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#not pictured is me screaming somewhere in the stadium

redstarwriting · 11 months

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bestie

spider squad x black cat!fem!reader

request?: yes

request: “hi! okay i love your works and my brains been rotting thinking abt this lol. i was wondering if i could request a black cat variant! reader that somehow (idk how sorry ), she's apart of the spider-society? Given that black cats backstory isn't all that nice, maybe she has a deal W miguel to let her stay if she makes sure she uses her skills to help the society instead of stealing? and how the squad(miles, gwen, pav, hobie) meet her in the society?”

requested by: anon

word count: 2.1k

genre: platonic and chaotic LMAO

Warnings: language, stealing, bad Spanish, slight Gwen crush if you squint but also like not really

A/N: STOP I LOVE WRITING PLATONIC AND CHAOTIC THINGS!! i did change up the prompt a bit as they didn’t meet her in spider society necessarily (even though the did, they just didn’t know it lol) i hope you enjoy this anon! also if anyone wants to knows some of the specific songs that gave me black cat 2099 vibes lemme know 👀 i’ll make a post

pt ii - becoming hobie’s bestie

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Gwen, Miles, Pavitr, and Hobie were called to “the principal’s office” as they started calling it. So here they are, in front of Miguel, waiting to be reprimanded for something they did. “I have a mission for the three of you,” he says, pointing to Miles, Gwen, and Pav. “Hobie, you’re not needed.”

“Like ‘ell I’m not,” he says, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. Miguel subtly smiles to himself. Reverse psychology. Works every time.

“Wait, what?” Miles asks, eyes wide. “You aren’t gonna yell at us for existing?” Gwen asks, equally as surprised. Miguel rolls his eyes. “For existing? When have I ever…” he trails off as Pav, Hobie, and Gwen point at Miles.

And Miles points at himself.

“Dios mío,” Miguel mumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No. I’m not doing that. This time.”

“What’s the mission then? Are we going somewhere new? Oh! Can I bring back a souvenir?” Pavitr asks, excitedly. “No, but I’m sure you’ll end up with some sort of souvenir regardless,” Miguel grumbles, and Hobie raises his eyebrow. “Well, what do you mean by that?” Gwen asks and Miguel types into his computer. A picture of a girl pops up on the screen. “I need you to bring me her.”

“Uhhh what? You want us to bring you a… civilian?” Miles asks, and Miguel nods. “She’ll respond to you all better. You’re the same age,” Miguel says, and they all glance at each other. “Can you not be secretive for like, a couple of seconds? Is she an anomaly?”

“No, Gwen. Just bring her to Spider Society, please. She’s from this universe, so I’m just sending you to where I need you to go,” Miguel says, opening a portal for them to go through. They all glance at each other before Gwen shrugs, walking through the portal. Miles and Pav follow her, and Hobie rolls his eyes following the three of them. They find themselves… at a show? They’re on top of the catwalk in a stadium show, looking down at the audience. “What the hell?” Gwen mumbles and Hobie is intrigued when he sees the instruments on the stage. “Now why did he send us to a concert?” Miles asks, and Pav shrugs. Right at that moment, the lights go down and everyone starts to scream. “So, you think she’s in the crowd? How are we supposed to find someone in all of these people?” Miles asks, and Pav shrugs. “I can do it, easily,” Pav says, and Miles and Gwen give him a Look™. “What?! It’s simple you just look for her face! Miguel showed us a picture of her.”

“Aye, ‘e’s right. Found her,” Hobie says, and they all look at him. He’s pointing, and they follow his finger. “SHE’S THE SINGER?!” Gwen yells as the music starts. “Yeah. Guess we gotta wait for the set to finish,” Hobie says, shrugging and sitting on the catwalk, “Gettin’ a free show outta this shit at least.”

“Oh, please, every show you’ve ever been to has been free,” Gwen says, sitting next to him, taking her mask off. Hobie, Pav, and Miles all follow suit. “What does Miguel want with a singer?”

“I like her outfit,” Pav says, ignoring Miles’ question and sitting next to Gwen. Miles quickly slips between Pav and Gwen, shooing him away slightly. “Not my style. Lyrics ain’t bad,” Hobie says, leaning back and observing the performance, “She can sing, I’ll give ‘er ‘at.”

“I fuck with it. Lyrics speak to me,” Gwen says, and Pav nods. “She seems angry.”

“Yeah, that’s why I can respect what she’s doin’. Threatenin’ and angry music is cool,” Hobie says, bobbing his head up and down. Gwen nods. “Okay, guys, seriously, what does Miguel want with a singer?”

“Maybe she’s a scientist or something? Miguel needs her help?” Gwen suggests, and Miles shakes his head. “Nah, I feel like he’d just meet with her then.”

“He did mention she was close to our age, though. And her songs make it sound like she has an issue with authority,” Pav mentions, and Hobie nods. “I fuck with ‘er.” They all look at him. “Oh, I get it. She’s Hobie’s age,” Gwen says, and Hobie raises his eyebrow. “What does ‘at ‘ave to do with anythin’?”

“You two are the same age, both have a problem with authority… whatever she is, she needs someone she can relate to to actually come with us,” Gwen says, and Hobie nods. “Guess ‘at makes sense.” The four of them continue watching the concert. Even though it isn’t necessarily punk music, Hobie loves the lyrics. And Gwen loves all of the songs because she understands the lyrics more than the other guys. Miles is enjoying it because Gwen is enjoying it, and Pav is enjoying it because other people are enjoying it. However, neither of them would probably listen to this after this mission. When you’re nearing the end, Miles slips his mask back on. “Alright, everyone. What’s the plan?”

“We need to get backstage,” Gwen says, slipping her mask on as well. “‘ave a gander down there,” Hobie says, pointing at some marks on the stage. “What’s that?” Pav asks. “Pyrotechnics. When they go off, we go in,” Hobie says, and they all nod. “Hope they’re big enough that no one sees us,” Gwen mumbles and Hobie scoffs. “Gwendy, it’s a stadium show. It’s ‘bout to be big,” he says. The four of them prepare, running along the catwalk and getting ready to web back to where you would disappear to. Sure enough, the pyrotechnics go off and Hobie was right. They’re big. It gives them the advantage as they slip undetected backstage. They hide high up, watching as you run offstage after your encore. They silently follow you to your dressing room and Miles points at an air vent. Gwen nods, quietly yanking it off of its hinges. She crawls inside, taking a glance to make sure you’re still clothed, and then motions for the boys to follow.

Meanwhile, you’re wiping your makeup off, sipping on some water to soothe your throat from your performance. You walk away from the giant mirror to go grab a snack in the corner of the room when, suddenly, you feel like someone is watching you. You subtly unsheathe your hairbrush, which doubles as a dagger. Just in case. You take a deep breath, turning around, and throwing it. Miles leaps out of the way, and the other three’s eyes are wide. The accuracy with that throw was a little too good. “None of you are Miguel,” you say, on edge still. “Ay, don’t compare me to that bloody bloke. I’d rather die than be called ‘im,” Hobie says, and you give him an amused look. “I can arrange that,” you say, and Gwen clears her throat. “I just wanted to say your concert was like, totally, awesome.”

“Aw, thanks! Did you pay to watch?” you ask and she looks around. “Well uh… I, um—” She gets cut off by your laugh. “I’m kidding. I don’t give a fuck if you didn’t. In fact, I would prefer you didn’t,” you explain. “Oh! Then no. Too cool to pay, you know?” Gwen rambles and Miles turns his head to her, giving her a look that translates into ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ You chuckle. “Why are you four here, then? Señor O’Hara miss me?” you take a bite of the snack you picked, leaning against the wall. “How do you know Miguel?” Pav asks and you snort. “Long story. Oh! He finally find out I took something from him?” you ask, tossing your food to the side and crossing your arms. “I… we actually don’t know. He just said we had to bring you back to—”

“Wait he’s actually inviting me into his super secret spider society?” you ask, a look of excitement spreading across your face. “Uh. Yes?” Miles says, and you squeal. “This is so exciting! My first time being invited, okay, great, hold on,” you say, quickly running off and behind the changing room divider. “Uh… you’re just gonna come with us?” Gwen asks, and you yell a quick ‘yep!’ They all look at each other and shrug. “No offense, sweet’eart, but I thought it woulda been ‘arder to convince ya. Wasn’t aware bein’ invited by a stuck-up wanker like ‘im was all it would take,” Hobie says, and they hear a giggle from behind the screen. “Oh this isn’t my first time in his little fanclub,” you step out from behind the divider, garnishing an all-black catsuit with shiny black gloves coming to claws at the fingers. A small eye mask adorns your face, and you smirk. “It’s just the first time he’ll know I’m there.”

“Holy shit, no way! You’re Black Cat!” Gwen says, and you do a little curtsy. “Pleased to make your acquaintance officially, Gwen Stacy,” you say, and her eyes get big. “How did you know—”

“Like I said. Not my first time there. Surprising since you all have that spidey sense or whatever, but guess I’m just that good,” you say, pulling out a dimension-hopping watch. “When did you—”

“Do I have to say I’ve been to your Spidertopia already again? Come on, I’m sure your pendejo of a boss is waiting for us,” you grin, and Hobie shakes his head. “Not my boss. I like you, though. Gettin’ fuck the establishment vibes,” he says, and you wink at him. “Thanks, Hobie Brown. Appreciate it. Also, Pavitr, you need to tell me what your haircare routine is,” you walk through the portal, and the four of them follow after you. Sure enough, you step out of the portal and stand right in front of Miguel’s desk. “Hello there, Spider-Boy,” you say, and he sighs. “(Y/n). Give me the device back. Now.”

“I’m good, actually. Been having too much fun with it,” you say, placing it on your wrist. He mutters something in Spanish as the four of them appear behind you. “Wait, if you’re Black Cat, why are you like… a superstar?” Miles asks, taking his mask off. “Was told at a young age to never settle for second best. So, I never did. Also if you want to steal from the big leagues, you have to be in with the big leagues,” you say, shrugging. “Damn, she is… so cool,” Gwen whispers. “We have an agreement, (Y/n),” MIguel says and you groan. “Miguel! Big guy, amigo, can I call you that?”

“No.”

“Don’t care, when have I ever stuck with an agreement?” you ask and he frowns. “This is all because you want to be able to come here whenever you want, isn’t it?” he asks and you grin. “You’re so smart, bestie,” you say and he groans. “You’re impossible.”

“I know. So can I come here and not have to worry about multiple spiders biting me all at once?” you ask, and he sighs. “Yes.”

“YE—”

“BUT!”

“Fuck, there’s a but,” you groan, as he continues talking, “No. Stealing.” You feign offense. “What makes you think I would ever steal something from here?” He points to your wrist. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. This was gifted to me.”

“By who.”

“Myself.”

“Esta maldita chica,” he mumbles, and you grin. “Well, thank you so much for approving my breaking and entering of your little arachnid club. I’ll be sure to return everything I’ve taken in hopes that you would notice I wanted to be invited,” you grin, and he clenches his jaw. “You step one toe out of line—”

“I woooon’t! Promise! Before I return everything though, I kinda have a heist planned in Earth-42,” you shrug, pulling up a portal. “I’ll tell Miles you said hi, Miles,” you give him a smirk, but before disappearing into the portal, you hear Miguel. “When you’re done come back here. I actually might be able to use you for something.”

You smile at him. “Say less, Spider-Man.” Then, you disappear. “We’re about to see a lot more of her, aren’t we?” Miles asks, and Miguel sighs and nods. “Dude! She is so cool!” Gwen says, and Hobie nods. “She don’t take shit from no one. Respectable.”

“She’s funny! And she was able to shut you down, Miguel, that never happens,” Pav says, laughing a bit. “She seems kinda crazy,” Miles says.”

“What, like we aren’t?” Gwen retaliates and he shrugs. “I am perfectly sane! Most of the time…”

Miguel runs his hand through his hair in frustration as the four of them continue discussing you while walking out of the room.

He was not looking forward to the friendship the five of you were about to form.

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#spiderverse x reader #atsv x reader #hobie brown x reader #gwen stacy x reader #miles morales x reader #pavitr prabhakar x reader #miguel ohara x reader #spiderverse #spiderman #spiderpunk #spidergwen #hobie brown #gwen stacy #miles morales #pavitr prabhakar #miguel o'hara

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sunny44 · 1 year

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Daddy’s girl

Pairing: Mason Mount x Mom!reader

Warnings: just fluff.

Summary: you and Mason decided it was time to take baby Olivia to her first Chelsea game and it goes better than the expected.

Today would be the first time we would take Olivia to see Mason playing.

She had gone when I was pregnant and once and then I stopped going because of my difficult pregnancy and after she was born I stared getting a lot of hate online saying horrible things about the baby so we decides that we were taking her when she could walk by herself.

And today is the day.

Mason was already at the stadium and I would go along with his family who were downstairs waiting for us.

"Are you excited to see daddy?" As soon as I mention Mason she gets up and starts jumping on the bed "I guess that’s a yes."

I finished putting on her Jersey with the Mount and the number 19 on the back, she was wearing her Chelsea uniform and her little Nike air.

"We need to pin your hair up." I spoke to her but Olivia was distracted playing with Mason’s socks she had found on the bed. "My God you really are his daughter."

I've made two buns on her and took her on my lap down the stairs to find his family already waiting for us.

"I'm sorry it took so long, she have Mason’s energy."

"No problem honey you have you and mini Mase to dress up." His mother smiles at us leaving the house.

I went in the car with his parents and we were driven to where we were going to watch the game but right at the entrance Olivia saw a huge picture of Mason and she ran screaming “daddy” and hugged herself to the wall. The scene was the cutest thing in the world and it was a shame that I couldn't record it and show it to him later.

When the players entered the field and the big screen was showing them, Olivia screamed as soon as she saw her father.

…

The game was wonderful and Chelsea won it, Olivia spent much of the time screaming and every time the screen showed Mason she celebrated seeing him and the people watching us probably knew she was his daughter since some of them started to take pictures or record us.

After we were free we went to the field, Olivia was on my lap super excited to see everyone including some of her football uncles as I like to call them.

"Look there baby is Uncle Kai, go give him a big hug." She laughed and ran over to him since she hadn't found Mason yet.

"Hi love." He says hugging me from behind.

"Oh my god Mason you scared me." He laughs and I turn to him. "You were amazing I’m so proud of you."

"Thank you." He kisses me. "Where's Oli?"

"She went to give Kai a hug." I pointed to her on his lap and a few other players along making her laugh.

Her relationship with Kai was funny because Olivia was a miniature of Mason, super energetic and likes to talk to everyone and Kai was serious most of the time and not the most affectionate person when it comes to physical touch.

"Olivia." At the same time he calls out and even with all the noise she somehow seems to hear and cracked the biggest smile when she saw him. "Hey baby girl."

"Daddy." She shouts as he picks her up on his lap.

"Did you have fun?" she agrees and he puts her on his shoulders.

I took some pictures of her on his shoulder and lap and then some of them playing with the ball.

"The guys are going out for dinner to celebrate the win, do you want to go?" He asks. "Some of their girlfriend’s are going."

"We can go yes but can you take me somewhere I can change her? This uniform of her smells like horrible and she didn't even play." He laughs.

"I need to shower and get change so I'll take advantage of that and give her a bath in the locker room."

"Alright, let’s say goodbye to your family and I'll separate some clean clothes for her."

We said goodbye to his family and Mason went with Olivia to the locker room, I separated an outfit for her and I obviously wasn't going to go in and risk seeing things I shouldn't have so I knocked on the door and Ben opened it.

“Is everything ok?" He asked worriedly.

"Yeah it's just that Mason is giving Oli a sower so we can go out and meet up with you guys and I wanted to ask someone to give him her clothes."

"Why didn’t you come in?"

"Because I don't want to see your things." He laughs and yells asking if anyone was naked and since they said no I went in. "The only one who might be naked is Mason but considering you have a daughter with him at least once you saw him naked."

I rolled my eyes at his comment and soon Mason let me know she was ready and handed her to me, he went to shower and I was drying and dressing her. When she was dry and in her diaper she got up from the bench and started running after Reece and Christian.

"Oli come back here."

"No." She ran and stretched her arms out to Kai’s who grabbed her in his lap and she hid in his neck.

"Are you hungry?" At the same time she gives me a quick look and I swear I've never seen a little girl as hungry as this one. "Where we're having dinner they have that pasta you like.”

She quickly holds out her hands to me and Kai laughs at how quickly she comes onto my lap. I dressed her I a white blouse and some leggings and a coat that Ben gave it to her.

"Mason I'm going to wait with Oli in the cafeteria."

"Okay love I'm just finishing up and I'll meet you guys there.”

Me, Olivia and a few more of the boys left with me and we went to the cafeteria to wait until Mason was ready to go to dinner.

Dinner was great and right after we ate Oli fell asleep and is sleeping until now, she spent the whole time jumping from lap to lap until she stopped at Mason's where she didn't let go of him and now we are going to the car with her on his lap.

"Wow you don't know how amazing today was." He comments smiling. "Oli went to her first game, we won and I am the luckiest guy in the world to share life with you."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it and Oli loved it." I put the bags on her in the backseat as he adjusts her in the car seat. "You know that giant picture of you outside the stadium?"

"I do."

"I couldn't record it because it all happened so fast but Oli as soon as she saw it ran out screaming daddy and hugged the wall." He laughed and left a little kiss on her forehead and covered her with her binky.

"You have no idea how much I love this little girl." He says starting the car and beginning to drive towards our house.

"She loves you too, every time you appeared on the screen she screamed and clapped her hands calling for you."

"Thank you for taking her today, it meant a lot to me." He takes my hand and leaves a kiss on the top of my hand.” I know it’s not easy to have a public life and I really appreciate you so much for loving me and doing all those sacrifices for our family. And I also know that it was not easy to take her today because now people know how she looks but I really love it, so thank you.

"No need to thank me, you know I would do anything for you." He smiles and we went home after this amazing day.

Bonus scene!

Y/nmount instagram post

Liked by masonmount, jazbenham, benchilwell and others 18,947

Y/nmount our baby girl went to her first game to cheer for daddy and her uncles

Masonmount my little lucky charm, daddy loves you so much

Debbiemount she was the cutest fan

Benchilwell I’m giving her a jersey with my name and number on it

Masonmount I’m throwing away

Y/nmount she’s going to love it ben, thank you

Fan65 we’re finally able to say that baby mount looks exactly like Mason

Y/nlovers yesssss, she’s all him

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incorrect-spideytorch · 6 months

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spideytorch bullet point fic

race car driver Johnny!

Johnny is a race car driver (that's he's only thing, not all the other stuff)

Peter is his boyfriend of course

he doesn't understand racing very much but still he goes to every race he can

Johnny has a really bad accident during one race like car flipped over and badly mangled

Peter has to be held back from running on to the track by their friend Bobby

it takes the med crew a bit to get Johnny out of the wreck and Peter is shaking the whole time

they get him out eventually and he's awake thank goodness

Johnny’s trying to spot Peter in the crowd so he can at least wave to him or smile at him

meanwhile Peter is crying in relief

there's blood coming from somewhere on Johnny’s head and his arm looks like it's been broken but he's awake smiling and alive

Johnny gets taken away in an ambulance while Peter and Bobby rush out of the stadium to meet him at the hospital

Bobby drives there because Peter is a wreck

Peter rushes in while Bobby parks and then waits in the lobby

Peter gives Johnny a hug

(which hurts but Johnny ties to hide it)

"All those tears for me?"

"Shut up you're such an idiot what were you thinking"

"I didn't try to crash!"

"I was so worried about you. I thought you were dead" *kisses*

Johnnys left arm is broken in two places, he fractured three ribs, and he has a concussion

he's out for the rest of the season because of all of that obviously

the next season Johnny wants to go back to racing and Peter doesn't want him to

they get into a massive fight about it

"Peter this is my life! It's what I do!"

"It almost killed you Johnny!"

"you're being overdramatic about it"

"you had two fractured ribs, the doctor said if they'd fully broken it would've punctured your lung!"

"but they didn't! I was okay!"

"That doesn't mean you go rushing back to the race track to try again."

"Peter I love this! I can't just stop because of one crash!"

"I can't- I can't watch that again Johnny. It was the hardest thing to watch since my uncle died."

"Then stop watching."

"Johnny-"

"if it's too hard to watch me do this then stop watching, cause I'm going back."

this ends with their breakup and they’re both heartbroken

but Peter doesn't stop watching

he always has the race on in the background making sure Johnnys okay

and Johnny still keeps the picture of Peter taped up inside of his car

the second to last race of the season the two cars in front of Johnny wreck bad and his attempt to avoid it send him swerving in a circle off the course

Peter screams while watching it at home

Johnny is able to walk out of the car on his own, no injuries but it definitely scared him

as soon as Peter sees him walk out of the car he turns off the race and rushes to the track

the race was in Delaware not close to Peter at all really but he doesn't care

he gets there after the race is over, it's night now but he's determined to see Johnny

Peter runs into Johnnys crew chief Ben and begs him to tell Peter where Johnny is

Ben tells him and Peter sprints to the hotel room in the middle of Ben wishing him luck

Peter bangs on the door frantic and out of breath

"Peter?"

"I'm so sorry" they both say at the same time

they talk and apologize and cry and kiss

"I was so scared Peter. There was a crash today and I-"

"I know, I was watching."

"You were?"

"I never stopped. I can't. I love you too much."

"I love you so much Peter. I missed you I'm so sorry for sending you away."

"I'm so sorry I let you."

they're officially back together before the night is over

and they’re engaged by the end of the year

#spideytorch #peter parker #johnny storm #AU thingy #peter x johnny #peter parker x johnny storm #mine :)

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multifandomworldsposts · 2 years

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We Met in Tampa PT 4

A/N: It’s the Elvis movie plot but Y/N version!!Elvis never met Priscilla in this version.

Pairing: austin butler!elvis x reader

warning: fluff that’s all, Elvis heartbroken for his mom 😭

Y/N POV

Newspapers are coming in with the pictures of Elvis and I at Club Handy, one newspaper says ‘Elvis Presley Got His Start With Negroes’ I hate that word, ‘Elvis’s Slut with-‘ I throw the newspaper away, news are shit and racist! The Colonel told me what the Senator said about me, “Elvis’s girl, is a slut.” There’s that word again, all these people can go fuck themselves! I was having fun and didn’t know that the pictures were going to be published somewhere.

I’m in a car with Elvis’s parents going to Russwood Park and see A LOT of fans, I’m getting nervous what’s going to happen, fans screaming words at me or wanting Elvis to go to jail. The security takes Gladys, Vernon, and I to our sits and I see the sign ‘No Colored Allowed’ and ‘Whites Allowed’ I get uncomfortable again, Gladys can tell my uncomfortableness and she holds my right hand. She’s like a second mother to me.

Elvis gets on stage and everyone goes crazy. He told me what he’s going to do, I hope it goes well. Elvis looks at the crowd, found me and gave a look that no one has given me, “There’s been a lot of talk about the new Elvis. And of course, that other guy.” He wiggles his finger. “You ain’t nothin but a hound dog cryin all the time.” He chuckles. He looks up a little. “There’s a lot of people saying a lot of things. Of course you gotta listen to the people that you love. But in the end, you gotta listen to yourself.” People start to cheer but I clap a little.

‘If you’re looking for trouble, you came to the right place.”

“What’s going on?” Gladys questions. I know what he’s doing. He told me about this morning. “Y/N? What’s going on?” Vernon looks at me. “I don’t know.” I lied.

‘I was born standing up and talking back’

I get nervous, I’m scared on what’s going to happen next he just told me that he was going to sing ‘Trouble’. The fans get crazy, Elvis starts to do dance moves that he does but different.

‘So don’t mess around with me.’

I see cops hurting people and I can see Gladys’ face, she’s scared as me. “Uh, now would be a good time to get back into the car.” The colonel says behind us. Security took me to Elvis’ car and put me in and a cop came in the passenger seat locks the door so no one can come in, except for Elvis and the colonel. Gladys and Vernon are getting dragged to their car and I see Elvis screaming at her. The cop unlocks the door so they can get Elvis in the car with me. I see a camera rolling at us, I get pissed and yell “Get that camera out of my face!” I swatted the camera away. I turn to see Elvis sweating and didn’t say a word. The car backs up and drives out of the stadium.

All of us are in the living room silent. “No. There’s no way my baby’s going to Germany for two years.” Gladys says while looking a piece of paper. “It is the army or jail.” The colonel looks at her. I don’t want him to go anywhere.

When Gladys passed, Elvis was a mess, stayed in her closet all day and night, I felt his pain, I really do, I went in the closet that Elvis was in and hugged him but when I tried to leave he wanted me to stay in there for hours. He cried on my clothes, I just tried to calm him down.

I hear the closet door opening, it’s the colonel, “Y/N, can you leave us for a moment?” He says. I kiss Elvis on the temple and walked out the room but stayed and listened. “All that your mama has sacrificed for you will be for nothing.” ‘That Bastard!’ I thought.

We wrote back and forth, I would give him pictures of me and give him letters that Vernon would write to him. I miss him so much two years without him.

My parents would call me about him and they saw some newspapers including the one that the article called me a slut. They told me that they’re thinking of Elvis so I can write him that.

#fanfic #austin butler #elvis presley #austin butler fluff #austin!elvis fluff #elvis the movie #baz luhrmann elvis #austin elvis imagine #fanfaction #austin butler imagine #austin butler x y/n #austin butler gif #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley fanfiction

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hopeonmyphone · 1 year

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11 J-Hope Fashion Moments I Think We Need to Talk About More

It was on this day in 1994 that the world became (a lot) brighter. Today, we celebrate the sunshine of BTS, the one-man, party-starting pride of Gwangju, your hope, my hope: J-Hope.

We have all sorts of important business to attend to today, in honor of Hobi's birthday. First: let's acknowledge the endless joy that Jung Hoseok has brought us over the years. His talent is endless and his optimism is contagious — as enveloping as a warm hug at the end of a really bad day. He possesses a smile that could provide Earth with energy for the next 1,000 years. And what better time to gush over my favorite J-Hope outfits (and there are a lot of them, so pace yourself, ARMY) then on his birthday? It's no surprise that the man who named Snoopy as one of his biggest style influences has fun with fashion, landing somewhere at the intersection of "hypebeast" and "cutie pie" aesthetic. Let's raise a can of Sprite in his honor, stream Hope World all damn day, and worship the heart of BTS, our Hobitonin.

Proof Purple Velvet Can Cause Global Panic

Congrats to Hobi for inventing purple velvet!

In all seriousness, can you recall such exquisite use of purple since Prince?

For the 2020 Melon Music Awards, BTS performed "Black Swan," "On," and #1 Billboard hits "Life Goes On" and "Dynamite." The entire performance might have been the best seventeen minutes I've experienced since the pandemic started, and no moment was more gasp-worthy as when J-Hope appeared in a velvet jumpsuit. How widespread was the sartorially-induced meltdown that followed? All three of his names — J-Hope, Hobi, and Hoseok — immediately began trending on Twitter.

Not to mention that J-Hope and/or the genius stylist who was involved in this fit could have easily included a tuxedo shirt, a clavicle-grazing tank, a cool Gucci shirt — anything really. But they did not. Hobi woke up that day and chose chaos in the form of a purple velvet jumpsuit with no shirt.

I'm into that. I'm good to go.

Actually, the Entire "Dynamite" Era

A hill I will gladly die on: The entire "Dynamite" era is actually J-Hope's era. Sure, every member looked amazing, but the visuals Hobi was serving were downright deranged. The undercut and exposed forehead, the '70s-style Gucci suits, pumpkin spice J-Hope as seen on NPR's Tiny Desk Concert — I couldn't sleep for weeks with the never-ending onslaught of serves.

Malta Boyfriend Aesthetic

Be honest: Did you gasp the first time you saw this picture, fellow ARMY? I did.

For the third season of Bon Voyage in 2018, BTS traveled to Malta where fellow idol Jungkook snapped what might be the most ethereally beautiful picture of J-Hope ever. Seated by the water while a Malta sunset bathes him in golden honey light, J-Hope smolders in a crisp white button-down. This image is burned in my brain as peak "POV: Your rich boyfriend Hoseok takes you out to dinner'' fanfic material.

"Ego" Era

When the world locked down and BTS had to cancel their 2020 global stadium tour, ARMY feared we might never get to see a performance of J-Hope's MOTS7 solo song "Outro:Ego."Luckily for us, Bangtan never lets down their fans and pivoted to produce a virtual Map of the Soul ON:E concert this past October.

In total, almost a million viewers from 191 countries logged in to swoon over our Hobitonin and a performance as sparkly as his rhinestone encrusted Louis Vuitton denim (accessorized with two of the hottest, of-the-moment brands right now: Gentle Monster sunglasses and DiorxAir Jordan 1 Low sneakers).

MOTS7 Concept

How did this J-Hope escape? Shouldn't he be in the Louvre with all the other works of art?

These Map of the Soul: 7 concept pictures are the modern day equivalent of renaissance paintings. They're aching in their perfection — Hoseok's in particular. His glowing skin, his mythically beautiful face, his Dionysus-equse pose — you're telling me this is the same man who will wear a cartoon puppy hat and scream out of pure (somehow adorable) terror on amusement park rides? The duality this man possesses …

Hobicore

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This fit checks every J-Hope aesthetic box possible. Bucket hat? Yes, in the form of a fuzzy Kangol one. Layers of insanely luxurious designer jewelry? Yup, Chanel dog tags! Cool, oversized street style shirt? Check!

For BTS's 2021 Season's Greeting package, J-Hope modeled this FreeVOLT shirt, a hip Korean street style line. As soon as J-Hope's pics hit the internet, the brand announced they would be donating the sales from this particular soon-to-be-sold-out T-shirt to charities that help underprivileged kids from all over the world. Add it to the (extremely long) list of charitable good deeds BTS has inspired.

Global Influencer J-Hope

Please direct your attention away from J-Hope's hot-enough-to-melt-the-ice-caps gaze (I know, it's tough) and to his fit. This is one of my personal favorites because of the cultural juxtaposition: a Korean gat (a traditional hat from the Joseon period) worn with the ultra modern and iconically American Nike Air Jordan 1s. The cross-global combination feels symbolic of J-Hope's worldwide, generation-spanning appeal and influence.

Let's Get It: "Chicken Noodle Soup"

Want to make any J-Hope bias weak? Four words: Chicken. Noodle. Soup. Hobi. During a BTS break, J-Hope flew to Los Angeles to film an instantly iconic music video for his collaboration with Becky G. The whole project is an amalgamation of everything we love about J-Hope: a high-octane, stays-in-your-head-forever song performed in the bright, sun-soaked locale with all those signature popping, rocking, hopping, tutting, dougie, flexing, swaggin' Gwangju moves. His neon-bright hypebeast fashion in the music video was briefly eclipsed by another "CNS" era fit though …

"CNS," Part 2

J-Hope returned to Seoul from L.A. in an airport outfit that caused an international meltdown. The idol, who rarely shows a sliver of skin, wore a barely buttoned star-printed denim jacket from Chemist with no shirt underneath. ARMYs everywhere had no choice but to collapse into the fetal position until they could figure out how to function again.

'90s Baby

Yes, the outfit is so great — a subtle nod to two '90s fashion icons: the return of the Hawaiian shirt thanks to Baz Luhrmann's Romeo + Juliet and Kurt Cobain's signature retro white sunglasses — but, more importantly, how perfectly "J-Hope'' is this picture? He is sunshine in human form — gleefully out of his chair and dancing to make his members smile (even Suga can't help grin!). Here's the video of the SiriusXM interview, for context. BTS was asked who is "most likely to brighten someone's day" and, well, of course it's you, J-Hope.

Winter Prince Hoseok

No. Not Hobi wearing a tuxedo like it's not the hottest thing ever.

I am, admittedly, a sucker for the whole 2019 Jingle Ball performance. It's the white tuxes. How can you resist Bangtan in the dapperest, crispest, most beautiful crystal-snow-white tuxedos? J-Hope in particular looks like a dazzling fairytale prince. Models everywhere should be forever-grateful that Jung Hoseok chose music for a career.

Source: InStyle

#jung hoseok #hoseok #jhope #정호석 #호석 #제이홉 #방탄소년단제이홉 #방탄소년단 #jhope news #BTS

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stellaisinlove · 2 years

Text

Willy Adames 2

A Framed Photo

"Really?" He asked with a smile that stretched ear to ear, "This isn't a prank that Kolten put you up to, is it? Because if it is I-"

"No Willy, it's not. I took a Lyft here. So, you're driving" I said raising my eyebrows with a smirk. Once I said that Willy's smile only grew more.

"Then what are we waiting for? Let's get going!" He cheered. Willy grabbed my hand and began to guide me up the steps. I looked down at our fingers intertwined and I couldn't help but blush.

"Do you even have a restaurant picked out?" I asked as we stepped outside the stadium.

"Nope! I didn't think this far ahead." He giggled as he was still holding onto my hand, guiding me to where his car was parked.

Willy opened the trunk of his car. "Let me take that." He said referring to my duffle bag. I handed it to him and he placed it in the back along with his bag. Willy then rushed to the passenger side before I could. He opened the door car door for me he had a smile on his face proud that he was being such a 'gentleman'.

"Thank you," I said before he closed my door and headed to the driver's side.

"How bout you pick where we go, and wherever you pick, I'll pay for." He said sincerely as he started the ignition.

"Are you sure?" I asked as I pulled out my phone to start looking up restaurants nearby.

"Yeah! Just don't choose a place like, McDonald's. I want this night to be memorable." He said in a joking tone, I let out a chuckle as I scrolled through Yelp.

"Oh! How bout this Italian restaurant?" I said giving him my phone to show him the restraunt's profile.

"Oh! I love this place!" He shouted as he started to drive out of the parking lot and out onto the highway.

"It's actually not a far drive from here," I said putting the directions onto my phone.

On the ride to the restaurant, Willy asked me questions about what it's like to be a doctor he seemed very interested in what I had to say, I even told him some tricks on how to help yourself when you've got a cut or an injury.

"If I got an injury from a game. Would you take care of me, and be my doctor?" He asked with a wink pulling into the parking lot.

"Of course," I said.

He helped me out of the passenger side and held out his hand for me to grab once more. I held onto it not giving it much thought.

"I'm actually pretty hungry," He spoke tightening his grip around my hand "You made today's game tough. I've worked up an appetite."

Willy held open the door for me as I walked in. The restaurant was dimly lit, there was a white candle placed at each table. Photos hung on the wall of former owners of the restaurant and famous people that have come to eat here before. Which made me wonder if there was a photo of Willy on the wall. He did say he loved this place, which means he's been here before.

I walked up to the walls to see if I could find his photo. "You won't be able to find it." He whispered in my ear from behind.

"Oh, so there is a photo of you?" I asked.

"Yeah, there should also be a photo of Yeli somewhere." He said before walking away to get a table for two.

"Now I gotta find these photos," I said under my breath looking through each photo. I turned to the other wall and looked up and down to find at least one of the photos.

I gasped once I saw it, I quickly took out my phone to take a picture of the framed photo of Willy. I laughed as I went to my texts and sent them to Luis Urias, he would know just what to do with the photo. "Willy, how old were you in this?" I asked holding in my laugh.

He turned around to me and his jaw dropped, "You found it?!" He exclaimed as he rushed up to me.

"Mhm!" I chimed with a giggle.

"God, I had to be around twenty-two. I came here when I was still with the Rays and we had a game against the Brewers." He said with a sigh.

Willy's phone went off as he got a text from Luis. His eyes widened as he slowly looked up from his phone to me. "You sent it to Luis?!" He screamed. I started to die laughing holding my stomach as Willy's face grew with a scared expression.

"You-You should see your face!" I said barely able to speak, my laughter getting in the way of my words.

"Willy, your table is ready." the waitress said holding up two menus.

"Im getting you back for this." He said before grabbing my lower back and pushing me forward to walk to our table.

We both sat down in front of each other. I pressed my lips together trying not to laugh, again. Because Willy's phone kept going off with texts from his teammates, they were making fun of him for his photo from four years ago.

"You did this." He said in a snarky tone.

The waitress came up and asked us for drinks, Willy ordered water but I ordered alcohol.

"Oh, we're doing that?" He asked looking at me, "Then never mind. I'll take the same thing she's having." He said to the waitress then turned to me with a wink.

Our night went on and I think I had too much to drink. I hiccupped through my laughs as Willy was telling me how he sings with Suter in the dugout before games.

"Suter, he's a character, that's for sure," Willy said as he signed the check and stood up.

"Are you ready?" He asked holding out his hand.

I nodded and took his hand, My hand was smaller than his. His hand was soft and firm as he gently squeezed my hand guiding me through the crowded restaurant and to the exit. We stopped at the entrance of the restaurant, I let go of his hand. He turned around to see what was wrong. I had my eyes glued to one of the walls trailing through the photos.

"Y/N, what are you doing?" He asked with a chuckle putting his hands on his hips.

"I'm looking for Yelich's photo," I said with a hiccup as I ran my fingers through the picture frames trying to find it.

Willy laughed as he walked to the other wall to help me look. The waiters and waitresses looked at the two of us with their brows furrowed, confused about what we were doing.

"Found it!" Willy said pulling out his phone to take a picture of it. "Send that to me." I cheered.

He nodded his head as he sent the photo to a group chat with Brewer's players and then he sent it to me separately.

Willy helped me to the car and even helped me get inside.

"I don't know what your address is." He said holding out his phone so I could enter my address into the GPS.

"What? You're taking me home already?" I groaned.

"Yeah? It's late, don't you have work tomorrow?" He asked.

"Nope! I got the day off!" I smiled. I still typed my address into the GPS and handed it to him.

"How bout you hang out at my place for a bit?" I offered.

He looked at me with a flushed face, "Are you sure?" He asked.

"Yeah! C'mon, we just had dinner together. You don't want the night to end just with dinner do you?" I asked with a wink nudging him with my elbow.

His eyes widened and his face blushed a dark red. "Okay, but just for a little bit." He shouted starting the car.

#milwaukee #milwaukee brewers #mlb baseball #mlb fandom #baseball #baseballfanfiction #fanfiction #willyadamesfanfic #willyadmesimagine #willy adames #Willy Adames fan fic #mlb fanfic #christian yelich

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finelinevogue · 3 years

Note

What if a security guard wouldn’t let you back in the arena if you went out to get something. And they didn’t believe that you were harrys gf and just thought you were a crazy fan

oooh it’s been done before but here’s my version!! ;

You were running late.

It was already 7pm and you were only getting out of your car in the car park. Harry was due to be on stage in an hour and you hadn’t even seen him yet. The traffic around Dallas today has been awful. Chocker block. You’d been with Harry all day, up until 3 hours ago when he had to leave the hotel to come to the stadium for rehearsals. Normally you’d go with him, but you were so tired that you wanted a little nap before coming. The problem here was you overslept.

There were no Ubers available and a taxi would be far too expensive at this time, so you drive in Harrys car instead. You’d been following Harry on tour in his car, so when you get to different destinations you can go out on ball day trips if you want to without the obscenity of a huge tour bus or paying for Ubers everywhere. It was the main reason you were so tired though, travelling across country and into different time zones. It would be so much easier if this was the UK.

You grabbed your purse and your jacket, locking the car as you got out and started running for the backstage entrance. It was easy to make it there and you noticed security guards already standing there.

“Hi!” You smiled, slightly short of breathe. You were about to move past them when one of them shoved your shoulder back, making you stumble back unbalanced. “Wha—”

“ID and backstage pass to get through here.” One of them said, looking you up and down as if you were nothing.

If anything, you were quite shocked on how they just treated and continued to treat you. Normally, Harry would show a picture of you to these backstage security guards to make sure you’d be able to get in no problem, but it seemed like today Harry might’ve forgotten to show that photo. This was going to be a problem for you, because you’d forgotten to bring your backstage pass.

“I normally just go through? I’m Harry’s girlfriend.” You tried talking your way around the situation, not appreciating behind held up so close to show-time.

“Oh you’re Harry’s girlfriend? You must be the 7th one we’ve met tonight.” The security guy laughed and so did his friend, making your blood boil with how annoying they were being. Harry would be so pissed if he heard the way they were treating you.

“No but I actually am.”

“Then, ID and backstage passes.” One of then held out his hand whilst the other crossed his arms over his chest to make him look intimidating. Dickheads.

“I have ID just not the backstage passes.” You answered honestly, holding out your ID for them to check. They collected it and asked you questions on it, you answering them all perfectly.

“Well you definitely know you, but you have no proof you’re supposed to be where you claim to be.” They handed you back your ID and you huffed in stress.

“Well what can I show you? Photos of me and Harry together? Text messages?” You waved your arms around, getting really pissed off that this was actually happening. You’d probably miss Jenny’s whole set because of this and then 15 minutes before show-time Harry gets transported under the stage. So you only really would have half and hour with him, and that’s just not enough time. You wanted a safe and warm hug off him. You wanted a kiss. You just wanted him.

“Everyone knows they can be photoshopped.” One of the guys scoffs at your notion.

“Listen. You either show us your backstage pass or we’ll escort you off site.” The other one says a lot more firmer this time. It made you quite anxious for what you’d do if they did that - or maybe when they did that.

“Well I don’t have the backstage passes.” You sighed, rolling your eyes at the way this was going to end.

“Then let’s go.” One of them pointed to where you came from and to the car park, stepping forwards as he did so.

“I’m not leaving until you let me through those doors. My boyfriend is waiting for me.” You answered, taking a step back in stress of what they might do.

“Harry ain’t your boyfriend. Now let’s go!” They stepped forwards again and reached for you.

You swung your bag at one of them, hitting him in his side and he grunted because of the impact of your water bottle with his chest. The other one grabbed your arm and you couldn’t shake him, since you were not trained in any way for situations like this at all. His fingers dig into your skin and it made you scream out a cry, trying to kick him in any way to escape. The other one recovered ever ordered the guy holding you to escort you away whilst he stayed and guarded the door. The one holding you tugged your arms behind your body and held them tight there, it really fucking hurting. He didn’t care though and continued to walk you, asking you where your car was so he could get you out of here.

Once you reached your car he let you go and you wrapped your arms around you as he walked away again, not verbally saying anything but his eyes saying enough. Stay away. You shakily got your keys out of your bags and unlocked your door, climbing in and just sitting there. You could feel your hands really shaky and achy. Looking down with tear clouded eyes, you saw the red marks over your arms and slight bruising already. Your arms and shoulders hurt from being bent in an uncomfortable position.

You cared less about the pain though and how much of a disappointment of a girlfriend you were going to be to Harry. He was going to think either the worst for you or the worst of you. You reached in your bag on your lap for your phone, throwing your bag on the seat next to you afterwards. You wiped your eyes with the sleeve of your t-shirt and unlocked your phone to text messages, sending Harry a quick text.

To Harry: Are you free to call? x

No response. You sat there for a few minutes in silence, still shook up and teary. That had been a really awful situation to be in and you hated that you were nowhere near Harry to fix it. Your phone vibrated 3 minutes later, finding a text message from Harry. You sighed and felt safe when you saw his icon light up your notifications, knowing he was in contact with you.

From Harry: Of course, you okay? xx

You didn’t open your phone because you didn’t know how to respond. How do you tell him you’re not okay, only 20 minutes before he’s meant to be ready to go on stage? You didn’t want to worry him, but you also didn’t want him thinking you were a terrible girlfriend either.

Another vibration.

From Harry: Lovie? xx

Your eyes watered at that simple word, meaning so much more to you than five letters. It made you feel so much comfort, you only wished you could get that hug and a kiss now.

Again.

From Harry: Love, you’re worrying me now.

From Harry: Let me face-time you, hang on.

His icon lit up the screen; Incoming…

You shakily accepted, wiping your eyes quickly before. When he answered you could tell he was still in his dressing room, sat on the sofa that you wish you were also sat on with him. He looked so beautiful. His hair was perfectly styled and he was wearing a pearl coloured silk shirt and you knew he was wearing white silk pants to co-ordinate. You thought he looked ethereal. A glowing beacon of hope and beauty.

He didn’t say anything to you at first and you nothing to him. He just looked at you and instantly knew something bad was up. He kept eye contact with you and it was as if he was having a telepathic conversation with you, understanding that you needed him and just him.

“Hey, Mitch man?” Harry asked, turning his head to somewhere else in the room. “Could y’just give me a minute. Please.”

“Sure, sure.” Mitch answered and all you could hear was the sound of shuffling and the door shut. As soon as he was gone you started crying all over again. You cupped your hand over your eyes and your body shook as you just cried. Harrys heart broke that you were alone and he couldn’t hug you close to his chest.

“Y/N, baby. Look at me.” He asked urgently and you just shook your head, embarrassed that this was happening to you. “You’ll be alright lovie, I promise. Just look at me, beautiful.” You moved your hand away from your face and wiped your eyes and nose to try and make you look slightly better - not that it helped. “There’s my pretty girl.”

You smiled. He smiled.

“I-i’m so-rry H.” You whispered, sniffling in between words because of how shaky you felt.

“Hey, no. None of that. It’ll be okay.” He reassured you, keeping eye contact with you to try and decipher what was wrong. “Where are you, lovie? You’re in the car, yeah?” Harry asked, recognising your surroundings but you could get anywhere. You could have been in an accident for all he knew, but he was remaining calm so he didn’t send you into a panic.

“Yeah. In the stadium car park.” You saw Harrys eyes momentarily light up at that, before he remembered that you weren’t okay.

“Okay. Tell me why you’re upset, love. Help me understand.” He sounded urgent, just wanting to know so he could help you out. He wanted you to be okay. He wanted you with him.

“The security guards wouldn’t let me in, backstage I mean. I didn’t have my backstage pass. But..” You choked on a sob and Harry told you to just breathe. You were okay. “One of them g-grabbed me and escorted m-me of sight.”

“Baby, are you hurt? Is that why you’re upset?” Harry asked, standing up now in panic. His face looked angry, but you could tell he was trying his best to be a comfort for you. “Y/N?”

“Y-yes. Yes Harry, yes.” You voice wobbled out and you let out an exasperated sob. “I’m s-sor—”

“No don’t you dare. Don’t apologise for this. Not ever. You understand me?” He made very clear he wasn’t messing around.

“Yes.” You nodded.

“Alright. Now, you gotta be strong for me okay?” He asked, before asking, still checking that you were okay. He knew you would be though, because you were his bravest girl ever - stronger than you knew.

“Okay.”

“You’re going to make your way back to the backstage entrance, alright? I am going to be there, before you get there. Those security guards won’t be there I promise. You’ll be okay. Can you do that for me?” He asked, moving around the room and then out of the door. He was walking down the corridors, ignoring the people shouting his name. He was only focused on you.

“Yes. Okay.” You nodded, wiping under your nose again.

“I love you.” He kissed the camera of his phone, looking like he was kissing you instead.

You returned the gesture, kissing him virtually back. “I love you.”

He told you that it’d be alright and then ended the call, explaining how you didn’t need to hear him get angry when he found these security guards. They would be fired even if they weren’t on his tour crew, he’d make sure of it. You made your way back to the backstage entrance again, slowing down before you rounded the corner. Taking a deep breathe you walked around and were met with exactly what Harry promised; him.

You smiled and broke out into a run to get to him, your bag weighing on your shoulder. Once you reached him your bag was thrown on the floor in front of him and you jumped into his arms. He lifted you up to sit you around his waist, keeping his arms tight around your waist and squeezing the biggest hug out of you. Your arms tightened around your boyfriends neck and you buried your face into his neck, and god he smelt like everything homely and sweet. He felt just like home.

“See, you’re alright now lovie.” He assured you, kissing your cheek that wasn’t quite buried into his neck.

“Th-ank you.” You muttered, kissing his neck in appreciation which made him hum in delight. He tasted so hot and lush. He was insatiable. You then felt him start kissing your arms, where the harsh red and purple marks were.

“Sorry y’had to go through this.” He kept kissing your arms, until you moved your head up and looked at him with furrowed eyebrows.

“If I can’t say sorry, then neither can you.” You shook your head, kissing his nose softly. You watched his eyes flutter close and felt so special that only you could do that to him.

“You’re so amazing Y/N. Truly.”

“You’re pretty special too, my love.”

He didn’t need to hear anything else from you, those words were enough, so he pressed his lips to yours softly, filling you with the love you’d been waiting to feel all day. You smiled into the kiss and he just felt so amazing. He was so soft and gentle with you - as smooth as the silk that dressed his body. He was so pretty to watch melt away under your spell and delicious tasting. Strawberries, was that?

He was everywhere. He was everything. He always would be.

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twinklelilstarkey · 3 years

Text

Where is my girl, bro? - Qb!Rafe Cameron

Words: 2.1k+

Summary: Rafe is, finally, having the game that he anticipated for so long, but he can’t find you in the stands.

Warnings: Cursing? Female!Reader. Rafe being a sad boi for a few minutes.

DO NOT REPOST, REWRITE OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORK!

Inspired by the iconic video “I can’t find my mama, bro” (but, of course, instead of mom, it’s his girlfriend)

One thing you absolutely hate but, for some reason, always happens to you is that whenever you really want or need to be somewhere at a certain time, something *always* happens and you end up being late.

It could be for presentations, tests, and many other important things, and no matter what you do, it just happens. There’s no way to escape it.

Today is your boyfriend’s game. You never miss a game, ne-ver. And he has been telling you about it for way too long. Always saying how excited he is to play it, just so he can finally beat the guys that have been talking shit about his team nonstop for so long.

You did everything to get there in time. You left the college library early, went back to your apartment to take a shower and get ready.

You did everything in time and still had at least twenty minutes to spear. So, with the time remaining, you calmly and slowly got onto your car and drove your way to the stadium with absolutely no worries.

The time from your apartment to the stadium wasn’t all that much. Ten to fifteen minutes, max. Plus, the games are always a few minutes late. You were as relaxed as one can be.

But that’s when everything went to shit.

There was a car accident at one of the streets that connected to the stadium, so the road was closed. It wasn’t a big accident, just a tap that took one off the road slightly. No one was hurt, thankfully. But you had to do a whole different rout, where you were met with nothing but... traffic, of course.

Still, you didn’t stress. You still had time. Rafe didn’t have his phone on him anymore, so you couldn’t text him just to tell him know that you were on your way. But, still, you didn’t panic, yet.

It took you a good 15 minutes to get out of the traffic and get in the parking lot, to find almost no empty spots.

But life’s still great, right?

You were able to park your car all the way in the back and as soon as you turned off the engine, your friends started blowing up your phone to say that the game has started.

You jumped out of the car, locked the doors and started running to the stadium.

Midway through the ginormous parking lot, you remember that you left the lights of the car on. So, running back you went.

To say you were out of breath was an understatement.

You called your friends when you were able to get in the stadium (in as: ‘just walked through the door’) to see where they were seated, and you did that while walking at fast pace to the usual seats, slightly off to the left of the field, already expecting their answer.

And all you got as their answer was “our usual spot was occupied”, which made you stop walking and sigh to the ceiling, “we’re on the right, by the doors”.

And there you went again. Running like a mad woman, again, through empty hallways to the other side of the stands.

The game had been going on for a good few minutes now and Rafe was sitting on the bench, breathing a little heavy has he just left the field and his eyes study the stands.

“Where is my girl, bro?” He asks his teammate beside him.

His friend tries to help him find you, eyes scanning through the sea of college students and families, but soon enough he was called back in the game.

Rafe’s telling himself many times that you are there and he just isn’t seeing you.

You wouldn’t miss a game, right?

You pant as you make your way up to the stands. Your legs are starting to ache from the sudden running and jumping up stairs, and the urge to yell a ‘thank god’ when you spot your friends at the front seats and not all the way in the back is too intense for you to just not let out a whisper yell version of it.

“Finally!” Your friend says loudly over everyone’s loud excited voices.

You sit beside them, feeling exhausted, eyes already on the score board, scared to see that you missed any points, but you’re happy to see that you didn’t miss all that much.

You sip your drink excessively as you quench your thirst and your friend starts to update you on what you missed.

Rafe’s eyes go back to the stands as he makes his way back to the bench and he frowns at the fact that he can’t see you nowhere close to your usual spot. He looks through the sea of dark blue jerseys, trying to at least find his number on anyone and go on from there, but he just... can’t see you.

“Still can’t find her?” His other teammate asks.

“No, like... what the fuck?” He curses more to himself than anyone else, sad tone. “Where the fuck is she?”

He’s not cursing you, he’s cursing himself. Like what if he forgot to tell you that the game was today? He had stopped checking his phone long before the game started... what if something happen? Maybe he should’ve checked his phone earlier.

Oh, god, where are you?

He lets himself fall back on the bench, eyes still on the stands, which almost made him trip over an helmet on the floor, but he didn’t seem to care all that much.

Your eyes stay on the field, watching the game continue as you try to cool down your warm body, nodding at your friend’s words and waving your arms around your face to seek some wind.

(...)

The game continues on, Rafe keeps on trying not to think too much about your absence on your usual seat, forcing himself to think that you have been there the whole game, and imagines you in previous games just to simulate some idea of your presence.

Everything is close to ending, his team is winning, as expected, yet he was still dragging his feet on the grass and letting his eyes stay on the ground as he walked back to the bench.

He feels sad, this almost-win doesn’t even feel like a win. He never celebrated a home game win without you, and it’s weird to even think about it.

“Yo, Cameron!” His friend screams from a few feet away from him.

Rafe lifts his gaze from the ground, up to his friend. He has an outstretched arm, pointing at the opposite side of home team stands, the one’s he has been looking at for way too long.

Rafe’s heart speeds up for a bit as hope runs through his system and he stands up, almost running full speed to his teammate. He stands behind him to try and follow his pointed finger. His blue eyes scan the middle rows first and suddenly... he spots you.

You’re smiling at your friend, wearing his jersey, like always, shaking a cup on your hand and sipping the last drops of your drink at the bottom of the cup.

You are nowhere near where he thought you would be. Yeah, you’re on the front row but way off to the side, close to the doors that he had just walked through on the break.

How the hell didn’t he see you?

A wide smile spreads over his lips and his heart squeezes at the sight. He has never felt this much relief in his life. You’ve been here this whole time.

You’re not going to miss a home game win.

The last seconds of the game run out and the team starts celebrating as soon as the number zero hit the timer.

A heavy weight has been lifted off Rafe’s shoulders and he honestly didn’t even realize it was there until now. His smile is huge as he jumps around with his teammates while they chant whatever nonsense you always had trouble understanding a word of.

His helmet is on his hand, letting his hair flow away freely in the wind as his features twitch upwards in the happiness with the win of the game that has been on his mind for so long.

You smile from your spot on the stands, some people in the stands are just as loud as the team, jumping and dancing around. You can’t blame them, after so many weeks of both colleges fighting against one another on social media, yours can finally rub the win on their faces.

As the team separates to go to their girlfriends, boyfriends and family members, many people walk over to the railing of the stand.

Rafe walks towards you, smile as bright as ever, being highly contagious to you.

“Hi baby!” You squeal in excitement as he gets closer to you.

He answer back with a just as excited tone and cheesy nickname and comes closer to the stands. He climbs them a bit and you lean down to cup his face and give him the usual kiss after a game.

His cheeks are sweaty under your fingertips, but it’s not something you haven’t grown accustomed to.

When being able to pull away from the various pecks, Rafe helps you down the stands, almost against your will, and pulls you into a not so comfortable hug due to all the gear on him.

Yes, you, supposedly, can’t get on the field, but there’s too many people around you for anyone to notice, and other people are also doing it, so it will be impossible for someone to call you out specifically in the middle of such commotion.

“I didn’t see you for most of the game.” Rafe tells you and you look up at him.

“I expected that. I got here late and supposedly our usual spot was taken.” You explain over the loud music.

“You were late?” He asks loudly, forced shock on his tone as he pulls a quite offended look on his face, “For my special game? How could you?”

You giggle at him and he breaks the fake expression so he can smile.

“There was traffic and the parking lot is completely full.” You explain.

“Excuses, excuses.” He says while waving his head from side to side comically, “You. little missy... for-got!”

He pokes your side with each word and you laugh at him again, loving his playful and excited mood.

“Did not do such a thing!” You say, playing along.

Rafe’s smile is wide and bright and god, you wish they could win everyday.

If it meant him stopping to worry so much about everything and just be this happy every day... Ugh, where do you sign? No matter what cost. You will sign that, god damn it.

As you’re about to pull away from your sweaty boyfriend, your friend stops you.

“Wait! Let me take picture!” She says.

You pass her your phone with the best of your ability and she takes it in her hands midair. You walk back to stand beside Rafe and wrap one of your arms around his waist, as his do the same, pulling you closer, completely against him.

Your friend takes as many pictures as she can of you two smiling, just for memories’ sake, but you, many family members and significant others, are interrupted by the usual voice saying a ‘please stay on the stands and do not step on the grass’ blah blah blah.

“Thank you.” You thank your friend as she shows you the pictures from her place up the stands.

Rafe holds your waist close to him and, just like any other guy around him, he helps you up. But... Rafe is Rafe. He can only fight his urges to some extent.

As soon as your hands grab the top railing and you stand safely at the top, his hand lands a loud and hard smack on your ass.

God, you hate this man.

You send him a glare and the bastard sends you a cheeky toothy smile, so forced that even his eyes close with his cheeks. You shake your head in a chuckle and jump to the other side of the stands.

“Don’t take too long on the locker room!” You tell him over the loud music and he nods.

You’ll never forgive him for making you wait 2 hours for him to only say ‘Sorry, I had to enjoy the shower while we still had hot water’.

Never. You will take that with you to your grave.

“Sure thing, ma’am!” He says, playfully saluting you.

You smile down at him and take some steps back.

“Wait!” He says, hand on the air.

You walk back close to the railing and he smiles, climbing up the stands again.

“I deserve one more kiss, no?” He questions, standing right at eye level with you.

You bring his hair back, not letting it fall back on his eyes and cup his cheeks, giving him the kiss he so wanted and wasn’t able to get when you were standing beside him.

Rafe’s free hand holds you close to him by the back of your head, but you pull away quickly as soon as you feel his tongue touch your bottom lip.

“We are not doing all of that here.” You warn him.

He stares back at you.

“I’ll wait in the car.” You say, your lips hovering over his, pressing a last kiss on his lips.

He jumps back down to the grass and stares as you turn to grab your things from your seat.

His last name is written across your back as well as his number. A dark blue jersey matching the one he is wearing right now.

Your friend stands beside you, so that the both of you can leave, and you give him a last look before he has to step away with his team and resume his celebrations while you go to the car.

He steps back from the stands, eyes on you and on his jersey. Rafe loves to see you wear it, it awakens some sort of possessiveness in him, but, god, he is dreading to take it off of you.

Is this good? Because I love the idea of qb!rafe, but I don’t know shit about American football, and wrote this on a free morning. Help.

If you guys enjoyed this, I’ll write a fic with qb!rafe and maybe some more imagines of him just being a jock...? Maybe?

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #outer banks rafe #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron imagines #drew starkey #outer banks #netflix outer banks #rafe outer banks #obx #obx netflix

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byima · 3 years

Text

California Dreaming pt 3

Shout out to Tim Cook, the most boring commencement speaker like, ever. You’ve inspired PJO fanfiction. I am sharing this in smaller portions because I’m incapable of working on large text documents. Part 4 coming soon. Read full story on AO3

3 weeks later:

“…it is an honor to welcome you all to New Rome University's 125th commencement ceremony…”

Annabeth inhaled, steeling herself, taking it all in, then she exhaled in a loud breath. The morning was too bright, her brow pinched as she squinted at her surroundings, and the five-story arena they’re all crowded into seemed to gleam more than usual. It was enough to make her head ache.

She was in a Coliseum for gods’ sake. Because of course the arena in New Rome was modeled after the famous structure. The Greek in her wanted to wince at the on-the-nose mimicry. The architect in her was impressed by the modern adaptation and the homage to classic details. She had already committed to being on her best behavior, but the whole morning was shaping up to be a bit much. Nonetheless, neutral expression was her goal, as the Chancellor gave his welcoming speech.

“You all join thousands of scholars, authors, scientists, leaders, innovators, and thinkers in a centuries old tradition…”

It’s just… it wasn’t supposed to be this hot in the bay. But the sun was strong today, so much so that Annabeth found herself wishing she'd had Sally’s foresight and donned a wide brimmed hat like the ones her boyfriend’s mom and sister were sporting. Instead she sat in the cement stands using two programs as a visor, every now and then checking the status of the red flush blooming on Paul’s forehead and cheeks. And the beads of moisture, gathering incrementally at his temples.

“This is a landmark moment, the culmination of a lifetime of hard work and dedication…”

They’d arrived at the stadium early too, because Sally wanted good seats. The procession of graduates didn’t emerge for another hour and a half after they had settled in the stands. Her friends were spread throughout; Grover, Charles, Silena, Rachel and other Greeks that had made it sitting in a section to her left, Hazel, Nico, Piper, and Jason somewhere high up, to her right.

It was fine. They were here for Percy. And Frank. To celebrate.

That's what she told herself as she unstuck her dress from her sweaty thighs.

“And to all of our graduates, I encourage you to look into the stands. Find your family, your friends, your loved ones. The people that encouraged you, supported you, who danced and shouted and cried with you. Today we celebrate them, too…”

He owes me something real good, she thought to herself, for putting up with all the pomp and circumstance that’s coming with his graduation from this school. Mind on all the ways Percy was gonna make it up to her, she fanned herself with a program and settled back for the celebratory display.

It wasn't all punishing rays and sticky thighs though; the ceremony was touching in moments, electrifying in others. Touching when the procession of graduating students had poured onto the field; several students had broken formation to meet family members hanging at the edge of the stands for a brief embrace. Percy had searched them out in the crowd, spotted them, then blown dramatic kisses in their direction, finishing off with a two-handed "rock on" salute. Electrifying when the announcer prompted each cohort to give a battle cry. That sound, all the voices of graduates bellowing their affiliation, whether they had fought in the legion or had family that fought, accompanied by the reverberating tones of the Roman cornu, struck a note, something she felt in her chest even when the echo had subsided.

But the waiting, and the speakers, some engaging, others that should have never been passed the mic, had Annabeth digging her phone out of her crossbody bag so she and Estelle could occupy themselves.

And then, the final straw; the main speaker took the stage, a big Silicon Valley tech guy and a Vulcan legacy, and, gods above, Annabeth couldn't take it. She fell asleep, the drowsy heat was her blanket, hands folded in her lap and chin tucked into her chest.

After what felt like half a second of shut eye, Annabeth was jarred awake by loud, metallic clangs. Slightly startled, she looked behind her to see a girl, probably in her teens, apologizing as she picked up the water bottle she had dropped. Rubbing her nose tiredly, Annabeth looked to her right, there was Sally, leaning against Paul with her hand on his thigh, as they listened to the speech like the smug, functional adults they were.

Then she looked down, just as Estelle's gaze popped up, green eyes finding her gray ones under the brim of her hat, momentarily pausing her digital fruit popping to gleefully announce, "I saw you sleeping!"

"Yeah," Annabeth cleared her throat. She picked her hair up off of her clammy neck, shook it out, and set it back down. "Can I see my phone?" She searched for Percy's cap covered head as she asked. Bingo. Just as she thought.

Estelle’s answering “of course” was very polite, but she was reluctant to hand the device over, peering up at Annabeth's face as if to double check if she was serious about her request. Annabeth retrieved the device, clicked out of the game and opened up her messaging app. glancing at the field every other second, then started typing.

A: Percy.

A: Peeeeerrrrcccyyy.

A: Perseus Jackson.

A: Hey

A: Hi

A: What’s up?

A: Hello?

A: Buenos días.

She watched him jolt, shoulders shifting as he fumbled around for his vibrating phone. A couple seconds later...

P: You woke me up

A: I know. I could see your head drooping. I’m trying to save your neighbor from a drool stain on his gown.

P: Har har, nice one haven’t heard that before not.

P: Are you telling me you’ve managed to stay awake for this whole speech?

She took a moment to respond, she could lord this over him, falling asleep at his own graduation ceremony, but honesty is the best policy or whatever, and it’s actually hilarious how absolutely, horrifically, indubitably boring the selected speaker is.

A: No. I was knocked. The girl behind me dropped her hydroflask and woke me up.

P: This feels illegal.

P: I thought I was done sitting through lectures.

A: You’re almost there. You got this.

P: No. I’m not gonna survive this.

A: Very dramatic.

P: Tell my family I love them.

A: 😒

P: And I’ll miss them.

P: We had a great run .

A: 😒😒😒😒😒

P: Maybe you could send a hot pic?

P: One final act of kindness? 🥺

P: Make-a-wish style?

A: That’s your dying request?

P: Yup.

P: Boobies maybe?

P: A pic I haven’t seen before?

She scrolled through her camera roll.

P: I was joking.

P: Sort of. Not really.

P: Please don’t do anything reckless.

She sent him a picture.

P: Holy shit.

P: I’m awake.

P: Have I told you I love you today?

Annabeth laughed, pushing her hair behind her ear before she brought her screen up to type her response.

"Sweetheart, I’d like to assume that you aren’t the reason Percy is openly texting during his commencement ceremony."

Annabeth’s head jerked up and to the side as she hastily locked her phone.

There wasn't a single adult that Annabeth adored as much as she did Sally Jackson-Blofis, but also maybe feared a little bit? It was the mother of her boyfriend (future mother-in-law?) thing. Sally loved her like one of her very own, but on the topics of misdemeanors, misbehavior and all the other ways she could be corrupting Sally's beloved firstborn child, Annabeth lost every bit of her nerve. Blame it on childhood trauma, and her desperation to avoid giving her loved ones a reason not to love her. She'll probably have children of her own and still be looking for Sally's approval.

Annabeth winced in Sally's direction. "Sorry."

Sally didn't appear to be truly bothered as she looked out into the field, "At least he's not sleeping anymore."

P: Why is he yelling now?

P: Does he think yelling will make this any easier to bear?!?!?!

P: Praise Olympus he's finishing I think.

P: So you're ignoring?

P: You woke me up, just to leave me hanging?

P: Cold hearted 😔

P: I won’t forget this

P: mark my words

P: you’ll rue this day

A: We've been busted.

A: Stop texting. Focus on commencing.

P: Busted how?

P: By who?

A: Your mom does not approve

P: Tell her I'd be passed out on the field if you hadn't texted me.

A: No.

A: You tell her.

The bubble appeared, indicating that he was replying, then it vanished.

Annabeth got a notification of a group text, the group consisting of herself, Percy and Sally.

P: Mom I'd be passed out on the field if Annabeth hadn't texted me.

S: Get off of your phone now 😡

By the grace of the gods, the speaker finally wrapped up his monotonous ramblings. All that was left was the handing out of diplomas and the final address.

The rest of the ceremony passed in an energetic blur. There was a familial spirit in the stadium; people shouting and whistling and blowing horns and instruments to announce on no uncertain terms, 'yes, that's my loved one, I'm proud of them.' She felt it around her, in her. It made her holler for Frank, and whistle for Tobe and Simon, the other graduating seniors that lived in that little New Rome apartment that had been a second home to her. It made her stand up and jump with Sally when Percy's name was called. It made her scream louder and more joyously than she could recall ever screaming in her life.

And then it was done, and everybody was screaming again but also moving.

She turned to see Paul lifting Estelle onto his back as people seemingly began shifting around them at once, more or less in the same direction.

"The parking lot situation is going to be a nightmare," said Paul, worriedly observing the churning crowds.

"No, I can't imagine this small town gets this many people more than once a year." Sally picked up stray programs and their bag of snacks. "If we hurry, we can get out of the parking lot before there's too much of a bottle neck."

They were on the move.

"Can I use the restroom?" This was from Estelle.

Paul and Sally exchanged a look. "Oh sweetie. Is it bad? Do you have to go right now?"

"No, only a little."

"Do you think you can hold it?"

Estelle nodded confidently, one arm tightened around Paul’s neck while the other adjusted the lopsided hat on her head.

"Okay. That's what's gonna have to happen, because I doubt the bathroom lines are going to be bearable." Sally increased her pace, leading them out of the stands. "We just need to grab Percy, we'll meet everyone at the restaurant, Estelle can use the restroom there, and... yeah." She looked back to see everyone's expressions. "Does that sound like a plan?"

Annabeth gave her own confident nod. “I’ll go find him,” she said.

The group split, Paul, Sally and Estelle making a break for the parking lot, and Annabeth doubling back towards one of the field entries/exits, hunting down Percy's tall form in the outpouring of students shrouded in purple.

Annabeth spotted him, doing one of those handshake hugs with someone she didn’t know, nodding and laughing as they were carried with the flood exiting the tunnels.

She hadn’t even meant to, but she found herself practically running towards him, weaving through a sea of purple figures until she was right there in front of him, throwing her arms around his neck as he picked her up to wrap her in a bear of an embrace.

“Oh man,” he was chuckling at her enthusiastic display. “I knew you’d find me irresistible with a bachelor's degree.”

Laughter bubbled from her when he started spinning with her in his arms, and she wrapped her legs around his hips to avoid hitting someone nearby with a flying limb.

He stumbled to a stop and, faces close, they both started speaking at the same time.

“Well I’m glad that’s over with-”

“I’m so proud of you-”

There was a steady thump of drums and harmonic cries of horns and pipes in the background: a celebratory soundtrack. Percy’s cap got dislodged when Annabeth sunk her hand into the hair at the back of his head to hold him in place and plant an enthusiastic kiss on his mouth.

He pulled back slightly after a moment thusly engaged. “You’re gonna make everyone jealous," he breathed with a smile. "Or at least uncomfortable.”

“Who cares?” She brought their faces back together and stroked her mouth over his. He responded immediately, parting her lips with his own and sliding his tongue into her mouth because honestly it was go big or go home and he’d decided that, today, he was entitled to a bit of a display. She had been snacking on oranges throughout the ceremony, not that he knew that until now, when he tasted the tangy story of it in the corners and surfaces of her mouth. He hiked her higher up with his hand on her thigh, her sandal clattered to the cement, and the loss of her shoe was enough to bring them back to reality.

They pulled apart, breathing loud and grinning like mad. Annabeth nodded to her shoe on the ground. Percy shrugged. She stuck her tongue out at him and he darted forward to lick the tip of her nose. There was that invisible string, connecting them, and they were grinning again, they couldn’t look away, they couldn’t help themselves.

She unwrapped one leg from his hips and reached for her shoe with her toes, finally finding the displaced sandal when she broke their connection and dragged her attention from his face to search the floor around them. Once she was properly shoe’d, he lowered her to the cement, adjusting her dress to fall smoothly at her thighs.

"Where’s everyone?" He trailed his hands down her arms and took her hands in his.

"Trying to get out of the parking lot before it becomes unbearable.” She fixed his cap back into place. They were jostled by a passing trio, and Annabeth got immediately shoulder checked by another hustling grad. “Come on," she tugged him forward. "I’m supposed to take you in that direction."

"Lead the way."

They set off, falling into step with each other, his arm wrapped around her waist and hers wrapped around his.

"Jackson! Annabeth!" They saw Frank, Hazel and Nico making a determined beeline in their direction.

The two groups fought their way to each other.

“I’m proud of you Percy,” Hazel fit herself to Percy’s open side for a brief hug. All of them were getting jostled, it seemed forward was the way to move.

“I guess they let anyone graduate these days.”

“Nico!”

Annabeth and Frank embraced.

“Hey guys,” Annabeth reluctantly pulled away from Frank. “Look, we've gotta hurry. Sally and them are pulling out of the parking lot.” She and Percy shared a nod. “And we shouldn’t keep them waiting. But we’ll see you at the restaurant!”

“At the place in Berkeley?”

“Yup! And congrats Frank! See ya there!” She called as they hurried off.

They moved away from the stadium now and headed into one of the main parking lots.

“You see them?” Percy asked.

“No… yes! There they are. White Toyota.”

“Yeah, I see ‘em.”

They jogged across the lot and jaywalked to reach the spot where Paul had pulled over.

Estelle was the first to comment as soon as the door popped open. “I saw you on the grass!”

“I saw you in the stands,” Percy shot back as he and Annabeth slid into the rental vehicle.

“Congrats Percy. This is a big moment.” From Paul.

Sally was quiet, just looking at him through the rear view mirror with full eyes and a small smile.

“Aw Ma-” This only seemed to escalate things, Sally tearing for real as the car started moving.

“I am so–” she paused, gathering herself. “So proud of you sweetheart. That's all.”

“Thanks,” he leaned forward and kissed her cheek over the back of her seat. “But also please don’t make a big deal about it. This celebration is for you too.”

She made a face like she was really attempting the no-tears thing and touched his hand where it rested on her seat.

“You’ve grown up so much-”

“Aww ma please-”

“No Percy, stop,” she moved his hand from where it was inching to cover her mouth. “Don’t you put that grimy hand on my mouth- Let me say this.”

He leaned his forehead against the back of her seat.

“All of us know how hard you have worked. I’m not just talking about grades. Both of you.” Annabeth, who had just been watching their exchange, sat up straighter when she was addressed. “You two and all your friends have worked through and survived more than most of the world population will ever survive in their lifetimes and you’re barely above drinking age!” She located some restaurant napkins in the glove compartment before refocusing on Percy, who looked apprehensive at best.

Cars in front of them honked as drivers struggled with the roundabouts and they weren’t so far from the stadium that they couldn’t hear the faint sound of a voice on the loudspeaker.

“You’re my son-”

“I'm your daughter!” Estelle chirped from her booster seat, tired of being ignored.

“Yes you are, baby. My rockstar princess.” Sally smiled at the girl.

“You,” she said with emphasis, attention back on Percy, she was not going to let him off the hook, “what feels like just a second ago, were the little boy who asked for blue candy from the shop and tried so hard to carry the weight of the world on his little shoulders.”

Percy turned his head, still pressed to the back of the seat in front of him, and made an exasperated face at Annabeth who made a tight lipped, ‘don't be rude’ expression right back.

“And even though,” all of them rocked as Paul hit a speed bump with a little too much force, “even though you’ve grown a lot bigger and stronger since then, I still see you carrying so much burden and it hurts my heart, it always will.” He shifted up at this, resting his chin on the shoulder of her seat while his hand sought hers out to grab onto.

“But you just did a really big thing for yourself. For you .” She tightened her hand around his for emphasis. “And I know you say you did it for me or Annabeth or Estelle, but I know you did this for you. And that , you choosing yourself, makes me so damn proud.”

“Ma…”

“My little boy. You are so extraordinary.” She squeezed his hand again. “But you’re also my little boy.”

She looked past Percy to Annabeth. “Thank you for keeping him out of trouble. For taking care of him.”

At this point, Annabeth was emotional too, hugging herself as she blinked away tears. “We take care of each other.”

“I know. He’s a caseload though. You don’t have to lie, I had him for 18 years.”

“I love you Ma. You didn’t have to say all of that.”

“I know, I just,” she waved a dismissive hand in the air, trying to compose herself. “Big day! Big weekend.” Her hand lowered to impatiently swipe the tears off of her cheek.

Estelle, who had been watching with wide eyes, felt it was time again to intervene. “Don’t cry. It's okay,” her little hand patted Annabeth’s right arm, comforting her in the best way she could. She looked at her mom. “Don't cry mommy. It's okay.”

Paul cleared his throat. “These are good tears Stelle-belle. Happy tears.”

“Okay,” she sat back in her seat, hands under her thighs, only half believing her dad.

Percy turned to his sister and tickled her sides. “You better believe I’m happy. No more school? And I get to come back to New York?” She screeched and pushed his hands away.

“You’re gonna come back with us?”

He tugged on one of her long, brown curls. “Well, I’m not flying back with you guys. But in about a month, Annabeth and I are moving back to New York.”

“You’re gonna have your room back?”

“No, we’re gonna have our own place.”

“You’ll see us all the time,” Annabeth added.

Estelle gave Percy a long look.

“So are you getting married?”

Paul started chuckling. Annabeth opened her mouth but no noise came out.

Percy, the smug, sweet bastard, cut his eyes over to his girlfriend and grinned, “Yeah, eventually.”

“My teacher is moving to Texas with his girlfriend and they’re getting married.”

“Well Annabeth and I are gonna live in sin for a bit–”

“Percy! If you don’t… ” Sally, who was giving Paul directions, paused to scold him.

“What’s that?” Estelle sensed a forbidden topic in the air and was on its trail like a bloodhound.

“That means we’re gonna get a dog,” Annabeth succinctly ended the conversation. The look she sent Percy’s way now said, ‘you can shut up.”

#mypjofic #percy jackon and the olympians #percy and annabeth #percabeth #pjo

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kakubun · 3 years

Text

Animator!Y/N

karasuno x gen!reader, hinata x reader

a/n: people who do animation, just take my whole heart pls

this felt like a proper fic but sorry if it's short,,

(please reblog darlings)

yachi first started being curious about you since you were one of the teacher's pet, always lingering around the art teacher asking questions with a tablet in hand

she was nosy, she had to admit

she wanted to sneak a glance whenever you drew on your tablet and you would glance at her if she wants to take a look but she managed to look away before you saw

but she finally founds out what you're doing when some students partake in presentation (even if you didn't want to, the teacher liked you so you had to) and you presented yours

her little heart couldn't handle her excitement when fluid carefully drawn animation popped up on the screen and you looked at your hard work with pride

whatever subject was in the animation you discussed about it with the class and you couldn't help but of course notice the crooked smile that yachi had

she was impressed and filled with so much undescribable feelings, she could cry with how astonishing your work is

after art class yachi decided to approach you and ask a bunch of questions to you and you had the pleasure to answer all of them

you also wanted to cry because of how hyper of a puppy was when yachi would bounce up and down when you started describing about your work and how she would apologize if she was being too excited which you would shake your head to and laugh

you started exchanging numbers and you saved her under "gal who won't stop staring", of course you noticed

she couldn't hide it,,

after finding out where she was after school so you could ask her about art projects or catching up when you're absent, you started going to the club a lot more to also see the boys

they would always see you sliding into the gym and going to one of their managers and asking yachi about something

which they didn't mind much, the simpy duo thought you were stealing her away which you teased them by putting an arm around her as she laughs and says "there was nothing to worry about, y/n doesn't bite"

the whole team suprisingly loves to see your work especially hinata since he would make sound affects for your characters if you haven't added any audio yet

he would leap when your character does a transition or the scenery changes and he would gush about how cool you and your animation were

you, hinata and yachi would walk home admiring your work and yachi would also pull out her drawing as well to show both of you

hinata were both your hype man, he would compliment and point out every detail he loves

(i'm also convinced he has made doodles but they would look wonky but cute)

and since you two were close you always had sleepovers!!

usually it was at hinata's house so you could bond with natsu and she was entertained by your animations that you set up on your projecter

sometimes hinata's mom would pop up and see how it goes and she appreaciates having you over since you were such a kind and close friend of hinata that matches his energy

it was such a blast, stuffing yourselves with snacks and chortling till midnight which hinata's mom would try to shush all of you but she couldn't help but join in because it was so much fun

you would all have headaches though the next day buuut it was worth it~~

whenever you feel out of it, yachi's there

she would always be there to give you snacks or ask you take a few breaks if you worked too much

she would try to scold you and you just can't help but follow because it would be mean of you to ignore her words

and oh they were so wise

it helped you through times when she wasn't even there and it was good that you followed so you didn't hurt your mental health from the get go

now to timeskip,,

T I M E S K I P :

you were an independant animator animating part of your manga with your crew which you grouped together with your friend who was the boss of everything

you felt proud of yourself since you reached a long way,

how your parent/s didn't suppprt you from the start to how stress swallows you whenever you were near a deadline to how people complain if their request wasn't fulfilled to their liking,

yes, you still experienced it but it was a lot more better now than your highschool years telling you to shut up about your dreams

here you were animating frame by frame of your own creation,

what exactly was your manga about?

volleyball :))

yachi and karasuno's volleyball team has inspired you so much about how much team work and pain they went through and your heart stop whenever you remember

your big inspo, yachi who would never stop babbling about you and being right by your side when you need it

you might cry on the tablet you're drawing on which make your crew question on what are you crying about but you held back which also made your crew question why were you smiling so hard

nonetheless, you were almost happy everyday because you could reminisce with the ideas yachi gave you back then which you still kept dearly because they were great plot points

and how you stick close to each character no matter how goofy or chaotic they were, they had a lesson for each time they appear and dissappear

that's how the stadium smelled like, the colours and the adrenaline you felt by cheers from the crowds, you felt like you could fly right now with how much you wanted to scream the team's name and let them notice you

it smelled like the victory the monster duo had, it filled you with so much glee to watch them gain fans from the sidelines

you also felt hinata and kageyama's pride swelling and you could knock your chair over if you kept this up

there he was the orange haired boy who used to be your biggest fan standing in front of you who now has a lot more fans trailing behind him

eventhough he smelled musky and felt sweaty you can't control the urge to hug him and he also can't too

you later hugged kageyama and just spilled all your excitement to both of them on how well the matches went and hinata couldn't resist hugging you again and twirling you around

he planned on telling you all about your manga and how he haven't catched up on it yet on some of it and a pang struck your heart as you teared up which confused hinata

ah, he still remembered

"are you crazy, of course i did!" his boyish laughter was louder than your sobs when he rested your head on his chest and pushed him off, complaining about how sweaty he was

oh you silly goose, of course he did

you also met up with the rest and tumbled into yachi when she appeared around the corner and everyone laughed it out

either of you got a headache as you both help each other up

hinata and kageyama would stand near the third years who held their hearts and congratulated them

which kageyama would smile and nod while hinata would still bashfully scratch his neck while happily thanking them because his seniors were proud of him

you would take a selfie with yachi and hinata, yachi would be the one leaping off the ground and eventhough the picture was a little blurry atleast you could catch both of their smiles

the next time you meet up, hinata was there in his comfy clothes melting into all the pillows you pelted at him and you snuggled right next to him when you both were fresh out the shower

just like the old times, how he would wrap around your arm and yachi would be on your left doing the same

except this time, you were the one snuggling onto hinata's arm

you felt kinda sad that yachi couldn't join since she was really busy

but hinata interrupted your thoughts with a screech when you whipped your head back to see what he was doing

the television showed your blood sweat and tears of the countless projects and art that you did about it, dropping your head on hinata's shoulder as not even a second in, you got a series of shout and yells of eagerness from him

"i added a reference of you somewhere~" "huh! really? did you add kageyama?? he'll text me about it later-"

and the night was drowning in the amounts of laughter and euphoria you two shared,

the number 2 who supports you will always be the number 1 in your heart

#haikyuu!!#haikyu x reader #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #haikyū!!#karasuno x reader #karasuno #karasuno x y/n

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murdereraisuha · 3 years

Text

FINAL part of chapter 5!!!

WElcome to my liveblog it is time to SCREAM

Spoilers for episodes 68-75! Warning: Some caps and swearing. Also, it’s very long since I’m not dividing it up into different posts this time.

Alright, just started episode 68, why is it playing the sad music. Oh Vil’s hurt.

Epel wants to be the center!!! :D

Okay but Vil’s saying he’s gonna be okay and htere’s no need to worry. BRO just let Epel do stuff. OH WAIT This is his chance to stand on the stage until the very end! VILLLLLLLLLLLL

Why are the other people seriously acting like everything’s normal. I know they didn’t know about the whole overblot fight but still, did NO ONE realize that they physically could not get into the stadium???

ALRIGHT IT’S SHOWTIME

LOOK AT THEM GO!!! WIAT THE SONG’S STIll ehiaTELTy

JAMIL JMAIL JAMIL JAMIL JAMIL JAMIL AJMILA JAMIL JAMIL JAMIL AJMILA JAJF KAKM<AIFLHGiteT(hy HE’S DACNIGN HEOSI DANCING I LOVE HIM OMG THE CHIBI DANCING IS SO CUTE

FULL SONG REVEAL BOYS YEAAAAAAAAA OH THIS SHIT’S FIRE

THE AUDIENCE MEMBERS ARE A MOOD

OH shit Vil just collapsed. But we did it!!

Onto episod 70! Oh the rest of the Heartslabyul boys are here

and THEM.

OMG what would chapter 5 turn out like if Floyd was in the mood for dancing when the auditions were happening and he got on the team? hglksglksd HE’S GOING TO TRY OUT NEXT YEAR?!?!

GSHSSGhsGHSK FLoyd this is why you were my favorite character at first sight

Alright, Savanaclaw boys are here now. Does it mean something that they appeared after Octavinelle rather than going in chapter order?

Ohhhh, it’s cause he knows what’s up

Sebek sounds a bit too quiet? Anyway, time for YA HOOOOOOOOOOOO

Something about this grin really disturbs me.

Oh no yahoo. Right to the voting on who wins.

Voting done. WHy is this forboding music playing. alright who wins??

1st and 2nd place 1 vote apart????? THE WINNER IS... EPISODE CHANGE AND DRUM ROLL.... ROYAL SWORD ACADEMY

EXCUSE ME WHAT THE FUKC BRO RHFHHRT Excuse me???? STOP SHOWING THESE SWAVRES I DON’T CARE THEIS DON’T JSUT PLAY YAHOO OVE HTE BOYS CRYING I HATE THIS NEIGE YOU MADE KALIM AND EPEL CYR

VIL’S CRYING

WAIT WOOK. ROOKL. WAHT THE FUKC ROOK HE VOTED FOR ROYAL SWROD ACADMEY? BRO? EXCUSE ME

GEEZ ACE THAT IS SOME YELLING BUT I FEEL EXACTLY THE SAME WAY

ALRIGHT FRENCH BOY SQUARE UP IT’S TIME TO BEAT YOU UP IN A WALMART PARKING LOT LET’S GO

OKAy yeah maybe Vil doesn’t believe inh imself

did you have to make the team lose like this though to make vil beautiful

ah shit vil’s crying aGIN FUCK OFF NEIGE

OKAY I TAKE THAT BACK NEIGE YOU CAN STAY YOU ARE A SWEET BOY PLEASE BECOME FRIEND WITH VIL

FELLAS,

huh? EH?

EVEN ROOK’S SURPRISED HE FOUND OUT. HOLY SHIT WHAT ROOK’S A NEIGE STAN??? NEIGE IS SURPRISED R-SAN IS A BOY SDHFLKDGKLSDGK

THE PHOTO ALBUM??!?!?!!?!? HOLY SHIT WE ALL ASUSMED IT WAS HIS STALKING VICTIMS BUT IT WAS ALL PICTURES OF NEIGE??!?! WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING I THOUGHT AZUL WAS THE MOST RELATABLE TO STANS FOR SIMPING OVER JAMIL BUT ROOK IS STRAIGHT UP DOING THE EQUIVALENT OF LOADING THOUSANDS OF PHOTOS OF A CHARACTER INTO YOUR PHONE TO TRY AND PULL THEM IN A GACHA

HDSFGDLHKG KALIM’S JUST CONGRATULATING ROOK

god this poor man’s privacy and life are crumbling to pieces around him

“finally, I have the upper hand over this creepy hat man”

Is he boutta do his own take on Azul’s outburst after Leona dusted his contracts?

He’s crying...

NEIGE FANCLUB “Eternal Snow’ NUMBER 0000002 ROOK HUNT?!?!??!??! HOLY FUCKING SHIT HE IS A STAN

the disappointment on his face glkglshgls

F E L L A S ,

Oh Neige wants to sing together! AWwww friendship!!! :D

Oh. Welp. Seems the audience might be thinking of another kind of ‘ship. HAFDLHKFDHALK THE AUDIENCE IS CHEERING

OH MY GOD THEY’RE ACTUALLY SINGING YA HOO

ACE’S FACE SHGLHKSGLKSDGLK DEUCE IS SO HAPPY THOUGH HSDGKSGHKDG THEY’RE SO CUTE

JAMIL SOUDNS SO DEFEATED HE’S SINGING SO SOFTLY BUT KALIM IS SO ENTHUSIATIC OH MY GOD I LOVE HTEM SO MUCH

LOOK AT THEM I LOVE THEM!!!!!

ROOK HAHAHAHAAHA

VIL’S SMILING NOW! YES! BE HAPPY! BE FRIENDS! Wait hold what what if the Pomefiore involvement/character developement in chapter 6 involves Neige too?? Please I really want to see Neige and Vil become friends

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA THERE IT IS!

OH shit Vil yelling lmao

Oh crowley’s here.

IS THIS THE HEADMASTER OF ROYAL SWORD ACADEMY???? HWY DOES HIS HAT LOOK LIKE A SLEEPING CAP HDGKHLKSDghldlgdKLGKHL WHY IS THAT THE FIRST THING I THINK OF NOOOO I CAN’T TAKE HIM SERIOUSLY NOW

Ambrose the 63rd? Welp, that’s a name to research for later.

oh this guy’s a bit of an asshole isn’t he

Oh, this guy sensed the magic of the overblot fight/Malleus. Crowley is pretty good at deflecting suspicion.

*detective thinking pose*

OMG YEAH GRIM Honestly I keep getting Ya Hoo stuck in my head too and I hate it so much.

Oh? Time for another meeting with Mickey! Wassup you weird little mouse.

We’re taking a picture of him!

Awwww he did a little pose for us! :D

It seems like the barrier/distance between us and Mickey weakens with each meeting. The time they can meet is increasing too.

This is something like “maybe sometime we will be able to watch a movie together”. Can’t wait to see people’s takes and theories on all this new information and concerning lines of dialogue.

Are we running somewhere? Oh, Grim’s missing?!?! OH SHIT WHAT JSUT HAPPENED

A VISION OF A CARRIAGE AND OVERBLOT GRIM!!!!

WE’RE BACK TO TALKING WITH MICKEY???? HWat Okay we know Grim isn’t here but do we still know he not anywhere in the house? Is something funky going on with time? YEAH MICKEY JUST ADVISED US TO GO SEARCH FOR GRIM HE WOULDN’T HAVE SAID THAT IF WE JUST RETURNED FROM SERACHING

IS THE TIME LOOP THEORY CORRECT? WHAT IS GOING ON? WE JUST RAN BACK TO THE STAGE.

GRIM OH WHAT THE FUCK THAT VOICE THOSE SOUDN

WHAT HTE FUCK WHAT THE FUKC I FEEL LIKE THIS JSUT RUTNED INTO A HOORROR GAME WHAT THE FUCVK THWAT THE FUCFK THAT CRUNCKING SOUND HWAT HTE DEEP SVOice HGelihtgliehteiothi hIHTW WAHT THE FUCK I AM SCARREdD

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaAAAAA HE”S ATTAKCING US?!?! DID WE JUST BALCK OUT?

IT JUST TRANSITIONED TO IDIA’S ROOM

His presentation went well BUT WHAT ABOUT GRIM?? DON”T JUST LEAVE US ON A CLIFFHANGER

Idia got an internship invite? Multiple invites? From “that Olympus company”? Idia wants Ortho to put them all in the trash...

IT JUST ENDS THERE!!!!

Welp. So, no more Scarabia stuff. :( I was really hoping for that. Nah, we get Rook stuff then we die and then Idia is depressed. Alright whatever it’s time to wait a bit and organize my thoughts before writing a whole reflection on this part, see ya. Hope you had fun reading this!

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst spoilers #update screaming

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ve1vetyoongi · 5 years

Text

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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caslikescoffeeandfreckles · 4 years

Text

Stealing is a Good Habit

#spnstayhome Monday 3: thief @pray4jensen @bend-me-shape-me @helianthus21 Read on Ao3

Elementary

The first time Dean steals from Cas, they’re five years old and blowing off steam on the playground before nap time. Cas is playing with his action figures near the swings, lost in a world of talking puppies and grand adventures.

He’s distracted for only a moment when a little boy falls off the swing and everyone holds their breath to gauge his reaction. Luckily, he just brushes himself off and jumps back on the swing. No teacher intervention needed.

Cas goes back to his toys only to notice that one is missing.

Instant panic floods his body and he feels sick, his heart beating, as he gazes wildly around the swing area. He knows he had his toy. It was just here a second ago!

And that’s when he spots it - just a tiny flash of orange clutched in the hand of another kindergartner. It’s not a lot to go on but Cas just knows deep down that’s his toy!

He’s up before he can even think, dashing to the other side of the swings where the boy sits. He’s moving the toy through the blades of grass like it’s on some amazing jungle adventure, whispering nonsensical dialogue to himself, but Cas doesn’t care.

“Hey, that’s mine!”

The boy looks up at Cas’s shout, big green eyes round with fear. “W-what?”

“That’s my toy!” Cas shouts, pointing at the figurine still in the other boy’s hand. “You stole my toy! My big brother says stealing make you a thief!”

“I’m not a thief!” the other boy shouts back, looking less scared now and more angry. “I found it!”

“No, you stole it!”

Unlike the kid falling off the swing, this argument does require teacher intervention. Cas and the other boy are taken off to the side where they continue screaming at each other until Ms. Summers is finally able to get them to take a breath and explain themselves.

“I’m sorry,” the boy who Cas has learned is named Dean says, in a very soft and quiet voice. “I’m sorry for being a thief.”

Big, fat tears well in his green eyes and Cas can’t find it in himself to be mad anymore. “Hey, it’s okay,” he soothes, the way his mommy speaks to him when he gets upset. “Don’t be sad. I’m sorry for yelling.”

Dean had relinquished the toy a while ago but now Cas offers it to him, smiling brightly and moving closer. “We can share if you want?”

Dean doesn’t seem to believe him at first but when Cas tilts his head and keeps smiling, Dean starts to smile too, all crooked teeth and crinkled eyes. “Okay!”

Middle School

Cas is sitting alone at his unofficial lunch table. His tray sits in front of him, mostly untouched, as he chooses to immerse himself in the library book he brought with him. He knows most people find him weird for liking to read, especially when he could be eating or talking to friends, but Cas had never minded. He prefers stories to the company of others. Well, except for one person.

Another tray claps down across from him and Cas waits until he finishes the paragraph he’s on to lower the book and greet his best friend.

“New book?” Dean asks casually before shoveling a handful of fries into his mouth.

Cas hums and flips it so Dean can see the title. “I got it from the library yesterday. It’s about a boy who rides dragons.”

Dean’s eyes sparkle. “Oh, dragons? I’ll have to check it out after you!” Dean has always been a sucker for tales of fantasy and anything with a dragon is a literary masterpiece to him.

Cas smiles. “I’ll make sure to hide it for you.”

They both grin, remembering the last time they got chewed out by the librarian for deliberately putting books in the wrong spot so no one else could find them.

“You going to the game Friday?” Dean asks as he continues to eat.

The mention of it makes Cas wrinkle his nose. He’s never been a fan of sports and has nothing but bitter memories of his older brothers’ hectic schedules and stinky laundry and late nights spent shivering on cold metal bleachers while people kick, throw, and hit balls in every such direction.

It was not what Cas would consider the ideal way to spend a Friday night.

But then Dean had joined the soccer team. At first, Dean hadn’t been happy about it either, knowing his mom was making him do it as a way to blow off some of that 12-year-old energy. But over time, Dean has come to actually enjoy the sport and his teammates, likes the competition, the motivation it gives him to keep working and building his skills.

And Cas likes anything that makes Dean happy.

“I’ll be there,” Cas says at last, not trying to hide his put upon sigh. “But will it take forever like the last one.”

“Depends on how good the other team is,” Dean says.

“Then I hope they’re just awful because I would like to get home before it becomes an ice age again.” It was getting too late in the fall for these kinds of games and Cas could only carry so many blankets into the stadium.

Dean chuckles and reaches over to Cas’s tray to pluck some of his fries. “Told you to join the cheer squad. They always manage to stay warm,” Dean teases, his eyes sparkling, and he tosses the fries into his mouth.

Cas rolls his eyes and whispers, “Thief,” but then smiles. “And I’m not joining the cheer squad. I would look awful in those skirts.”

Dean laughs, head thrown back and eyes watering, and Cas watches, a voice deep in the back of his mind whispering about how he hopes he can always have Dean like this even if he’s too young to understand what that means.

High School

No one ever talked about how oddly relaxing school dances could be. Cas has always avoided them, always believing they were loud overwhelming affairs, too hot and too crowded. And they certainly are, he notes as he steps into the high school gymnasium transformed into an impressive ballroom for their senior prom. But there’s something about the volume of the music, the darkness, the heat... it’s like being deprived of your senses and so Cas is able to quietly melt into the background, surrounded by people he’s known all his life and yet alone at the same time and he just watches.

He watches friends and couples dance, line up for picture, toast sparkling cider in their plastic glasses like this is the last and greatest night of their lives.

Dean finds him at some point, face covered in sweat and grumpily pulling at his collar.

“I’m so fucking glad I never have to come to another one of these again,” he grumbles before stealing Cas’s water bottle and guzzling half of it.

Cas smirks and eyes the crowd. “I think it’s charming.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Because it’s your first and only high school dance. Trust me, the charm wears off by your second one.”

“But this one is different, isn’t it? It’s just for us. The tired seniors about to embark on the journey of adulthood.”

“I guess so?” Dean shrugs and turns so they’re pressed shoulder to shoulder. “Where’s Meg?”

“Making out with someone somewhere,” Cas says, waving his hand toward the locker rooms. “Said it was one of her last chances to finally get through the sad art kids before they go discover what a personality is.”

Dean throws his head back and laughs. “Carpe fucking diem.”

Cas hums. He knew the risk of being ditched was high when he invited Meg to accompany him to the dance as a friend. Well, really when Meg made him ask her because, as she had reminded him so kindly, just because you can’t find a date with a dick doesn’t mean your gay ass can’t suffer with the rest of us. No one could ever accuse Meg or being unthoughtful.

She didn’t need to know that Cas had had his eye in a date. The perfect date, really. Someone he’s known since he was five. But someone he also couldn’t have because, well...

“Where is Lisa?”

Dean snorts and glances around the gym. “Hopefully somewhere with her friends forgetting who the came with.”

“Do I sense relationship problems?” Cas asks, trying to sound concerned but playful.

“Yes... no,” Dean amends. “I mean...” He runs a hand through his hair, letting it rest on the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I think I just haven’t been feeling it for a while? I actually kinda... wanted to break up.”

“With Lisa?”

Dean nods and Cas can see his shame, feels his own shame for the coil of excitement warming in his chest.

“Why did you come with her?” he makes himself ask.

“Because she asked me to prom before I could end things and I didn’t want to be a dick. But I think I’ve just made myself a bigger dick by leading her on?”

Cas can only hum and nod gravely like he understands. He’s never had to deal with relationships, one of the few reliefs when you’re one of the few gay kids at your school. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to do the right thing,” he assures his friend.

“Even...” Dean starts rubbing his neck, nervous now. “Even if it’s because I think I might... like someone else?”

Well this is interesting news. “Does Dean Winchester have a crush?”

It’s not that Dean’s never had a crush before, but with his looks and personality they never had to wait long before something came of it (i.e. Lisa, Tessa, Anna, even Cassie from sixth grade — that one had stung for reasons Cas had been too young to understand).

Dean glowers at the teasing. “Don’t be a jerk. It’s... I really like them. I think I’ve liked them for a long time.”

“Like a few weeks?” Cas hedges, trying to get a grip on both his and Dean’s emotions. “Months?”

“Um,” Dean looks away, “more like years?”

“Years?” Cas nearly shrieks. “Dean that’s really significant. And you never told me?”

“I didn’t really figure it out until a little while ago. It’s... hard to explain.”

He’s looking at the floor so intently, hands into his pockets now and Cas knows a defeated Dean Winchester when he sees one. Whoever this person is, they’ve done a number on his friend without even realizing it.

“Dean,” Cas says at last. “You know you don’t have to tell me anything, but if you ever want to talk about it, I’m always here for you.”

Dean nods. “Yeah. I know, Cas. Thanks.”

The way Dean says it is as if Cas’s offer is fruitless and it hurts to think that he can’t help his friend.

Dean looks up suddenly, eyes guarded and pensive ans Cas doesn’t look away. Dean is thinking about something, deeply and carefully, weighing his options. Cas knows because he’s seen this look when Dean is playing soccer, trying to figure out the best next five moves. He’s always been a critical thinker, scarily so.

“Cas, I-”

“Dean!”

Cas doesn’t even have to look to know it’s Lisa, could recognize her pleasant tone anywhere. What does surprise him is Dean’s reaction because he practically bristles at his girlfriend’s voice. And he doesn’t look away.

“Dean?” Cas asks carefully, eyes shifting to wear Lisa and her friends stand just outside the throng or dancers, looking at them expectantly. “Lisa is calling for you.”

Dean’s eyes close and when they reopen, gone is heavy burden of his unmade decision. He looks crushed. Lost. And then smiles. “Yeah, I guess I better go.”

“I’ll be here,” Cas calls after him, more than a little confused at the way Dean walks way from like like he’s marching toward his death.

He’s left alone again with nothing to do but ponder the news that Dean has a crush. A pretty big one from the sound of it. He can’t help but wonder who she could-

Wait. Them. Dean has said them, not specially she. Interesting.

Before he can think more of it, Meg crashes into him and he can smell the liquor on her breath before she even speaks.

“I take it sad art boy and his friends managed to sneak something in?” Cas asks.

Meg just grins. “We all have our role to play,” Meg says. “And speaking of roles, I’m about to roll out.” She thumbs over her shoulder to the the doors.

“Will you be safe?”

Her snort is not surprising. “Please. I had like one beer. I’ll be fine, Cas.”

Cas doesn’t bother to argue. Meg has always been bullheaded and impulsive but never reckless. “Okay. Call me when you’re home if you remember.”

She stretches out on her tiptoes and smacks a kiss on his cheek. “No promises!” And then she’s gone.

The dance starts to wind down in another half hour, the music slowing and inviting couples to wrap each other close and sway.

Something in Cas’s chest drops as he watches the show of high school love and affection, marvels at how simple it looks but knowing just how complicated and nerve-wracking it truly is.

And how he’ll never have it.

Deciding that’s his cue to leave, Cas finally pushes himself away from the wall and starts for the door.

“Wait, Cas!”

He turns when he hears his name and waits for Dean to catch up with him. He frowns when he sees the near panic in his friend’s eyes.

“Dean? What’s wrong?”

“Are you leaving?” Dean asks instead.

“Yes? Figured I’ve experienced about all I can at a dance by myself. Are... you leaving?”

“No- I mean- I wanted to uh...” he trails off, hand rubbing his neck again.

“Dean?” Cas asks again, carefully.

Dean’s shoulders shoot back and he sucks in a deep breath before looking Cas in the eye and asking, “Cas, do you want to dance with me?@

It takes Cas a moment to decipher the words and even once he knows what Dean said he’s still not sure what Dean meant.

“I... what?”

“Dance,” Dean repeats, face falling. “I understand if you don’t want to but I- I wanted to ask.” He starts to back away. “I’m sorry, I’ll just-”

“Dean,” Cas says, just barely catching his friend before he can escape. Dean is terrifyingly still in his grasp and when he looks back at Cas with fear and apprehension, pieces start to fall into place. Cas smiles. “I would love to dance with you.”

They stay near the outside, not really interested in sharing this moment with their classmates. It’s awkward at first, neither sure where to put their hands until Cas finally decides to wrap around Dean’s shoulders and Dean’s arms naturally fall around Cas’s waist.

They sway slowly, not attempting any turns or fancy steps, it’s enough to just hold each other.

“I know this isn’t the time to ask...” Cas starts slowly and hates himself for asking at all, but it will drive him insane if he doesn’t. “But where is Lisa?”

Dean blushes something furious. “She went home with her friends.”

“Oh.” Cas nods. “Is you two... okay?��

“We broke up,” Dean confesses. “I told her I might... be interested in someone else. That there’s always been someone else.”

Cas’s breath hitches and he looks down at his toes where Dean’s word have warmed his entire body. He feels like he’s tingling all over, body alight with excitement and longing and every feeling he’s ever kept repressed and secret.

“Hey, Cas?”

Cas looks up and before he can blink there are lips on his, so soft and Cas’s enter body temples under it, under the weight of his first kiss with the first boy he’s ever loved.

He thinks even saints don’t get moment’s this perfect.

When the kiss ends, they’re both blushing.

“I-I- I’m sorry,” Dean sputters. “I should have- shouldn’t have asked before...”

Cas feels a little drunk, his body looser than before and leaning closer, until their lips just barely brush again and he whispers with all his affection, “Thief.”

Dean huffs a laugh. “Bad habit.”

Cas pushes his lips closer, taking a kiss for himself. “Never stop.”

College: cas steals dean’s sweater

The alarm clock is utterly unpleasant and Cas feels no remorse slapping it into snooze mode multiple times. Until he sees the wrong number in the hour position and has to scramble up. He starts throwing on clothes before running to the bathroom to brush his teeth and throw some water in his face.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Dean greets from the kitchen as Cas barrels out of the bedroom.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Cas snaps, struggling to slide his shoes on.

Dean arches an unimpressed brow. “Because I would like to live to see the grand old age of 22.”

Cas just rolls his eyes and starts looking for his backpack. At a whistle, he turns to Dean who is holding it along with a thermos and some toast in a napkin. “There’s a granola bar and an apple in your bag too.”

Cas is not unused to Dean’s we’re gestures but he still finds himself tearing up as he slows down for the first time since his feet hit the ground and approaches his boyfriend.

“What would I do without you?” he asks, burying his face in Dean’s neck.

“Probably starve,” Dean says lightly. “Other than that though, you’d be fine.”

“No,” Cas argues. “Not even a little.”

He shifts so he can kiss Dean, short and sweet but just as loving as their first and hundreth.

Dean’s hands have fallen to his hips he he looks down with a dopey smile, eyes lighting up. “Is that my sweater?”

Cas looks down and recognizes Dean’s high school soccer hoodie. “Oh. I hadn’t realized.”

“Now whose the thief?” Dean teases.

Cas rolls his eyes and steals another kiss for good measure before accepting Dean’s offerings. “I’ll see you later. Thank you!”

“Love you,” Dean calls after him.

“Loved you first,” Cas returns, smiling and dashing out the door.

#spnstayathome #monday 3: thief #destiel #deancas #drabble #fic #au #friends to lovers #first kiss #childhood friends #fluff

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ashsblurbs · 4 years

Text

Young love

*Not my Gifs* This fic mentions abuse briefly and Steve’s father is homophobic. I do not us derogatory language in my stories and I don’t plan on starting now. I hope yall enjoy

Steve stood by his locker, staring at the gorgeous Tony Stark. Tony was someone that everyone wanted to know, and Steve wanted to know him so badly. He knew how to light a room up when he entered it. At the same time, he was very quiet. Only had his three friends with him and would always find a quiet corner to study new innovations. Steve kept looking forward at him and dreamed that one day Tony would see him.

Tony turned and saw Steve was looking at him. Tony’s heartbeat faster not knowing what to do. He smiled and gave a little wave. Maybe today was the day he would talk to the football star of the school. The funny thing was Steve was the talk of the town, but no one knew anything about him. He kept to himself. He didn’t have any friends at school and often would eat lunch in the art room. Tony was very curious about him but every time he tried to get close to him, Steve would always disappear.

Tony made his way over to Steve. Today was the day he was going to get Steve to talk to him.

Steve watched as Tony made his way over to him. So, beautiful with dark amber eyes and kissable lips. He sucked in a breath, slammed his locker, and ran away before Tony could get close. Why was he so scared of talking to him? Maybe because he was scared that the guy he really liked and could see himself love one day wouldn’t have the same feeling back. It was easier to run than to face his fears of rejection.

Tony stopped halfway to where he was going. He watched as Steve ran off without even a single word was spoken between them. What is with Steve Rogers? Tony huffed; he was going to have to trap Steve somewhere to talk to him. Tony really liked him and would love to get to know him better but that would be impossible if Steve kept avoiding him. He felt a clap on his back, and he turned around to see his best friend Rhodey.

“No luck.” Tony shook his head no.

“Every time. Poof, he’s gone. What am I supposed to do if he won’t stay around long enough for me to say anything?” Rhodey shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t know what to do to help his friend. All the people he ever liked was willing to talk to him and not run away.

“Well, I know that he has second lunch. Sneak out of calculus and ambush him there. He would have no other choice but to stay there and talk to you.” Tony nodded his head in agreement thinking that it was the best idea he had heard in a very long time.

Steve sat his lunch down in the back corner and pulled out some paper to sketch. This was the only place he felt like he could be himself instead of someone’s perspective of him. He heard the whispers about him but here he was able to shut out all of the noise and just draw. Sometimes he would draw his feelings, other memories that he wanted to hold on to. On special days he would draw Tony. Today seemed like one of those special days.

“Hey what are you drawing?” Steve jumped back by the sudden intrusion. He looked up and say it was Tony. He took his drawing and crumpled up in a ball and shoved it into his backpack. He could never let Tony see that. It would most likely freak him out.

“Nothing just doodles.” He started to gather his stuff to leave but Tony came and laid a hand on top of his stopping him from leaving. His breathing quickened. Tony was so close to him that if he leaned a little closer, he could touch Tony’s lips.

“Would it be okay if I hung out here with you? I brought snacks?” Tony held up a brown paper bag and gave him a smile. Steve sat back down and shook his head slightly yes. Tony pulled up a seat and sat across from him. They sat in a comfortable silence. Tony pulled out a journal of his finishing a sketch of one of his new inventions. Steve pulled out his own sketched pad and started sketching the window behind Tony.

“You’re a really quiet dude.” Steve paused and put down his pencil to look up at Tony.

“Yeah, I like to keep to myself. It’s easier that way.” Tony was taken back. On the surface Steve’s life looked amazing but Tony knew that wasn’t always true. If people could see the bruises on his ribs and back from his father their delusions of the Stark family would be shattered.

“I understand.” Steve analyzed hin to see if Tony was pitying him, but he could see that somehow, he sadly did understand. “Dad abuses me.” Tony lifted his shirt up to reveal more bruises then Steve could count. He swallowed the lump that was now in his throat so as not to cry. All he wanted to do was wrap his arms around the man he loved and tell him that he would never let anyone ever do that again. Tony put his shirt back down and shrugged his shoulders like it didn’t bother him and that shattered Steve’s heart.

“Your turn.”

“My father is an ass too. Found out I was gay one night and took the cigar he was smoking and burned the tip of it on several spots on my shoulder. Said that I was a disgrace to the family. Punched me in the jaw and said the only reason he wasn’t kicking me out was that I was most likely was going to get a football scholarship to Notre Dame and that would make our family look good.” Steve gritted his teeth and pierced his lips into an angry smile. Shiver ran down Tony’s body. Howard was a cruel man and Tony didn’t know what would happen to him if his father knew he was bisexual. Tony could picture his own grave. Tears welled up in his eyes and he turned away to wipe them away fast.

“Can we be friends?” Steve shook his head yes. For the rest of the lunch period, they sat in silence trying to understand what they just told each other. Steve wished he wasn’t so afraid to talk to Tony before because it was nice to have someone that understood what he was going through.

Everyday then on they met each other in the art room. They would share stories back and forth. Some would make them laugh so hard that they would get in trouble by the next-door teacher for being too loud. Other times they would tell sad stories that would lead to them holding each other while the other would cry. They really found a best friend in each other. Either one of them couldn’t imagine what life was like before they truly met one another.

“You’re trying to tell me that Star Trek is better than Star Wars.” Tony rolled his eyes.

“Yes, especially the newer ones. Star Wars is so overrated.” Tony scoffed and through his wrapper at him which Steve dodged.

“You know what you are overrated.” Steve scoffed and showed Tony his photo of him with Spock ears. Tony made a fake offended face and turned away from Steve.

“You’re so dramatic. Hey, you’re still coming to my game tonight. I would love it if you came to watch.” Tony wouldn’t miss it for the world, and it would give him a chance for him to look at Steve’s butt in his football pants.

The stadium was packed for senior night. Tony sat next to Rhodey which was mad he was dragged to this game. He told Tony he didn’t want to come to his stupid boyfriend’s game in which Tony insisted that him and Steve were just friend. Rhodey knew better.

“Number twenty-nine. Steven Grant Rogers who is being escorted by his mother, Sarah Rogers, and father, Joseph Rogers. He would continue his football career at Notre Dame where he will study law.” Tony jumped up and screamed for Steve. Steve looked up with a smile. He waved which made his father squint his eyes at his son and his son’s friend.

Once the game was over, Tony ran down to the locker rooms to congratulate Steve for the win. He also thought that this would be the night he told Steve about his feelings. He didn’t want to go another day without being able to say Steve was his. To be able to kiss him and have his arms wrapped around him. He knew if they did take the next step it would be a secret for the sake of both of their lives.

Tony waited and waited, watching as each player walked in but there was no sign of Steve. He was getting worried.

“Stop it, Dad, he is just a friend. Why can’t we just be happy that we win and not have to talk about Tony.” Steve and his father were standing behind a tree away from other’s eyes. His father gripped his arm and pulled him in real close. He had a scowl on his face and his eyes were really dark. Any other night he would be afraid but not tonight. Not when his father was not only attacking him but also Tony.

“He better be just a friend. I’ve heard the rumors around town he was a fairy and I don’t want that rubbing off on my son.” Rage boiled through Steve’s veins.

“I was one, way before I met Tony.” His father pulled back and laid a hard punch to his right eye which would most likely would cause a black eye. His father pushed him down on the ground and spat on him.

“Don’t think about coming home tonight. You know what Sunday come and get your shit. You will never be welcomed back until you grow out of this because no son of mine will be a gay.” His father turned and left leaving Steve feeling angry but at the same time hollow.

Tony was about to be on his way to find Steve when he saw him coming. He ran towards him until he saw the way he looked. Tony slowed down to take in what he was seeing. He stopped in front of him placing a hand to Steve’s eye.

“Who did this?” Steve closed his eyes and brushed past him towards the locker rooms. Tony caught his hand and pulled him back towards him. “Talk to me.”

“Can we just go somewhere just the two of us? No questions. We can just be us for a while.” Tony nodded and let go of Steve’s hand allowing him to go change. Tony didn’t have to ask any questions because already knew all of the answers.

They drove and drove. Not a single word came from either of them. The only sound was the static from the radio. Steve finally parked on top of white creek mountain. In a flash, Steve was in Tony’s arms shaking and crying. Tony rubbed his hand up down his back trying to comfort him.

“It’s okay, just let it all out. Take your time.” Steve pulled back and there was a pause between them. They stared at each other taking in each other’s features. Tony’s chest tightened. All he wanted to do was kiss Steve. He wanted to take all of his pain away. In a moment Steve grabbed hold of his face and pulled him in close kissing him hard. Tony wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck pulling him closer, so they were now chest to chest. They kept kissing each one of them running out of air but wasn’t willing to pull apart. It was like both of their pain was being melted away and being replaced by love.

Steve was the first one to pull away leaving Tony dizzy and missing his touch. Steve turned away, not in shame but more to collect himself. He knew what he was going to do next would ruin so many things but at the same time, he had nothing to lose.

“Tony, I love you. I’ve loved you ever since you walked into the art room and brighten my world up. You make my life better by just being here. I want you to be in my life.” Tony bit his lip not to cry. Everything he wanted to hear he was hearing.

“I love you too, Steve. It doesn’t make any sense, but you make me feel whole. You know I am here for you. I will protect you with my last breath.” Steve pulled him back in for a kiss. He wrapped his arms around him. Steve laid his head on Tony’s shoulder looking at the night sky.

“My dad did this. My dad also kicked me out, so I have nowhere to go.” Tony planted a kiss to the top of Steve’s head.

“You can stay with me.” Steve shook his head.

“I can’t do that Tony. What about your dad?” Tony shushed him.

“Don’t worry about a thing.”

For months Steve and Tony dated in secret. Steve moved in with Tony and thankfully his dad only was home about five days out of the year, so they were able to be themselves when they were at home. Jarvis loved Steve and treated him like he was his own son. Steve hadn’t seen his parents again after he went and picked up his things which was for the best. He had nothing really to say to his father anyway. For the first time, he was happy. He was just scared that the secret he was keeping from Tony would break Tony. He never wanted to hurt him. Steve came knocked onto Tony’s door.

“Come in. Steve you know you don’t have to knock.” Tony looked at Steve with a curious expression. Tony was finishing up some of his homework from MIT. He decided to start in May instead of August because he knew he would be bored while Steve was away during football training. Tony could see there was a worried look on Steve’s face and he did not like it.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Steve walked over and sat next to Tony on the bed. He picked up both of his hands and laid a kiss on both. Steve handed him his letterman’s jacket. Tony took it but still didn’t know what was happening.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you this sooner but I’m not going to college.”

“What! Is it the money because I can pay for it?” Steve shook his head no.

“No, football, Notre Dame, that was all my dad’s dream. I’ve decided to enlist in the military. I’m beginning basic training next week, and I will be leaving for my first tour in August.” Tony was taken back. He wasn’t mad that Steve decided to leave for the military he just wished Steve had told him sooner.

“What does that mean for us?” Steve knew what he had to do even if it would break his heart.

“I’m going to be gone for four years. I couldn't ask you to wait for me till I get back.”

“Yes, you can because I will.” Steve shook his head.

“No, Tony, I won’t allow it. We’re only eighteen. Go live your life.” Tony looked away not wanting to meet Steve’s eyes.

“What are you saying Steve?” Steve swallowed his tears and gathered all of his strength he could.

“We have to break up.” Steve stood up leaving Tony shaking with tears rolling down his face. Tony pulled his jacket close to his chest. This was all he had of Steve. Steve closed the door behind him, fell to the ground. He cried until not a single tear was left and he stood up to go pack his things.

Steve stood in line as he looked around at all of the other soldiers saying goodbye to their loved ones and he was alone. Then the crowd parted, and he saw Tony wrapped in his jacket. Steve and Tony met each other halfway with tears in their eyes. They stared at each other in silence taking in each other like they always did once again. Tony moved first and placed a final kiss on Steve’s lips.

“I’m going to miss you. Please don’t die.”

“I will miss you too and I will come back. Now go live your life. For me.” Steve turned around and disappeared in the crowd leaving Tony alone. How was he supposed to live a life when he no longer had the one person he wanted to live a life with, in his life.

#stony #stevetony #young Tony Stark #young steve rogers #SUPERHUSBANDS #ash's blurbs

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tsukideshima · 4 years

Note

24 and 30 angsty angst with oikawa or atsumu (you can ignore this but thanks)

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 : How can I ignore this? I’m so in the mood to write for angst so thank you! I’ve also decided to do Oikawa cause I made my sister pick between the two, hope you don’t mind.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : angst obv, painnn, like, alot of it.

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 : 24. “Save your apologies.” , 30. “All I do is make you cry.”

You’ve had enough. You thought you could handle everything thrown your way, you thought you were strong enough to just block everything out or at least ignore them. Because deep inside you knew you still your Tooru, the one who made funny faces whenever you were sad, the one who would go out of his way to go to your houses if you so much as forget to reply to his texts for an hour.

But this Tooru before you was different, you have no idea just what happened, but you very well know what changed. You gripped the hem of your- no, his jacket that hugged your frame. It was way too big on you, it always has been.

But now it felt like a mile long fabric draping over your shoulder and it was heavy, you felt like some muscular guy just draped his arm over your shoulders and you trembled under the weight.

You stood there, a few feet away from the crowd cheering your school on. It was stupid of you to come to his match, you knew that. It was stupid to come and witness the very thing he decided to replace you with.

Every time he made contact with the ball, it felt like a stab to your chest. You stood there, witnessing him in his element. The great king, reigning over the court and you hated how good he looked.

He looked happy, it wouldn’t be evident to any stranger looking at him. Not when he looked way too focused on the game, brows occasionally furrowing, but you knew him and you could tell he was genuinely happy.

You almost felt pathetic. Being jealous of a sport, of all things. But then again, this is what he replaced you with, he chose this over years worth of friendship. As you watch him walk away from the court, having won the match, you thought to yourself.

What if you could also play volleyball? Would you two not have drifted apart? What if you were also a good volleyball player like him who could be considered to reign over a court...would he still continue to talk to you?

You shook your head violently. Willing yourself to rid your head of these thoughts that were beginning to eat away at you, no, you’re not doing this to yourself. If anything, you didn’t do anything wrong and if he was truly your friend, he wouldn’t have cut you off like that.

Deciding you had enough, you prepared to walk away. But you met his eyes, despite his team crowding around him with victorious smiles, his eyes widened upon seeing you and you panicked.

You opted to run out of the stadium, you knew it was stupid to be here. He saw you, and you were probably looking your worst too. Dark bags under your eyes were too obvious, and you were wearing the ugliest shirt you probably owned, under his jacket.

But someone yelling your name halted your steps, It’s been too long since you heard him say your name, let alone talk. Your eyes began to brim with tears, you had missed him so much.

“Y/N, please stop.” You heard him plead behind you and your knees buckled. It’s unfair, how could he plead you to stay when it’s been months since he even contacted you?

“Why?” You asked, but your voice was too weak. “Unless you have something to say to me, I have places to go.” You spoke much louder this time though your voice still cracked by the end of your sentence.

“Can we talk?” He asked.

You quickly spun on your heel to face him, no longer afraid of him seeing the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “Talk.” He looked around and found people watching the two of you with curious glances, not to mention some of his fangirls eyeing you wearily.

“Not here, can you come with me?” He asked and with a deep sigh, you nodded. It was a short 5-minute walk of awkward silence till he found somewhere isolated. It was an empty hall, the only thing decorating it was a vending machine. You opted you grab a drink from it since your throat was starting to feel dry.

“Now talk.” You leaned against the wall, you popped the lid off your chosen drink and began to take small sips, afraid you’d choke if he shocks you with whatever is gonna come out of his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” He started and you scoffed with a sarcastic grin.

“For what? For abandoning me out of nowhere and not replying to my texts or sorry for only thinking to talk to me now that I came to your game?” Your words were laced with venom and you hoped he felt your hurt through them. You wished his chest tightened at the thought of how much he hurt you.

“For both of those things, I’m sorry that I forgot about you and it was too late when I remembered,” He continued and his words did nothing to make you feel better. “I was planning to reach out last week but you looked happy with your new friends, I figured you’re better without me. Without a friend who forgot about you.”

“Save your apologies if you’re only saying sorry to help you sleep better at night,” Your voice was beginning to rise. You couldn't care less if someone were to walk in on you screaming at the captain of a volleyball team.

“That’s not it-” He tried to deny your words but you were having none of it.

“No? Then what else am I supposed to think when you wouldn’t have spoken to me in the first place if I didn’t come to your stupid game?”

“I didn’t mean to abandon you like that,” He said with a pleading voice, as if he was begging you to hear him out. Well you were but you were far to hurt to accept his useless apologies.

“Well you did,” You bitterly spat out. “I wouldn’t have minded being forgotten for a week, I knew how busy you were with volleyball but you thought I was better off with my new friends? That’s a pathetic excuse and we both know it.”

“I...” Be began, closing his eyes to let out a long sigh. “I think it’s actually better if we stop being friends. All I do is make you cry.” When he opened his eyes to look at you, they were hardened but you saw pain in them.

This is not right. He was supposed to apologize some more, convince you that he truly was sorry and you’d forgive him because that was all you wanted. You could never stray too far from your best friend but here he was, suggesting to part permanently.

So even if you hated the feeling in your chest and the words that just came out of his mouth, you threw him the nastiest glare you could muster and began to walk away. But not before looking over your shoulder to bid him goodbye.

“You would’ve tried harder if you actually cared.”

After that talk, you went straight home and cried yourself to sleep. This wasn’t how everything was supposed to go. You fell asleep with tear-stained cheeks, letting your lids keep you from staring at your framed picture with Oikawa on your nightstand some more.

requests are open | masterlist

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 : How can I ignore this? I’m so in the mood to write for angst so thank you! I’ve also decided to do Oikawa cause I made my sister pick between the two, hope you don’t mind.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : angst obv, painnn, like, alot of it.

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 : 24. “Save your apologies.” , 30. “All I do is make you cry.”

But now it felt like a mile long fabric draping over your shoulder and it was heavy, you felt like some muscular guy just draped his arm over your shoulders and you trembled under the weight.

Every time he made contact with the ball, it felt like a stab to your chest. You stood there, witnessing him in his element. The great king, reigning over the court and you hated how good he looked.

Deciding you had enough, you prepared to walk away. But you met his eyes, despite his team crowding around him with victorious smiles, his eyes widened upon seeing you and you panicked.

But someone yelling your name halted your steps, It’s been too long since you heard him say your name, let alone talk. Your eyes began to brim with tears, you had missed him so much.

“Y/N, please stop.” You heard him plead behind you and your knees buckled. It’s unfair, how could he plead you to stay when it’s been months since he even contacted you?

“Can we talk?” He asked.

“Now talk.” You leaned against the wall, you popped the lid off your chosen drink and began to take small sips, afraid you’d choke if he shocks you with whatever is gonna come out of his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” He started and you scoffed with a sarcastic grin.

“That’s not it-” He tried to deny your words but you were having none of it.

“No? Then what else am I supposed to think when you wouldn’t have spoken to me in the first place if I didn’t come to your stupid game?”

“I didn’t mean to abandon you like that,” He said with a pleading voice, as if he was begging you to hear him out. Well you were but you were far to hurt to accept his useless apologies.

“You would’ve tried harder if you actually cared.”

requests are open | masterlist

#haikyuu #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu!!#haikyuu oikawa #oikawa #oikawa tooru #oikawa x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu x reader

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