#I PUT SO MUCH DETAIL INTO THIS AND TUMBLR SMUSHED IT
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would it weird you out if i told you that you kind of remind me of this ancient chaos god ive been reading about 👉👈
#my art#fan art#adventure time#betty grof#golbetty#art w backgrounds#eye strain#red#very red.#I PUT SO MUCH DETAIL INTO THIS AND TUMBLR SMUSHED IT#oh my god..... i could have finished this way sooner if ik those details would go to waste. damnit#i did the thing where you like. scribble w the brush to make a texture. and you can barley see it. dying
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Unfortunately lower visual quality than I wanted be because Tumblr only allows 10 images so I smushed them into three canvases instead of two post. Anyway beta trolls Headcanon and some thoughts below the cut.
Aradia
Aradia is the design I probably have the most experience drawing of the beta trolls purely because of how many zines I’ve drawn her in the last year. I like thinking of her hair similar to Pinkie Pies’ in g4 of mlp, where it’s very curly bouncy in her alive and godtiered forms but straightens out more when she’s ghosting up the place and in Aradia-bot form. I didn’t realize until a recent zine I had been drawing her horns ways too low for comic accuracy but I am a creature of habit so I keep drawing them like that.
Tavros
I’ve grown to love this kid because of my recent reread but I do not like drawing them. Between the Mohawk and the long, straight horns, I don’t care to draw their most important traits so he unfortunately only gets drawn in these group drawings. As for the one ear being pierced, it’s kinda a reference to cow tags but also I think it just fits them.
Sollux
Sollux a pretty easy character to design. I just have to imagine a greasy nerd kid growing up too fast for him to put on weight, add his troll bits and voila. The snake bites are definitely a hold over from the humanstuck I made for him last year but I think it just kinda add to his whole vibe. The undershirt comes from someone who also sits in a hot-ass room most of my days and will wears a second layer so leaving the room won’t feel like stepping out into a frozen wasteland.
Karkat
Karkat for me has always been short and stout guy. Other than that most of his facial features are taken from me, being someone who also over exaggerates their faces and nearly always is squinting a little.
Nepeta
Between all my designs of Nepeta the only thing that ever changes with any consistency is her hair. Like giving her cleft lip scar because I gave it to my fan-descendent of her and it’s cute.
Kanaya
Like two months ago I saw a post on here saying give that girl a nose (in reference to Kanaya) and it was the single most true HC I have ever seen. I also like completely throw out any references I have of her when I draw her hair because I think she should have 1930’s waves and curls. I typically only have to draw the super simple eyes so the only thing I had to change was giving her actual eyes.
Terezi
Got pretty comic accurate but probably would erase some of the chin to imply she’s fat a little better if I wasn’t doing this more rigid style.
Vriska
Also pretty comic accurate with the exception of the snake bites which is probably because I don’t draw her a lot and I don’t think about her much enough looks wise to have any specific head canons.
Equius
Goodness his hair gave me a struggle, kept on looking like a balding metal head until I added the pushed back stuff. Also returned back to drawing pseudo animal ears by giving him horse ears only angle to better fit a humanoid head.
Gamzee
I hate their make-up but every thing else about drawing them is a dream; goat ears, not straight hair, simple horns, silly little guy. What more could I ask for.
Eridan
And I’m almost done but unfortunately this doofus is next and requires the most detailed bust even in canon. Due to drawing them in this year’s 413 countdown I know how I like styling their hair and fins so I basically just chop the hair up since this is suppose to be during comic hcs and then follow their canon and Pesterquest designs with a few added features and boom. I was drawing everyone with the dark grey lips but I forgot for Eridan so I’ll just say they use concealer on their lips.
Feferi
Yippee! Back to ignoring canon and just giving her the biggest eyes on account of her glasses and cute piercings. I originally based her fins off of lion fish fins but they’re definitely more based off of betta ventral fin now.
#homestuck#homestuck fanart#homestuck art#aradia medigo#tavros nitram#sollux captor#karkat vantas#nepeta leijon#kanaya maryam#terezi pyrope#vriska serket#equius zahhak#gamzee makara#eridan ampora#feferi peixes#character design#my art
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Q&A Post (Sorta Long)
Hey, are you (GamerKAts) leaving DA?
At this time, no. Like other artists, we're frustrated and annoyed, or frunnoyed, if you will, at the whole "Gonna use your work to feed our AI machine" bullshit that DeviantArt is pulling. We may leave at some point, but right now, we'll still be there to support our mutuals and followers. We did, however, pull a lot of our artwork from the site we didn't want being used. Yeah, we know they said if it was tagged 'not for use' they would leave it alone, but then there's the fine print of "could still be used", so...no thanks. Any new art we make will be posted here, though.
When will you share more of your book?
Good question... We're going to do the "Peek Inside" thing for Kindle where people can read a portion of the book without buying (those with Kindle Unlimited can read for free), and KDP will let authors post up to 10% of their book for free on other platforms. So, we're trying to figure out how much we can post on Tumblr and be within the rules. Probably all of Chapter 1 we think....
How many chapters are in your book? Any warnings?
Twenty. But they're long; averaging between 7,000-8,000 words each as they're written as scenes, not so much as chapters. We didn't cut anything in dramatic conversation and then pick up on the next page under a different chapter number. We kept them all as one continuous scene, so the next chapter is a different location/time frame.
Nocturne of Flowers Book 1 is around 140k+ Because it's based on our homebrew D&D adventures, it's not a normal format.
Most stories are written like: Setting/Character Intro ➡ Problem ➡ Rising Action ➡ Climax ➡ The Fall ➡ Resolution/Redemption
Ours is: Setting/Character Intro ➡ Problem ➡ Action ➡ More Characters ➡ More Problems ➡ More Action ➡ Even More Characters ➡ Why Dear God Are There So Many Problems ➡ 😂😂😂😂😭😂😂😂😂 ➡ The End????
Because it's written around game nights, there is no "end" or procedural Climax and Fall and Resolution. The books end around the time we looked at the clock and said, "Damn.... I have work in three hours, I gotta call it for tonight everyone."
And despite how many warnings we are putting up for readers, we know there will still be people reading and going, "Wow, you absolutely do not know how to write a story and plot... Did you even try researching online before you decided to vomit your thoughts? One star, losers."
Like most books, our writings aren't for everyone. Beyond the lack of normal writing structure, there's songs and poems, we break the fourth wall often, detailed gore, sex/romance across genders, excessive language, horror, alcohol/drug use, and any other mature rating things we can't think of off the top of our heads. When we publish, we'll try and put as many deterrents as possible on the description page in Kindle to reduce the number of comments saying, "Why didn't you warn me?"
Is there sapphic sex in your books?
Yes. And many more smushings of people.
Why are you advertising on Tumblr?
We're not. This is our blog. Where else are we supposed to let our Mutuals, Followers, Fans, Haunts, Lurkers, and accidental passerbys know of where we are in the writing process they've been patiently waiting for??? (Some of you not so patiently....❤)
Also, to all of you who are planning to Blaze a post to send more attention our way once we've published, we love you, but please don't. This is meant to be like a small niche group of fandom. We couldn't handle the attention, positive or negative. We're far too shy for that.
Are you going to publish with a Publisher?
Nope. Not now, not ever. They are great for many, many authors, but we're not the kind of writers they'd want. They need people they can work with, and we don't write that way.
Here's a quick story. Once upon a time, many seasons ago, two Gamerkittens wrote and posted online two works, Knighty Night and what is now called Nocturne of Flowers. Many fans loved the work and encouraged them to publish through a traditional house so they could buy copies and support them to write more. But the traditional houses wanted to change nearly everything.
And we, I mean, the Gamerkittens said, "B...but...that's not how it happened." And the houses replied, "So? This is the better story. Change all of this, and this, and this..." And the kittens said, "Okay, maybe it's better in your sense...but then it's not OUR story anymore. It's just A story. It's not what happened. You want us to write a random book, but we're actually retelling chronicles. We're not writers, we're basically real life Bards." And everything became a mess, and the kittens stopped writing for a very long time because they believed their work was shit, everyone would hate it, and eventually shriveled under the bullying.
Until one day, a beautiful, amazing, fantastic, incredible mutual angel/demon appeared out of the internet ether with a message from the Gods saying, "Uh, you do know you can publish for free on Amazon Kindle, right? Like, you don't have to be someone you're not just to fit their narrative. We fell in love with YOUR world, and we don't care how the hell we have to get it. Besides, you can sell for cheaper, just like you always wanted, because we know how uncomfortable you are with having people pay you."
And the Gamerkittens began writing once more, because self-publishing let's them be as random, weird, and totally out there as they want. And if it's shit, well, they can laugh with their mutuals, followers and fans about all the one stars they get, because they know at least some people like it. And that's more than enough to keep writing for. The End.
#Thank you for the questions!!!#We are so grateful for everyone's support!#Q&A#gamerkats#SiNBooks#writeblr#fantasy#saccharine in nightmares#lgbtqia+#adventure#KU#Kindle Unlimited#Nocturne of Flowers#NOFSiN#self publishing#indie author
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Braid Me a Home
summary:
"Braid my fucking hair, Theseus. Braid it.”
It had sounded like a plea falling from Techno’s chapped lips, blood caked under his nails as he sat in front of Tommy on a tree stump, slowly itching at his wrists.
“Wilbur told me to stop you if you ever started doing that-”
“Wilbur isn’t fucking here. Just...braid, Toms. Braid.”
or
A story about the Sleepy Bois being family, told through braids.
word count: 2.5k
warnings: child neglect, hurt/no comfort, canonical character death, implied/referenced mental health issues (like it’s obvious but there isn’t much detail to it), brief blood mentions (ik this fic sounds kinda angsty as hell but its not? imo its light angst)
a/n: first dream smp fic and im ALREADY projecting? christ. anyways. go easy on me pls this is far from my best work i just havent written a fic in like 5 months (more if you dont count the fucking chat fics) mm also i may have posted this like a week ago on ao3 just to test the waters and its already gotten way more comments and kudos than any fic of mine usually gets this early on so hopefully tumblr enjoys it too :]
—
When Wilbur Soot was born, he came out crying, as most babies do. Covered in vernix and blood, he weighed just barely above the seven-pound mark, gasping out sharp cries that only a parent could truly stand, or worse—love. Though he was the second baby born into the family that day, he was fussed over far more than he would ever be again.
Technoblade, on the other hand, had barely made a sound when he came out, a trail of blood smeared across his forehead, almost as if it was meant to be there. He made small noises that were more akin to confused mumbles, weakly grasping at his father’s hair when he was eventually passed on for the second child to be welcomed into the world.
Only when both boys were held in their father’s grasp did Wilbur quiet down, his soft head leaning into his father’s beard as he stared wide eyed at the boy across from him. Though they looked similar enough, Technoblade’s nose was squished further back into his face, appearing almost snout-like to Philza. Of course Wilbur noted this, wiggling until their father somehow managed to get them pressed right up against each other with minimal damage done. Though Techno never stopped squinting like an annoyed old man at Wilbur, he allowed the other to press a fist against his nose, his eyebrows unfurrowing just the slightest bit at the touch.
From that day on, Philza was the father of two twin boys—a loud boy who cried easily, but always calmed down for his older brother, and a rather monotone one, who’s face seemed to be permanently stuck in a scowl, unless said face was being smushed around by the younger. And things worked like that for a while. Not forever, but...a while.
—
Philza taught Wilbur to braid on a hot Monday afternoon.
It had been a rough day for the boy, though Phil hadn’t a clue why. Maybe he had just woken up on the wrong side of the bed? Or maybe he hadn’t slept enough between bedtime and the time Tommy had started crying again, the youngest boy’s crib being right beside his head and all. Though it might’ve seemed cruel from an outsider’s perspective, Wilbur had been the one to ask for it. Something about Tommy being his little brother and how he needed to teach the boy the ways of the world in the same way Techno had taught him—because apparently that was all Techno’s doing now, not Phil’s.
Regardless, Wilbur had been a bit too snippy for Phil’s liking that day, complaining about every little thing they did until finally, the day was over.
Well, as over as it could be with Techno leaving mid foam sword fight, an annoyed shout of ‘I quit!’ leaving his mouth before he snatched up Tommy’s carrier and brought him inside for god knows what reason.
It had only been around four P.M. by that time—too early for dinner, yet too late for Phil to really demand the boy stay outside and continue to entertain himself with a brother who was clearly not entertained himself.
Details aside, Phil isn’t really sure how they got to braiding. He just knows at some point they did and by the end of their outside time, just before the clock struck six, Wilbur had made two thick, messy braids in his hair. They stuck out awkwardly, looking all too similar to Pippi Longstocking’s iconic hairdo for his comfort, but he’d be damned if he took out the braids his son had so happily rushed inside to show his older brother before demanding to do his hair as well. After all, Wilbur didn’t have long enough hair for braids, but Technoblade sure as hell did. It was only at his shoulder blades back then, brunette curls wrapping around his narrow shoulders and thin arms like thick vines.
Wilbur had always enjoyed brushing it out with his fingers and putting cute, handmade clips or flowers in it at random, decorating the waves for his brother who was more than happy to let the boy do as he pleased. Though he would never admit it, Technoblade liked how it felt when Will played with his hair. He was always careful not to tug too hard, prioritizing the comfort of his other half more than the beauty of his work, as he so often referred to it.
So when Will had presented him with the mess that was his first two braids, he wasn’t hesitant at all to let the boy practice on him. Instead, he walked to the couch with a small smile, removing his glasses gently and getting comfortable before his brother plopped down into the space behind him. Long legs draped over long legs with no warning, thighs pressed together as if they were meant to be like that all along—and they might as well have been, for how often they did this.
Phil had watched them from the doorway in content silence, Tommy sitting behind him in a wooden high chair looking bored, but not making a fuss for once. And as he left that doorway to begin dinner, he listened to their muffled conversation and soft bursts of laughter with a small smile on his lips, for he knew things wouldn’t always be this way. They would have to grow up eventually, and when they did, things would change. Phil could only hope it was for the better.
—
When Tommy turns nine, Wilbur teaches him to braid under circumstances not too different from the ones he had learned under himself.
Well. Not too too different.
Philza and Technoblade had been...busy as of late. In the house for three days, out for a week, in for a week, out for three more, over and over and over again. Wilbur had become more like a father to Tommy in recent months than he should’ve been, his fourteenth birthday fast approaching as their father took Techno out for yet another job, one that Wilbur couldn’t come on because he was too fucking weak to do anything Techno could do, too fucking stupid to learn all the techniques Techno did, lacking all the strength and agility his older sibling possessed, like the useless prick he was-
Right. This is about Tommy.
When Tommy was nine, his hair rested gently against his collarbones in the exact same cut and color as their father wore. If Wilbur was a lesser man, he would’ve hated the kid for it, but it wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t see what a selfish git their father truly was yet. All he knew was that their dad was busy a lot and that, for some reason, Techno needed to go with him. Apparently, that was enough for him to keep holding onto the idea that one day, the man would stay longer and maybe, just maybe, show him some of the same care that his older brother did.
If Wilbur was a better man, he would tell Tommy the truth. He would tell him all about the way Philza had called him useless in a fight, forcing him to instead stay home and care for a child while still being one himself. He would mention how Philza had given him no instructions on how to care for a developing child, how he left out key details to parenting on his own as a goddamn thirteen-year-old, yet remembered to tell him things would be better this way because god forbid he does his fucking job as a father for anyone but Technoblade—
Who he missed. He missed Technoblade, his other half, so fucking bad it hurt sometimes—so bad it left him gasping for breath at two A.M., his head pounding in tandem with his uneven heartbeat, lungs burning as his snot and tears soaked into his brother’s cold, cold sheets. And it made him feel fucking pathetic because the truth of the matter was that...Techno had left him behind too. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to hate the older boy, no matter how hard he tried. Couldn’t hate Philza either, if he were to be honest with himself, but it was a lot easier to pretend he did when his father was the one putting them all in this position to begin with.
So, Tommy was nine when he learned how to braid.
Phil had promised him and Techno would be back Tuesday morning.
It was Wednesday afternoon.
Tommy didn’t fucking understand, and as frustrating as it was that the prick decided to take it out on Wilbur, he couldn’t blame him. Who else was he supposed to take this shit out on? Certainly not the man who had yet to return.
Wilbur had started the braid as a way to distract him. It was simple, really—tell him you know something he doesn’t and that he won’t get to know if he doesn’t sit the fuck down and listen.
When he had started tugging the boy’s hair back from his face, his immediate reaction was to jerk away, swatting at the hands that hovered over his shoulders. This only happened once or twice more before he let it happen naturally, his posture stiff as Wilbur ran his fingers through the boy’s hair with practiced ease.
Though it may not have seemed like it, Tommy was significantly more averse to touch than Techno had ever been. The only reason Techno even seemed averse to it was because of his hesitance to initiate, something he and Wilbur had discussed in depth. Rejection was one of the few fears Technoblade truly had and Wilbur held that fact close to his heart, ready to die with it if need be. Tommy, on the other hand? He was very particular about where and when and why someone was touching him, and it had taken Wilbur a long time to get used to that fact. But, he wasn’t about to make his little brother uncomfortable just so he could be happy and, eventually, he learned the ins and outs of how to touch TommyInnit without causing issue.
Pulling a few of the shorter strands towards the front of Tommy’s face loose, Will separated the blonde’s hair into three sections. They were rather small, what with how thin and short his hair was, it just barely being long enough to even have a proper braid in it, but Wilbur knew he could make it work.
“Now, Toms, you gotta listen to me here, because I can’t show you this bit, yeah? Phil and Tech aren’t here, and my hair is too short, so you’ll just have to feel it out for now, but...this is how you braid hair-” Wilbur had said in a soft voice, brushing the pad of his thumb over the boys neck slowly to ease the tension out of his shoulders. The effect was immediate, the boy slouching forward as if he had just noticed he was holding himself so sternly. Smiling softly, Wilbur instructed him on how to weave the strands together, answering questions and pulling lightly at Tommy’s hair so he could feel exactly where everything went. After he was done, Tommy had reached back to feel the bumps in his hair, all his earlier anger seemingly gone as he gave a small smile. And then he tried it himself.
Of course he got a bit of help at first, Wilbur’s larger hands guiding his own with gentle corrections, but after that Tommy worked on it alone, his older brother watching in silence from a patch of grass beside the porch step.
That night, Tommy and Wilbur slept in Techno’s bed, a soft, blue blanket wrapped tightly around them. And if another body woke them up at some point that night, shoving its way into the mess of limbs, their chest pressed right up against the youngest boy’s back, then that was only for them to know.
—
At eleven years old, Tommy takes a pair of scissors to his hair. With flushed cheeks and salty lips, his hands shaking and his eyes foggy, he cuts, cuts, cuts, until he can no longer braid his hair—until he can no longer look like fucking Phil.
Even though Wilbur had once said he hated Tommy’s long hair—hated how similar he and their dad looked—he felt like crying as he ran his fingers through the uneven strands. He didn’t tell his brother this though, instead grabbing his face and planting a wet kiss on his freckled forehead. In a fierce whisper, Wilbur had said, “I’m so fucking proud of you, Tommy. So fucking proud.”
Tommy never forgets the way he felt that day. He doesn’t forget Wilbur’s words either.
—
When Wilbur loses his last life, Technoblade tells Tommy to braid his hair.
It wasn’t a question either, but a demand forced out between gritted teeth, his face red, his nose stuffy and his lashes wet with unshed tears. Still, his words were clear as day.
“Braid my fucking hair, Theseus. Braid it.”
It had sounded like a plea falling from Techno’s chapped lips, blood caked under his nails as he sat in front of Tommy on a tree stump, slowly itching at his wrists.
“Wilbur told me to stop you if you ever started doing that-”
“Wilbur isn’t fucking here. Just...braid, Toms. Braid.”
Tommy sniffled, but did as he was told.
Maybe it was because he was too tired to argue with the only person he even had left. Maybe it was because he could tell Technoblade was mad at their father for the first time in his life, and he knew how bad his first time had felt. Or, maybe, it was just because he knew Techno fucking cared. Nobody else seemed to, but he knew Techno did and...that was enough for him.
As long as someone else cared—as long as it was fucking Technoblade—that was enough for him.
Just as Tommy had finished the braid, curling his finger around the light pink tail that tied the whole thing off, Techno yanked it forward. Before he could even register that the hair had left his hand, the older boy had taken an axe to the top of it, letting the rest of his hair fall around his face in uneven curls. Though it was a good ten minutes of work wasted, Tommy couldn’t say a damn thing as he watched Techno pocket the braid, muttering a thank you and heading in the direction of Wilbur’s unofficial grave.
In that moment, he felt relief for the first time in a long while.
—
Wilbur Soot was born covered in vernix and blood, weighing just barely above the seven-pound mark, and he came into the world much like he left it. Everyone had heard his cries—even if they weren’t there, even if they didn’t know him well—they had saw the way he spiraled, desperate and afraid and paranoid, searching for help, but never receiving enough.
And though he was the second child born, he left the world first, returning in a yellow sweater with a small braid tucked behind his ear. He didn’t really know why he had one, but he remembered braiding Techno’s hair and he remembered teaching Tommy how to do his own and he remembered, he remembered, he remembered the braids.
#dream smp#/dsmp#dsmp#sleepy bois inc#sbi#tommyinnit#wilbur soot#technoblade#philza#ph1lza#fic#fics#fanfic#fanfiction#the dream smp#shit self#dami writez#/rp#dsmp fic
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Mic Drop | myg
pairing: yoongi x reader
genre: smut, angst, fluff
au: rapper!yoongi, photographer!oc
summary: when underground rapper min yoongi uncovers the dirty secret behind his biggest rival, your brother and hip hop champion kim namjoon’s success, he is determined to take home this year’s mic drop contest trophy no matter who he hurts along the way. you’re behind the camera, content with capturing namjoon’s picture perfect persona from the sidelines but when his hard-faced enemy Gloss, makes you realise you could be more than just the point and shoot, you start to feel your loyalties shifting.
warnings: multiple smut scenes, dirty talk, dry humping, penetrative sex, fingering, oral sex (both m and f receiving), lots of orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, cum play, cum eating, but also tender fucking lol, very brief mention of death.
word count: 29k (rip)
rating: definitely explicit
playlist: visit my playlist page and select “mic drop.” (all links to be added later)
a/n: ahhh you don’t understand how happy i am to finally put this out into the world!!! i started writing this fic back in july and after a few rewrites (more on this at the end of the post if anyone sticks around until then) she’s finally finished eee <3 also!!! this fic is brought to you courtesy of the love yourself collab! this project has been super fun to be a part of n i wanna say thank you to everyone involved who made it such a welcoming experience! you can check out the masterlist here (link will be added later f u tumblr) to read all the other amazing fics from the incredibly talented authors in this project (literally so talented??? it’s sickening???) (im so excited to finally read them all now im done w this monster lol). all the love as always <3
Introducing Runch Randa!
The host is barely audible over the chants of your brother's name as the lights dim and the arena is sent into a haze of strobe lights.
The air is already heady with body heat and fragrant with sweat from the thousands of bodies smushed together in the pit and beyond that thousands more seated in the stands, phone lights twinkling in the darkened arena like stars. A girl in your peripheral clutches a sign with MARRY ME RUNCH RANDA scrawled in sharpie, torso clad in one of the cheap merch hoodies with your brother's face printed on the front, just like hundreds of others around her.
It's a full house. No one's surprised. The Mic Drop semi-final always creates a buzz of anticipation within the hip hop scene. But this year, with your brother Namjoon returning to compete for the trophy again, there isn't an empty seat in sight.
A buzz pulses through the crowd when the bass kicks in. It makes hearts beat faster, blood run hotter, a crescendo of screams crashing violently through room, the sheer volume enough to make the walls shake in time with the stamp of impatient feet.
It's infectious. Almost. If you hadn't been here a hundred times before, countless nights the same as this one that all started to blur into one somewhere along the line. Different crowds but the same energy, the same hum of anticipation that used to get your bones rattling, your skin hot with suspense. Now it's just routine. Now you feel nothing.
Besides, you're just here to do your job. The photographer. To take pictures, not to enjoy the show. Just like always.
Five seconds. You know Namjoon's set list like the back of your hand by now. Five seconds until he takes the stage and the crowd goes wild.
One, two, three, four...
Like clockwork, the stage lights up and there he is, face blown up in painful detail across every screen. Runch Randa. His stage name pulses through the room, a mantra, chanted until throats turn sore and mouths run dry.
Dark framed glasses cover his eyes but his stance is enough to tell you that he came here to win, his presence immediately filling the empty stage with an energy that makes it impossible to look anywhere else, even for a moment.
He is already damp with sweat, neck glistening beneath the white lights. Like routine you snap a few shots when he taunts the camera with a smirk, brushing a hand through his immaculately gelled hair teasingly, mouth turning up into a grin when the audience roars.
Runch Randa walks across the stage with the ease of someone who lives and breathes for moments like these. Grabs the microphone with two hands, shiny silver rings glinting on his fingers beneath the harsh strobe lights.
You can see his opponents in the front row, nothing but rookies, the intimidation etched into their features visible even from where you stand side stage as they swallow the bitter pill that they stand no chance against him.
Once upon a time you were the same as the wide eyed fans in the pit, filled with an admiration for your brother. He was everything you wanted to be; a whirlwind of fearless, brazen passion when he got up on stage. But things changed once Namjoon won Mic Drop, claiming the trophy at the tender age of seventeen. After that he started filling arenas. Then stadiums. And you were left behind in the ruins of his whirlwind, feeling the Namjoon you once knew slip further away as Runch Randa took center stage, viewing his perfect persona through the lens of your camera with the same sour resentment as the rookies.
Because when a familiar beat permeates the arena, you can't help but close your eyes and imagine the name the crowd screams is yours. That it's you out there instead of him. It's you pouring your heart into the lyrics that you find yourself whispering unconsciously in time with your brother.
Your lyrics.
The lyrics you wrote especially for this performance. The same lyrics that would be streamed by millions, top charts and win Namjoon another stupid trophy to add to his already elaborate collection.
The only reason Namjoon still kept you around was because he couldn't write them himself.
The track ends and the Mic Drop host crosses the stage with a grin. Namjoon's arm is thrust into the air triumphantly.
"And our first finalist is...Runch Randa!"
You snap a picture of your brother smiling victoriously.
"He's gonna win. I know it."
Namjoon's manager Jimin sidles up beside you, grin plastered to his face. It's nauseating.
"Does he ever lose?" You murmur
Runch Randa! Runch Randa! Runch Randa!
--
Mic Drop. The most highly anticipated event in the music industry for its ability to make hip hop artists stars; as well as its tendency to break them just as easily.
Fame. Money. Glory. Just a few of the reasons why rap rookies from across the globe are desperate to compete in the ruthless battle of blood, sweat and rap that is Mic Drop.
They all think they have what it takes. That they have that special something the judges are looking for. Unfortunately, most don't even make it past the auditions phase.
When your brother, Mic Drop legend Runch Randa, announced he would be ditching his celebrity status and stadium concerts to return to his underground roots and compete for the trophy again, it raised a series of questions
Why now? What did he have to prove?
Once the press got wind of the fact that your parent's, CEO'S of the most prestigious record label in the industry Big Hit Entertainment, had run into a spot of financial trouble, everyone assumed your brother's re-entry was a master plan to win the lavish cash prize afforded to competition winners. Sure, you couldn't deny that it was partly true --- Big Hit's stocks were plummeting and a lot was at stake.
Truthfully, though, you knew your brother well enough to see that Namjoon's motives were far more selfish; to put it simply, he was greedy. Fame was his drug. Once he got a taste he could never get enough.
Of course, a cheque signed and delivered by your father's hand shut any rumors down very quickly. Your parent's were good at silencing people if it meant protecting Namjoon's reputation.
Even you, their own daughter.
The name tag labelled OFFICIAL PHOTOGRAPHER was nothing but a cover up for the true reason you spent so much time at Big Hit -- writing each and every one of Namjoon's hit songs. A secret you were forced to keep as you watched your brother through a camera lens.
Which is how you find yourself as his strictly-invitation-only after party, an attempt at building momentum for the big final in just a few weeks time, with a camera in hand.
You're sat in the corner of the A-list club Jimin rented out for the event, swirling the deep red liquid in your glass with a bored disinterest as you watch your brother shake hands with company investors and big buck producers, most of which you'd never even heard of.
These things always seem to drag on, the clock ticking slower with each agonising second spent smiling courteously to uphold the supportive sister persona. Your feet are starting to hurt in your heels and all you want to do is hide away in the Big Hit studio and scribble down the lyrics floating aimlessly in your mind. That's the only good thing about these events -- they give you time to think, a rare relief in between your brother's busy schedules.
"Well, well. If it isn't my favorite lyricist."
A cheerful voice jolts you from your thoughts and when you blink up through the flashing lights you're met with a lazy grin belonging to Hoseok, one of the producers at Big Hit. He's an ex Mic Drop contestant himself, coming fourth and just missing out on the semi-finals three years ago. He never had the stomach for it anyway, he always says, but you never miss the rejection in his eyes.
Hoseok is also one of the only people who knows about your secret. He was hired to help you work on tracks for your brother once he made it big after all, and although he would never admit it you knew he probably had to sign a hefty NDA. Still, you were grateful to have him around — you couldn't deny you made something of a dream team together.
"Mind if I sit?" He gestures with his glass towards the empty space beside you, and you move your purse so he can squash in on the leather couch. "At least some of us are having fun, huh?" You follow his gaze to Namjoon on the dance floor, hands all over some vaguely recognizable celebrity's hips.
You grimace and swig back the remaining alcohol in your glass. "Too much fun, apparently."
Hoseok snorts, wringing his hands. "Y'know, we could get out of here if you're as bored as I am..." His words slur just slightly and you figure his confidence is a result of the amber liquor in his glass. The shy Hoseok you know well returns quickly though as he averts his eyes when you raise a brow. "Not like that! I just thought maybe we could get a drink or something...if you want to?"
You shift awkwardly, having to shout over the booming club music for him to hear you. "I should really stay here. People might ask questions if the sister of the host just...disappears."
"Right!" Hoseok smiles sheepishly then slaps his own forehead. "Right. Forget I ever asked."
You shake your head fondly and turn back towards the dance floor just in time to see Namjoon whisper in the ear of the DJ, music cutting as he takes the mic and hops up onto the small stage to address the party.
Finally! A sign he was going to wrap up the evening for good!
He clears his throat and the huddle of mingling bodies below him fall into an expectant hush.
"Uh, so I'm not usually very good at these speech things --" He pauses and the crowd laughs. You tap your knee impatiently. "But I just wanted to say thank you. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for your support. So, the next round of drinks are on me! I haven't won — yet — but its never too early to start celebrating, right?"
Namjoon raises his flute of champagne and the party-goers cheer just as a flurry of confetti drops from the ceiling. The music starts again and you're too busy picking the brightly colored paper out of your hair disgruntledly to notice the way the room suddenly quietens and the guests part down the middle like prey from a predator.
"Y/N. Look." Hoseok elbows you sharply and flies forward in his seat, whisky sloshing over the edge of his glass. "Shit! Is that--"
Is that really him? What is he doing here? He's back!
You look up just in time to see the commotion as a figure in a black hoodie weaves effortlessly to the front of the room. You don't recognise him but something about his presence gives you chills.
Namjoon is too busy throwing back his drink to notice as the man climbs the stage, his skinny jeans and high tops sticking out like a sore thumb against the sea of dress shoes and cocktail dresses. He clearly wasn't invited.
By the time your brother senses the change in the air, it's too late.
You feel your face pale, choking when the figure finally turns and lets down his hood, revealing a head of blue hair and a venomous smirk.
"Gloss?"
Namjoon turns and his smile dissolves. He just stares stiffly at the person in front of him like he's seen a ghost. In a way you suppose he has -- the ghost of his past. After all, the last time anyone saw this face was five years ago at the Mic Drop final.
It is him! It's Gloss! Why is he back?
The night that changed all of your lives. When Namjoon claimed the Mic Drop trophy and Gloss, his opponent, lost everything.
It's been years since the last time you saw Gloss but you still recognize the distinctive confidence in his gait, the way his eyes flash with something dark as he looks your brother up and down with a breathy laugh.
Namjoon is frozen, breathing heavily.
Gloss' voice is husky when he finally speaks. It makes you shiver.
"Runch Randa. Long time no see, huh?"
A beat of unbearable silence.
"What are you doing here?"
Gloss's chuckle makes Namjoon snarl. You see the way his jaw tenses and his fists clench. He's too wound up; he'll snap if you don't do something and fast.
You get to your feet but Hoseok pulls you back down sternly by the elbow. "Don't." You protest but his grip is too tight so you just fidget helplessly instead.
Something settles in the atmosphere; a nervousness that makes you itch, makes your heart pump into overdrive as you watch them draw closer, eyes narrowed like boxers in a ring, waiting for the other to make a move. Hoseok covers his eyes.
"I wouldn't start celebrating just yet, Runch. The competition has only just begun."
The crowd gasps when your brother's clenched fist swings at his smug opponent. The rapper ducks but not quite in time and you can't remember which comes first — the crunch that crackles through the speakers when Namjoon's ring-clad knuckles collide with Gloss' face or the ear splitting thump of his mic dropping to the ground.
--
The party ends abruptly. Your head spins with confusion as you watch the guests leave in shock. Seeing Namjoon up on that stage opposite his biggest opponent again makes your stomach sick, like you were reliving the events of five years ago all over again.
Deep down you had always expected this moment to come. For Gloss to return looking for revenge or something. After all, Gloss didn't just loose Mic Drop to anyone -- he lost to Namjoon, his former best friend and music partner. Namjoon and Yoongi. They were supposed to win together. But for reasons still unknown, even to you, Yoongi was disqualified moments before the final commenced, plummeting your brother into the world of fame alone.
After that, Gloss all but disappeared, his pitiful downfall nothing but a hip hop legend to those who heard it. No record deals or sponsorships or stadium tours like your brother. A legend in his own right, but for all the wrong reasons. Mic Drop banned duos from competing thereafter.
Eventually you gather the courage to head into one of the back rooms where the rappers had been hauled by security guards in hi-vis jackets after their scuffle. You can hear Jimin babbling before you even reach the door.
"What were you thinking? Punching him? You better hope the press don't get ahold of this or else you're in big trouble—"
"Let me go!" Namjoon grunts to Jimin whose face is almost as red as his own. "I'm gonna end this once and for all."
"You'll do no such thing," Jimin tuts, pushing him firmly by the shoulder so he slumps into his seat with a roll of the eyes, other hand pressing his phone to his ear. "Do you even understand the amount of damage control I'm going to have to do to? — hold on, yes, this is Park Jimin speaking..."
The room smells of disinfectant and medical gauze and you spot Namjoon instantly, surrounded by an abundance of medics. His breathing is still ragged, the vein on his neck standing to prominence, knee bouncing as he impatiently waits for his ruby knuckles to be bandaged, too engaged to notice your arrival.
To your left you're surprised to find Yoongi. He's the epitome of composure despite the heavy tension in the air. He grabs a roll of bandage and begins to patch up his own fist, eyes lighting up with something you can't put your finger on when you slide into the room.
"Well, look who decided to turn up. If it isn't Namjoon's little sister. Long time no see, Y/N."
You freeze. It's been years since you heard him say your name. It makes you feel funny.
"Yoongi." You swallow. "What are you doing here?"
His shit eating grin makes your blood boil. "I take it you haven't heard yet, then."
You roll your eyes. You should be checking on Namjoon not humoring whatever stupid motives his opponent has. "Heard what, Yoongi?"
"I'm re-entering the competition, too."
You stagger backwards. Yoongi? Re-entering the competition? Mic Drop?
"But--you were disqualified--I don't understand?"
"I was disqualified. Disqualifications are only valid for five years, according to the rule book. Who knew?" He smirks when your eyes widen. "And I think you'll find that my sentence is up. I'm gonna win this time, once and for all."
"I don't think you know what you're doing, Yoongi—"
"There's more." He licks his lips. "I know your secret."
Your heart stops, mouth running dry. You throw a glance over your shoulder. Namjoon is still engaged, swatting away a medic's ice pack with a scowl, thankfully too busy to notice when you draw closer, voice a harsh whisper. "W-what secret?"
Yoongi lets out a dark chuckle, wincing just barely when he touches a damp cloth to the cut in his lip, a red splotch forming on the fabric. "You know exactly what secret I'm talking about, Y/N. Wouldn't it be ironic if someone slipped a tip off to the judges panel about Namjoon's ghost writer—"
"Shut the fuck up Min Yoongi or I'll break your nose for real this time!" Namjoon's voice bellows behind you, making you jolt. He charges at Yoongi, lip quivering like he might make his threat a reality. "Leave her out of this!"
Yoongi's nostrils flare. "Everyone knows she's a part of this, Namjoon, whether she likes it or not!"
All eyes look your way, as if expecting you to say something, but Yoongi's words fall cluelessly on you. You hadn't so much as thought about him in years. What did you have to do with this stupid ongoing feud with your brother that he refused to let go?
You glance between them, settling for sending a blank look at Yoongi and shuffling over to Namjoon instead. Your brother seems prideful at your show of allegiance. Yoongi scoffs.
"Namjoon?" Your mouth is dry with the shock of the situation and it comes out sounding funny, like you're wary of him. A gash above his eyebrow starts to dribble crimson. "Shit, you're hurt..."
"Get off me." Namjoon shakes his shoulder violently and you gingerly remove your hand, brows furrowed at his rejection. He directs his attention to Yoongi. "And you. You want a fight? It's on."
"Joon!—" He waves you off. It's pointless anyway. When he gets this rash there's no changing his mind.
"You want to end this thing once and for all? Then let's do this. You and me. At the final."
Yoongi raises a brow. "Deal. I'd shake your hand but you might try and knock me into next week again."
Namjoon doesn't laugh.
A hoard of security guards bust into the room and head straight for Yoongi. "Finally. What the fuck do I even pay these people for?"
"Get off me!"
You place a hand on Namjoon's shoulder and find that he's trembling. Rage? Nerves? Adrenaline? All three, probably, if the vacant blackness behind his eyes is anything to go by.
You're already trailing behind your brother when you hear Yoongi's voice carry down the hall. "I'll see you at the final! When I win. Secrets always find a way to come back and bite you in the ass, Runch. You should know that better than anyone!"
--
Namjoon begs you to come as his plus one to some scummy gig Gloss is rumored to be performing at tonight. To check out the competition, he says, but you recognise the way he nibbles his lip as he does.
Fear. He'll never admit it but Namjoon is scared he’s going to lose.
You agree to join him because you think it may put his mind at rest.
As Namjoon's manager, Jimin has all sorts of connections, mumbling thank you's into the head set sitting around his ears like a permanent accessory and scribbling down the address of some club down town.
The driver your parent's hired to escort Namjoon around as a paparazzi safety precaution drops the three of you a block away; the car's black tinted windows and shiny number plate would be out of place in such a scummy part of town. The plan would only work if you went unnoticed. Namjoon couldn't risk running into a Runch Randa fangirl tonight. It was technically against the Mic Drop rules to have any intel on your opponents, after all.
You don't like to tell Namjoon that his disguise won't do much for blending in. He dons a designer cap pulled down low over his face, long black coat drowning his figure and expensive leather boots crunching against broken glass and cigarette stumps as you near the club. It's too put together to seem natural, a dead give away that he doesn't belong here among the sea of ripped jeans and septum rings and tattoo sleeves around you. Even with a patterned bandana covering half of his face, the sculpted cheekbones and piercing eyes smudged effortlessly with black eyeliner poking over the top scream celebrity.
Luckily for you, the plain dress and knit cardigan hugging your body doesn't alert the suspicions of the bouncers cross armed at the entrance.
Namjoon wrinkles his nose and prods a half empty solo cup discarded outside with his toe, Jimin practically jittering with nerves and barely avoiding a stumbling drunk as you approach the men who stand at nearly double your size. Namjoon said it was best that you acted as spokesperson tonight — the only reason he even brought you along was because nobody would know your face and your position at Big Hit allowed you to pull some strings.
Your fingers shake as you produce a photography license from your bag, heart pounding as one of the menacing bouncers raises his eyebrow beneath the deep red hue emanating from a tacky neon sign posted above the door.
Luckily the breath you're holding is leaving you in a relieved thank you as he nods, moves to the side and gestures for your entourage to dip inside with the rest of the crowd. Namjoon charges ahead into the darkness and you follow him with an awkward smile to make up for his rude demeanour.
No turning back now...
Music hits like a deafening wave, blasting from the speakers at a volume that makes the walls shiver and your head throb. The club is alive with reckless anticipation, a sea of sweaty bodies gyrating on the dance floor in time with the pulsing beat. The energy swallows you whole, knuckles turning white as you cling to Jimin's sleeve, letting him elbow through the throng of indistinguishable faces that glitter beneath the tacky disco ball dangling haphazardly from the ceiling.
The crowd eventually spits you back out in a quieter corner of the club, Namjoon already making a beeline for the seedy bar. "There's a whiskey sour with my name on it and it's the only thing that'll get me through this shit." He murmurs as he crosses the room and occupies a bar stool beside a couple mid heavy make out session, pulling the hat closer around his face.
With a sigh, you turn back to Jimin who is eyeing up the strip pole and the exotic dancers nearby with wide eyes. "I still don't think this is a good idea."
The italian leather couch you slump into is suspiciously sticky beneath your bare thighs. "He needs to get the apprehension out of his system," you counter. "Once he sees that there's no competition he'll be able to take him down."
"I hope you're right." Jimin is wringing his hands, not knowing what to do with them now his headset is sat on the backseat of the car a block away. "I'd hate for this to knock his confidence."
"What?" You snort. "You think Gloss might actually beat him?"
Namjoon is the best rapper around, there's no debate. Nobody could beat him. Not even Gloss.
"No." His pursed lips say otherwise. You raise a brow. Jimin lowers his voice. "Maybe. Namjoon's rash. Gets ahead of himself. If he doesn't pull it together he'll play straight into Yoongi's hands..."
"Shows starting." Your open mouth snaps shut when the cushions dip beside you and Namjoon throws his arms over the back of the couch, swirling his half empty glass with an overconfident smirk.
Jimin averts his gaze. He knows he probably said too much. Sure, you're technically his colleague but you're also Namjoon's sister, the daughter of his boss. If Namjoon had overheard his position at Big Hit could have been called into question.
You would have to grill him more about Yoongi's motives later. Namjoon was right; the show really was starting.
Lights send the club into a dizzying purple haze, a new beat rumbling through the club that makes your skin prickle. It's almost drowned out by the electricity in the air, the frantic stamping of feet, the brazen chants of a single name over and over that fills you with a funny tingly feeling.
Gloss! Gloss! Gloss!
Something about it feels dirty.
The crowd is packed tightly together in the pit now. Even from where you sit, avoiding club goers eyes on the opposite side of the room, you find your attention glued to the stage. The set up is nothing like the one your brother occupies every night; just a wooden structure, painted black at one point but scuffed and scratched by the soles of shoes that boast the history of the place. The speakers are propped on broken crates, no big LED screens or back up dancers like your parents hire out for Namjoon.
Though none of that seems to matter when your gaze falls on the sole microphone stand placed centre stage beneath a blinding spotlight. It's the only familiar parallel between the two performers. It's a symbol of an artist, of the passion that comes with being up on that stage — any stage. It belongs to a performer.
You have to peer through a sea of frantic waving hands on your tiptoes to catch a glimpse of the combat boots taking the stage in time with the music rushing in your ears, mouth dry at the silver rings glinting under the harsh lights as fingers curl around the microphone.
"Yoongi." Namjoon grunts beside you, back stick straight and alert now. The traces of his previous smirk have been erased, a line appearing at the bridge of his nose. "There he is."
Yoongi throws his head back, breathes in the stuffy air that carries the shouts and whistles of the crowd like it's the sweetest oxygen money can buy.
The stench of beer burns your eyes but you're scared you'll miss a glimpse of his messy blue hair, or the eyes drunk on the fierce energy pulsing through the club to stop watching even if you tried.
When his voice permeates the room it's husky, burning through you like a shot of dry whisky. Namjoon stiffens, loosens the bandana around his face so he can see better.
Is that Runch Randa?
"Namjoon..." You hiss. "People are looking."
"Shut up." He grits, jaw tightening as Yoongi's lyrics cut through the tension like a serrated knife.
The way he moves across the stage like he owns it is exhilarating, makes the blood in your veins pump hot, limbs turning to lead as the crowd hangs off his every word.
He's good. Great, even. His lyrics give you goosebumps and you realise you haven't felt like this about a performance in a long time. Passionate. Yoongi is exhilarating to watch and it shakes you to the core.
It's then that it dawns on you. The reason Namjoon feels threatened is because there is a real chance that he might loose everything.
Gloss might take the trophy once and for all.
You only rip your eyes away from the stage when you feel Namjoon stand up beside you, his body disappearing into the crowd.
You get up too. "Leave him." You watch Jimin mouth. "He's just angry, he'll calm down—"
You don't care about Namjoon, not when the air is suddenly too thick, too heavy to breathe. Not when your hands sweat and you heave with a desire to run from reality and the suffocating smell of stale cigarette smoke that made your throat burn, like you can't get your body to breathe.
"Y/N? Where are you going?"
You swear you're floating, feet never seeming to quite touch the ground as you battle against the hazy dizziness that makes the room spin, ignoring Jimin's exasperated shouts of your name as you push through the gaps between bodies and pray your sense of direction is still intact enough to pull your outstretched arms towards the exit.
--
It's dark outside when you spill out of the exit, spluttering and heaving for air.
The brick is cool against your back when you slide down a nearby wall, hugging your knees.
A deep breath. In then out. Your chest loosens, lungs begin to feel full enough again.
Until a gravelly voice rings out into the night, clearer than the thump of unintelligible music from inside the club that makes your head pound.
"So it was you I saw back there. Good to know I'm not seeing things."
Even before you lift your face from between your knees you know who it belongs to. The single person you want to see least in the world at this very moment.
"Go away." You grumble but all that follows is a low chuckle as Yoongi slumps down next to you, ensuring to leave a safe distance between your crouched bodies.
It's funny. You had been preparing yourself to see him all night but now he's actually here in front of you, your mouth is dry.
He looks the same as he always did; dark eyes that burn hot as they scan your face, cocky smirk turning up the corners of his mouth. His brow looks wearier than you remember though, too weary for a man of twenty three. The only indication that time has passed since him and your brother were best friends.
"I assume Namjoon sent you here, then?"
The mention of your brother's name offers you the courage you need to look at him directly. His forehead still gleams with sweat in the dim moonlight, hair slicked back with a red bandana. There's a ring around his eye now, black and bruised. He must have taken off the black hoodie he donned on stage, left now in only a white vest which exposes his arms and to your dismay makes your blood run a little hotter.
"He's inside. I just came along because I had to." You mumble. "I'm not his spy, you know."
"Sure as shit seems like it." Yoongi spits with an amused chuckle, head lolling on his shoulders to face you. "He worried I might tell everyone about his little secret? Or was he trying to find his own leverage?"
A hot anger boils beneath your skin, rising all the way to your cheeks. Namjoon wouldn't do that would he? He didn't play that way. He didn't need to get an upper hand on Yoongi. He just wanted to see what he was up against.
"What's your problem, Yoongi?" The smirk on his mouth never falters, something glinting behind his eyes that tells you he wants to get a rise out of you. Even so, you can't help the way your voice raises, staggering to your feet. He chuckles darkly in response. "You get off on being an asshole or something?"
"You're too naive. What's so bad about telling the truth?" He closed the space between you until he's hovering above you, breath warm against your cheek. Your heart starts to race."What's so bad about taking back what is mine?"
Your breath hitches when his hand presses into the wall beside your head, effectively cornering you beneath his chest. "You could ruin his career."
Yoongi snorts. "What? Like he ruined mine?"
A few beats of silence. His eyes scan your face and it makes your stomach feel funny. You push at his chest, sucking in a shaky breath when he backs off a little and you realise part of you is weirdly disappointed that he did.
"Yoongi I don't know what happened between you and Namjoon—"
"No. You wouldn't know." He scorns, slinging his hands in his pockets, face darker now at the mention of his feud with your brother. "Because Namjoon loves secrets right? Namjoon likes to use people, Y/N. Just like he's using you now, to get to the top. And then he'll throw you away just like he did with me, sweetheart."
"Namjoon wouldn't do that." You bite your lip, the words leaving your tongue sounding a little less sure than you intend.
"Why? What makes you think you're any different?"
"He's my brother."
"I was his brother once too, remember?" He swallows, shaking his head in disbelief at your denial. "The only blood that matters to Namjoon is the blood shed to get him to the top."
You wrap your arms around your torso instinctively. Yoongi's words cut too deep. Maybe something inside of you thought Yoongi was right?
No. You came here to protect Namjoon yet here you were allowing his enemy to get inside your head.
"Fuck you, Min Yoongi." You spit, enjoying the way his eyes widen at the venom lacing your tone. "I made a mistake coming here."
Before you could brush past him and escape the heat running through your blood stream which feels fuzzier than hatred should, a hand curls around your wrist.
"Shit. Looks like someone's on your trail."
A quick glance over your shoulder reveals none other than Jimin, face hidden by the visor of his black cap but recognisable none the less. He speaks a few words to the bouncer, probably asking if they saw you come out.
"Oh no."
The bouncer gestures in your direction. Jimin's eyes pause for a second as they skim across your form stood rigid with shock and your heart falls out of your ass when he starts in the direction of where you stand way too close to Yoongi unable to move a single muscle as you brace for discovery. To pay for your betrayal of your brother.
"You coming or what?" Yoongi snaps you back to reality with a tug on your arm, feet stumbling over each other as he drags you behind him further down the alley and around a nearly pitch black corner, too far away from the street lights to be basked in their orange glow.
"What the fuck, Yoongi?" You try to shrug out of his grasp, heart beating faster when you see the flat look on his face. "Let go of me!"
Yoongi comes to an abrupt halt. "Listen, I'm trying to save your ass here. You want to get caught? Go on then! Not my problem."
You nibble your lip, glancing one way at the dark alley and the other at Jimin pacing up and down the street with furrowed brows.
"Just trust me, Y/N."
Jimin's footsteps get closer and closer. It's now or never.
Tightening your jaw, you turn back to Yoongi and nod. The words feel foreign as they pass your lips. "I...trust you."
With that, Yoongi grabs your hand and breaks into a sprint
Turning the corner, the alley meets a dead end. The back of the club is just as run down as the front, littered with cracked beer bottles and cigarette stumps. The sign above the door labelled NO ENTRY doesn't offer any light and apparently Yoongi doesn't listen to directions because he fishes in his back pocket for a key, sliding the bolt and pushing on the bar to hold the door open with a small nod for you to go inside first.
With a deep breath, you do.
The door closes behind you with a jingle of chains, cutting off the slither of moonlight it provided and sending you into complete darkness. You hear Yoongi slide the bolt back across and then he fumbles for you in the darkness, your body pulled down next to his with a yelp so that you're out of direct view of the window which looks inside the room.
"I think they followed us." His voice is silk but there's an underlying insinuation. Be quiet.
Yoongi's eye level now, knees squeezed up against yours in the cramped space beneath the window ledge. Your eyes slowly adjust to the darkness, able to see the way he scans your face when he thinks you aren't looking. The way he grumbles and looks away when you catch him.
There's not time to dwell as you hear footsteps turn the corner, tracking all the way to the door where the bolt rattles, a sleeve wiping the window and pressing a cupped face to the glass.
"She's not here, man. You must have seen someone else."
It was Hoseok. You'd recognise his voice anywhere. Countless all nighters in the studio together does that to a person. Had Jimin called him all the way down here to look for you?
Jimin chimes in quickly. "I could have sworn it was her..."
The voices trail off as they retreat back down the alley, around to the front of the club.
A sigh escapes you, head falling against the wall in relief. When you open your eyes Yoongi is looking at you again. There's something pained in his expression, unspoken words visible in the way he bites his cheek to stop them from spilling out into the darkness.
His fingers are still wrapped around your arm, an electricity buzzing through your veins when you feel him lean in closer, pulling you towards him just barely.
His lips. Chapped and so close to yours. God. You think you want to kiss them. Just to know how it feels. You've never seen them up this close before. Not close enough to feel his hot breaths puffing against your forehead. Not close enough that if you just lifted your chin a little bit...
Yoongi lets out an embarrassed cough, jolting you out of your thoughts. "That was a close one, huh?" The spot where his hand resided feels cold when he rips it away.
Yoongi's face is wiped of any emotion again. He's not completely slick though as when he finally speaks again he sounds husky, the betrayal in his voice surprising even him.
"Are you okay?"
What were you supposed to say to that? I almost got caught with my brother's enemy and then thought about kissing said enemy. No, I don't think I am okay.
"Fine. Thanks."
Yoongi offers you a hand, getting to his feet and pulling you up after him before he leans across your body to flick on the lights.
The yellowish stream burns your eyes but allows you to take in the room around you. There's a keyboard in the corner, piles of sheet music strewn across the wooden desk beside it. A pair of speakers hooked up to a worn looking sound machine. A mic and a pair of headphones slung over the back of the mismatch wheely chair tucked beneath a desk.
A studio.
He must notice the way you look around with wide eyes, redness creeping up his neck as he busies himself by kicking some of the clutter on the floor behind the desk. "Wasn't expecting guests."
It definitely wasn't the high tech producing set up you were provided with back at Big Hit, no hifi system or fancy computer programmes. The furniture was mismatch, like someone had collected a bunch of spare puzzle pieces and shook them up in the box until they made a picture.
Somehow of the pieces still manage to seem somehow inherently Yoongi; the basketball tee with GLOSS on the back draped over his chair, even the empty water bottles overflowing in the trash can. The tiny framed picture of a younger looking Yoongi next to a woman you think you recognise but can't quite put your finger on.
"Genius lab?" You snort, nodding towards the sign hanging haphazardly above the monitor.
Yoongi shrugs. "What can I say? It's true."
"Confident." You muse.
You share a smile. It's strange. Familiar. The way his eyes crinkle and even the husk of the chuckle that follows reminding you of when things were good, back when you considered Yoongi to be a sort of friend. Before things got fucked up.
"You'll take it back when I win."
Old habits might not die hard but the rational part of your brain registers the implication of his words, even beneath his playful facade. The studio suddenly feels cold. Nostalgia dissipates. You remember why you're here.
"Why didn't you just let them find me?"
"You know as well as I do that Namjoon risks getting disqualified if Jimin causes a scene and gets himself caught snooping around here."
You huff an exasperated breath. For all Yoongi's talk of having the upper hand he sure did seem reluctant to use it. "Isn't that what you want? What's stopping you? Want to drag it out or something?"
Yoongi lets out a breathy laugh, crossing the room and ducking into a drawer in the far corner. He returns with two glasses and a murky bottle of something strong, already a quarter empty as he pours some out. He offers the second glass towards you but you wave it away.
"Suit yourself." He takes a swig of the dark liquid, squeezes his eyes shut. "Because I want to win fair and square."
You shake your head. "All of this. Just for a stupid trophy?"
He eyes you over the rim of his glass, swirling the liquid with an overconfidence that makes you grit your teeth in annoyance. "So Namjoon knows how it feels to lose something he loves." He looks you up and down then, coughing and turning his head when you notice it. "Yeah. I guess it's for the trophy."
Yoongi is despicable, you think. Is he really so fame hungry that he will destroy anyone standing in his way to get it? Even Namjoon? Sure, your brother has his faults but if there is one thing you know it's that he loves being on that stage. What happened between them that makes Yoongi think he deserves it more?
"So its a revenge thing, then. And what if you lose, huh?" The way your voice raises makes you wince. Yoongi slams his glass down and flashes you an are you serious face.
"Y/N don't you see? I have nothing to lose. Namjoon already took everything. My life, my family, my fame. Everything. You know how it feels to have it all dangled in front of your face? And then get it ripped away like it was never yours to begin with?"
Yes. You'd never tell him that, of course. But you did know. You had to watch Namjoon perform your songs every night through a camera lens. Snapping shots of him in his element and wishing those picture perfect moments were yours. What did Yoongi know?
"I see him on the big screen, on stages I dreamed of. Crowds screaming his name. It was supposed to be me, Y/N. Meanwhile I'm sat here," Yoongi gestures to the shabby studio you find yourself in, liquid sloshing over the edge of his glass. "In clothes I printed myself, making music in a shitty club for free because nobody will even listen to my shit."
He's panting by the end of his spiel, knuckles pressed to his eyes as he tries to regain his composure before he lets too many of his weaknesses show. Something resonates inside you, softening the anger towards him with what you recognize as sympathy.
"Then why do you still do it? Make music?"
"Because it's the only thing that never left me alone."
You sigh. While you're collecting your thoughts something catches your eye — a Polaroid picture, tacked onto the plasterboard behind his computer. It's of a smiling Yoongi and much to your surprise, a smiling Namjoon, arms wrapped around each other like nothing could ever break them apart. You briefly wonder why he kept it, if he hated Namjoon so much.
You turn to him again.
"Don't make me regret saying this but you're good, Yoongi. Like really good. Your performance earlier it was...amazing. I mean that."
Yoongi's stern eyes soften with surprise. He almost seems pained, like the simple compliment means more to him than you expected.
"So, you don't have to do this. Big Hit has connections, I could get in touch with a couple record labels--"
He stiffens again. "What? Are you my manager now? As if any record label would take a chance on the biggest Mic Drop loser in history, Y/N, don't talk shit."
You trail off. It's true and you know it.
He swallows hard. "You know what I think? I think you're here because you know that I might actually win this thing. As much as Namjoon knows how to play dirty he doesn't have the talent. He never did! That's why he's using you to write his material." His laugh makes you shiver. "How can he even call himself an artist? It's pathetic."
That's all it takes for your patience to snap. Is the way your blood boils with a sudden and insatiable rage because of the way he bad mouthed your brother? Surely you didn't actually believe him? No, everything he said was a lie -- it had to be.
Your hand curls into a fist, anger spilling over as you charge at him full force. Yoongi barley flinches, his fingers deftly curling around your wrist before it can meet his jaw and pulling you into him at the waist so he can slot his bottom lip between yours.
"Fuck yo— hmf?"
Your eyes widen as you register his slightly chapped lips moving against your own, remnants of the amber liquid he poured down his throat earlier sour on your tongue, a surprised gasp leaving you when Yoongi flips your bodies and slams your back roughly against the wall, settling himself between your legs.
"Gonna finish what Namjoon started, sweetheart?" When he pulls back you're panting, eyes trained to his parted lips with wonder.
He kissed you. Yoongi kissed you. For real.
His warm breath still mingles with yours as you try to choke a response, anything. Yoongi's eyes have a dark glint to them and god you should hate him for winding you up like this but being this close to him just feels too good.
Then, before you can think better of it, you grab his collar with your free hand and smash your lips together in a tangle of teeth and tongue that makes your entire body burn with relief.
The groan he lets out against your mouth tells you he wants this too. "Fuck, couldn't help myself." He pants. "You're driving me crazy."
You feel a dampness throb between your legs when his hands tangle in your hair, lips never leaving yours as he pulls you across the room and drops into his chair.
A whimper is pulled from your lips when his palms cup the flesh of your ass beneath your dress, though it's not in protest, dizzy with desire when he pulls you into his lap and bucks his hips so that his half hard cock brushes against your clothed heat.
"See what you do to me?" He pulls back to smirk at your swollen lips, a much needed breath entering your lungs, filling you with another bout of restless desire as Yoongi's eyes scan your face hungrily. It feels too good even though it should be so wrong.
"W-we shouldn't." Your mouth is dry, words coming out a little unsure which gives away just how much you want to keep going. "What if--"
A particularly harsh thrust of his hips makes you moan softly, head falling into the crook of Yoongi's neck. He growls when he catches sight of the growing wet patch on the front of his jeans, testament of his effect on you as much as you hated to admit it.
"What if Namjoon finds out?" His hand shoots between your legs, pads of his fingers tracing your clothed core, the coarse lace of your panties adding a delicious layer of friction against your folds. The delicate touch sets your body alight, skin burning to let go and submit to the feeling despite the voice in the back of your mind screaming no!
"What if Namjoon finds out that I make you this wet?" Your panties are sticking to your heat by now so it would have been futile to deny it. He smiles smugly when your legs shake and you throw an arm around his neck to keep your balance.
"S-shut up." It's meek and it only makes him laugh darkly, the husky sound sending shivers down your spine as he leans in closer to nibble on the lobe of your ear.
If you didn't know any better you would think he was unaffected by this. Your chest heaves with desire and your hands itch with a yearning to touch him but Yoongi appears the epitome of composure, maintaining sinful eye contact as he pulls your panties to the side. The only give away is the way his cock twitches against your leg with each jerk of his hips, a funny sense of pride erupting in your chest knowing that he wants you too.
Open mouthed kisses drag down your jaw, lingering at your neck. His teeth nibble at the sensitive skin, tongue laving out to soothe the sting and it feels too good to worry about the bruises his sinful lips leave behind as a reminder of your weakness Namjoon could never know of.
"Look so pretty marked up, sweetheart." The pet name makes your clit throb, head throwing back as his mouth attacks the sensitive spot on your neck like he knew it was there all along. It's almost concerning how quickly he has you falling apart in his lap. How easily he turned you into a shuddering mess, barely able to form coherent sentences in between breathy gasps at the sensation of him making you his for all to see. "Show everyone that you're mine, hm?"
When Yoongi removes his hand from your core you slap a hand over your mouth to stop a whine of protest from escaping. Yoongi's eyes narrow, palming his bulge through his trousers as he watches you writhe in his lap with amusement, every twist of your hips falling short and providing no relief for your pulsing clit, already missing the feeling of his hand cupping your mound and considering how it would feel skin on skin—
Oh god. What am I doing?
You let out a groan, but not the good kind.
"What?" Yoongi seems to read your mind, snapping you back to reality when he pulls your panties to the side. He circles your entrance teasingly and you can't help the way you whimper. "Don't act like you don't want to sink down on my cock, Y/N. You could ride me right here and nobody would ever know."
"H-how can I trust you?" It would ruin Namjoon if he found out. He was already stressed, already growing distant from you. This had to stop before it went too far. Before there was no going back.
"Because I can make you feel like this." A lithe finger slides into your heat, easy because of how you drip over his hand. "Think about how much better my cock would stretch you out, hm?"
Each drag of his finger against your velvety walls has you squeezing your eyes shut. The sensation is overwhelming, and when he adds a second digit you feel your repose crumble. Lust seems to crash over you like a wave, clouding your thought with a hazy desire to just give in and let Yoongi take you, uncaring about the repercussions now as you push down to meet his thrusts so he hits deeper than before.
"Fine." Your words are slurred, too busy chasing the feeling between your legs to see the way it makes Yoongi's eyes light up. "J-just hurry up and fuck me Yoongi."
"Well well," Yoongi settles back against the wall, looking between your bodies to watch the way his fingers disappear into your soaking cunt with an expression almost primal, his own breathing ragged now as he tries to resist turning you over and fucking you into tomorrow then and there. "Never thought I'd actually get to hear my name on your lips like this. Say it again."
A sharp flick of his wrist has you falling against his chest, pulsing around him. "Yoongi!"
"That's right," He licks his lips, free hand unzipping his jeans to relieve the pressure on his length. "Me. Yoongi." The way he mimicks your breathless tone makes a hot blush rise in your cheeks, aware of just how fucked out you must seem right now but too horny to care. "Been waiting for this. Ah shit!"
You take it upon yourself to hurry along the process by reaching into the waistband of his boxers to wrap a hand around the shaft of his cock. It pulses at your touch, the pace of Yoongi's fingers in your cunt stuttering as he flies forward, knuckles on the hand gripping your thigh turning white as he tries to regain some control while you stroke him firmly.
"Fuck your hands. Sinful. Knew they would be. God you're going to kill me if you keep this up, I swear." The worlds tumble from his mouth in one heaving breath as you twist your palm around his sticky head, enjoying the way his thighs twitch with a want to buck into your fist and his nose flares with the effort it takes to resist.
His cock feels girthy in your palm, hot and heavy as you help him shimmy his jeans around his thighs. When his cock slaps back against his stomach, impossibly hard and leaking with anticipation you feel your mouth water.
"Like what you see?" He almost taunts.
You bite your lip. "I don't think you're gonna fit."
It must have brushed his ego because the tip seemed to flush an even deeper shade of red. "Wanna sit on it and find out?"
A nod is all it takes for Yoongi to slide your panties to the side, slapping your hands away to grip the base of his cock and line it up with your entrance.
You both groan in unison when he pushes into your heat, the stretch burning with every inch, fingers clutching the fabric of his tank top at the sensation of finally being full.
"Fuuuck." You see his tongue snake out to wet his bottom lip when his hips finally join flush to yours, hair sticking to his already damp forehead as he allowed you to adjust. "So fucking tight for me, princess."
His cock throbs impossibly deep inside you when you unconsciously clench around it, feeling your face flush as you whimper for him to get on with it and fuck you already.
"Shh, patience." His thumb pulls at your bottom lip, setting it free with a pop. "Move."
At his command you do, bracing yourself on his shoulders. You raise up, feeling every ridge of his length until just the tip remains inside your heat. Then you are slamming back down and flushing at the groan which tumbles from his chest.
"Such a slut, taking my cock so well." His palms feel hot on your hips, dragging you up and down through the motion that has you panting.
Yoongi looks utterly amazed at the visual of you sinking down onto his length, unable to stop the satisfied grin settling into his features when you cry out after a particularly deep thrust. "Imagine if Namjoon could see you now. Falling apart on my cock?"
"Can we — hnng — not talk about my brother when you're in my fucking guts?"
"Why?" A whine leaves you when he slips out of your cunt, grabs you by the ass, and hoists you to your feet, roughly bending you over the desk until your cheek presses against the cold surface. Yoongi tugs your hands behind your back, cock already sinking back into your heat before you can protest at the emptiness. "Worried he'll think you're a slut for taking my cock when I'm the one whose going to fucking end him?"
"Yes!" You cry, unable to hold back now as you feel his cock hit deeper than before with every ram inside you that fills the room with the slapping sound of his pistoning hips, brushing your sweet spot each time and making the coil in your stomach tighten.
God, this is so wrong and you know it. You know it shouldn't feel so good when Yoongi's hands tangle in your hair, pulling you so that your back arches flush against his sweaty chest. Know how many people would be hurt if they knew how much you love it, how you push back into his thrusts, eager for more.
"Shit, you're squeezing so tight." His voice sounds strained now, thrusts turning sloppy as you feel him shudder. "Close, shit. Where can I—"
"Inside me. Want you to f-fill me."
"Holy sh— always wanted to hear you say that. Okay, fuck."
A few more pumps of his cock and he's spilling inside you, the feeling of his release coating your walls enough to have you falling over the edge unexpectedly too, vision turning black as you cum with a cry.
The only sound that fills the silence is your heavy breaths mingling with his as your arms give out. You're silently grateful, as much as you hated to admit it, for the strong arm around your torso that holds you to him when your legs turn to jelly.
Yoongi slips out of you, admiring the way his cum leaks down your trembling thighs. The emptiness makes you keen, clenching around nothing.
"Made such a mess of you, kitten."
The sound of his zipper makes your heart sink, stiffening as he tucks his spent cock back into his pants. For a second you think he's going to leave you like this, shame caressing your cheeks as you envision how fucked out you must look.
But then, Yoongi's palms are back on your thighs as he kicks the chair from under his desk and pushes you roughly onto the cushion. "Think you can go again for me, princess?"
"Wha--?" His swollen lips make you loose your words, the way his tongue tantalizingly caresses your bottom lip drawing a choked whine from your throat instead.
"Fuck, always thought you'd make such pretty noises." It's mumbled gruffly under his breath, like he's confirming it with himself rather than addressing you. He pulls back to stare at you spread out for him, lidded eyes widening at the visual of your skirt pooled around your waist, legs kept open by the rough grip around your thigh that exposes your swollen slit. The way your arousal drips down your inner thighs along with his own release has him swallowing thickly. "Like being filled with my cum, huh? Such a slut."
Yoongi traces his fingers up your inner thighs, thumb applying a gentle pressure to your clit, legs struggling to fall shut around his hand to escape the over stimulation. "P-please Yoongi, I can't."
"You will." It's growled against your neck, hot breath making you shudder. "I know you can take it."
A knee slips between your thighs, holding them open so his fingers can deftly continue their brutal attack on your sensitive folds. Each drag of his knuckle up your slit makes you whimper, the way the pads of his fingers rub firm circles into your clit making it pulse. The feeling is more intense than before, borderline agonizing as a warmth builds in the pit of your stomach again.
Eventually the pain starts to dissipate, turns into something closer to pleasure when you feel a single digit slip into your heat, the slide made easy by the fact that his cock had already stretched you out and his release lubed you up nicely. Each pump makes a lewd squelching noise that has you biting your lip to stop from groaning unabashedly, Yoongi's gaze fixed to the sight of his knuckles disappearing inside you.
When you buck up into his touch again, desperately circling your hips to try and grind your clit against the heel of his hand, Yoongi lets out a dark chuckle. The muscles in your cunt tighten, skin damp with sweat as you fuck yourself on his hand in search of a second high that burns ever closer.
"Look at you, all needy again from just one finger. All fucked out again even after I stretched you out."
With that Yoongi removes his hand from your heat all together, leaving you gasping and clenching around nothing as your release falls farther away, unable to resist the groan of frustration that passes your lips.
"Don't stop!" Your head lolls back against the chair, thighs trembling with desperation to feel his touch again. "I was so close--"
"Suck." Yoongi raises his fingers to your lips. You notice the way they gleam, sticky and white in the studio lighting. The pads of his fingers smear the wetness across your swollen lips as he pushes for entry which you gave to him eagerly, humming around the digits. "Be a good girl, hm?"
He all but groans when your eyes flutter open and lock with his, tongue swirling around his fingers teasingly, enjoying the taste of your own arousal mixed with the saltiness of his cum, almost in sensory overload at the thought of how much better his cock would feel in your throat.
"That's it." A knuckle drags down your cheek possessively, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "Good girl."
A sticky trail of spit follows Yoongi's fingers when they leave your mouth with a lewd pop, your breaths coming out shaky and desperate as you watch his eyes zone in on your aching core.
The sight of him dropping to his knees is enough to have you squeezing your eyes shut in anticipation, whimpering when his hot breath grazes over your throbbing clit. "Wanna taste you for myself."
And with that his tongue runs a rough stripe up your slit, eyes falling shut as he hums against your folds contentedly.
"Fuck Yoongi!" Your eyes roll back as he laps a few teasing licks across your bud, body turning to putty when his hands roughly pull you down the chair so that he can attach his mouth to your mound fully.
A guttural moan rises from his chest when you grind your core against his face, knuckles turning white as you clutch he chair like it's the only thing keeping you grounded, stopping you from floating away and losing yourself to the feeling of Yoongi's tongue teasing your already wrecked hole. An impatience rises in your stomach every time his nose grazes your clit, pushing your hips more forcefully to chase the relief it brings.
"So eager." You knew he'd have a smirk on his face if his lips weren't already occupied, wrapping around your clit and sucking with just the right amount of pressure to have your fingers tangling in the blue locks that spill loose from his bandanna now, holding him to your core so that you can rock against his tongue easier.
"Close sweetheart?" The way your chest heaves and little gasps spill past your lips as you chase your high must give away the effect he is having on you. You nod breathlessly and to your surprise Yoongi places a chaste kiss to your folds before pulling back all together, leaving you writhing and desperate for him to make cum for the second time. "Did I give you permission?"
Your heart beats furiously as your release slips away once again. Yoongi only stares at you intently. His lips glisten with a mixture of both of your releases and the thought alone makes your core ache. A loose shake of your head makes his eyes darken, licking some of the dampness from around his lips. "Gotta use your words, baby. Did I say you could cum?"
Dizzy with arousal, your words sound slurred and alien to your own ears. "N-no."
"Good. Now ask nicely."
"Please." It comes out whinier than you anticipate but Yoongi's hands twitch against the flesh of your thighs, giving away the fact that he likes it despite the way his mouth presses into a tight and unforgiving line. "Can I cum? Please?"
A deep laugh leaves his bitten lips. "I don't think you deserve it." His head dips back down between your legs, sloppy kisses pressed to each of your thighs as he edges ever closer to your dripping core. "I want you to count, okay?"
"O-oh, okay." He attacks your clit again, tongue swirling where his teeth graze across the pulsing bud. You're so sensitive that you're sure just the light brushes of his lips will send you over the edge if he keeps going.
"G-gonna cum if you--"
"Don't." The authority in his voice makes you gasp. "Didn't I say to count? One."
"Fuck!" Hot tears streak your cheeks when he pulls back so just his hot breath ghosts across your glistening folds. "I..I was so close!"
"Hey, hey." His hand reaches up to stroke your cheek, a strangely gentle action in comparison to the bruising grip on your thigh. "You're doing so good. Trust me, okay? Wanna make you feel good."
For the second time that night you nod, putting all your trust into him for reasons you are too fucked out to dwell on there and then.
When his tongue snakes out to tease your clenching hole again it draws an agonizing cry from you, the coil already tightening in your belly. You shut your eyes.
"Don't" The hand on your chin tightens, forces you to look down at where his face is buried between your legs, authority lacing his words again. "Keep your eyes on me."
As soon as you lock eyes he gets to work again, humming out a "good girl" before you're losing yourself again to his tongue and he has to plant your feet down roughly to stop your hips from bucking too much.
Before you know it your clit's throbbing again and you're about to fall over the edge but before you can even let Yoongi know he's pulling back with a pant, practically gasping for air but still flashing you a shit eating grin. "Didn't think I was going to let you, did you sweetheart?"
"Two." You manage to breathe. "Two!"
By now you're sick of the teasing, a hand coming between your own legs to finish yourself off, ready to come undone whether Yoongi likes it or not. Before you can get your way, Yoongi's swatting your hand away. "Desperate slut. Wanna cum that bad huh?"
"Please!" You practically whimper.
That seems to do it for him, his eyes glazing over with what you recognise as lust. As if the last of his self control just snapped. Anticipation makes your blood run hot.
"Then make it to three and we'll see if I'm feeling nice."
"Shit!" Yoongi's tongue plunges into your heat with a new found eagerness, thrusting in and out like a man deprived. You manage to maintain eye contact this time, falling apart at the way he groans in appreciation when he tastes himself, fucking your hole with his tongue mercilessly like he wants to get every last drop of his cum.
His thumb finds your clit and the coil in your lower belly tightens too rapidly for you to comprehend, tugging on his hair as you cry out. "Yoongi!"
"Cum for me."
His permission is all it takes to have you falling over the edge into a shattering orgasm that makes your vision turn black, mind wiped of any hesitation and guilt and replaced with a single word, over and over again: Yoongi.
When you finally take a gasping breath, he's there, rubbing encouraging circles into your hips and leaving kisses across your stomach that makes something in your chest warm, heart beating a little faster and not just from your orgasm.
"So fuckin' pretty when you cum." You're sure that's what he murmurs against your damp skin. "Can't believe I had to wait this long."
You furrow your brow. Yoongi sits back against his heels, wiping your arousal from his mouth with the back of his hand and flashing you a lazy but satisfied smile, looking awfully pleased with himself. Like this was his biggest dream come true.
It dawned on you that it probably was in someways -- what better way to get back at an old friend than by fucking his sister?
You suddenly feel like an idiot for letting him charm you, guilt washing through you, flying forward when your chest aches with regret.
Yoongi notices how you pale. "Are you okay? If that was too much then I'm really sorry--"
"Too much?" You suddenly feel exposed beneath his gaze, shuffling around to pull your skirt around your thighs, eyes roaming the room hurriedly for your panties so you can get out of here and quick. "This is all too much, Yoongi."
"What?" He puts a hand on your shoulder to stop you as you brush past him but the way you jolt at the touch makes him rip it away like he touched a live wire.
"I...shouldn't have come here. This was a mistake."
Namjoon's face was embedded in your mind. The way his eyes would crumple with betrayal if he found out you came here at all -- let alone let Yoongi take you so intimately. And you hadn't even tried to stop yourself from falling into him, gave in to your emotions too easily and allowed Yoongi to use you as a swipe at your own brother.
"Why? Didn't seem so upset when you were coming on my tongue." The scoff in Yoongi's voice makes you freeze.
"I can't stop you from hurting Namjoon," Your lip quivers and you have to press your nails into your palms to stop the tears spilling over. "But do you really have to hurt me, too?"
"Y/N, wait--"
Your hands shake as you grab your bag and head for the door. "Shit happened between you and my brother, I get it. But we were friends once, Yoongi. Doesn't that mean anything to you? We can't see each other again."
Your tears are warm in contrast to the cold evening air as you take off into a run, needing to get as far away from Yoongi and the evidence of your own betrayal as possible.
By the time you stumble back into the Big Hit company building, the studio is empty. To your surprise, words seem to flow out of you easier than they ever had before, a heart shaped stain appearing on the formerly empty page of your notebook.
--
Sleepless nights were becoming your norm. You had barely slept a wink since that night, not when every thought was plagued with guilt, the same name running circles around your mind, the same dark eyes and swollen lips and messy hair tauntingly appearing in your mind whenever your head hit the pillow.
Yoongi.
That night with Yoongi felt something like a dream, a hazy memory, the only evidence of it being real the fact that every time you closed your eyes you could feel the way Yoongi's hands burned your skin, how his lips moved perfectly in sync with your own.
As much as you knew it was a mistake, something that should have never happened, you couldn't help the way your heart throbbed every time you replayed it over and over in your mind, repeatedly, until you felt like you were going insane with guilt. It was eating you alive. But sometimes you would remember the way you felt when he was pressed up against you and every ounce of regret felt worth it.
You hated yourself for it, and you knew your brother would hate you to, if he ever found out.
He could never find out.
So, you take to avoiding Namjoon altogether. It wasn't that hard really, you knew his schedule well enough to be a step ahead of him at all times, and it wasn't as if he was enthusiastic about your company to begin with.
Of course sometimes your paths have to cross, but you still can't look Namjoon in the eyes when you slip into one of the Big Hit practice rooms where you know you'll inevitably find him.
The music hits before you even open the door. Namjoon is dressed in casual clothes, cap pulled down low over his face as he raps into a mic, the way his voice husks a tell tale sign that this was not the first time he'd gone over the same verse.
He seems stiffer than usual, all elbows and knees as he scrutinises his own form in the wall to floor mirror. You've seen him perform this choreography flawlessly hundreds of times so your brow furrows with confusion each time his feet miss a beat or his knees literally buckle under the pressure.
On the far side of the room sits a row of men and women in formal suits. Investors, brought in to bet on the contestant most likely to win. They watch Namjoon with intent eyes, some shaking their heads in disapproval, others whispering insults below their breaths.
Is that really Runch Randa? Pfft, he'll never win with footwork like that.
Jimin stands close by, hopping from one foot to the other and wincing with every mistake Namjoon makes. He's been making desperate phone calls for the last week, pleading with any investor he could get ahold of to take a chance on Namjoon which was hard to come by after the royal media fuck up the other day at the after party.
This was Namjoon's only chance at a do over — he needed their money if he wanted to win this thing. The judges were expecting a show from him. Smoke machines and good lighting are expensive, after all.
Namjoon, however, only seems interested in the reactions of your parents sat in the back row, expressions grave. He's chastising himself, self loathing evident in his eyes every time he stutters over a lyric. He knows how hard they worked to establish Big Hit and the disappointment in their eyes as it slowly slips through Namjoon's fingers like sand makes even you feel jittery with nerves.
For a brief moment you're grateful that you are practically invisible in this room, no eyes even glancing your way as you join them. You're glad that Namjoon takes the brunt of the pressure. You never were the strong sibling after all.
The music cuts, Namjoon coming to a stand still. He crumples at the knees, forehead pressed against the polished linoleum floor as he tries to catch his breath.
Jimin slumps into a chair, head in hands. That tells you all you need to know.
Investors leave the room, some sending apologetic looks towards Jimin with a shrug. Others deposit their cheque books back into their briefcases, taking pity on the pleading smiles and firm handshakes from your parents when they apologise for Namjoon's lacking performance. One even pats Namjoon on the back, following the small crowd as they leave the room. "Take a break, buddy."
Nearly everyone has filtered out before Namjoon gets to his feet shakily, slumping down into a seat beside you. You don't acknowledge him, afraid of what you might let slip if you do, fiddling with your camera as a distraction.
It's him who breaks the silence.
"How's the song coming along?" He seems disinterested, clicking his knuckles with no real intention of listening to your response.
"Fine." Another lie. It wasn't coming along at all, really, but now is probably not the best time to tell him when his nerves are already heightened by his failure to gain any crucial investments.
His eye is still slightly swollen from the fist fight a few days ago, a permanent line forming at the bridge of his nose that wasn't there before. You almost didn't recognise him. He stares at his own broken reflection in the steamed practice room mirrors vacantly, like he doesn't even recognise himself.
A few moments of uncomfortable silence pass. Namjoon's heavy breathing slows to a regular pace.
"I know you went to see him."
It echos menacingly through the room and you stiffen, clutching the floor beneath you for support. Namjoon's hard eyes still don't look your way but you see him analysing your reaction in the mirror. The way your mouth gapes speechlessly tells him everything he needs to know.
"Not even gonna try and deny it?" His head shakes in disbelief.
You throb with guilt. "H-how did you find out?"
"I have people everywhere keeping an eye on him, Y/N. You're lucky the paparazzi didn't catch you, because it sure as shit looked shady. My own sister," He scoffs around the word, as if it tastes bad in his mouth. "Siding with him?"
You place a hand on his forearm, surprised to find him shaking beneath your touch. "I'm not siding with him, Namjoon."
"Then what are you doing?" He roars, ripping his arm away.
What was I doing? You don't even know yourself.
It takes everything inside you to keep the expression on your face neutral, to wipe away the regret and the sadness and the fear that makes your voice wobble.
"We just talked." You had to avert your gaze, scared that somehow your disingenuous eyes would give away what really happened with Yoongi — a little more than talking to say the least.
"About what?"
"The secret, okay? I wanted to protect you—"
"Protect me?" Namjoon pinched the bridge of his nose. "How is meddling in business that doesn't even concern you protecting me, Y/N?"
"Have you forgotten that what you're — we're — doing is against Mic Drop rules? That you could be disqualified or...worse! Get your trophy revoked?"
"Pfft. Yoongi won't say anything.."
"What makes you so sure?"
"It's me he wants to hurt. I know him, Y/N. He'd never forgive himself if you—" He eyes you carefully. "If anyone else got dragged into this. It's between me and him, that's it."
Your head is spinning. You remember a time when things weren't this way, back when Yoongi and Namjoon were friends. Partners. What happened between them that made them so hell bent on destroying one another?
"There are things about Yoongi that you will never understand, Y/N. Things he did that can never be forgiven."
It briefly crosses your mind that if Namjoon could cut Yoongi, his best friend, out of his life, just how easy it would be for him to do the same to you if he found out just how unforgivable your betrayal was. A funny feeling pools in your stomach, a distance settling between you and Namjoon as, to your dismay, you realise just how much you have in common with your brother's enemy.
"But what about you, huh? Why should he forgive you? You took everything from him! I'm not surprised he's back to kick your ass. If you ask me it's him who should be holding a grudge—"
Namjoon's hands clamp onto your shoulders and you recoil from the contact. You're breathing hard, the tears welling in your eyes threatening to spill over any second.
"Listen to me. He's trying to get in your head. You need to stay away from him Y/N. He's bad news."
"Tell me why! Help me understand!"
Namjoon's face is grave. "Some secrets are best kept that way. It'll only make it worse if I tell you."
Before you can protest he's striding across the room and hitting the play button on the boom box in the corner, music blasting from the speakers again.
"Joon—"
"Just stick to taking pictures and stop getting involved in business that doesn't concern you."
Then his body is twisting across the room in time to the music with an intensity he didn't possess before. Like a machine on autopilot.
You shove your camera into your bag and let the door slam shut behind you.
--
"We were a mistake."
The cursor flashing on the empty document on your computer screen feels like it's taunting you.
"Please don't tell my brother what we did."
You've been like this for the last week. Holed up in one of the tiny studios at the Big Hit company building, head swimming with beats and melodies and lyrics that just won't seem to fit together. Not when your mind is preoccupied with a more pressing issue.
"Are you thinking about me as much as I'm thinking about you?"
Yoongi.
God, how are you supposed to write this song for Namjoon when all you can think about is his enemy?
You don't know why you're still so hung up on Yoongi. It's not as if what happened between you meant anything. It was just a spur of the moment mistake. You were both tense and needed someone to help blow off some steam. That's it. Nothing more, nothing less.
Right?
You'll never admit that deep down, a part of you wants to see him again. To check that he's real and that you didn't imagine the whole thing. To see if he is going as crazy as you feel.
That's when the answer hits you. The only way to make this right is to end things once and for all. Tie up all your loose ends and tell Yoongi that you and him were a one time thing. Make sure you were on the same page.
Then maybe you'll be able to concentrate on helping Namjoon beat his ass.
A sudden confidence grips you, standing up abruptly from your desk, alerting the attention of Hoseok who up until now has been quietly engrossed in the track he's producing.
"Where are you going?" He asks.
There's an address burning at the forefront of your mind. You have the route committed to memory. How long it'll take to get there. How long it'll take to get back before anyone else at Big Hit notices your absence.
The only place you knew where you might find Yoongi.
"I won't be gone long. Cover for me if anyone sees I'm gone, 'kay?"
Hoseok eyes you curiously and pulls his headphones to sit around his neck. "O-okay but don't you think you should take an umbrella? It's raining and you might catch a cold — oh."
You don't hear him, the door already slamming behind you.
--
In hindsight, Hoseok was probably right. You're soaked before you even get half way to Yoongi's studio.
Not that you care. Not when there are so many things you want to say to Yoongi. So many questions only he knows the answer to.
Not when you're about to see him again and you're giddy and nervous and scared of the way your heart feels like it's about to bust out of your chest.
You don't really know why you're doing this. For Namjoon's sake? To ease your own guilty conscience? Both?
You shake your head before your confidence can deflate and focus on putting two feet in front of the other instead, trying to take your mind of your destination by focusing on your surroundings. You always liked this part of town, with it's bustling roads and street vendors and buskers. Here it's easy to forget, to just close your eyes and let the buzz of cars and the melody from a nearby street guitarist and the torrent of ice cold rain whisk you away, like life is operating at double the speed but you're too caught up in your own thoughts to care.
So caught up in your own thoughts that you don't spot the guy handing out flyers on the side of the street until your face is colliding with his shoulder.
"Shit, I'm so sorry!"
The guy lets out a groan as you helplessly watch his flyers flutter to the ground like autumn leaves, disintegrating on the rain dampened street.
"Does nobody look where they're going any more? My boss is going to kill me..."
The guy gets to his knees and starts grabbing as many flyers as he can by the handful.
"I'm so sorry, at least let me help?"
You hear him sigh deeply but he doesn't stop you when you drop down beside him.
You stamp on a flyer before it can be whisked away by the breeze. It's ruined. The rain makes the ink bleed into a black blotch in the center of the sodden paper, but if you squint you can just make out the barely legible print.
Live Classical Piano - 7:30 - 9:30 Every Wednesday At The Coffee House!
A throat clears, shaking you back to reality, and a nimble hand thrusts towards you, palm up, waiting for you to deposit the pile of flyers you collected.
"Just gonna stand there all day, sweetheart? Some of us have a job to do."
Shame heats your cheeks. "I wasn't looking where I was going, I'll pay for these —"
Its then, as you let your hood fall down, that the boy stiffens. You look up slowly, meeting a widened pair of piercing grey eyes for the first time. The very same eyes you haven't been able to get out of your head all week.
"Wait...Yoongi?"
It's him. He's here? A coincidence surely but it sure as shit doesn't feel like one.
Just seeing him knocks the breath out of your lungs.
Yoongi blinks a few times, eyes wide with disbelief. Then he's ripping the flyers from your slackened grip and grabbing you by the wrist, dragging you behind him to the side of the street where you're just out of view from passerby's.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" He deadpans.
You take in the way his mint hair clings damply to his forehead, shirt darker in places where droplets of rain soak into the fabric. He's wearing one of those traditional pianist outfits with the funny tuxedo jacket and a little black bow tie strung around his neck that looks like it came from a bad Beethoven Halloween costume. It catches you off guard. No wonder you didn't recognise him before. Not exactly hip hop.
"What are you doing here?"
Yoongi glances over his shoulder warily. "Look, you can't tell anyone you saw me here okay? Did Namjoon send you?"
"What? No--?"
"Just leave, Y/N. Before someone sees you here and tells your precious brother that you've been hanging around with scum like me." He spits, drops your arm and starts in the direction he came from.
"Yoongi, wait!" You blurt, throwing your hands up in frustration. He freezes."Can we...can we just talk?"
Yoongi nearly does a double take. He's usually full of jibes but this catches him off guard. "Talk?"
He backtracks, though you notice the way he keeps a safe distance between you. It feels silly considering how much...closer you were just a few days ago. You wonder, as his eyes look you up and down, if he's thinking about it too. If you crossed his mind as much as he crossed yours.
"Listen, I don't have time for this, I need to go get some more of these flyers..."
Your heart drops, embarrassed for even entertaining the idea that he would want to see you again.
"Please?"
He hesitates. You're sure he's going to blow you off again but then his eyes fill with something scarily close to concern. "Shit, you're shivering."
Your hair hangs in heavy tendrils around your face, droplets of cold rain caressing your cheeks. Your knees knock, arms wrapped around the damp hoodie clinging to your torso to retain some warmth.
Yoongi shrugs off his jacket, despite the way his own teeth chatter. "You're going to catch your death dressed like that."
You stand there dumbly as he holds it out to you. He kicks a stone with the toe of his sneaker awkwardly when you finally wrap it around your shoulders.
"I thought you didn't want to see me again." It's almost accusing but you're sure you hear a trace of a pout in his voice.
"I...I didn't want to." Yoongi looks up. "But I think we should talk about you know...us."
Yoongi bites his lip, like he's having an inner debate. Like he's about to do something he knows he shouldn't.
"Fine. Let's talk. I, uh, guess I have some things I need to say to you too." He scratches the back of his neck. "But not here. Could I—would it be weird if we got coffee or something?"
Definitely weird. That's what you should say. But you don't.
"Okay."
You don't miss the way Yoongi's cheeks turn a little red.
--
The coffee shop Yoongi takes you to is a quaint little place, definitely not the sort of establishment you expected rough-around-the-edges Min Yoongi to frequent with its exposed brick walls and mint green espresso mugs with smiley faces on the side that give it a somewhat cosy appeal.
"I work here," He explains when he sees your eyes roaming. "Needed some extra cash."
You nod. Makes sense. The smell of pumpkin bread and coffee beans is still a welcome relief from the bitter chill outside.
The guy at the counter nods in greeting when Yoongi approaches, already grinding up coffee like he knows his regular order. Yoongi flashes him a tight smile. You figure they know each other, not that Yoongi seems the type to mingle within barista social circles but then again he is full of surprises today.
They share a few hushed whispers, staring not so subtly in the direction of where you sit hunched in one of the corner booths, but you just ignore it by watching a rain drop crawl down the window with rapt attention.
Words barely pass between you and Yoongi until you're both seated, him with a coffee you learn he takes black and you with a much too sugary frappe which you take to stirring with your straw nervously, chin in palm.
It's Yoongi who finally breaks the silence.
"What are you thinking?" He looks at you expectantly over the rim of his mug. For some reason it makes you nervous.
Guilt niggles at your repose. The cafe is alive with indistinguishable chatter, a coffee machine whirring loudly nearby. In reality, you merely blend in to the hubbub. But as you watch Yoongi fiddle with the rings on his fingers in anticipation of your response it's like a hush has fallen and all eyes are on you. Judging, like they know how wrong it is for you to be here.
He's been the only thing on your mind all week but now you're here in front of him it's like your mind is blank.
"Did you tell anyone?"
Yoongi blinks. "Namjoon's secret? I said I wasn't going to say anything—"
"No. Our secret. Us..." It feels foreign, referring to Yoongi and yourself as a unit. You hate to admit it makes your heart beat a little faster. "Namjoon knows."
Yoongi's coffee cup clatters to the table and words rise like bile in your throat, everything you've been bottling up inside tumbling out before you can stop it.
"Namjoon knows! He found out about us somehow and now everything has gone to shit and...I shouldn't even be telling you this! God I'm an idiot! I just don't know what to do—"
Your wailing is interrupted suddenly by a warm hand covering your own. Yoongi's hand. The touch is gentle, comforting, something about the squeeze of reassurance it provides calming your hyperventilating. It feels right.
Why does it feel right?
Yoongi must misinterpret the puzzled look you flash him as a warning he's crossing a boundary because he retracts his arm jerkily, a flush creeping up his neck.
He glosses over the weird moment hastily.
"Slow down, go back. He knows?" There's a lilt of surprise to his voice. Either he's a really good actor or he is just as panicked as you by this news. "And you think I told him?"
"Well, not exactly. He knows some of it — not everything! — he thinks that I just spoke to you after the show...I assumed you would have filled in the blanks by now."
Yoongi laughs breathily. Relieved. It flummoxes you. Shouldn't he be satisfied that his plan to get under Namjoon's skin was a success?
"Y/N, there were hundreds of people at the gig, anyone could have seen us. Jimin and Hoseok probably told him. You act like I tried to seduce you just to get revenge, or something." He gulps back the last of his coffee and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before his expression suddenly turns serious. "You don't think that right?"
"Isn't that exactly what you did?"
Say no.
Yoongi opens his mouth and then shuts it again. He doesn't deny it.
Something in your chest twists with disappointment. It scares you shitless and you know you have to end this — whatever this is — before there's no turning back.
"Look, it — we — were a stupid mistake okay? I need to know that you're not going to use this against him. It would kill him."
"Mistake?" Yoongi's face drops. "Didn't I say you could trust me?"
It sounds somewhat pained, like he wasn't expecting you to think so lowly of him. His eyes soften with a certain gentleness now and you almost feel bad for thinking they could ever look at you with sinister intentions.
"Do you regret it? What we did?"
You hesitate. You want to say no so badly. But that's not why you came here.
Pull yourself together!
"Yes."
He raises an eyebrow. "You really believe that?"
"Do you regret it?"
"No." His eyes glint. You can't breathe. "Which is exactly why I'll never say a word. I don't play that way. Fair and square remember?"
You're speechless. All you can get out is a measly oh as you stare at the coffee in your cup and process.
"What did Namjoon say anyway?"
Your fingers find the patterns carved into the surface of the wooden table top, feeling the grooves as a distraction from the embarrassment flushing your cheeks. "He told me not to come back and find you."
A wry smile creeps across his face. "But you did?"
Even Yoongi is accusing you now? God, you played right into his hands. He's probably enjoying this. That you broke Namjoon's trust again, all for him.
The worst part is that you can hardly bring yourself to care. Sitting with Yoongi still feels deliciously indulgent — seeing his face again, feeling the heat of his body where your knees brush under the table finally satisfying a craving that had been growing inside you since that night in his studio.
"He doesn't control me."
He just nods. "I get that." His fingers tap in time with the sickeningly happy radio tune that plays overhead, eager to change the subject, like he's aware that he already said too much. "How is Namjoon anyway? You written him a song yet?"
Not allowed. If any information gets leaked about Namjoon's Mic Drop stage the first person he'd blame was you. You had to keep your lips tightly sealed.
You shrink back into your seat. "You know I can't tell you that."
"Okay, then." Yoongi throws his arms over the back of his chair, a cheekiness in his voice, like he's testing the waters to see how you'll react. "Ask me something instead. I'll tell you whatever you want to know. Shoot."
That's allowed, right? Where's the harm. If it doesn't involve Namjoon then it can't hurt him...
"Okay..." You purse your lips, eyes travelling around the dimly lit coffee shop. "Why do you work...here?"
Yoongi nods to the stack of damp flyers beside him. Live classical piano. "I play piano here sometimes." He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. It's kinda cute. "Needed some spare cash and this was the only place that could take me at such short notice."
"You play piano?"
He nods and you follow his gaze to the grand piano stood unoccupied in the corner. You imagine how Yoongi would look bent over the keys. How his fingers would move across the instrument with concentrated precision. How the tune would mingle with the warmth of the coffee shop on a cold evening.
"I didn't know you like classical music?"
"I don't. Not really." He cocks his head, finding the right words. "Namjoon has investors right? People who just throw money at him?" You nod, somehow ashamed. "Teaching me to play piano was my mom's investment in me. She always said it might come in handy some day."
You nod. "And do you have to wear that stupid costume every time?"
"This?" A snort leaves you when he shoots you a look, a shy smile finding the curve of his lips. "Don't mean to brag but it's a huge hit with the older ladies."
You can't help but laugh when he smugly tugs at the bow tie around his neck, unable to miss how his eyes light up. You share a smile that makes you feel light headed.
"I'd have to see it to believe it."
"Well, you know where to find me if you're ever bored and need a good laugh on a Tuesday, Wednesday or Friday evening." He shifts in his seat. "Or you could just come back to my place, y'know if you wanted to —" You frown, the easiness that had settled between you dissipating as you both sense the inappropriateness of his suggestion. "I know I shouldn't ask, it's just I have a piano and—"
For some reason the rational part of your brain taps out and your heart says fuck it.
"I'd love to."
--
"So, where do you live?" You ask when you finish your drink and nervously copy Yoongi who is already getting to his feet.
"Oh about that...I live in the apartment upstairs actually." He chuckles sheepishly."Cheap rent, you know?"
It takes you by surprise but you don't press.
"Oh. Right."
Yoongi extends a hand towards you. The thud in your chest gets faster when you slide your palm into his and he pulls you behind him to the foot the stairway you had disregarded upon entry, the distressed baby blue door at the top labelled RESIDENTS ONLY seeming strangely inviting.
Yoongi gestures for you to go first and you've barely ascended three steps before a voice rings out behind you, making you freeze like a child caught in a mischievous act.
"Use protection you two! And close the door so that Odengie's innocence isn't compromised this time!"
The barista from before rounds the corner, a tray of empty mugs in his left hand and a cloth for wiping down tables in the other.
You suppress a laugh. "Odengie?"
"His goddamn sugar glider—" He says it more to himself rather than in response to your query, flashing the tousled haired boy an exasperated look. "Really, bro?"
The other man either doesn't notice or doesn't care. "What? He's too young to learn how baby sugar gliders are made." His eyes suddenly flit to you and, as if remembering his manners, he deposits the cloth onto a nearby table and reaches a damp hand through the staircase to shake yours with a friendly smile. "I'm Jin, by the way."
You take it cautiously, wiping your now wet hand on the back of your jeans. "Nice to meet you?"
"Come on," Yoongi is flushed red as he pushes you up the rest of the stairs with a pressure at the small of your back. "We'll be back down in a minute, chill okay?"
Yoongi shoulders his way into the apartment, pulling you across the threshold alongside him, but not before you catch a glimpse of Jin's teasing grin poking around the staircase, words reaching your ears before Yoongi could slam the door shut in time.
"Oh, so it's a quickie? Have fun!"
A laugh escapes your lips, Yoongi pressing his back to the door with a sigh of relief. "Sorry about him. He's my roommate. Kind of came with the apartment, you know?"
You glance around at the small maisonette that unfolds before you curiously. It feels more like a dorm room, a mismatch pile of shoes piled at the entry way, a pair of beanbags substituting a couch surrounding a small gaming set up littered with empty pizza boxes you presume belong to Seokjin.
"Ah. He's part of the furniture then."
The other corner of the room is littered with an assortment of vinyls strewn out beside a pair of speakers and a record player, the needle still hovering over the grooves of an album by an artist you don't recognise. Yoongi's touch to the decor, you suppose.
"Guess you could say that. He's not so bad once you get over the uh...small rodents."
You trail behind Yoongi into what you assume is his bedroom, if the frameless mattress which lay on the floor in the corner beneath the window with sheets unmade and strewn across the floor messily was anything to go by.
He flicks on the set of fairy lights tacked to the wall, a surprisingly homely touch that makes you think Yoongi isn't as cold as you believe him to be.
Yoongi approaches a clothes rack stuffed with a variety of stage outfits. "Here." He pulls an oversized hoodie from one of the hangers, throwing it at you from across the room. "You're clothes are still wet. Wouldn't want to catch a cold. You can wear this until they dry."
"O-Okay." You stand there dumbly. He isn't expecting you to strip right in front of him, is he?
He seems to sense your hesitance, turning around so his back is to you with wide eyes. He plays it off by grabbing a selection of clothing for himself, shuffling past you with eyes trained to the ground. "I'll use the bathroom. Tell me when you're done."
You are soaked through to your underwear but you leave them on since Yoongi probably didn't have a spare pair of panties laying around you could borrow. The fabric of his hoodie is soft and warm when it slips over your otherwise bare skin and you breath in the woody scent that seems to embrace your entire body, ignoring the way it makes your head dizzy, and roll up the large sleeves to free your hands before calling to him that you are done.
When he re-enters the room, pulling a grey beanie over his head haphazardly to match the much more Yoongi appropriate outfit of a simple white tee and sweats, his breath hitches at your bare legs peeking out from the bottom of the garment. His lingering stare makes you hug your torso self consciously, eyes never leaving you even as he grabs the pile of sodden clothing you discarded earlier and lays them neatly over the radiator to dry.
You practically hear the way he swallows awkwardly when his eyes lock with yours, caught in the act. He's quick to lighten the mood.
"Well...here she is."
You turn as he moves across the room to the piano occupying the opposite wall, wood stained dark but bleached slightly in places by the stream of sunlight which washes its surface from the opposite window. The stool beneath it scrapes against the scuffed floor boards when Yoongi makes enough space to seat himself on top of the blue velour cushion.
"I know it's not much — nothing like you're used to I mean, but it makes music just the same."
He must take the way you hang back near the door frame as a sign of your distaste which couldn't have been further from reality; it's simply to allow you to study the way Yoongi sits with his back perfectly straight, fingers lingering over the keys like he knows the piano as well as an old friend. And, though you'll never admit it, the way your heart thumps at the thought of being in Yoongi's most private space.
"Where did you get it?"
"It was my mother's." The breath you suck in is slightly too harsh. "Like I said earlier, she liked to play, before she..."
Died. The word never passes between his lips but it sits heavy in the air like a weight.
Yoongi's eyes avert yours so you don't press any further, instead focusing your attention to the pattern of scratches embedded into the piano's lid, unable to help the way your fingers trace the coffee cup rings littering the surface like rugged halos. "It's beautiful."
The side panel is littered with lines, carved deeply into the wood with a penknife; a makeshift height chart like the one you had on the back of your bedroom door as a kid. Your drop to your knees to squint at the nearly illegible words scrawled next to the markings that ascend almsot to the top of the instrument.
Yoongi aged 3...Yoongi aged 4...Yoongi aged 5...
All the way until Yoongi aged 7 where they stop completely.
You frown but he lets out a soft laugh, somewhat pained. "That's when she got sick. I grew up quickly after that."
Straightening up, you swallow thickly, unsure what to say, so you just settle for changing the subject instead.
"So, what can you play?"
Yoongi fiddles with the open sheet music book on the piano stand. His fingers tremble slightly as he turns the worn pages before finally settling on a sheet that is lightly crumpled and ripped around the edges and coffee stained and ferociously dog eared at the corners. Tell tale signs that he had played this piece before, over and over again.
His favourite, you perceive.
Sure, he had literally fucked you into next week already but your hands get clammy at the knowledge that Yoongi feels comfortable enough to share such an intimate tidbit about himself with you. Music means a lot to him after all. Anyone can see that.
You catch a glimpse of the piece over his shoulder.
Romeo and Juliet - Love Theme.
Yoongi notices how you raise a brow at his choice.
"I know I said I don't like classical music but this arrangement is different. You know the story right?"
High school had given you enough general knowledge about Romeo and Juliet for you to nod in confirmation.
"It's like you can feel the passion they have for each other in every note, you know? Like nothing could ever come between them."
His words are so earnest they make your heart ache. You hadn't put him down as the hopeless romantic type.
"I mean not really. They still die in the end." You counter. He frowns.
"But only because of their fucked up families. It's their feud that comes between them in the end. This piece comes before all the shitty parts. If you play it over and over again it's like they never stop loving one another."
His hands fold in his lap and he sucks in a bashful breath, nose scrunching with embarrassment at his dramatic outburst. "It's stupid. I know. Forget I said it."
"No, no I understand completely. Maybe if they weren't so busy fighting they could have listened to their hearts. Right?"
"Right." He scoots across the piano stool, patting the empty space beside him with an encouraging look. "Sit."
Like a magnet you find yourself drawn to his side, shivering when his shoulder brushes yours. His arms hover over the piano, poised and relaxed, concentration etched into the hard lines of his face.
"Ready?"
You can only nod. And then he starts to play.
Yoongi's fingertips eagerly caress the keys of his piano, eyes lifting from the sheet music to gauge your reaction while his hands carry the melody on autopilot, the pretty silver rings he dons glinting with every movement. His neck is bent slightly, allowing his head to bob and sway along with the rise and fall of the rhythm, eyes screwing shut as the composition reaches its most pivotal sequence.
He's practically raking the keys now, pure passion and violent emotion splashing every inch of the room. You shut your own eyes, hands clutching the bottom of the stool until your knuckles whiten, like you might float away with the beautiful tune if you don't ground yourself.
When he said you could feel passion with every note he wasn't wrong. You could feel his passion clear as day.
Slowly, he comes back down from his high, wrists coming to a standstill. All he can do is take in heaving, ragged breaths, body slumped down, spent with the sheer effort expelled in his performance. Oxygen is lodged in your own lungs as you take in how how his bangs stick to the beads of sweat prevalent on his forehead
You recover before he does, unconsciously fumbling around in your tote bag, hands curling around the Polaroid camera you bring everywhere just in case a photo opportunity arises.
They never usually do. Until now.
"Stay like that." The viewfinder raises to your eye and you snap a shot of him with precision, the soft click that emanates through the room making Yoongi's eyes snap open.
The picture dispenses from the camera, black square fading out to reveal a hazy image as you shake it back and forth. Yoongi, face relaxed, lashes pressed softly to the tops of his cheeks with a lazy smile.
It's the Yoongi you remember. Your Yoongi.
He smirks when you slide it into the back pocket of your jeans, cheeks glowing with a contentedness you hadn't seen for a long time. "You always did like taking pictures of me."
"Shut up."
When your hand tentatively closes over his where it still rests on the piano, it's his turn to shoot you a curious look. With a shaky breath you flip his palm, slotting your fingers together perfectly, and lean across the piano to press your lips against his.
His mouth is softer than you remember, not attacking with the rich taste of lust but rather caressing your lips gently, sweetly. Taking your time to commit each tickle of breath against your nose, each slide of his bottom lip between yours, to memory. Everything other than the dizzying sensation of his tongue tracing your bottom lip disappears. All your worries, reluctances, regrets, just dissolving like the setting sun.
Everything feels safe here with him. Everything feels right.
It barely lasts a minute, not much more than a delicate brush really, but when he pulls back you are already breathless, immediately starved of the satisfaction that came from finally feeling him against you again, tasting the spearmint mixed with something so inherently Yoongi you didn't quite realise how much you were craving.
Yoongi sighs blissfully. You need more.
Your hands tangle in the front of his T-shirt but before you can pepper his mouth with a series of further eager kisses, his free hand plants on your shoulder and pushes you back carefully.
"About what you said the other night." His eyes are wide with concern, trained to your lips, resisting the urge to capture them again with all his self control. It made your heart flip. "I don't want to hurt you Y/N. We don't have to do this—"
"I want to. So bad." His thumb caresses your knuckles. "I trust you."
In that moment, it's true. You trust him more than you've ever trusted anything in the world.
"But Namjoon..."
His words fade out when you lean in for another reassuring peck. Namjoon's name falling from Yoongi's lips doesn't make your skin crawl like it usually did. In fact you feel nothing at the mention of your brother.
"To hell with Namjoon. I'm a big girl. I know what I want."
Yoongi grins, hand coming to cup your cheek tentatively, eyes crinkling with what you could only describe as liberation. "And what's that?"
Your eyes narrow in on his parted mouth again.
"You."
His eyes darken and then his hands are tangling in your hair and pulling your chest flush to his in a kiss that is far rougher than before. No more beating around the bush. Just passion as you crawl into his lap and kiss him like it's the first time — or perhaps, more accurately, the last time. Like the world will end if you part for a single breath.
Fingers find the hem of his shirt and you're pulling it up his torso greedily, heart beating a little faster when you feel his warm skin beneath your fingertips. His chest is softer than you expect, a perfect contrast to the strong arms wrapping around your waist to pull you back to his lips.
It's not long before you feel his pants fill out underneath you. The feeling is all too familiar, reminding you of how it felt to be above him like this in his studio. That night feels like a life time away as his hands grab your hips and press you roughly down onto his crotch.
You both groan out at the feeling, something intense, something primal, heating up between your legs as you circle his clothed length, want and need blending into one as your core dampens with every twist of your hips.
Yoongi breaks away from your lips with a gasp when your fingers reach between your body and find the sensitive head of his cock, a wet patch forming on his sweats. His eyes are shut, head thrown back against the piano top as he bites into his thumb to stop little moans tumbling from his swollen lips.
He shoots upright when you slide down his torso, hardwood cold against your bare knees, fingers fumbling with the strings of his pants. When you finally get them open and slip your hand beneath the waistband, Yoongi all but groans at the feel of your cool palm grabbing his hot cock skin on skin.
You shimmy his sweats around his thighs, mouth practically watering as you eye up his pulsing length, unable to resist stroking it firmly with your fist. A hand covers yours.
"Wait!" A strangled noise of agony rips from his chest when your grip loosens, desperate to buck up into your touch but managing to stay firmly planted to the stool in favour of gaining your consent. "Are you sure?"
You scoff teasingly. "Would I be on my knees if I wasn't?"
His laugh is breathy, half a moan as you pick up your pace again. "Just nervous — ah!" A soft kitten lick to the reddened tip of his cock has him flying forward, knuckles white as they grip your shoulder.
"Min Yoongi gets nervous?" The precum that coats your tongue is salty, makes you itch to take him into your mouth fully.
"Shut up." His breathing is ragged, hands hovering over your hair. "Didn't think this would happen again. Needs to be perfect — holy fuck Y/N."
You give no warning before you sink down on his length, his hands finally tangling in your hair and tugging lightly when your nose presses to his pubic bone, groaning around him when you feel the head of his cock pulsing in the back of your throat.
"So warm, shit."
You come up for air, lips wrapping around his head and enjoying the way his thighs trembled when your tongue runs teasingly along the underside of his cock. His hand pushes at the back of your head, forcing his length further down your throat than you're expecting until you gag around his girth.
"Shit, sorry."
The groan that follows doesn't sound very apologetic though. The visual of your drool coating his painfully hard length mixed with the sensation of your warm mouth engulfing him whole nearly has him blowing his load then and there, utterly fucked out and oblivious to the string of groans leaving his lips when you finally come up for air. Tears streak your cheeks and Yoongi wipes them away with his knuckle tenderly.
"God, look at you." He's breathless, amazed. "C'mere."
A hand cups your elbow, pulling you to your feet so he can connect your lips again, humming when he tastes himself on your tongue. His hands are all over you now as he wraps you in his arms and stumbles backwards your back is pressed to the mattress in the corner. It dips in the middle when he crawls over you, tucking away strands of hair that fan around your face like a halo before his mouth is on you again like he can't quite help himself.
A series of open mouthed kisses caress your jaw, then your neck, all the way down your chest. Yoongi's eyes flick up to watch your face, lips parted with want as his hands fiddled with the hem of his own much too big hoodie swaddling your body.
"Can I?"
Your hand threads into his hair encouragingly. "Please."
A gasp passes his lips when he finally pulls the fabric over your head, eyes following his curious calloused hands as they explore the expanse of skin exposed to him now you're left in just your bra and panties.
"So beautiful." He traces his fingers down your shoulders, down the valley of your breasts, across your stomach. The light and delicate touches have you shivering, writhing for more. Almost as desperate to feel him everywhere as he is to worship every inch of you.
His touch stops at the hem of your panties. You're already working on the clasp of your bra, a violent nod the only permission he needs to drag the fabric agonisingly slow down your legs, unhooking them from your ankles carefully.
When he looks back up you are completely bare, laid out beneath the stream of half-sun-half-moon bathing the room.
Yoongi pounces, lips wrapping around one of your nipples greedily, tongue swirling around the hardened bud until you're gasping his name over and over.
"Can't believe you're letting me see you like this."
Hands wrap around your thighs, legs falling open, the way he licks his lips as he takes in your glistening heat not going unnoticed.
Yoongi's head shakes in disbelief, mumbling words which sound an awful lot like so pretty and fucking gorgeous as his head dips and he continues his trail of earlier kisses, tongue laving over your inner thighs and edging ever closer to your aching core.
"W-wait." Yoongi freezes and comes up to meet your face. His breath is hot against your cheek, eyes scanning your face for hesitation.
"What is it? Are you okay?" He's frantic, swallowing nervously as his palms cup your face. "Want to take care of you this time. What is it? Tell me."
"I'm fine. More than fine." You brush your noses together. It makes him smile. "Just want to feel you, that's all. Now."
Yoongi lets out a dramatic sigh, voice high and whiny. "But I've been dreaming about how you taste for days, Y/N. Literally. Dreaming about it."
You don't mention how you've been replaying the visual of his lips wrapped around your clit and edging you over and over again since it happened, just stroke his cheek in mutual understanding.
"Too bad. You'll just have to wait until next time." His features light up at the promise of a next time. Another moment like this, just you and him.
His face falls into the crook of your neck, nibbling the sensitive skin teasingly as a hand trails between your legs. When the pads of his fingers circle your entrance you whimper, clit throbbing with want when his hand pulls away nearly as quick as it came.
The want only intensifies when he brings two of his arousal coated digits to his mouth with closed eyes, guttural moan vibrating your flush chests when he savours the taste of your arousal coating his fingers.
"Next time." He hums and you are sure you nearly came untouched.
"Need you. Now."
He wastes no time taking his achingly hard cock into his fist, placing a supportive hand on your hip as he lines himself up with your entrance. You whine when he drags the tip up and down your slit, giving some brief but much needed stimulation to your clit.
Before he can push inside though you place a hand on his chest to stop him. He doesn't have time to dote on you again though because without further ado you're whipping off the beanie that still sits snugly around his head, throwing it across the room with a smirk.
His eyes glint fondly. "Whoops."
The room has grown darker by now, only lit by the gentle sparkle of the fairy lights and Yoongi has to feel around in the sheets to find your hand. In the same moment he tangles your fingers together beside your face, he pushes inside with a gasp.
Unlike the first time in his studio, Yoongi is in no rush. He wants to savour it. He fills you slowly, so that you can feel every ridge of his length dragging against your velvety walls. When he finally bottoms out and your hips press flush together, you squeeze his hand. Tight. It's this small action that tells him everything he needs to know. Explains the funny feeling in your chest without ever saying the words.
Your legs wrap around his back automatically when his hips begin to rock, angling your body so that he hits so deep with every thrust it steals the breath straight from your lips. Arousal drips from your heat down onto the bed sheets, making each slide deliciously smooth.
"Yoongi I.." It almost slips from your lips. The deepest, darkest secret that you haven't quite admitted to yourself yet.
Yoongi just ups his pace, exchanging words for actions to show you he feels the same. Fucking you a little harder, a little deeper. More sincerely. It compensates for the words neither of you know how to say.
"I know." You feel so full, so warm when he places his forearms at either side of your head to press you into the mattress. "I know."
All the yearning inside you disappears. All that matters is you and Yoongi now, nails scratching up his back, his forehead pressing to yours so that your moans mingle together until you can't tell whose was whose any more.
With a fucked out moan against your lips he's spilling inside you, sending you over the edge with him, hissing as you clench tightly around his cock.
All thoughts are wiped from your mind. Apart from the sensation of his cheek pressed to your chest, hot breath against your collar bone. How you can't believe you lived in a world without Yoongi in it. How you never want to go without him again. How you don't think you can deny how Yoongi makes you feel anymore even if you tried.
The stars behind your eyes fade, and when you come back down, Yoongi is hovering over your body, lips parted and eyes blown out, mesmerised. He's sweaty and smiling and you can feel the way his heart beats in time with yours.
"You okay?"
"Never better." His smile stretches into a grin when your words slur together. "—'m so happy."
A soft, chaste kiss is pressed to your forehead and before you know it Yoongi is tangling your legs together and wrapping the sheets around your bodies, entwined as one.
Me too. You knew that's what he meant. You'd dwell on it another time. For now your eyes are falling shut, satisfied as you inhale Yoongi's scent on the sheets...
Before a blissful slumber could take you away, you're interrupted by a series of knocks against the bedroom door. Both you and Yoongi shoot upright, exchanging a puzzled glance.
"I thought you said it was gonna be a quickie. Come on man, I need to use the bathroom!"
Yoongi groans into the pillow.
"That's it. I'm getting a new roommate."
--
As the weeks go by you start spending less and less time at the Big Hit office, turning up late to your shifts or clocking out before they were up. The perks of being employed by your parents is that they can't fire you in good conscience, you suppose.
Instead you increasingly find yourself at Yoongi's apartment, writing lyrics at the piano when he was around (sometimes even when he wasn't) or down in the coffee shop, helping yourself to hot chocolate refills on your work breaks. Jin joked that you'd need to start paying rent soon.
Just like how you were able to pick apart each of the boys' influence on the apartment the first time you went there, your own presence was becoming ever apparent.
In the way you spilled sugar on the counter when making tea and always forgot to clean it up, much to Jin's dismay. How some of your own hoodies and pyjama pants had begun to smell like Yoongi's washing powder, ending up folded neatly in his laundry basket and stowed away on his clothing rack like they belonged there. The way his piano top was littered with open notebooks filled with your messy scrawl and pens with the caps lost and half empty mugs stained around the rim with your chapstick.
Yoongi seemed wary at first, cautious to let you get too comfortable around him, dropping you home late at night once the lights in your house switched out and you knew it was safe to go inside.
But eventually he started to crave the little things that reminded him of you, unable to stop the smiles which crept onto his face as he loaded the dishwasher with the mugs and carried you to bed when you fell asleep at the piano stool.
Your bed. That's what you'd taken to calling it now.
Yoongi hated to admit that he was weak. When he got up on stage he was Gloss, hard faced and brazen and ruthless. But here with you, the facade he tried to uphold seemed to crumble into nothing. And the worst part was that he loved it.
Even when he was performing at the club or practicing for the competition, his thoughts always ended up wandering back to you. There were times when your schedules clashed or it was too risky to see each other or times you were simply too exhausted once you got home, falling into bed as soon as you crossed the threshold. But the knowledge that you were always there waiting for each other became the only safe place he knew and that was enough.
Of course you still had to oversee Namjoon's Mic Drop stage, it was your job after all, but that never seemed to come up when you were together. Just watching movies on his laptop or laughing at ungodly hours while you filled each other in on anecdotes that happened in the time you were apart, retreating beneath the sheets when Jin banged on the wall because it was four in the morning so would you please shut the fuck up.
For the first time in a long time you felt happy. Like you belonged somewhere that was all your own. No more answering to Namjoon or your parents. Just your own heart. And it always seemed to lead you back here to Yoongi, straight into his arms.
And as much as you hated yourself for it, you could feel your resentment for Namjoon growing. You'd be damned if you let him take this away from you, like he'd taken everything else.
Eventually, you stopped crawling through your bedroom window like a goddamn teenager and your parents stopped questioning why you never came home anymore. The cracks between you became a chasm. And right now, Yoongi was the band aid holding you together.
--
When Yoongi returns home later than usual, he's not even surprised when he ascends the stairs and find you and Jin laid out on the bean bags, already tipsy on red wine and giggling at his disgruntled expression.
That is until you take in the weary lines that had etched their way into his forehead, how his eyes look sunken and puffy. How his hands tremble against your waist when you pull him into your arms, body swaying back and forth lightly in your grasp like he could topple over any second.
You know what overworked looks like — after all, you had tended to Namjoon plenty of times when he refused to stop at his limits, barraging through them instead, a habit Yoongi also seemed to possess.
Ordered to stay on bed rest, Yoongi slumps face down into his pillow, letting out a long groan of relief when the mattress cushions his aching limbs.
You're already tucking him in, half way to the door to prepare him a hot cup of honey and lemon to soothe the husk in his throat from rapping too aggressively when his arms loop around your waist and pull you down to snuggle into the crook of your neck contentedly.
"Yoongi, let me go." It's futile, his grip is firm and he is already kicking the sheets over your body and pressing his cheek to the left side of your chest where you're sure he can hear how your heart races, a pout evident in your voice. "I want to take care of you."
"Mmf you are.." Words already slurring with the beginnings of sleep, he smiles groggily when you fall slack in his grasp and press your cheek to the top of his head in defeat. "Stroke my hair please?"
As soon as your fingers tangle in his blue locks he lets out a sigh of relief, like he'd been waiting to feel the touch all day.
Watching his face relax as he drifts off, you bask in the warmth of fulfilment singing your very nerve ending and silently wish that you can stay like this forever.
Just you and Yoongi against the world.
At some point your own eyes fall shut.
--
You're awoken by the sounds of muffled sobs.
The dark room momentarily disorientates you, heart quickening as you realise you're not in your own bed. Eventually your eyes adjust to the blackness, taking in the piano stood sturdily in the corner, breathing in the scent lingering on the pillow beneath your cheek and you're washed with a wave of comfort.
"Yoongi?" You croak.
The sheets are ripped from your body as Yoongi's form shoots upright. His bare back is damp with sweat, visible in the moonlight creeping through the slanted blinds, mattress rocking slightly with every sob that wracks his frame.
"Go back to sleep." His voice is gruff , but forcibly so and you hear the tremor lurking below the surface.
You sit up beside him. His face is buried in his palms. The sight makes your heart ache.
"Are you okay?" You're still new to this. Sure you're tangled up in his sheets most nights but you're still learning the ropes, unsure how best to comfort him. You settle for gently patting his shoulder, wincing at how cold and distant the action feels.
"I said go back to sleep." When his face emerges from between his hands you see the tell tale tracks of tears streaking his cheeks. Even when he wipes his face with the back of his palm there's a steady stream of them dripping down his chin.
"Is that what you really want?"
Yoongi presses his mouth together in a tight line, eyes black and empty as he tilts his head back and takes a shaky breath. That's when he crumbles. "Please stay."
"Oh, Yoongi." It's barely a whisper, afraid that if you speak too loud he'll shatter into a million pieces. He's like a scared kid, knees hugged to his chest as he wipes the hot tears from his eyes with a hard rub of his knuckles.
Yoongi stiffens when you fumble under the sheets to find his hand. You think he might pull away as you link your fingers with his but to your surprise he pulls your interlocked palms into his lap and squeezes so hard you feel the circulation in your fingers cutting off. The way he chokes back another sob stops you from complaining though, already cupping his cheek and tilting his face towards yours with your free hand.
"Why are you doing this?" His eyes squeeze shut, fresh tears sliding down his face and doing nothing to hide the slight tinge of red beneath them that tell you he's embarrassed to be seen like this. Vulnerable, so unlike the hard faced Yoongi you had come to know.
"Because I want to." You squeeze his hand and feel him squeeze back weakly. "You can tell me anything, you know."
Pressing his forehead to yours, Yoongi leans down and captures your lips between his own. I know, it says.
This is different to the way he usually kisses you. There's no hunger, no hands on your neck and your thighs that set you alight with desire. Just a sense of yearning, like he wants to be closer to you, the plump flesh of his lips slotting between yours like a perfect puzzle piece, slightly salty from his tears. It makes you ache all over, like you're somehow connected and sharing his pain.
He pulls away, sharp exhales tickling your face as he scans your eyes for any sign of hesitation, any sign that you're going to leave him here alone. This is side of Yoongi that you have never seen before. He always said he isn't good with words and you know better than anyone that he hated admitting that he needed someone. This was is his way saying he needs you.
And in that moment you feel a piece of your heart flutter into his hands.
"Nightmares." He mumbles, swallowing thickly and tipping his head back against the headboard, expression pained "Just nightmares."
"Want to talk about it?" You sit back next to him, and when he rolls his neck to face you. He looks unreadable again. Eyes void. You half think he's going to push you away, turn over and fall back asleep and leave you to stare at the ceiling alone with the silence.
But he doesn't. Instead he lets out a deep sigh, shaking his head at himself as he pulls you into his arms, stroking your cheek fondly when your head comes to rest on his chest, burying his nose in your hair.
"Why can't I say no to you?"
"Guess I have that affect on people."
He snorts lightly, the first proper reaction he'd given you and you're pleased at his amusement. Pleased you were able to comfort him somewhat.
Unspoken words cloak a heavy silence for what feels like hours, just tracing mindless patterns on his arm and listening to the way his heart slows to a normal pace beneath your cheek, grip around your torso never faltering. When his breaths dwindle to soft puffs against your temple you think he's already drifted off.
Until, "Do you remember when I convinced Namjoon to sign up for Mic Drop the first time. The day after my mom died?" His voice is gravelly, both with sleep and a sign of his withheld tears.
"Of course I do." You swivel in his arms to blink up at him curiously. Sure you remembered. After the funeral, your parents had taken Yoongi in — a repayment they called it. For helping Namjoon achieve his dreams. Of course, that was before you realised just how much Yoongi would help.
Yoongi became a part of the family for a short while. An extra seat at family dinners. Another pair of shoes by the front door. Another bed in Namjoon's room.
"Back then, I was too trusting. I thought that they wanted to help me...I thought that they saw me as their son." He spits the word with the bitterness of a man who was stripped of the title of 'son' before he knew what it really meant.
You think back to how Namjoon and Yoongi used to be. Joined at the hip, everyone used to say. Brothers.
"I think they did—"
"No." He stiffens. You bite your lip. "Namjoon never cared about me. He just saw me as a way to get to the top. And it worked."
You feel a pang in your chest.
"I'm sorry, he's your brother. I shouldn't be talking about this with you."
Yoongi almost turns away but you stop him by pressing your lips to his briefly. Telling him its okay. You understand.
"The nightmares." You say with an eagerness to change to subject before you could dwell on it too hard. Before you could admit to yourself that Yoongi was right. "You didn't say what they were about?"
"I'm getting there." He lets out a strained chuckle and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. The action makes you shiver.
"The last time I saw my mother she said that she wasn't scared to die. She was just scared that she'd miss seeing me on the stage. She was the only one who believed in me." The next words come out choked. "She said that if she couldn't be there to see it then I needed to make as many goddamn people watch me lift that trophy as I could."
Mic Drop was never about the fame for Yoongi after all. It always ran deeper than that; a need not a want. A vulnerable promise left unfulfilled.
The realisation makes you blanch. All this time, all these years, you hadn't been able to see the real greed right in front of your eyes; your own brother.
The image of Yoongi, crumpled and broken on that fateful day all those years ago makes its way to the forefront of your mind.
The same anger flashes across his face now. "Namjoon took that from me. I don't care about the fans or the money or the trophy — none of that shit! He took my dream Y/N. Do you understand how that feels?"
You find yourself nodding, slowly at first and then with vigour as the dam inside you breaks and your own tears flood. "I do. I understand."
And you do. You understand why Yoongi is so determined to win Mic Drop. You understand why he hates Namjoon as much as he does. You understand how it feels to always fall second best to Namjoon, to be outcasted.
"I keep forgetting her face. I can't hear her voice in my head anymore." Yoongi's crying again now, heavy sobs no longer able to be contained. "But in the dreams she's so clear. The disappointment in her eyes, its so clear, Y/N." His words are interrupted by hiccups that leave him gasping.
"I'm sorry." You whisper once he calms. It's all you know how to say.
"Not your fault." He flashes you a watery smile, wiping away the tear on your cheek with his knuckle. It makes your heart flutter, even despite the guilt weighing on your shoulders.
You feel useless. It wasn't your fault directly but you couldn't help but feel like you wronged Yoongi. All of this happened right in front of your eyes but you were too blinded by Namjoon's broken promises to see it. All this time you had let Namjoon make you think Yoongi was the enemy.
"I'm here now." Hands plant on either side of his face, eyes meeting his. "I believe in you."
He doesn't need to say anything. The way he kisses you speaks louder than words.
All you can do now is hold him, tangling your legs with his and pulling the covers over your intertwined bodies, stroke his cheek with your thumb and pepper kisses to his strained forehead which relaxes beneath your affections.
"I'll make this right." You whisper into his hair after his eyes flutter closed and the sun starts peeking through the window, watching dust particles floating in a stream of light in the room's golden glow through lidded eyes. "I promise."
--
"I like this." Jimin nods enthusiastically along to the track playing through the headphones Namjoon placed over his ears. "Sounds like a hit to me."
Namjoon's face contorts into a scowl. He disagrees, obviously, if the disgusted shake of his head is any indication.
Mic Drop is just a few days away and Namjoon had decided to scrap his entire stage after Jimin scored a couple big last minute investors who suggested he do something new, something exciting. Something that pushed Runch Randa's limits.
It was a bold move, this close to the big day. But Namjoon was cocky, said that he had enough experience in the industry to win in his sleep. Practice was a waste of time anyway.
"Next one." He waves his hand, barely even glancing in your direction as you press a button that cuts off the track and makes another one start playing.
The bass is louder in this one and it makes Jimin startle backwards, the headphone jack slipping loose so the music plays through the speakers instead.
"Hoseok and I still need to put the finishing touches on this one but it's pretty catchy—"
Namjoon cuts you off with a sharp no, it was too upbeat for his Mic Drop performance. Said he needed something with grit, something that would make the judges feel something.
"Let me see that." He gestures for you to get up, slumping down into the chair you occupied and slotting himself beneath the studio desk to scroll through the open folder on the computer screen.
He skims through countless tracks, demoed and ready to be recorded at Namjoon's disposal — you were something of a writing machine, always scribbling down lyrics on receipts from the store or on the back of your hand and paired with Hoseok you were a dream team; he always seemed to find a beat that fit perfectly. Unfortunately Namjoon's straight face gives away his disinterest in any of them.
"None of these will work." Namjoon throws the keyboard down with a force that makes you wince, jaw tightening as he presses his knuckles to his eyes in frustration. "I'm going to fucking lose."
You are about to tell him to write the fucking track himself like everyone else if none of yours were good enough for him but Jimin flashes you a glance. Don't make things worse.
You settle instead for a hand on his shoulder. He tenses at your touch. It had been a while since you'd been in the same room for longer than ten minutes and when you take in the gauntness of his cheekbones you briefly wonder if he's been eating properly. He always did forget when you weren't around to remind him.
You suck in a breath to give you strength. "There must be one that you like."
His lips purse and he disgruntledly goes back to scrolling again, clicking on a couple titles that draw his interest. You and Jimin let out simultaneous sighs of relief.
"What's this?" Namjoon's eyes narrow as he presses play on a track that sends you flying forward, heart in your mouth and colour leaving your face as a song plays that you swore to never show to anyone.
Yoongi's song. The one you wrote after that night in his studio. Probably the best song you had ever written.
"That's not — I was supposed to delete that one." The heat in your cheeks as you push him aside roughly to wrestle with the pause button has you hiding behind your hair, as if he would somehow know this wasn't just an ordinary song. That it was a song about his enemy, for god's sake.
Namjoon's slaps you away from the computer, head bobbing to the beat and you fall back into your seat in defeat, fingers crossed behind your back that he would hate it as much as the others.
"I love it."
Oh no.
"This is the one!"
Shit shit shit!
"A-are you sure?" You're rambling now, words slipping out way too fast and Jimin seems puzzled at your lack of elation at Namjoon's decisiveness. "I'm sure I could write something much better if you just give me some more time—"
Namjoon's arms pull you into a tight embrace before you can finish, your nose ending up smushed against his chest as he practically vibrates with excitement. Your body goes stiff, hands dangling at your sides awkwardly. Considering Namjoon's coldness towards you as of late his sudden display of affection takes you by surprise. Mostly because despite your physical closeness it only makes you feel even more distant from your brother.
A sigh of relief escapes when he finally sets you free, only to be replaced with pure horror as you watch him stick a USB drive into the computer and load up the song before sliding it in his back pocket with a grin while you have no choice but to stand there helplessly.
"I'm totally gonna win!" His change in attitude is abrupt but seems to soothe Jimin who nods enthusiastically. You feel sick. "I can't wait to see the look on Yoongi's face when he hears this shit."
The smirk on his face washes you with dread. If only he knew.
Yoongi was right. Secrets always find a way to come and bite you in the ass.
--
Every rap of your knuckles against the run down studio door seems to echo ominously through the alley like an omen.
"Y/N?"
As soon as the bolt wrangles across and the wooden panel flies open to reveal a disgruntled Yoongi, a warmth seems to thaw through the icy evening chill that, along with your nerves, is making your knees knock together.
His chest is warm against your cheek when he pulls you into his arms, the smell of cologne and black coffee consuming your senses. It's enough to make your tense limbs fall slack, curling into his firm frame instinctively. Finally. You can breathe again.
"Hey." He mumbles sweetly against your temple, a trace of a smile in his voice like he was happy to see you. You silently wonder if he'll still be so happy once he hears what you have to say.
The studio is basked in darkness, the contours of his face barely visible in the blue glow emanating from his desktop monitor. There's a dent in the cushion of the adjacent chair, Yoongi's hair sticking up at the back where the pair of headphones slung around his neck had sat moments ago.
"I can go if you were working, wouldn't want to interrupt." As the words are leaving your lips you cross your fingers, selfishly hopeful that he would send you away and you could avoid the conversation that was about to follow. Blame it all on circumstance, leave saying that you at least tried.
But that would be keeping a secret. It would make you just as bad as the rest. And the thought of him finding out from someone else was enough to make your palms sweat and enough to keep your feet planted against the carpet determinedly.
Yoongi's hands find you like he can't bare to keep them away, dragging you across the threshold without hesitation. "S'fine. Work better with you here anyway." He smiles and you try to return it but your lips are pressed into a permanent line, like they're scared the daunting words you have to say will come spilling out before you were ready -- if you ever would be ready. As you slump into a chair and watch him wheel another one around to face you with his arms slung lazily over the back, you realise there is no going back.
Considering the countdown to Mic Drop was nearing its end, less than twenty four hours to go before Yoongi would be stood opposite Namjoon on stage in front of thousands, he looked the epitome of relaxation, unlike the nerves in your chest making you jitter.
"Jin's on his way with takeout, I would've asked him to get more if I knew you were coming but I'm sure we can share— babe, are you alright?"
Babe. The endearment had started slipping from his lips frequently recently. At first he tried to cover it up with nervous laughter but now he was brazen, enjoying the way the word tasted on his tongue. It would be so easy to force a smile, to push "the right thing" to the back of your mind and let the selfish part of your heart accept his affections, even knowing you're about to hurt him.
But the clock ticking away on the wall sounds deafening with every beat of silence that follows, twisting the rings on your fingers until you could no longer distinguish the sound from the sinister thrum of your heart.
You can't hold it in any more.
"I need to tell you something." It comes out a hoarse whisper, nearly unintelligible beneath the stream of hip hop from the hifi system in the corner.
"What is it?" Yoongi's concerned eyes never leave you as he reaches over to switch it off, the room now draped in a shroud of quiet. The reality of the situation seeps into every dark corner and right into your bones.
"It's about us. Kind of."
Yoongi rolls closer, stopping your teeth from nibbling your cuticles by slotting his fingers between yours like a perfect puzzle piece. It seems to ground you, like you're filled with helium and he's the weight stopping your feet from floating off the ground. For a second you think everything will be okay. Nothing, not even this betrayal, could come between what you had.
"Did Namjoon find out?" Even in the dim light you see the panic stricken raise of his brows. When your head shakes in a violent negative they smooth back down, relieved, as if nothing you could say next would be worse than that. No matter how hard you try to meet his eyes you can't.
His hand squeezes gently then. You muster up the courage to squeeze back. Perhaps it would soften the blow that was about to follow.
"His song. The one I wrote for Mic Drop...it's about you. I thought you should know. Before you hear it for yourself."
Nothing but an immeasurable silence followed. "Oh."
Yoongi is unreadable, almost as if he didn't hear the words hanging like heavy storm clouds over your heads. You expected him to be angry, to shout -- even cry, maybe. Not knowing how he was feeling was even worse than any scenario you had imagined. Made you feel like you were back to square one and he was shutting you out of the window into his soul you'd worked so hard to wriggle through.
For a second you think the sudden cold against your palm is a result of the numbness coursing through your veins like you were dunked in ice water, but then you see his hand retreat to his lap, eyes wide and staring at it in disbelief like he'd been scalded.
"I...I don't understand." He sounds choked, face contorting with pain. Like it does when he wakes thrashing in the night with a bad dream. Unlike those times though, he doesn't levitate towards you for comfort, just stares at you vacantly like he's far, far away despite being physically close enough for your knees to brush.
"It was written after the first time we...y'know...here--" You glance around, convinced your mind is playing tricks when you see a vision of you in Yoongi's lap across the room, lips attached like nothing else in the world mattered. It feels far away and out of reach when the real Yoongi gets to his feet, creating a distance between you that is foreign, his form staggering across the room so that you could see the way his back tensed beneath his t-shirt when he grips the edge of his desk for support, processing.
"I don't understand."
"I was emotional. It just happened--"
"No. What I don't understand is why you're letting him perform it?" Fists send a stack of sheet music flying to the ground. His lip trembles, face red, with anger or affliction, you can't tell which.
"Yoongi--" You reach for him, fingertips barely grazing his arm before he's smacking you away with a violent shake of his head. He'd never resisted you before. Not even in the beginning.
"You expect me to just sit back and listen to Namjoon of all people rapping the lyrics my girlfr-- that you wrote dissing me? This has to be a fucking joke."
"It's not that kind of track!" You hug your body pitifully. It's the only thing you can do to stop yourself from falling apart as his mouth spits a venom that makes your heart shatter. His eyes fill with one thing. Betrayal. "I'm sorry. I just...I can't keep choosing between you anymore, Yoongi. He's my brother."
"And what am I, huh?"
Every second that passes, every stutter or attempt at explanation that leaves your mouth makes Yoongi crumple. You see it in the way his adam's apple bobs, how his shoulders slacken.
For some reason you can't open up. Tell him he means more to you than anyone ever had. That you thought your heart might really break and bleed out on the carpet if he didn't feel the same way.
Instead you settle for, "Why are you so mad? It's my job! I had no choice."
Without warning he's rushing at you, trembling palms capturing your face and pressing his forehead to yours. His breaths shake, chest heaving as he battles internally with the words flying from his lips like a ghostly breath across yours.
"Because I fucking love you, Y/N! Can't you see it? I fucking love you and your bastard of a brother always finds a way to ruin things between us!"
His admission stuns you, the tears welling in your eyes spilling over in a silent stream down your cheeks.
He loves you. He loves you.
"Yoongi--" Words just won't come. Nothing feels right.
Because you love him too. It had taken you this long to admit it to yourself but it was clear now. Every breath, every beat of your heart, every fucking song you would ever write was for him. It scared you before but now, stood here in front of him, you know it's true.
Something hopeless niggles at the back of your head, stops you from spilling everything to him. If he loves you, how can he expect you to choose?
If words couldn't make him see the truth then you'd just have to show him the only way you knew how. Straight from your heart.
You're crying as you dig around in the bottom of your bag to retrieve a USB, pressing it into his curled fist firmly and begging him with your eyes to understand. "Just listen to the song. Please. It'll explain everything. I promise."
You begin to back up and his hand shoots out to stop you, pulling you roughly into his chest which only makes you cry harder, tears creating a wet patch on his T-shirt.
"Please don't leave me. Not again." It's a fragile whisper.
It's all too much.
"I can't choose any longer, Yoongi. This has to end."
With one last look at his crumpled face you flee from his studio with eyes just as watery as the first time you'd walked down this very alley. Except this time it takes all of your strength to resist running back into his arms.
Yoongi can only stand there and watch you go, the USB hot against his hand.
This has to end. The words make his chest burn and he hates it. Hates feeling weak. You always make him feel so fucking weak.
If he can't have you then he had no choice but to do everything in his power to make sure he got the next best thing.
Suddenly it all seemed clear. Yoongi knew what he had to do.
--
The arena is almost desolate when you creep inside.
Just a sea of empty seats stretching out from both sides of you where you sit in one of the stands, nibbling the skin around your thumb and watching Namjoon pace the stage below.
It's gone midnight by now. Most of the crew went home hours ago. Not Namjoon though. He stayed to practice some more. Said he couldn't get the choreography quite right.
You tried going home but you couldn't get the fight out of your head. Everything reminded you of Yoongi and your thoughts started to wander. Did he hate you? Was he listening to the song right now? Why hasn't he called? Why is your own bed not as comfy as the one you shared with Yoongi?
It all got too much eventually. Something told you that you weren't welcome at the apartment so you ended up heading towards the only other place you knew, surprised to find your brother had the same idea.
A single spotlight illuminates the stage as Namjoon twists his body in time with the one, two, three, four he unconsciously mumbles under his breath, face contorted with a stark concentration that flits to impatience when his foot slips and he misses the beat. Again. It just about sends him over the edge.
"I can't do this anymore!" A microphone squeals and hits the ground with a thump. It reverberates through the arena, your hands flying to your ears as you watch Namjoon let loose all his anger on an innocent amp stand before collapsing into a heap at the edge of the stage. "Fuck this shit!"
You're flying down the stairs to his aid before he can do any serious damage to the stage equipment — or worse, to himself.
Namjoon scoffs when he hears the stage creak under your feet. "Nice of you to show up."
It stings. You snap.
"What happened to you, Namjoon?" You look at his sunken cheekbones, his curled fists, the blackness behind his eyes. "I don't even recognise you anymore."
He just sniffs and says nothing. The distance between you feels bigger than ever.
"Can I tell you a secret?"
A secret? Since when did Namjoon abide by a policy of honesty?
He takes your shocked silence as a yes.
"I'm calling first thing and dropping out of the competition."
Your world stutters to a standstill, breath knocked out of your lungs.
Dropping out?
"Shit Joon...if this is about Yoongi—"
He waves you off. "No. This is about me."
You can't breathe. This can't be real. "I don't understand..."
"I've made up my mind. I can't do this any more. I used to love being up here you know?"
You follow his gaze, out over the empty arena. The last time you were here every seat was filled. You were down there, part of the crowd, packed into the cramped space with barely enough room to breathe.
Imagining how it must feel to be up here comes easy. If you close your eyes you can hear the screams, feel the body heat. Smell the sweat and the anticipation. See thousand faces looking up in awe. At you. It makes your blood run hot.
You much prefer being up here, you decide.
Namjoon brings you back down. "Now it just feels like a chore. I look out and all I see is disappointed faces. I can't pretend for them anymore."
"People travel miles to see you Joon! No one is disappointed."
"Not the fans. They love me. Well, Runch Randa, at least." He cracks a half smile. "It's me whose disappointed. In Kim Namjoon."
You always thought your brother was sure of himself. He's cocky, confident and above all fearless. It's his biggest strength (and his most irritating quality sometimes) but it's what you always admired most about him.
Clearly you didn't know your brother as well as you thought you did.
You bite your lip. "Why?"
He turns to face you, leaning back into his arms while he searches for the right words and, little to your knowledge, gathers the courage to confide in you.
"Because I re-entered Mic Drop for all the wrong reasons. I just wanted to prove myself, you know? Win for real this time, not just by default." He swallows. "But then I saw Yoongi perform. And to be honest? I saw you. I saw how much you care about the music. How you come alive when you're writing lyrics or when you're in the studio." His smile is woeful. "Im supposed to feel like that. But I don't. I never did. It's like I'm always asleep, y'know?"
You did know. Every time you lifted a camera. Every time you pressed the shutter and snapped another shot of Namjoon on stage you felt your soul grow exhausted.
It makes the distance between you and Namjoon close a little. For once you understand each other and you don't have to hide how you feel any more.
"I can't stop thinking that it's your name the fans should be screaming. Not mine. They deserve better than me."
"But you're the best performer I know!" You rush. It always seemed like he wanted to keep you out of the spotlight at all costs. "Why now?"
He lets out a deep sigh. "I'm a selfish person, Y/N. I thought I was protecting you from... all this." He gestures around him. "The late nights and the paparazzi and the criticism and a fucking manager on your back all the time." His eye roll makes you snort, sharing a brief smile at the image of hardworking Jimin mumbling into his headset like a man posessed.
He's quickly serious again though. "Fame comes with a price. But I realize now that the price is worth it if your hearts in the right place and...what I'm trying to say, Y/N, is that mine never was."
You let your chin fall into your palm. Huh. "So that's the big secret?"
"Actually...there's something else." He shifts nervously. "I know about you and Yoongi."
You freeze, scrambling to your knees with wide eyes. "Wait, Joon, let me explain—"
"Let me finish!" Namjoon brushes you off with a breathless laugh, nodding to himself, as if finally coming to a solid conclusion about coming clean when his eyes meet yours. "He's in love with you."
This time it feels like the whole world goes into overdrive. You forget how to breathe.
"What...how...huh?"
It's Namjoon's palm squeezing your knee reassuringly that brings you back down.
"He always was. Even back before things got messed up." A deep breath. Something was coming, you could tell by the way his eye twitched nervously. "That's why me and Yoongi fought. That's why I...I lied and said that I wrote the song the night of the Mic Drop final...accused him of plagiarism—" Your mouth gapes. "I know! I know. Don't look at me like that. I can see the irony."
It all makes sense now. She's a part of this, Namjoon, whether you like it or not.
The reason Namjoon sacrificed his best friend wasn't for fame but for your sake?
You want to fly at your brother, scream at him for keeping this from you for so long. For turning you against Yoongi. For keeping you from the only person to make you feel safe. Feel Happy.
But his eyes are void of anything other than regret and you can tell his betrayal had been playing on his mind all these years.
"Point is, I didn't want you to get hurt." He shuffles awkwardly, not knowing what to do with your silence. "That's not an excuse, I know. Do you hate me?"
"No." Your voice sounds small. His chest heaves with relief. "I just wish you had been honest with me before. Saved us a ton of trouble."
"I thought I was doing the right thing. But I was a shitty brother in the end anyway."
It's strange. Even after all the fights and the resentment and the goddamn secrets, you don't think Namjoon is a shitty brother. Sure, his actions and intentions were shitty there was no denying it. But now it's like the puzzle pieces finally click into place and the full photograph comes into view, crystal clear.
All this time, he just wanted to protect you, when you should have been protecting him. He was hurting too, you just never knew it.
"It's not too late, Joon. Just be happy for me okay? I think..." If Namjoon plucked up the courage to tell you his secrets then it was only fair that you did too. "I love him too."
A pinkish tinge caresses your face when you finally admit it, both out loud and to yourself.
You love Yoongi. And now all the cards are on the table there's nothing holding you back from it.
Now you just need to tell Yoongi.
"I know. You think I don't know who that song is about?" The grin that spreads across Namjoon's features is sincere."And I am. Happy for you, I mean."
Now the truth is out in the open it feels like your wounds are already beginning to heal. You place your hand over his and squeeze it tight. It was time to forgive.
A thought suddenly strikes you. "So what are you gonna do now?
Namjoon fumbles in the back pocket of his jeans, thrusting something towards you. A polaroid picture. The same photo you'd seen at Yoongi's studio.
He kept it, too?
"This kid." His finger jabs at the innocent face of a younger Namjoon, arm wrapped around the shoulders of his best friend. "I didn't get enough time to live as him before I became Runch Randa. I think it's time to just live as Namjoon for a while."
"But what about Big Hit? It'll fall apart and mom and dad will kill you—"
"No it won't. They have you. I already talked to them, in fact. There's a stage with your name on it right here." He pats the ground. "If you want it, that is."
You blink, stunned. You? "I...I don't know if I can."
"I believe in you." Namjoon says. "And I'll be cheering you on from the front row."
You'd have to think about it long and hard but you can't help the grin that appears on your face. Things were going to be okay.
An urge rises in your chest to tell Yoongi this news. To see the way his face would light up as you started the journey to following your own dreams, like he always said you should.
You and Yoongi were going to be okay.
"Hey! Maybe I should try photography now I have some free time." Namjoon tugs at the camera strap around your neck, lifting his eye to the viewfinder and laughing when you cover the lens with your hands. "Damn I'm kinda good!"
You bump his shoulder teasingly, the belly laughter that spills into the arena feeling like the most natural thing in the world.
You're only interrupted by approaching footsteps. Jimin bursts into the arena.
"Namjoon," he pants. "I have some bad news."
--
It's compulsory for all competitors to attend the crowning ceremony. Even those who get disqualified.
RUNCH RANDA BLACKLISTED FROM COMPETING IN FUTURE HIP HOP COMPETITIONS AFTER PLAGIARISM SCANDAL SURFACES.
Just one of the devastating headlines that hit the media after the judges panel received an anonymous tip in the form of a USB stick that exposed Namjoon once and for all. The same USB that you pressed into Yoongi's hands just hours before Namjoon's disqualification.
RAPPER GLOSS TO SNATCH MIC DROP TROPHY IN SHOCKING REVENGE FOR HIS BRUTAL DEFEAT.
Namjoon reads it aloud in the back of the car. He laughs at the end but it does nothing to lighten the mood.
The windows are tinted but you can still see the hoards of fans lining the streets, eyes steeped in betrayal.
You should hear the way they boo as your brother drives past. You should hear the way they chant his name instead.
Yoongi! Yoongi! Yoongi!
But you don't. You don't hear anything. You don't feel anything. All you can think of is the same three words, throbbing in your chest over and over again.
I love you.
Did he mean them at all?
"Y/N? Did you hear me?"
"Hm?" You look up. Namjoon's staring at you with concern.
"Your phone's ringing again."
It's no surprise when you pull out your phone and see a contact picture of yourself and Yoongi gracing the screen. He's been calling all morning. It takes every strength inside you to tap the red decline button.
"Aren't you gonna talk to him?"
Another call lights up the screen.
"Not like this."
With trembling fingers you shut your phone off all together.
--
Paparazzi cameras flash brazenly as you step out of the black company car, following Namjoon with your hood pulled tightly round your face. A hoard of body guards usher you through a back door to the arena. The main entrance is reserved for notable guests only, you learn.
While Namjoon's presence usually makes the room buzz with an electric energy, there's no excitement when he enters now. An awkward hush falls like a shroud as he elbows his way past pitiful stares. It's like someone died. In a way it's true; there's no trace of Runch Randa in Namjoon's hunched stance. Here, the dead still walks for everyone to see.
Jimin's waiting by the stage door. No words are exchanged as he slips passes into your hands. Namjoon's has a big red strike through the word TALENT, "guest" scribbled all too generously below it to match your own.
It's nearing show time. They're just waiting for you to take your seats, Jimin says, though you barely hear him. You're too busy imagining what you would do if you bumped into him right now, heart pounding whenever you catch a glimpse of blue or hear a laugh you're convinced you recognise.
Deep down you know exactly where you have to go to find him. To find Yoongi.
"I'll join you in a second, okay?"
Namjoon looks nervous, the first time you've ever seen him with such a severe case of the jitters. His smile is empty when you rub his forearm reassuringly. "Don't be too long. If I'm gonna do this I want you by my side."
You manage a smile. "Always."
With that, Namjoon takes a deep breath and pushes out into the life of the arena and you find your feet numbly carrying you down back corridors you know by heart until you reach his dressing room.
Your heart is blind, you think. Even now the shattered fragments ache for him, beat a little faster knowing he's just behind this door.
Why can't you go back to hating him, just like you did before? Deep down you know it's because you never really hated Yoongi. You don't think you ever could.
Forgiving him, though? Some wounds never heal, no matter how badly you want them to.
You pause outside the door. The stupid gold star that used to be there has been scraped off, replaced with a new name tag. Gloss. You put your ear to the wood. Nothing.
A deep breath and you find the handle. Should you burst in and give him a piece of your mind? Knock and enter politely? You can't help but scoff. Shouldn't he be the one coming to find you?
He calls your name before you can do either.
"Y/N?"
Fuck. Is hearing his voice supposed to hurt this bad?
You don't know what you're expecting when you turn around. Something different about him perhaps. A sign that he isn't the person you had grown to know. Grown to love.
But there he is. All messy blue hair and bitten lips and eyes a little red around the edges. Your Yoongi.
Your arms curl around your body like a band aid, holding you together. You can't crumble. Not now.
He looks stony but his eyes flicker with tender remorse when he sees the tears staining your cheeks.
His hands reach for you instinctively. The same hands that make love to his piano in the shitty apartment above the coffee shop. The same hands that could make you fall apart with even a delicate touch. You want to run into them so bad it hurts. But now they're stained red with betrayal and he chokes when you recoil.
Seconds feel like hours as you just stand there taking each other in like it's been years. It's only been a day or two. Maybe three? You can't remember. They all rolled into one meaningless blur of angry tears and insomnia.
You had a whole speech prepared for the moment you finally faced him again. But there are no words that feel right. You just need to know. If he meant every touch and every inside joke and those three words that make your heart soar despite how badly you want to hate him. And there's only one way to find out.
"Why did you do it?"
Your voice sounds timid and scared, like you feel. He winces.
"Y/N, let me explain—"
"Explain what?" Your voice raises shakily."How you lied to me? How you used me?"
He rushes towards you and it takes all of your strength to draw back, especially when his eyes look so frantic, so desperate. Like he's having one of his nightmares. It tugs at your heart because this time the nightmare is real and you're living in it.
"It's not like that—"
"Did you ever even want me? What about all that fair and square bullshit you told me huh?"
"Of course I wanted you Y/N...want you." His eyes fill with pain. "This wasn't meant to happen. I know how this looks but I just panicked!"
You rush at him, fists curled like that day in his studio except this time he doesn't stop you when you start hitting his chest, vision blurry.
"He was going to pull out! Namjoon was going to let you win! So that I could -- we could be happy!"
"What I...I don't understand?" His mouth gapes, processing. "But you didn't..." He swallows, like remembering is painful. "When I confessed, you didn't say it back. I thought we were over! I thought I had nothing to lose, Y/N. He had already won..."
You remember your words. I can't do this anymore. A misunderstanding that would never have happened if he just—
"Did you even listen to the song?"
His face drops at the mention of the song. "No." He looks like he might cry. "I was angry! I...I acted impulsively. I never got the chance..."
You bared your soul in that song in ways you never thought you could. He wasn't supposed to find out how you felt about him this way. Not here, when you're falling apart and there's nothing you can do to stop it. But it all comes tumbling out before you can change your mind.
"I wrote that song because I love you, Yoongi!"
Silence. He has to grip the wall to steady himself.
"Y-you love me?"
"I love you." The words feel indulgent on your tongue and even now as they hang heavy in the air and you're overcome with an indescribable combination of grief and longing, you mean them with every bone in your body.
You rush at him. You can't help it. Can't resist how your head falls into his chest and how you cry harder when you breathe in his scent one last time, sobs muffled by his hoodie. But he hears them, you know he does, because his hands are trembling when they pull you closer like you're fragile enough to break.
"I love you. So fucking much it hurts, Yoongi."
You're weak. You're so so weak.
You don't know why you do it but you grab his face with both hands and then you're kissing him. Showing him how much you need him, how much you mean your words. His hand cups your jaw like always and his lips press back with a tender desperation and you believe him. You believe that he loves you. Whole and true. Because in that moment, with his lips on yours, everything is okay. He's your Yoongi and you're his Y/N and he loves you.
But then you pull back and he's crying too and everything's broken and your heart goes numb.
"I'm sorry. God, Y/N I'm so sorry. If I could take it back I promise I would."
You muster up all the strength you can. You know what you have to do.
"I'm giving you a choice, Yoongi. You go out on that stage and pick up that trophy and we're over. For real."
He tries to kiss you again, grabbing at you frantically when you turn your cheek.
"Y/N, don't do this. We love each other. That's all that matters right?" He musters up the closest thing to a smile he can manage, like he's convincing himself more than he is you. "You don't have to—"
"No." You pull away from grip. It feels cold and wrong. "I have to do this. If you love me like you say you'll...you'll understand."
You turn but he grabs your wrist, pins you in place.
"I can't lose you to him again, Y/N. I...I already lost you once and I don't think I..."
The hard faced Min Yoongi you once knew is gone. All that's left is the vulnerable man in front of you who holds your heart in your hands with a grip so tight it scares you.
"He can't win...please."
You suck in a final breath.
"Please what? Don't make you choose between me and that stupid fucking trophy? You did this to yourself, Yoongi." You turn and this time he lets you. "The only person pushing me away is you."
"Y/N please, wait!"
You don't dare turn to look at him as you walk away. Not even when he pleads or you hear him fall to his knees, a strangled sob echoing down the hall. You're scared you might run back to him if you do.
You don't let yourself break down until you turn the corner. Yoongi doesn't follow.
--
"I'm okay." You assure Namjoon as you take a seat beside him inside the arena. It's a lie, of course. No amount of cold water splashed on your face in the bathroom could prepare you for this moment.
You're just in time. The ceremony is already starting. The host is taking the stage and the lights are dimming but you're too numb to care.
You go out on that stage and pick up that trophy and we're over.
Your decision is final. There's no going back. You've cried all your tears. You've said all that needed to be said. All you're left with now is a sickly feeling in your stomach as you look down at the trophy sat in a display case center stage.
We love each other. A slither of hope tugs at your heart strings. You barely manage to suppress it.
"Sorry! Excuse me!" The empty seat to your left sinks under the weight of Hoseok as he clumsily stumbles into the arena, late as always.
He offers you a smile which turns to a frown when you only stare past him vacantly, straining your neck to keep an eye on the stage.
A hand covers yours. You freeze at the contact, only relaxing when you peer through the darkness to find Hoseok staring at you gently. His voice is a whisper. "Whatever happens I'm here for you, okay?"
A wave of emotion crashes through you and you think you might cry again. You can't make your lips sound out a response but Hoseok understands and you feel a little stronger when you turn your attention back to the ceremony knowing you have someone by your side.
"As you all know there have been some...complications with this year's finalists." The host coughs and fiddles with his tie awkwardly. "But we are glad to announce that we do in fact have a winner here with us today!"
The crowd chants Yoongi's name again. Namjoon stiffens. Your free hand grabs his and he squeezes it tight.
"So without further ado, I would like to welcome this year's winner, Gloss!"
The crowd goes wild but the sound is drowned out by a ringing in your ears. It's like you're underwater, holding your breath as you wait and wait for him to take the stage and all the oxygen to slip away.
One...two...three...
You get to ten seconds, then twenty seconds and then thirty and by the time you get to forty you feel yourself break the surface, take a heaving breath.
You're floating. He chose you.
He loves you! Yoongi loves you! He—
No.
You're seeing things. You must be. That can't be Yoongi's face lighting up every screen in the room. That can't be him crossing the stage and taking the trophy from the hands of the host with a smug grin. That can't be Yoongi holding it up in the air like a martyr.
That can't be your Yoongi. This is a stranger.
You crash back to reality when Namjoon wraps his arms around your waist and you realise your sobbing. Sobbing so hard it hurts your chest and your lungs burn with misuse and you're sure the tears will never stop.
"It's okay! Shh."
Nothing is okay. Nothing.
Yoongi's face is still blown up on the big screens in painful detail. The smile on his face falters when he looks out into the crowd and spots you instantly. Sees you crumple.
There are two things Min Yoongi ever loved in this world.
His music and you.
The trophy feels cold in his hands. The crowd gasps as he rushes to the edge of the stage and calls out to you.
"Y/N wait! I'm sorry—"
You hear his voice through the speakers but it's too late. You're already running.
Yoongi's mic drops to the ground.
--
Yoongi's nightmares are back. Except this time they're different.
When he closes his eyes you're there. Smiling and laughing like you used to. His heart warms and he reaches for you...
And then he realises it's not you. Just a picture, blown up on the big screen as you cross the stage at the front of the room he's suddenly aware he's in.
He glances around at the indistinguishable people around him, all smiling and clapping ferociously. Why isn't he happy?
The bottle in his hand is half empty. He's realises he's screaming. So hard his throat burns and his lungs beg for air but you don't even look his way. He screams your name, over and over again. Nobody seems to hear him.
Namjoon's there too. Bouncing a baby on his knee, maybe one or two years old if he has to guess.
"That'll be you one day," He whispers, but its deafening to Yoongi. "Only the very best for my niece." The baby giggles up at him, stubby fingers wrapped around his thumb.
She has your eyes. The very same eyes Yoongi would look into like they held everything in the world. The very same eyes Yoongi saw fill with pain on the last day he saw you before things got messed up.
She has Hoseok's nose. And his mouth, too, small and heart shaped. The resemblance is uncanny as Hoseok appears beside Namjoon, takes the baby girl into his arms and places a sweet kiss on her forehead.
Then there you are. The same old Y/N. The same smile that makes your eyes crinkle and the same laughter than makes his heart melt. The same girl who used to love him.
Though it's clear that that much is no longer true. Not when you lean up to kiss Hoseok on the cheek, Namjoon drawing you into a hug when you present the trophy in your hands to them with an elated laugh.
A family.
It feels like he's been punched in the stomach.
Yoongi always thought winning Mic Drop would mean he had everything. Fame. Money. Glory.
He didn't need family. He always got by on his own.
It took holding the whole world in the palm of his hand to realise none of it meant anything if he didn't have you by his side.
You were his everything. But he was too stupid to see it and he let you slip away.
It's too late now.
A hand appears on his shoulder. It's cold, grip bruising. The voice that comes next gives him chills every single time.
"So was it worth it?" Namjoon asks.
Yoongi tries to answer but his vision is blurred with hot tears now and he's on his hands and knees and he's screaming.
And when he wakes up at ass o clock, sweaty and gasping for air, he still finds himself reaching for your warmth beside him.
But all his fingers find are cold sheets and bitterness.
extended a/n: okay so if you have reached this far then you are a TROOPER. a trooper who i love and appreciate endlessly for reading 30k of my waffle lmao im so sorry <3 ksksksk so this fic has been in my head for the longest time and in my drafts for almost five months so im super attached to it and putting this out is like the scariest ever?? i really put my heart into this piece, like y’all don’t understand how many times it’s cropped up in my dreams and I’ve woken up like MUST WRITE. it’s far from perfect but i tried my best!! i can’t tell you how many scenes had to be rewritten until i was happy enough with them bc this fic is literally my baby in every sense of the word and i wanted to get it right :( although that just made the ending even more SOUL DESTROYING to write for me ugh i had the ending set in my mind before i even started writing but there were moments where i jus wanted yoongi and oc to be happy ever after :( but alas, I feel like this ending was far more realistic for them and i couldn’t go against my gut sigh. there may be a few drabbles planned in the future tho to make up for the angst :) Anyway!!! I’ll stop rambling. Thank you for reading this far, if anyone has. TROOPER. love you <3
updated 12/01/19: drabble #1 | drabble #2 | drabble #3
#ksmutclub#bts#bts smut#yoongi smut#yoongi fanfiction#yoongi imagine#btswriterscollective#btsguild#kwordsmiths#thebtstown#yoonkooknetwork#yoongi scenario#my writing#fic: mic drop#love yourself collab
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Chapter 3: Coming home - The Communication of Silence
Summary: Patton meets Virgil. The three talk a bit. Can he really stay with Logan? chap 1 link: ao3 link *clicky*
masterlist (contains all stories and updates including ao3/tumblr links and summaries!) story under the cut!!
"Logie? '', someone called. The voice sounded familiar, warm and like pure sun in his heart. The nickname for Logan almost made him laugh. Almost.
Instead, Virgil felt his heart leap and he promptly pushed himself into Logan's side instead of just standing next to him. A person. A voice? Voices belonged to people and Logan has mentioned two roommate before but Virgil felt and looked like shit with his edgy make up all over his cheeks and his arms cut and bandaged up. He was basically a spider in a frying pan. On a turned on stove.
A warm arm put itself around him and the light turned on. He just hid his face in Logan's chest and the other didn't seem to mind his ridiculous attempts at hiding, his childish reaction to a new person.
Logan was like one of these friendly giants you'd see in films. Silent, calm, a real anchor. When everything raged around him, he was still reserved and reacted appropriately.
Maybe Virgil liked him so much because Logan seemed predictable and didn't react impulsively and directly like he did. He didn't snap and got stupidly emotional over simple things. Logan was just a calm silence, the breeze everyone felt tickled yet comforted by during a warm spring day outside.
Virgil on the other hand was just an anxiety cucumber and while he tried to make amendments and rationalise his fears and worries, he couldn't help but realise that his panic got the best of him. After all, he was right here in Logan's apartment and already messed up with his exaggerated reactions just because of some sound, just because of some person.
The voice even sounded nice.
Well, but Virgil wasn't ruled by reason, the voice telling him to get to know and befriend this person who sounded like a great summer day at a pool. He didn't like those anyway.
A voice in his mind wondered whether the voice and Logan dated but just as this ludicrous thought crossed his mind like some suicidal cat speeding over a busy street, the voice got a physical vessel.
He was too shocked to look away. His head smushed onto Logan's chest but face still directed towards the source of sound.
Another giant - even taller than Logan but probably not by too much - rose from a nearby couch, rubbing his eyes as he approached Logan.
Virgil flinched away just in time before Logan was engulfed in an actual hug by the tall ginger man with the funny freckles strewn all over his face. Like a galaxy of darker, slightly brownish spots, the bigger giant's face was just littered in the endearing marks and even his hands seemed covered in them.
Honestly, Virgil couldn't tell much about the new person. He seemed to like Logan, have a nickname for him and it gave him a sting even though he sounded and looked very warm and nice. Maybe it was the copper hair that made him appear warm like a fire to heat up your room.
But what he could tell that the giant seemed to tired and unprepared for the sudden nap he seemed to have taken on the couch. His pastel blue sweater was wrinkled and slightly off. It was too big and hanged a little from his strong build.
Well, the Microsoft nerd next to him had a more intimidating pack of shoulders so that was sort of comforting but just because he felt less likely to be be crushed, didn't mean he was all at once comforted.
That was his first thought, however.
"Logiebear, I was so worried! You didn't come to dinner and I thought you might have been hurt or something and I was really really concerned about you!", the warm voice expressed.
This time it was evident that it had an accent but Virgil could not quite place it. Every word just sounded so well-carved out when it was pronounced and it was almost too clear when listening to him but also sort of fuzzy. Maybe because it was muffled. The 'r's were prominent and it somewhat reminded him of jokes about Irish accents but that was not the same. It was also much lighter but he noticed it anyway. Hypervigilance? Well, he did not know about any of this but he knew it still sounded warm yet seemed to edge on slightly uncomfortable screeching and little sniffles - covering a sunny day like grey clouds hanging in the way of the warming sun rays.
Virgil glanced over at the other as he hugged himself now. The comfort of Logan's warmth was gone after all and his space by his side was taken by.. This guy. Ginger giant. He didn't have a name yet after all.
But it wasn't as if he had any special right to be this close to the Logan anyway. They were mostly work buddies and sometimes took lunch together and and.. It was just stupid that his silly dependency already started showing because Logan was nice to me him for, like, five minutes.
Okay, it was much more than that and he knew it. Logan knew it too. But he was still much too attached. Therapy should have taught him better by now.
He didn't have any claims on Logan and just hugging had been ridiculous enough. He still couldn't believe the precious night after all. It was like a dream for him and part of him was convinced that it had never happened.
''Patton, please calm down'', Logan eventually said as he patted his friend, ''Nothing happened and I am just fine. I promise.''
Huh, funny name. Again, this sounded familiar. He probably had read it somewhere. But the name itself not
Logan now had too sensitive people to take care of and Virgil felt passively drained in his place. Or maybe it was just the few hours of sleep and all the changes he was running on but he was quite sure that the Logan was quite used to comforting others. Judging from how he always took care of him. It really was embarrassing just how much attention and care he often needed. It was even worse whenever he considered that he was already in recovery and used to be much more of a mess.
''Apologies for worrying you, Patton, but you must see that I am a grown man - despite being a little younger than you. I appreciate your care, nonetheless but talked about this'', he spoke softly and his tone edged on something close to fragility before he sighed. ''How come you did not notify me?''
This guy,.. Patton, the ginger giant, let go off Logan in favour of looking at him and his teary face was now resembling the look of a scolding parent, if Virgil had anything to go by. it seemed like the caring look of soft parents as shown in the media. As if someone like that actually existed.
''Logie, you really tell me to text or call you when I already left numerous messages on your voice mail and phone in general! You never responded to me and I called you about seven times, Mister Techie!''
Awkward.
For a moment, not even Logan could respond because he now realised just how much misery he had put Patton into and he carefully drew him into a short yet sweet hug. The way Logan held the taller man reminded Virgil of siblings that stood by each other through everything life would shoot at them.
He quickly averted his gaze but after a few moment of Patton relishing in the hug and burying his nose in Logan's neck, he looked up and actually spotted the little visitor. The giant had barely ever seen someone so short - not anyone their age, not a guy, really.
Curiosity filled the glass green eyes behind his obvious glasses and he let go off Logan, some sort of enthusiasm and mystery around him that Virgil felt as if he had been pulled into a major conspiracy. A smile spread across Patton's face and the giant was quick to push his pastel sleeve-covered hands into his face to wipe away the salty liquid coating his freckles. His eyes ate up the view of Virgil before him and the little punk just slouched. It almost looked like he was trying to disappear while Patton seemed to analyse every bit of his appearance.
He was the new test object to be observed under a precise microscope.
Logan's roommate let go off the younger student and turned towards Virgil while Logan stepped a little closer to the latter to stand between them and Virgil just took it as an invitation to shakily step closer to the librarian as if he could make the whole process of Patton mustering stop.
Patton's eyes did their best to catch every detail as quick as possible and Virgil could not stand it even one bit. He was still the cooking spider and the pan beneath him was seething hot. He was close to burning. His piercings in his lips seemed to glow in heat, his tongue however, was safe for as long as he would shut up (which would probably for another day or two around Patton. After all, he could not even bring himself up to even make a sound in his throat, yet alone produce sensible syllables). His purple hair with the blue tips were exposed. If it had only been raining, the punk could have hid the side cut with his hood or he could have pulled some hair from one side to the other to cover up the shaved off spot around his ear area. Oh, his ears were out on the open for everyone to see and he could basically hear Patton judging him for the self-made lobe and helix piercing holes and jewellery that featured his hearing organs to the sides of his face. His clothing was ripped and soggy since it was just some regular things and nothing fancy when wanting to meet new people or impress anyone. Virgil just knew he had fucked up and embarrassed himself and Logan enough to be a former friend and just be klicke out already. He briefly wondered why he hadn't stayed in this hellhole for just some more months. The next year would be the end of his contract and he already knew where to live next but it wasn't ready yet and and.. This was all too much
And it still didn't end there. His eyes were surrounded by smudged black makeup and his whole posture was just as ruined as the rest of his appearance.
Virgil casted his honey brown eyes down to the floor and just look at his shoes - wrecked and dirty from running. They were sports shoes after all. Even that looked just poor and horrible.
Honestly, Virgil felt like some abandoned and neglected dirty kid before his scolding dad.
But if he had looked up, he would have seen the look of sweet warmth in Patton's soft green eyes and he would have noticed how his eyes started becoming more glossy as he saw that Virgil seemed to be just exhausted and done and -
"Hey, I will make us some tea. Do you want some breakfast? You must be Virgil and I'm happy to meet you but you look like you need a little time to relax a bit. So, how does lemon tea sound to you ?"
Virgil blinked in surprise. Did the ginger gi- Patton, his name was Patton, talk to him? Was he serious? The punk was awestruck and tried to say yes but his throat stayed blocked and unwilling to produce any sound so he simply opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish when looking back at its owner. His face looked probably just as clueless.
He was quick to raise his left and make a motion as if throwing a kiss at Patton as he brought his hand to his chin and moved his hand forward while his wrist stayed in place.
"You're welcome, my dear! Logan's friends are my friends too so you can always come by, okay?"
Another nod and the two went to the little kitchen nearby. It was a little corner in the living room wince both rooms didn't have a full barrier to separate them. It made rent a bit cheaper and gave Patton a more welcomed feeling to their home.
Logan looked between the two and the gears in his Brian were working. He had never seen Virgil nonverbal and he had never see him interact with other people outside work or similar settings (such as ordering a meal for lunch). His mind made a note to ask them about this but considering what he had learned from talking to Patton and studying with him, he assumed that Virgil went nonverbal. Again, like the panic and anxiety attacks, Virgil seemed to do that more than just once in a life time but often enough go acocmodate. Or was there another reason he knew sign language? Maybe he just knew the basics.
The blonde giant quickly went to his room to retrieve paper and pens so Virgil could communicate with them. Or, him, really. It just made Logan realise how little he knew about Virgil. He at least knew about Patton learning some sign language for his future profession as a therapist but he didn't know it himself.
Maybe he should learn it. It was always good to expand his horizon and he would have two people he could communicate and practice with. Sounded great.
When he returned, Virgil was wildly signing with his two hands. Honestly, this was even more of a surprise. After nine nine months of working together, he had barely glanced at Virgil's right to understand why he wore bulky clothing and hid away his body and especially let his fingers be sucked in by these endless sleeves he usually immersed his body in. Virgil was just avoiding weird looks he'd get for having less than the ideal ten fingers.
It was sollte unusual to see him.. So excited about talking to a stranger. His gaze flickered to Patton who placed three cups on the table.
No coffee. Patton was such a dad.
Logan sat down with them and carefully pushed the pens and papers to Virgil.
"I do see how you two communicate but I must admit, sign language is not one of my skills."
Patton chuckled and shook his head and the purple haired emo just offered a smile and a dismissive wave. Well, Logan underdtood this.
He wasn't the most understanding person in terms of reading other people and reacting accordingly but he got used to Virgil's reactions and - after several questions - he had finally learned at least some about his body language. At least he had some objective knowledge about people and their behaviours but individuals were so different, it go hard. Especially when people just talked more than anything.
But Virgil had always been more the person to act rather than speak empty words and so far he had gotten along with that but.. But right now he needed real answer, verbal answers. He couldn't trust his mind to piece together the way Virgil's eyebrows would furrow together or how his feathery fine facial features would ease up or derail upon hearing certain words and sentences.
"Aw! But Logan, I could have translated for you, don't worry", Patton protested, yet the wrinkles around his eyes and his lips curling into a smile undermined the strict tone he tried to come up with. "I made you tea. Too much caffaine is bad for you."
Virgil watched the exchange as Logan pulled one of the tea mugs close - something with honey, if he could judge it from the smell - while Patton started sipping his own chamomile tea.
"And yet, we both know I will consume about one can by noon"
Virgil shook his head and let it an amused squeak but apart from that, the roommates could only hear him inhale air in unusual, almost unnatural intervals. It was different from usual breathing but it was clearly sucked in by his lungs in breaks between his soundless giggles.
"Logie, are you planning on drinking coffee when I'm asleep?"
Patton looked offended but the mischievous grin and the boiling joy within him was obvious enough. He looked as if he was about to break down cackling and his snowflake white skin seemed to light up with his freckles nearly glowing in delight.
But Logan looked just like that but in his own version. His mouth seemed broadened and he tilted his head, about to hide his white teeth and shining smile by facing only the table below his forearms.
"Maybe "
Virgil could hear him laugh inside and it made him smile in return as he scribbled down something with the pen and paper provided to him.
>>Who talked about coffee? Green and black tea have caffaine too<<
Logan nodded in agreement, his lips wavy as he tried to fight down his bright smile. Patton simply let out an offended mock huff.
"You're already conspiring against me, kiddos. I am so disappointed."
Patton giggled and hugged himself in his oversized pastel sweater, the colour emphasising his glass shred irises.
"Patton, you should go to sleep. I am assuming you stayed up all night waiting for me to return", Logan recommended and Virgil started scribbling down some good Uhr wishes in turn.
"Aw, stop calling your dad out"
"You're not my dad"
"But Patton, I - um", he started but shook Hof head, "let me rephrase that. I would like us to host Virgil for a while. Could we arrange that? I think it is a decision we should all know about. We are roommates after all."
Patton titled his head and Virgil froze, curling in on himself and bringing his feet up to the chair so he could hug his slender knees to his chest.
" OH, but Logie, why didn't yiz say so sooner? ", Patton piped up with a happy smile and got up.
Why???
Virgil didn't know but Patton sounded so cheery, it sounded threatening in his mind, he couldn't help but feel himself shiver. It made Patton stop charging towards him.
" Kiddo, can I hug you for a welcome?"
Virgil froze and looked up at him, his smudged black looking ready to wander further down his cheeks in cascaded of panicked tears. He could taste the anxiety and it pushed his tongue into a cage.
Did.. Did he really want to hug him?
The punk looked at Logan who seemed.. Calm. He seemed calm enough to even calm Virgil's nerves and he let out a shaky breath and slowly lowered his trembling legs before standing up as expected.
When he was actually met with a warmth surrounding him and the sweet smell of laughter and biscuits, Virgil choked down a sob and held onto him. This wasn't the time to cry but the time to relish in the acceptance of another person.
And he barely knew Patton. Yet between Logan, Patton and Virgil, there was already a familiar and nearly familial warmth that embraced them as if they were meant to be together in this constellation.
But he knew he'd enjoy living with him and being around him and Logan.
Still, at the same time he couldn't help but feel strange and unreal about being so welcomed in this sacred asylum.
... As if something in the world was against his peace.
#patton#ts patton#patton sanders#virgil sanders#virgil anxiety#ts virgil#sanders sides virgil#ts fanfic#Logan#ts analogical#ts logan#logan sanders#Analogical#fanfiction#fanfic#fanficion#fanfic fluff#platonic logicality
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can you put your bag things bingo fills on tumblr? it would probably be easier for requesters to see and the mods to keep track of. and, i just want to reblog your fem!hance, cause that was cute.
Actually I meant to do that, I just forgot. Oops.
Sure I can!
(VLD) Space: Anger Born of Worry
AO3
Something Lana will never tell anyone is that during their first meeting, Huihana scared the crap out of her. Only for the first thirty seconds or so, sure, but in those thirty seconds the fear was real. She took two steps into the room the Garrison assigned her, took one look at her roommate, and felt her blood turn to ice.
That chick was freaking huge. Biceps like boulders, fists like frozen turkeys. She could probably take Lana’s head off with one punch. Nervously, Lana gulped, trying to think of something suave to say, straining to shape her mouth into a confident smirk so this Amazonian stranger wouldn’t smell her fear. Then the giantess advanced and before Lana could escape, those brawny arms encircled her, deftly lifted her right off the floor…and pulled her into a hug.
“Mmph!” Lana found herself pressed up against the soft, plentiful pudge of her roommate’s round midsection, and her face smushed into the pillows of her even softer, coconut sized breasts.
“Nice to meet you, new roomie!” chirped a voice of pure sunshine.
She gave Lana a hearty squeeze and returned her to the floor.
“So I’m Huihana, most people call me Hana for short,” she paused, amusement squiggling over her features as she blinked at Lana’s name tag. “Guess that means we’re Hana and Lana, huh? Pfft, Hana and Lana. We could totally headline a sitcom.”
“Heh, yeah.” Lana gave a chuckle, feeling herself melt in relief.
“I’ll help you put away your stuff, but let’s eat the muffins first. They’re best while they’re still warm.”
“You made muffins?”
“Uh-huh.”
Hana showed her the small oven she’d hidden in the closet. It was about the size of one of those toy ones, but Lana could tell it was made of spare parts. The metals didn’t match and the screws were different sizes.
“Let me guess, you’re here to be an engineer.”
“Yep.” Hana smiled and pulled a small muffin pan out of her makeshift oven and if the tantalizing aroma of apple cinnamon was anything to go by, mismatched metal didn’t prevent it from working.
Lana took a muffin and shook her head. Hana was a freaking teddy bear. No hecking way could she ever scare Lana again.
“You’re supposed to be in bed,” Lana scolds, crossing her arms over her chest.
Hana rolls her eyes and keeps rolling the orange dough in front of her. “As if you always do what you’re supposed to do.”
“This isn’t about me!” Lana barks, still too shaken to keep herself from snapping. “You’re a mess, you can hardly stand up!”
Hana shoots her a look that might’ve been dangerous if she were actually standing steady. But she isn’t steady at all, she’s tottering like a butterfly could knock her over and Lana isn’t sure if it’s making her nervous or furious.
“What I am is sore and stressed, and not in the mood,” she warns irritably.
“Oh, you’re not in the mood?” Lana scoffs. “Don’t even. I’m the one who gets to be mad! You almost got yourself killed!”
“We almost get ourselves killed all the time,” Hana grumbles bitterly, flipping the dough and rolling some more.
“This was different! You know we’re supposed to be extra careful since the pods got hacked, but you ran back into a Galra infested tunnel for no reason!”
“No reason my ass, I was checking for civilians.” Hana pauses to wipe the sweat from her brow.
“Civilians who weren’t there!” Lana huffs, grasping at her hair in frustration. “BLIP tech told us the tunnel was clear!”
“And like I already explained to you and everybody else, the dust storms on that planet were interfering with our tech. Our comms were screwy, our scanners were screwy, we had no reason to trust in the BLIP tech!” Hana gives the dough an exasperated whack with the rolling pin and Lana can see the immediate regret in her eyes as the movement sends repercussions through her battered body. Recoiling, she hisses through her teeth.
“Damn it! Ugh, just come off it. I clearly did the right thing.”
“How? No one was down there!”“But someone could’ve been down there,” Hana insists hotly. “We couldn’t rely on the tech to tell us one way or the other, so I checked for myself. It’s what a paladin would do.”
Lana chews her lip. She understands where her friend is coming from, but she doesn’t have any forthcoming fuzzy feelings for her decision either. It was too reckless. Lana doesn’t like to see any of her team in danger, but this was the kind of stunt she would at least expect from Keith or Shiro. Not Hana. It was a stunt that blindsided her coming from cautious, nervous Huihana.
“You should have at least called one of us for backup.”
And what she means is, you should have called me for backup.
“I didn’t think I had enough time.” Hana gripes, maneuvering her way around the kitchen. “It’s over and done with, so just lay off.”
Lana feels the worst of her fury dying away, but she still isn’t happy. This was too much, too close a call. She can’t just swallow it with a smile and pretend she wasn’t terrified to her core. Not with the echoes of Hana’s scream still rattling around like vengeful wraiths inside her head.
“Oh crap…I’m bleeding,” Hana mutters, yanking Lana out of her thoughts.
The red stain spreads through her robe and Lana gasps, scrambling over.
“Don’t want to say I told you so, but this is exactly why you should be in bed,” she says tersely, hiking Hana’s arm over her shoulder.
Hana is still the bigger of the two, but Lana is tougher than she looks and more than strong enough to offer her support. Hana accepts it wearily, and Lana becomes increasingly worried when she fails to fire back some retort. Lana studies her more closely and frowns.
Drops of sweat sprinkle Hana’s face, headband practically drenched with it. The pain is naked in her eyes, glistening with the mist of unshed tears. Her jaw tightens, teeth clenching as she fails to bite back a whine.
“Come on,” Lana encourages. “Just a little farther.”
“A little?” Hana shoots her an exhausted look. “The med bay’s on the other side of the castle.”
“But your room is right around the corner, and Coran helped me stock it with all the right aftercare supplies while you were out being a bad patient.”
“I wasn’t trying to be a bad patient,” she mumbles. “Today just caught up with me and sitting still in silence wasn’t exactly doing wonders for my anxiety.”
“Yeah, well you bleeding through your clothes isn’t exactly doing wonders for my mental health, either,” Lana retorts.
Hana must be too spent to keep arguing because all she does is glower.
When they reach her bedroom, Lana parks her down on the bed and slides the robe off her shoulders. The bandages encasing her torso are soaked scarlet and it sends chills up Lana’s spine. Even so, she tries to keep herself together. She opens the impressive supply kit Coran prepared and paws through until she finds the sutures.
“So you’re gonna patch me up even though you’re pissed?”
“Of course I am, jerk face.”
Lana gets the packet of numbing gel and the scissors, kneels down, eye level with the wound. She snips through the layers of gauze and they fall loosely to the bed. A wide absorbent pad remains, taped over her side. It’s sodden with blood that smears onto Lana’s fingertips as she removes it as gently as possibly.
What lurks beneath is like something out of a slasher flick. Lana is a tad nervous about tending to it because it’s such a gruesome injury, but she doesn’t want to admit that aloud. The blast from the sentry’s gun shaved off a good hunk of flesh. The aperture of the wound is irritated where Coran had to trim away ruined skin. The layer of fat beneath the remaining skin peeks out a bit, bumpy and glazed in blood. The open meat in the middle is this sickening, moist, melon pink.
“Congratulations,” Lana offers sarcastically. “You managed to pop all of your stitches.”
Hana grimaces. “I don’t wanna know the graphic details.”
“No,” she agrees grimly. “You don’t.”
Lana pinches the tip of the scissors over the broken thread of the old stitches and carefully pulls them through. Hana’s fist clenches into the blankets, a tight look of discomfort twisting her features.
Some of Lana’s frustration ebbs.
“This is the worst part and it’s almost over, okay?”
Hana nods tensely.
Lana removes the long, thin thread and discards it. She opens the numbing gel and carefully spreads it along the in tact skin around the wound.
“I’m sorry, okay?” she says softly. “I know I shouldn’t be mad at you, you did what you felt was right—“
“You mean what was right,” Hana breaks in stubbornly.
“…I thought you died,” Lana admits somberly.
“What?” Hana’s jaw drops.
Lana purses her lips as she opens the suture set. “It was the way you screamed. You’re super jumpy, so I’ve heard you scream a thousand times before, but never like that. That scream chilled me to the bone, I could just hear the hurt in it…and then when we started screaming back for you to answer, you didn’t. We— I was begging you to answer me but all I got was radio silence.”
“I scared you,” Hana concludes quietly.
“Yeah.” Lana huffs, poking the needle into the flesh. Evidently the gel is doing its job, because her friend doesn’t even flinch. “Scared me more than anything else ever has. You’re in front of me right now in one piece, talking to me, and I’m still kinda shook up over it.”
“Aw, Lana…”
Lana sews quietly, occasionally glancing up to make sure Hana’s tolerating it okay. She’s fiddling with her fingers, gaze pointedly fixed on the wall.
“Look, I’m sorry. Not for what I did, but for scaring you.”
“I don’t really blame you,” Lana says, finishing off the stitches. “This is war, we get hurt. But can you at least be a good patient for the rest of the day?”
“I will if you stick around to distract me.”
“I’m supposed to let you rest,” Lana mutters, distracted as she fishes through the supplies.
Hana groans quietly and shakes her head. “I can’t. You don’t think I got scared too? It’s so quiet in here, all I can do is relive getting blasted. It’s freaking me out.”
She takes another absorbent pad and thick roll of gauze, wincing sympathetically. “Alright. I’ll stay. Maybe I can get Pidge to bring us a projector so we can watch a movie or something.”
Hana lets out a sigh of relief. Lana returns to her bedside and strips the sterile packaging off the pad. She plasters it over the freshly stitched wound and gingerly pats it down. Hana gives a wince and she stops short.
“Too rough?”
“Nah. The gel wore off, that’s all. It’s sore.”
“I’ll bet.” It’s a hell of a wound, after all. Wide, deep, and butt ugly.
Lana unwinds a length of gauze and makes an effort to be especially gentle as she bandages her, starting from the bottom and moving upward. She smooths out as many of the wrinkles as she can and tries to secure the gauze around Hana’s torso without pulling too tight.
“Alright, almost there. Just hold your tits.”
“Huh? I’m not rushing you.” Hana puzzles, brow furrowing.
“I meant literally, my busty bestie,” Lana chuckles. “They’re in the way.”
“My bad.” Grimacing, Hana sheepishly hefts them up and Lana wraps the last layer around. She finishes up with small adhesive strips to keep the bandage in place and gives it the slightest of tugs to make sure they’re effective.
“All done,” she says brightly, pulling back. “That should keep it clean and safe. Just try not to bump into anything and don’t abuse the rolling pin anymore.”
“Thanks. I’d hug you if I could.” Hana sighs and slides her arms back into the sleeves of her robe. She raises her shoulders to get it all the way on— at least, she attempts to. Pain crosses her face halfway through the motion and the fabric slides back down.
“And I can’t do that either.”
She tucks her head down like a grumpy turtle sulking in its shell. Lana wordlessly pulls the garment up for her.
“Gonna do everything for me?” Hana lifts a tired brow.
“If I have to,” Lana says, crossing her arms. “As long as you promise not to scare me like that again.”
“If it were a promise I could keep, I would,” she says wistfully.
They gaze at each other a moment, an understanding passed. Lana deflates and tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear, leaning forward to pull back Hana’s blanket.
“Go on, climb in.”
“Could’ve done that much myself,” Hana mutters, sounding more weary than offended.
Lana studies her as she draws herself up, stiffly braced back on her elbows. Pain speaks in every movement, from her legs’ halting stretch, to the low breath hissed between her teeth as she carefully reclines to the pillows. Lana lightly drapes the blanket over her.
“Lemme get you something for the pain—“ Lana turns to go and stops short as Hana’s hand encircles hers.
She tugs with surprising strength for somebody who looks two seconds away from passing out, and Lana’s eyes pop wide as she gracelessly flounders to the bed.
Lacing their fingers together, Hana gives her a tender look. “This is enough. I feel better already.”
“Liar,” Lana huffs, crinkling her nose.
“No, really. Holding hands has the potential to reduce pain. Several studies suggest it produces an analgesic effect.”
Lana pauses, studying her face for any trace of deceit. Normally having genius friends is pretty cool because they can explain complicated stuff to you and help you ace your homework. But sometimes genius friends can mess with you by rewording bullshit to sound all science-y and smart. One time Hana and Pidge nearly convinced her that the moon was indeed made of some form of petrified cheese.
“For real?”
“Yeah, for real,” Hana insists, smiling gently. “When we hold hands our brainwaves begin to synchronize. It’s like communicating empathy through touch and it makes people feel better.”
“Huh.” Lana looks down at their hands and squeezes Hana’s a little tighter.
With Hana’s hand in hers, solid and warm, Lana is beginning to feel better too.
#bad things happen bingo#badthingshappenbingo#hunk vld#lance vld#platonic hance#i mean i don't touch shipping in the vld fandom no thank you#not even in genderbend aus#blood tw#injury tw
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KC Coffee: guaranteed to keep you up all damn night while you perfect your interdimensional space cannon. What, you don’t have a space cannon to lose sleep for? Then feed your $3 to the miserable goo over there!
(caption credits to @duelmepharaoh)
Anyway actual message is
Capsai got a Ko-Fi
>>http://ko-fi.com/capsai<<
(QR code in picture also works, guys :D (smushed
To find out how many ppl would throw me change to see my shitposts (my guess: 0) I’m opening ko-fi commissions - details under cut
What you throw in: A coffee ($3) and a request
What you’ll get: Anything from a 30 minute pencil doodle (something like this or this) to full color, depending on how free and motivated I am. Most likely a 30 minute doodle.
Plus my gratitude :D!
How long you’ll wait: Tentatively a week, more if there’s a line-up. I have a bit of work stacked up irl so things might get hectic before end of next month, but well... 30 min doodles are not supposed to take more than 30 mins right? :D (sweats profusely)
Note that I will not send progress, rework the piece nor do refunds. This is not a “standard” commission - I’m only looking for something to keep me busy when bored, which is why it’ll only cost you a coffee... but I will do my best to also entertain you in the process :P (is thoroughly smushed)
Number of slots: Tentatively 7 (1 request per ID). Colour me surprised if I get more than that :P but I will consider adding slots if I have time/energy. Please check status on my ko-fi page or shoot me a pm on Tumblr to make sure the commission offer is still open.
How it works:
1. Feed me a coffee on http://ko-fi.com/capsai
Remember to mention your tumblr id in your support message.
2. BY TUMBLR PM: give me a character and (optional) a detailed prompt
eg - Marik dancing through a field of daisies
(is sent to shadow realm covered in daisies)
I won’t guarantee I’ll stick to the prompt, but it’ll at least be something close... (is consumed by goo-eating shadow realm daisies)
YGO-DM characters only. Please inquire for other series (including YGO-GX etc. I could draw other anime/games, provided I know the characters... please inquire)
Additional coffee for 1 additional character. Inquire for more than 2 total human characters. Inquire for any nonhuman characters. Kuribohs not counted as additional character - can include up to 11 free of cost
Additional coffee for NSFW - only accepting Atem/Seto/prideship, pls inquire for anything else
Additional coffee can also potentially guilt-trip me into putting more effort into your doodle (is smushed)
3. I will confirm your request by pm, and publish a list of pending requests.
4. You’ll get your doodle around a week from the time I confirm your request... if it took more than that feel free to poke me a reminder. Doodle will be posted on Tumblr and you will be mentioned and notified by pm. Please let me know if you would prefer not to be tagged/mentioned in my posts.
You can do whatever the f* you want with the doodle, as long as you credit me when applicable and not use it for profit. I’m keeping the copyright, even though it’s a shitpost :P (is smushed)
That’s it - pm me if you have more questions :)
(and before you ask - I’m not opening “standard” commissions any time soon... mainly because at the speed I draw no matter how much you’ll reasonably pay me I’ll still be working under minimum wage (is shot))
Here’s the QR again :D
(smushed)
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Your about page says that 'tumblr user justavengeit is like if bucky barnes started writing fic' and it made me think of like. Like Bucky started writing really fluffy Tony StarkXReader and WinterIron fics and they're really popular 'n just like. Trying so hard not to let on that he has a crush on Tony and is in fact writing a whole bunch of fanfics about him lol
I’m cryin bc like, there must be so much Avengers fanfic and no one knows for sure how they feel about it but like Tony has a love-hate relationship with it. When he’s not being hassled about Stark Industries or iron man, the paparazzi and interviews love to bother him about the fanfic. Most of it he just makes cracks about, and he kind of gets a sick kick out of MSTing tony-bashing fics (even though it’s kind if crushing at the same time, I mean, the characterization)
And then there’s ship fic. And most if it’s harmless. He’s a bit perturbed by the amount of hatefuck fic featuring him and steve, but when asked about it mostly just says about how it’s healthy that the authors are working out their urges in a safe fashion or this and the other. He’s a bit annoyed about how pathetic those fics characterize him, but ultimately, it’s fiction, whatever, right?
And that’s when the upward surge of winteriron starts to make itself known.
“What,” he says when Pepper mentions it to him (she may no longer be his PA but she still keeps a better eye on what the media and popular opinion about him is that he does).
“Don’t ask me, I don’t know where they got the idea for it,” she says.
They should have no ideas about it is the thing, because Iron Man and the Winter Soldier have nothing to do with in another. They barely exist on the same public sphere. War Machine works with the Winter Soldier more that Iron Man does. It’s not like it’s entirely intentional - but it’s also not unintentional. Tony more or less stays away from Bucky in public, because he’s pretty much the public face of the Avengers and lots of attention makes Bucky’s trigger finger itchy.
After a few days, FRIDAY has more or less tracked the rise of ‘Winteriron,’ and funnily enough, although there has always been some fic about the pair of them since Bucky was first discovered to be around and kicking(Tony isn’t surprised, people will pair him with literally anyone; there’s a whole community dedicated to writing him in a relationship with fictional characters from the Dragonriders of Pern to Supernatural), one author in particular has given rise to the popularity of the ship. Which is. You know. Whatever.
Or it should be whatever. If Tony can shrug off the massive amounts of ironcaptain fiction without it impacting how he works with Steve, he should be able to do the same with Bucky. Not even the most epic winteriron fic even approached the word count of all the ironcaptain fics. He doesn’t even read any of them, unlike the other fics about him and his friends, coworkers, enemies, and even Justin Hammer. For good reason, really. Tony still isn’t entirely sure how he feels about Bucky Barnes given everything, but he knows asking him to leave Bucky alone would be like trying to put out an oil fire with water. It’s just lucky that Bucky doesn’t seem to be bothered by him, for all that he’s a lot quieter and warier around Tony than the rest of the team.
It’s a situation that Tony decides requires vigorous willful ignorance.
Unfortunately, the surge in popularity won’t let him get away with that. A few months later, he gets cornered by an interviewer who had previously checked with him if he was fine with the whole fanfic thing being touched on, and even with examples put up on the the screen. Tony, accustomed to this coming up often enough given the drama of celebfic, says sure.
“So tell me,” the host says, “what’s your opinion on the SS Winteriron.”
Tony, on live television, manages to actually stall out. “Uh,” he says after a second too long - he can tell by the subtle widening if the host’s smile and eyes - “well, I think that’s probably an interesting variation on the whole ‘American icon seduces Soviet agent’ theme that’s been popular ever since the beginning of the Cold War.”
The host laughs. “You’re talking about Star-Crossed, right?”
Tony shrugs with a smirk. It’s a lot more poetic than most of the handle-smushing names that usually get assigned to pairing. Slightly more obscure, he guesses - it only makes any sense after the connection between Bucky’s red star and Steve’s white is made. “Well, that’s the obvious one, right?”
“That’s right. But that’s actually not the usual theme of the stories that get written about you and the Winter Soldier.”
Tony nods along, even though he has no way of knowing that. This is being aired live on national television, and so, a bit desperately given that he usually jokes about the fanfic with the victim in question before talking about it on TV, he says, “I actually haven’t read any of it myself.”
He deeply resents the way the host’s face lights up. “Really,” she thrills. “Well, let’s get your reaction in real time.” She turns, gesturing to the screen slightly offset from the chairs.
With no little dread and resignation, Tony twists in his chair to see the excerpt from the fic they’ve chosen. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve carefully selected some of the more - racey content to throw in his face. He quickly skims the paragraph, sharply aware of the cameras fixated on him to capture every muscle twitch he might give in response.
It’s thankfully nothing explicit - he’s honestly a bit surprised to see that this appears to be a scene where fic-Tony is working on fic-Buck’s arm. It wouldn’t even be exceptionally shippy if not for the way the narrative lingers lovingly on fic-Tony’s eyelashes and mouth, the focus fic-Tony pays to his job while cracking an awkward joke. The narrative, clearly written from fic-Bucky’s perspective, is smitten.
Tony is vaguely aware that the tips of his ears are burning as he falls back into his chair with a devil-may-care expression. “Well, I can’t really vouch for the accuracy of that characterization, if the nation’s favorite freezer pop is that poetic it certainly doesn’t show, but -” he aims his best doe-eyed look of adoration at the camera, “if the author of that story would like to hit me up for a date, I am all yours.”
The host laughs, and that easily, the balance of power tips back in Tony’s favor. He spends the next several minutes cracking jokes and charming the host and the audience, and as soon as his time is up, Tony beats a swift retreat. Live, national television. What a disaster. If Bucky happened to catch that - and Tony is sure he did, Bucky watches all of their appearances on TV, he gets nervous when he can’t keep track if the team - then he has some desperate damage control to do, probably. Bucky’s adjusting well to the future, but the idea of people writing about him, even fictional stories for their own indulgence, will probably freak him out.
Tony is doing a great job of appearing calm and collected when he shows up to the Compound, but Natasha takes one look at him and says, “he did, and right now he’s looking for the highest possible roof available to jump off of.”
“What,” Tony says, “why? Why are you so calm about this? You should be stopping him!”
She gives him a very pitying look. “He’ll be fine.” She pops a bright raspberry into her mouth as Tony moves by her, already pretty sure he knows what roof Bucky has picked. “That detail about the workshop display screen was interesting, wasn’t it?”
Tony barely acknowledges the remark. At least until he’s already left the lobby far behind and then it clicks. No one should know about a detail like that. Not anyone who hadn’t been inside the workshop in the first place, anyway, which narrows the possible authors down considerably unless there’s been a leak and - oh.
Apparently he has someone he needs to invite down for arm maintenance - and this time he’s not taking ‘in your dreams’ as an answer.
side b now included
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Have you always wanted to start a blog but don’t know where to begin?
I get it. There is so much information out there and it can get overwhelming. Extremely overwhelming. The great news is that you are in the right place.
I am going to break down the process of how to start a professional blog into 10 super simple steps for you, and I’ll leave the technical jargon behind.
Step One: Picking a Good Travel Blog Name
When it comes to picking a blog name, it is important that you pick a damn good one! One that stands out from the crowd.
One of the first things you should do is write down several ideas or words that come to mind. Think about your niche and what you want to write about, but also allow yourself to dream big.
What I mean by dream big is set yourself up to develop and grow as your blog does, and not restricting yourself in the years to come.
Say for example you are a backpacker and decide to include that in your name but over time your travel style changes. You may have put yourself into a box as your blog clearly states you are all about backpacking, so working with 5-star resorts will be a challenge.
The same goes for if you blog about Australia, so include that in your name. You have basically told the world that your blog is about Australia. What happens if you move to Canada?
Rebranding and redesigning is expensive and time-consuming so make sure you take the time to come up with a name that you love, and that gives you the flexibility to grow with your blog.
When choosing a name, you will also need to make sure the domain and social handles for that name are available.
Key takeaways:
Choose a unique and memorable name
Consider what you want to blog about
Allow yourself to dream big and avoid putting yourself in a box
Avoid Clichés
Confirm that the domain and social handles are available.
Yes, a great name is essential, however, you can’t spend 6 months thinking about it! There comes a point where you just have to make a decision. A great name is important but it certainly isn’t as important as the content you produce down the track.
To check if a domain is available you can use the Bluehost domain name checker. You don’t need to buy your domain, just make sure it is available. This tool will also suggest other domain names for you.
For access to printable worksheets to help you decide on your name and niche, click here.
Step two: Set up your domain and hosting
After you have decided on a name and checked that your preferred domain (eg. www.yourblogname.com) is available, it is time to set up your hosting.
Web hosting is the service that makes your website available to be viewed by others on the Internet and is something everyone has to do.
Now I know what you might be thinking, why do I have to set up and pay for hosting when there are free options like Squarespace, Blogger etc?
Well, the answer is simple. If you have decided you want to make money from blogging or at some point you think you might, you will need a self-hosted blog. It is best to set your blog up correctly the first time to avoid technical challenges down the road if you do decide to transfer your website.
That is why I recommend setting your hosting up with Bluehost
Bluehost is the #1 most used and trusted hosting network on the internet and is very affordable for new bloggers.
The Perks of Starting a Blog with Bluehost
FREE Domain
24/7 Support
FREE 30-day Money Back Guarantee
One Click WordPress Install
Now I know this may sound technical, and maybe it just sounds overwhelming and scary, but I am going to walk you through the process step by step. Bluehost makes it so simple that it is hard to screw it up.
Ready to go? Click here!
Instructions for setting up hosting with Bluehost
Click here to start setting up hosting and you will be taken to the below screen
Click Get Started Now
3. Select your plan
4. Choose a domain, either a new domain or one you already own! This should have been decided upon when you selected your blog name. Remember, .com is generally the best option!
5. Enter your personal and package information
6. Enter your payment information and create a password.
And you have successfully set up your hosting, woohoo! Now it is time to install WordPress.
For a step by step video tutorial, click here.
Step 3: Install WordPress
If you, in any way want to monetise your site and create a professional blog, it is essential that you use WordPress. After you create your password, you will be prompted to log in and select a theme. You can then start building your WordPress site.
Finally, you will receive emails from Bluehost with your account and WordPress information.
Welcome to your new blog!! Now it’s time to design!
For a detailed video tutorial on how to install WordPress, sign up for my FREE e-course on How to create a professional blog.
Step 4: Choose a theme and design your blog
Finally, the fun part, making your blog look awesome.
The first step is to pick a theme! What is a theme? It is the template for your website, that looks great and does not require coding.
WordPress has heaps of free themes, however, I recommend spending some money and choosing a mobile-friendly theme you love. A good theme will allow you to easily customise your site and make it look great. You can search for premium themes via WordPress or Theme forest.
So how do you install a theme?
Go back to your WordPress dashboard.
Hover over “Appearance” and click on themes.
Choose and activate a theme, then go to “YourDomainName.com” to see it!
For a detailed video on how to install a WordPress Theme, click here.
Step 5: Install Plugins
Another great way to customise your site is with Plugins. If your theme doesn’t offer a customisation you would like, a plugin usually does.
For example, you can get a plugin to have a Facebook pop up appear or your Instagram appear in your sidebar.
So how do you install a plugin?
Go to your WordPress Dashboard
Click Plugins from the side panel
Click Add New
Search for a plugin
Click Download
Activate
Edit settings (where applicable)
Plugins are great, but too many plugins cause too many problems. Here are a few of my basic recommendations:
Askimet – protects you from spam
Wordfence – website security
Jetpack – For website stats
WP smush – shrinks file sizes
Yoast – the BEST SEO plugin out there
W3 Total Cache – will help your site run faster
Insert Headers and Footers – to quickly add code to the header of your site
Broken Link Checker – Checks your blog for broken links and notifies you on the dashboard.
Google Analytics Dashboard for WP (GADWP) – Displays Google Analytics Reports in your Dashboard.
Pinterest Pin It Button – Pins images to Pinterest straight from your blog posts.
Social Warfare – Used to maximize social shares of your content.
To see a quick video on how to install plugins, sign up for my FREE e-course on How to create a professional blog.
Step 6: Install Google Analytics
Google Analytics is the industry standard for tracking traffic. Google Analytics tells you how many people visit your site, where they are from, how long they stay, what type of content is the most popular, etc, etc.
The stats you get from Google Analytics are what you will use to pitch to brands and companies.
You will need to sign up for Google Analytics and paste the tracking code into the header of the website. I recommend doing this via the Headers and Footers Plug In that we just installed.
This is an example of what Google Analytics looks like.
For a detailed video tutorial on how to install Google Analytics, sign up for my FREE e-course on How to create a professional blog.
Step 7: Claim your social media handles
When choosing your blog name, you should have already looked into the social media handles to ensure they are available.
I recommend signing up with:
Facebook Page (not a personal profile)
Twitter
Instagram
Pinterest
Google +
Youtube
Tumblr
Snapchat
When you start out, it will be essential to only focus on one or two social media channels. If you try to succeed in too many, you may spread yourself to thin and succeed at none. Regardless, you will want to at least set up all your accounts and leave them sitting there for when you do decide to focus on them.
For more information on how to set up your social media accounts, click here.
Step 8: Set up an email list
One of my biggest regrets is not setting up an email list from the start. Your email list will become your greatest asset over time. Conversions via emails are much higher than via social media, and your email list is the one thing you own. It’s yours, unlike social media sites.
Some email services include Mail Chimp and Convert Kit.
You will need to create an account with an email service provider and then create pop-ups and forms to encourage people to sign up for your email list. The best way to do this is by offering incentives for your readers to sign up. For example a free checklist, worksheet, ebook, online course or webinar. These are just a few ideas.
This is an example of the opt-in I use on A Travellers Footsteps.
For a video tutorial on creating an account and building an opt-in, click here.
Step 9: Start writing
The first place to start is with a solid about me page. Don’t overthink it. Grab yourself a coffee (or a glass of wine) and write. Don’t worry about mistakes, just write and edit it later! Once you have nailed your about me page, it is time to start on the content.
You should already have a predefined niche, which you decided on when choosing your blog name. Write about topics in your niche. It can take some time to find your voice and unique style. Don’t be afraid, just keep writing and it will come.
Step 10: Publish and start sharing your content with the world
FINALLY, I hear! You can hit the publish button! YAY!
After publishing, it’s time to share your work with the world. You can do this through your social media networks and email list.
I use Hootsuite to schedule my social media posts in advance, which helps me to stay consistent.
If you want more information about what to do after you hit publish, join my free e-course on How to start a successful blog.
Yay, you made it!
By this point, you must be feeling just about every emotion under the sun. You really do deserve some congratulations because the hardest part is over. And by the hardest part, I mean starting. Starting is the biggest challenge, and now you have overcome that, you are well on your way to success.
Make sure you pin this article for later!
How to start a professional blog Have you always wanted to start a blog but don’t know where to begin? I get it.
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My dearest, lovely reader. Are you excited? Because I am. Here’s my review of the last book in the Agents Irish and Whiskey series by Leyla Reyne, Barrel Proof.
Read a few excerpts & opinions about the book. See my review and don’t miss the huge giveaway at the end of the post. 🙂
Two detailed reviews of the first and second book, Single Malt and Cask Strengh will follow the next days. 🙂 Stay tuned for this.
Happy reading. 🙂
Barrel Proof by Layla Reyne My rating: 5 of 5 stars
*~~*ARC kindly provided by the author to me in exchange for an honest review *~~*
Warning: the blurb contain spoiler and reveal former events from the story, and even the review, as vague as it tries to be can contain a few. The book is not to be read as a stand-alone.
You say a good whiskey is getting better with the age, same goes for guys and it seems also for a good story, one which is getting riper and riper. Barrel Proof is the third book in the series of the two hot FBI agents who are partner, not only in business.
The relationship is growing – from partner in business to friendship to a relationship – and you can’t read this book as a stand-alone. With every book you want more, you get more and this book – the last in the series – ends with a blow. Events which are unexpected are happening, revealings, saddening and exciting alltogether.
You really feel with Agent Irish and Whiskey. :3
But not only those are tempting and charming, it’s the cast of the other character, the balance. Sometimes you feel so hard with them, you have to take a break. The grief in the first book, all over the second book until the third.
When you think, Aidan and Jamie get’s their happy end they’ve to overcome another obstacle – and this time it means a lot.
What I really loved about the series is the constant grow. Not only the background plot from the first book is continued, no, it’s the character depth, the way how we get to know them. More and more things are shown, identities are built up, the characters feel real.
The fact that the author keeps the reader’s attention by including crime cases the two agents solve in a fast and pleasurable manner makes the books sheer brilliant. You really see the author did a great research, something which pleases me extraordenary.
Banter and witt, humorous scenes and sexy encounter are also the other parts of the book. Makes it full-bodied and smooth, gives it its spark and basis.
This series really should be in every selection of M/M romance lovers who adore FBI agents, opposite character, a solid story, from the first to the last novel in the series and with twist of turns, unexected and thrilling until the end.
View all my reviews
BLOG TOUR / RELEASE DAY SPOTLIGHT Title: Barrel Proof Series: Agents Irish and Whiskey # 3 Author: Layla Reyne Genre: M/M Romance, Contemporary, Romantic Suspense Release Date: August 7, 2017 (audiobook as well) Publisher: Carina Press (HQN) Lenght: 189 Pages (Ebook); 6hr, 30mins (Audio) Note: Audiobooks of Single Malt (AIW1) & Cask Strength (AIW2) also releasing August 7, 2017 Book 3 / Trilogy Conclusion
Add to you bookshelf: (click on this button or this link)
PURCHASE LINKS
Website Carina Press Amazon US | Audiobooks (Audible) Nook/ B&N | ibooks Kobo | Google Play
Blurb
FBI agents Aidan “Irish” Talley and Jameson “Whiskey” Walker can’t get a moment’s peace. Their hunt for the terrorist Renaud seems to be nearing an end, until a fire allows him to slip through their fingers—and puts Jamie’s life in danger. When Jamie is nearly killed, Aidan learns how many forms loss can take.
Aidan says I love you just moments before learning that Jamie’s been keeping a devastating secret about Aidan’s late husband. How quickly trust and love can go up in flames. When Aidan requests a solo undercover assignment, Jamie hopes Aidan will find a way to forgive him.
But the explosions are far from over. Aidan’s cover lands him in the heart of the terrorist’s conspiracy, and Jamie will have to put his life, his career and his freedom on the line to save the man who has become his entire world. Partners, always is a promise he intends to keep.
“A heart-pounding, romantic conclusion to the Agents Irish and Whiskey series.”
Excerpt & opinions from others about the book and the series
From Single Malt:
“Sexy, smart and suspenseful – this book has it all.” –HelenKay Dimon, author of Mr. & Mr. Smith
“With sharp writing, compelling characters, and an engaging plot, Single Malt is the M/M romantic suspense series I’ve been waiting for.” – Santino Hassell, award-winning author of the FIVE BOROUGHS series
“Single Malt is full of explosive chemistry, captivating characters, and edge-of-your-seat suspense. A must read for any romantic suspense fan!” — Megan Erickson, USA Today Bestselling author
Early reviews (a few selected):
RT Magazine – 4.5 Stars, Top Pick:
Barrel Proof is the third and final book in the Agents Irish and Whiskey series. After two books that follow the formation of a heated M/M romantic relationship, Barrel Proof starts off with a climax as secrets are revealed and the romance is tested. … Fans of the series will be equally challenged and delighted by the twists and turns Reyne takes. The book flows into a more action-oriented focus as the plot progresses, but Reyne ends the romance with just the right amount of heft to keep any reader of romantic suspense and M/M romance delighted.
Night Owl Reviews – 4.5 Stars, Top Pick:
Layla Reyne finishes her trilogy with an absolute bang! As sorry as I am to say goodbye to this fabulous pair I couldn’t have enjoyed their ending more.
Ready for a sweet but hot excerpt? Here you go:
Aidan ran a hand through his hair and tilted his face up for another slow, haunting kiss. “I love you, Whiskey,” he whispered against his lips.
“I love you too, Irish.”
Aidan turned to leave, was halfway across the room when something on the dresser caught Jamie’s eye. “Aidan, wait!”
Jamie limped over to the dresser, and Aidan rushed back to his side, helping to balance him. He snatched up the Chevelle keys and pressed them into Aidan’s hand, their fingers entwining around them.
“Jamie, what—”
“She doesn’t belong in my garage, if you’re not here too. I can’t bear to look at her there, until you’re back in my bed.”
“I can’t.”
Those words had haunted Jamie for days. With a renewed spark of hope, he could do something about them now. “Yes, you can,” he said, and leaned in for another kiss. This one was quick, firm, and with a dash of promise and hope infusing the goodbye. “When you’re ready, the both of you come home to me.”
Author bio – Leyla Reyne
Author Layla Reyne was raised in North Carolina and now calls San Francisco home. She enjoys weaving her bi-coastal experiences into her stories, along with adrenaline-fueled suspense and heart pounding romance. When she’s not writing stories to excite her readers, she downloads too many books, watches too much television, and cooks too much food with her scientist husband, much to the delight of their smushed-face, leftover-loving dogs.
Author Tagline: Adrenaline-Fueled Romance
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Giveaway
There is a giveaway to win a awesome swag pack:
The HUGE Agents Irish & Whiskey Gift Packs including: 1 Kindle Fire Tablet, 1 Agents Irish & Whiskey mug, and surprise swag! (Ships to US/Canada only; international winners will receive Amazon Gift Card: $35)
Your chance to win *click*
Please note: the giveaway is not sponsored, administered or endorsed by Mikku-chan / A World full of Words.
Blogtour and release blitz hosted by/through A Novel Take PR.
Blog Tour + Review: Barrell Proof (w/ huge giveaway) My dearest, lovely reader. Are you excited? Because I am. Here's my review of the last book in the…
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