ghost writer—"
"Shut the fuck up Min Yoongi or I'll break your nose for real this time!" Namjoon's voice bellows behind you, making you jolt. He charges at Yoongi, lip quivering like he might make his threat a reality. "Leave her out of this!"
Yoongi's nostrils flare. "Everyone knows she's a part of this, Namjoon, whether she likes it or not!"
All eyes look your way, as if expecting you to say something, but Yoongi's words fall cluelessly on you. You hadn't so much as thought about him in years. What did you have to do with this stupid ongoing feud with your brother that he refused to let go?
You glance between them, settling for sending a blank look at Yoongi and shuffling over to Namjoon instead. Your brother seems prideful at your show of allegiance. Yoongi scoffs.
"Namjoon?" Your mouth is dry with the shock of the situation and it comes out sounding funny, like you're wary of him. A gash above his eyebrow starts to dribble crimson. "Shit, you're hurt..."
"Get off me." Namjoon shakes his shoulder violently and you gingerly remove your hand, brows furrowed at his rejection. He directs his attention to Yoongi. "And you. You want a fight? It's on."
"Joon!—" He waves you off. It's pointless anyway. When he gets this rash there's no changing his mind.
"You want to end this thing once and for all? Then let's do this. You and me. At the final."
Yoongi raises a brow. "Deal. I'd shake your hand but you might try and knock me into next week again."
Namjoon doesn't laugh.
A hoard of security guards bust into the room and head straight for Yoongi. "Finally. What the fuck do I even pay these people for?"
"Get off me!"
You place a hand on Namjoon's shoulder and find that he's trembling. Rage? Nerves? Adrenaline? All three, probably, if the vacant blackness behind his eyes is anything to go by.
You're already trailing behind your brother when you hear Yoongi's voice carry down the hall. "I'll see you at the final! When I win. Secrets always find a way to come back and bite you in the ass, Runch. You should know that better than anyone!"
--
Namjoon begs you to come as his plus one to some scummy gig Gloss is rumored to be performing at tonight. To check out the competition, he says, but you recognise the way he nibbles his lip as he does.
Fear. He'll never admit it but Namjoon is scared he’s going to lose.
You agree to join him because you think it may put his mind at rest.
As Namjoon's manager, Jimin has all sorts of connections, mumbling thank you's into the head set sitting around his ears like a permanent accessory and scribbling down the address of some club down town.
The driver your parent's hired to escort Namjoon around as a paparazzi safety precaution drops the three of you a block away; the car's black tinted windows and shiny number plate would be out of place in such a scummy part of town. The plan would only work if you went unnoticed. Namjoon couldn't risk running into a Runch Randa fangirl tonight. It was technically against the Mic Drop rules to have any intel on your opponents, after all.
You don't like to tell Namjoon that his disguise won't do much for blending in. He dons a designer cap pulled down low over his face, long black coat drowning his figure and expensive leather boots crunching against broken glass and cigarette stumps as you near the club. It's too put together to seem natural, a dead give away that he doesn't belong here among the sea of ripped jeans and septum rings and tattoo sleeves around you. Even with a patterned bandana covering half of his face, the sculpted cheekbones and piercing eyes smudged effortlessly with black eyeliner poking over the top scream celebrity.
Luckily for you, the plain dress and knit cardigan hugging your body doesn't alert the suspicions of the bouncers cross armed at the entrance.
Namjoon wrinkles his nose and prods a half empty solo cup discarded outside with his toe, Jimin practically jittering with nerves and barely avoiding a stumbling drunk as you approach the men who stand at nearly double your size. Namjoon said it was best that you acted as spokesperson tonight — the only reason he even brought you along was because nobody would know your face and your position at Big Hit allowed you to pull some strings.
Your fingers shake as you produce a photography license from your bag, heart pounding as one of the menacing bouncers raises his eyebrow beneath the deep red hue emanating from a tacky neon sign posted above the door.
Luckily the breath you're holding is leaving you in a relieved thank you as he nods, moves to the side and gestures for your entourage to dip inside with the rest of the crowd. Namjoon charges ahead into the darkness and you follow him with an awkward smile to make up for his rude demeanour.
No turning back now...
Music hits like a deafening wave, blasting from the speakers at a volume that makes the walls shiver and your head throb. The club is alive with reckless anticipation, a sea of sweaty bodies gyrating on the dance floor in time with the pulsing beat. The energy swallows you whole, knuckles turning white as you cling to Jimin's sleeve, letting him elbow through the throng of indistinguishable faces that glitter beneath the tacky disco ball dangling haphazardly from the ceiling.
The crowd eventually spits you back out in a quieter corner of the club, Namjoon already making a beeline for the seedy bar. "There's a whiskey sour with my name on it and it's the only thing that'll get me through this shit." He murmurs as he crosses the room and occupies a bar stool beside a couple mid heavy make out session, pulling the hat closer around his face.
With a sigh, you turn back to Jimin who is eyeing up the strip pole and the exotic dancers nearby with wide eyes. "I still don't think this is a good idea."
The italian leather couch you slump into is suspiciously sticky beneath your bare thighs. "He needs to get the apprehension out of his system," you counter. "Once he sees that there's no competition he'll be able to take him down."
"I hope you're right." Jimin is wringing his hands, not knowing what to do with them now his headset is sat on the backseat of the car a block away. "I'd hate for this to knock his confidence."
"What?" You snort. "You think Gloss might actually beat him?"
Namjoon is the best rapper around, there's no debate. Nobody could beat him. Not even Gloss.
"No." His pursed lips say otherwise. You raise a brow. Jimin lowers his voice. "Maybe. Namjoon's rash. Gets ahead of himself. If he doesn't pull it together he'll play straight into Yoongi's hands..."
"Shows starting." Your open mouth snaps shut when the cushions dip beside you and Namjoon throws his arms over the back of the couch, swirling his half empty glass with an overconfident smirk.
Jimin averts his gaze. He knows he probably said too much. Sure, you're technically his colleague but you're also Namjoon's sister, the daughter of his boss. If Namjoon had overheard his position at Big Hit could have been called into question.
You would have to grill him more about Yoongi's motives later. Namjoon was right; the show really was starting.
Lights send the club into a dizzying purple haze, a new beat rumbling through the club that makes your skin prickle. It's almost drowned out by the electricity in the air, the frantic stamping of feet, the brazen chants of a single name over and over that fills you with a funny tingly feeling.
Gloss! Gloss! Gloss!
Something about it feels dirty.
The crowd is packed tightly together in the pit now. Even from where you sit, avoiding club goers eyes on the opposite side of the room, you find your attention glued to the stage. The set up is nothing like the one your brother occupies every night; just a wooden structure, painted black at one point but scuffed and scratched by the soles of shoes that boast the history of the place. The speakers are propped on broken crates, no big LED screens or back up dancers like your parents hire out for Namjoon.
Though none of that seems to matter when your gaze falls on the sole microphone stand placed centre stage beneath a blinding spotlight. It's the only familiar parallel between the two performers. It's a symbol of an artist, of the passion that comes with being up on that stage — any stage. It belongs to a performer.
You have to peer through a sea of frantic waving hands on your tiptoes to catch a glimpse of the combat boots taking the stage in time with the music rushing in your ears, mouth dry at the silver rings glinting under the harsh lights as fingers curl around the microphone.
"Yoongi." Namjoon grunts beside you, back stick straight and alert now. The traces of his previous smirk have been erased, a line appearing at the bridge of his nose. "There he is."
Yoongi throws his head back, breathes in the stuffy air that carries the shouts and whistles of the crowd like it's the sweetest oxygen money can buy.
The stench of beer burns your eyes but you're scared you'll miss a glimpse of his messy blue hair, or the eyes drunk on the fierce energy pulsing through the club to stop watching even if you tried.
When his voice permeates the room it's husky, burning through you like a shot of dry whisky. Namjoon stiffens, loosens the bandana around his face so he can see better.
Is that Runch Randa?
"Namjoon..." You hiss. "People are looking."
"Shut up." He grits, jaw tightening as Yoongi's lyrics cut through the tension like a serrated knife.
The way he moves across the stage like he owns it is exhilarating, makes the blood in your veins pump hot, limbs turning to lead as the crowd hangs off his every word.
He's good. Great, even. His lyrics give you goosebumps and you realise you haven't felt like this about a performance in a long time. Passionate. Yoongi is exhilarating to watch and it shakes you to the core.
It's then that it dawns on you. The reason Namjoon feels threatened is because there is a real chance that he might loose everything.
Gloss might take the trophy once and for all.
You only rip your eyes away from the stage when you feel Namjoon stand up beside you, his body disappearing into the crowd.
You get up too. "Leave him." You watch Jimin mouth. "He's just angry, he'll calm down—"
You don't care about Namjoon, not when the air is suddenly too thick, too heavy to breathe. Not when your hands sweat and you heave with a desire to run from reality and the suffocating smell of stale cigarette smoke that made your throat burn, like you can't get your body to breathe.
"Y/N? Where are you going?"
You swear you're floating, feet never seeming to quite touch the ground as you battle against the hazy dizziness that makes the room spin, ignoring Jimin's exasperated shouts of your name as you push through the gaps between bodies and pray your sense of direction is still intact enough to pull your outstretched arms towards the exit.
--
It's dark outside when you spill out of the exit, spluttering and heaving for air.
The brick is cool against your back when you slide down a nearby wall, hugging your knees.
A deep breath. In then out. Your chest loosens, lungs begin to feel full enough again.
Until a gravelly voice rings out into the night, clearer than the thump of unintelligible music from inside the club that makes your head pound.
"So it was you I saw back there. Good to know I'm not seeing things."
Even before you lift your face from between your knees you know who it belongs to. The single person you want to see least in the world at this very moment.
"Go away." You grumble but all that follows is a low chuckle as Yoongi slumps down next to you, ensuring to leave a safe distance between your crouched bodies.
It's funny. You had been preparing yourself to see him all night but now he's actually here in front of you, your mouth is dry.
He looks the same as he always did; dark eyes that burn hot as they scan your face, cocky smirk turning up the corners of his mouth. His brow looks wearier than you remember though, too weary for a man of twenty three. The only indication that time has passed since him and your brother were best friends.
"I assume Namjoon sent you here, then?"
The mention of your brother's name offers you the courage you need to look at him directly. His forehead still gleams with sweat in the dim moonlight, hair slicked back with a red bandana. There's a ring around his eye now, black and bruised. He must have taken off the black hoodie he donned on stage, left now in only a white vest which exposes his arms and to your dismay makes your blood run a little hotter.
"He's inside. I just came along because I had to." You mumble. "I'm not his spy, you know."
"Sure as shit seems like it." Yoongi spits with an amused chuckle, head lolling on his shoulders to face you. "He worried I might tell everyone about his little secret? Or was he trying to find his own leverage?"
A hot anger boils beneath your skin, rising all the way to your cheeks. Namjoon wouldn't do that would he? He didn't play that way. He didn't need to get an upper hand on Yoongi. He just wanted to see what he was up against.
"What's your problem, Yoongi?" The smirk on his mouth never falters, something glinting behind his eyes that tells you he wants to get a rise out of you.
Even so, you can't help the way your voice raises, staggering to your feet. He chuckles darkly in response. "You get off on being an asshole or something?"
"You're too naive. What's so bad about telling the truth?" He closed the space between you until he's hovering above you, breath warm against your cheek. Your heart starts to race."What's so bad about taking back what is mine?"
Your breath hitches when his hand presses into the wall beside your head, effectively cornering you beneath his chest. "You could ruin his career."
Yoongi snorts. "What? Like he ruined mine?"
A few beats of silence. His eyes scan your face and it makes your stomach feel funny. You push at his chest, sucking in a shaky breath when he backs off a little and you realise part of you is weirdly disappointed that he did.
"Yoongi I don't know what happened between you and Namjoon—"
"No. You wouldn't know." He scorns, slinging his hands in his pockets, face darker now at the mention of his feud with your brother. "Because Namjoon loves secrets right? Namjoon likes to use people, Y/N. Just like he's using you now, to get to the top. And then he'll throw you away just like he did with me, sweetheart."
"Namjoon wouldn't do that." You bite your lip, the words leaving your tongue sounding a little less sure than you intend.
"Why? What makes you think you're any different?"
"He's my brother."
"I was his brother once too, remember?" He swallows, shaking his head in disbelief at your denial. "The only blood that matters to Namjoon is the blood shed to get him to the top."
You wrap your arms around your torso instinctively. Yoongi's words cut too deep. Maybe something inside of you thought Yoongi was right?
No. You came here to protect Namjoon yet here you were allowing his enemy to get inside your head.
"Fuck you, Min Yoongi." You spit, enjoying the way his eyes widen at the venom lacing your tone. "I made a mistake coming here."
Before you could brush past him and escape the heat running through your blood stream which feels fuzzier than hatred should, a hand curls around your wrist.
"Shit. Looks like someone's on your trail."
A quick glance over your shoulder reveals none other than Jimin, face hidden by the visor of his black cap but recognisable none the less. He speaks a few words to the bouncer, probably asking if they saw you come out.
"Oh no."
The bouncer gestures in your direction. Jimin's eyes pause for a second as they skim across your form stood rigid with shock and your heart falls out of your ass when he starts in the direction of where you stand way too close to Yoongi unable to move a single muscle as you brace for discovery. To pay for your betrayal of your brother.
"You coming or what?" Yoongi snaps you back to reality with a tug on your arm, feet stumbling over each other as he drags you behind him further down the alley and around a nearly pitch black corner, too far away from the street lights to be basked in their orange glow.
"What the fuck, Yoongi?" You try to shrug out of his grasp, heart beating faster when you see the flat look on his face. "Let go of me!"
Yoongi comes to an abrupt halt. "Listen, I'm trying to save your ass here. You want to get caught? Go on then! Not my problem."
You nibble your lip, glancing one way at the dark alley and the other at Jimin pacing up and down the street with furrowed brows.
"Just trust me, Y/N."
Jimin's footsteps get closer and closer. It's now or never.
Tightening your jaw, you turn back to Yoongi and nod. The words feel foreign as they pass your lips. "I...trust you."
With that, Yoongi grabs your hand and breaks into a sprint
Turning the corner, the alley meets a dead end. The back of the club is just as run down as the front, littered with cracked beer bottles and cigarette stumps. The sign above the door labelled NO ENTRY doesn't offer any light and apparently Yoongi doesn't listen to directions because he fishes in his back pocket for a key, sliding the bolt and pushing on the bar to hold the door open with a small nod for you to go inside first.
With a deep breath, you do.
The door closes behind you with a jingle of chains, cutting off the slither of moonlight it provided and sending you into complete darkness. You hear Yoongi slide the bolt back across and then he fumbles for you in the darkness, your body pulled down next to his with a yelp so that you're out of direct view of the window which looks inside the room.
"I think they followed us." His voice is silk but there's an underlying insinuation. Be quiet.
Yoongi's eye level now, knees squeezed up against yours in the cramped space beneath the window ledge. Your eyes slowly adjust to the darkness, able to see the way he scans your face when he thinks you aren't looking. The way he grumbles and looks away when you catch him.
There's not time to dwell as you hear footsteps turn the corner, tracking all the way to the door where the bolt rattles, a sleeve wiping the window and pressing a cupped face to the glass.
"She's not here, man. You must have seen someone else."
It was Hoseok. You'd recognise his voice anywhere. Countless all nighters in the studio together does that to a person. Had Jimin called him all the way down here to look for you?
Jimin chimes in quickly. "I could have sworn it was her..."
The voices trail off as they retreat back down the alley, around to the front of the club.
A sigh escapes you, head falling against the wall in relief. When you open your eyes Yoongi is looking at you again. There's something pained in his expression, unspoken words visible in the way he bites his cheek to stop them from spilling out into the darkness.
His fingers are still wrapped around your arm, an electricity buzzing through your veins when you feel him lean in closer, pulling you towards him just barely.
His lips. Chapped and so close to yours. God. You think you want to kiss them. Just to know how it feels. You've never seen them up this close before. Not close enough to feel his hot breaths puffing against your forehead. Not close enough that if you just lifted your chin a little bit...
Yoongi lets out an embarrassed cough, jolting you out of your thoughts. "That was a close one, huh?" The spot where his hand resided feels cold when he rips it away.
Yoongi's face is wiped of any emotion again. He's not completely slick though as when he finally speaks again he sounds husky, the betrayal in his voice surprising even him.
"Are you okay?"
What were you supposed to say to that? I almost got caught with my brother's enemy and then thought about kissing said enemy. No, I don't think I am okay.
"Fine. Thanks."
Yoongi offers you a hand, getting to his feet and pulling you up after him before he leans across your body to flick on the lights.
The yellowish stream burns your eyes but allows you to take in the room around you. There's a keyboard in the corner, piles of sheet music strewn across the wooden desk beside it. A pair of speakers hooked up to a worn looking sound machine. A mic and a pair of headphones slung over the back of the mismatch wheely chair tucked beneath a desk.
A studio.
He must notice the way you look around with wide eyes, redness creeping up his neck as he busies himself by kicking some of the clutter on the floor behind the desk. "Wasn't expecting guests."
It definitely wasn't the high tech producing set up you were provided with back at Big Hit, no hifi system or fancy computer programmes. The furniture was mismatch, like someone had collected a bunch of spare puzzle pieces and shook them up in the box until they made a picture.
Somehow of the pieces still manage to seem somehow inherently Yoongi; the basketball tee with GLOSS on the back draped over his chair, even the empty water bottles overflowing in the trash can. The tiny framed picture of a younger looking Yoongi next to a woman you think you recognise but can't quite put your finger on.
"Genius lab?" You snort, nodding towards the sign hanging haphazardly above the monitor.
Yoongi shrugs. "What can I say? It's true."
"Confident." You muse.
You share a smile. It's strange. Familiar. The way his eyes crinkle and even the husk of the chuckle that follows reminding you of when things were good, back when you considered Yoongi to be a sort of friend. Before things got fucked up.
"You'll take it back when I win."
Old habits might not die hard but the rational part of your brain registers the implication of his words, even beneath his playful facade. The studio suddenly feels cold. Nostalgia dissipates. You remember why you're here.
"Why didn't you just let them find me?"
"You know as well as I do that Namjoon risks getting disqualified if Jimin causes a scene and gets himself caught snooping around here."
You huff an exasperated breath. For all Yoongi's talk of having the upper hand he sure did seem reluctant to use it. "Isn't that what you want? What's stopping you? Want to drag it out or something?"
Yoongi lets out a breathy laugh, crossing the room and ducking into a drawer in the far corner. He returns with two glasses and a murky bottle of something strong, already a quarter empty as he pours some out. He offers the second glass towards you but you wave it away.
"Suit yourself." He takes a swig of the dark liquid, squeezes his eyes shut. "Because I want to win fair and square."
You shake your head. "All of this. Just for a stupid trophy?"
He eyes you over the rim of his glass, swirling the liquid with an overconfidence that makes you grit your teeth in annoyance. "So Namjoon knows how it feels to lose something he loves." He looks you up and down then, coughing and turning his head when you notice it. "Yeah. I guess it's for the trophy."
Yoongi is despicable, you think. Is he really so fame hungry that he will destroy anyone standing in his way to get it? Even Namjoon? Sure, your brother has his faults but if there is one thing you know it's that he loves being on that stage. What happened between them that makes Yoongi think he deserves it more?
"So its a revenge thing, then. And what if you lose, huh?" The way your voice raises makes you wince. Yoongi slams his glass down and flashes you an are you serious face.
"Y/N don't you see? I have nothing to lose. Namjoon already took everything. My life, my family, my fame. Everything. You know how it feels to have it all dangled in front of your face? And then get it ripped away like it was never yours to begin with?"
Yes. You'd never tell him that, of course. But you did know. You had to watch Namjoon perform your songs every night through a camera lens. Snapping shots of him in his element and wishing those picture perfect moments were yours. What did Yoongi know?
"I see him on the big screen, on stages I dreamed of. Crowds screaming his name. It was supposed to be me, Y/N. Meanwhile I'm sat here," Yoongi gestures to the shabby studio you find yourself in, liquid sloshing over the edge of his glass. "In clothes I printed myself, making music in a shitty club for free because nobody will even listen to my shit."
He's panting by the end of his spiel, knuckles pressed to his eyes as he tries to regain his composure before he lets too many of his weaknesses show. Something resonates inside you, softening the anger towards him with what you recognize as sympathy.
"Then why do you still do it? Make music?"
"Because it's the only thing that never left me alone."
You sigh. While you're collecting your thoughts something catches your eye — a Polaroid picture, tacked onto the plasterboard behind his computer. It's of a smiling Yoongi and much to your surprise, a smiling Namjoon, arms wrapped around each other like nothing could ever break them apart. You briefly wonder why he kept it, if he hated Namjoon so much.
You turn to him again.
"Don't make me regret saying this but you're good, Yoongi. Like really good. Your performance earlier it was...amazing. I mean that."
Yoongi's stern eyes soften with surprise. He almost seems pained, like the simple compliment means more to him than you expected.
"So, you don't have to do this. Big Hit has connections, I could get in touch with a couple record labels--"
He stiffens again. "What? Are you my manager now? As if any record label would take a chance on the biggest Mic Drop loser in history, Y/N, don't talk shit."
You trail off. It's true and you know it.
He swallows hard. "You know what I think? I think you're here because you know that I might actually win this thing. As much as Namjoon knows how to play dirty he doesn't have the talent. He never did! That's why he's using you to write his material." His laugh makes you shiver. "How can he even call himself an artist? It's pathetic."
That's all it takes for your patience to snap. Is the way your blood boils with a sudden and insatiable rage because of the way he bad mouthed your brother? Surely you didn't actually believe him? No, everything he said was a lie -- it had to be.
Your hand curls into a fist, anger spilling over as you charge at him full force. Yoongi barley flinches, his fingers deftly curling around your wrist before it can meet his jaw and pulling you into him at the waist so he can slot his bottom lip between yours.
"Fuck yo— hmf?"
Your eyes widen as you register his slightly chapped lips moving against your own, remnants of the amber liquid he poured down his throat earlier sour on your tongue, a surprised gasp leaving you when Yoongi flips your bodies and slams your back roughly against the wall, settling himself between your legs.
"Gonna finish what Namjoon started, sweetheart?" When he pulls back you're panting, eyes trained to his parted lips with wonder.
He kissed you. Yoongi kissed you. For real.
His warm breath still mingles with yours as you try to choke a response, anything. Yoongi's eyes have a dark glint to them and god you should hate him for winding you up like this but being this close to him just feels too good.
Then, before you can think better of it, you grab his collar with your free hand and smash your lips together in a tangle of teeth and tongue that makes your entire body burn with relief.
The groan he lets out against your mouth tells you he wants this too. "Fuck, couldn't help myself." He pants. "You're driving me crazy."
You feel a dampness throb between your legs when his hands tangle in your hair, lips never leaving yours as he pulls you across the room and drops into his chair.
A whimper is pulled from your lips when his palms cup the flesh of your ass beneath your dress, though it's not in protest, dizzy with desire when he pulls you into his lap and bucks his hips so that his half hard cock brushes against your clothed heat.
"See what you do to me?" He pulls back to smirk at your swollen lips, a much needed breath entering your lungs, filling you with another bout of restless desire as Yoongi's eyes scan your face hungrily. It feels too good even though it should be so wrong.
"W-we shouldn't." Your mouth is dry, words coming out a little unsure which gives away just how much you want to keep going. "What if--"
A particularly harsh thrust of his hips makes you moan softly, head falling into the crook of Yoongi's neck. He growls when he catches sight of the growing wet patch on the front of his jeans, testament of his effect on you as much as you hated to admit it.
"What if Namjoon finds out?" His hand shoots between your legs, pads of his fingers tracing your clothed core, the coarse lace of your panties adding a delicious layer of friction against your folds. The delicate touch sets your body alight, skin burning to let go and submit to the feeling despite the voice in the back of your mind screaming no!
"What if Namjoon finds out that I make you this wet?" Your panties are sticking to your heat by now so it would have been futile to deny it. He smiles smugly when your legs shake and you throw an arm around his neck to keep your balance.
"S-shut up." It's meek and it only makes him laugh darkly, the husky sound sending shivers down your spine as he leans in closer to nibble on the lobe of your ear.
If you didn't know any better you would think he was unaffected by this. Your chest heaves with desire and your hands itch with a yearning to touch him but Yoongi appears the epitome of composure, maintaining sinful eye contact as he pulls your panties to the side. The only give away is the way his cock twitches against your leg with each jerk of his hips, a funny sense of pride erupting in your chest knowing that he wants you too.
Open mouthed kisses drag down your jaw, lingering at your neck. His teeth nibble at the sensitive skin, tongue laving out to soothe the sting and it feels too good to worry about the bruises his sinful lips leave behind as a reminder of your weakness Namjoon could never know of.
"Look so pretty marked up, sweetheart." The pet name makes your clit throb, head throwing back as his mouth attacks the sensitive spot on your neck like he knew it was there all along. It's almost concerning how quickly he has you falling apart in his lap. How easily he turned you into a shuddering mess, barely able to form coherent sentences in between breathy gasps at the sensation of him making you his for all to see. "Show everyone that you're mine, hm?"
When Yoongi removes his hand from your core you slap a hand over your mouth to stop a whine of protest from escaping. Yoongi's eyes narrow, palming his bulge through his trousers as he watches you writhe in his lap with amusement, every twist of your hips falling short and providing no relief for your pulsing clit, already missing the feeling of his hand cupping your mound and considering how it would feel skin on skin—
Oh god. What am I doing?
You let out a groan, but not the good kind.
"What?" Yoongi seems to read your mind, snapping you back to reality when he pulls your panties to the side. He circles your entrance teasingly and you can't help the way you whimper. "Don't act like you don't want to sink down on my cock, Y/N. You could ride me right here and nobody would ever know."
"H-how can I trust you?" It would ruin Namjoon if he found out. He was already stressed, already growing distant from you. This had to stop before it went too far. Before there was no going back.
"Because I can make you feel like this." A lithe finger slides into your heat, easy because of how you drip over his hand. "Think about how much better my cock would stretch you out, hm?"
Each drag of his finger against your velvety walls has you squeezing your eyes shut. The sensation is overwhelming, and when he adds a second digit you feel your repose crumble. Lust seems to crash over you like a wave, clouding your thought with a hazy desire to just give in and let Yoongi take you, uncaring about the repercussions now as you push down to meet his thrusts so he hits deeper than before.
"Fine." Your words are slurred, too busy chasing the feeling between your legs to see the way it makes Yoongi's eyes light up. "J-just hurry up and fuck me Yoongi."
"Well well," Yoongi settles back against the wall, looking between your bodies to watch the way his fingers disappear into your soaking cunt with an expression almost primal, his own breathing ragged now as he tries to resist turning you over and fucking you into tomorrow then and there. "Never thought I'd actually get to hear my name on your lips like this. Say it again."
A sharp flick of his wrist has you falling against his chest, pulsing around him. "Yoongi!"
"That's right," He licks his lips, free hand unzipping his jeans to relieve the pressure on his length. "Me. Yoongi." The way he mimicks your breathless tone makes a hot blush rise in your cheeks, aware of just how fucked out you must seem right now but too horny to care. "Been waiting for this. Ah shit!"
You take it upon yourself to hurry along the process by reaching into the waistband of his boxers to wrap a hand around the shaft of his cock. It pulses at your touch, the pace of Yoongi's fingers in your cunt stuttering as he flies forward, knuckles on the hand gripping your thigh turning white as he tries to regain some control while you stroke him firmly.
"Fuck your hands. Sinful. Knew they would be. God you're going to kill me if you keep this up, I swear." The worlds tumble from his mouth in one heaving breath as you twist your palm around his sticky head, enjoying the way his thighs twitch with a want to buck into your fist and his nose flares with the effort it takes to resist.
His cock feels girthy in your palm, hot and heavy as you help him shimmy his jeans around his thighs. When his cock slaps back against his stomach, impossibly hard and leaking with anticipation you feel your mouth water.
"Like what you see?" He almost taunts.
You bite your lip. "I don't think you're gonna fit."
It must have brushed his ego because the tip seemed to flush an even deeper shade of red. "Wanna sit on it and find out?"
A nod is all it takes for Yoongi to slide your panties to the side, slapping your hands away to grip the base of his cock and line it up with your entrance.
You both groan in unison when he pushes into your heat, the stretch burning with every inch, fingers clutching the fabric of his tank top at the sensation of finally being full.
"Fuuuck." You see his tongue snake out to wet his bottom lip when his hips finally join flush to yours, hair sticking to his already damp forehead as he allowed you to adjust. "So fucking tight for me, princess."
His cock throbs impossibly deep inside you when you unconsciously clench around it, feeling your face flush as you whimper for him to get on with it and fuck you already.
"Shh, patience." His thumb pulls at your bottom lip, setting it free with a pop. "Move."
At his command you do, bracing yourself on his shoulders. You raise up, feeling every ridge of his length until just the tip remains inside your heat. Then you are slamming back down and flushing at the groan which tumbles from his chest.
"Such a slut, taking my cock so well." His palms feel hot on your hips, dragging you up and down through the motion that has you panting.
Yoongi looks utterly amazed at the visual of you sinking down onto his length, unable to stop the satisfied grin settling into his features when you cry out after a particularly deep thrust. "Imagine if Namjoon could see you now. Falling apart on my cock?"
"Can we — hnng — not talk about my brother when you're in my fucking guts?"
"Why?" A whine leaves you when he slips out of your cunt, grabs you by the ass, and hoists you to your feet, roughly bending you over the desk until your cheek presses against the cold surface. Yoongi tugs your hands behind your back, cock already sinking back into your heat before you can protest at the emptiness. "Worried he'll think you're a slut for taking my cock when I'm the one whose going to fucking end him?"
"Yes!" You cry, unable to hold back now as you feel his cock hit deeper than before with every ram inside you that fills the room with the slapping sound of his pistoning hips, brushing your sweet spot each time and making the coil in your stomach tighten.
God, this is so wrong and you know it. You know it shouldn't feel so good when Yoongi's hands tangle in your hair, pulling you so that your back arches flush against his sweaty chest. Know how many people would be hurt if they knew how much you love it, how you push back into his thrusts, eager for more.
"Shit, you're squeezing so tight." His voice sounds strained now, thrusts turning sloppy as you feel him shudder. "Close, shit. Where can I—"
"Inside me. Want you to f-fill me."
"Holy sh— always wanted to hear you say that. Okay, fuck."
A few more pumps of his cock and he's spilling inside you, the feeling of his release coating your walls enough to have you falling over the edge unexpectedly too, vision turning black as you cum with a cry.
The only sound that fills the silence is your heavy breaths mingling with his as your arms give out. You're silently grateful, as much as you hated to admit it, for the strong arm around your torso that holds you to him when your legs turn to jelly.
Yoongi slips out of you, admiring the way his cum leaks down your trembling thighs. The emptiness makes you keen, clenching around nothing.
"Made such a mess of you, kitten."
The sound of his zipper makes your heart sink, stiffening as he tucks his spent cock back into his pants. For a second you think he's going to leave you like this, shame caressing your cheeks as you envision how fucked out you must look.
But then, Yoongi's palms are back on your thighs as he kicks the chair from under his desk and pushes you roughly onto the cushion. "Think you can go again for me, princess?"
"Wha--?" His swollen lips make you loose your words, the way his tongue tantalizingly caresses your bottom lip drawing a choked whine from your throat instead.
"Fuck, always thought you'd make such pretty noises." It's mumbled gruffly under his breath, like he's confirming it with himself rather than addressing you. He pulls back to stare at you spread out for him, lidded eyes widening at the visual of your skirt pooled around your waist, legs kept open by the rough grip around your thigh that exposes your swollen slit. The way your arousal drips down your inner thighs along with his own release has him swallowing thickly. "Like being filled with my cum, huh? Such a slut."
Yoongi traces his fingers up your inner thighs, thumb applying a gentle pressure to your clit, legs struggling to fall shut around his hand to escape the over stimulation. "P-please Yoongi, I can't."
"You will." It's growled against your neck, hot breath making you shudder. "I know you can take it."
A knee slips between your thighs, holding them open so his fingers can deftly continue their brutal attack on your sensitive folds. Each drag of his knuckle up your slit makes you whimper, the way the pads of his fingers rub firm circles into your clit making it pulse. The feeling is more intense than before, borderline agonizing as a warmth builds in the pit of your stomach again.
Eventually the pain starts to dissipate, turns into something closer to pleasure when you feel a single digit slip into your heat, the slide made easy by the fact that his cock had already stretched you out and his release lubed you up nicely. Each pump makes a lewd squelching noise that has you biting your lip to stop from groaning unabashedly, Yoongi's gaze fixed to the sight of his knuckles disappearing inside you.
When you buck up into his touch again, desperately circling your hips to try and grind your clit against the heel of his hand, Yoongi lets out a dark chuckle. The muscles in your cunt tighten, skin damp with sweat as you fuck yourself on his hand in search of a second high that burns ever closer.
"Look at you, all needy again from just one finger. All fucked out again even after I stretched you out."
With that Yoongi removes his hand from your heat all together, leaving you gasping and clenching around nothing as your release falls farther away, unable to resist the groan of frustration that passes your lips.
"Don't stop!" Your head lolls back against the chair, thighs trembling with desperation to feel his touch again. "I was so close--"
"Suck." Yoongi raises his fingers to your lips. You notice the way they gleam, sticky and white in the studio lighting. The pads of his fingers smear the wetness across your swollen lips as he pushes for entry which you gave to him eagerly, humming around the digits. "Be a good girl, hm?"
He all but groans when your eyes flutter open and lock with his, tongue swirling around his fingers teasingly, enjoying the taste of your own arousal mixed with the saltiness of his cum, almost in sensory overload at the thought of how much better his cock would feel in your throat.
"That's it." A knuckle drags down your cheek possessively, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "Good girl."
A sticky trail of spit follows Yoongi's fingers when they leave your mouth with a lewd pop, your breaths coming out shaky and desperate as you watch his eyes zone in on your aching core.
The sight of him dropping to his knees is enough to have you squeezing your eyes shut in anticipation, whimpering when his hot breath grazes over your throbbing clit. "Wanna taste you for myself."
And with that his tongue runs a rough stripe up your slit, eyes falling shut as he hums against your folds contentedly.
"Fuck Yoongi!" Your eyes roll back as he laps a few teasing licks across your bud, body turning to putty when his hands roughly pull you down the chair so that he can attach his mouth to your mound fully.
A guttural moan rises from his chest when you grind your core against his face, knuckles turning white as you clutch he chair like it's the only thing keeping you grounded, stopping you from floating away and losing yourself to the feeling of Yoongi's tongue teasing your already wrecked hole. An impatience rises in your stomach every time his nose grazes your clit, pushing your hips more forcefully to chase the relief it brings.
"So eager." You knew he'd have a smirk on his face if his lips weren't already occupied, wrapping around your clit and sucking with just the right amount of pressure to have your fingers tangling in the blue locks that spill loose from his bandanna now, holding him to your core so that you can rock against his tongue easier.
"Close sweetheart?" The way your chest heaves and little gasps spill past your lips as you chase your high must give away the effect he is having on you. You nod breathlessly and to your surprise Yoongi places a chaste kiss to your folds before pulling back all together, leaving you writhing and desperate for him to make cum for the second time. "Did I give you permission?"
Your heart beats furiously as your release slips away once again. Yoongi only stares at you intently. His lips glisten with a mixture of both of your releases and the thought alone makes your core ache. A loose shake of your head makes his eyes darken, licking some of the dampness from around his lips. "Gotta use your words, baby. Did I say you could cum?"
Dizzy with arousal, your words sound slurred and alien to your own ears. "N-no."
"Good. Now ask nicely."
"Please." It comes out whinier than you anticipate but Yoongi's hands twitch against the flesh of your thighs, giving away the fact that he likes it despite the way his mouth presses into a tight and unforgiving line. "Can I cum? Please?"
A deep laugh leaves his bitten lips. "I don't think you deserve it." His head dips back down between your legs, sloppy kisses pressed to each of your thighs as he edges ever closer to your dripping core. "I want you to count, okay?"
"O-oh, okay." He attacks your clit again, tongue swirling where his teeth graze across the pulsing bud. You're so sensitive that you're sure just the light brushes of his lips will send you over the edge if he keeps going.
"G-gonna cum if you--"
"Don't." The authority in his voice makes you gasp. "Didn't I say to count? One."
"Fuck!" Hot tears streak your cheeks when he pulls back so just his hot breath ghosts across your glistening folds. "I..I was so close!"
"Hey, hey." His hand reaches up to stroke your cheek, a strangely gentle action in comparison to the bruising grip on your thigh. "You're doing so good. Trust me, okay? Wanna make you feel good."
For the second time that night you nod, putting all your trust into him for reasons you are too fucked out to dwell on there and then.
When his tongue snakes out to tease your clenching hole again it draws an agonizing cry from you, the coil already tightening in your belly. You shut your eyes.
"Don't" The hand on your chin tightens, forces you to look down at where his face is buried between your legs, authority lacing his words again. "Keep your eyes on me."
As soon as you lock eyes he gets to work again, humming out a "good girl" before you're losing yourself again to his tongue and he has to plant your feet down roughly to stop your hips from bucking too much.
Before you know it your clit's throbbing again and you're about to fall over the edge but before you can even let Yoongi know he's pulling back with a pant, practically gasping for air but still flashing you a shit eating grin. "Didn't think I was going to let you, did you sweetheart?"
"Two." You manage to breathe. "Two!"
By now you're sick of the teasing, a hand coming between your own legs to finish yourself off, ready to come undone whether Yoongi likes it or not. Before you can get your way, Yoongi's swatting your hand away. "Desperate slut. Wanna cum that bad huh?"
"Please!" You practically whimper.
That seems to do it for him, his eyes glazing over with what you recognise as lust. As if the last of his self control just snapped. Anticipation makes your blood run hot.
"Then make it to three and we'll see if I'm feeling nice."
"Shit!" Yoongi's tongue plunges into your heat with a new found eagerness, thrusting in and out like a man deprived. You manage to maintain eye contact this time, falling apart at the way he groans in appreciation when he tastes himself, fucking your hole with his tongue mercilessly like he wants to get every last drop of his cum.
His thumb finds your clit and the coil in your lower belly tightens too rapidly for you to comprehend, tugging on his hair as you cry out. "Yoongi!"
"Cum for me."
His permission is all it takes to have you falling over the edge into a shattering orgasm that makes your vision turn black, mind wiped of any hesitation and guilt and replaced with a single word, over and over again: Yoongi.
When you finally take a gasping breath, he's there, rubbing encouraging circles into your hips and leaving kisses across your stomach that makes something in your chest warm, heart beating a little faster and not just from your orgasm.
"So fuckin' pretty when you cum." You're sure that's what he murmurs against your damp skin. "Can't believe I had to wait this long."
You furrow your brow. Yoongi sits back against his heels, wiping your arousal from his mouth with the back of his hand and flashing you a lazy but satisfied smile, looking awfully pleased with himself. Like this was his biggest dream come true.
It dawned on you that it probably was in someways -- what better way to get back at an old friend than by fucking his sister?
You suddenly feel like an idiot for letting him charm you, guilt washing through you, flying forward when your chest aches with regret.
Yoongi notices how you pale. "Are you okay? If that was too much then I'm really sorry--"
"Too much?" You suddenly feel exposed beneath his gaze, shuffling around to pull your skirt around your thighs, eyes roaming the room hurriedly for your panties so you can get out of here and quick. "This is all too much, Yoongi."
"What?" He puts a hand on your shoulder to stop you as you brush past him but the way you jolt at the touch makes him rip it away like he touched a live wire.
"I...shouldn't have come here. This was a mistake."
Namjoon's face was embedded in your mind. The way his eyes would crumple with betrayal if he found out you came here at all -- let alone let Yoongi take you so intimately. And you hadn't even tried to stop yourself from falling into him, gave in to your emotions too easily and allowed Yoongi to use you as a swipe at your own brother.
"Why? Didn't seem so upset when you were coming on my tongue." The scoff in Yoongi's voice makes you freeze.
"I can't stop you from hurting Namjoon," Your lip quivers and you have to press your nails into your palms to stop the tears spilling over. "But do you really have to hurt me, too?"
"Y/N, wait--"
Your hands shake as you grab your bag and head for the door. "Shit happened between you and my brother, I get it. But we were friends once, Yoongi. Doesn't that mean anything to you? We can't see each other again."
Your tears are warm in contrast to the cold evening air as you take off into a run, needing to get as far away from Yoongi and the evidence of your own betrayal as possible.
By the time you stumble back into the Big Hit company building, the studio is empty. To your surprise, words seem to flow out of you easier than they ever had before, a heart shaped stain appearing on the formerly empty page of your notebook.
--
Sleepless nights were becoming your norm. You had barely slept a wink since that night, not when every thought was plagued with guilt, the same name running circles around your mind, the same dark eyes and swollen lips and messy hair tauntingly appearing in your mind whenever your head hit the pillow.
Yoongi.
That night with Yoongi felt something like a dream, a hazy memory, the only evidence of it being real the fact that every time you closed your eyes you could feel the way Yoongi's hands burned your skin, how his lips moved perfectly in sync with your own.
As much as you knew it was a mistake, something that should have never happened, you couldn't help the way your heart throbbed every time you replayed it over and over in your mind, repeatedly, until you felt like you were going insane with guilt. It was eating you alive. But sometimes you would remember the way you felt when he was pressed up against you and every ounce of regret felt worth it.
You hated yourself for it, and you knew your brother would hate you to, if he ever found out.
He could never find out.
So, you take to avoiding Namjoon altogether. It wasn't that hard really, you knew his schedule well enough to be a step ahead of him at all times, and it wasn't as if he was enthusiastic about your company to begin with.
Of course sometimes your paths have to cross, but you still can't look Namjoon in the eyes when you slip into one of the Big Hit practice rooms where you know you'll inevitably find him.
The music hits before you even open the door. Namjoon is dressed in casual clothes, cap pulled down low over his face as he raps into a mic, the way his voice husks a tell tale sign that this was not the first time he'd gone over the same verse.
He seems stiffer than usual, all elbows and knees as he scrutinises his own form in the wall to floor mirror. You've seen him perform this choreography flawlessly hundreds of times so your brow furrows with confusion each time his feet miss a beat or his knees literally buckle under the pressure.
On the far side of the room sits a row of men and women in formal suits. Investors, brought in to bet on the contestant most likely to win. They watch Namjoon with intent eyes, some shaking their heads in disapproval, others whispering insults below their breaths.
Is that really Runch Randa? Pfft, he'll never win with footwork like that.
Jimin stands close by, hopping from one foot to the other and wincing with every mistake Namjoon makes. He's been making desperate phone calls for the last week, pleading with any investor he could get ahold of to take a chance on Namjoon which was hard to come by after the royal media fuck up the other day at the after party.
This was Namjoon's only chance at a do over — he needed their money if he wanted to win this thing. The judges were expecting a show from him. Smoke machines and good lighting are expensive, after all.
Namjoon, however, only seems interested in the reactions of your parents sat in the back row, expressions grave. He's chastising himself, self loathing evident in his eyes every time he stutters over a lyric. He knows how hard they worked to establish Big Hit and the disappointment in their eyes as it slowly slips through Namjoon's fingers like sand makes even you feel jittery with nerves.
For a brief moment you're grateful that you are practically invisible in this room, no eyes even glancing your way as you join them. You're glad that Namjoon takes the brunt of the pressure. You never were the strong sibling after all.
The music cuts, Namjoon coming to a stand still. He crumples at the knees, forehead pressed against the polished linoleum floor as he tries to catch his breath.
Jimin slumps into a chair, head in hands. That tells you all you need to know.
Investors leave the room, some sending apologetic looks towards Jimin with a shrug. Others deposit their cheque books back into their briefcases, taking pity on the pleading smiles and firm handshakes from your parents when they apologise for Namjoon's lacking performance. One even pats Namjoon on the back, following the small crowd as they leave the room. "Take a break, buddy."
Nearly everyone has filtered out before Namjoon gets to his feet shakily, slumping down into a seat beside you. You don't acknowledge him, afraid of what you might let slip if you do, fiddling with your camera as a distraction.
It's him who breaks the silence.
"How's the song coming along?" He seems disinterested, clicking his knuckles with no real intention of listening to your response.
"Fine." Another lie. It wasn't coming along at all, really, but now is probably not the best time to tell him when his nerves are already heightened by his failure to gain any crucial investments.
His eye is still slightly swollen from the fist fight a few days ago, a permanent line forming at the bridge of his nose that wasn't there before. You almost didn't recognise him. He stares at his own broken reflection in the steamed practice room mirrors vacantly, like he doesn't even recognise himself.
A few moments of uncomfortable silence pass. Namjoon's heavy breathing slows to a regular pace.
"I know you went to see him."
It echos menacingly through the room and you stiffen, clutching the floor beneath you for support. Namjoon's hard eyes still don't look your way but you see him analysing your reaction in the mirror. The way your mouth gapes speechlessly tells him everything he needs to know.
"Not even gonna try and deny it?" His head shakes in disbelief.
You throb with guilt. "H-how did you find out?"
"I have people everywhere keeping an eye on him, Y/N. You're lucky the paparazzi didn't catch you, because it sure as shit looked shady. My own sister," He scoffs around the word, as if it tastes bad in his mouth. "Siding with him?"
You place a hand on his forearm, surprised to find him shaking beneath your touch. "I'm not siding with him, Namjoon."
"Then what are you doing?" He roars, ripping his arm away.
What was I doing? You don't even know yourself.
It takes everything inside you to keep the expression on your face neutral, to wipe away the regret and the sadness and the fear that makes your voice wobble.
"We just talked." You had to avert your gaze, scared that somehow your disingenuous eyes would give away what really happened with Yoongi — a little more than talking to say the least.
"About what?"
"The secret, okay? I wanted to protect you—"
"Protect me?" Namjoon pinched the bridge of his nose. "How is meddling in business that doesn't even concern you protecting me, Y/N?"
"Have you forgotten that what you're — we're — doing is against Mic Drop rules? That you could be disqualified or...worse! Get your trophy revoked?"
"Pfft. Yoongi won't say anything.."
"What makes you so sure?"
"It's me he wants to hurt. I know him, Y/N. He'd never forgive himself if you—" He eyes you carefully. "If anyone else got dragged into this. It's between me and him, that's it."
Your head is spinning. You remember a time when things weren't this way, back when Yoongi and Namjoon were friends. Partners. What happened between them that made them so hell bent on destroying one another?
"There are things about Yoongi that you will never understand, Y/N. Things he did that can never be forgiven."
It briefly crosses your mind that if Namjoon could cut Yoongi, his best friend, out of his life, just how easy it would be for him to do the same to you if he found out just how unforgivable your betrayal was. A funny feeling pools in your stomach, a distance settling between you and Namjoon as, to your dismay, you realise just how much you have in common with your brother's enemy.
"But what about you, huh? Why should he forgive you? You took everything from him! I'm not surprised he's back to kick your ass. If you ask me it's him who should be holding a grudge—"
Namjoon's hands clamp onto your shoulders and you recoil from the contact. You're breathing hard, the tears welling in your eyes threatening to spill over any second.
"Listen to me. He's trying to get in your head. You need to stay away from him Y/N. He's bad news."
"Tell me why! Help me understand!"
Namjoon's face is grave. "Some secrets are best kept that way. It'll only make it worse if I tell you."
Before you can protest he's striding across the room and hitting the play button on the boom box in the corner, music blasting from the speakers again.
"Joon—"
"Just stick to taking pictures and stop getting involved in business that doesn't concern you."
Then his body is twisting across the room in time to the music with an intensity he didn't possess before. Like a machine on autopilot.
You shove your camera into your bag and let the door slam shut behind you.
--
"We were a mistake."
The cursor flashing on the empty document on your computer screen feels like it's taunting you.
"Please don't tell my brother what we did."
You've been like this for the last week. Holed up in one of the tiny studios at the Big Hit company building, head swimming with beats and melodies and lyrics that just won't seem to fit together. Not when your mind is preoccupied with a more pressing issue.
"Are you thinking about me as much as I'm thinking about you?"
Yoongi.
God, how are you supposed to write this song for Namjoon when all you can think about is his enemy?
You don't know why you're still so hung up on Yoongi. It's not as if what happened between you meant anything. It was just a spur of the moment mistake. You were both tense and needed someone to help blow off some steam. That's it. Nothing more, nothing less.
Right?
You'll never admit that deep down, a part of you wants to see him again. To check that he's real and that you didn't imagine the whole thing. To see if he is going as crazy as you feel.
That's when the answer hits you. The only way to make this right is to end things once and for all. Tie up all your loose ends and tell Yoongi that you and him were a one time thing. Make sure you were on the same page.
Then maybe you'll be able to concentrate on helping Namjoon beat his ass.
A sudden confidence grips you, standing up abruptly from your desk, alerting the attention of Hoseok who up until now has been quietly engrossed in the track he's producing.
"Where are you going?" He asks.
There's an address burning at the forefront of your mind. You have the route committed to memory. How long it'll take to get there. How long it'll take to get back before anyone else at Big Hit notices your absence.
The only place you knew where you might find Yoongi.
"I won't be gone long. Cover for me if anyone sees I'm gone, 'kay?"
Hoseok eyes you curiously and pulls his headphones to sit around his neck. "O-okay but don't you think you should take an umbrella? It's raining and you might catch a cold — oh."
You don't hear him, the door already slamming behind you.
--
In hindsight, Hoseok was probably right. You're soaked before you even get half way to Yoongi's studio.
Not that you care. Not when there are so many things you want to say to Yoongi. So many questions only he knows the answer to.
Not when you're about to see him again and you're giddy and nervous and scared of the way your heart feels like it's about to bust out of your chest.
You don't really know why you're doing this. For Namjoon's sake? To ease your own guilty conscience? Both?
You shake your head before your confidence can deflate and focus on putting two feet in front of the other instead, trying to take your mind of your destination by focusing on your surroundings. You always liked this part of town, with it's bustling roads and street vendors and buskers. Here it's easy to forget, to just close your eyes and let the buzz of cars and the melody from a nearby street guitarist and the torrent of ice cold rain whisk you away, like life is operating at double the speed but you're too caught up in your own thoughts to care.
So caught up in your own thoughts that you don't spot the guy handing out flyers on the side of the street until your face is colliding with his shoulder.
"Shit, I'm so sorry!"
The guy lets out a groan as you helplessly watch his flyers flutter to the ground like autumn leaves, disintegrating on the rain dampened street.
"Does nobody look where they're going any more? My boss is going to kill me..."
The guy gets to his knees and starts grabbing as many flyers as he can by the handful.
"I'm so sorry, at least let me help?"
You hear him sigh deeply but he doesn't stop you when you drop down beside him.
You stamp on a flyer before it can be whisked away by the breeze. It's ruined. The rain makes the ink bleed into a black blotch in the center of the sodden paper, but if you squint you can just make out the barely legible print.
Live Classical Piano - 7:30 - 9:30 Every Wednesday At The Coffee House!
A throat clears, shaking you back to reality, and a nimble hand thrusts towards you, palm up, waiting for you to deposit the pile of flyers you collected.
"Just gonna stand there all day, sweetheart? Some of us have a job to do."
Shame heats your cheeks. "I wasn't looking where I was going, I'll pay for these —"
Its then, as you let your hood fall down, that the boy stiffens. You look up slowly, meeting a widened pair of piercing grey eyes for the first time. The very same eyes you haven't been able to get out of your head all week.
"Wait...Yoongi?"
It's him. He's here? A coincidence surely but it sure as shit doesn't feel like one.
Just seeing him knocks the breath out of your lungs.
Yoongi blinks a few times, eyes wide with disbelief. Then he's ripping the flyers from your slackened grip and grabbing you by the wrist, dragging you behind him to the side of the street where you're just out of view from passerby's.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" He deadpans.
You take in the way his mint hair clings damply to his forehead, shirt darker in places where droplets of rain soak into the fabric. He's wearing one of those traditional pianist outfits with the funny tuxedo jacket and a little black bow tie strung around his neck that looks like it came from a bad Beethoven Halloween costume. It catches you off guard. No wonder you didn't recognise him before. Not exactly hip hop.
"What are you doing here?"
Yoongi glances over his shoulder warily. "Look, you can't tell anyone you saw me here okay? Did Namjoon send you?"
"What? No--?"
"Just leave, Y/N. Before someone sees you here and tells your precious brother that you've been hanging around with scum like me." He spits, drops your arm and starts in the direction he came from.
"Yoongi, wait!" You blurt, throwing your hands up in frustration. He freezes."Can we...can we just talk?"
Yoongi nearly does a double take. He's usually full of jibes but this catches him off guard. "Talk?"
He backtracks, though you notice the way he keeps a safe distance between you. It feels silly considering how much...closer you were just a few days ago. You wonder, as his eyes look you up and down, if he's thinking about it too. If you crossed his mind as much as he crossed yours.
"Listen, I don't have time for this, I need to go get some more of these flyers..."
Your heart drops, embarrassed for even entertaining the idea that he would want to see you again.
"Please?"
He hesitates. You're sure he's going to blow you off again but then his eyes fill with something scarily close to concern. "Shit, you're shivering."
Your hair hangs in heavy tendrils around your face, droplets of cold rain caressing your cheeks. Your knees knock, arms wrapped around the damp hoodie clinging to your torso to retain some warmth.
Yoongi shrugs off his jacket, despite the way his own teeth chatter. "You're going to catch your death dressed like that."
You stand there dumbly as he holds it out to you. He kicks a stone with the toe of his sneaker awkwardly when you finally wrap it around your shoulders.
"I thought you didn't want to see me again." It's almost accusing but you're sure you hear a trace of a pout in his voice.
"I...I didn't want to." Yoongi looks up. "But I think we should talk about you know...us."
Yoongi bites his lip, like he's having an inner debate. Like he's about to do something he knows he shouldn't.
"Fine. Let's talk. I, uh, guess I have some things I need to say to you too." He scratches the back of his neck. "But not here. Could I—would it be weird if we got coffee or something?"
Definitely weird. That's what you should say. But you don't.
"Okay."
You don't miss the way Yoongi's cheeks turn a little red.
--
The coffee shop Yoongi takes you to is a quaint little place, definitely not the sort of establishment you expected rough-around-the-edges Min Yoongi to frequent with its exposed brick walls and mint green espresso mugs with smiley faces on the side that give it a somewhat cosy appeal.
"I work here," He explains when he sees your eyes roaming. "Needed some extra cash."
You nod. Makes sense. The smell of pumpkin bread and coffee beans is still a welcome relief from the bitter chill outside.
The guy at the counter nods in greeting when Yoongi approaches, already grinding up coffee like he knows his regular order. Yoongi flashes him a tight smile. You figure they know each other, not that Yoongi seems the type to mingle within barista social circles but then again he is full of surprises today.
They share a few hushed whispers, staring not so subtly in the direction of where you sit hunched in one of the corner booths, but you just ignore it by watching a rain drop crawl down the window with rapt attention.
Words barely pass between you and Yoongi until you're both seated, him with a coffee you learn he takes black and you with a much too sugary frappe which you take to stirring with your straw nervously, chin in palm.
It's Yoongi who finally breaks the silence.
"What are you thinking?" He looks at you expectantly over the rim of his mug. For some reason it makes you nervous.
Guilt niggles at your repose. The cafe is alive with indistinguishable chatter, a coffee machine whirring loudly nearby. In reality, you merely blend in to the hubbub. But as you watch Yoongi fiddle with the rings on his fingers in anticipation of your response it's like a hush has fallen and all eyes are on you. Judging, like they know how wrong it is for you to be here.
He's been the only thing on your mind all week but now you're here in front of him it's like your mind is blank.
"Did you tell anyone?"
Yoongi blinks. "Namjoon's secret? I said I wasn't going to say anything—"
"No. Our secret. Us..." It feels foreign, referring to Yoongi and yourself as a unit. You hate to admit it makes your heart beat a little faster. "Namjoon knows."
Yoongi's coffee cup clatters to the table and words rise like bile in your throat, everything you've been bottling up inside tumbling out before you can stop it.
"Namjoon knows! He found out about us somehow and now everything has gone to shit and...I shouldn't even be telling you this! God I'm an idiot! I just don't know what to do—"
Your wailing is interrupted suddenly by a warm hand covering your own. Yoongi's hand. The touch is gentle, comforting, something about the squeeze of reassurance it provides calming your hyperventilating. It feels right.
Why does it feel right?
Yoongi must misinterpret the puzzled look you flash him as a warning he's crossing a boundary because he retracts his arm jerkily, a flush creeping up his neck.
He glosses over the weird moment hastily.
"Slow down, go back. He knows?" There's a lilt of surprise to his voice. Either he's a really good actor or he is just as panicked as you by this news. "And you think I told him?"
"Well, not exactly. He knows some of it — not everything! — he thinks that I just spoke to you after the show...I assumed you would have filled in the blanks by now."
Yoongi laughs breathily. Relieved. It flummoxes you. Shouldn't he be satisfied that his plan to get under Namjoon's skin was a success?
"Y/N, there were hundreds of people at the gig, anyone could have seen us. Jimin and Hoseok probably told him. You act like I tried to seduce you just to get revenge, or something." He gulps back the last of his coffee and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before his expression suddenly turns serious. "You don't think that right?"
"Isn't that exactly what you did?"
Say no.
Yoongi opens his mouth and then shuts it again. He doesn't deny it.
Something in your chest twists with disappointment. It scares you shitless and you know you have to end this — whatever this is — before there's no turning back.
"Look, it — we — were a stupid mistake okay? I need to know that you're not going to use this against him. It would kill him."
"Mistake?" Yoongi's face drops. "Didn't I say you could trust me?"
It sounds somewhat pained, like he wasn't expecting you to think so lowly of him. His eyes soften with a certain gentleness now and you almost feel bad for thinking they could ever look at you with sinister intentions.
"Do you regret it? What we did?"
You hesitate. You want to say no so badly. But that's not why you came here.
Pull yourself together!
"Yes."
He raises an eyebrow. "You really believe that?"
"Do you regret it?"
"No." His eyes glint. You can't breathe. "Which is exactly why I'll never say a word. I don't play that way. Fair and square remember?"
You're speechless. All you can get out is a measly oh as you stare at the coffee in your cup and process.
"What did Namjoon say anyway?"
Your fingers find the patterns carved into the surface of the wooden table top, feeling the grooves as a distraction from the embarrassment flushing your cheeks. "He told me not to come back and find you."
A wry smile creeps across his face. "But you did?"
Even Yoongi is accusing you now? God, you played right into his hands. He's probably enjoying this. That you broke Namjoon's trust again, all for him.
The worst part is that you can hardly bring yourself to care. Sitting with Yoongi still feels deliciously indulgent — seeing his face again, feeling the heat of his body where your knees brush under the table finally satisfying a craving that had been growing inside you since that night in his studio.
"He doesn't control me."
He just nods. "I get that." His fingers tap in time with the sickeningly happy radio tune that plays overhead, eager to change the subject, like he's aware that he already said too much. "How is Namjoon anyway? You written him a song yet?"
Not allowed. If any information gets leaked about Namjoon's Mic Drop stage the first person he'd blame was you. You had to keep your lips tightly sealed.
You shrink back into your seat. "You know I can't tell you that."
"Okay, then." Yoongi throws his arms over the back of his chair, a cheekiness in his voice, like he's testing the waters to see how you'll react. "Ask me something instead. I'll tell you whatever you want to know. Shoot."
That's allowed, right? Where's the harm. If it doesn't involve Namjoon then it can't hurt him...
"Okay..." You purse your lips, eyes travelling around the dimly lit coffee shop. "Why do you work...here?"
Yoongi nods to the stack of damp flyers beside him. Live classical piano. "I play piano here sometimes." He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. It's kinda cute. "Needed some spare cash and this was the only place that could take me at such short notice."
"You play piano?"
He nods and you follow his gaze to the grand piano stood unoccupied in the corner. You imagine how Yoongi would look bent over the keys. How his fingers would move across the instrument with concentrated precision. How the tune would mingle with the warmth of the coffee shop on a cold evening.
"I didn't know you like classical music?"
"I don't. Not really." He cocks his head, finding the right words. "Namjoon has investors right? People who just throw money at him?" You nod, somehow ashamed. "Teaching me to play piano was my mom's investment in me. She always said it might come in handy some day."
You nod. "And do you have to wear that stupid costume every time?"
"This?" A snort leaves you when he shoots you a look, a shy smile finding the curve of his lips. "Don't mean to brag but it's a huge hit with the older ladies."
You can't help but laugh when he smugly tugs at the bow tie around his neck, unable to miss how his eyes light up. You share a smile that makes you feel light headed.
"I'd have to see it to believe it."
"Well, you know where to find me if you're ever bored and need a good laugh on a Tuesday, Wednesday or Friday evening." He shifts in his seat. "Or you could just come back to my place, y'know if you wanted to —" You frown, the easiness that had settled between you dissipating as you both sense the inappropriateness of his suggestion. "I know I shouldn't ask, it's just I have a piano and—"
For some reason the rational part of your brain taps out and your heart says fuck it.
"I'd love to."
--
"So, where do you live?" You ask when you finish your drink and nervously copy Yoongi who is already getting to his feet.
"Oh about that...I live in the apartment upstairs actually." He chuckles sheepishly."Cheap rent, you know?"
It takes you by surprise but you don't press.
"Oh. Right."
Yoongi extends a hand towards you. The thud in your chest gets faster when you slide your palm into his and he pulls you behind him to the foot the stairway you had disregarded upon entry, the distressed baby blue door at the top labelled RESIDENTS ONLY seeming strangely inviting.
Yoongi gestures for you to go first and you've barely ascended three steps before a voice rings out behind you, making you freeze like a child caught in a mischievous act.
"Use protection you two! And close the door so that Odengie's innocence isn't compromised this time!"
The barista from before rounds the corner, a tray of empty mugs in his left hand and a cloth for wiping down tables in the other.
You suppress a laugh. "Odengie?"
"His goddamn sugar glider—" He says it more to himself rather than in response to your query, flashing the tousled haired boy an exasperated look. "Really, bro?"
The other man either doesn't notice or doesn't care. "What? He's too young to learn how baby sugar gliders are made." His eyes suddenly flit to you and, as if remembering his manners, he deposits the cloth onto a nearby table and reaches a damp hand through the staircase to shake yours with a friendly smile. "I'm Jin, by the way."
You take it cautiously, wiping your now wet hand on the back of your jeans. "Nice to meet you?"
"Come on," Yoongi is flushed red as he pushes you up the rest of the stairs with a pressure at the small of your back. "We'll be back down in a minute, chill okay?"
Yoongi shoulders his way into the apartment, pulling you across the threshold alongside him, but not before you catch a glimpse of Jin's teasing grin poking around the staircase, words reaching your ears before Yoongi could slam the door shut in time.
"Oh, so it's a quickie? Have fun!"
A laugh escapes your lips, Yoongi pressing his back to the door with a sigh of relief. "Sorry about him. He's my roommate. Kind of came with the apartment, you know?"
You glance around at the small maisonette that unfolds before you curiously. It feels more like a dorm room, a mismatch pile of shoes piled at the entry way, a pair of beanbags substituting a couch surrounding a small gaming set up littered with empty pizza boxes you presume belong to Seokjin.
"Ah. He's part of the furniture then."
The other corner of the room is littered with an assortment of vinyls strewn out beside a pair of speakers and a record player, the needle still hovering over the grooves of an album by an artist you don't recognise. Yoongi's touch to the decor, you suppose.
"Guess you could say that. He's not so bad once you get over the uh...small rodents."
You trail behind Yoongi into what you assume is his bedroom, if the frameless mattress which lay on the floor in the corner beneath the window with sheets unmade and strewn across the floor messily was anything to go by.
He flicks on the set of fairy lights tacked to the wall, a surprisingly homely touch that makes you think Yoongi isn't as cold as you believe him to be.
Yoongi approaches a clothes rack stuffed with a variety of stage outfits. "Here." He pulls an oversized hoodie from one of the hangers, throwing it at you from across the room. "You're clothes are still wet. Wouldn't want to catch a cold. You can wear this until they dry."
"O-Okay." You stand there dumbly. He isn't expecting you to strip right in front of him, is he?
He seems to sense your hesitance, turning around so his back is to you with wide eyes. He plays it off by grabbing a selection of clothing for himself, shuffling past you with eyes trained to the ground. "I'll use the bathroom. Tell me when you're done."
You are soaked through to your underwear but you leave them on since Yoongi probably didn't have a spare pair of panties laying around you could borrow. The fabric of his hoodie is soft and warm when it slips over your otherwise bare skin and you breath in the woody scent that seems to embrace your entire body, ignoring the way it makes your head dizzy, and roll up the large sleeves to free your hands before calling to him that you are done.
When he re-enters the room, pulling a grey beanie over his head haphazardly to match the much more Yoongi appropriate outfit of a simple white tee and sweats, his breath hitches at your bare legs peeking out from the bottom of the garment. His lingering stare makes you hug your torso self consciously, eyes never leaving you even as he grabs the pile of sodden clothing you discarded earlier and lays them neatly over the radiator to dry.
You practically hear the way he swallows awkwardly when his eyes lock with yours, caught in the act. He's quick to lighten the mood.
"Well...here she is."
You turn as he moves across the room to the piano occupying the opposite wall, wood stained dark but bleached slightly in places by the stream of sunlight which washes its surface from the opposite window. The stool beneath it scrapes against the scuffed floor boards when Yoongi makes enough space to seat himself on top of the blue velour cushion.
"I know it's not much — nothing like you're used to I mean, but it makes music just the same."
He must take the way you hang back near the door frame as a sign of your distaste which couldn't have been further from reality; it's simply to allow you to study the way Yoongi sits with his back perfectly straight, fingers lingering over the keys like he knows the piano as well as an old friend. And, though you'll never admit it, the way your heart thumps at the thought of being in Yoongi's most private space.
"Where did you get it?"
"It was my mother's." The breath you suck in is slightly too harsh. "Like I said earlier, she liked to play, before she..."
Died. The word never passes between his lips but it sits heavy in the air like a weight.
Yoongi's eyes avert yours so you don't press any further, instead focusing your attention to the pattern of scratches embedded into the piano's lid, unable to help the way your fingers trace the coffee cup rings littering the surface like rugged halos. "It's beautiful."
The side panel is littered with lines, carved deeply into the wood with a penknife; a makeshift height chart like the one you had on the back of your bedroom door as a kid. Your drop to your knees to squint at the nearly illegible words scrawled next to the markings that ascend almsot to the top of the instrument.
Yoongi aged 3...Yoongi aged 4...Yoongi aged 5...
All the way until Yoongi aged 7 where they stop completely.
You frown but he lets out a soft laugh, somewhat pained. "That's when she got sick. I grew up quickly after that."
Straightening up, you swallow thickly, unsure what to say, so you just settle for changing the subject instead.
"So, what can you play?"
Yoongi fiddles with the open sheet music book on the piano stand. His fingers tremble slightly as he turns the worn pages before finally settling on a sheet that is lightly crumpled and ripped around the edges and coffee stained and ferociously dog eared at the corners. Tell tale signs that he had played this piece before, over and over again.
His favourite, you perceive.
Sure, he had literally fucked you into next week already but your hands get clammy at the knowledge that Yoongi feels comfortable enough to share such an intimate tidbit about himself with you. Music means a lot to him after all. Anyone can see that.
You catch a glimpse of the piece over his shoulder.
Romeo and Juliet - Love Theme.
Yoongi notices how you raise a brow at his choice.
"I know I said I don't like classical music but this arrangement is different. You know the story right?"
High school had given you enough general knowledge about Romeo and Juliet for you to nod in confirmation.
"It's like you can feel the passion they have for each other in every note, you know? Like nothing could ever come between them."
His words are so earnest they make your heart ache. You hadn't put him down as the hopeless romantic type.
"I mean not really. They still die in the end." You counter. He frowns.
"But only because of their fucked up families. It's their feud that comes between them in the end. This piece comes before all the shitty parts. If you play it over and over again it's like they never stop loving one another."
His hands fold in his lap and he sucks in a bashful breath, nose scrunching with embarrassment at his dramatic outburst. "It's stupid. I know. Forget I said it."
"No, no I understand completely. Maybe if they weren't so busy fighting they could have listened to their hearts. Right?"
"Right." He scoots across the piano stool, patting the empty space beside him with an encouraging look. "Sit."
Like a magnet you find yourself drawn to his side, shivering when his shoulder brushes yours. His arms hover over the piano, poised and relaxed, concentration etched into the hard lines of his face.
"Ready?"
You can only nod. And then he starts to play.
Yoongi's fingertips eagerly caress the keys of his piano, eyes lifting from the sheet music to gauge your reaction while his hands carry the melody on autopilot, the pretty silver rings he dons glinting with every movement. His neck is bent slightly, allowing his head to bob and sway along with the rise and fall of the rhythm, eyes screwing shut as the composition reaches its most pivotal sequence.
He's practically raking the keys now, pure passion and violent emotion splashing every inch of the room. You shut your own eyes, hands clutching the bottom of the stool until your knuckles whiten, like you might float away with the beautiful tune if you don't ground yourself.
When he said you could feel passion with every note he wasn't wrong. You could feel his passion clear as day.
Slowly, he comes back down from his high, wrists coming to a standstill. All he can do is take in heaving, ragged breaths, body slumped down, spent with the sheer effort expelled in his performance. Oxygen is lodged in your own lungs as you take in how how his bangs stick to the beads of sweat prevalent on his forehead
You recover before he does, unconsciously fumbling around in your tote bag, hands curling around the Polaroid camera you bring everywhere just in case a photo opportunity arises.
They never usually do. Until now.
"Stay like that." The viewfinder raises to your eye and you snap a shot of him with precision, the soft click that emanates through the room making Yoongi's eyes snap open.
The picture dispenses from the camera, black square fading out to reveal a hazy image as you shake it back and forth. Yoongi, face relaxed, lashes pressed softly to the tops of his cheeks with a lazy smile.
It's the Yoongi you remember. Your Yoongi.
He smirks when you slide it into the back pocket of your jeans, cheeks glowing with a contentedness you hadn't seen for a long time. "You always did like taking pictures of me."
"Shut up."
When your hand tentatively closes over his where it still rests on the piano, it's his turn to shoot you a curious look. With a shaky breath you flip his palm, slotting your fingers together perfectly, and lean across the piano to press your lips against his.
His mouth is softer than you remember, not attacking with the rich taste of lust but rather caressing your lips gently, sweetly. Taking your time to commit each tickle of breath against your nose, each slide of his bottom lip between yours, to memory. Everything other than the dizzying sensation of his tongue tracing your bottom lip disappears. All your worries, reluctances, regrets, just dissolving like the setting sun.
Everything feels safe here with him. Everything feels right.
It barely lasts a minute, not much more than a delicate brush really, but when he pulls back you are already breathless, immediately starved of the satisfaction that came from finally feeling him against you again, tasting the spearmint mixed with something so inherently Yoongi you didn't quite realise how much you were craving.
Yoongi sighs blissfully. You need more.
Your hands tangle in the front of his T-shirt but before you can pepper his mouth with a series of further eager kisses, his free hand plants on your shoulder and pushes you back carefully.
"About what you said the other night." His eyes are wide with concern, trained to your lips, resisting the urge to capture them again with all his self control. It made your heart flip. "I don't want to hurt you Y/N. We don't have to do this—"
"I want to. So bad." His thumb caresses your knuckles. "I trust you."
In that moment, it's true. You trust him more than you've ever trusted anything in the world.
"But Namjoon..."
His words fade out when you lean in for another reassuring peck. Namjoon's name falling from Yoongi's lips doesn't make your skin crawl like it usually did. In fact you feel nothing at the mention of your brother.
"To hell with Namjoon. I'm a big girl. I know what I want."
Yoongi grins, hand coming to cup your cheek tentatively, eyes crinkling with what you could only describe as liberation. "And what's that?"
Your eyes narrow in on his parted mouth again.
"You."
His eyes darken and then his hands are tangling in your hair and pulling your chest flush to his in a kiss that is far rougher than before. No more beating around the bush. Just passion as you crawl into his lap and kiss him like it's the first time — or perhaps, more accurately, the last time. Like the world will end if you part for a single breath.
Fingers find the hem of his shirt and you're pulling it up his torso greedily, heart beating a little faster when you feel his warm skin beneath your fingertips. His chest is softer than you expect, a perfect contrast to the strong arms wrapping around your waist to pull you back to his lips.
It's not long before you feel his pants fill out underneath you. The feeling is all too familiar, reminding you of how it felt to be above him like this in his studio. That night feels like a life time away as his hands grab your hips and press you roughly down onto his crotch.
You both groan out at the feeling, something intense, something primal, heating up between your legs as you circle his clothed length, want and need blending into one as your core dampens with every twist of your hips.
Yoongi breaks away from your lips with a gasp when your fingers reach between your body and find the sensitive head of his cock, a wet patch forming on his sweats. His eyes are shut, head thrown back against the piano top as he bites into his thumb to stop little moans tumbling from his swollen lips.
He shoots upright when you slide down his torso, hardwood cold against your bare knees, fingers fumbling with the strings of his pants. When you finally get them open and slip your hand beneath the waistband, Yoongi all but groans at the feel of your cool palm grabbing his hot cock skin on skin.
You shimmy his sweats around his thighs, mouth practically watering as you eye up his pulsing length, unable to resist stroking it firmly with your fist. A hand covers yours.
"Wait!" A strangled noise of agony rips from his chest when your grip loosens, desperate to buck up into your touch but managing to stay firmly planted to the stool in favour of gaining your consent. "Are you sure?"
You scoff teasingly. "Would I be on my knees if I wasn't?"
His laugh is breathy, half a moan as you pick up your pace again. "Just nervous — ah!" A soft kitten lick to the reddened tip of his cock has him flying forward, knuckles white as they grip your shoulder.
"Min Yoongi gets nervous?" The precum that coats your tongue is salty, makes you itch to take him into your mouth fully.
"Shut up." His breathing is ragged, hands hovering over your hair. "Didn't think this would happen again. Needs to be perfect — holy fuck Y/N."
You give no warning before you sink down on his length, his hands finally tangling in your hair and tugging lightly when your nose presses to his pubic bone, groaning around him when you feel the head of his cock pulsing in the back of your throat.
"So warm, shit."
You come up for air, lips wrapping around his head and enjoying the way his thighs trembled when your tongue runs teasingly along the underside of his cock. His hand pushes at the back of your head, forcing his length further down your throat than you're expecting until you gag around his girth.
"Shit, sorry."
The groan that follows doesn't sound very apologetic though. The visual of your drool coating his painfully hard length mixed with the sensation of your warm mouth engulfing him whole nearly has him blowing his load then and there, utterly fucked out and oblivious to the string of groans leaving his lips when you finally come up for air. Tears streak your cheeks and Yoongi wipes them away with his knuckle tenderly.
"God, look at you." He's breathless, amazed. "C'mere."
A hand cups your elbow, pulling you to your feet so he can connect your lips again, humming when he tastes himself on your tongue. His hands are all over you now as he wraps you in his arms and stumbles backwards your back is pressed to the mattress in the corner. It dips in the middle when he crawls over you, tucking away strands of hair that fan around your face like a halo before his mouth is on you again like he can't quite help himself.
A series of open mouthed kisses caress your jaw, then your neck, all the way down your chest. Yoongi's eyes flick up to watch your face, lips parted with want as his hands fiddled with the hem of his own much too big hoodie swaddling your body.
"Can I?"
Your hand threads into his hair encouragingly. "Please."
A gasp passes his lips when he finally pulls the fabric over your head, eyes following his curious calloused hands as they explore the expanse of skin exposed to him now you're left in just your bra and panties.
"So beautiful." He traces his fingers down your shoulders, down the valley of your breasts, across your stomach. The light and delicate touches have you shivering, writhing for more. Almost as desperate to feel him everywhere as he is to worship every inch of you.
His touch stops at the hem of your panties. You're already working on the clasp of your bra, a violent nod the only permission he needs to drag the fabric agonisingly slow down your legs, unhooking them from your ankles carefully.
When he looks back up you are completely bare, laid out beneath the stream of half-sun-half-moon bathing the room.
Yoongi pounces, lips wrapping around one of your nipples greedily, tongue swirling around the hardened bud until you're gasping his name over and over.
"Can't believe you're letting me see you like this."
Hands wrap around your thighs, legs falling open, the way he licks his lips as he takes in your glistening heat not going unnoticed.
Yoongi's head shakes in disbelief, mumbling words which sound an awful lot like so pretty and fucking gorgeous as his head dips and he continues his trail of earlier kisses, tongue laving over your inner thighs and edging ever closer to your aching core.
"W-wait." Yoongi freezes and comes up to meet your face. His breath is hot against your cheek, eyes scanning your face for hesitation.
"What is it? Are you okay?" He's frantic, swallowing nervously as his palms cup your face. "Want to take care of you this time. What is it? Tell me."
"I'm fine. More than fine." You brush your noses together. It makes him smile. "Just want to feel you, that's all. Now."
Yoongi lets out a dramatic sigh, voice high and whiny. "But I've been dreaming about how you taste for days, Y/N. Literally. Dreaming about it."
You don't mention how you've been replaying the visual of his lips wrapped around your clit and edging you over and over again since it happened, just stroke his cheek in mutual understanding.
"Too bad. You'll just have to wait until next time." His features light up at the promise of a next time. Another moment like this, just you and him.
His face falls into the crook of your neck, nibbling the sensitive skin teasingly as a hand trails between your legs. When the pads of his fingers circle your entrance you whimper, clit throbbing with want when his hand pulls away nearly as quick as it came.
The want only intensifies when he brings two of his arousal coated digits to his mouth with closed eyes, guttural moan vibrating your flush chests when he savours the taste of your arousal coating his fingers.
"Next time." He hums and you are sure you nearly came untouched.
"Need you. Now."
He wastes no time taking his achingly hard cock into his fist, placing a supportive hand on your hip as he lines himself up with your entrance. You whine when he drags the tip up and down your slit, giving some brief but much needed stimulation to your clit.
Before he can push inside though you place a hand on his chest to stop him. He doesn't have time to dote on you again though because without further ado you're whipping off the beanie that still sits snugly around his head, throwing it across the room with a smirk.
His eyes glint fondly. "Whoops."
The room has grown darker by now, only lit by the gentle sparkle of the fairy lights and Yoongi has to feel around in the sheets to find your hand. In the same moment he tangles your fingers together beside your face, he pushes inside with a gasp.
Unlike the first time in his studio, Yoongi is in no rush. He wants to savour it. He fills you slowly, so that you can feel every ridge of his length dragging against your velvety walls. When he finally bottoms out and your hips press flush together, you squeeze his hand. Tight. It's this small action that tells him everything he needs to know. Explains the funny feeling in your chest without ever saying the words.
Your legs wrap around his back automatically when his hips begin to rock, angling your body so that he hits so deep with every thrust it steals the breath straight from your lips. Arousal drips from your heat down onto the bed sheets, making each slide deliciously smooth.
"Yoongi I.." It almost slips from your lips. The deepest, darkest secret that you haven't quite admitted to yourself yet.
Yoongi just ups his pace, exchanging words for actions to show you he feels the same. Fucking you a little harder, a little deeper. More sincerely. It compensates for the words neither of you know how to say.
"I know." You feel so full, so warm when he places his forearms at either side of your head to press you into the mattress. "I know."
All the yearning inside you disappears. All that matters is you and Yoongi now, nails scratching up his back, his forehead pressing to yours so that your moans mingle together until you can't tell whose was whose any more.
With a fucked out moan against your lips he's spilling inside you, sending you over the edge with him, hissing as you clench tightly around his cock.
All thoughts are wiped from your mind. Apart from the sensation of his cheek pressed to your chest, hot breath against your collar bone. How you can't believe you lived in a world without Yoongi in it. How you never want to go without him again. How you don't think you can deny how Yoongi makes you feel anymore even if you tried.
The stars behind your eyes fade, and when you come back down, Yoongi is hovering over your body, lips parted and eyes blown out, mesmerised. He's sweaty and smiling and you can feel the way his heart beats in time with yours.
"You okay?"
"Never better." His smile stretches into a grin when your words slur together. "—'m so happy."
A soft, chaste kiss is pressed to your forehead and before you know it Yoongi is tangling your legs together and wrapping the sheets around your bodies, entwined as one.
Me too. You knew that's what he meant. You'd dwell on it another time. For now your eyes are falling shut, satisfied as you inhale Yoongi's scent on the sheets...
Before a blissful slumber could take you away, you're interrupted by a series of knocks against the bedroom door. Both you and Yoongi shoot upright, exchanging a puzzled glance.
"I thought you said it was gonna be a quickie. Come on man, I need to use the bathroom!"
Yoongi groans into the pillow.
"That's it. I'm getting a new roommate."
--
As the weeks go by you start spending less and less time at the Big Hit office, turning up late to your shifts or clocking out before they were up. The perks of being employed by your parents is that they can't fire you in good conscience, you suppose.
Instead you increasingly find yourself at Yoongi's apartment, writing lyrics at the piano when he was around (sometimes even when he wasn't) or down in the coffee shop, helping yourself to hot chocolate refills on your work breaks. Jin joked that you'd need to start paying rent soon.
Just like how you were able to pick apart each of the boys' influence on the apartment the first time you went there, your own presence was becoming ever apparent.
In the way you spilled sugar on the counter when making tea and always forgot to clean it up, much to Jin's dismay. How some of your own hoodies and pyjama pants had begun to smell like Yoongi's washing powder, ending up folded neatly in his laundry basket and stowed away on his clothing rack like they belonged there. The way his piano top was littered with open notebooks filled with your messy scrawl and pens with the caps lost and half empty mugs stained around the rim with your chapstick.
Yoongi seemed wary at first, cautious to let you get too comfortable around him, dropping you home late at night once the lights in your house switched out and you knew it was safe to go inside.
But eventually he started to crave the little things that reminded him of you, unable to stop the smiles which crept onto his face as he loaded the dishwasher with the mugs and carried you to bed when you fell asleep at the piano stool.
Your bed. That's what you'd taken to calling it now.
Yoongi hated to admit that he was weak. When he got up on stage he was Gloss, hard faced and brazen and ruthless. But here with you, the facade he tried to uphold seemed to crumble into nothing. And the worst part was that he loved it.
Even when he was performing at the club or practicing for the competition, his thoughts always ended up wandering back to you. There were times when your schedules clashed or it was too risky to see each other or times you were simply too exhausted once you got home, falling into bed as soon as you crossed the threshold. But the knowledge that you were always there waiting for each other became the only safe place he knew and that was enough.
Of course you still had to oversee Namjoon's Mic Drop stage, it was your job after all, but that never seemed to come up when you were together. Just watching movies on his laptop or laughing at ungodly hours while you filled each other in on anecdotes that happened in the time you were apart, retreating beneath the sheets when Jin banged on the wall because it was four in the morning so would you please shut the fuck up.
For the first time in a long time you felt happy. Like you belonged somewhere that was all your own. No more answering to Namjoon or your parents. Just your own heart. And it always seemed to lead you back here to Yoongi, straight into his arms.
And as much as you hated yourself for it, you could feel your resentment for Namjoon growing. You'd be damned if you let him take this away from you, like he'd taken everything else.
Eventually, you stopped crawling through your bedroom window like a goddamn teenager and your parents stopped questioning why you never came home anymore. The cracks between you became a chasm. And right now, Yoongi was the band aid holding you together.
--
When Yoongi returns home later than usual, he's not even surprised when he ascends the stairs and find you and Jin laid out on the bean bags, already tipsy on red wine and giggling at his disgruntled expression.
That is until you take in the weary lines that had etched their way into his forehead, how his eyes look sunken and puffy. How his hands tremble against your waist when you pull him into your arms, body swaying back and forth lightly in your grasp like he could topple over any second.
You know what overworked looks like — after all, you had tended to Namjoon plenty of times when he refused to stop at his limits, barraging through them instead, a habit Yoongi also seemed to possess.
Ordered to stay on bed rest, Yoongi slumps face down into his pillow, letting out a long groan of relief when the mattress cushions his aching limbs.
You're already tucking him in, half way to the door to prepare him a hot cup of honey and lemon to soothe the husk in his throat from rapping too aggressively when his arms loop around your waist and pull you down to snuggle into the crook of your neck contentedly.
"Yoongi, let me go." It's futile, his grip is firm and he is already kicking the sheets over your body and pressing his cheek to the left side of your chest where you're sure he can hear how your heart races, a pout evident in your voice. "I want to take care of you."
"Mmf you are.." Words already slurring with the beginnings of sleep, he smiles groggily when you fall slack in his grasp and press your cheek to the top of his head in defeat. "Stroke my hair please?"
As soon as your fingers tangle in his blue locks he lets out a sigh of relief, like he'd been waiting to feel the touch all day.
Watching his face relax as he drifts off, you bask in the warmth of fulfilment singing your very nerve ending and silently wish that you can stay like this forever.
Just you and Yoongi against the world.
At some point your own eyes fall shut.
--
You're awoken by the sounds of muffled sobs.
The dark room momentarily disorientates you, heart quickening as you realise you're not in your own bed. Eventually your eyes adjust to the blackness, taking in the piano stood sturdily in the corner, breathing in the scent lingering on the pillow beneath your cheek and you're washed with a wave of comfort.
"Yoongi?" You croak.
The sheets are ripped from your body as Yoongi's form shoots upright. His bare back is damp with sweat, visible in the moonlight creeping through the slanted blinds, mattress rocking slightly with every sob that wracks his frame.
"Go back to sleep." His voice is gruff , but forcibly so and you hear the tremor lurking below the surface.
You sit up beside him. His face is buried in his palms. The sight makes your heart ache.
"Are you okay?" You're still new to this. Sure you're tangled up in his sheets most nights but you're still learning the ropes, unsure how best to comfort him. You settle for gently patting his shoulder, wincing at how cold and distant the action feels.
"I said go back to sleep." When his face emerges from between his hands you see the tell tale tracks of tears streaking his cheeks. Even when he wipes his face with the back of his palm there's a steady stream of them dripping down his chin.
"Is that what you really want?"
Yoongi presses his mouth together in a tight line, eyes black and empty as he tilts his head back and takes a shaky breath. That's when he crumbles. "Please stay."
"Oh, Yoongi." It's barely a whisper, afraid that if you speak too loud he'll shatter into a million pieces. He's like a scared kid, knees hugged to his chest as he wipes the hot tears from his eyes with a hard rub of his knuckles.
Yoongi stiffens when you fumble under the sheets to find his hand. You think he might pull away as you link your fingers with his but to your surprise he pulls your interlocked palms into his lap and squeezes so hard you feel the circulation in your fingers cutting off. The way he chokes back another sob stops you from complaining though, already cupping his cheek and tilting his face towards yours with your free hand.
"Why are you doing this?" His eyes squeeze shut, fresh tears sliding down his face and doing nothing to hide the slight tinge of red beneath them that tell you he's embarrassed to be seen like this. Vulnerable, so unlike the hard faced Yoongi you had come to know.
"Because I want to." You squeeze his hand and feel him squeeze back weakly. "You can tell me anything, you know."
Pressing his forehead to yours, Yoongi leans down and captures your lips between his own. I know, it says.
This is different to the way he usually kisses you. There's no hunger, no hands on your neck and your thighs that set you alight with desire. Just a sense of yearning, like he wants to be closer to you, the plump flesh of his lips slotting between yours like a perfect puzzle piece, slightly salty from his tears. It makes you ache all over, like you're somehow connected and sharing his pain.
He pulls away, sharp exhales tickling your face as he scans your eyes for any sign of hesitation, any sign that you're going to leave him here alone. This is side of Yoongi that you have never seen before. He always said he isn't good with words and you know better than anyone that he hated admitting that he needed someone. This was is his way saying he needs you.
And in that moment you feel a piece of your heart flutter into his hands.
"Nightmares." He mumbles, swallowing thickly and tipping his head back against the headboard, expression pained "Just nightmares."
"Want to talk about it?" You sit back next to him, and when he rolls his neck to face you. He looks unreadable again. Eyes void. You half think he's going to push you away, turn over and fall back asleep and leave you to stare at the ceiling alone with the silence.
But he doesn't. Instead he lets out a deep sigh, shaking his head at himself as he pulls you into his arms, stroking your cheek fondly when your head comes to rest on his chest, burying his nose in your hair.
"Why can't I say no to you?"
"Guess I have that affect on people."
He snorts lightly, the first proper reaction he'd given you and you're pleased at his amusement. Pleased you were able to comfort him somewhat.
Unspoken words cloak a heavy silence for what feels like hours, just tracing mindless patterns on his arm and listening to the way his heart slows to a normal pace beneath your cheek, grip around your torso never faltering. When his breaths dwindle to soft puffs against your temple you think he's already drifted off.
Until, "Do you remember when I convinced Namjoon to sign up for Mic Drop the first time. The day after my mom died?" His voice is gravelly, both with sleep and a sign of his withheld tears.
"Of course I do." You swivel in his arms to blink up at him curiously. Sure you remembered. After the funeral, your parents had taken Yoongi in — a repayment they called it. For helping Namjoon achieve his dreams. Of course, that was before you realised just how much Yoongi would help.
Yoongi became a part of the family for a short while. An extra seat at family dinners. Another pair of shoes by the front door. Another bed in Namjoon's room.
"Back then, I was too trusting. I thought that they wanted to help me...I thought that they saw me as their son." He spits the word with the bitterness of a man who was stripped of the title of 'son' before he knew what it really meant.
You think back to how Namjoon and Yoongi used to be. Joined at the hip, everyone used to say. Brothers.
"I think they did—"
"No." He stiffens. You bite your lip. "Namjoon never cared about me. He just saw me as a way to get to the top. And it worked."
You feel a pang in your chest.
"I'm sorry, he's your brother. I shouldn't be talking about this with you."
Yoongi almost turns away but you stop him by pressing your lips to his briefly. Telling him its okay. You understand.
"The nightmares." You say with an eagerness to change to subject before you could dwell on it too hard. Before you could admit to yourself that Yoongi was right. "You didn't say what they were about?"
"I'm getting there." He lets out a strained chuckle and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. The action makes you shiver.
"The last time I saw my mother she said that she wasn't scared to die. She was just scared that she'd miss seeing me on the stage. She was the only one who believed in me." The next words come out choked. "She said that if she couldn't be there to see it then I needed to make as many goddamn people watch me lift that trophy as I could."
Mic Drop was never about the fame for Yoongi after all. It always ran deeper than that; a need not a want. A vulnerable promise left unfulfilled.
The realisation makes you blanch. All this time, all these years, you hadn't been able to see the real greed right in front of your eyes; your own brother.
The image of Yoongi, crumpled and broken on that fateful day all those years ago makes its way to the forefront of your mind.
The same anger flashes across his face now. "Namjoon took that from me. I don't care about the fans or the money or the trophy — none of that shit! He took my dream Y/N. Do you understand how that feels?"
You find yourself nodding, slowly at first and then with vigour as the dam inside you breaks and your own tears flood. "I do. I understand."
And you do. You understand why Yoongi is so determined to win Mic Drop. You understand why he hates Namjoon as much as he does. You understand how it feels to always fall second best to Namjoon, to be outcasted.
"I keep forgetting her face. I can't hear her voice in my head anymore." Yoongi's crying again now, heavy sobs no longer able to be contained. "But in the dreams she's so clear. The disappointment in her eyes, its so clear, Y/N." His words are interrupted by hiccups that leave him gasping.
"I'm sorry." You whisper once he calms. It's all you know how to say.
"Not your fault." He flashes you a watery smile, wiping away the tear on your cheek with his knuckle. It makes your heart flutter, even despite the guilt weighing on your shoulders.
You feel useless. It wasn't your fault directly but you couldn't help but feel like you wronged Yoongi. All of this happened right in front of your eyes but you were too blinded by Namjoon's broken promises to see it.
All this time you had let Namjoon make you think Yoongi was the enemy.
"I'm here now." Hands plant on either side of his face, eyes meeting his. "I believe in you."
He doesn't need to say anything. The way he kisses you speaks louder than words.
All you can do now is hold him, tangling your legs with his and pulling the covers over your intertwined bodies, stroke his cheek with your thumb and pepper kisses to his strained forehead which relaxes beneath your affections.
"I'll make this right." You whisper into his hair after his eyes flutter closed and the sun starts peeking through the window, watching dust particles floating in a stream of light in the room's golden glow through lidded eyes. "I promise."
--
"I like this." Jimin nods enthusiastically along to the track playing through the headphones Namjoon placed over his ears. "Sounds like a hit to me."
Namjoon's face contorts into a scowl. He disagrees, obviously, if the disgusted shake of his head is any indication.
Mic Drop is just a few days away and Namjoon had decided to scrap his entire stage after Jimin scored a couple big last minute investors who suggested he do something new, something exciting. Something that pushed Runch Randa's limits.
It was a bold move, this close to the big day. But Namjoon was cocky, said that he had enough experience in the industry to win in his sleep. Practice was a waste of time anyway.
"Next one." He waves his hand, barely even glancing in your direction as you press a button that cuts off the track and makes another one start playing.
The bass is louder in this one and it makes Jimin startle backwards, the headphone jack slipping loose so the music plays through the speakers instead.
"Hoseok and I still need to put the finishing touches on this one but it's pretty catchy—"
Namjoon cuts you off with a sharp no, it was too upbeat for his Mic Drop performance. Said he needed something with grit, something that would make the judges feel something.
"Let me see that." He gestures for you to get up, slumping down into the chair you occupied and slotting himself beneath the studio desk to scroll through the open folder on the computer screen.
He skims through countless tracks, demoed and ready to be recorded at Namjoon's disposal — you were something of a writing machine, always scribbling down lyrics on receipts from the store or on the back of your hand and paired with Hoseok you were a dream team; he always seemed to find a beat that fit perfectly. Unfortunately Namjoon's straight face gives away his disinterest in any of them.
"None of these will work." Namjoon throws the keyboard down with a force that makes you wince, jaw tightening as he presses his knuckles to his eyes in frustration. "I'm going to fucking lose."
You are about to tell him to write the fucking track himself like everyone else if none of yours were good enough for him but Jimin flashes you a glance. Don't make things worse.
You settle instead for a hand on his shoulder. He tenses at your touch. It had been a while since you'd been in the same room for longer than ten minutes and when you take in the gauntness of his cheekbones you briefly wonder if he's been eating properly. He always did forget when you weren't around to remind him.
You suck in a breath to give you strength. "There must be one that you like."
His lips purse and he disgruntledly goes back to scrolling again, clicking on a couple titles that draw his interest. You and Jimin let out simultaneous sighs of relief.
"What's this?" Namjoon's eyes narrow as he presses play on a track that sends you flying forward, heart in your mouth and colour leaving your face as a song plays that you swore to never show to anyone.
Yoongi's song. The one you wrote after that night in his studio. Probably the best song you had ever written.
"That's not — I was supposed to delete that one." The heat in your cheeks as you push him aside roughly to wrestle with the pause button has you hiding behind your hair, as if he would somehow know this wasn't just an ordinary song. That it was a song about his enemy, for god's sake.
Namjoon's slaps you away from the computer, head bobbing to the beat and you fall back into your seat in defeat, fingers crossed behind your back that he would hate it as much as the others.
"I love it."
Oh no.
"This is the one!"
Shit shit shit!
"A-are you sure?" You're rambling now, words slipping out way too fast and Jimin seems puzzled at your lack of elation at Namjoon's decisiveness. "I'm sure I could write something much better if you just give me some more time—"
Namjoon's arms pull you into a tight embrace before you can finish, your nose ending up smushed against his chest as he practically vibrates with excitement. Your body goes stiff, hands dangling at your sides awkwardly. Considering Namjoon's coldness towards you as of late his sudden display of affection takes you by surprise. Mostly because despite your physical closeness it only makes you feel even more distant from your brother.
A sigh of relief escapes when he finally sets you free, only to be replaced with pure horror as you watch him stick a USB drive into the computer and load up the song before sliding it in his back pocket with a grin while you have no choice but to stand there helplessly.
"I'm totally gonna win!" His change in attitude is abrupt but seems to soothe Jimin who nods enthusiastically. You feel sick. "I can't wait to see the look on Yoongi's face when he hears this shit."
The smirk on his face washes you with dread. If only he knew.
Yoongi was right. Secrets always find a way to come and bite you in the ass.
--
Every rap of your knuckles against the run down studio door seems to echo ominously through the alley like an omen.
"Y/N?"
As soon as the bolt wrangles across and the wooden panel flies open to reveal a disgruntled Yoongi, a warmth seems to thaw through the icy evening chill that, along with your nerves, is making your knees knock together.
His chest is warm against your cheek when he pulls you into his arms, the smell of cologne and black coffee consuming your senses. It's enough to make your tense limbs fall slack, curling into his firm frame instinctively. Finally. You can breathe again.
"Hey." He mumbles sweetly against your temple, a trace of a smile in his voice like he was happy to see you. You silently wonder if he'll still be so happy once he hears what you have to say.
The studio is basked in darkness, the contours of his face barely visible in the blue glow emanating from his desktop monitor. There's a dent in the cushion of the adjacent chair, Yoongi's hair sticking up at the back where the pair of headphones slung around his neck had sat moments ago.
"I can go if you were working, wouldn't want to interrupt." As the words are leaving your lips you cross your fingers, selfishly hopeful that he would send you away and you could avoid the conversation that was about to follow. Blame it all on circumstance, leave saying that you at least tried.
But that would be keeping a secret. It would make you just as bad as the rest. And the thought of him finding out from someone else was enough to make your palms sweat and enough to keep your feet planted against the carpet determinedly.
Yoongi's hands find you like he can't bare to keep them away, dragging you across the threshold without hesitation. "S'fine. Work better with you here anyway." He smiles and you try to return it but your lips are pressed into a permanent line, like they're scared the daunting words you have to say will come spilling out before you were ready -- if you ever would be ready. As you slump into a chair and watch him wheel another one around to face you with his arms slung lazily over the back, you realise there is no going back.
Considering the countdown to Mic Drop was nearing its end, less than twenty four hours to go before Yoongi would be stood opposite Namjoon on stage in front of thousands, he looked the epitome of relaxation, unlike the nerves in your chest making you jitter.
"Jin's on his way with takeout, I would've asked him to get more if I knew you were coming but I'm sure we can share— babe, are you alright?"
Babe. The endearment had started slipping from his lips frequently recently. At first he tried to cover it up with nervous laughter but now he was brazen, enjoying the way the word tasted on his tongue. It would be so easy to force a smile, to push "the right thing" to the back of your mind and let the selfish part of your heart accept his affections, even knowing you're about to hurt him.
But the clock ticking away on the wall sounds deafening with every beat of silence that follows, twisting the rings on your fingers until you could no longer distinguish the sound from the sinister thrum of your heart.
You can't hold it in any more.
"I need to tell you something." It comes out a hoarse whisper, nearly unintelligible beneath the stream of hip hop from the hifi system in the corner.
"What is it?" Yoongi's concerned eyes never leave you as he reaches over to switch it off, the room now draped in a shroud of quiet. The reality of the situation seeps into every dark corner and right into your bones.
"It's about us. Kind of."
Yoongi rolls closer, stopping your teeth from nibbling your cuticles by slotting his fingers between yours like a perfect puzzle piece. It seems to ground you, like you're filled with helium and he's the weight stopping your feet from floating off the ground. For a second you think everything will be okay. Nothing, not even this betrayal, could come between what you had.
"Did Namjoon find out?" Even in the dim light you see the panic stricken raise of his brows. When your head shakes in a violent negative they smooth back down, relieved, as if nothing you could say next would be worse than that. No matter how hard you try to meet his eyes you can't.
His hand squeezes gently then. You muster up the courage to squeeze back. Perhaps it would soften the blow that was about to follow.
"His song. The one I wrote for Mic Drop...it's about you. I thought you should know. Before you hear it for yourself."
Nothing but an immeasurable silence followed. "Oh."
Yoongi is unreadable, almost as if he didn't hear the words hanging like heavy storm clouds over your heads. You expected him to be angry, to shout -- even cry, maybe. Not knowing how he was feeling was even worse than any scenario you had imagined. Made you feel like you were back to square one and he was shutting you out of the window into his soul you'd worked so hard to wriggle through.
For a second you think the sudden cold against your palm is a result of the numbness coursing through your veins like you were dunked in ice water, but then you see his hand retreat to his lap, eyes wide and staring at it in disbelief like he'd been scalded.
"I...I don't understand." He sounds choked, face contorting with pain. Like it does when he wakes thrashing in the night with a bad dream. Unlike those times though, he doesn't levitate towards you for comfort, just stares at you vacantly like he's far, far away despite being physically close enough for your knees to brush.
"It was written after the first time we...y'know...here--" You glance around, convinced your mind is playing tricks when you see a vision of you in Yoongi's lap across the room, lips attached like nothing else in the world mattered. It feels far away and out of reach when the real Yoongi gets to his feet, creating a distance between you that is foreign, his form staggering across the room so that you could see the way his back tensed beneath his t-shirt when he grips the edge of his desk for support, processing.
"I don't understand."
"I was emotional. It just happened--"
"No. What I don't understand is why you're letting him perform it?" Fists send a stack of sheet music flying to the ground. His lip trembles, face red, with anger or affliction, you can't tell which.
"Yoongi--" You reach for him, fingertips barely grazing his arm before he's smacking you away with a violent shake of his head. He'd never resisted you before. Not even in the beginning.
"You expect me to just sit back and listen to Namjoon of all people rapping the lyrics my girlfr-- that you wrote dissing me? This has to be a fucking joke."
"It's not that kind of track!" You hug your body pitifully. It's the only thing you can do to stop yourself from falling apart as his mouth spits a venom that makes your heart shatter. His eyes fill with one thing. Betrayal. "I'm sorry. I just...I can't keep choosing between you anymore, Yoongi. He's my brother."
"And what am I, huh?"
Every second that passes, every stutter or attempt at explanation that leaves your mouth makes Yoongi crumple. You see it in the way his adam's apple bobs, how his shoulders slacken.
For some reason you can't open up. Tell him he means more to you than anyone ever had. That you thought your heart might really break and bleed out on the carpet if he didn't feel the same way.
Instead you settle for, "Why are you so mad? It's my job! I had no choice."
Without warning he's rushing at you, trembling palms capturing your face and pressing his forehead to yours. His breaths shake, chest heaving as he battles internally with the words flying from his lips like a ghostly breath across yours.
"Because I fucking love you, Y/N! Can't you see it? I fucking love you and your bastard of a brother always finds a way to ruin things between us!"
His admission stuns you, the tears welling in your eyes spilling over in a silent stream down your cheeks.
He loves you. He loves you.
"Yoongi--" Words just won't come. Nothing feels right.
Because you love him too. It had taken you this long to admit it to yourself but it was clear now. Every breath, every beat of your heart, every fucking song you would ever write was for him. It scared you before but now, stood here in front of him, you know it's true.
Something hopeless niggles at the back of your head, stops you from spilling everything to him. If he loves you, how can he expect you to choose?
If words couldn't make him see the truth then you'd just have to show him the only way you knew how. Straight from your heart.
You're crying as you dig around in the bottom of your bag to retrieve a USB, pressing it into his curled fist firmly and begging him with your eyes to understand. "Just listen to the song. Please. It'll explain everything. I promise."
You begin to back up and his hand shoots out to stop you, pulling you roughly into his chest which only makes you cry harder, tears creating a wet patch on his T-shirt.
"Please don't leave me. Not again." It's a fragile whisper.
It's all too much.
"I can't choose any longer, Yoongi. This has to end."
With one last look at his crumpled face you flee from his studio with eyes just as watery as the first time you'd walked down this very alley. Except this time it takes all of your strength to resist running back into his arms.
Yoongi can only stand there and watch you go, the USB hot against his hand.
This has to end. The words make his chest burn and he hates it. Hates feeling weak. You always make him feel so fucking weak.
If he can't have you then he had no choice but to do everything in his power to make sure he got the next best thing.
Suddenly it all seemed clear. Yoongi knew what he had to do.
--
The arena is almost desolate when you creep inside.
Just a sea of empty seats stretching out from both sides of you where you sit in one of the stands, nibbling the skin around your thumb and watching Namjoon pace the stage below.
It's gone midnight by now. Most of the crew went home hours ago. Not Namjoon though. He stayed to practice some more. Said he couldn't get the choreography quite right.
You tried going home but you couldn't get the fight out of your head. Everything reminded you of Yoongi and your thoughts started to wander. Did he hate you? Was he listening to the song right now? Why hasn't he called? Why is your own bed not as comfy as the one you shared with Yoongi?
It all got too much eventually. Something told you that you weren't welcome at the apartment so you ended up heading towards the only other place you knew, surprised to find your brother had the same idea.
A single spotlight illuminates the stage as Namjoon twists his body in time with the one, two, three, four he unconsciously mumbles under his breath, face contorted with a stark concentration that flits to impatience when his foot slips and he misses the beat. Again. It just about sends him over the edge.
"I can't do this anymore!" A microphone squeals and hits the ground with a thump. It reverberates through the arena, your hands flying to your ears as you watch Namjoon let loose all his anger on an innocent amp stand before collapsing into a heap at the edge of the stage. "Fuck this shit!"
You're flying down the stairs to his aid before he can do any serious damage to the stage equipment — or worse, to himself.
Namjoon scoffs when he hears the stage creak under your feet. "Nice of you to show up."
It stings. You snap.
"What happened to you, Namjoon?" You look at his sunken cheekbones, his curled fists, the blackness behind his eyes. "I don't even recognise you anymore."
He just sniffs and says nothing. The distance between you feels bigger than ever.
"Can I tell you a secret?"
A secret? Since when did Namjoon abide by a policy of honesty?
He takes your shocked silence as a yes.
"I'm calling first thing and dropping out of the competition."
Your world stutters to a standstill, breath knocked out of your lungs.
Dropping out?
"Shit Joon...if this is about Yoongi—"
He waves you off. "No. This is about me."
You can't breathe. This can't be real. "I don't understand..."
"I've made up my mind. I can't do this any more. I used to love being up here you know?"
You follow his gaze, out over the empty arena. The last time you were here every seat was filled. You were down there, part of the crowd, packed into the cramped space with barely enough room to breathe.
Imagining how it must feel to be up here comes easy. If you close your eyes you can hear the screams, feel the body heat. Smell the sweat and the anticipation. See thousand faces looking up in awe. At you. It makes your blood run hot.
You much prefer being up here, you decide.
Namjoon brings you back down. "Now it just feels like a chore. I look out and all I see is disappointed faces. I can't pretend for them anymore."
"People travel miles to see you Joon! No one is disappointed."
"Not the fans. They love me. Well, Runch Randa, at least." He cracks a half smile. "It's me whose disappointed. In Kim Namjoon."
You always thought your brother was sure of himself. He's cocky, confident and above all fearless. It's his biggest strength (and his most irritating quality sometimes) but it's what you always admired most about him.
Clearly you didn't know your brother as well as you thought you did.
You bite your lip. "Why?"
He turns to face you, leaning back into his arms while he searches for the right words and, little to your knowledge, gathers the courage to confide in you.
"Because I re-entered Mic Drop for all the wrong reasons. I just wanted to prove myself, you know? Win for real this time, not just by default." He swallows. "But then I saw Yoongi perform. And to be honest? I saw you. I saw how much you care about the music. How you come alive when you're writing lyrics or when you're in the studio." His smile is woeful. "Im supposed to feel like that. But I don't. I never did. It's like I'm always asleep, y'know?"
You did know. Every time you lifted a camera. Every time you pressed the shutter and snapped another shot of Namjoon on stage you felt your soul grow exhausted.
It makes the distance between you and Namjoon close a little. For once you understand each other and you don't have to hide how you feel any more.
"I can't stop thinking that it's your name the fans should be screaming. Not mine. They deserve better than me."
"But you're the best performer I know!" You rush. It always seemed like he wanted to keep you out of the spotlight at all costs. "Why now?"
He lets out a deep sigh. "I'm a selfish person, Y/N. I thought I was protecting you from... all this." He gestures around him. "The late nights and the paparazzi and the criticism and a fucking manager on your back all the time." His eye roll makes you snort, sharing a brief smile at the image of hardworking Jimin mumbling into his headset like a man posessed.
He's quickly serious again though. "Fame comes with a price. But I realize now that the price is worth it if your hearts in the right place and...what I'm trying to say, Y/N, is that mine never was."
You let your chin fall into your palm. Huh. "So that's the big secret?"
"Actually...there's something else." He shifts nervously. "I know about you and Yoongi."
You freeze, scrambling to your knees with wide eyes. "Wait, Joon, let me explain—"
"Let me finish!" Namjoon brushes you off with a breathless laugh, nodding to himself, as if finally coming to a solid conclusion about coming clean when his eyes meet yours. "He's in love with you."
This time it feels like the whole world goes into overdrive. You forget how to breathe.
"What...how...huh?"
It's Namjoon's palm squeezing your knee reassuringly that brings you back down.
"He always was. Even back before things got messed up." A deep breath. Something was coming, you could tell by the way his eye twitched nervously. "That's why me and Yoongi fought. That's why I...I lied and said that I wrote the song the night of the Mic Drop final...accused him of plagiarism—" Your mouth gapes. "I know! I know. Don't look at me like that. I can see the irony."
It all makes sense now. She's a part of this, Namjoon, whether you like it or not.
The reason Namjoon sacrificed his best friend wasn't for fame but for your sake?
You want to fly at your brother, scream at him for keeping this from you for so long. For turning you against Yoongi. For keeping you from the only person to make you feel safe. Feel Happy.
But his eyes are void of anything other than regret and you can tell his betrayal had been playing on his mind all these years.
"Point is, I didn't want you to get hurt." He shuffles awkwardly, not knowing what to do with your silence. "That's not an excuse, I know. Do you hate me?"
"No." Your voice sounds small. His chest heaves with relief. "I just wish you had been honest with me before. Saved us a ton of trouble."
"I thought I was doing the right thing. But I was a shitty brother in the end anyway."
It's strange. Even after all the fights and the resentment and the goddamn secrets, you don't think Namjoon is a shitty brother. Sure, his actions and intentions were shitty there was no denying it. But now it's like the puzzle pieces finally click into place and the full photograph comes into view, crystal clear.
All this time, he just wanted to protect you, when you should have been protecting him. He was hurting too, you just never knew it.
"It's not too late, Joon. Just be happy for me okay? I think..." If Namjoon plucked up the courage to tell you his secrets then it was only fair that you did too. "I love him too."
A pinkish tinge caresses your face when you finally admit it, both out loud and to yourself.
You love Yoongi. And now all the cards are on the table there's nothing holding you back from it.
Now you just need to tell Yoongi.
"I know. You think I don't know who that song is about?" The grin that spreads across Namjoon's features is sincere."And I am. Happy for you, I mean."
Now the truth is out in the open it feels like your wounds are already beginning to heal. You place your hand over his and squeeze it tight. It was time to forgive.
A thought suddenly strikes you. "So what are you gonna do now?
Namjoon fumbles in the back pocket of his jeans, thrusting something towards you. A polaroid picture. The same photo you'd seen at Yoongi's studio.
He kept it, too?
"This kid." His finger jabs at the innocent face of a younger Namjoon, arm wrapped around the shoulders of his best friend. "I didn't get enough time to live as him before I became Runch Randa. I think it's time to just live as Namjoon for a while."
"But what about Big Hit? It'll fall apart and mom and dad will kill you—"
"No it won't. They have you. I already talked to them, in fact. There's a stage with your name on it right here." He pats the ground. "If you want it, that is."
You blink, stunned. You? "I...I don't know if I can."
"I believe in you." Namjoon says. "And I'll be cheering you on from the front row."
You'd have to think about it long and hard but you can't help the grin that appears on your face. Things were going to be okay.
An urge rises in your chest to tell Yoongi this news. To see the way his face would light up as you started the journey to following your own dreams, like he always said you should.
You and Yoongi were going to be okay.
"Hey! Maybe I should try photography now I have some free time." Namjoon tugs at the camera strap around your neck, lifting his eye to the viewfinder and laughing when you cover the lens with your hands. "Damn I'm kinda good!"
You bump his shoulder teasingly, the belly laughter that spills into the arena feeling like the most natural thing in the world.
You're only interrupted by approaching footsteps. Jimin bursts into the arena.
"Namjoon," he pants. "I have some bad news."
--
It's compulsory for all competitors to attend the crowning ceremony. Even those who get disqualified.
RUNCH RANDA BLACKLISTED FROM COMPETING IN FUTURE HIP HOP COMPETITIONS AFTER PLAGIARISM SCANDAL SURFACES.
Just one of the devastating headlines that hit the media after the judges panel received an anonymous tip in the form of a USB stick that exposed Namjoon once and for all. The same USB that you pressed into Yoongi's hands just hours before Namjoon's disqualification.
RAPPER GLOSS TO SNATCH MIC DROP TROPHY IN SHOCKING REVENGE FOR HIS BRUTAL DEFEAT.
Namjoon reads it aloud in the back of the car. He laughs at the end but it does nothing to lighten the mood.
The windows are tinted but you can still see the hoards of fans lining the streets, eyes steeped in betrayal.
You should hear the way they boo as your brother drives past. You should hear the way they chant his name instead.
Yoongi! Yoongi! Yoongi!
But you don't. You don't hear anything. You don't feel anything. All you can think of is the same three words, throbbing in your chest over and over again.
I love you.
Did he mean them at all?
"Y/N? Did you hear me?"
"Hm?" You look up. Namjoon's staring at you with concern.
"Your phone's ringing again."
It's no surprise when you pull out your phone and see a contact picture of yourself and Yoongi gracing the screen. He's been calling all morning. It takes every strength inside you to tap the red decline button.
"Aren't you gonna talk to him?"
Another call lights up the screen.
"Not like this."
With trembling fingers you shut your phone off all together.
--
Paparazzi cameras flash brazenly as you step out of the black company car, following Namjoon with your hood pulled tightly round your face. A hoard of body guards usher you through a back door to the arena. The main entrance is reserved for notable guests only, you learn.
While Namjoon's presence usually makes the room buzz with an electric energy, there's no excitement when he enters now. An awkward hush falls like a shroud as he elbows his way past pitiful stares. It's like someone died. In a way it's true; there's no trace of Runch Randa in Namjoon's hunched stance. Here, the dead still walks for everyone to see.
Jimin's waiting by the stage door. No words are exchanged as he slips passes into your hands. Namjoon's has a big red strike through the word TALENT, "guest" scribbled all too generously below it to match your own.
It's nearing show time. They're just waiting for you to take your seats, Jimin says, though you barely hear him. You're too busy imagining what you would do if you bumped into him right now, heart pounding whenever you catch a glimpse of blue or hear a laugh you're convinced you recognise.
Deep down you know exactly where you have to go to find him. To find Yoongi.
"I'll join you in a second, okay?"
Namjoon looks nervous, the first time you've ever seen him with such a severe case of the jitters. His smile is empty when you rub his forearm reassuringly. "Don't be too long. If I'm gonna do this I want you by my side."
You manage a smile. "Always."
With that, Namjoon takes a deep breath and pushes out into the life of the arena and you find your feet numbly carrying you down back corridors you know by heart until you reach his dressing room.
Your heart is blind, you think. Even now the shattered fragments ache for him, beat a little faster knowing he's just behind this door.
Why can't you go back to hating him, just like you did before? Deep down you know it's because you never really hated Yoongi. You don't think you ever could.
Forgiving him, though? Some wounds never heal, no matter how badly you want them to.
You pause outside the door. The stupid gold star that used to be there has been scraped off, replaced with a new name tag. Gloss. You put your ear to the wood. Nothing.
A deep breath and you find the handle. Should you burst in and give him a piece of your mind? Knock and enter politely? You can't help but scoff. Shouldn't he be the one coming to find you?
He calls your name before you can do either.
"Y/N?"
Fuck. Is hearing his voice supposed to hurt this bad?
You don't know what you're expecting when you turn around. Something different about him perhaps. A sign that he isn't the person you had grown to know. Grown to love.
But there he is. All messy blue hair and bitten lips and eyes a little red around the edges. Your Yoongi.
Your arms curl around your body like a band aid, holding you together. You can't crumble. Not now.
He looks stony but his eyes flicker with tender remorse when he sees the tears staining your cheeks.
His hands reach for you instinctively. The same hands that make love to his piano in the shitty apartment above the coffee shop. The same hands that could make you fall apart with even a delicate touch. You want to run into them so bad it hurts. But now they're stained red with betrayal and he chokes when you recoil.
Seconds feel like hours as you just stand there taking each other in like it's been years. It's only been a day or two. Maybe three? You can't remember. They all rolled into one meaningless blur of angry tears and insomnia.
You had a whole speech prepared for the moment you finally faced him again. But there are no words that feel right. You just need to know. If he meant every touch and every inside joke and those three words that make your heart soar despite how badly you want to hate him. And there's only one way to find out.
"Why did you do it?"
Your voice sounds timid and scared, like you feel. He winces.
"Y/N, let me explain—"
"Explain what?" Your voice raises shakily."How you lied to me? How you used me?"
He rushes towards you and it takes all of your strength to draw back, especially when his eyes look so frantic, so desperate. Like he's having one of his nightmares. It tugs at your heart because this time the nightmare is real and you're living in it.
"It's not like that—"
"Did you ever even want me? What about all that fair and square bullshit you told me huh?"
"Of course I wanted you Y/N...want you." His eyes fill with pain. "This wasn't meant to happen. I know how this looks but I just panicked!"
You rush at him, fists curled like that day in his studio except this time he doesn't stop you when you start hitting his chest, vision blurry.
"He was going to pull out! Namjoon was going to let you win! So that I could -- we could be happy!"
"What I...I don't understand?" His mouth gapes, processing. "But you didn't..." He swallows, like remembering is painful. "When I confessed, you didn't say it back. I thought we were over! I thought I had nothing to lose, Y/N. He had already won..."
You remember your words. I can't do this anymore. A misunderstanding that would never have happened if he just—
"Did you even listen to the song?"
His face drops at the mention of the song. "No." He looks like he might cry. "I was angry! I...I acted impulsively. I never got the chance..."
You bared your soul in that song in ways you never thought you could. He wasn't supposed to find out how you felt about him this way. Not here, when you're falling apart and there's nothing you can do to stop it. But it all comes tumbling out before you can change your mind.
"I wrote that song because I love you, Yoongi!"
Silence. He has to grip the wall to steady himself.
"Y-you love me?"
"I love you." The words feel indulgent on your tongue and even now as they hang heavy in the air and you're overcome with an indescribable combination of grief and longing, you mean them with every bone in your body.
You rush at him. You can't help it. Can't resist how your head falls into his chest and how you cry harder when you breathe in his scent one last time, sobs muffled by his hoodie. But he hears them, you know he does, because his hands are trembling when they pull you closer like you're fragile enough to break.
"I love you. So fucking much it hurts, Yoongi."
You're weak. You're so so weak.
You don't know why you do it but you grab his face with both hands and then you're kissing him. Showing him how much you need him, how much you mean your words. His hand cups your jaw like always and his lips press back with a tender desperation and you believe him. You believe that he loves you. Whole and true. Because in that moment, with his lips on yours, everything is okay. He's your Yoongi and you're his Y/N and he loves you.
But then you pull back and he's crying too and everything's broken and your heart goes numb.
"I'm sorry. God, Y/N I'm so sorry. If I could take it back I promise I would."
You muster up all the strength you can. You know what you have to do.
"I'm giving you a choice, Yoongi. You go out on that stage and pick up that trophy and we're over. For real."
He tries to kiss you again, grabbing at you frantically when you turn your cheek.
"Y/N, don't do this. We love each other. That's all that matters right?" He musters up the closest thing to a smile he can manage, like he's convincing himself more than he is you. "You don't have to—"
"No." You pull away from grip. It feels cold and wrong. "I have to do this. If you love me like you say you'll...you'll understand."
You turn but he grabs your wrist, pins you in place.
"I can't lose you to him again, Y/N. I...I already lost you once and I don't think I..."
The hard faced Min Yoongi you once knew is gone. All that's left is the vulnerable man in front of you who holds your heart in your hands with a grip so tight it scares you.
"He can't win...please."
You suck in a final breath.
"Please what? Don't make you choose between me and that stupid fucking trophy? You did this to yourself, Yoongi." You turn and this time he lets you. "The only person pushing me away is you."
"Y/N please, wait!"
You don't dare turn to look at him as you walk away. Not even when he pleads or you hear him fall to his knees, a strangled sob echoing down the hall. You're scared you might run back to him if you do.
You don't let yourself break down until you turn the corner. Yoongi doesn't follow.
--
"I'm okay." You assure Namjoon as you take a seat beside him inside the arena. It's a lie, of course. No amount of cold water splashed on your face in the bathroom could prepare you for this moment.
You're just in time. The ceremony is already starting. The host is taking the stage and the lights are dimming but you're too numb to care.
You go out on that stage and pick up that trophy and we're over.
Your decision is final. There's no going back. You've cried all your tears. You've said all that needed to be said. All you're left with now is a sickly feeling in your stomach as you look down at the trophy sat in a display case center stage.
We love each other. A slither of hope tugs at your heart strings. You barely manage to suppress it.
"Sorry! Excuse me!" The empty seat to your left sinks under the weight of Hoseok as he clumsily stumbles into the arena, late as always.
He offers you a smile which turns to a frown when you only stare past him vacantly, straining your neck to keep an eye on the stage.
A hand covers yours. You freeze at the contact, only relaxing when you peer through the darkness to find Hoseok staring at you gently. His voice is a whisper. "Whatever happens I'm here for you, okay?"
A wave of emotion crashes through you and you think you might cry again. You can't make your lips sound out a response but Hoseok understands and you feel a little stronger when you turn your attention back to the ceremony knowing you have someone by your side.
"As you all know there have been some...complications with this year's finalists." The host coughs and fiddles with his tie awkwardly. "But we are glad to announce that we do in fact have a winner here with us today!"
The crowd chants Yoongi's name again. Namjoon stiffens. Your free hand grabs his and he squeezes it tight.
"So without further ado, I would like to welcome this year's winner, Gloss!"
The crowd goes wild but the sound is drowned out by a ringing in your ears. It's like you're underwater, holding your breath as you wait and wait for him to take the stage and all the oxygen to slip away.
One...two...three...
You get to ten seconds, then twenty seconds and then thirty and by the time you get to forty you feel yourself break the surface, take a heaving breath.
You're floating. He chose you.
He loves you! Yoongi loves you! He—
No.
You're seeing things. You must be. That can't be Yoongi's face lighting up every screen in the room. That can't be him crossing the stage and taking the trophy from the hands of the host with a smug grin.
That can't be Yoongi holding it up in the air like a martyr.
That can't be your Yoongi. This is a stranger.
You crash back to reality when Namjoon wraps his arms around your waist and you realise your sobbing. Sobbing so hard it hurts your chest and your lungs burn with misuse and you're sure the tears will never stop.
"It's okay! Shh."
Nothing is okay. Nothing.
Yoongi's face is still blown up on the big screens in painful detail. The smile on his face falters when he looks out into the crowd and spots you instantly. Sees you crumple.
There are two things Min Yoongi ever loved in this world.
His music and you.
The trophy feels cold in his hands. The crowd gasps as he rushes to the edge of the stage and calls out to you.
"Y/N wait! I'm sorry—"
You hear his voice through the speakers but it's too late. You're already running.
Yoongi's mic drops to the ground.
--
Yoongi's nightmares are back. Except this time they're different.
When he closes his eyes you're there. Smiling and laughing like you used to. His heart warms and he reaches for you...
And then he realises it's not you. Just a picture, blown up on the big screen as you cross the stage at the front of the room he's suddenly aware he's in.
He glances around at the indistinguishable people around him, all smiling and clapping ferociously. Why isn't he happy?
The bottle in his hand is half empty. He's realises he's screaming. So hard his throat burns and his lungs beg for air but you don't even look his way. He screams your name, over and over again. Nobody seems to hear him.
Namjoon's there too. Bouncing a baby on his knee, maybe one or two years old if he has to guess.
"That'll be you one day," He whispers, but its deafening to Yoongi. "Only the very best for my niece." The baby giggles up at him, stubby fingers wrapped around his thumb.
She has your eyes. The very same eyes Yoongi would look into like they held everything in the world. The very same eyes Yoongi saw fill with pain on the last day he saw you before things got messed up.
She has Hoseok's nose. And his mouth, too, small and heart shaped. The resemblance is uncanny as Hoseok appears beside Namjoon, takes the baby girl into his arms and places a sweet kiss on her forehead.
Then there you are. The same old Y/N. The same smile that makes your eyes crinkle and the same laughter than makes his heart melt. The same girl who used to love him.
Though it's clear that that much is no longer true. Not when you lean up to kiss Hoseok on the cheek, Namjoon drawing you into a hug when you present the trophy in your hands to them with an elated laugh.
A family.
It feels like he's been punched in the stomach.
Yoongi always thought winning Mic Drop would mean he had everything. Fame. Money. Glory.
He didn't need family. He always got by on his own.
It took holding the whole world in the palm of his hand to realise none of it meant anything if he didn't have you by his side.
You were his everything. But he was too stupid to see it and he let you slip away.
It's too late now.
A hand appears on his shoulder. It's cold, grip bruising. The voice that comes next gives him chills every single time.
"So was it worth it?" Namjoon asks.
Yoongi tries to answer but his vision is blurred with hot tears now and he's on his hands and knees and he's screaming.
And when he wakes up at ass o clock, sweaty and gasping for air, he still finds himself reaching for your warmth beside him.
But all his fingers find are cold sheets and bitterness.
extended a/n: okay so if you have reached this far then you are a TROOPER. a trooper who i love and appreciate endlessly for reading 30k of my waffle lmao im so sorry <3 ksksksk so this fic has been in my head for the longest time and in my drafts for almost five months so im super attached to it and putting this out is like the scariest ever?? i really put my heart into this piece, like y’all don’t understand how many times it’s cropped up in my dreams and I’ve woken up like MUST WRITE. it’s far from perfect but i tried my best!! i can’t tell you how many scenes had to be rewritten until i was happy enough with them bc this fic is literally my baby in every sense of the word and i wanted to get it right :( although that just made the ending even more SOUL DESTROYING to write for me ugh i had the ending set in my mind before i even started writing but there were moments where i jus wanted yoongi and oc to be happy ever after :( but alas, I feel like this ending was far more realistic for them and i couldn’t go against my gut sigh. there may be a few drabbles planned in the future tho to make up for the angst :) Anyway!!! I’ll stop rambling. Thank you for reading this far, if anyone has. TROOPER. love you <3
updated 12/01/19: drabble #1 | drabble #2 | drabble #3
#ksmutclub#bts#bts smut#yoongi smut#yoongi fanfiction#yoongi imagine#btswriterscollective#btsguild#kwordsmiths#thebtstown#yoonkooknetwork#yoongi scenario#my writing#fic: mic drop#love yourself collab
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15 Best PlayStation One RPGs Ever Made
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In our look at the best Super Nintendo RPGs ever, we mentioned that the SNES is arguably the greatest RPG console in video game history. Well, if there is a console that makes that discussion an argument, it would have to be the PlayStation One.
With a lot of help from Square, Sony quickly established the PlayStation as not just the home of incredible RPG experiences but as a console that was capable of effectively convincing people who previously had no real interest in RPGs that they absolutely needed to devote 50+ hours of their life to the next gaming epic. That sudden rise in genre popularity inspired some of the industry’s greatest RPG developers to try to outdo each other creatively and commercially.
The result was a classic collection of role-playing experiences that still rank comfortably among the absolute best ever made. With due respect to the 20+ other games that deserve to be on this list, these are the 15 best PS1 RPGs ever made.
15. The Legend of Dragoon
The Legend of Dragoon’s legacy has only grown since the game’s late 1999 release, and it’s not hard to see why. While this game was initially criticized for not living up to the standards of some of the other PS1 RPGs we’ll soon be talking about, time has been kind to the various things this game does so very well.
The Legend of Dragoon makes up for its slow story with an incredible combat system that emphasizes an almost QTE-like mechanic that helps ensure you’re rarely simply watching a battle play out. This RPG’s character transformation mechanic is also one of those brilliant gameplay concepts that should have been copied many times since this game’s release. There’s also always been something special about the fact that Legend of Dragoon‘s ambitious CGI cutscenes ensured this epic spanned four PS1 discs.
14. Wild Arms
Wild Arms is another one of those PS1 RPGs that were initially overshadowed by some of the all-time classic games it had to compete against, but the thing that stood out about this title at the time is the thing that still makes Wild Arms special to this day: its style.
Wild Arms‘ blend of sci-fi, fantasy, and western design concepts shouldn’t work nearly as well as it does here. Developer Media.Vision deserves a lot of credit for ensuring this game’s ambitious world always felt cohesive and for finding some truly clever ways to subvert genre expectations through this title’s approach to exploration, combat, and puzzles.
13. Breath of Fire III
The Breath Of Fire III vs. Breath of Fire IV debate will likely not be settled here, but the third entry in this series ultimately gets my nod due to the ways it so clearly raised the bar for this franchise and its genre competition.
Breath of the Fire III’s 3D visuals and voice acting helped sell this game’s engaging story, while the game’s combat and wonderful cast of characters ensured you were constantly engaged and ready to see where this absolute gem was going to take you next.
12. Front Mission 3
Front Mission 3 rewards players willing to put the time into its fairly complex mechanics and deep storyline with one of the best tactical RPGs of the era and one of the best mech games ever made.
This game is rightfully remembered for its customization options and often punishing tactical gameplay but I don’t know if it gets enough love for its faction-driven narrative and the ways its visuals convey epic mech battles without relying on more traditional action gameplay.
11. Castlevania: Symphony of the Night
The only reason this all-time great game isn’t higher on the particular list is that there are just other PS1 RPGs that better represent the genre and the kind of epic experiences we think of when we think of one of the best RPG platforms ever.
Having said that, the way that Symphony of the Night incorporated RPG elements not only changed the franchise forever but eventually helped inspire developers everywhere to enhance their own action titles by utilizing role-playing mechanics. This is still one of the best blends of role-playing and action/adventure ever made.
10. Valkyrie Profile
Long before God of War took us on a journey through Norse mythology, Valkyrie Profile caught many PS1 gamers by surprise with its unique blend of Japanese design and a Norse narrative that tasks you with assembling the perfect party of heroes to assist you through Ragnarok.
Valkyrie Profile‘s true calling card, though, is its turn-based combat system that essentially assigns a button to each character in your party. Getting the most out of your party of heroes requires you to successfully assign each character the right actions at the right time in order to unleash powerful combo attacks. It’s complex, original, and a whole lot of fun.
9. Lunar: Silver Star Story Complete
Lunar: Silver Star Story Complete may have started off as a Sega Saturn title, but it’s hard not to ultimately remember this as a PS1 game due to the many ways that Sony’s first console allowed Lunar’s developers to share their full vision for this classic.
It’s true that Lunar is an “old-school” JRPG in a lot of ways that might turn some people off, but when level grinding, party management, and methodical turn-based gameplay are done this well, it’s hard not to see this as one of the ultimate genre comfort zones.
8. Star Ocean: The Second Story
It’s hard to talk about Star Ocean without eventually getting around to the fact that it has almost 90 possible endings, so let’s not bury the lede. What’s even more impressive than the game’s number of possible endings, though, is the fact that many of those endings are clever, logical, and, in their own ways, complete.
Really, though, this game’s incredible number of possible conclusions just highlights the various ways this sci-fi/fantasy title makes you feel like every action you do truly matters and that anything can happen. I also have to pay respect to this game’s brilliant “private action” system: a unique mechanic that allows your party members to have their own adventures that ultimately contributes to some of the best sidequests in RPG history.
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7. Xenogears
Xenogears features a fascinating blend of styles and mechanics that is quite appropriate considering the details of this game’s complicated development history (it started off as a pitch for Final Fantasy VII before briefly being designed as a Chrono Trigger sequel). Admittedly, there are times when you can tell this game is trying to find its creative voice and gameplay footing.
Yet, all the concepts this RPG touches upon ultimately come together to form something wonderful and memorable. It features one of the best ATB combat systems ever, a complex and creative story, a lot of heart, great visuals, and a truly incredible soundtrack. Sure, the game struggles a bit in the second half, but it’s easy enough to overlook those shortcomings as the byproduct of ambition.
6. Final Fantasy VII
Final Fantasy VII should be a victim of its own success. After all these years, all the praise, and all of the discussions, you would think we’d be at the point where the dreaded term “overrated” might linger just above this game’s legacy.
That’s not the case, though. Maybe Final Fantasy VII was eventually surpassed, but it’s truly tragic to imagine what RPG gaming in the ‘90s and early 2000s would have been like if it wasn’t for this game. It alerted millions to the fact they loved video game RPGs, and it did it without sacrificing depth, quality, heart, or ambition.
5. Final Fantasy Tactics
Considered by many at the time to be the best tactical RPG ever made, it has to be said that the most impressive thing about Final Fantasy Tactics is the fact that it’s still difficult to argue against this game’s claim to that title nearly 24 years after its release.
Final Fantasy Tactics‘ surprisingly accessible (yet still deep and rewarding) gameplay perfectly complements its colorful visuals, engaging character, and surprising story. I don’t know if it’s the best tactical RPG ever made, but it may always be seen as the standard in the eyes of many.
4. Vagrant Story
It feels like people have been waiting for Vagrant Story to get the love it deserves ever since the game was released in 2000. While Vagrant Story absolutely has a cult following, it seems pretty clear at this point that it’s just never going to reach that level. It’s too difficult, too different, and it will probably never get the remaster it deserves.
However, those who have played Vagrant Story know it was Square’s most mechanically ambitious and unique PlayStation RPG. From its stunning visuals to its deep combat and mature narrative, Vagrant Story has honestly aged better than all but a few of the games of this era. A game this different and innovative shouldn’t feel as complete and confident as it does.
3. Chrono Cross
From the moment Chrono Cross was released, it feels like the first line about this game has been that it disappointed those who were expecting a direct follow-up to Chrono Trigger. Even when we learned that the Chrono Cross team never really saw this as a Chrono Trigger sequel, Chrono Cross still lived in the shadow of its all-time great predecessor.
Maybe there are ways that Chrono Cross would have been better off sticking closer to that SNES classic, but even at the time of its somewhat controversial release, many praised Chrono Cross for its innovative combat, weird and wonderful story, large cast of characters, music, visuals, and commitment to defying expectations at every turn. This shouldn’t be your first PS1 RPG, but it might be the one you end up remembering most fondly.
2. Final Fantasy IX
Final Fantasy IX was essentially Square’s PS1 swan song. While the title’s return to the medieval fantasy style of classic FF games highlights the studio’s jovial mood at the time, the fact is that many people wondered if Square could recover from the controversial Final Fantasy VIII and produce an RPG that effectively ended their unbelievable run of hits in style.
The fact they managed to do just that is an accomplishment that should never be overlooked. To this day, I struggle to think of even a handful of RPGs that challenge Final Fantasy IX’s charm, humor, and cast of characters while still providing a role-playing adventure that will feel rewarding to veterans and newcomers alike. This is an across-the-board triumph that delights and impresses in equal measure.
1. Suikoden II
Suikoden II was pretty much “doomed to fail” from the start. It was released in the wake of Final Fantasy VIII’s massive debut, wasn’t widely distributed, and featured “retro” graphics that initially turned quite a few people off at the time of cinematic PS1 visuals. It didn’t help that its predecessor was a very good, but not great, RPG that also failed to find a wide audience.
Yet, Suikoden II is quite simply one of the best games ever made regardless of genre. I would love to tell you about its nuanced and deep politically-driven narrative, varied combat system, minigames, world-building elements, and score, but how long can you really talk about Suikoden II without getting around to its cast of over 100 recruitable characters and the ways Konami managed to make each and every one of them (as well as their interactions with each other) among the best of their era?
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I wouldn’t call this a perfect game, but at the same time, I’m struggling to think of a single thing I’d change about it.
The post 15 Best PlayStation One RPGs Ever Made appeared first on Den of Geek.
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SEGA and the eternal issue of “Sonic’s girlfriend”
[Translator’s note: here is the original article written by @latin-dr-robotnik, originally written on the 18th of May 2020]
Today we’re going to talk about one of the aspects SEGA is more secretive about: Sonic’s relationships.
[Translator’s note: this article was written to celebrate Seaside Hill Paradise’s 200th entry. If you’re fluent in Spanish, I highly recommend you to check it out! And if you aren’t, go follow Latin’s Tumblr blog if you haven’t already and you’re into Sonamy, analyses, gushing about music and shitposts.]
This article concludes my Sonamy trilogy, and I recommend you to read the previous two articles: “SEGA and the eternal issue of the Sonamy dynamic” and “’I love you’ – forbidden words in Sonic”. This means this is a shipping article – if you’re not interested into another essay about the love life of a blue hedgehog, I can redirect you to other articles such as “Sonic and speed: are we misunderstanding them?” and “What went wrong with Classic Sonic’s music in Sonic Forces?”.
Everybody else, welcome to today’s article!
It should be noted that this article focuses more on the semi-official and strictly official aspects, since there is really not much to say about the fandom. Nowadays the fandom has a relatively peaceful coexistence, creating art, fanfics and more, for all kind of ships; sometimes there’s an occasional fight between ships or a ship that clearly is not appropriate… but besides that, everything seems relatively calm, at least in my experience and compared to other fandoms.
Too cool for relationships...
Few things are as mentioned and yet silenced by the official SEGA media as the fateful words “girlfriend” and “Sonic” put together. In official terms, Sonic has always been this young, cool hedgehog, with a pure love for nature and never too worried about life, but with a moral code that makes him fight against injustices. During his first years, Sonic was almost impatient and a little emotionally distant, although as it was the ‘90s and things were not so clear for the young SEGA star, different interpretations would take the character through different paths - some more radical than others. As the years went by, and going through many redesigns, certain aspects of his personality would be perfected, exaggerated, or even flanderized. His position on relationships, on the other hand, would remain relatively constant over the decades, with a few particular exceptions.
The this is that Sonic, in the words of his own creator Naoto Ohshima, has always been considered “a young man with a child's heart”, which has helped to substantiate and understand why the character would remain relatively distant from his feelings, and much closer to his own interests associated with the life of adventure.
... or is he?
Despite everything I just said, they tried in many occasions, if not succeeded, to give Sonic a girlfriend, with various results.
As carefree as Sonic is, and as much as SEGA tried to clarify this point over and over again, the people behind his character have always tried to introduce one or more relationships into his life. Even Naoto Ohshima himself has made his own suggestion as to who might be a hypothetical partner for his character. The different interpretations I’ve mentioned have tweaked Sonic’s character to make it more apt to certain types of dynamics, and the cultural gap between the East and the West (which I analyzed a few years ago with the first article of this “trilogy”) also has a considerable impact on the type of relationships that would be established for Sonic from very early in his history until today.
Author’s note: the concept of “Sonic + human woman” of 1990 wasn’t completely forgotten, no no, it was brought back 16 years later, in… well… the worst way possible.
Let’s see an example. Going back to his very origins, in his pre-Sonic 1 sketches Sonic was often depicted with a stereotypical damsel in distress, Madonna, his own “Princess Peach” that ended up being scrapped for many reasons, including the similarities with Super Mario. As the years have gone by, this concept has not disappeared, but rather the writers and directors of the series have taken it down different paths over time. While Madonna was too cliché, other candidates for the role of “Sonic’s girlfriend” would quickly appear to try different dynamics, directly or indirectly endorsed by SEGA.
Sally Acorn
For many years, Princess Sally was for Western fans the first person who came to mind when they thought of “Sonic’s girlfriend”. Since 1993, and for 2 more decades, her relationship with Sonic has gone in many directions, but fundamentally the most amazing thing about this whole situation was that she was Sonic’s official girlfriend (at least in the Archie Comics canon). It was also one of the many headaches for SEGA in the last decade.
Originally a fellow fighter against the macabre Robotnik from the 1993 animated series Sonic The Hedgehog, Sonic and Sally’s relationship was always marked by their opposite personalities; while Sally tends to plan ahead and is much more focused on the seriousness of the task, Sonic was the type to destroy robots first and think later. “Opposites attract,” they say, and by the (premature, I might add) end of that series both were already more than friends. They had already kissed a couple of times.
At the most critical moment in their relationship, Sonic, after a year of being missing in space and presumed dead by everyone, returns to Mobius only to end up back in potential danger, decides to ignore the wishes and warnings of Sally, who’s clearly emotionally traumatized and stressed by both the general situation and the responsibilities she had to carry out for her kingdom in the absence of her parents. The result of this explosive cocktail was one of the most infamous scenes in all of Archie Sonic, "the Slap", where Sally finally reacts violently to Sonic's selfish statements. The hedgehog's response? Well, a long exposure to the screams about her experience - also traumatic - up to that point. In the end, both end up screaming and crying in front of virtually everyone.
What followed in the next decades was an expansion of that original SatAM canon in the Archie Comics, in which its various writers introduced varying degrees of drama and increasing conflict to demonstrate the strong bond between them, destabilizing or even stabilizing it again, multiple times. They would be together for some time, then they would be apart, eventually rekindling the flame of love passionately, until a final sacrifice on their part and the eventual resetting of the entire Archie Sonic canon.
In their last years, after the Super Genesis Wave, Sonic and Sally’s relationship went back to being platonic. a good friendship with the advantages and disadvantages of their personalities - Sally’s leadership and Sonic’s extreme confidence - while the focus was put on the flourishing relationship between Sally and her best friend (and old computer!) Nicole.
Regardless of the way their relationship ended, it's undeniable that Sally has left a huge mark. Being a product of the West, her existence was never really accepted by the Sonic’s Japanese creators, but because the bulk of the fandom is here in the West, Sally's presence has been strongly associated with Sonic, the Freedom Fighters, the comics... and also the ship wars between her and the character we’re going to talk about next. Her very existence was a living contradiction to the Japanese central canon, an official girlfriend who broke all the ideas that existed for Sonic in terms of his conception of relationships and lead him through unique paths. Whether for better or worse, Sally broke the mold.
Eimi. Rosy. Amy Rose.
On the opposite side of the spectrum there’s Amy, a character that was originally conceived as the Minnie to Sonic’s Mickey, but with her own dynamic.
Despite Amy’s existence being strongly tied to Sonic’s, once again Sonic Team tried to avoid the classic cliché (in this case to copy Mickey and Minnie), opting then to establish Amy as the one interested in a relationship, while Sonic runs away from this idea. For this dynamic to keep working, Sonic’s feelings have to be kept hidden, with excuses like his “shyness”, which leads to ambiguity, or because, as said before, of his “child’s heart”.
The most interesting thing is that Amy kept her canonical status of “self-proclaimed girlfriend” since 1993, which makes her “official” and “not official” at the same time, but there are some traces left from the Sonic manga of 1992 (which in turn influenced Amy’s original design), where a prototype version of Amy (or, as it was spelled there, Emi/Eimi) played the role of Sonic’s girlfriend (or Nicki’s, to be more precise). With this detail in mind, Amy can be considered, at least in the East, the very first “Sonic’s girlfriend”, even before Sally – but her situation is much more complex.
Sonic Mega Drive (top) and Sonic Boom (bottom), representing some differences in different Sonic continuities.
In any case, the manga would be the first and only time Amy was officially considered “Sonic’s girlfriend”, because in the following decades and in several continuities the core of their dynamic shifted to Amy chasing Sonic. Both would get closer or further away depending on each case (in Fleetway, for example, Amy ends up marrying another character, while in Archie Sonic there would be only a few instances of potential interest, quickly overshadowed by convenience or other things directly or indirectly related to Sally), but generally no continuity would establish an official relationship. In some cases, such as Japan, it wouldn’t even be necessary to clarify the state of the relationship, since their cultures accept more easily the dynamic that Sonic Team proposed as an “official relationship”. Just looking at the artwork highlighted on Sonic Channel (run by SEGA of Japan) shows how much more accepted the relationship is, even though Sonic Team’s official artwork still avoids any kind of public confirmation. (Author’s note: I’ve written more about Amy according to the East and the West in the first article of this trilogy)
Unlike Sally, there is no “opposites attract” situation between Amy and Sonic, and, at first, there is no prior friendship from which a potential relationship could flourish. We witnessed their dynamics from the first moment they met, and it would not be until years later that there would be a minimal basis for interaction from which various official continuities would bring both characters closer together.
Technically Amy already knew that her destiny was tied to Sonic and the events of Sonic CD on Little Planet, thanks to her tarot cards (an element that has disappeared since then), but for Sonic it was just another day of adventure, and although we’ve seen how Amy's feelings have progressed, mostly in Adventure 1 and 2, Sonic has never reflected on his personal feelings; it’s an aspect of the hedgehog that to this day remains a mystery to the audiences.
Also unlike Sally, Amy has appeared in multiple continuities of all kinds and because of that her relationship with Sonic has been affected in various ways. The main videogames canon has remained ambiguous and unchanged for 25 years: Amy would stay close to Sonic and offer some good moments to reflect on her feelings about him (some of which I mentioned in my post about Sonic Unleashed and Amy’s emotional support), while Sonic would remain distant, uncomfortable, shy, and, more recently, potentially affected by her apparent loss.
Sonic X is the first official attempt (by Sonic Team no less) to offer an expanded view of our characters. There’s a lot of discussion about how Sonic is slowly opening up to Amy’s advances, and these developments follow a line that we discussed in previous articles of this trilogy, and how, during the 2000s, the Japanese writers of the series kept slowly deepening the interactions between the two, reaching very important symbolic moments like Sonic X Ep. 9, 52 and 76, among several others. I am purposely leaving out specific details to direct your attention to this fantastic thread by Yvanix Rose that highlights some key details about how this continuity worked the Sonic-Amy dynamic. [Translator’s note: the thread is in Spanish]
Sonic X, episode 76.
Another essential continuity for the development of this dynamic was Sonic Boom, since, despite having been a separate continuity with its own interpretation of the characters, its existence managed to influence the main canon in some way in the years that followed its original release in 2014.
Sonic Boom made two important changes in the dynamic: Amy did no longer externalize her feelings with the same frequency or intensity (speeding up a process that already started in the main canon in 2008), and Sonic was noticeably more nervous and insecure of his feelings for her, even being jealous in several occasions. These changes got the dynamic closer to the “friends who have secret feelings to each other but they’re too shy to admit it” trope, and in the second season it could even be said that there are signals of the “secretly dating” trope. Nothing was officially confirmed yet, but the changes to the dynamic offered a fresh perspective to work from: winks and inferences about a relationship that was not talked about but seemed to happen behind the scenes.
Sonic Boom S1E16.
Sonic Boom’s approach also opened the door to working a little more on the characters’ new personalities. Taking a little inspiration from the original foundations of Sally and Sonic’s relationship, Boom now presented situations where Sonic and Amy’s perspectives actively clashed with each other, leading to discussions and moments that showed a little more of the mundane details of the friendship they had, rather than appealing to more classic behaviors of the main canon, like Sonic leaving the scene in a hurry. Considering the way things turned out the last time we saw this kind of dynamic on screen, it was pretty safe to assume that their new opposites were now attracted; the implied secret dating and so on only helped to give it more sustenance - which the fandom would eventually take to the extreme.
And lastly there’s IDW Sonic, the comic series that replaced Archie Sonic after its cancellation in 2017, and the most recent arc that offers an interesting perspective. Starting its continuity from the end of the events of Sonic Forces (which at the same time took on certain characteristics from the post-Boom era, particularly as far as Amy is concerned), IDW Sonic didn’t waste any time in presenting the way in which it would carry out its dynamic between Sonic and Amy.
Amy makes her feelings for Sonic very clear, and he is surprised but unable to match them. However, Sonic doesn’t want to outright reject her, and suggests that she come with him; she refuses, claiming that she has duties to the Resistance, setting the tone for the rest of the series. (IDW Sonic #2)
“Sonic’s girlfriend” today
As I mentioned earlier, after the reboot Sally was no longer considered Sonic’s girlfriend, and her disappearance after the cancellation of Archie Sonic in general is a sign that we may not see her ever again, even as a friend. As of today, in 2020, only Amy has been left in her “unofficial, but…” state, with various minor events taking place both in the main canon and in IDW Sonic:
In 2018 the official SEGA shop wrote a description for a piece of Amy Rose merchandise that said “celebrate 25 years of Sonic’s girlfriend”; the mistake wasn’t immediately corrected, despite the fandom pointing it out immediately.
The video game canon has remained dormant, with Team Sonic Racing in 2019 featuring more of a regular friendship between Sonic and Amy, sharing rivalries and quiet moments alike.
On the other hand, since IDW Sonic and Sonic Boom laid their foundations, we've begun to see a certain shift in the way the two characters are presented. While we’ve talked about IDW Sonic already, Sonic’s social medias have done multiple “Twitter Takeovers” where Sonic characters answer questions from fans, and Sonic has always answered more like his version of Boom to the inevitable question about Amy and his “feelings”.
Recent official animations like Sonic Mania Adventures and Team Sonic Racing Overdrive have shown Amy flirting with Sonic in a more casual way.
The current dynamic seems to be pointing towards “Sonic’s hidden feelings”, and I think we are at a perfect point to change the approach. SEGA in general seems more open to the idea of bringing these characters closer, probably as a marketing strategy, but without yet separating themselves from the central ideas that defined the dynamic for the last two and a half decades.
Conclusion
The idea of “Sonic’s girlfriend” has been one of the most experimental and controversial in the almost three decades that this series has been around for. SEGA has opened the door to all kinds of ambiguities, developments and interpretations, all with their pros and cons, instead of settling on a definitive position. As iconic as these characters, conceived as Sonic’s “romantic interests”, have become, they have also had their share of criticism and controversy, especially in the fandom.
The presence of Amy as the only “official but self-proclaimed girlfriend” today says a lot about the control SEGA (specifically SEGA of Japan) regained over the characters, after decades of interpretations that offered different alternatives with various degrees of success. At her best, Sally represented an ideal relationship with Sonic, much more complete and profound than the back-and-forth game between Amy and Sonic. But at her worst, this same relationship represented everything wrong that could happen by associating Sonic with the emotional spiderweb of a romantic relationship. SEGA hardening its control over the characters seems to have put an end of this type of situation where Sonic ends up being involved in a romantic telenovela, but at the same time it has revitalized the flirting game and the implicit associations that give fuel to the fandom fire.
From my humble interpretation, I think we’ve reached a point where Sonic and Amy have shared enough stories and moments to solidify the core aspects of their personalities and their friendship, allowing them to take the next step, which is to play around with the idea of “something else”. 25 years ago it was hard to see how these two characters could work together beyond “it’s SEGA’s word”; today there’s enough of a story to find a rhythm and chemistry for them, and the series of situations they've put themselves in (e.g. IDW Sonic’s plot arcs) are increasingly helping this case. The topic of “Sonic's girlfriend” may be a controversial one for SEGA and the fandom in general, but the doors have slowly been opened for this debate to develop and be investigated with interesting results, and I think that, in this new decade of 2020, there’s a unique potential to explore this kind of discussion, without sacrificing in any way the central principles of Sonic as a character. Thank you for joining me in these 200 entries, and hopefully we’ll see each other for many more.
#sonic the hedgehog#amy rose#sonamy#translation#analysis#long post#happy birthday latin!#this one was so hard#i had to cut a lot of shp-related parts sadly#but this whole project was very fun and enlightening
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