#I miss posting about my oc’s and just keeping them locked in my brain they need exercise!

[absurdly-overpowered-astronaut]

The first of (hopefully) many OC ramblings

part two

Oc posting? On this blog? More likely than you think! >:)

These guys are Kat (the one on the left) and Tory (one on the right) I made them for my writing class last week and to boil the story down to an elevator pitch ‘one day Kat discovers that not only are ghosts real but there is a secret organisation (well calling them an organisation is abit generous theres like 20 people with no funding) hunting them and on top of that that his best friend is now a ghost and hence dead! So to stop his friend’s ghost from getting hunted and to combat his inferiority complex he and Tory decide to join this organisation and now have to juggle life , death , ghosts hunting and stopping said ghost hunters from working out one of them is secretly a ghost oh and on top of that Kat‘s best friend is still somehow still alive?! Now there are two of them. One who is alive and one who is dead.’ this ended up longer than I thought it would…oh well I guess it’s just a really long elevator ride.

Talking about them more as characters

Kat struggles alot with as aforementioned inferiority. He’s never really been able to understand socialising so as a result to participate in conversations he learned to put himself down / put himself in uncomfortable situations and that self depreciating humour was the only way he could socialise consistently. It was easier to just assume he was always wrong then it was to try and understand the complexity’s of the social dynamics at play or to stand up for himself , It was easier to not try at any then to try really hard and get picked apart by his family for not being the best at said thing , it was easier to take the blame for things he didn’t do because no one would believe him anyway.

This is where Cory comes in (Cory is alive version of the character and Tory is dead version of the character I don’t want to get to much into Cory because I’m writing this as a way to recover from exam week stress and I’ve worked out that if I ration out oc lore posting then I can cover all the exam days but anyway I’m getting off track) Cory is someone Kat has very complicated VERY gay feelings over. On the one hand Cory is like a life raft to Kat he’s his only friend , he stands up for him , he acts as almost a social translator of sorts , he gives Kat a space to be start to unlearn bad coping mechanisms.

But Kat also feels a tangled mess of guilt and jealousy. Cory is smart , he doesn’t struggle with understanding things and seemingly has a good home life (all of which are some what untrue but once again I’ll hold off on the Cory info dumping) he feels like Cory is just wasting his time on him like he should and will be abandoned by Cory and its just a matter of time but also that he wants to be like Cory. Less in a apparitional way but more in a “the oracle told me to beware the ides and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t wished for an untimely death or demise what motivates me is it hatred is it love? Whats wrong that I too wish to be great and my mother wished she’d had a son” way , he doesn’t want to be like Cory so much as he wants to be the idealised version of Cory in his head. By demonising himself and idolising Cory he ends up in a cycle of hurting both himself and his best friend and Cory accidentally feeds into this also with his own toxic mentality “if I show him any part of myself thats not presentable he’ll leave me” and the boys are so wrapped up in their own perceptions of eachother they can’t recognise how the other person is hurt and how they are hurting themselves and its a whole thing or in other words.

Conversely Tory is a seemingly very different person to Cory despite being the same person. Cory is very charismatic and presents outwardly as self sufficient but Tory for lack of a more fitting descriptor is a sad wet cat in human form. A pathetic little mew mew if you will. (Also the reason he is call Tory is because its short for Cory two and sounds like とり)

Tory and Kat have a very different dynamic than Cory and Kat having pretty much flipped dynamics. Where as in Cory and Kat’s relationship Cory had the power now Kat has the power. He gets to be the one who knows things , he gets to be the protector , he gets to keep secrets for the greater good and he gets the social power. He enjoys getting to have power and agency.

I’m struggling to be coherent so I’m going to put this in terms of Krapman’s triangle.

Kat and Cory is victim saviour Kat sees Cory as his saviour Cory see’s himself as Kats saviour and Kat see’s himself as a victim with no agency and Cory see’s Kat as a victim with no agency that needs protection.

Kat and Tory is saviour victim Tory sees Kat as his saviour Kat see’s himself as Tory’s saviour and Tory see’s himself as a victim with no agency and Kat sees Tory as a victim with no agency that needs protection.

(I’ve been listening to alot of Crane Wives recently and they are very inspired by many a Crane Wives song)

Now I should probably explain the goose in the room. That is Goose! She is part of the ghost hunting agency and is able to sense supernatural forces. Tory because of his ghost powers he and by extension his team become high ranking members of the organisation and Goose is assigned to the team under the guise of being part of the promotion but is actually there to prove the leader’s suspicions of Tory actually being a ghost.

I like to imagine if this become anything it would be a really cool set up and pay off of having Goose the join the party really early on and the audience is all like “okay cool animal companion” but then during the BIG REVEAL that the ghost hunters knew the whole time that Tory was a ghost because of Goose and was just waiting to act on this information and just having Kat be absolutely crushed that he tryed so hard to protect Tory and he felt useful and like a smart boy and it turns out that it didn’t even matter and all because of a singular silly goose.

Goose being a goose was inspired by a video I saw the other day taking about how geese were becoming used as guard animals in prisons instead of dog because geese can not be bribed and thought it was fitting. I also just like geese.

This is the concept art I drew of the boys! They didn’t change to much from their initial concept designs surprisingly.

Now I get to talk about the magic system of the world! I’m unreasonably proud of it :) Okay so I really like the prison uniform designs in milgram and I kept seeing pictures of these cool beats and such which made me want to craft a world where the characters wore this kind of belt/cottage core stuff and so I came up with the idea of ghosts being repelled by natural materials!

Leather , whool , chawk , lead , sticks ect ect and it just opened up so many fun possibilities. I haven’t fully worked out how ghost would react to the materials I know touching them to ghosts feels like burning and they are repelled/negatively effected by them I just haven’t figured out to what extent. Here some visuals concepts I drew of possibilities. It was actually really fun to make the smoke effect it was just a scribble that I erased holes into and then blended.

I don’t want to say to much because this once again ties into Cory stuff so I’ll go more in more depth in the future but essentially ghosts attacking people used to be a really big problem in the past so clothes where designed with this in mind but after ghost all mysteriously vanished clothes started to be made of non-natural materials and no longer had ghost protection in mind so the ghost hunters wear older clothing styles because those provide the most protection (and makes them visually distinct from other characters :) IT IS SO FUN TO THINK OF DIFFERENT OUTFIT COMBINATIONS FOR CHARACTERS!

There are a couple different things ghosts can do personal to the ghost but the most can do possession , levitate objects/people and switch things.

Kat uses knifes and fights in close range so the ghost could easily make contact with him and possess him so he wears a wool sweater , gold necklace and leather bag all these are around the area that gets touched to get possessed to avoid this but getting levitated isn’t really issue like it would be for other characters because he can just throw his knifes so he doesn’t have any ghost protection on his shoes/legs.

Even though the bag provides a perch for Goose and is good protection it could get trouble some in close combat so it has clips so that it can be dropped easily.

All the characters have atleast two outfits. One is for when they are ghost fighting in public and don’t want to look suspicious and other is for when they are alone and can afford to be as protected as possible.

The buttons are made of ghost resistant materials and are to prevent ghosts from attempting suffocation. Kat can’t actually uses his knives when undercover so he uses his bag as a weapon but when its just the ghost hunters he’s allowed to go stabbing (only ghosts ofc)

And then Tory doesn’t have anything because he is a ghost and it would hurt him :( (this is actually the reason why Cory has little wooden do ups on his jacket and Tory doesn’t. Its because the wood as a natural material would hurt Tory so he has to get them changed)

it was/is so fun to think of different ways of using the ghost weakness for character design purposes and fight scenes where cards are effect by different techniques to different degrees and ahh so fun! I never thought I’d love thinking about this kind of stuff so much.

Here is some art of them from when I actually started to finalise their designs.

I had alot of fun designing hair for these two especially. It was an interesting challenge in stylisation. I tried to give them similar but different shapes.

Thank you so much for reading about my sillys!!!! In honestly it means the absolute world to me that you read the whole thing :)

[bg3sinbin]

Alright so I told myself I wouldn't post anything about it... but I still can't stop thinking about the A!Astarion kisses, Tav/Durge's face during it, and the stupid blow up around it. So here we go

Warnings: This is long and rambly and contains all kinds of spoilers. I am an A!Astarion lover. I will not be responding to discourse on this post. I do not care if you disagree. Make your own vent post.

OKAY so the brunt of the arguments I keep trying to ignore seeing surrounding this are how the expressions are "immersion breaking" for A!A fans, and everyone else clowning on them (sometimes rightfully so tho, ngl) because "the game gives the player expressions all the time! why are u mad now? do u just want ur Tav/Durge to be a blank slate?? lmao idiot" which ??? okay it feels like ur purposefully missing the point.

Yeah, actually sometimes this game gives my Durge some really ooc reactions. And it does, in fact, bother me. That being said, that is to be expected when u take an oc u had for like ten years and try to stick them in a pre-programmed video game. Things are gonna get ooc sometimes.

It also though, is usually smaller moments. Or things that happen Once and then u move on. Conversations where I go "hmmm. he wouldn't say any of these. oh well." or moments where he reacts negatively to terrible things that this evil bastard would normally laugh at. OH. WELL.

Now here's where my frustration actually come in. This game does a really good job, probably a better job than anything else I've played, at letting u play an interesting evil char. Something more than just "I am Rude, Aggressive, and A Dick To Everyone" and thus being punished for it gameplay wise.

I can play The Dark Urge, literal child of the god of murder, a canon necrophiliac, cannibalistic, gore freak that was going to flatten the entire world. There is a whole ass plot line and ending (multiple achievements included!) surrounding doing just that. There's all kinds of nasty interactions/plot options programmed in.

Yet, to the best of my memory, my Durge doesn't look horrified when we choose to slaughter the grove. He doesn't look horrified when we choose to kill the Dame Aylin, or Isobel. He isn't Obviously Distraught when we choose to help Astarion complete the ritual, or when we kill Shadowheart's parents, or become an Unholy Assassin of Bhaal.

To my knowledge, the player character isn't made to look afraid when kissing Dark Justiciar!Shadowheart, nor when they are literally poisoned by kissing Minthara. Sure, u CAN be offended about it in the convo with her after, but its still ur choice as the player.

I mean shit, they even patched in (in that very same patch) a positive, supportive reaction from ur evil partners at the end when u take over the nether brain! (at least for A!Astarion, and Minthara) so now when u do the evil thing that u and ur evil partner have been talking about all game, they don't suddenly change their opinion the second u actually do it.

And I really appreciate that about bg3. I can make evil choices and get interesting outcomes rather than the game just locking me out of all content actually made for that quest. Like ffs u can only get Minthara's romance scene if u slaughter dozens of innocents.

THIS GAME REWARDS U FOR DOING THE BAD THING. And like the evil options do usually have drawbacks and/or are less fleshed out than the good ones, but there are whole ass plots arcs u will never see if u only play good chars. This game makes playing an evil character interesting.

So why is it that I can do all that, and make/have my Durge react (mostly) accordingly, yet the moment the partner I chose acts controlling, now is when my characters feelings are being decided for me?

I can spend the whole game hearing Astarion talk about how spawn are controlled, how all vampires want is power, and I can say to his face "yes! this character wants that! turn me!" and yet somehow... what? the creators think I didn't know?

It just genuinely doesn't make sense to me. Like I can choose, through dialogue, that my Durge is power hungry, and very into the idea of being Astarion's pretty little lap dog. He knew what he was signing up for! And yet he looks terrified when his vampire bf (who has been feeding on him all game) bites his lip?? really?

Idk I just have some really weird feelings on some of the ways they try to Really Emphasize that u made the wrong choice for Astarion specifically, and this just exemplifies that.

Either do the rest of ur characters this service, make all of them (make every choice in the game) a moral lesson for the player to learn, where u hold their hand and say "u didn't listen to what they actually needed :c u could have done the good thing but u didn't :c"

Or let me play my evil bastard. And let me revel in it.

[kismetmoon]

HI BRAIN NEURONS ARE ACTIVATING AND i’ve never really talked about my oc lore™️ in proper detail before, so i’ve just been babbling almost completely incoherently about them all. consider this a sort of masterpost where i’ll store and update their summarised story thus far, for context on them all.

also here’s some links to posts with extra important info (for my sake and yours, but mostly mine) - some of which are only briefly mentioned here :

01 Isosceles attack : https://www.tumblr.com/kismetmoon/725482560116899840/im-atlas-and-i-aim-to-keep-you-alive-id-a

Ruth’s irregularity : https://www.tumblr.com/kismetmoon/724857688569397248/i-just-realised-i-never-talked-about-it-before

Liz’s goal : https://www.tumblr.com/kismetmoon/732625660962652160/the-false-shepard-here-to-lead-our-lambs

Chief Sr assassination attempt (visual) : https://www.tumblr.com/kismetmoon/724375857742970880/what-was-the-first-colour-you-ever

essentially everything starts when Atlas takes part in trials to become a personal guard. he gets through and has to leave his family to go and live with the family he’s been chosen for (which is Chief’s family). Liz and Atlas were both very close to one another as kids, but now that Atlas is leaving Liz is left with just her parents. Atlas leaves the day after his 13th birthday, and Liz is 15 (there’s a 2.5 year gap between them).

after Atlas has left, Liz looks for odd jobs to busy herself with and to earn a bit of money. she does simple jobs for those willing to hire her, before she’s fired from every local job due to scrutiny. she ends up working in her da’s underground bar as a bartender to help out. she gets a tip from a patron about “a posh geezer’s house that has a broken window lock”. she sees this as an easy gain, and so heads to the address to intrude. Liz is 17 at this stage.

the address, low and behold, is Chief’s house and Liz is quickly caught by Atlas. cue soppy sibling reunion and a little angry Chief looking at his messed up bedroom that Liz has just tried to ransack. Chief doesn’t report Liz and she continues to visit, begrudgingly becoming Chief’s only friend (other than Atlas). she comes and goes from the Manor as much as she pleases and overhears many conversations between Chief and his Father - none of which she likes as they always manage to leave Chief in tears.

Liz also hears stories about Chief Sr from her da (who used to be in a small revolutionary army). these stories and the conversations she’s eavesdropped on anger her immensely, to the point that she acts out her assassination attempt on Chief Sr, but it’s clumsy and under-calculated; she walked up to him through a crowd while he was giving a speech and hoisted her top, sharp point up at his eye. she wasn’t nearly close enough and only managed to leave a deep gnash under his brow, before fleeing back into the crowd unidentified.

a month after this was the 01 Isosceles attack. Liz loses her arm here and Atlas gets his scars, chipped corners and star cataract. Liz runs again and patches herself up, while Atlas is taken to an actual hospital. Chief is given a substitute guard while Atlas heals, as well as time to think about his position in their world and his relationship with Atlas - realising how much he misses and worries about him. Liz is 19, Atlas and Chief are both 17 here.

Liz flees her family home, not knowing if she’s been identified for either of her big crimes. she travels to a remote village on the edge of nowhere, gets a job with a desperate equilateral in his clothing store, but needs a place to stay. she finds a vacancy advert hidden at the back of the community bulletin board - it’s for Ruth’s cottage. Ruth isn’t overly happy with her new roommate, but desperately needs Liz’s rent money to keep her cottage (which actually belongs to her father). Ruth is 18 and Liz is 19 at this point.

Ruth and Liz live together for the next 7 years and Ruth is quick to warm up to Liz’s company. Liz eventually loses her job after about two years, but chooses to stay with Ruth regardless as they’re dating at that point (Ruth asks Liz out about 1.5 years after living together).

as for Atlas and Chief, Atlas starts dating a line after he heals up who was ‘swooned’ by his ‘heroic actions’ against 01. and Chief gets jealous because of course he does. but Atlas and his girlfriend soon break up bc they can’t see each other enough due to Atlas’s job, so Chief immediately and horribly starts flirting with Atlas just 2 weeks afterwards. Atlas eventually realises what’s happening and they start their little awkward, secretive relationship.

they start dating when they’re 17, and Stella is born as a surprise when they’re only about 21. she’s kept in Chief’s mother’s (who’s deceased) abandoned room, which is next to Chief’s room. Atlas makes a crawl space under Chief’s desk to this room, seals the door shut and diy soundproofs it, so if she starts making loud noises no one will find her and take her away. Atlas dotes over her constantly, but Chief has mixed feelings about her, becoming aloof during her first few months of life but eventually comes around. slowly.

Stella gets harder and harder to contain as she grows because she gets bored in her room and, as a mostly unsupervised toddler, wants to explore. so that’s where the ‘child ghost in Circle Manor’ rumour start to pop up. Atlas eventually gives her over to his parents for safe keeping when she’s about 2, and his parents are elated to be grandparents. Atlas brings Chief to see her on the occasion. Irene and Elijah like Chief, Jasper is neutral on him, but Vance does not like him at all. Chief meets Ruth too somewhere along the line and she just fucking despises him more than Vance does so that’s funny.

and that’s about it up until ‘present day’ with them, where Liz is 26, Ruth is 25, Atlas and Chief are 24 and Stella is 3. there’s obviously more to their story but that’s what i have for them that’s pretty concrete so far.

[pangolin-404]

HRGNRNHGGHHGGR I LOVE HAVING EXCUSES TO RANT ABOUT BUDDY FOR AN HOUR

I'm so scared of elaborating on a post-company crew because at that point that's like 4 layers of canon divergence "They Are Not Even Collecting Scrap Anymore" but it is something I've thought lots about. someday I will make a proper post that's cool and suave and has art to go with the descriptions but. in a happier world they survive their contracts and retire to a colony on a moon called Marathon. they smuggle buddy in. it's a cold moon and very quiet and out of the way. they live near a large body of water and buddy gets into fishing. it gets a cat named apparatus. they all have crazy codependency issues

that's all I'm letting myself elaborate on for that or else I'll further lose my mind so. anyways

being around its crew, humans, instead of other masked as definitely altered how buddy behaves and thinks. it's still a mask and so still on some level very alien to its crew.

it feels Really Weird about collecting masks as scrap. if it can it'll just. bypass masks it finds. (most masked don't really take note of dormant masks they stumble across, anyways) its crew also feel Really Weird about it. they'll pick it up because it's scrap and they can be worth a good amount. but it's very awkward. buddy doesn't like it when the crew holds the masks themselves and will insist on holding the masks. this does not make it less awkward

in the ship itself buddy intentionally keeps all the masks locked in one of the cabinets. the crew assumes it's for its comfort and honestly it makes them feel better too, out of sight out of mind, so they don't mind. but really it's because buddy feels like the masks stare at it, judging almost, silently asking, what are you doing? we're right here, friend, and the bodies are right there. put us on. what are you doing? and the masks will laugh/cry at night and make it uneasy

because buddy won't let its crew hold the masks this also means it is the one to set them down to be sold on Gordion. it gets used to this and tries not to think about it

(related Semi-Canon Fact: honorary mention of a friend's oc Mat, an appraiser, who gets over the fact this one crew has a masked with them and appraises buddy as being a basically worthless mask because it's gotten some scuffs from life. its crew are very upset by this. I think this is really funny)

whjere was i. yes writing an essay for each tag. I do think I accidentally paint some sort of dynamic by maybe painting too-strict a line between buddy and its crew . it is still very much part of the crew! it's their equal in every way! it is not a subordinate or considered lesser than them . it is just not human and so has A Different Mind and behavior than a human.

they all behave like guard dogs about each other though. they all get dog analogies in my brain

it adopts more human behavior but its crew also get way more touchy-feely than the average crew. they get used to wordless physical acts like taking someone by the arm or putting a hand on their shoulder or just leaning on them. stronger positive association with such things because of buddy

buddy would do so bad if it stayed overnight. logically it would be fine and at first glance it could enjoy lots of time with a masquerade and unwind

realistically someone brings it up as a possibility and goes "--and we'll come back and pick you up in the morning" and then it registers it would be Without Its Crew:tm: for 8+ hours and gets so distressed it almost throws up . it cannot handle being away from its crew for that long. even whoever is at terminal, usually fifteen, is missed . these are people who are used to being around each other very often, especially late in the day/during the night, when things are meant to be safe and peaceful . used to a strict routine, always knowing where everyone is. they're clingy with each other (<- understatement)

auuauauuuaaaaaaaaaaaaa I'm ill

buddy loves its crew dearly but something about the average masked lifestyle remains very intoxicating to it. especially after some months living the company life and coming face to face with its own mortality and getting so stressed it forgets how to function. sometimes when a masked is spotted on the terminal it wanders first to meet it. usually to distract it, or get it to stay in one spot in a room, but . sometimes it slips to that temptation, oh the life seems so much softer. simpler. arms will always welcome it with just as much animal desperation as it itself craves contact. there is (mostly) no danger beyond natural decay there. to any masked that stumbles across another, there is nothing to worry about, buddy is instantly welcomed like an old friend, and it is pulled into that dionysian song and dance part of its core as an individual (/as a masked). oh can't it stay for just a while, can't it linger, where time stands still and it can rest and feel safe and have every ounce of its heart reciprocated. but it can never stay long and the peace never lasts.

[jincherie]

say so | knj & ksj [m]

! —  COMMISSION  — !

❥ — pairing: namjoon x reader x seokjin ❥ — genre: poly, 1950s au/rockabilly au, smut, childhood f2l, angst, fluff, musician!namjin, burlesque!mc ❥ — words: 24.5k+ ❥ — rating: 18+ ❥ — warnings: light angst, pining, smut !!!; oral (all kinds), anal, fingering, squirting, multiple orgasms, edging, light switch!joon, light switch!oc, harder dom!jin, double pentration, cockwarming, reverse cowgirl etc.... if I forgot sometihng I will add it later but for now this is it fellas. ❥ — notes: oh my god I am FINALLY ejecting this fic from my brain !!! part of the reason this took so long was, of course, the current circamstances across the world mixed in with a few personal factors, but also because I haven’t written a ‘historical’ fic before and I wanted to make sure I got it right ! of course, that somehow ended with me going way over word count so i am so sorry for that, but i truly hope you like it! I haven’t gone over it yet but i will do that later, i just wanted to post and get this fic out of my asshole

Returning to your hometown for a week is something you’ve managed to avoid for three years, but when you can finally put it off no longer you find upon arrival the very thing you were scared of encountering. When the two famous childhood friends you haven’t spoken to in years have returned at the same time as you, you can’t quite tell whether you’re going to be able to make it out in one piece or emerge with a heart more wounded than before.

Especially since it turns out the feelings you thought you were over never quite went away.

— masterlist |  posted; 17.08.2020

You didn’t really expect to find yourself back here so soon, but here you are— everything in your room is in exactly the same state as it was three years ago.

The covers on your bed, the magazine cuttings, faded posters and hand-painted canvases that mark the phases of your youth hung on your wall—even the light-toned floral wallpaper and the little knickknacks atop your dresser are the same. It makes something like nostalgia rise within you, a reminiscent haze filtering through your thoughts. It has been too long since you’ve been back here, and the guilt that always lingers in the back of your mind now pushes its way to the forefront. You feel bad, not having been back to your childhood home in so long, despite the reasons you had for moving away.

You haven’t been here all that long, but as soon as you finished talking with your parents downstairs your feet had carried you here, more out of habit that anything. Absentmindedly, you brush your hand over the oak of your dresser, curious when your fingertip comes back without a single speck of dust. Your mother must have come through often to clean. The realisation both warms your heart and compounds the guilt you feel, making you frown.  In an effort to distract yourself, you turn your gaze back to the rest of your old room, catching sight of a few photographs plastered above your study desk. You know what they contain, and still you can’t seem to help yourself as you draw closer and peer at them anew. They’re just as familiar to your eyes as you expected.

Of course, in this house you’d be lucky to find a photograph of you that didn’t also have these two in it. 

Your eyes skip over the older ones with yellowing glaze and curled corners to focus on the most recent-looking image, drinking in the two boys you’d spent the entirety of your childhood and teen years with. Easily your best friends, until… well, until three  years ago. A fond smile fights its way to your lips; you remember when this was taken. Your mother had lined the three of you up for a photo in the yard but at the very last second they’d pushed you into the pool. Both boys stand tall in the image, but you’d recognise the taller one with the goofy grin anywhere, even if his face wasn’t already plastered across newspapers and featuring on the television every other evening. Namjoon is just as boyish in the image as you recall, and next to him where they stand laughing over the pool is Seokjin, appearance every bit as neat and clean as you’ve glimpsed in recent years when he has featured in a magazine or program that is particularly popular with the youth. It was always a bit weird to you, a little hard to process, that the two boys you’ve known since the three of you were in diapers are now pretty much, well… celebrities. Something bubbles in your chest, the pressure of a sigh but the weight of something you’re not quite ready to name yet. Distantly, in the back of your mind, a tiny part of you whispers that it tastes a little like regret, and sounds a little like yearning.

Growing up, the two of them had discovered an affinity for music, and you for the arts. You suppose that small difference is what eventually led to the distance that grew between you, before you left— if not for the fact that they found the limelight so naturally and built popularity quicker than anticipated after their individual musical debuts. It really didn’t take them all that long to begin steadily growing their fanbase within the youth of your town, their songs played more and more often on local stations. Before long people even a few cities over caught wind of them, but you didn’t get to see it. By the point they had spread their wings that far, you were already gone.

You wrinkle your nose, not liking this sudden trip down a particular lane in your memory that you’ve been avidly avoiding the past three years. Taking a step back from the desk that the photographs hang above, you desperately search for something else to capture your attention. Fortunately for you, a voice sounds behind you before you can flounder too long.

“Wow, I can’t believe you actually came. How long has it been, forty years?”

You jump slightly, the familiarity of the voice and sheer amount of attitude in the words allowing you to recognise it instantly. You spin, eyes quickly locking onto the familiar head of straight blonde hair and cherubic features that belong to your sister. You’ve kept in touch with her via letter and the occasional call, but other than that this is the first time you’ve seen her in years. She’s a little bit taller than you remember, and she’s filled out a little more now that she’s no longer a gangly teen. You are surprised though to note the absence of the usual distressed denim that she favoured throughout the years. Instead she’s in a neat pair of capris that rise to the dip of her waist, where she has tucked in a bright red blouse beneath a belt. Out of habit, you look down to her feet and catch a glimpse of red canvas shoes that instantly make you want to laugh; your mother never could get her into a pair of heels, even if she managed to get her out of the dungarees that she used to love so much.  Lisa smiles cheekily beneath your scrutiny, opening her arms wide. With a laugh, you throw your own around her, pulling her into a tight hug. 

“You’re so dramatic,” you retort, rolling your eyes even though she can’t see it. “Of course I would come to celebrate my own sister’s engagement. I had to see it with my own eyes to believe it.”

“Why does everyone say the same thing when I talk about it?” Lisa groans, pulling back with a familiar pout that seems to have survived her transition into young adulthood. She slips her arm through your own,  giving your bicep a smack as she leads you from the room. “It’s not that hard to believe that I’m getting married! Also— what on earth have you been up to all these years? Have you been attending classes? You’re in such good shape, oh my goodness—”

Unwittingly, your cheeks flush; you probably shouldn’t tell her the real reason for your current physique lest she blab with champagne-loosened lips about it to the rest of your family at her party. Sober Lisa is the only one that knows how to keep a secret, as you’ve found out through a number of shamefully scrawled confessions in the letters she would send you. A number of things you’d confided in her over the years have since been aired like dirty laundry to some of her friends, much to your mutual regret.

“Uh, yeah. Something like that,” you say dismissively, quickly returning to the previous topic as the two of you descend the stairs. “And it’s probably because of all those things you said when you were younger, like how you’d rather live in a mud hut on a deserted island than ever marry a smelly boy riddled with cooties—”

“Ah, yes,” Lisa sighs, the sound more fond and less ashamed than you were expecting. “Those were the days— I was such a badass little ankle-biter. What has become of me? I must be the one riddled with cooties at this point.”

“Probably,” you muse, catching sight of your mother behind the kitchen counter and shooting her a smile as you move past. Lisa is lucky she hadn’t spoken too loudly or else she’d be getting a light smack for her language. It never seemed to stop her when she was younger though, so you doubt it would have an effect now either.

“A skirt at the knee, y/n?” Your mother lets out a dramatic, scandalous gasp upon seeing you. “I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

“These are the clothes that you greeted me in?” You give her a pained look; apparently you need readjusting to her oddball sense of humour. She’s always been a little out of place in the straight-laced, conservative society that marks this day and age; your father too, except he was just a bit more sneaky about it. Actually, now that you think about it, Namjoon and Seokjin’s parents were always a little more on the liberal side too… What an odd coincidence that the three families ended up in a row at the end of the same cul-de-sac.

You’re not deigned with a response, your mother smacking her hands onto the apron she has tied over her baby blue skirt and turning to the oven. You think you hear her muttering about ‘time’ and ‘darn apple pies always taking too long to cook’ and can’t help the way your mouth waters in response. Gods, is it bad if one of the things you missed the most while away is the apple pies your mother makes?

You turn to Lisa, about to ask her whether the apple pie is something you’re going to be able to steal a piece of, only to find that she’s disappeared into thin air. Fantastic. You’re not staying here while you’re back in town, so you’re unsure whether you’re going to be able to cash in on dinner or whether your mother will hold it over your head a little first. You wander over to the  edge of the kitchen, sticking your head into the living room to peer around; you’re curious as to just how much has changed in the time that you’ve been gone. Not as much as you might have hoped, to your chagrin.

“You still have that ugly old thing,” you observe, unable to help the way that your nose wrinkles in response to the sight of the monstrosity still wearing holes into the carpet of the living room.

“My love,” you mother says, giving you an (affectionate) sharp smack on the shoulder as she slips past you, shooting you a bright grin when the thickness of her skirt knocks you slightly. Apparently she’s finished in the kitchen for now; you glance back to see a bowl of nuts joining the bowl of fruit that had been on the counter earlier. “I’d sooner perish than give up your grandmother’s armchair. Besides…. I do so adore how it never fails to draw your ire.”

“I do hate that thing,” your father utters suddenly from the kitchen behind you, his hand reaching for the bowl of fruit; he has his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, so you figure he must have retired to his study to read after greeting you earlier. He moves just as fast as you remember— your mother didn’t even have a chance to stop him before he was gone as quick as he came, hands full of whatever fruit he couldn’t fit in his mouth. 

“You—!” 

The sound of your father’s laughter tumbles off the walls, and you can’t help the smile that tugs your lips. You did miss this; the liveliness, the feeling of home. 

“y/n, dear, darling, light of my life…”

You turn to your mother, already knowing what is coming next from her tone. One thing you definitely didn’t miss—

“I forgot when I went past earlier, but could you go and fetch some cream from Barb’s? You know, that little store on the corner, down the road from the diner you always used to—”

You’re already turning towards the front of the house, heading for where you’d left your purse with a fond roll of your eyes. “I know where Barb’s is, Ma! I only went away to study, I didn’t lose my memories!”

Your mother’s cheeky laugh is what bids you farewell as you duck out the door and start on your way.

X – x – x

You’d forgotten just how tempting the treats in Barb’s are.

When you exit the small corner store around an hour or so later (it was hardly any distance to walk, but of course Mrs. Park was keen to hold you hostage long enough to squeeze every single detail out of you she could about your time away) it’s with an overflowing paper bag in your arms that holds more than just the cream your mother sent your for. One look at the apple Danish pastries and cinnamon-sprinkled goodies behind the glass of her counter and you’d been unable to help yourself. Your mother did always say that your sweet tooth would be your undoing. 

Walking through the streets that you grew up becoming so familiar with breeds a certain kind of yearning that swells in your chest and borders on painful. This, you suspect, is because most— if not all— of your memories of this place are intrinsically linked with those of the two men who used to take up such a big part of your life; and that therefore then left such a big hole when they were gone. 

It’s hard not to fall into them, the memories. The candy store where the three of you would scrounge up as many coins as you could and pile them all together to get the best sweets on the shelves; the library where you spent as much time goofing off and getting scolded as you did studying in your senior years; even the drive-in cinema, where you used to take your parents cars for the evening and sit on the hood while poking fun at the latest flick to grace the screen. Being back here is making you face something that you have somehow skilfully managed to avoid up until now—

You miss them, Seokjin and Namjoon. You miss your best friends.

This is something that is hammered home further when you reach the point in your journey home where you pass the place featured most in your memories. Dana’s Dinery, probably the only thing more constant in your life than those two boys and your own family. The pink and red hues of its name and the exposed bulbs decorating the signage are something you remember clear as day, and just the sight of it alone has your mouth watering for the burgers and other fried goods they loved to serve there. The kind of food you know is terrible for you, but that you also just can’t get enough of nonetheless. You’ve spent so many nights there that at some point every single member of staff there knew you by name. Of course, since the three of you were barely seen apart at that time, they knew Seokjin and Namjoon, too. 

You’re tempted to duck in and say hello, and before you can even give it much thought your feet are already angling you in that direction, short heels scuffing against the pavement. Through the window you can see the familiar shiny red booth seats and the similarly upholstered stools that line the counter; behind it is a woman with wild, dark curls thrown back in a bun, a pencil behind her ear. Ah, so Mrs. Cara still works there. A petal of affection unfurls in your chest at the sight of her, but drops to the ground in the next second as your gaze slides to the side and halts on two figures currently seated at the counter.

No way. No way.

You freeze, eyes wide as you stand rooted to the spot for just a moment. You know that logically, they can’t be here, but the profiles you can just barely glimpse from this distance are so eerily familiar to that of Namjoon and Seokjin that you think your heart skips perhaps one too many beats. For some reason, your stomach roils with the urge to flee; you just got around to admitting that you miss them, and yet the second you think you might be seeing them, you want to run away? Honestly, it doesn’t make sense—wouldn’t make sense to anyone else privy to the thoughts currently whipping through your mind. 

But you’re a master at stewing in your own thoughts and feelings, familiar with dissecting them until you understand them to the best of your ability at the time. So you know why you promptly turn on your heel and begin hastily back on your way home, abandoning any plans to go inside the diner. You know why, but you’re not quite ready to dwell on it yet, so you push it to the backburner and do your very best not to think about it the whole walk back.

X – x – x

You’re ashamed.

A huff escapes you, your eyes boring into the ceiling, unfocused. After delivering the cream to your mother (and promptly having the extra sweets confiscated until after dinner, lest you snack away your appetite—you guess that answers your question about whether you’re staying for supper) you decided to retire up here for now. You’d thought that your room might feel a little alien to you after all this time away, but when you’d dragged yourself in and shucked your shoes off at the door, it had welcomed you back with an air of nostalgia and open arms. You’re sprawled across your bed now, arms behind your head as you stare at the ceiling. When you were younger, maybe fourteen, you had decorated it with little stars and planets that you’d painted. Well, it wasn’t just you—some of the more crudely decorated renditions towards the wall are courtesy of Seokjin and Namjoon. You wouldn’t say they’re bad at art, just that they have… well, a distinct style that is very them.

Wait, you’re getting distracted—back to the matter at hand: you’re ashamed. 

At this point in your life, if someone had asked you why that particular emotion might be plaguing you right now, then in all honesty you would have a vast array of reasons to give them. But the answer as to why you’re ashamed right now, lies in the two people you could have sworn you glimpsed earlier. 

Now that there is a little temporal distance between you and that particular moment, you can use logic to assure yourself that there’s no way you actually just saw Namjoon and Seokjin at the diner that you all used to haunt in your youth. But in the moment, when you thought you’d seen them, you fell into a bit of a panic. This, you have determined, is because you are ashamed. It’s a little harder to determine why you’re ashamed in relation to them, but what you’ve managed to discern so far is that you feel to blame for the way things went, at least partially. Or, perhaps its that you fear they blame you for the way things went. In reality, from what you remember, they first began to grow apart from each other, and then they began to grow apart from you. That, of course, isn’t something you can blame yourself for. But, what you can blame yourself for – and here is what you think may be the root of your shame – is that you were the one to up and leave suddenly. You were the one to disappear without even a goodbye, almost. You could have kept in touch if you tried, but you’d basically disappeared off the face of the earth.

You wonder if they blame you, or if they might even resent you because of that.

Well, if they even remember you, that is. They’re pretty much in the big leagues now, you remind yourself. They’re making it mainstream and they’re hot on the heels of the most renowned names in the business. 

You’re not very good at comforting yourself. Not that you really attempted it this time, but usually whenever you do you just end up stewing in your thoughts a little. You don’t even realise you’re glaring at the ceiling in the midst of sorting through your mental mess until a knock at the door jerks you out of it. You turn towards it just as it opens and a head pops inside, a gleam you instantly decide you don’t like shining in Lisa’s eyes.

“Come downstairs,” she says cryptically, beginning to ease back out. She only chimes once more when she’s out of view. “If you don’t, I’ll eat all those pastries you brought back! Keep that in mind!”

What on earth… you’re left absolutely confused for a moment, before her last words sink in and you throw yourself from your bed with haste, not even bothering to put your shoes back on before you dart out of the room. The trip downstairs is treacherous in stockings, but you don’t have time to lose. You’re sister isn’t one to bluff, and you don’t want her anywhere near those pastries!

“Don’t you touch those!” you call in warning as you slide across the hardwood floor in the hall and fly down the stairs. “Lisa, I mean it! If you lay a single finger on those pastries you’ll lose it!”

There’s laughter in the direction of the kitchen, and you’re angled to follow the sound when your eyes catch sight of movement to the side and you freeze on the spot. 

“y/n!” your mother cries, clearly ecstatic that you’ve come down to join her. She’s standing in the hall that leads the front door, talking to some people you can’t yet see. “Look who’s here! My, I haven’t seen these two in almost as long as I hadn’t seen you!”

Something like dread, mixed with an odd spike of anticipation, begins to trickle into your abdomen. All too suddenly you remember exactly who you thought you saw earlier, and realise she can only be talking about two people in particular. 

Nervously, you smooth down your skirt and blouse, shooting your mother a look that you hope isn’t too panicked. She is, of course, oblivious, and simply grabs you by the arm to drag you around the corner. 

“I haven’t seen the three of you together in so long! I missed your handsome faces around here, too. Perhaps the height as well— now there’s no one in the house that can reach the top shelf in the pantry.”

Your mother is babbling, but you can’t bring yourself to mind when it saves you from having to speak yourself. As you’d feared, there are two very familiar people standing before you, hovering on your doorstep with almost nervous energy.

“It has been a while,” a soft tone with the luxurious depth of velvet— Seokjin smiles so charmingly at your mother that you think your heart really might have stopped for a second. When his dark eyes turn to you, there is something swirling in their depths that is in such contrast to the winning smile on his lips that you almost feel your knees shake. “y/n, it’s a lovely surprise to catch you here— we didn’t know you were in town as well.”

“Oh, and what brings you two boys back here?” Your mother asks, all too excited to hear exactly what has been going on in their lives since she saw them last. Thankfully, she saves you from having to answer straight away. “Are you back for long?”

“Just a week,” Namjoon answers, bashful smile juxtaposing the beaten leather of the jacket over his shoulders and the low, rough melody of his voice. Oh dear— “We’re actually here celebrating something with a close friend of ours; we were invited to a… party of sorts, you could say.”

You think you might be safe, that he might not say anything to you just yet, when he turns to you and his eyes flick along your form. He smiles again, this time with his dimples making an appearance. 

“It really has been too long, y/n. I’m glad we managed to run into you.”

You know it’s not a dig at you, but you feel your cheeks flush with shame nonetheless.

“Don’t tell me the three of you haven’t seen each other since she left,” your mother gasps, sending you a look that tells you she is going to be wringing information out of you later.

There’s a slight lull in the conversation that tells you it’s your time to chime in. Before you can, though, Seokjin speaks— still with a smile, despite the slight bite of his words. 

“Ah, yeah,” he says, shaking his head. He leans back slightly, switching his weight to the other leg and crossing his arms over his chest— you try not to look at the way it makes his chest and shoulders strain against the material of his button-up. “We wanted to write, or call, but we didn’t know where she was staying to send it. Made it a little hard to keep in touch.”

Your heart squeezes; that was a dig, that was definitely a dig. And you deserved it, but damn you didn’t realise it would hurt that much. And he hadn’t even said anything direct!

“Oh, well this is perfect then!” Your mother smacks you on the back, a little rougher than necessary, making you cough. “y/n is here for the week, why don’t you all catch up? Lisa’s engagement party is on Saturday so any day other than that should be fine— oh, you two should come, by the way! And invite your mothers too; it’s been too long since we’ve all sat down for tea.”

“That would be wonderful,” Namjoon agrees amicably, nodding his head to your mother. “I’m sure they’d love to take you up on that invite— I did get an earful about how lonely she was when I got home earlier.”

You have to fight a smile at that— Namjoon’s mother does have a penchant for the dramatics. You turn your gaze to the side to find Seokjin’s own already boring holes into you— it takes all your willpower not to jump. When he sees he has your attention, he smiles once more.

“We’d love to catch up,” he says, eyes still holding you captive. “How about dinner tomorrow, at Dana’s? I miss the burgers there.”

You catch Namjoon nodding from the corner of your eye, agreeing with the idea, and swallow your nerves down to flash a smile back. “Of course, that sounds fantastic.”

The two men nod, satisfied for now, and Namjoon pipes up once more as they take a step back.

“Well, we should probably get back— if we’re late for supper today we mightn’t be alive for dinner tomorrow,” he jokes, earning a laugh from your mother. His eyes flick to you, unreadable but holding such heat you almost gasp, “We’ll meet you there at seven tomorrow, y/n. I’m lookin’ forward to it.”

“See you, boys!” Your mother waves farewell, jabbing you with her elbow until you join her. “Hurry home!”

They nod with a laugh, and you watch them retreat to their respective homes on either side of yours until your mother closes the door and cuts off your view, turning to you with a look that could mean a number of things. She’s distracted from unleashing a verbal flood on you in the next moment, however, when she catches sight of your feet.

“y/n!” she gasps, tone scolding. “Go put your shoes on! Walking around without them— this isn’t how I raised you, my goodness. You’re going to wear holes in your stockings! Go go go!”

Startled by the way she raises her arm in promise, you yelp and scamper away, back towards the stairs. “Okay, I’m going!”

You’re about halfway up the stairs, petticoat and skirt swishing violently from how fast you scaled them, when she calls after you.

“And don’t think you’re off the hook, missy! You and I are having a long, in-depth chat after dinner!”

You can only resign yourself to your fate.

x - x - x

“I’m in trouble, Mina. Oh, I’m in trouble.”

“It can’t be anything more than the trouble you’re going to be in for wearing holes into the hotel room carpet— stop that! You’re making me anxious!”

You halt mid-pace, sending your friend a pained look. She’s sprawled across the second bed in your hotel room, reading some magazine that touts the latest in makeup and jewellery from some of the more big-name brands.

“Please, just this once, let me be the one having a Diva moment,” you say, almost begging— to your own distaste. You just need someone to vent to, but she’s not exactly being helpful.

“What is this about?” she asks, closing her magazine to pin you with a borderline-grumpy look. “What has your knickers in such a— oh, I love those shorts! Are those new?”

“Uh, yeah. I bought them the other week,” you answer, looking down at the light blue shorts you’d slipped into for comfort’s sake this morning. They’re so comfortable, in fact, that you regret that you’re unable to wear them in public. You quickly shake your head when you realise you’re getting off-topic. “Hey— I told you what this is about! Did you listen to a single thing I said since I got back last night? Do I mean nothing to you?”

“You’re so dramatic,” Mina utters under her breath. “Yes, I was listening! I was just checking we were talking about the same thing!"

The look you give her is dubious at best, "Okay, then what am I talking about?"

"Those two hot cats you grew up with," Mina says, waving her manicured hand dismissively. "What about them is giving you such grief?"

"I ran into them yesterday," you say, eyes unfocused as you fall back into your thoughts once more. "They want to meet for dinner, to catch up."

"Oh, well that's fine," Mina says. "You don't have feelings for them anymore, so it should be alright, yeah?"

You bite your lip, wincing and giving her a look that could only be described as a mixture between sheepish and remorseful.

"Oh, y/n," She sounds a lot like your mother with the tone she's taken now, "Don't tell me..."

"I thought I was over it!" you say, wailing almost, as you throw your arms into the air. "They were already so distant before I left, you know? And it's been so long that I thought the feelings went away."

You huff, one hand on your hip and the other splayed over your face. "But then I saw them yesterday, and I think I nearly had a heart failure. I don't think... that those feelings went away."

When you manage to glimpse her way, Mina is wincing, teeth visible. She reaches up to scratch her hairline, almost dislodging one of the curlers she has wound in her hair. "Well, it's just one dinner... When is it? I'm sure you have plenty of time to get rid of those feelings before you--"

"It's tonight," you say with a certain level of resignation, walking over to your own bed and finally throwing yourself onto it in defeat.

"Tonight?!" Mina positively squawks, scrambling into a sitting position in her disbelief. "Uh, y/n, I do hope you haven't forgotten, but we have a show almost every night Saturday--"

"I know," you bemoan, staring at the ceiling and trying to ignore the odd marks there-- you don't have the brain space to wonder how they even got up there in the first place. "The dinner will be finished in time, I'm not worried about that. I'm just... worried about what will happen during, you know? It's kind of stupid but... what if they hate me now? I didn't even tell them when I left, didn't give them an address to write me or a number to call..."

"Yeah, that was kind of a rude move," Mina says bluntly, "But I don't think they would invite you to dinner to catch up if they hated you, y'know? They were your best friends, they probably missed the hell out of you."

You ponder her words, unable to pick them apart with logic. "Maybe," you mutter, picking at a loose thread on your blouse."... I did miss them."

"See?" Mina says knowingly, giving you a look before falling back on the bed and reaching for the chunky romance novel that she has perched on the headboard above the bed.. "And who knows— you're a hot catch, they might end up returning those feelings and you might come out of this a lucky woman! Well, probably a bit sore in certain places, but lucky nonetheless—”

"MINA!"

The pillow you threw smacks her square in the face, but does nothing to muffle the cackle she lets out after. God, she's not the first choice to come to for advice, but to her credit you do feel a bit better now.

x- x - x

Seven o’clock that evening finds you hovering nervously outside the doors to Dana's Dinery, hand outstretched to take the handle but unable to follow through completely with the movement. For the moment, you're stuck in your thoughts, and your thoughts are stuck on the same thing that had plagued them earlier in the day.

What's going to happen when you walk in there? When you're seated at the table with them and in the process of catching up? You shouldn't be as fearful of it as you are, but you can't help it. The evolution your feelings for them undertook a few years ago aside, they were still very much your best friends. Their opinion of you... well it sucks, but it still matters to you.

Didn’t stop you from doing what you did though, did it?

Huffing and deciding to ignore the nasty little voice that is attempting to make an already stressful night even worse, you force your limbs into action and simply resign to bite the bullet. If they are upset with you, then being late to dinner certainly won’t help things. 

“y/n! Over here!”

With how quickly they spot you, mere seconds after passing through the doorway, a part of you wonders if they saw you hovering outside like a coward. Shame flushes across your neck and ears at the thought, but you do your best to remain at least outwardly unaffected.

Over in the booth at the very end of the diner, nestled against the window and the wall, the two men who have been haunting your thoughts for more than a day sit. You recognise the booth— it’s your Corner, you always sat there with them, to the point where if the staff saw anyone else sit there when they knew you were coming, they’d politely usher them to a new seat. It makes something shift inside you to see them there again. You don’t feel like you’re in school again, but something else feels akin to that time…

It’s probably the butterflies.

Namjoon is grinning at you widely, waving his arm; he’s ditched the leather from yesterday and is now donning a fitted black button-up that brings a nice contrast against the sun-kissed hue of his skin, though his hair is still swept into its style somewhat half-heartedly. Seokjin next to him is in a tan knit turtleneck sweater, glasses perched on his nose and hair attended to much more neatly than the man next to him. Both men are looking at you as you approach, but their stares (especially Seokjin’s) are a little too intense for you to handle, and you end up looking away as you take a seat across from them. 

The booth is less squeaky than you remember, but somehow just as plush. You place your purse and cardigan onto the red leather next to you, clasping your hands together and offering a tentative smile. The soft rock tumbling from speakers around the diner isn’t going to fill the lull in conversation for very long. “Hey, sorry to have kept you waiting…”

Seokjin raises a brow, and you know in that moment that they did indeed see you hovering outside the diner. You don’t have time to process the embarrassment that follows that realisation, though, before Namjoon begins speaking with a warm smile. 

“Don’t worry, you didn’t,” he informs you, eyes glimmering like he’s just happy to have you here. It makes something painful throb in your chest. “And loosen up, would you? You’re sitting like you’re at a job interview.”

To your embarrassment, a brief internal examination of your posture tells you that he is right. Sheepishly, you allow the tension to drain from your body, leaning forward onto the table slightly. “Sorry,” you mumble, offering a smile. “Guess I’m just a bit wound up from being home. I forgot how chaotic it is here…”

To your surprise, Seokijn snorts; your fears that he was truly upset with you are dispelled somewhat as a lopsided grin tugs his plush lips, eyes meeting yours levelly.  “Tell me about it. My mother had my aunt and the cousins over when I got home. I haven’t felt as exhausted as I did after that night in, well, years.”

You don’t notice the smile Namjoon shoots to the man beside him when he first speaks, but you do notice when he lets out a laugh and beams so brightly that his eyes almost close and something you completely forgot about makes an appearance. His dimples have always been a weak spot of yours, and you’re slightly horrified to find that glimpsing them now has led to a skipped beat in your chest and a flutter in your stomach. 

It’s not looking very good for the state of your old feelings right now…

“You never unwind properly,” Namjoon says, somewhat chastising despite his playful tone. He doesn’t pursue it further, though. Instead, he turns to you with a soft smile. “So, y/n, how was college? If you have replaced us as best friends, I will never forgive you.”

You can’t help the laugh that tumbles from your throat at both his words and his face, Seokjin chuckling to himself in the corner. Still smiling, you tell him that no, you haven’t replaced them, and sort through the events of your first year for something they’d like to hear. 

Just like that, and definitely much easier and less stilted than you feared it would be, the three of you seem to sink back into something like the old dynamic you used to share, conversation beginning to flow and laughter beginning to tumble. There are some small differences, of course. Namjoon, who used to be much more clumsy and prone to blushing in his fluster, now seems to have come into his own and his presence commands your attention whenever he speaks or gestures, each movement sure and with confidence. While Seokjin used to be the more blatant joker between the three of you, now he seems to sit back a bit, observing conversation contentedly until he sees the perfect opportunity to chime in and elicit a few laughs. 

And then, there’s you.

Well, you suppose you haven’t changed all that much. When Ms. Cara comes around to take your order (amongst gushing about how grown up and handsome and beautiful the three of you look), you still order the same thing from the menu, go about eating it the same way (fries before burger, being sure to leave some so you can slip them under the bun), and feel the same butterflies running amok in your stomach as you did years ago. You know that you’ve changed a lot, an almost scary amount, but sitting here in this diner with the two men who used to be your best friends, you’re only realising just how much of you is the same.  

“I still don’t know how you can eat that,” Namjoon says, pausing in scarfing his own dessert down to judge you for yours. “You always used to get it— aren’t you sick of it?”

“Hey!” Seokjin intercepts, pointing his spoon at Namjoon. “The Fun Sized Sundae with the Triple Sauce Special is a respectable choice of dessert, and I won’t have you shaming it when you’re just sitting there with pudding and custard!”

You chuckle at Seokjin’s avid defence of your choice— the two of you were the only ones with a big enough sweet tooth to be able to combat the sugary monster that is your choice of dessert. He hadn’t braved it tonight, though, opting instead for apple pie.

“I actually haven’t had it since I was last here,” you say, without even thinking. Another spoonful is already on its way to your mouth as you continue, “It’s one of the things I missed most after I—”

You cut yourself off, realising your blunder too late. The looks in their eyes tell you they know what you were about to say. After I left. Ah, how could you forget? You’ve been here over an hour and this is the first time it’s crossed your mind since you entered. You left— you. Not them, but you.

Your appetite suddenly begins to fade, and you place your spoon down as gently as you can. It still tinks against the bowl, but does little to break the tension beginning to seep into the air.

You clear your throat, growing a little antsy in your seat. Even as you ask, you’re unable to meet their eyes, “Ah, what time is it? We— I got a little carried away…”

The question had mostly been to dispel some of the awkwardness, but Namjoon’s response had you shooting up ramrod straight. “It’s five-to-nine.”

“Oh, shoot,” you don’t even think about the words escaping your mouth, just that way more time had passed than you thought and if you stay any longer then you’re going to be bordering dangerously close on being late for your other very important commitment tonight. “I— I have to go. I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise how late it was.”

You hurry to gather your cardigan and purse, starting to shimmy out of the booth, when Seokjin speaks up, “Is everything alright? Where are you off to in such a rush? If you need, we can walk you—”

“No!” you burst, regret swallowing you moments later when you see how taken aback the two men are at your sudden rise in tone. “No, sorry, it’s okay. I just, um… I just have to pick up something, for Lisa’s party.”

“At nine o’clock at night?” Jin verifies, brows drawing down.

“Uh, yeah,” you say, voice small as you manage to finally get out of the booth and stand somewhat sheepishly at the end. “I’m so sorry, it was so lovely meeting you two again and catching up. I’ll, um… I’ll see you, at Lisa’s party.”

You barely allow them enough time to bid their own farewells before you’re turning on your heel and hightailing it out of there before one of them comes to their senses and offers to walk you again. 

You definitely do not need one of your old best friends walking you to the entrance of a club.

A fifteen minute cab ride is what you choose instead, and it isn’t long before you’re slipping into the building from the back entrance and dashing through the halls.

“FINALLY,” Mina erupts dramatically when she catches sight of you bursting into the dressing room, brows raising so high they almost meet her bangs. “I almost thought you were going to stand us up, Miss Luna.” 

Your eyes sweep over her form, alarm filling you at the fact she’s already mostly dressed, from her netted stockings to the many fluffy and feathery layers that she’ll be discarding on the stage tonight. She’s currently sitting at the dresser, putting the final touches on her makeup with small detail brushes.

“That lip colour is too orange,” you inform her, hastily rushing over to the chest that you know contains your outfit for tonight. Mina halts in her motions, staring at herself in the mirror for a long moment before she tilts her head back and lets out a loud, torturous groan.

“I knew it! Momo, you lied to me! I asked you if this colour was too orange or warm and you said—”

You shake your head, slinging the clothes you retrieved over your arm and making your way over to the screen in the corner to get changed. You feel a little bad for the girl currently on the receiving end of Mina’s whines, but on the other hand you’re now free to rush about and catch up to the rest of your co-performers. 

Within the next ten minutes you’re dressed and ready to go, dropping into a seat next to Mina and reaching to begin powdering your face.

From the tingle of excitement beginning to thrum in the air, you can only assume it won’t be long now before the show begins.

x   x   x   x 

Burlesque. It’s something that you know from experience, something you’d sadly gained before you grew more skilled at hiding your profession from the judging eyes of others, has some quite divided views and opinions. Despite how open-minded and liberal as your parents are, you know even they would struggle to come to terms with the fact that their beloved daughter had moved away for college and somehow come to perform in burlesque theatres on the side. 

You don’t even have a clear explanation as to how or why you’d ended up down this path, just that you had. Contrary to what a majority of the population would likely hope, you aren’t ashamed, and you don’t regret it. This is something you love, and you think part of the reason you had been so drawn to it in the first place was the promise of power nestled within a certain kind of anonymity.

Your act, after all, is a masquerade performed beneath the security of an intricate lace and silk colombina disguise.

When you’d first left, you’d felt… well, there wasn’t any other way to put it but rejected, and abandoned. You might have been the one that left, and it’s something you regret now, but at the time it was Namjoon and Jin who had grown distant from both each other and you. Coupled with their increasing popularity and the way their lives seemed to be picking up speed in the direction they’d always dreamed of, it made you realise that their world was getting a little too big for you, and in the scheme of their lives you no longer held a starring role.

So you’d packed up and moved away, and in the midst of your aimless moping in another city, you’d stumbled upon this… and from the first taste of empowerment it gave you in the wake of all you had been feeling, you quickly decided you weren’t going to be letting it go anytime soon. 

And now here you are; an act with such high regard and admiration that you had been called to perform it in other cities. It was a stroke of fortune that one of the stops was your own hometown, at the same time as your sister’s engagement party no less. You had wondered at the time what the catch had to be, and now, of course, you know.

It’s that in an instance of divinely aligned misfortune, the two people you’d planned to avoid indefinitely happened to be here as well.

It’s been a few days since the night you spent catching up with them, and there is enough distance between then and now for you to have calmed significantly when thinking about it. It had been kind of weird, sneaking away from the diner to come perform that night. Even though years have passed, you’re still so used to telling them everything whenever you see them, that holding something back feels foreign, and oddly enough… you feel a little guilty. The first excuse that comes to your mind in your defence is that  ‘they wouldn’t understand anyway’. You know that is baseless, though. Both of them have become popular and risen to fame not just because of their natural musical talent, but for the topics that their music so brazenly broaches.

The truth is that you know they wouldn’t judge you for anything you do, and you’re not quite sure why you’re so resistant to them knowing. The human mind is a mystery, and yours is no exception.

A slow, smooth saxophone melody brushes your ears, a lower note capturing your attention and bringing you back to the present moment. Amongst the faint tendrils of smoke that reach you from the seating area, an itch rises at your brow and you fight to contain it, not wanting to rub off the thin arch you’d drawn on so carefully earlier. It was always like this; you always got itchy before performing, for reasons unknown to you. One of your friends had theorised that it was due to nerves, or something similar. It drove your manager mad, because you’d ripped your costume pantyhose a few times while scratching your thighs in the past.

Mina’s act precedes yours, usually, and tonight isn’t any different. She’s good, and you can’t help but marvel as you watch her. Her movements are fluid, full of a certain zest and allure that mix into a single heady cocktail that has the crowd enraptured as she allows her skirts to drop ever so slowly with each smooth swing and sashay of her hips. When the ruffled fabric hits the floor there are hoots and whistles from the crowd, and Mina’s beaming face peeks over her shoulder to deliver a wink. The room eats it up.

It’s a special performance, tonight.

Due to confidentiality, none of the performers had been told exactly who was attending tonight, just that they were Very Important People, and they were to be shown the best performance they would ever see in their lives. It was an ambitious set of instructions, but you know that both yourself and the other girls in the show are some of the best in the business, so you aren’t too worried about meeting expectations. You plan to exceed them. 

You always put effort into your appearance, but tonight you admit that you did try the tiniest bit harder than usual. Your hair is pulled back from your face, twisted and pinned into curls at the top of your head; the rest of it you simply allowed to hang to its natural length and shape, though you took care to make sure it was soft and silky enough to gleam beneath the stage lights. At Mina’s insistence, you’d allowed her to pin a few small glittery ornaments amongst the curls, and as you peek out and see just how full the room is, you find yourself thanking her mentally. It’s the little details that really pull together a performance and hammer home the effect it has on the audience, and it looks like a full house tonight that you’re going to wow. Though, none of the faces seem to jump out at you so far— you still don’t know who tonights VIPs are. 

Even though tonight is meant to be a big, important night — as it had been emphasised to you so many times — you still find your thoughts wondering back to a certain two men and the reappearance of the feelings you’d once harboured for them. You’re conflicted, as anyone might expect of someone in your situation, but you can’t say you’re very fond of the feeling. Hence, despite your best efforts, your thoughts just keep coming back to your current predicament. Lisa’s party is tomorrow, and you know from yesterday’s visit to your home that your mother had already extended an enthusiastic invitation to both families on either side of the fence. So you know that there is absolutely no way that those two aren’t going to be there, since even if they hadn’t already expressed their intention of attending, their mother’s would drag them over by the ear.

You’re not sure why you’re still worrying about this. You already met and caught up with them! And it went well… or at least it did, until the topic of your abrupt disappearance from their lives was brought up. 

Perhaps that is why you’re so conflicted still. That is an issue that has yet to be resolved.

When you tune back in to the moment and catch your manager sending you a whithering look, you shake your head and decide to try and ground yourself so that you’re not off with the fairies by the time your cue to perform rolls around. You bring your gaze back to the stage, finding that in the time you spent in your own head, Mina had managed to strip down to just her shelf brassiere and the panties and baby blue garter belt with straps that stretched over her shapely thighs and attached to the top of her stockings.

You get lost in the moment, watching as the spotlight follows her across the stage and illuminates each small gesture she makes that draws the audience further and further under her spell. Her hair is perfectly curled and with each flick of her head and bat of her lashes, the strands slide over her shoulder and bounce against her back. As she reaches for her final garment to discard, it isn’t long before the light fades in tandem with the last note of her song, and the audience gets only the barest glimpse of Mina’s almost bare form before the stage is blanketed in darkness. Cheers and applause break the beat of silence that follows, and then Mina is hurriedly rushing past you, beaming with pride and holding most of her discarded skirts bunched up to her chest. Soon, the applause fades out, the hollers nonexistent, and the stage is cleared.

Now, it’s your turn to wrap the audience around your finger. 

Taking a deep breath and revelling in the light fluttering of your stomach that never seems to fade no matter how many shows you perform, you listen for the first few strumming notes of the song that accompanies your routine. When the low, bass riff of guitar finally brushes the air, you make your way slowly onto the stage and let yourself fall into the familiarity of the show.

It’s kind of ironic, you can’t help but think to yourself. Considering the events of this week, the song you’d chosen to tailor your routine to is kind of funny. For the first few years of their careers, you’d seen Namjoon and Seokjin simply go their separate ways. You thought that would be it, that your friendship had broken up for good, but to your complete and utter surprise, at the beginning of this year there had been a new record to grace the radio and enrapture young fans across the country. An unexpected collaboration between two of the biggest figureheads of the rock and rebellion movement that had started to sweep through the youth. 

When you had first heard the song, you’d done a double-take. It wasn’t anything like the rapid, upbeat rock that came to be synonymous with Seokjin’s name, or the heavier, laidback tune that usually accompanied Namjoon’s records. The beat that lay beneath the lyrics was sultry, deep and dark and made your heart skip a beat and your stomach dip. However when the lyrics registered in your mind, you’d had to fight the urge to cry. They weren’t strictly sad, per se, but to you… they had spoken a little deeper. It felt paranoid to think it, but a part of you had to wonder at how… targeted… the song had seemed to be—

Was it made... for you?

You wouldn’t be caught dead admitting it aloud to anyone or even yourself, but you liked to think so. It helped, when you found yourself missing them and yearning for the way things had been. It soothed the traitorous aching of a heart that didn’t seem to remember that the choice to leave hadn’t been theirs, but rather yours.

In the version that accompanies your performance, there are no vocals. Even so, the beat is easily recognisable and as it begins to play, an excited murmur sweeps through the crowd. Something about it is a little odd, but currently your back is turned to the audience, so you don’t get to investigate the feeling. Instead, you let each note that enters the air and brushes against your skin to soak into your being, closing your eyes for the barest second to centre yourself before you feel the heat of the lights begin to grace your skin, and you start to slowly swing your hips.

It is only instruments that brush your ears now, but you can hear the opening lines of the song so clearly in your head you can’t help but mouth them in time.

We're part of the moonlight, Ain't a fantasy...

Can't breathe in the sunlight, Gotta hide your heart...

Following the rise and fall of the beat, you turn your head over your shoulder to deliver a sly smile and a wink, moving your hips all the while— a round of catcalls and surprised murmurs results. You are the only one of the performers to wear a mask after all, so you’re not surprised by the response. Turning back around, your ease yourself into the familiar motions of your routine and let the song and atmosphere carry you away.

At any other time, you would probably find it funny how second nature stripping yourself of your clothes has become. The silky gown that drapes over your shoulders and ends in faux fur ruffles that trail across the floor is the first to go, revealing the entirety of your stocking-clad legs through a sheer petticoat, and the corset and cushioned bandeau that hides a sheer, cheekily embroidered bralette beneath. The audience eats the reveal right up and at the enthusiastic response, your chest swells with pride. You’re smiling, but with a flick of your wrist you snap open a fan and use it to cover the bottom half of your face, leaving only your eyes to peer out at the crowd from behind the mask. You’d discovered early on that a little bit of mystery keeps them intrigued a little longer.

You don’t pay much mind to the audience as individuals; more often than not, when you perform they become a faceless blur. But as your routine goes on and your body follows each sultry move to the beat, one item of clothing discarded after the other, you find yourself paying a little more attention than you usually would. 

It’s as the top part of your corset meets the floor and your sheer bralette is exposed that your eyes sweep over a certain portion of the room, and you realise very suddenly and abruptly who the guests of honour are tonight.

And you cannot believe the atrocity of your luck.

Two familiar faces return your gaze from the centre-back portion of the room, in one of the deluxe booths. It’s a wonder you can recognise them through the haze of smoke created by cigars and cigarettes, but you think that you’d be hard-pressed not to, at this point. Seokjin and Namjoon sit back comfortably in the booth with two unfamiliar men on either side of them, their eyes lit with a certain kind of intrigue and focused solely on you. For a heartbeat, your chest feels so tight you can’t take in a breath, stomach fluttering. Just barely, you manage to maintain your face and stop yourself from stumbling in your routine. The beginning of panic begins to bubble beneath your lungs, but in a split-second it is stopped in its tracks as something seems to snap inside you and you come to a realisation.

You’re wearing a mask. They don’t know it’s you.

It strikes you again, the way they eyes are trained on your every move, and it knocks you breathless once more, though for a different reason this time. Exhilaration begins to course through you— you feel powerful. When you were with them the other day, the weight of the knowledge of your wrongs and your guilt held you on unequal ground. But now, here in the heady allure and smoky seduction in this room, you have them in the palm of your hands and the dynamic is switched, if only for a moment. 

With barely a moment having lapsed since your initial realisation, you slip right back into the next move in your dance, each shift of a limb accompanied with just that little bit more oomph than before. This is their song, the song you suspect they wrote for you, and since you don’t think you will ever be able to forget it, or them, you will make sure they won’t forget this.

One fluid movement leads to the next, the beat picking up ever so slightly as you bend, legs straight and behind pointed at the crowd, before easing your way back up and unclasping the hooks that keep your corset together. When it falls, you turn and bend once more, this time facing the audience so that they see it when you push your breasts together and wriggle your shoulders, a cheeky wink accompanying the resulting jiggle of your chest. 

More hoots and hollers, as expected of an audience that seems to completely consist of men tonight, and you’re pleased to see that the two guests of the hour aren’t completely unaffected either. Namjoon is leaning forward slightly, gaze intense, and Seokjin’s eyes have narrowed in focus as they follow you across the stage. 

Following each note in the song, you strut across the stage, and when there is a pause before it picks up once more, you drop to your knees and reach forward to the floor, arching your back with your behind to the audience again. Using the strength you’ve built in your thighs over the years, you slide one leg up and turn yourself around, using the momentum to slip into an abridged version of the splits. While in this position you bend backwards, one arm reaching back to unravel the ribbon that keeps your flimsy bralette up. When you feel it come loose, you bring your hands to each piece and make a faux-shocked expression, ever so slowly peeling the sheer fabric down and revelling in the way the room is watching with bated breath. 

Your breasts bounce as you yank the bralette all the way down, the tassels that were hidden beneath and keep the barest remainder of your dignity intact jiggling with the movement. Using the cheers that result as a distraction of sorts, you deftly remove the bralette with one hand and discard it slyly on the floor, bringing yourself out of the splits but moving to another position on your knees, sliding your legs apart. There are a few soft gasps and sharp inhales that echo from the front of the crowd, and you can tell from the way their eyes are focused on the inside of your thighs that they’ve glimpsed the pretty picture inked into your skin there. You don’t leave their gazes to wonder too long though, reaching up to pinch the dangling ornaments of your tassels and using them to lift your breasts. You ignore the low, pleasurable tingle that shoots through you at the sensation of tugging on your nipples, fighting to keep your legs open, and release the tassels from your grip. Your breasts bounce generously once more, cheers sounding across the room at the sight. You deliver a wink, before bringing yourself off of the floor in a fluid movement, hearing the final notes of the song beginning to play and a low, sexy saxophone drawl emerging to intertwine with the rest.

The end of your routine passes in a blur, your mind slipping into a haze as you simply move, barely aware of the way you dance and sashay across the stage. A feathery boa situated strategically to the side becomes incorporated in your final moves, allowing the audience peeks at what they can’t have and drawing them further and further in until the music hits a crescendo and with it, you fall into your final pose.

The last thing you see, as the lights begin to dim and the crowd erupts into applause, is the way Seokjin and Namjoon’s eyes are boring holes into you, transfixed on the place where your hip meets the inside of your thigh and the intricate depiction of a crescent moon and a rose that are inked into the skin there.

 x    x    x

 “...sweetheart? Is there a reason why you haven’t gone outside yet? Everyone is by the pool with those wonderful finger foods your Aunt brought with her!”

You startle at the sound of your mother’s voice, almost dropping the grape that had been en route to your mouth as you stared into nothing, rooted in place in the middle of the kitchen. The day of your sister’s engagement party has come, faster than you were able to prepare for, and now that you’re no longer on the stage staring down your two ex-best friends from behind a mask, you’ve lost a lot of your gall. In fact, it could even be argued that your spine had slipped right out of your body the second you stepped off the stage that night. It’s the early afternoon, and Namjoon and Seokjin have been here for about… perhaps half an hour. You don’t claim to be perfect, but the way you’ve been skulking about and hiding in the kitchen is pathetic even to you. 

It’s just… how do you face them after that? They’ve technically seen you almost completely in the nude! If your grandmother ever caught wind of the fact that a man had seen you without clothes then she’d marry you off immediately— not to mention if she ever found out Seokjin and Namjoon, of all men, had seen you like that, she would have an absolute field day!

It was bordering on disheartening, but at this point, even after all this time, you’re pretty sure most of your family loves those two more than they love you.

“I, um… just wanted some grapes?” you blink, offering a sheepish smile that you hope your mother doesn’t find suspicious. That is quickly shot down when you see her brow raise and her bright cherry lips quirk to the side, eyes flicking to the empty glass by the grapes that reeks of gin. What can you say, you thought downing a glass would help you cope, but you’d been wrong. 

“Uhuh…” Your mother says, folding her arms and leaning her hip against the bench; the fullness of her skirt swishes behind her in an echo of the movement. “Well, now that you’ve eaten half of the vine, maybe go outside? Mrs Kim has been asking where you are, I think she missed you almost as much as we did.”

Your brows furrow, “Wait, which Mrs K—”

“Off you go, sweetheart!” 

You don’t even get to finish whatever you were saying because your mother moves into the kitchen solely to chase you out of it. You drag your feet as she herds you out— or at least, you do before she reaches for the kitchen towel by the oven and starts twisting it.

“I’m going!” you promptly flee after grabbing a handful of grapes to-go, holding up a proverbial white flag. Your mother is a little too good at turning mundane household items into a weapon. Now she’s put the fear of god back in you, you find yourself thinking that it’s no wonder your father has always been so well-behaved compared to the stories some of your friends would tell you about their own parents.

It’s a beautiful day, really. It’s part of the reason you were annoyed at yourself for hiding inside, even if it was only for about half an hour. The sun is out, the sky is clear, and while the sunlight warms your skin there is a cool breeze every so often that keeps you from overheating. Some of your younger cousins are in the pool, and have probably been there since around ten minutes after they arrived an hour or so ago. You’d barely gotten a hug in greeting before they were off, the backyard pool held a little more favourably in their eyes for the moment than their own flesh and blood.

They’re cute, though, so you decide that perhaps just this once you will let them get away with it. You’re going to rain down a storm of kisses on them before they leave, though. No one ignores you for an inanimate object and gets away with it!

As you exit the house and step beneath the sun, the skin of your arms and lower legs warming instantly, you just barely manage to dodge as one of your cousins comes bolting past you, followed barely a second later by his mother, your aunt, who is hotter on his heels than you might have anticipated for a woman her age.

“Jackson! You better get back here with those patties, boy, or you’re gonna regret it!”

You know you shouldn’t laugh, because it will encourage the bad behaviour, but the sight is so funny you just can’t help the way you burst into giggles, shaking your head and turning in the direction of the large gazebo that is rooted by the pool and is currently sheltering most of the guests from the sun. A quick scan also reveals that the lady of the hour, your sister, is over there too. Your eyes narrow when they catch sight of the champagne glass in her hand; hopefully she’s forgotten any and all things you’ve told her in confidence recently, or else they’re about to become public knowledge.

“Ah, y/n, just a moment!” 

You pause in your steps, turning just in time to catch in your arms the plate of small pastries your mother shoves into your hold. 

“Wh—” you don’t get to question her, as she simply flashes you a bright grin and nods her head to the table. “Take these over there, will you? And make sure Jin and Joon get some, I made their favourite!”

And then she is off, shooting back into the house and leaving you on the grass. At the delicious smell that wafts up to your nose, you send a cursory look down at the plate and hum in recognition,ignoring the way your mouth salivates. Ah, these are their favourites. This plate probably won’t last very long when you bring it over there. 

You’re on your way once more, now with the plate of sweets in tow, and the closer to the gazebo you grow you catch the sound of the radio, on one of the channels most popular with the youth and playing one of Lisa’s favourite songs. She’s dancing, dragging her friend Rose with her, giggling like a madwoman as she does so. It brings a smile to your face without you even realising. 

“Oh, y/n! There you are! Where have you been? We thought you might have gotten lost!”

Your attention is drawn to the side of the gazebo closest to the pool, where a few people are lounging in the chairs there, beers and glasses with clear, bubbling contents that you can only assume is gin and tonic on the table and in hand. The older woman who called you over with such a teasing tone is Mrs Kim— well, one of them. Both the Kims are here, and you realise belatedly that of course, their sons are too. It was Seokjin’s mother that noticed you, and as you make your way over you see Namjoon’s mother next to her, and the two men in question in the lounging chairs opposite. They seem to light up at your arrival, and you try not to think about the way their reaction makes your stomach flutter. You aren’t here for them, you’re here for their mothers! 

“Sorry,” you apologise, leaning and placing the plate down on the small table in the middle of the seats. Straightening, you dust your hands against the patterned skirt you have buttoned over your matching swimsuit. “I did get a bit lost, there’s so many kids here right now I thought I might have turned up in the wrong house.”

Both women erupt into laughter at your words, and you take the opportunity to smile at Jin and Namjoon, offering a timid wave. They return it, before following your finger as it points to the plate and they realise you’ve brought them their favourite baked goods.

“Cinnamon scrolls!” Namjoon croons, material of his navy button-up creasing as he hastily leans forward to swipe one off the plate. “And they’re shaped like little fish, like she always used to do! I can’t believe your mother made them today.”

“Of course,” you say, snorting lightly. “She’d do anything for her two favourite sons. She made it because they’re your favourites.”

The two of them beam in pride at that, before proceeding to consume the plate of sweets.

“Ah, and she sent you too, sweet y/n! Our favourite daughter! And even more stunning than I remember, right Soo-ah?”

Seokjin’s mother, Jia, hastily reclaims the conversation and succeeds in making you flush pink at her words. Jisoo, Namjoon’s mother, instantly nods, her short curls bouncing with the action, and shoots you a devious grin. 

“It’s been so long since we saw you last, y/n. You didn’t get a husband while you were away, right? We still want you as our daughter-in-law, you know.”

This time it’s not only you that feels the embarrassment heat your cheeks— to your side, both men choke on the mouthful of scroll they’d been in the process of devouring, Seokjin’s face going bright red as he brings his fist to hit his chest and attempts to dislodge the pastry. Amongst his own struggling, Namjoon reaches to smack his friend on the back, clearing his own throat.

“Ah, no…” you say, awkward and smoothing your skirt to distract yourself; it feels like the eyes of the entire party are on you, despite the fact you know better. “I’ve just been focusing on school…”

“Oh, tell me, dear, do you still do those wonderful paintings? I still have that one you gifted me for my birthday before you left.”

Namjoon follows up on his mother’s question, shooting you a smile that somehow is a combination of both bashful and proud. It makes a dimple pop in his cheek. “She still has it displayed above the dining table, actually. She nearly killed me when I almost knocked it by accident a few days ago.”

Jisoo doesn’t even bat a lash, smiling at you brightly— though a bit drunkenly, if the almost-finished glass in her hand is anything to go by. You’re surprised— you know from all the dinner parties your three families held over the years that despite their petite stature and classy, ladylike countenance,  both Kim women can outdrink their husbands and your father. You wonder just how much they must have had already to have such silly grins on their faces.

“I do!” You answer, feeling your chest warm in affection. It was silly to have ever doubted it, but it made you feel somewhat eased to know that you haven’t lost your place in their lives despite your departure. “But, actually, while away I actually took up sculpting. I’ve been doing that a bit more…”

“Oh, are you talking about your works, sweetheart? Ah Jisoo, Jia— they’re absolutely wonderful! I have photos that she brought, here let me go get them—”

You feel heat flush to the tips of your ears, greeting the arrival of your mother with an embarrassed look. “Alright, let’s not bash ears about it—”

“Oh!” Jia and Jisoo perk up at your mother's exclamation, and you shrink into your seat as you watch her reach into one of the hidden pockets in her skirt and pull out a handful of small photos that you’d printed to show her. Your hubris seems to have come to nip you in the bottom. “I forgot I popped them in my pocket to show you earlier! Here, see— isn’t she just so talented? My baby girl must have been the absolute queen of her department.”

All three parents are oblivious to the way you’re shrinking into your seat in mortification, but Seokjin and Namjoon are anything but. They’re grinning at you, relishing in your discomfort much like they used to. 

“Hey, y/n, could you get us another drink? I’d go get it, but your mother actually told me earlier I wasn’t allowed in the kitchen until she’s finished with the pastries…”

You shoot him a grateful look, shooting to your feet and slipping out of the little seating area. “Yup, doing that! Getting drinks! Be right back, don’t wait up!”

Though you doubt any of the adults heard you, they didn’t wait anyway. In fact, in the time it took you to head into the kitchen and bring back three drinks on a tray, your mother has since downed her glass and has started on another topic of conversation. Thankfully, the victim is no longer you. 

“Oh, Namjoon, where are your peepers?!” Your mother gasps suddenly as you return, pointing at the man beside you. There’s the barest slur accenting her words, and you resign yourself here and now to a night of loose-lipped blabbering from both your sister and your mother. “I’m not goin’ crazy am I? You used to run into things all the time when you were a kid ‘cause you were blind as a bat!”

Namjoon winces, but Seokjin bursts into laughter. Glad for the conversational shift, you take one of the last remaining chairs and settle down, your own drink now in hand. Namjoon reaches for the refill you had brought him, using the opportunity to hide his face, and only when Jin has settled down does he manage to wipe his eyes and claim his own glass.

“I’m tryin’ out something new,” Namjoon answers after a hearty gulp, clearing his throat. He reaches to scratch the back of his neck bashfully. “Lenses, I think they’re called. They’re convenient, especially when I’m performing, but they’re expensive and so dang fragile I’m gonna need to take out insurance on them or somethin’.”

“Isn’t this your last set?” Seokjin queries knowingly, laughing as Namjoon grimaces. “Don’t worry, he’ll be back in the peepers you know and love by the end of the week. If he doesn’t break them, he loses them.”

You half expect Namjoon to be irked but he just sighs with a small smile, apparently having made peace by now with the clumsiness and two left feet that have haunted him since childhood.

Your mother decides to tease Namjoon a little more, before she changes the topic and starts gushing about their career, and how she can hardly go a day or two without hearing one of their songs on the radio. All three women are beaming with pride, and though slightly bashful about it you can see Namjoon and Seokjin’s chests swell slightly. 

Lisa, the star of today’s show, happens to walk by right when your mother is interrogating them about where they’ve chosen to settle down for the meantime, and eagerly joins the conversation.

“Ah, cool cats like you must be absolutely rolling in dough by now! How many mansions do you have already?” Lisa laughs, looking for a free seat and simply sitting on you when she doesn’t find one. She’s quite a bit heavier than you remember, and you feel your breath wheeze out of you at her abrupt drop onto your legs. 

“Unfortunately, none,” Namjoon laughs, gesturing to his mother, “Though, the pressure is on. I think ‘Ma wants a nice place to retire before my career is over.”

Jisoo takes a sip to hide her sheepish grin, crossing one leg over the other and smoothing her skirt afterwards. Seokjin lets out a soft chuckle before he turns to your mother and answers the question she’d asked earlier.

“We have a sweet pad back in the fat city, actually. We both were leanin’ to the same penthouse with the best view but in the end decided to compromise and split it.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” you mother exclaims, eyes alight. The last time she’d looked this excited was when you told her you were staying for the whole week. “It’s so good to hear that the two of you stuck together even though you’re such big news now!”

Guilt. You bring your glass to your mouth and take a large gulp in an effort to drown it, the tart fizz of gin and tonic barely disguising the familiar curl of guilt in your gut.  Perhaps if you ignore it, it will go away. 

“Oh, speaking of— that latest record the two of you released together, it really does razz my berries like nothin’ else!” Lisa gushes, throwing a hand out to wriggle her fingers for emphasis. “It’s real hip and different from all your other tracks. Trust you two to be settin’ trends!”

Starting to get slightly tipsy now from the generous downing of your drink, you can’t help how you chime in with little thought,  “Oh, I really do love that one. It’s perfect to dance to.”

“A dance?” Lisa queries, turning to pin you with a confused look over her shoulder. You realise your slip up in that moment, when you glance to the side and see both men looking at you with unreadable expressions.  “It’s a bit slow for a dance, I think.”

“You can dance to anything,” Namjoon swoops in and unknowingly saves you, shrugging nonchalantly. The expression that was present on his face earlier is gone now, but it takes a split second longer to fade from Seokjin’s features.

Sinking into your chair as much as you can with Lisa’s weight pinning your legs down, you bring the glass to your mouth once more. 

Slip-up aside, you can only hope it won’t be as difficult to get through this party as you thought. 

 x - x - x

The day has progressed nicely and as daylight begin to bleed into night, your father emerged to help man the barbecue and dinner was served —  it was a somewhat rowdy affair, given how much alcohol the party had consumed up until that point. After eating their fill, most of your relatives and small cousins went home — they have a strict bedtime to uphold, after all. You made good on your promise to smother the little ones in kisses as they left, and it was with pink cheeks and bright grins that they bid you farewell. 

It’s getting well into the night at this point, and only a few guests are left. Lisa is inside with a cluster of her friends and her fiance, your mother and the Kims are underneath the gazebo with their husbands— this has left you by the pool with Namjoon and Seokjin. They’d gotten a little bold earlier and when you’d teased them about something, you’d had an unceremonious reunion with the pool. It was startlingly similar to what occured right before your mother took that photo hanging in your room, and made an odd mixture of affection, nostalgia, and something a little bit bittersweet settle in your abdomen. 

Just as it had the other time you’d met with the two, any tension and awkwardness had quickly melted away as the evening progressed. A few drinks in your systems and anything and everything is now water under the bridge. All too easily the three of you had fallen back into the same comfortable, playful air that you’d always known—

That you’d missed so much.

You’re lounging now in one of the rubber duck-shaped floaties your mother bought recently (she’d made you blow it up, gushing all the while about what a bargain she’d gotten on it and the companion swan floatie). Your head is more than pleasantly fuzzy, and you decide as you finish this glass that perhaps you’re done drinking for the night. You kick your legs lazily, feeling the heavy material of your skirt swish in the water as you propel yourself around the pool. Normally, the skirt is meant to come off before you take a dip. However given the nature of your entry into the pool, you hadn’t exactly had an opportunity to discard it. 

“No, no— I remember it cleary— clearly.” Seokjin waves his hand, finger pointing at Namjoon— the man in question is cackling in the deep end, falling off the swan floatie that he was attempting to climb onto. Both men are at the point in the night where they are beginning to slur their words, and to be fair you’re not much different. You’d lost count of how many times either of them have slipped up in their words.  “It wasn’t me who fell and broke y/n’s coffee table. From what I remember, it was your buttocks that hit it.”

“But you pushed me!” Any attempts on Namjoon’s behalf to hide his grin and even pretend to be angry prove to be fruitless. He has the same dumb dimpled grin on his face that you remember from your teen years. “It was uncalled for, assault!”

“You!” Seokjin’s mouth drops open, his legs kicking in the pool in his outrage. Namjoon’s eyes almost disappear as he cackles, throwing his head back. It melds into the sounds of the festivities over by the gazebo, where the radio and Lisa’s own gleeful laughter echo into the night. “y/n can confirm, it was Joon, right?!”

You put your arms behind your head, pretending to lounge back on the floatie despite how tentative your position is on the slippery rubber. “I don’t recall, suddenly I can’t think.”

“Yah!”

Your jubilant laughter means that you don’t see it when Seokjin slips completely into the pool, diving beneath the water to where you’re lounging and coming up beneath you. A scream rips from your throat as you're flipped from the floatie, tumbling backwards and into the water with a hefty splash to boot.

When you come back up, gasping breaths above the surface turning into laughter, it takes a moment for realisation to reach you through the sluggish fog in your brain that your skirt has detached. Still laughing, you catch sight of it and reach for it where it’s floating across the pool, recognising the sound of the two males guffawing behind you. When you slip on the bottom of he pool for a moment and get water up your nose, you decide that perhaps it’s time for you to call it a night soon.

“Woah, bubs, are you okay?”

When you slip again, a strong arm catches around your waist like an iron bar, holding you to the surface. Blinking the water out of your lashes, you turn to see the owner; the breath is startled out of you as your gaze meet the dark depths of Seokjin’s own. His hair is still dripping, an inky wayward mess atop his head, and the t-shirt he’d donned as he first entered the pool so long ago is clinging to each line and plane of his body. 

For a moment, yearning and a feeling all too familiar takes up the space of your lungs, and you find that you can’t breathe. 

“I think… I think it’s time to call it a night,” you manage to say, a new kind of lightheadedness emerging to addle your thoughts. You turn, breaking the hold Seokjin’s gaze has on you to seek out the edge of the pool. You feel his eyes bore holes into you for a moment longer, before two hands come to grip your waist and he moves you through the water to the rim of the pool. 

“Probably for the best,” Seokjin says, grip tightening in a split-second of warning before he heaves you up and onto the brick that lines the poolside. Off-kilter and unexpecting of the movement as you were, you have to balance yourself with your legs, which almost end up smacking Seokjin in the side. Through your inebriation, you don’t realise the way your thighs have parted in the process, the detached skirt in your hand doing little to cover you where it is laying sopping wet on the brick.  

“You’re being almost as clumsy as—” You’re also so busy trying to quell the fluttering in your stomach and find your bearings you also don’t notice the way Seokjin’s eyes move unwittingly down your form, falling to your thigh at eye-level. “...Namjoon.”

You blink, eyes finally focusing but heartbeat still thrumming in your ears.

“I don’t know if I will ever be that clumsy,” you manage to say, as comprehensible as possible. Seokjin’s hands leave your waist as you stumble to your feet, wringing out your skirt before attempting to button the drenched garment back up above your hips. 

“Hey!”

At Namjoon’s outcry, you grin and bring your hand up in a wave. 

“I’ll see you guys later,” you drunkenly promise, completely forgetting that in a few days, you’ll be out of this town and out of their lives once more. “Goodnight, you two.”

They return the sentiment, and you grab a towel from one of the poolside chairs, wrapping it around yourself and making your way back in. You miss the way that their eyes follow you as you leave their sight and reenter the warmth and light of your home.

x - x - x - x

The night has drawn to a close, and the two men have long since climbed from the pool and dried off with the fluffy towels your mother so generously laid out for them before she got too tispy. A sharp look from their own mothers reminded them earlier that there are still plates to clear and things to tidy, so despite being guests they do their best amongst the alcohol-induced fog clouding their minds to help clean up the aftermath of Lisa’s engagement party. 

As they do so, the same thing is true for both of them: there is a lot on their minds.

Seokjin had to turn to Namjoon earlier to confirm what he’d seen, and when he saw the man in question already looking at him with wide eyes, he knew he hadn’t just drunkenly imagined it. They both saw it, the glimpse of a strikingly familiar picture peeking from the inside of your thigh. They’d seen that very same tattoo in the very same place just a few nights ago, only last time the owner had remained a masked mystery. Now, they’d glimpsed the same image on the body of their childhood friend, the girl they’d both fallen in love with and subsequently drifted apart over only years ago because they were young and jealous and stupid. But, things are different now; they’re now only two of those things, and after they made up over a year ago their friendship is stronger than ever, in… more ways than one.

But despite how much has changed over the years, there is still one thing that has remained constant; and that is their feelings for you.

Truthfully, after not seeing you for so long, they had started to think perhaps they were finally getting over you. Impossible as it had seemed, considering how smitten they were. A cold realisation washed over them the second they saw you again, though, that those feelings hadn’t disappeared like they had suspected, but simply remained dormant. Seeing you at the diner and finally getting to catch up after being apart so long, missing you so much, had pretty much cemented that. When they’d returned to their hotel room after, they didn’t need to say a word and only shared a look to know they had both come to the same conclusion.

They were both irrevocably, pathetically, undoubtedly still in love with you, even after all these years. 

Then had come the show.

It was the reason they’d returned to this town, technically. An important friend of theirs had invited them both to celebrate the success of their latest record and talk about future opportunities; the location happened to be a club currently hosting a highly regarded burlesque set. They’d felt the second the final masked performer had come on stage that there was something odd, something special about her. She had used their song, on her thigh had been a tattoo that tickled something in the back of their minds, and there was something in the way she moved that had been so jarringly familiar, but neither had been able to pin where they had seen her before.

Until tonight, that is.

It hadn’t been an intentional reveal on your part, but there on your thigh had been the exact same tattoo they’d glimpsed in the club, and they’d known the second they saw it that it wasn’t a common design. At first, on the night, Seokjin thought that it might have struck them because it was drawn similarly to how you always used to doodle moons on all of your schoolbooks, and now it all made sense. 

The only thing left to consider is, what do they do now that they know?

“Oh, my boys— my precious, helpful, lovely boys!”

The two men turn in tandem, easily catching sight of your mother as she stumbles her way over to them. They were in the process of moving some of the plates to the kitchen before they heard her drunken cooing, and Seokjin finds himself thanking the heavens they’d put them down quickly because in the next second your mother is throwing her arms around them and they’re being yanked down to her height from the sheer strength of her grip.

“I missed you two, we all missed you two,” she blubbers, hugging them close like she’s worried they might slip away into the night the second she loosens her hold. A second shy of suffocating them, she finally releases her grip, and they straighten with warm faces. Namjoon knows without even having to check that he’s got a real goofy grin on his mug right now. 

“We missed you too,” Seokjin says, and he means it. Your family and Namjoon’s family are both pretty much his own at this point, and he’d found himself missing every single member while he was away. Each time he returned home, he was sure to visit the other two houses at the end of the cul-de-sac, though the times he’d been able to actually make his way back to his home town were unfortunately few and far between. The same is the case for Namjoon, as he knows, except likely a bit worse since he knows Namjoon has always been a real Mummy’s boy.

“But I doubt it was as much as we missed you!” Your mother argues, and it makes both men smile. The next few words to escape her mouth knock the expression straight off their faces, though.  “y/n especially. Oh, I remember she was so heartbroken when you three started growing apart. I think part of the reason she left was to get away from it. The way she used to talk about you boys…” Her gaze slips to the side, eyes slightly hazy in recollection. “I thought for sure that she was going to end up marrying one of you.”

They don’t even get a good second to unpack that, before the haze leaves your mother’s eyes and she is giggling, leaning forward with a cheeky glint in her eyes that they know for sure they’ve seen in your own. She brings her hand up to shield her mouth as she whispers in a voice that is not at all as quiet as she likely thinks it is, “It’s a bit improper, but I think she used to like both of you.”

Namjoon chokes on his own spit, and Seokjin’s mouth falls slack. “What?”

Your mother merely giggles, leaning back and spinning on her heel. “Thank you so much for your help, boys, but you ought to be on your way! Your mothers are about to head home and neither of them are walking in a very straight line.”

She halts, turning over her shoulder to shoot them a wide grin. “I’m glad you two came. Thank you.”

And then she is gone, and a blanket of silence falls over the kitchen. Seokjin and Namjoon turn their heads, locking gazes. 

Well, at least now they know what to do.

x — x — x

 You swear there is something odd in the air of the club this evening. 

It’s something subtle, and none of the other girls seem to have noticed it; they continue as always, tittering away in the dressing rooms and giggling amongst themselves when one of them makes a joke that probably shouldn’t be repeated outside the room. It’s the last night you will be performing here, and also the last night you will be staying. You were planning on making a quick visit home tomorrow morning to say farewell to your parents and congratulate your sister once more, before being on your way. You hadn’t decided yet whether you were going to go out of your way to track down Seokjin and Namjoon to say goodbye to them as well, but the idea of it… well, it sets your belly alight with nerves. You have no idea what you would say, and you know — you know— in your gut that doing it would revive the elephant in the room that you’ve all been ignoring up until now. 

But if you don’t, then you’ll be doing the exact same thing you did last time, and this time around you don’t know if you’ll get their forgiveness, let alone deserve it. 

By this point in the evening, you’ve already slipped into your costume and powdered your face. Since you wear a mask while on stage, you don’t really need to apply any heavy makeup around your brows and eyes; you usually settle for accentuating them naturally. 

Mina has disappeared since you last saw her, which is odd since she usually lingers to talk your ear off about any handsome faces she might spy in the crowd as the room beyond the stage begins to fill. You’d started to look for her earlier, seeking a distraction from the depressing inner monologue you have running, but hadn’t managed to find her. This means that for the past half hour or so you’ve been left to your own devices, fiddling with different parts of your dress and costume like a child twiddling their thumbs in the principal’s office. Part of that time, you spend trying to ignore the events of last night and any feelings that may have resurfaced as a result of your return to this town. For the rest of it, you attempt to think about what you’re going to do tomorrow when the rapidly-approaching hour comes when you have to leave again. God, where on earth did Mina get off to? You’re going insane here.

Oddly enough, it’s her that finds you a few minutes before the show is set to start. By this point, it’s a wonder you haven’t torn your hair out of it’s meticulous styling.

“Where did you pop off to?” you ask her before she even has a chance to say hello. She raises her brows, laughing at your rapid questioning. 

“Big boss wanted me for something,” she supplies, cocking her hip and resting a hand there. “Actually, I was asked to pass on a message to you.”

The confusion must be evident on your face, because Mina is quick to wave her hand. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad— though it is a bit odd. He just asked me to tell you to meet him in one of the private rooms in the VVIP section. I think it was the very last one…?”

That is odd, considering she’d apparently just come from meeting him. Private shows aren’t something you do, so you can’t think of a reason why the big boss would ask you to meet him there. 

“Huh, ok. So soon before the show…?” you ask, just to be sure. You don’t have your mask on you right now, so you need to calculate how long it’s going to take you to return and get it. Mina shrugs, nodding. 

“I suppose so. Don’t worry,” she smiles, something indecipherable yet oddly devious entering her gaze. “You won’t be there long enough to mess anything up. The show will go on, Miss Luna.”

You could almost swear there is something hidden in her words, but don’t have the time or the thought to dwell on it. Instead you return her smile and turn to be on your way; the VVIP rooms are on the other side of the establishment, and you don’t want to keep the big boss waiting. You’d only met him once, the owner of this club, and he didn’t strike you as anything in particular. The only thing you’d thought to note is that he smoked perhaps a few too many cigars, because his office was almost always filled with curling, coiling smoke that leaked into the hall  each time you moved past. But he was quite mild-mannered and polite as far as men in this business go, so you’re not particularly concerned for your wellbeing as you make your way to meet him.

It takes a little longer than anticipated, since you ran into one of your co-performers and they cornered you for help with their outfit, but finally you’re arriving in the second-floor wing that houses the VVIP rooms. Instantly, it’s evident where you are. The carpet is a little more plush, the wallpaper a little more maintained, and the hall decorated a little nicer than the rest of the place. Spotting the room on the end, you make your way down there and knock on the door thrice before grasping the handle and easing it open.

“Mr. Leigh? What did you want to t—”

The rest of your sentence dies in your throat before it even has a chance to reach the tip of your tongue, feet freezing mid-step as your eyes fall upon the occupants of the room. For once, you don’t have any sort of instinct that kicks in to save you; you simply stand and stare with wide eyes.

“Took you long enough, bubs.” Seokjin straightens from where he had been leaning back against the plush crimson leather of the circular lounge. “We were beginning to think you weren’t going to show.”

A myriad of thoughts suddenly flood the blank space in your brain, all in contention with each other. Oh no, they’ve seen you— no, you have a mask, they don’t know who you are— no, you don’t have your mask—

Dressed in your performing attire and standing before Seokjin and Namjoon, in one of the VVIP rooms in the club where they attended your show, you aren’t a faceless dancer. You’re y/n, and it feels like they can see every single bit of you there is to see.

You don’t even know where to begin.

“I…” You attempt to say something, anything, but your tongue has suddenly turned to lead in a pact with your stomach, sinking down and refusing to dance for your words.

It takes you a moment to realise as you watch them straighten, but neither of them look surprised. It leads you to believe that somehow they figured it out on their own, though you have no idea how. You don’t really have the presence of mind to ask them right now, either. In fact, it could even be argued that you’re almost panicking.

“We have a lot to talk about,” Namjoon speaks up, offering you a smile that holds neither judgement nor disdain. “We wanted to catch you before you inevitably skipped town without saying goodbye.”

That stung, just as much as the guilt that struck you for the truth of his words. You’d been contemplating it, leaning towards it even, but suddenly you feel you have to defend yourself. 

“I hadn’t decided that yet,” you say quietly. You let the door fall shut behind you, silently acquiescing to the unspoken demand weighing heavy in the air.

“Don’t lie.”

Your eyes shoot even wider, if possible, at the sound of Seokjin of all people snapping at you. His tone was sharp, and you half expect him to look furious, but when your eyes flick to his face it gives nothing away. When he continues in the next second, though, you see it in the depths of his eyes. Hurt.

“We used to tell each other everything, back then.” It could have been a trick of your mind, but you swear you heard his voice break slightly. “I don’t want that to change. So no lies tonight, y/n. We’re going to talk as adults, openly and honestly.”

For reasons beyond you, something about the promise woven through his tone makes you nervous. A tremor fights to shudder its way down your spine; for a moment, you feel akin to a small, cornered forest animal, even though they are the ones sitting against a wall and you are in the open. You don’t know what to say. 

Namjoon steps in, saving you from fumbling for a response as he always seems to do. “You don’t have to stand there, ready to bolt, you know. You can come sit down.”

You shake your head, suddenly recalling your commitments outside this room and feeling relief flood you at the realisation that you have an excuse to remove yourself from this situation you’d tried so hard to avoid. “I can’t. I have to go p—”

“We already talked it over with your boss, he was happy to take you out of the performance tonight. It’s okay, the others know too.”

You deflate, looking at Namjoon with a sinking feeling in your stomach. He doesn’t hold your attention all that long, though, before the sound of Seokjin’s voice brings your gaze to him once more.

“Why did you leave? Without even saying goodbye, or telling us where you went?” You feel rooted to the spot, pinned first by the weight of Seokjin’s gaze and then his words as they slam into you, unfiltered. 

“Hyung.” You think you hear Namjoon murmur softly, giving the man next to him a pointed look. Seokjin is unphased, looking at you expectantly, “Be honest.”

It’s just as panic begins to seep into the bottom of your lungs that anger sparks and sets it alight, transmuting it to something red and hot in your chest. 

“You want me to be honest?” you ask, heat beginning to colour your voice and sharpen the tip of your tongue. “I left because of you— both of you. I don’t know if something happened between you or if I just wasn’t enough, or you felt I was holding you back, but you drew away and you left me. You both left me before I ever left you.”

You see it the second your words enter the air like a whip, the hurt and guilt slipping across their features. Anger bubbles in your throat, stings your eyes, and urges you to let loose everything else rising to the tip of your tongue, “I left because I couldn’t handle the pain of my two best friends slowly easing themselves from my life, like— like I was old news. Like I no longer had a place in that shiny, brand new world they’d stepped into.”

More rushes to escape, feelings kept bottled up tight for three years suddenly flooding forth with the force of a tidal wave, but you bite it down, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath that rattles through your chest. When you’re sure you have a firmer grasp on your emotions, you allow yourself to speak once more. “If an apology is what you want, then I’m sorry. I’m sorry for leaving without saying goodbye. I’m sorry for my part in hurting you. But you… the two of you hurt me, too. You meant the world to me and when you pulled away you made me feel like nothing.”

Your eyes remain closed, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you will yourself not to cry; silence sinks over the room, only broken as your ears adjust to the thin buzz of electricity thrumming through the walls. One moment, another-- you try and focus on breathing in, and breathing out.

“Something did happen between us, you know. We fought over you.”

Your head snaps up, eyes locking onto Namjoon. He stands, dusting his legs as he straightens and adjusts his jacket. Slowly, like he’s worried he will spook you, he begins to step closer. “I’m sorry, y/n. We never meant to hurt you, and didn’t realise the way our immaturity was hurting you, too. You took up such a big part of our lives, and after you left it was painfully empty… when we saw you again this week, it was the first time we’d felt whole in years.”

Stunned, you’re rooted to the spot and can only watch as he comes close enough to touch, hands reaching for your own; faintly, you register the sound of Seokjin getting up from the couch as well. When he reaches your side, you risk a glance to his face and are surprised by the soft, remorseful expression resting upon his handsome features. 

“I’m sorry, bubs, for hurting you.” He lifts a hand, the warmth of his palm cupping your cheek. “You are irreplaceable to us, and we will always want you as a part of our lives. No one meant as much to us as you did then, and no one means as much to us as you do now. The two of you are my world, and I know the same goes for Joon.”

There’s something different hiding in the depths of his tone that makes your heart patter faster against the confines of your chest, something in the way they share a look so full of something warm that your own cheeks heat in response. Both of them… with each other, too? 

 “Why are you saying this?” Now, you meant to tack on. Why is he saying this now?

Namjoon’s eyes are warm as they meet your own. “Because we should have said it three years ago. Plus… we got a tip from an anonymous source that our feelings aren’t as unrequited as we once thought.” 

You don’t even need to wonder who it was that could have exposed such a thing; your mother had been mysteriously avoidant of your gaze this morning, almost knocking a few things off the bench in the extent of her effort to evade meeting your eyes.

“If nothing else, please just tell us before you go,” Seokjin implores, voice a low murmur. “Whether it was true then, or....”

You have a feeling you know what he was going to say: or even now. You’d known it the second you glimpsed them back in this town that those feelings you’d harboured for years and years weren’t ever going away. Even seeing them a handful of times has made your heart ache with the revival of your love and the magnitude at which it had bloomed once more in the tender soil of your being. The words rush to the tip of your tongue, but even now when the two objects of your affection have all but confessed to you, fear barrs them from leaving your mouth. Because it’s not appropriate, a voice murmurs it’s familiar tune, It’s so unlikely— what if you are just reading too much into it and are mistaken?

Honesty, Seokjin had requested. You take a deep breath before admitting the words that will seal your fate, for better or for worse.

“I did love you, then,” you say, catching it as they both seem to tense. “I should have known better than to think those feelings would just go away.”

It takes a moment, but soon both men are erupting into bright grins. In his glee, Namjoon folds you into his arms, smacking a soft kiss to your forehead, your cheek, and finally your lips— the suddenness of the action brings a gasp to your lips, but you’re definitely not going to complain. Especially not when the way his mouth moves against yours lights something bright deep within you. 

You don’t get to enjoy the sensations for longer than a moment before Seokjin’s voice is parting the air, a completely different tone underlying his words than what you expect from seeing his stupid grin earlier.

“Ah-ah-ah, don’t think you’re off the hook just yet, little miss. “ You meet his gaze over Namjoon’s shoulder and a shudder shoots down your spine at the look in his eyes. “We have a lot of lost time to make up for, wouldn’t you say?” 

x - x 

Barely ten minutes and a private car ride filled with scandalous touches and even more scandalous noises later, you’re being pressed against the wall in the bedroom of the penthouse suite in the most expensive hotel your town has to offer. Namjoon’s mouth is on yours with a kiss so impassioned that it pulls the air from your lungs and the strength from your knees; you don’t even realise that the lights hadn’t already been on when you entered and it was Jin responsible for illuminating your path into the suite.

A part of you expects some internal resistance — it had been three years since you’d last seen them, before this week — but instead you’re simply overwhelmed with how right it feels. Soft, fluttery warmth like sun rays on a winter’s morning fills you up to the brim, the feeling so foreign you’re worried your heart might actually burst. 

Namjoon’s hands come to your hips, pressing them to the wall before sliding up to the dip of your waist. He isn’t overly bold in the way he moves his mouth against yours, but it makes a whine build in your chest nonetheless. A part of you disagrees with it, and when you recall that you’re still here dressed in the costume that usually gives you the power over men, you push back and turn the two of you around. 

When his own back meets the wall, the softest gasp escapes Namjoon’s mouth and you swallow it down, your hands coming to cup his jaw. You take the lead in the kiss and he doesn’t put up a fight, grip tightening on your sides as he holds you closer. 

“Ah-ah, bubs.”

An unwitting squeak escapes you as two large hands find purchase on your waist and you’re pulled apart from the man panting against the wall. You blink and before you know it Seokjin has you falling onto something so plush and soft you know immediately it’s a bed. Your eyes are quick to find Seokjin’s, and the raven-haired male shoots you a stern look that is only contradicted by the heady mixture of affection and lust in his gaze.

“You don’t get to call the shots tonight,” he informs you simply, striding closer to where you’re laying on the bed and tugging on the string that holds your silken gown together. It’s designed to come undone, and so it’s no surprise that at the lightest pull the silk is sliding off your body, revealing the outfit you’d paraded on the stage before them barely a few nights ago. Faintly, you register the bed dipping behind you, but your attention is otherwise occupied when Seokjin reaches for the bedside table and retrieves something long and black. 

“Her wrists?” Namjoon asks, unknowingly answering the question you had forming in your head. Seokjin nods, tossing the tie  to him. Your gown is slipped from your shoulders completely, sheer petticoat ruffling as you’re scooted backwards until you feel the firmness of Namjoon’s chest against your back and Seokjin is sliding between your legs, in the midst of unbuttoning his shirt. 

“Do you know what you did to us when we saw you that night?” Seokjin asks, voice smooth as honey. It’s a struggle to remain focused on his words when Namjoon brings your hands together in front of you where you’re propped against him, beginning to bind them a little too expertly with the tie Seokjin had passed him. Your heart beats a little faster, thighs trembling as heady anticipation whirls within you. “What you do to us?”

“Just seeing you was already dangerous enough,” Namjoon murmurs, husky tone brushing the shell of your ear. “But you danced to our song, the song we wrote for you. It’s like you knew what it would do to us…”

It makes something swell in your chest, the confirmation that they had written that song for you. You catch something fond flick through Seokjin’s gaze before he tuts, shaking his head. He pushes your now-tied hands up and over your head, back until you feel the side of your thumbs grazing the back of Namjoon’s neck. Lips brush your neck, eliciting a shiver that Seokjin eagerly drinks in. Long, deft fingers work to undo the top part of your corset, the cushioned bandeau, and slip it from your form. You can visibly see it as his eyes darken, drinking in the sheer bralette barely supporting your breasts. You also know the second he glimpses the tassels pressed beneath, because his teeth sink into his lip and he takes in a sharp breath. 

Namjoon’s wandering hands come to trace the underside of your chest, breath catching in your throat when he takes their weight into his hold and kneads. Warmth shoots to your core, the hints of pleasure curling your toes. You feel breathless as they work in easy tandem, Seokjin slipping your petticoat over your legs and Namjoon removing your bralette. You shiver once your chest is bare, not from the cold but from the intensity and the weight of their gazes as you feel them fall upon you. 

“Leave her corset,” Seokjin instructs, flicking one of your tassels and eliciting a yelp. He settles back further between your legs, wrapping his arms around your thighs; his gazes falls upon the tattoo on the inside of your leg and the corner of his lips curls up. 

The plush of his lips presses against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, the sensation tingling along your nerves. He doesn’t comment on the picture, but when his mouth touches where it is inked into your skin you feel your heart skip a beat nonetheless. 

Your mind is pulled from the sensation of fingers slipping beneath the edge of your panties when Namjoon’s fingers play with the tassels attached to your nipples, tugging and pulling and eliciting all sorts of heady sensations that make your thighs shake. “Joon,” you breathe, something else resting on the tip of your tongue only to be replaced with a whine when Namjoon pulls a little harder, soft open-mouthed kisses pressed to the sensitive column of your neck.

It’s like all of your nerves are alight at once, each touch and brush of their skin against yours heightened and making your heart race and your breath come a little quicker. Seokijn quickly slips your panties off, but leaves the pantyhose and garter belt. His eyes drag a trail of heat up your body, halting where Namjoon has begun to suck marks onto your neck like an artist decorating a canvas. For a moment he is mesmerised, and you can’t help the words that slip from your lips.

“You like what you see?” You ask, curving your back ever so slightly to emphasise your position. Seokjin pins you with an unreadable look, jaw ticking for a moment. 

“Very much so,” he answers, pulling away from you for a moment. He reaches behind him, retrieving something you hadn’t even noticed before now, and when you realise what it is he has in his hand you feel your stomach simultaneously drop and flip in excitement. His eyes meet yours for a moment, an unspoken question whether what he is about to do is okay, and had it been anyone else you know you would have refused, but you trust him. You trust them. You offer him a small nod and you receive the smallest smile in return before he is bringing the camera up to his eye and lining up his shot. 

Flash. Click. The camera isn’t as bulky as you’re used to, and you figure it must be one of the newer models you are far too poor to afford. One picture seems to be enough for him for now, but you know as he places it well to the side that it won’t be the only appearance it makes tonight. 

“Just in case you decide to fly the coop on us again,” he says, a sly look on his face. You scoff, knowing that he’s joking, and hold up your hands, still bound. 

“Like this? Not likely.”

He chuckles, and you feel Namjoon’s chest rumble with a soft laugh against your back as well. The lighthearted moment is over as quick as it arrives as Seokjin settles back between your legs and hardly waits for you to orient yourself before dipping his head down and delivering a broad swipe of his tongue up your slit.

“F— Jin!” you yelp at the sudden shock of pleasure, wriggling in Namjoon’s arms slightly; he nips at your skin in light reprimand, and Seokjin lifts his head only for a moment to scold you with a cheeky gleam in his eyes.

“Careful now, bubs,” he cautions, delivering a small kitten lick to your clit between utterances. “We might have the penthouse but there are still people below us.”

Surprisingly— or perhaps unsurprisingly, when taking the rest of your life and profession into account — the idea of being heard has the opposite effect on you than one might expect. You bite your lip, tipping your head back as Namjoon’s fingers begin to play with you once more and Seokjin begins to bury his face between your legs in earnest. 

It gives you a bit of whiplash, when you think about it; you don’t think you ever would have expected to end up here, in this situation. Crushes or no crushes, you hadn’t even expected to see them again let alone become the meat in a famous musician sandwich. 

It’s almost shameful how quickly the heat and pressure builds within you, Namjoon managing to tug the tassels off completely to roll your flushed buds between his fingers. The noises that sound from Seokjin’s ministrations between your legs are so downright lewd you can feel your face flush with heat, your thighs trembling either side of his head. You attempt to keep your own moans and whines in until Seokjin delivers a smack to your thigh and sends you a warning look. 

Just when you think you might be about to reach your peak, Seokjin stops, pulling back and licking your cream from his lips. The look you send him must be devastated, because he looks absolutely smug. 

“Now, this isn’t just about you,” Seokjin says, carding a hand through his hair before he finishes undoing his shirt and slips it from his form. Your breath catches at the sight of his sculpted torso, and the ink that decorates it in pretty splotches of imagery. You feel so ridiculously naughty, finding the tattoos on him as attractive as you do, and you’re aware of the irony but you just can’t help it. Seokjin could manage to make a potato sack look good. “Hasn’t Joonie been good? Been making you feel so good, with nothing in return? I think we should pay him back.”

It’s all the warning you get before you’re flipped over, braced on your elbows and knees. There is rustling before something plush is slipped beneath you, and Seokjin lowers you down between Namjoon’s legs with the pillow propping your hips up for him to continue where he left off.

Dazed from the sudden shift and beginning to lose yourself to the feeling as Seokjin returns his mouth to your soaked centre, you tilt to meet Namjoon’s dark gaze and offer him a brief smile. You can’t deny, the angle you’re viewing him from is nice, especially as he wrangles his shirt off and you catch glimpses of firm abs and chest. Namjoon, too, has decorated his skin, and it’s somewhat ridiculous how viscerally you’re reacting to it but you really think you might be about to drool. 

The pleasure quickly beginning to build in you once more from Seokjin’s plush lips and agile tongue leaves you no room for pleasantries, “Can I suck you off, Joonie?”

You hear his breath catch before he tips his head back and lets out a soft groan. “Do you even have to ask?”

His response only fuels your eagerness, mouth beginning to feel empty when your face is so close to his crotch you can feel the heat of his body. Considering the state of your hands, Namjoon makes quick work of his belt and slacks for you, shimmying them down with his briefs just enough to let his member spring free, almost completely hard at this point. 

“Holy shoot, Joon,” you curse, eyes wide with a mixture of shock and lust. God, you don’t think you’ve ever wanted anyone as much as you want these two men.  Namjoon shoots you a cheeky, if somewhat dazed, smile that makes his dimples pop out.

“It’s not just me you have to worry about.”

Well that’s a condemning statement if you ever did hear one, considering how you’re hoping this night will go. One of the more open and liberal girls that worked the show with you had once said “god gave me two holes for a reason, girls!” and right now you find you couldn’t agree more. 

You’re sick of your mouth being empty, you decide, and so you forego further foreplay and simply reach for his cock, taking the length into your hands and promptly enveloping his tip in the heat of your mouth.

“Fuck!” Namjoon swears loudly, thighs tensing against your shoulders. The yelp that escapes you as Seokjin smacks your ass melts into a moan that elicits a throaty noise from Namjoon, as well. 

You press and drag your tongue along the underside of his length, gradually working your mouth lower and lower until your nose is brushing the dark patch of curls across his pubic bone, a surprisingly pleasant mixture of musk melding with his cologne and brushing your senses . Even without the pleasure flooding your nerves from Seokjin’s tongue and the way he latches his lips around your clit, the deep, throaty noises tumbling from Namjoon’s mouth are reward enough. Since your hands are bound, your mouth has to do most of the work; when you sink down enough that his tip bumps the back of your throat, you do your best to fight your gag reflex from kicking in fully. 

Namjoon swears once more, just barely stopping himself before it gets too reminiscent of a sailor’s vocabulary. The sensation of your throat constricting around the head of his member makes his hips twitch and buck up ever so slightly, his hands winding into the hair at the nape of your neck. Struggling to keep on task through the haze in your mind, you do your best to build up a rhythm that has Namjoon’s abdomen trembling from the effort of keeping his hips still.

In tandem, the two of you seem to be rapidly approaching your highs— unfortunately for you, that same attention to detail that makes Jin’s ministrations so mind-numbingly good is what alerts him to that fact. Right when you feel yourself tense up in the prelude to your orgasm, Seokjin rips his mouth away, the bed shifting behind you. “Not yet, bubs.”

You can’t help the whine that sounds from your throat, the vibrations making Namjoon jerk.

“Fuck, I’m—”

Flash. Click. 

Another whine, different in tone this time, escapes you at the knowledge that Seokjin has added another filthy memory to his collection. 

“Joonie, you better not cum until I say so. y/n, off.”

Namjoons nails scratch lightly against your scalp, almost making your eyes roll back as he whines lowly in protest. You know you should listen and do as Seokjin says, but you can’t help but push a little, taking your sweet time as you pull your mouth slowly from Namjoon’s length, sucking all the while. The noises that tumble from Namjoon’s mouth as a result are incriminating enough, and even though you knew Seokjin wasn’t going to let it slide it still comes as a surprise when there is a sharp, painful smack against the globe of your ass. It’s hard enough and loud enough that your back arches slightly, mouth leaving Namjoon with a pop so you’re free to cry out. 

“Jin!”

Seokjin’s hand is cool against the smarting flesh of your behind as he rubs soothingly over it, raising an eyebrow as you meet his gaze over your shoulder. “I told you off, bubs. Let’s not make me repeat myself.”

Somewhat petulant despite the giddy butterflies in the pit of your stomach, you allow him to grab you by the hips and yank you back with a pout, breathless with anticipation when you feel his fingers drag over the dips and curves of your body as though mapping them out. He makes you sit up, your back against his chest as he explores your front, drinking in each gasp and whine as he pinches and tugs your nipples and rolls them between the pads of his fingers. Down, down, down he goes— when his finger drags along your slit and slips over your swollen clit you cry out, unable to help the unwitting buck of your hips. 

“After all the effort I went to to clean you up, you’ve gone and made a mess again,” Seokjin murmurs, pillowy lips brushing the edge of your ear. You quiver in his hold as he rolls a lazy circle around your bud, thighs threatening to close around his hand. You’re suddenly aware of how empty you feel, surprised that you’ve almost orgasmed twice without even being penetrated. 

You try and cant your hips up, not above whining and begging at this point— if he denies you your high one more time you just might go insane. “Please, Jin, please—”

Namjoon, who had taken a moment to recover after almost blowing his load earlier, shifts forward on the bed to join the two of you. His lips find your neck, your jaw, until they finally meet your lips once more and he swallows your sinful noises down. 

“What, you want more? You want my fingers? Look at you. You want to be filled so badly you’re willing to rock against anything with a pulse...”

Heat flushes up your neck to your cheeks, Namjoon’s kiss muffling your whine; you hadn’t thought you would be one to fancy this sort of thing, but if the wetness gushing forth at his words is anything to go by then apparently you do. 

Namjoon parts from your lips, waiting until your eyes focus on him so that he can hold your gaze. “Baby girl,” he murmurs, voice rough. His hand slips down to join Seokjin’s, finger dipping ever so slightly into your slit. The true meaning of his question isn’t lost on you.  “Who do you want?”

You feel almost unhinged with how much raw, restless desire is coursing through you right now— you couldn’t have stopped your answer even if you’d wanted to. “Both… both of you…”

There is a moment of silence following your response, but you don’t have time to wonder whether you said the wrong thing. In the next second Seokjin is swearing lowly under his breath, pressing his lips to your throat to hide his groan.

“Joonie, bedside table. You’ll have to prepare her.”

You’ve never seen Namjoon move as fast as he did the second Seokjin spoke, flying from the bed; he’s back within seconds after retrieving something from the drawers to the side, placing them on the covers. A small rectangular tin and a slim bottle. 

When he sits, waiting eagerly with his cock still flushed and hard and bobbing from the movement, Seokjin turns you around in an abridged version of the way you were before. Taking note of the uncomfortable angle of your arms, he undoes the tie, but doesn’t discard it after slipping it from the reddened skin of your wrists.

With your ass now pointed in Namjoon’s direction, it isn’t long before his hands find purchase and your most intimate area is revealed to him.

“Fuck,” he swears, “You’re so wet, baby. We might not even need the extra help, hyung.”

“Use it just in case,” Seokjin instructs, before turning his attention to you. “Now, if you want to cum later I think you should earn it now, hm?”

Your hands were already moving towards his belt and fly before he’d started talking, but his words renew your vigour. When you free Seokjin’s crotch from the confines of his slacks and briefs, you quickly understand just what Namjoon meant earlier. Namjoon has length, but Seokjin is thick. You wrap your hands around him and can’t help but marvel at his size— you’re a little ashamed of how excited it makes you.

“Ah!” Your plans to engulf Seokjin’s cock in the heat of your mouth are interrupted by a sensation at your rear. You wiggle slightly, unable to help it. “That’s cold!”

Namjoon places a featherlight kiss to your cheek, thick, slippery finger beginning to ease into your hole now that it is sufficiently lubricated. Suddenly aware that your attention is in the wrong place, you do your best to hurry back to what you were doing before you earn yourself another smack. 

“Perfect, bubs.” The groan that rumbles from Seokjin’s throat in praise is so raspy and low that it makes a shiver roll down your spine. As teasingly as you dare, you’re suckling around the flushed head of his cock, feeling it twitch and throb in your hands in response. It’s already a tight fit in your mouth, you can feel your thighs quaking in anticipation as you imagine what it would feel like filling you up. The thought takes you by surprise.

Since when did you start thinking like such a wanton whore?!

Well, you suppose, there is no time like the present. 

Seokjin’s hand threads through your hair, his hips rocking ever so slightly; you watch the way the muscles in his abdomen undulate at the movement and fight to keep your saliva in your mouth as you begin to bob your head down his length. Considering his girth, it’s hard to keep your teeth tucked behind your lips, but you somehow manage; when the time comes that he reaches your throat you’re in a better condition than you were earlier for it, but it’s still a bit of a shock to the system.

“Oh my god,” Seokjin’s thighs quake for the slightest second against you. “Fuck. No wonder Joonie almost blew his load. Look at you. You do this often, huh? Look how well you swallow my cock…”

You moan around him, his words and the oddly pleasant sensation of Namjoon working his fingers in and out of your asshole melding into a pool of heat in your abdomen.  Your eyes flutter closed as you try to focus on making Seokjin feel good, and you’re only distracted by a muted flash behind your eyelids.

Click.

Another shot saved. You take Seokjin further into your mouth, trying to go as far back as you can without gagging. He doesn’t seem to mind the way your throat constricts around his length though, if the noises escaping his plush lips where they part are anything to go by. Namjoon gradually adds one finger after another, making sure you’re accustomed to the stretch at least a little before the next joins. By the time he has squeezed in three fingers and scissored them a few times, you find yourself shaking a bit from the sensations. It’s odd, different to what you’re used to, but oh even with the light burn that accompanies each finger it still feels so good. 

You’re so focused on the sensations that you don’t even realise the attention you’ve been giving Seokjin has strayed, lips sucking a little harder and your hand stroking a little tighter. The salty taste of precum coats your tongue and you have half a mind to be ashamed of the way it makes you long for more. It proves to be a little too much for Seokjin at once, though. His hand tightens in your hair, pulling you gently off of him as he struggles to catch his breath.

“Not yet, bubs,” he says, voice rough. His eyes are like magnetic pools as they draw you into their depths, their hold only broken when Namjoon slips a final finger in and you shut your eyes on instinct, mouth dropping open at the sensation. 

“Are you ready, baby?” 

Namjoon’s voice makes your stomach flip, his free hand smoothing over the curve of your ass. You find yourself nodding before you even have the thought to do so, and with that Namjoon shifts on the bed behind you. Seokjin helps you move backwards, your eyes trained on his length somewhat longingly. There is the sound of something tearing softly behind you and you find yourself thankful that they took the initiative and you don’t have to ask them about protection.

You’re moved so that you’re straddling Namjoon’s hips with your back to him, still facing Seokjin. The two of them have since discarded their slacks and briefs  and are now presenting themselves in all their naked glory. Namjoon mutters a tender warning, informing you it might burn a bit, and you’ve heard of that but aren’t about to turn tail when you also know it’s going to feel so good after. You feel his tip press against your ass, alarmingly bigger than his fingers, and Seokjin helps ease you down slowly, inch by inch, with a firm grasp on your hips. 

True to the warning you’d received, it does burn; Namjoon had made sure there was more than enough lubrication for an easy glide, though, and by the time he has seated himself fully in you, you’re making noises you don’t think you ever have before. The line between heady pleasure and light pain is so blurred that you’re worried you might have fried your nerves at some point tonight. 

“Oh—” you take in a shuddering breath, shifting your hips ever so slightly and moaning in tandem with the man beneath you. “Joon…”

“Ride him,” Seokjin instructs, hands leaving your hips to reach for his camera once more. “Let’s make him feel good, hm?”

Who are you to say no? 

You pride yourself on having a lot of strength in your limbs, thighs especially, but still they tremble as you roll your hips up until just the tip of Namjoon’s cock remains in you, and then ease back onto him again. It takes a second before you realise the low moan you hear is coming from you, mind so addled with pleasure at this point you almost feel like you’re floating. Bracing yourself on your thighs, you do your best to set a rhythm and maintain it, ignoring the fatigue of your muscles and focusing on how good it feels and the noises tumbling from the man beneath you. 

When there is a sly touch against your swollen clit, you cry out loudly— Namjoon almost shouts at the way you clench around him, his hands flying to your hips to hold you in place for a moment. You look to Seokjin with wide eyes, panting slightly.

“Didn’t you wanna cum so badly, earlier?” he queries, fingers slipping down to slide through the slick mess around your entrance. You moan as he easily sinks two fingers in, pumping lightly. “Don’t stop, fuck yourself on my fingers, bubs.”

It feels so good you think you might tear up; obediently, you resume the pace you set earlier, now riding both Namjoon’s length and Seokjin’s digits. Each time you sink down he curls them, and you don’t know how much longer you can keep this out before your legs become too akin to  jelly to support you.

The answer is: not much longer. Seokjin quickly grows tired of it when your movements slow, thighs trembling from the effort. With a hand to your stomach he pushes you back, shifting your legs so they’re folded with your feet flat against the covers. You scramble for purchase, Namjoon quickly supporting you from behind. 

Seokjin tuts, muttering playfully about having to do everything himself, and it’s all the warning you get before he adds another digit and begins to finger your sopping entrance so hard and good that for a moment your vision goes white.

“S-Seokjin!” you drop your head back, nails sinking into the bedding as he begins to curl his fingers into that delicious spot inside of you with each pump. You had been slowly but steadily climbing back up to the precipice of your orgasm earlier, but now you’re heading there at breakneck speed. Before you know it the coil of pressure is snapping inside you and you’re shaking, pleasure numbing your limbs and making you whine.

By the time your high fades and you tune back in to the moment, you quickly become aware of two things— one, that you’ve somehow managed to coat Seokjin’s whole arm in your fluids, and two, that Namjoon has gone so tense and still beneath you that you think you might have almost killed him.

“Good girl,” Seokjin praises, sucking your cream off the tip of his fingers before wiping the remaining excess on your thigh so he can reach for his own rubber. “Do you need me to wait another moment?”

Assessing your current state, you find yourself shaking your head. You might have thought you would be too sensitive to continue, but Namjoon is still fully seated in your ass and now your pussy feels too empty for you to bear. Seokjin is only too happy to fill that void. 

Nestled between your legs, when he lines his cock up at your entrance and begins to slide in, you all but lose the ability to think. You clench unintentionally from the sensation of being filled so completely, making both men groan and Seokjin halt in his movements. He waits until you relax again before continuing his motion. 

When both men are fully sheathed inside you, you think this really might be what bliss is. Soft, panting whines and moans tumble freely from your throat as Seokjin pushes your thighs to your chest and begins to set a mind-numbing pace. It’s borderline brutal, the way he slams into you and splits you open so hard and good; each time his hips hit home you feel your whole body jostle.

“You can move, Joonie,” Seokjin somehow manages to articulate, sweat beginning to bead across his forehead and dampen the strands falling over it. You don’t know how he can talk, because you know if you tried at this moment you’d likely end up biting off your tongue. 

You feel Namjoon shake his head, hair brushing the space between your shoulder blades. “‘m close,” he mumbles in explanation, a short moan following his words. “Wanna cum together.”

It’s such a sweet desire in the midst of such a lewd situation that you almost get whiplash between the swelling of your heart and the pleasurable ache filling your insides. You feel that he will get his wish soon, because despite your recent high you’re already well on your way to reaching it again— Seokjin’s hips have begun to stutter, too, and you know he isn’t far behind. 

It all reaches its peak when Seokjin slips his hand down, following the angle of your hip bone to your core and rolling your bud with his thumb. It proves to be too much for you, because in the next moment you’re letting out a loud train of expletives and clenching tightly around them as pleasure floods your system once more, mind absolutely blank. The tightness of your heat around them is their undoing and barely a moment after you reach your high they follow suit, the sounds tumbling from them borderline sinful against your ears. 

It takes a bit longer for you to come back to earth, this time. By the time you do, Namjoon is winding his arms around your waist and rolling to the side, taking you and Seokjin with him. You let out a noise of surprise that curls into a laugh, hands gripping his arms as you hit the bed; both men are still inside you, and while you secretly wish it could stay that way for a bit longer, you know you should probably clean up. 

“No,” Namjoon says before you even go to move, a pout in his tone as he buries his face in the back of your neck. Seokjin nestles closer, pressing his lips to the hollow of your throat. “Stay, just a bit longer.”

That’s a dangerous request, especially considering the way your eyelids are beginning to feel heavy after the events of the night. For them, too, you can hear the way their breathing has already begun to even out. You couldn’t be mad if you tried, though, because just being here in their arms feels so right that you don’t ever want to feel anything else. 

“I guess we can nap…” you say, sounding tired enough that it elicits a chuckle from Seokjin. You let your eyes close, nestling your cheek against the top of Seokjin’s head and enjoying the light scent of his shampoo and cologne. You let out one last warning before you let yourself fall into the abyss, though. Just so they know who’s boss.

“If I see those photos anywhere near my house, Seokjin, it won’t just be me getting disowned.”

The laughter that tumbles forth in response just adds to the warmth flooding your being, and you let yourself relax, contented and truly happy for the first time in three years. 

[sincerelyella]

Everything Has Changed Chapter 9 - Butterflies

Book: The Royal Romance (AU)

Song Inspiration: Butterflies by MAX & Ali Gate

Pairings: past Liam x MC (Ella); Drake x OC

Characters belong to Pixelberry; MC Ella Brooks belongs to me

Summary: What if Liam was promised as a child to another kingdom’s princess?

A/N: Sorry for this taking forever guys, thanks for pestering me about this chapter!

Catch up here -> EHC masterlist

Thank you @ofpixelsandscribbles and @alyssalauren​ for prereading! Y’all know I get nervous before posting anything. Love you!

Warnings: Angst; fluff

Words: 1428

I won't stop getting butterflies, I get 'em every time I look into your eyes

You won't stop running through my mind, For the rest of both our lives

You give me butterflies

Liam, now 13 years old, was introduced to the court as the Prince of Cordonia. His father insisted that a ball needed to be thrown and whatever Constantine wanted, he got. Liam spoke with some of the court with his father and then sat in the corner of the ballroom and played a dice game with Tariq. Now and then, he would look up and try to find 10-year-old Ella in the crowded room. She was with her parents that night and wore a royal blue floor-length gown with tulle and a rhinestone belt that shone in the bright lights. She’s really pretty.

“Hello? Earth to Liam! It’s your turn,” Tariq pushed the dice into the young prince’s hand. “Who are you staring at?”

“Nobody,” he mumbled and tossed the dice against the wall. 

The boys played for a few moments until Liam heard a little voice.

“Prince Liam.”

He looked up and saw Ella smiling down at him. “Hello, Princess.”

Ella playfully curtsied. They both giggled.

“May I dance with the Prince of Cordonia tonight?”

“I suppose I have time,” he turned to Tariq. “See you later, my friend.”

Tariq waved at both of them and the two turned and walked towards the dance floor.

Ella’s little arm was curled through Liam’s. “So, are we doing the Flamingo?”

Liam let out a loud laugh. “Our parents would not find that appropriate.”

They turned to face each other, Liam putting his hand on the small of her back and holding her right hand in his left. As soon as the Prince and Princess began to glide across the dance floor, the entire court stepped back to watch them. Royalty was always expected to learn to perfect the art of dance at a young age, but these two held everyone’s attention. They danced like grown adults that had been doing this for years.

“Everyone is staring at us,” Ella whispered as she gazed into Liam’s eyes.

“No, they’re staring at you,” Liam had always noticed Ella’s almond-shaped, light brown eyes, how they lightened under the sun, how they darkened and turned almost grey when she cried. This time, however, her eyes were almost green. Liam felt a fluttering in his chest, then it moved to his stomach. Am I hungry? He had never felt this sensation before. “Did you know that your eyes change colors?”

Their movements were practiced and natural, elegant in every way. They didn’t even need to think about what came next, their bodies already in sync. Ella shook her head. “Nobody has stared at my eyeballs long enough to know.”

Liam chuckled softly. “Well, they do. They’re really pretty - you’re really pretty.”

Ella bit her bottom lip. “Thank you, Prince Liam.”

“I’m not telling you as a prince, El,” Liam swallowed nervously. “I mean, I am. I think you’re beautiful,” he stammered. “But I’m also telling you as a boy. As Liam.” The fluttering was back, this time he felt it everywhere, his chest, his stomach; he felt the tingling in his fingers as he held her hand, emptiness when she let go of him to twirl under his arm.

“You’re very sweet,” Ella’s cheeks turned a rosy pink color. “Thank you, you’re very handsome too.”

Present-day

Liam and Ella stared at each other - both trying to decide if this was real or just a dream. He felt the butterflies flutter in his chest just like he did the first time he danced with her all those years ago.

Liam was the first to break the reverie and took a tentative step forward. “Can we … talk?” He was overcome with emotion but kept his stoic facade in place.

Ella nodded, unable to form words.

Liam quickly took her hold of her arm and gently led her to the VIP area where it was darker and a bit quieter. Security let the two by and Liam slid towards the back of the booth, Ella following.

They turned to look at each other and began talking at once.

“Are you here?” “Oh my God, it’s you!”

Liam couldn’t help himself, he had to touch her. He still got butterflies when he looked at her. Even when they were kids, the love he felt never went away. If anything, it got stronger as the years went by. Liam gently cupped her cheek and he let out an audible gasp. “You’re real,” he whispered.

Ella leaned into his hand, relishing in how her feelings for him came back all at once; it hit her like a freight truck. When she locked eyes with him by the bar, her heart stopped for a moment. “I’m real,” she whispered back.

“Where … have you … been? I looked … for you,” Liam was crying now, a slow, steady stream of tears trickled down his cheeks. Four years. Four years of missing her, afraid for her, not knowing where she was. Almost believing that she had died with her family.

Ella’s cheeks were already wet with her tears; she could barely speak. “We … were attacked,” she closed her eyes to try to keep her breathing normal but she couldn’t.

“Shhh,” Liam whispered as he leaned in to kiss his long-lost love. The salt from their tears mixed when their lips met; it was like everything they both had endured in these four years apart was worth it. Liam pulled back and wiped her tears away with his thumb. “What happened, Ella?”

“They took … over our kingdom. Killed … my mom,” Ella cried. “My name is … different … for protection.”

Liam put his forehead against hers and they stayed that way for several minutes. Both crying, both trying to get their emotions under control, otherwise this conversation would never happen.

“What is your name now?”

Ella gave him a small smile. “My name is Ellie Wheeler.”

Liam sat back and held out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Ellie, my name is Liam.”

Ella let out a giggle and put her hand in his. “The pleasure is all mine.”

Liam softly kissed her knuckles and took in her scent. The coconut and lavender instantly hit his brain and he felt drunk off of it. “So, Ellie, you’re here in L.A., what about your kingdom?”

“Hey!”

The two turned to see Riya staring at them with an arm in the air. “What are you doing in there, El? And who is that?!”

“Is that your friend?” Liam noted that he saw her at the bar, in her red jumper.

“Oh, yes that’s Riya,” Ella waved and Liam nodded to security that it was fine to let her in. Drake, who was still at the bar looking for Liam, heard what was going on and made his way to the VIP section.

Riya huffed and placed her hands on her hips. “You ditched me to hang out with” - she motioned to Liam - “this snack?!” She studied him intently, then her eyes widened in shock. “Oh my God, you’re Liam!”

“Brooks?!” Drake exclaimed from behind Riya as he stared in shock.

“Hey, Drake,” Ella grinned sheepishly.

“Why is he calling you Brooks?” Riya demanded.

“Who are you?” Riya and Drake had turned to face each other as they spoke at the same time.

Liam stood from his seat and waved his hands in the air. “Okay, timeout! There’s a lot of explaining to do. Can you both please sit down?” He gestured for them to join him “They have the same scowl and both are drinking whiskey,” Liam whispered to Ella quickly before their friends slid into the booth.

Ella clapped a hand over her mouth to stop her giggles.

“Okay,” Drake quipped as he set his tumbler down onto the table. “So, what’s going on?”

Ella explained what happened at the palace four years ago, how her father’s men had tried to kill her family, taken over the country, and that she fled to California with her dad.

“Damn, I’m so sorry about your mom, Brooks,” Drake lifted his glass in the air as a salute and knocked it back. “Alright, so is the arrangement off then?”

Ella’s nose crinkled. “Arrangement?”

Liam’s eyes showed remorse as he turned to look at Ella. “Ah, well … I have something I need to tell you.”

[greengrayeyeswrites]

shit-faced in love (chapter five)

Title: shit-faced in love

Pairing: Corpse Husband x OC (fem!youtuber!reader)

Word Count: 1,158

Warnings: Mental Health/Mental Illnesses are a big topic in this story. Mentions of depression, bpd and other mental illnesses. Angst, Fluff.

Note: This may be a Corpse x OC story but feel free to insert yourself into the main girls role. If Corpse ever announces that he doesn’t like fanfics about him, I’ll delete this.

Prologue — Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6

Author’s Note: Hello guys! I am very, very sorry that I didn’t update this any sooner. I’ve had a lot of troubles with my mental health lately, especially my bpd acting up and making me feel so worthless I wanted to punch myself in the face with a chair... But I thought that I need to get my shit back together and post a new chapter. I am really sorry about the delay. All these likes I am getting on a story that I mainly write for myself is overwhelming... so a massive thank you!

Also HAPPY BIRTHDAY CORPSE!

— — —

Imogen ended up being MIA for two whole days. She didn’t update her Twitter after cancelling the stream and didn’t upload anything on her Instagram story and her feed. 

The day after her bad mood swing she stayed at home and Baylee came over. The two girls were spending the day on the couch watching silly old-school romcoms; Buddy sitting in between them in case Imogen needed him.

They were watching movie after movie, falling asleep in between and Imogen felt bad for Baylee. She apologized for being so unmotivated, boring and weird today but Baylee quickly shook her head and told her that it was okay. 

Imogen couldn’t believe how happy she was to have Baylee as her friend, but since she was shifting from black to white thinking and back to black, she couldn’t really feel the happiness she knew existed somewhere. 

All she felt was emptiness and sadness. The episode lasted four whole hours and Imogen fell asleep crying in the middle of it. 

On her final day in Houston, Imogen and Baylee decided to go shopping and Imogen wanted to spoil her best friend. She got her a new computer and a new phone—which Baylee couldn’t quite believe. But Imogen was persistent and wanted her to keep the things.

Imogen then rented a beautiful NCT green colored Jeep Wrangler; which the girls immediately tried out when they were driving to the Space Center Houston for their last day.

„You almost sounded like MrBeast, when you gave me the phone and Macbook“ Baylee chuckled, as the girls looked for a parking lot in front of the Space Center. „I mean I’m meeting him and the crew next week for the first time, so I have to practice“, Imogen grinned, feeling way happier then a few days back.

„D’you already know what you’re doing with them?“ Baylee asked, but Imogen shook her head, when her phone rang with a message notification.

„Would you mind?“ Imogen asked nodding towards her phone, that was peeking out of her totebag in front of Baylee’s feet. Buddy was lifting his head from the backseat, looking at his owner and her friend.

„You got a voice message from Corpse“ Baylee read the notification on the lock screen and Imogen gulped. „Would you mind playing it?“ The twenty-eight year old asked and Baylee nodded, unlocking Imogen’s phone and pressing play.

The first thing both girls could hear was shuffling in the background before Corpse’s deep voice rang in their ears. „Whaddup baby?“, he asked and a shiver went through Imogen’s body, while she maneuvered the car into a parking lot. 

Baylee slapped her hand over her mouth, staring at Imogen in shock. Hearing his go-to phrase so close to her ears and so intimate was kinda scary. Baylee felt like she was eavesdropping.

„How are you feeling?“ Corpse asked, „We were kinda worried when you didn’t respond to the group chat. I know I go MIA as well but you usually told us what was wrong. Rae was worried and I was as well. Please text us soon, so we don’t have to worry anymore.“ 

A quiet breath left his lips and Imogen looked over to Baylee, who was still covering her mouth. „I hope you finish your MrBeast stuff soon. I want to meet you real quick!“ Corpse finished the message and the phone screen turned black.

„Oh my god“ Baylee let out and stared at Imogen. „I felt so bad for listening, Mo!“ She cried out and Imogen gulped. „I feel so bad for not telling them what happened. I know how worried they get when I don't text!“ Imogen shook her head.

„Here, here!“ Baylee pressed the phone into Imogen’s hands. „Text them now! Tell them how you’re feeling and what you’re up to today!“ Baylee turned around to Buddy.

„Buddy, I can’t believe I heard Corpse speak like that! He was genuinely worried!“ Imogen watched her best friend and shook her head.

She had to be honest. Hearing Corpse’s voice like that made her heart jump a little bit. What was he doing with her? She didn’t even know what he looked like, yet he made her heart do weird dancy-dances. 

She knew Baylee was watching her, while she typed into her phone. She knew Baylee wanted to know what she wrote—and she would’ve told her, if she wouldn’t be so shy about it.

When the women came home this night, Baylee decided to crash over in Imogen’s AirBnB. They stayed up most of the night and talked about everything and nothing. They were talking about Baylee’s crush on her co-worker, that didn’t even notice her presence. They spoke about Imogen’s therapy and medication and how Buddy had helped her out of so many dark places already; and then, as the sun was about to rise again, they fell asleep.

— — —

They woke up to Buddy licking their faces, wagging with his tail only a few hours later. Baylee sat up and looked at Imogen, fighting her dog off her.

„You know what? I’m going to miss you.“ Imogen finally got Buddy off her and looked at Baylee. Tears filled her best friends eyes and Imogen looked at her. „Bay“, she whispered and crushed her best friend in a hug. „This week went by way too fast“ Baylee cried into Imogen’s shoulder. „I swear, before I go back to Ireland, I’ll take you on a vacy to Hawaii. So be prepared to take a few days off, once I’m done with my travel!“

Imogen started laughing and Baylee grinned. „Gotcha!“

After having a breakfast together, Baylee helped Imogen pack her stuff and load it into the Wrangler. Imogen was fastening Buddy in the backseat, when she closed the door behind her and hugged Baylee once more.

„Take care, Mo.“ Baylee said and squished Imogen’s cheeks. „I will.“ - „No, I’m serious. When you feel low or sad or empty , turn off the cameras and hold Buddy. Okay?“

Imogen smiled. „I will. Thank you, Bay.“ The girls hugged once more, Baylee clinging on to Imogen as if her life depends on it. „I just wish I could quit my retail job and follow you around, being your camera woman or something.“ Baylee sighed and Imogen looked at her.

Imogen’s brain buzzed. „Keep that in mind, Bay. Okay? I’d even pay you.“ Baylee looked at Imogen and the Irish lass grinned. „Whatever you say, big girl“ Baylee grinned and softly banged the side of the Wrangler.

„Go and take the NCTzen car through the states.“ Baylee grinned and stepped aside to her own car. Imogen grinned and climbed into the Wrangler.

„Good luck on these 1,270 miles!“ Balyee yelled, as Imogen turned on the engine. „Take breaks in between okay?“ Imogen nodded and started backing out of the driveway.

Baylee disappeared into the distance and a piece of Imogen’s heart broke, when she left Houston behind.  

to be continued...

Taglist: @wineandionysus​ @chanbaeol​ @rexit-mo

[le-amewzing]

Special Agent Barker

It happened again: I drew a thing that also wanted to be a fic. ;P

Fic: "Special Agent Barker" [FFN] [AO3]

Pairings/Characters: Alden Parker/Jess Knight, Timothy McGee, Nick Torres, & an OC ;D

Rating: K+

Words: ~2,690

Additional info: romance, humor, 3rd person POV

Summary: Knight's giant heart means Parker suffers the "consequences." -—Or, Parker gets a mini-me.

      "Sorry I'm late," Parker announced once he'd taken two steps off the elevator. He lifted his coffee ahead of him and tipped his head with a weary sigh. "That big accident on the Beltway appears to be ensnaring just about everyone this morning."

      Surprisingly, none on his team remarked about his tardiness. In fact…none of them sat at their desks, even.

��     Parker's ears pricked up, catching the chatter in the bullpen before he rounded the cubicle wall that formed one side of Knight's area. His eyes immediately landed on the trio gathered in the middle of their office, and he quirked an eyebrow at Knight's back since she and McGee sat on the floor. "…all right, what'd I miss?"

      Knight glanced at him over her shoulder, grin wide and eyes shining. "'Morning, Parker! We, uh, have a guest this morning."

      He narrowed his eyes at her and approached with caution. Parker dropped his attention to the middle of the circle and suddenly felt a whole hell of a lot more tired. "Just one question: Why?"

      Torres snickered at that and Knight's shoulders fell a fraction, but her enthusiasm didn't dim with her guest—some scraggly pooch—sitting happily on the floor, wagging its tail while having its ears scratched by her and back stroked by McGee. "I brought him in with me," Knight answered.

      "Still not clearing things up here, Knight."

      She leaned to one side so Parker could get by and at least set his jacket and coffee down on his desk. But Knight turned her head to follow him and continued, "I had to bring him in. I'm in the middle of wheeling and dealing with my landlord to let me keep him. And I only found him last night." She paused for a second while the dog, as if sensing they discussed him, stood on all fours, turned to peer up at Parker, and sat back down. Knight and McGee smiled the way some people did at babies, whereas Torres snorted and Parker met the dog's stare head-on. "He was wandering around last night, looking lost and lonely, when I hit my favorite takeout place—"

      Ah, finally something he knew. "The Italian place with the cheesy garlic knots?"

      Knight picked her head up, raising her eyebrows at Parker. "You remembered."

      "Mozzarella stuffed inside—that's goodness that's hard to forget."

      Knight laughed. "Fair. But I crossed paths with this little fella on my way into the shop. My order wasn't quite ready yet, so I got to watch him through their window for a while, too. People ignored him, and the person running the register said they see him often and sometimes toss him scraps to keep him from rooting in their trash around back." She shrugged and gave the dog a hearty pat between the ears, ruffling them and causing the pup to shake his head happily. "So…I took him home. Gave him a bath and a warm place to sleep."

      Parker touched his brow, wondering if they'd given him decaf this morning at the coffee shop by mistake… Clearly, things weren't firing right in his brain. "That's a nice story, Knight, but again—why here?"

      She exchanged a look with McGee, whose quizzical expression made it clear Parker hadn't leapt to the appropriate conclusions yet. "Well, I texted Kasie about him, so she used the RFID reader she has in the lab to scan for chips. Nothing."

      All right. Not an appropriate use of NCIS resources, but closer to making sense now.

      "And the Beltway traffic…didn't affect me so much," Knight confessed, suddenly sheepish. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "I, um, spent my morning checking my neighborhood as well as by the restaurant for missing dog posters, to no avail. So, aside from waiting and posting info that I've found a dog to see if anyone comes forward…" Her dark eyes were back on him, but they were pretty imploring this time.

      Parker's next clues were the return of Torres' snickers and McGee's pleading expression that matched Knight's. Hell, he could've sworn McGee pouted at him, complete with lower lip jutting out. Parker looked at each of them in turn, Torres, McGee, and ending on Knight, and opened his mouth to utter "no."

      "Oh, come on, Parker! Please?" Knight asked. She smiled and tilted her head slightly. "I just said my landlord hasn't given me a final word yet."

      He gestured to Torres. "What about Mr. Not-So-Quiet over here?"

      Torres unfolded his arms and stood straighter on McGee's right. "Ah, yeah, no. I've already got a fish, and Carl and I have a good thing going. Besides…the dog's cute, but I, uh. I have a history with dogs. I'm not very good with them, especially sizable ones."

      The rest of them dropped their eyes to the dog in question. It was somewhere between small and medium in terms of size—absolutely not a dog anyone would call "sizable." Parker settled Torres with a dry look, but the younger man wouldn't be swayed and shook his head. So Parker next gazed at McGee; after all, his Senior Field Agent had the audacity to pout at him.

      But now McGee floundered, rather literally, his mouth opening and closing while he scrambled for an excuse and stopped petting the dog in the meantime. "I mean—I'm delighted. I would be delighted," McGee corrected when Parker raised his eyebrows. "But Delilah would kill me for just bringing home a dog out of the blue without discussing it with her first, especially if the twins got excited about the dog and we then realized we couldn't keep him." He sighed.

      So, once more, Parker locked eyes with Knight, especially now that it was abundantly clear to him what she really meant to ask. Since it weren't as though she could leave the dog overnight at NCIS and none of them mentioned Jimmy or Kasie as viable options, Knight must've already come to this conclusion. Still, Parker pursed his lips while he absorbed the facts.

      Knight was determined, though, to make Parker budge. She brushed back the mutt's ears from the sides of his face and coaxed his chin up so they both stared up at Parker. "Oh, just look at him, Parker! Look at these eyebrows. This deep-set pout." She grinned while she scratched the dog's head some more, a chuckle in her tone at her next observation. "He's even got your salt-and-pepper hair…" Although, as she said it, there was a glint in Knight's eye, as if something occurred to her right then and there. She caught McGee's and Torres' eyes before glancing back at Parker and trying to tamp down an even bigger grin. "Oh, my God. He's Special Agent Barker."

      Yeah, he must've been given decaf by mistake. Parker enjoyed a good joke, but suddenly he regretted getting out of bed this morning.

      He dragged a hand down his face while McGee and Torres shared a laugh over the pun, but the laughter wasn't uproarious, just appreciative of Knight's creativity. Plus it faded quickly when Knight got to her feet to meet Parker at his desk once he finally took a seat in his chair. "Seriously, though, Parker. I plan to keep him, for real, as long as things work out with my building," Knight said, dropping her volume. Some of the humor had left her tone, too, but her eyes were big as ever.

      Parker stared up at her for a moment. He twisted his lips around but didn't look away. If she really planned to keep the stray mutt in earnest… "…one night," Parker conceded.

      Knight's face lit up. "Thank you so much!" And her thanks seemed genuine.

      But there was a different glint in her eye this time, which conveyed to Parker that she'd suspected he was going to cave and take the dog in anyway…

      How he'd gone from Beltway accident to sheltering a stray in one morning, he didn't know. But Parker definitely knew he needed more coffee—real coffee—by then.

      "Go figure the day you show up is one of those rare quiet days at the office," Parker muttered to the pooch as he pulled into his spot outside the painted brick building—his condo complex—later that evening. He angled his mirror and glanced at the dog in the reflection.

      The dog tilted his head as if saying, Who, me?

      Parker scoffed and shook his head. He got out and let the dog out after him, and the dog padded along rather quietly as Parker headed up the front steps. Inside, too, on the first floor and up to Parker's place on the second, the dog was pleasantly quiet except for the gentle clacking of too-long claws on the floor. Parker was surprised by the dog's manners when the canine planted himself, waiting for Parker to unlock his door. …huh. "Well, I would've preferred Knight's company, but you're pretty well-behaved, pup," Parker remarked.

      Inside, too, the dog's behavior didn't change much. Sure, he sniffed around a lot, as dogs were wont to do, but he didn't get into Parker's shoes by the door, he left the coffee table and magazines alone in the living room, and he didn't go wandering very far from Parker's side at all. It were almost as though he understood he was a guest (an uninvited one, at that) and was doing his best to be a good boy.

      "Or maybe I ended up getting too much swill from the break room," Parker thought aloud, trying to recall just how much coffee he'd fetched while at the office. Not that it could be called "coffee," but still. When one was desperate, one was desperate, and caffeine was still caffeine.

      Parker swapped his work clothes for a soft t-shirt and comfy sweatpants, yet again surprised that the dog didn't get into his business, preferring instead to wait for Parker outside his bedroom door. Either this dog really did belong to someone because he was trained exceptionally well or he'd spent enough time around people to pick up on, in some way or shape or form, the concept of personal space. He preferred to think it was either of those options, and not that the dog had learned to be wary of humans the hard way. Though, if that were the case, then Parker could commiserate; learning life lessons the hard way stank.

      Parker and his canine guest left the tiny hallway behind and headed for the kitchen. For himself, Parker pulled the leftover burger from the fridge (it would've been burgers, plural, had they not split a third one the other night, he thought absentmindedly) and grabbed the last portion of frozen fries from his freezer. It wasn't the healthiest meal, but it'd do on short notice and with an extra responsibility tonight.

      Of course, while the fries crisped in the oven and Parker pulled his burger from the microwave to dig in, the dog licked his chops.

      "Hey. You have good taste, but you've got kibble you're still working on." Parker put his food down on the counter for a second to retrieve the remnants of the small bag Knight had purchased and been feeding the dog all day long, and he poured a portion into the first bowl he grabbed from his cupboards and placed it on the floor.

      The dog sniffed it, licked his lips, and gazed up at Parker again.

      Parker sighed and broke off the tiniest bit of ground beef, aiming for the bowl, but the dog caught it midair instead and barked his thanks. Parker chuckled to himself and shook his head, wondering if he'd gone soft on the creature.

      When the fries were ready, Parker plated his own meal and went out to the living room, turning the TV on to scroll quickly, catching bits of news here and there. He didn't linger on any one show long, although sometimes certain commercials made him groan.

      By the third echo, he realized the dog was grumping at the same commercials he did.

      Parker finished eating and set his plate down on his coffee table, peering down at the dog.

      The dog stared back up at him. The team hadn't been wrong earlier, poking fun at Torres for thinking this tiny thing was sizable. He was some kind of mutt—had some terrier in him, judging by those fluffy eyebrows and that crazy moustache and the short but shaggy coat—and was likely little longer than Parker's thigh if the dog hopped up on the couch and joined the federal agent in his TV surfing. The dog was on the thin side, but that was to be expected for a stray acquainted with living on the streets. His fur was mostly deep grays with speckles of lighter shades throughout, especially marked around his face, ears, and crown, so Parker couldn't quite hold Knight's comparison against her.

      But Parker exhaled, thinking again of Knight's moniker for the dog and Torres' and McGee's amused reactions to it. Special Agent Barker—honestly, why did they see him in this dog?

      Obviously, the dog had no answer. But he exhaled, too, a huffy little sound, and curled up on the floor by Parker's feet, content to watch TV silently with him, grumping at each annoying commercial and infomercial.

      After a blessedly uneventful night, Parker showered and dressed in the morning. He fixed eggs and toast for himself and, taking some pity on the pup, tossed the dog his crust. Not a single crumb made it to the floor, which Parker appreciated. That really was a handy trick.

      But, more than that, he appreciated the sight that greeted them when they exited his building that morning, finding Knight leaning against his car, hers pulled into the space behind his along the street. She grinned at the pair of them. "Good morning, Parker," she said as Parker came down the front steps, the dog following in his wake. "I thought I'd pick you up for work."

      Parker quirked an eyebrow. "As thanks for letting your dog stay the night? Not exactly an even barter, Knight."

      She gave him a tiny shrug, but her lips fought to stay smiling and not crack with laughter. Then her dark eyes alighted on the dog. "And Spab! C'mere, Spabby, come on. Did you have a nice sleepover?"

      Stunningly, the dog reacted to the name or her voice—which, Parker wasn't certain. And, though he enjoyed the cute sight of her and the dog getting along, he couldn't help but ask, "What the hell is 'Spab'?"

      "Well, his full name's way too long, so 'Spab' it is," she replied, scratching the dog's chin and straightening up to turn that blinding grin on Parker.

      He stifled a groan but settled her with a look. "You don't mean—"

      Knight's grin grew impossibly bigger. She rifled through the pockets of her burgundy coat, withdrawing from the right one a few seconds later a little dog tag in the shape of a police badge. The front in large letters read "SPAB," with "Special Agent Barker" below it in minuscule print. On the back was printed Knight's cellphone number. "Kasie had it made at a place by her home last night. Isn't it cute? He's as close to being a real Special Agent as can be." She couldn't withhold her chuckle this time.

      And neither could Parker hold back his groan. So this was his new reality…

      But the dog—Spab—butted his head against Parker's leg, several times, as if bugging him to loosen up. It was the first hint of impoliteness Spab had shown in the past twenty-four hours. But Spab insisted on bumping into Parker's leg before settling on the ground between the two agents and looking up expectantly at them.

      Knight cocked her head at Parker, smiling but also patiently waiting.

      …and so, for the second time in less than a day, Parker caved to Knight's whims. But he assured her he was good, expressed with a quick kiss before all three of them piled in to her car.

OKAY, SO. Another animal fic from me, BUT! Technically, I've been sitting on this pun for AGES and it's been so, so, SO HARD to keep it under wraps. XDDD Writing "Soaring" came about kinda by accident, whereas this story was completely on purpose, for the sake of this delightful pun and the adorable imagery. :D AND COME ON. Is anyone srsly going to tell me that the idea of a cute lil' stray mutt who's reminiscent of Parker isn't adorable? XDDD Granted, the show has a history with dogs (we're not gonna talk s18 here, but whatever happened to McGee's German shepherd, Jethro?!), but this was too sweet to pass up. Also, yes, I'm aware Knight the following morning didn't inform Parker whether she can take Spab home, so… :3c Open to interpretation? Or does this need a sequel?? Idfk, but I just had a lot of fun imagining this cuteness (and also dropping hints of Parknight—with how she cons him into taking Spab, and the implication that they ate at his place the other night…plus he wanted Knight's company, not Spab's!!! XD). ANYWAY. Rly had to get this fic off my chest. And the doodles. Pls enjoy everything, fic and art alike, and then make sure you catch up on my other Parknight content, folks~ Feel free to come dither with me about them and even request a fic, if you like! (Or art. I actually take art requests, too, btw. :3) And don't forget to pop on over to the Parknight tumblr I made for more fun content~

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this!

~mew

[szynkaaa]

I more or less watched The Boy!!! And by watching, I mean I skipped more or less through the jump scare parts because I cannot do horror movies at all. I haven’t watched one since 2015 and The Boy was like the first horror movie after five years

Full disclosure, the ONLY reason I started watching the movie was because someone posted a gif of Greta standing close to Brahms who was all sweaty and breathing heavily n I was like “oh shit who dat he hot” and here I am 

Can anyone explain the sandwich scene to me? So Greta was scared shitless and locked herself in her room, but why did Brahms make her favorite sandwich for her?

I did some digging for interviews and generally what people have been saying about the movie, took some screenshots from youtube to put my thoughts and musing together too! 

Can anyone explain the sandwich scene to me? So Greta was scared shitless and locked herself in her room, but why did Brahms make her favorite sandwich for her? 

So first of all, let’s start with a low resolution photo I found on IG of James Russell without mask:

which brings me to my first musing/thought/question? 

It’s all under the cut, very screenshot and text heavy, you can find more Brahms drawing at the bottom though  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

So at the end of the movie, we are shown a Brahms with a broken mask and his face being burned, indicating that he was in fact in the fire.

I assumed first that the fire was created by the parents to fake their sons death and then he had to live hidden inside the walls? 

But I’ve also heard apparently it was Brahms who set the fire to fake his own death or maybe an eight years old kid really was trying to burn himself down?? 

My other theory is that his parents made the fire and tried to kill Brahms and it did burn him but he survived, and the parents didn’t wanna go to jail sooo to hide everything they made their son live in the walls

i mean the responsible thing would be to turn their kid in and have him treated and stuff;;; listened to a murder podcast about two cases where kids murdered enough kids and how they are doing now interesting read Brahms made me think of those two cases 

I also do not think that the previous nannies were killed. Like, c’mon. You’d report a person missing and sooner or later it would go back to the Heelshire mansion and if the body counts piles up? Can’t look good and I doubt that the Heelshire wants the police investigating them close up. 

Also, when the mom was like “He’s chosen you if you’ll have him” to Greta? Is it just me or the wording or does it sound like a marriage proposal/arrangement xD 

Brahms is a brat and he sees the people around him as his possession or to toy around. But I also do think that he has some abandonment issues but not in the sad tragic kind of way lmao. Even if he was the one controlling and manipulating his parents from behind-the-scene (quite literally I suppose?), he was still told as a kid to live in hiding and that no one can know he is alive. I don’t know much about the human brain, but I can imagine how damaging that must be to his mental growth and set him back in some way? We don’t know too much about his relationship with his parents - but I assume that he must have still loved them in his own twisted way. Can’t imagine that he would have been indifferent about his parents suicide. 

The scene before Greta manages to back out - first he uses the child voice to beg her to come back and promises he will be good. That’s his manipulating Greta, but when that doesn’t work and she tries harder to open the door, he becomes more desperate to keep her there and then completely loses his temper and threatens to kill Malcolm if she doesn’t return. I’m pretty sure homeboy would have killed him anyway. And then later when she returns and he is all heavy breathing and smelling her hair and then jumps up when she shouts Brahms? Idk I def think there is some sort of abandonment issue going on. 

I don’t think he is a child stuck in a man’s body or manchild or whatever. I think that he does know how to take care of himself - but he just chooses to manipulate people with the facade of a kid to do his bidding and cater to his needs. 

Anywhomst, but clearly Brahms is also a very manipulative and controlling person based, based on how the mother was reacting on the destroyed bedroom, she really seemed to be at the end of her wits and just breaking down with her “you promised you’d be good”. It was very heartbreaking to watch and also scary because it really makes you realize just how much power Brahms holds over them?? idk maybe it was just me.

Next point: the CGI mask  + the burns 

So according to some interviews with the director stated that at the first test streaming, people weren’t really scared of Brahms because he was too handsome so they had to slap a mask over his face. The face was done after everything was filmed. I’m thinking the face burns were also added post-production when they were adding the cgi mask. Otherwise, James would have needed to go through the makeup department for some wicked face burns and it would have been visible during the filming and test screening too? Which would imply that at first the fire was supposed to be just  a cover story that their son is dead and it was changed later

Observation/thoughts on Brahms Heelshire

Love how he stands there with his hands behind his back and then nods when Greta tells him to go under the cover

James Russell is 191cm tall. So like. Brahms is really fucking tall. But I notice that most of the time he stands with a slight hunch. Could be due to him crawling through the walls and crawling out of places that requires him to do a lot of crouching. His bed in his hideout made me really sad, I’ll get to it later. 

Since James didn’t get many lines in the ten minutes that he appeared, I do think that his eyes did all the acting. They stand out even more with the mask on, there is just this crazy look on it. I also noticed during my rewatch that he doesn’t seem to blink much or at all. 

Oh yeah, he also peeped on Greta and Malcolm making out on the bed and then cockblocked them. We been knowing that he made a Greta doll and very likely jerked off to it. We also been knowing that he very very very likely wanted to bone Greta at the goodnight kiss scene still waiting for the maskeless kiss scene gimme gimme. I also highly doubt that Brahms has much first-hand experience with kissing n stuff. High key thinking he was trying to do copy Malcolm and do what he observed lmao

When I first watched the scene, I assumed that the hole behind the mirror has always been and it’s just another one of the hidden passages Brahms to slip in and out, but now that I’m looking at the shape of the holes, it seems to me more like the mirror and brick wall were broken at the same time?? If that is the case holy shit boy is s t  r o n g. I mean, he also punched through the closet door like no big deal so really what have the parents been feeding him. 

I’m also leaning toward the fact that he ran there because Greta screamed loudly. I don’t think he was in the room as them when everything went down there, it seemed more like he heard the scream and had to nyoomed over and then punched a way through to get out of the wall. And then went on to attack Cole. He must have known that Greta wanted Cole gone, since that what she whispered to the doll before going to bed. 

Tbh, I fully expected him to murder Cole in his sleep, but Brahms wrote a warning message in blood to tell him to get out soooooo like. Cole you were warned and now you gotta live with the consequences ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Brahm’s sleeping corner

This scene was shown at the end after Greta and Malcolm escaped. We also see them briefly during the part where Greta and Malcolm are trying to find a way out and stumbled into Brahms’ hideout. I’m not sure why the rules are slapped on the walls. It seems to me that Brahms is very very very set on that the rules / routine should be followed. In the movie, he called Greta and suggested to her that she should follow the rules, to which she then started doing it.

I headcanon that that’s the routine that he grew up with as a kid and it’s just very very very very very hard to break out of it - not that he is trying to break the routine. 

I’m failing to find a good way to put my thoughts into words, but I guess the rules and routine is sort of his coping mechanism? 

I suppose if you had an OC that you ship Brahms with and want to change stuff around the house, the OC would have to very slowly introduce new rules and routines. Baby steps, yknow.

Brahms has a violin hanging there! Honestly I would be surprised if Brahms didn’t know how to play at least one instrument. The family also has an old ass piano/clavichord (?) and Brahms loves classical music soo yeah. Love me a boy who appreciates classical musical hehe

I suppose the egg boxes are there to soundproof the room more - maybe so he can play the violin? 

There’s also music sheets hung around his attics, it’s not clear on the screenshots but when you rewatch the scene and shove your face close to the screen. Some are hanging next to the violin and there are some taped on the wall next to his bed and porn too

nice to see he has a fridge and microwave, I was concerned that he wasn’t well fed and that leftovers might not be enough, but then again. Dude is 191 cm so clearly he has been drinking his milk

Didn’t take a screenshot of his vanity, but there is a crocodile magnet stuck to the mirror hehe. I do think that he shaves and stuff, otherwise his beard would be much longer??

We can see more music sheets stuck to a pillar on the right. 

Loving the christmas lights that he has hanging there above his bed. It’s cute. 

On the shelf he has a bunch of tupperware and empty bowls. Most of hte things are neatly organized. We can also see some books and a pen

There’s some sunlight streaming inside - I do hope that Brahmsy stays warm during winters.

Here we can see more of the food that he has there - there is also a sink but I didn’t snatch a screenshot of it. I think those are potatoes in the pot? Maybe he does know how to cook some basic stuff, I do wonder if he has a functioning kitchen up there. Probably not for fire safety reasons lol

Yall see that thing on the note sheet covered pillar? Ngl, that’s a whole ass aesthetic right there.

He got a few potted plants up there. Took a closer look at them and it seems like they were healthy. So he knows how to take care of plants, which is nice to know I suppose?

Yes, we all know what he was doing with the doll and what the tissue balled up tissue implies. However, has anyone noticed the size of the bed??? 

If you scroll up a bit to the screenshot of Greta seeing the doll, it looks t i n y. The make shift doll takes up more than half of the space. 

Yall. this breaks my heart. Dude is a beanstalk. I’m pretty sure the bed is from when he was a kid shoved by his parents to live inside the wall, does he have to sleep there in his adulthood too??? 

Even though Brahms strikes me as someone who probably doesn’t sleep much or during normal times, that bed must be so tiny for him. He must be sleeping with his knees bend and shit unable to stretch out :((( 

Brahms: is a psychopath that smashed the skull of a girl and very abusive tormented his parents and then Greta Me: omg he needs a bigger bed that poor thing :(((

Brahms’ DIY corner 

Ah yes, Brahm’s little DIY/creative corner. 

Homeboy got lot of animal traps, cages and taxidermies hanging around, pointing strongly toward that it’s a hobby of it? 

Also at the end where we see him fixing up the doll, we can get a better shot at his desk, and I gotta say the threads and stuff are all very nicely organized. Brahms’s table looks more organized than mine does lmao. 

So we know he is a crafty boy. Not sure how difficult taxidermy is but I imagine it does take a lot of time to learn? Well he had all the time in the world anyway.

So yeah, that’s a wrap. Congrats if you made it to the bottom of my incoherent thoughts and ramblings, have a bonus drawing of Brahms wearing different masks: 

[sisterofleatherfrog]

Star Wars Kinktober day- 1

Prompt: Symbolic jewelry

Sub! Tup x Female (AFAB) OC

Hello! Willkommen to the grand opening of me doing Kinktober (even if this post is a few hours late for the actual 1st 😅)! Here is my prompt list derived from Kinktober lists by @ink-and-flame. Their prompt lists are phenomenal, but for the sake of my ADHD I had to whittle it down into a more finite list of interests that I am comfortable writing and know at least a little about it, or else I’ll just get lost in the sauce of prompts! But seriously, go check out their lists, they’re incredibly varied and have something for everyone! 

And now without further ado:

Tags: some drinking, sub male, femdom, nudity, almost pussy eating (working up to it in part 2!), pussy worship, praise kink, worship kink (is that a thing?),  there’s no sex in this fic it’s just the lead up (she is spoicy tho)

Words: 1609

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Under his shirt, the chain and pendant Tup wore brushed cooly against his chest. As unpleasant as the gooseflesh it raised was, the reminder it gave him was anything but. 

From the moment he’d awoke that morning, wrapped in arms as pale as the thin sunlight at that hour, he knew what he wanted and began to get ready. A few kisses pecked around his groggy girlfriend, Aurelie’s, face placated her awakening at his rising and he moved to her dressing table to grab the aforementioned necklace. If she wasn’t interested in playing, it would have been put away the night before in it’s felt case, but this morning he plucked it from it’s customary open place before the mirror. 

Catching the morning bus he felt it leap and jump with the rhythm of the air vehicle as the pilot navigated Coruscant air-traffic. After the war ended and the clones were given their freedom, sentient rights, and a hell of a lot of backpay, there were questions of what was to be done with them. As it turned out, there wasn’t such a mass exodus from the GAR as previously thought there would be, though many opted to retire from combat positions. Tup chose to oversee the supply requisition and organization for the newly formed Search & Rescue Ops, a subsidiary of the Disaster Relief Squadron, helping places around the galaxy affected by natural disasters. It felt meaningful and good, and he could honestly say he didn’t miss having to carry a gun and constantly keep an eye out for clankers.

After a day of approving supply drops, running reports, and the pendant lightly caressing his chest with every slight sway, he was back on the bus home. A man scowled at him from among the crowd; some people would never see the clones as anything more than meat-droids undeserving of even the life they were given, but the pendant mocked that man’s ideas from behind Tup’s shirt. It was a gift of love freely given to him and he was worthy,

When he returned to his apartment Aurelie was still at work, not getting off until late. As he waited for water to boil he straightened up around the place, clearing dust from the nooks it always returned to settle and gathered laundry. When he came to the bed in their room he came to a spot by the bed and stopped, considered, and opened a drawer to reveal a medium sized case which he deposited neatly on Aurelie’s side of the bed. He already had the necklace, it never hurt to be proactive in terms of their play. 

Half an hour later dinner was had and a portion of it was squared away in the fridge with a reminder to reheat it and enjoy and Tup was ready to meet a few of the boys at 79’s. As he changed from his work wear into something light blue and more casual, the afternoon sun caught the silver pendant resting on the tan skin of his breast bone, dying it almost the same shade of pink- before he could finish that thought a beep from his comm sounded informing him that his taxi had arrived outside.

20 minutes, a few levels down, and a familiar neon sign later, Tup was walking into a familiar bar. Nothing had changed about the place, only now armour and dress greys were a rare sight to be seen as the open opportunity for individuality to flourish among the clones led to some, interesting, experiments in style. ‘Speaking of which,’ thought Tup as a discordant but jovial chorus of his name called him over to a table in the corner. Fives, Jesse, Kix, Rex, Waxer, Boil, Cody, and even Wolffe, to his surprise, sat there having already gotten a small headstart on happy hour. It wasn’t a full reunion, others still at work or spread across the galaxy exploring life, but it was always nice to see familiar faces.

They took their time and paced themselves drinking, it was still early and they didn’t have to run off in an hour to prepare for a campaign and weren’t shotgunning a train of shots to try and forget one. Some of them had to be able to operate tomorrow morning though and they parted as the night lowered it’s curtain over day; Jesse and Kix remained however to scope out some of the ladies coming in with the party crowds.

As good as the times spent together were, Tup silently willed the air-taxi to carry him away faster through the legendary Coruscant traffic and back home. He’d worn the necklace, the empty place it would otherwise occupy obvious, if she hadn’t noticed then she would certainly see the familiar box he’d left resting by her pillow. Stars he was ready, the anticipation had built all day, the secret only he kept feeding his need. He was thrumming for whatever Aurelie had to give him.

The taxi stopped and he cursed the second it took for the payment to transfer, the minute in the elevator, the short march down the hall, and the door code he had to spend time punching in-

The entry was dark with the exception of a string of pink fairy lights strung along the wall and leading around the corner to their room. He grinned and, remembering to turn back and lock the door when he was already halfway across the room, soon came to the closed panel that marked their space. He knocked, “May I come in mistress?”

“Enter, darling.” A high, breathy voice answered.

As the door opened Tup entered the threshold and lowered himself to his knees, his hands finding their place on his lap as he gazed upon the shining woman perched on the edge of their bed (somehow, someway, his girlfriend, a part of his brain never ceased obsessing). She regarded him warmly, “Have you been a good boy today Tup? You took your necklace and I really hope it didn’t make you do anything naughty.”

“I was very good, mistress, just for you.” His voice was breathy and quiet, he had been good, and he anticipated his reward. His eyes drank in the milky skin that clothed the leopardess in repose before him, partially obscured by the long, wavy strands of pearly blonde hair.

“Oh I know Tup, you’re such a good boy. You wake me up with kisses, make sure I have food to eat when I work late, and you were so considerate to get our box of toys out for me. I don’t know where to begin, but good boys deserve to be rewarded, isn’t that right my beautiful boy?” 

Aurelie’s voice caressed his every synapse as he breathed in air that still held the trace of a burn from a heavy incense and he was already in a state. Her words of praise had passed straight down from his ears to his cock, bringing him to a full erection from the half mast he’d been sailing at since walking through the front door. “Yes, please mistress, yes.” If it sounded like he was begging, Tup didn’t care. Her soft thighs were resting atop one another, hiding from him what he’d been craving all day. Just one simple shift was all it would take to reveal to him where she was no doubt already soft, sweet, and wet.

Her legs uncrossed, but she stood instead of spreading wider and came to stand before him, her curl-crowned mound a tease before him that turned his need to a desperate clamour within him. He held still, eyes glued to hers as she leaned down to him and brought her pillowy lips to kiss him, one hand coming up to cradle his cheek and the other fiddles with his collar for the necklace she’d gifted him. His hands were curled hard on his lap, restraining himself from the urge to reach out and touch; being so, so good and waiting.

Drawing the pendant along the chain away from Tup’s racing heart, Aurelie held it between them and teased: “Is this what you want Tup? Do you want to eat my pussy until you’re begging for me to fuck you, until you cum in me? Or maybe I’ll ride that handsome face of yours all night and let you cum in my mouth while you’re hard at work.” Tup could only manage a tortured moan, the pictures being painted in his head making him dizzy. She lightly laughed and graciously accepted that as her answer, gently leading him across the floor as she walked backwards with the chain still in her hand, him crawling on all fours after her. When she returned to the bed she sat as he looked up at her with lust and adoration.

Still holding the pendant, she slowly drew her legs apart, raising one to rest on the bed so her pussy and the glorious pink of her vulva were wide open on display for Tup in his current position. Aurelie considered the pendant again for a moment. “I’m glad I found that artist, it’s a wonderful likeness, isn’t it darling?” From the petal-like folds of her labia minora to the majora that protected them and the unique hood that shadowed her marvelous clit, it couldn’t belong to anyone else. The highest honour Tup felt was being lucky enough to be the one person allowed to worship it. 

“Stars yes, mistress!” He agreed emphatically and Aurelie laughed lightly again and let the necklace fall back into its place from her fingers. 

“Well, come and get your reward Tup.” He gladly obliged. 

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So yeah, Tup as a Sub wears a necklace of his girlfriend’s vulva when he really wants to be her good boy (; It also helps that it’s really pretty ✨👀✨

Also sorry if this is a little off, this wasn’t even alpha read, let alone beta read.

Aurelie is one of a few OC’s I’ve used in my daydreams, she may make another appearance in another story if I think she’ll fit! I may try and do some art too…

As for the boys at the bar, I came up with ideas for what they’re up to now and may either write other Kinktober stuff in this AU, or do some drabbles later (though I could include the Kinktober stuff in an AU drabble, right?). I didn’t include it in the story though because I felt like it would disturb the flow too much. I’ll probably detail the AU in another post if I do end up doing that.

Kinktober works so far

Masterlist

[twoidiotwriters1]

Written In The Stars CXXXI (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: Right now Val’s fic and mine are screaming ‘Fuck Harry Potter!’ But in entirely different contexts and I love it jsdjsdj -Danny P.S. the Twins’ leaving always makes me cry when I read that.

Words: 4,428

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Listen to: ‘Fine Line’ -by Harry Styles

Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Twins' Farewell.

"Aren't you going to say anything?"

"I need a moment."

"You've been quiet for five minutes."

"Well, I found out my mother used to be a bully," She snapped. "I kind of have a lot to think about!"

Their parents had treated Snape the same way Dudley used to treat her and Harry when they were younger. Not only that, but Harry's mother appeared to hate James with a burning passion. As if that weren't enough, Emily had actively taken part in attacking Snape and threatened Lily with hexing her if she interfered. Harry was holding back information though, and she needed to know what it was.

"What is it?"

"Hmm?" Harry said nervously.

"You have that look on your face. You haven't finished the story.”

"I have."

"Don't lie to me."

She took advantage of his inexperience and forced the memory out.

Mel looked at the fifteen-year-old version of her mother and saw herself reflected on her. She had her eyes, hair (exactly as long as her mother's when she was her age, and it fell in the same elegant fashion). She also had her lovesick gaze, which caused her to realize Emily was head over heels for none other than James Potter.

It was uncomfortable to watch, not only because Matt and Sirius would glance from time to time with a grumpy expression, but also because they were so similar to their parents that it was like looking at a very odd mirror. James was utterly oblivious, he would look at Emily like she was an adorable toddler. 

Emily, on the other side, was a lost cause. James would constantly look back at the group of girls that were hanging out by the lake, where Lily Evans was chatting happily. His eyes would light up the same way Harry's used to. 

Then she had to witness the look of pleased evilness when they attacked Snape, the way Emily pointed her wand at Lily, ready to attack...

She pulled back abruptly.

"I told you not to do it!" Harry groaned, closing his eyes tightly and pressing his palm on his temple.

"I can't believe she never told me!" Mel exclaimed.

"What were you expecting? 'Hey, you know that boy you're friends with? I used to have a crush on his dad!"

"I don't know!" Mel blushed. "I... Sirius told me my mum had the longest crush on this boy before dating my dad... I never thought it'd be James!"

"I never thought my dad was an arrogant twat," Harry said miserably. "I can't believe Snape was telling the truth..."

"What if..." Mel pushed her hair back, and she grimaced at the thought of doing it in the exact same way her mother used to. "What if Snape tricked you into believing he's telling the truth?"

"How?" 

"Well... we can't trust our brains, let alone someone else's! I mean, we treat Malfoy rather badly but we're not bad people, are we? If you were to look at us through his eyes we would look like monsters..."

Harry considered the idea, then shook his head miserably. 

"Snape didn't want me to look at the memory, he'd hidden the Pensieve and I was the one who snooped around."

Mel thought back on all those years uncle Lupin never talked about his relation to his mother, how they said she was too young... They had been right, but Mel was old enough now.

"I think," Mel said, standing up and indicating Harry to do the same. "We deserve an explanation."

"But why haven't you got Occlumency lessons anymore?" 

"I've told you, Snape reckons I can carry on by myself now I've got the basics... He says that if I need help, I can ask Mel," Harry shrugged, avoiding looking up from his parchment.

"Is it true?" Hermione raised her brows in polite surprise.

"Yeah," Mel lied. "We got this under control."

"So you've stopped having funny dreams, Harry?"

"Pretty much," He replied, his face almost completely hidden.

"Well, I don't think Snape should stop until you're absolutely sure you can control them!" Hermione frowned. "Harry, I think you should go back to him and ask —"

"No. Just drop it, Hermione, okay?"

"Are you done with the schedules, 'Mione?" Mel asked, trying to change the subject.

"Why are you making studying schedules, exams are ages away," Ron yawned.

"Exams are only six weeks away, Ron," Hermione sentenced.

"They're what, now?" He straightened up on his chair.

"How can that come as a shock?" 

"I dunno..." said Ron, "there's been a lot going on..."

"Well, there you are," Hermione handed three identical schedules to Harry, Ron and Mel, "if you follow that you should do fine."

"You've given me an evening off every week!" 

"That's for Quidditch practice," said Hermione. 

"Yay," Mel said without excitement. Next game she was playing seeker against none other than Cho Chang, so she was starting to feel nervous.

"What's the point?" Ron pouted. "We've got about as much chance of winning the Quidditch Cup this year as Dad's got of becoming Minister of Magic..."

"All you need to do is stop the Quaffle from entering the bloody goal posts, how hard can that be?" Mel huffed. "I have to find the smallest little thing against a well-trained seeker!"

"You're well-trained," Ron argued. 

"I'm not even close to being at her level—"

"What's wrong, Harry?" Hermione interrupted.

"What?" Harry gave a start. "Nothing..."

He picked up his Defensive Magical Theory book and Grey jumped onto his lap, Harry barely acknowledged him. 

"I saw Cho earlier," Hermione started tentatively, "and she looked really miserable too... Have you two had a row again?"

"Wha — oh yeah, we have," Harry nodded.

"What about?"

"That sneak friend of hers, Marietta," He said.

"Yeah, well, I don't blame you!" said Ron. "If it hadn't been for her..."

The boy went off for several minutes about what an awful girl Marietta was, looking back on it, it was a bit unfair not to warn her about the risks...

Marietta was scared for her family, it was obvious she'd try to do the best for them. People are allowed to change their minds! 

Mel was hoping her parents had done the same, otherwise she would have to live with the fact that they were... not the best of people.

‘CAREER ADVICE

All fifth years will be required to attend a short meeting with their Head of House during the first week of the Summer term, in which they will be given the opportunity to discuss their future careers. Times of individual appointments are listed below...’

The four of them were going through a bunch of pamphlets of different wizarding careers, trying to decide what thing suited them better. Mel was quietly reading the pamphlet on Magizoology when Fred and George sat down between her and Harry.

"Ginny's had a word with us about you," said Fred, putting his legs on the table and kicking pamphlets in the process. "She says you need to talk to Sirius?"

"What?" Hermione spat.

"Yeah..." said Harry, "yeah, I thought I'd like —"

"Don't be so ridiculous," said Hermione. "With Umbridge groping around in the fires and frisking all the owls?" 

"Well, we think we can find a way around that," said George. "It's a simple matter of causing a diversion. Now, you might have noticed that we have been rather quiet on the mayhem front during the Easter holidays?"

"What was the point, we asked ourselves, of disrupting leisure time?" continued Fred. "No point at all, we answered ourselves. And of course, we'd have messed up people's studying too, which would be the very last thing we'd want to do."

Hermione looked at him as if she could not believe him to be so thoughtful. 

"But it's business as usual from tomorrow," Fred continued, putting an arm around Mel casually. "And if we're going to be causing a bit of uproar, why not do it so that Harry and the lady can have their chat with Sirius?"

"I never said I wanted to talk with Sirius," Mel raised a brow, giving her wand a light flicker and making the pamphlets go back to the table neatly.

"But you do though," George replied. "You wouldn't miss the opportunity to check on your mum, would you?"

Mel pondered. "I guess not..."

"Yes, but still," said Hermione, "even if you do cause a diversion, how are Harry and Mel supposed to talk to him?"

"Umbridge's office," Harry replied matter of factly.

"Erick said that's the only floo line that isn't being watched," Mel nodded.

"Are — you — insane?" Hermione asked angrily.

"Yeah, people keep telling me that," She smiled.

"And how are you going to get in there in the first place?"

"Sirius's knife," Harry said.

"Excuse me?"

"Christmas before last Sirius gave me a knife that'll open any lock. So even if she's bewitched the door so Alohomora won't work, which I bet she has —"

"What do you think about this?" Hermione hissed at Ron.

"I dunno," Ron blushed. "If Harry wants to do it, it's up to him, isn't it?"

"Spoken like a true friend and Weasley," said Fred. "Right, then. We're thinking of doing it tomorrow, just after lessons, because it should cause maximum impact if everybody's in the corridors — We'll set it off in the east wing somewhere, draw her right away from her own office — I reckon we should be able to guarantee you, what, twenty minutes?"

"Easy," George nodded.

"What sort of diversion is it?" Ron frowned.

"You'll see, little bro," said Fred, getting up at the same time as his twin. "At least, you will if you trot along to Gregory the Smarmy's corridor round about five o'clock tomorrow." 

"Okay then," Mel sighed. "We'll do it."

"Hey," Harry whispered once everyone was back in their business. "Don't you get uncomfortable with the way Fred treats you?"

"Huh?" She blushed. "Oh! I don't even notice, you know? Yeah, no big deal..."

She hid her face behind the pamphlet, fearful that Harry would insist on asking questions.

"I'm sorry," McGonagall blinked. "Could you repeat that?"

"I'd like to pursue the careers of Auror, Magizoologist," She smiled, "and Unspeakable."

Umbridge (who had been supervising the interviews that day) let out the faintest little chuckled, but they ignored it.

"Miss Dumbledore, are you aware of the work—"

"Yes. I require a minimum of five N.E.W.T.s and nothing under 'Exceeds Expectations' for the Auror position. They ask for a character and aptitude test as well. I'm aware that they haven't taken any new blood for the last three years, but fortunately, that's the same time I have to finish my studies, so maybe by then, they'll have a spot — As for my character and aptitude test, well, I'll work on that. Moving onto Magizoology: I need to pass Care of magical creatures, Defense against the dark arts, Potions, Herbology and Charms. My weak spot is Herbology, but I'm sure I can catch up. As for the Unspeakable position, well, it's all of the above."

She knew it was ambitious, but Dumbledore had told her she could achieve it with hard work and the proper schedule, and she wanted to believe he was right.

"For two of those you'll need to have a respect for authority," McGonagall stared at her. "Something which I've noticed doesn't come easily for you."

"It's not that I don't respect authority," Mel replied. "I respect you and the other teachers, I respect most of the Aurors I've met, I respect my mother... I just have zero patience with idiots."

"You'll have to accept that some people will know better than you, even if you find them idiotic."

"Well, I respect Snape don't I? I have a solid 'Outstanding' in his class."

She might have been wrong, but she saw the faintest hint of a smile on the woman's face.

"Very well, Miss Dumbledore," She drew out a parchment from Mel's folder and started to write down subjects. "I won't deny it'll be a long time before you get everything you want, but I've seen your abilities and I trust you'll get there—"

"Excuse me," Umbridge spoke. "It's blatantly clear that a Dumbledore, one that's proven to be mentally unstable, has no place in the Ministry."

"Good thing the Unspeakables aren't obliged to respond to the Minister, then," McGonagall replied with disinterest.

"What?" asked Mel and Umbridge.

"Miss Dumbledore, I thought you'd done your research," McGonagall then did show a polite smile. "The Department of Mysteries is a closed ward, they don't talk about their work outside office hours and most certainly they don't talk about it with people who do not belong in their area."

"No one is above the Minister," Umbridge replied with outrage.

"You're quite right about that," McGonagall finished whatever she was writing and folded it. "The Unspeakables work in the basement. You're free to go, Miss Dumbledore."

Mel took the parchment McGonagall was offering to her, but the professor held onto it for a moment.

"Best of lucks," She said, gazing up at Mel through her glasses.

As she slowly made her way to Divination, Fred ran into her, looking more energized than ever.

"All right, Lady?" He smiled.

"Yeah," She said brightly. "McGonagall just approved my future careers, she says I have a good chance to do them all!"

"Nice! Are you ready for what's coming?"

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" She asked. 

Fred had told her this was it for him and George, they wouldn't stay to get detention or being officially expelled. They were planning to run away, and Mel was dead worried.

"I'm brilliant," He smiled. "Everything's okay. Especially between us — I promised, didn't I? I'm keeping my word, and I promise to write as soon as I'm safe —"

"No!" Mel said. "Umbridge goes through our mail..."

"Don't worry, just leave it to us."

He started to walk away and Mel did too.

"Mel?" The boy called right before she left the hall, the girl stopped and turned to look at him. "Don't waste your chances."

Harry and Mel made their way to Umbridge's office as soon as they heard explosions at the far end of the school. They crouched in front of the fireplace and threw floo powder in the centre, the flames surrounded their heads.

"Number twelve, Grimmauld Place!" Harry said out loud. 

She closed her eyes until the feeling of being pulled forward came to a stop.

"Sirius?" Harry asked.

However, when Mel opened her eyes she saw her uncle.

"Mel! Harry! What are you — what's happened, is everything all right?"

"Yeah, I just wondered — I mean, I just fancied a — a chat with Sirius."

"I just want to know how my mum's doing," Mel replied clumsily.

"I'll call them," said Lupin. "He went upstairs to look for Kreacher, he seems to be hiding in the attic again. Emily's having a nap, she takes lots of those lately..."

"Is this really a good idea?" Mel asked the boy next to her.

"We're already here..."

Lupin returned with a short-haired Sirius (apparently he'd given in to Emily's desires) and Mel's mum, who was now six months into her pregnancy.

"What is it?" Sirius and Remus knelt, leaving Emily on a chair facing them so she could look at the kids. "Are you all right? Do you need help?"

"No, it's nothing like that... I just wanted to talk... about my dad..." Harry started. "About something I saw in one of Snape's memories."

Lupin and Sirius exchanged a look of surprise, Emily's frown deepened. When Harry finished his story, Lupin was the first to speak.

"I wouldn't like you to judge your parents on what you saw there. They were only fifteen —"

"We're fifteen!" 

"Look, Harry," said Sirius, "James and Snape hated each other from the moment they set eyes on each other, it was just one of those things, you can understand that, can't you? I think James was everything Snape wanted to be — he was popular, he was good at Quidditch, good at pretty much everything. And Snape was just this little oddball who was up to his eyes in the Dark Arts and James — whatever else he may have appeared to you, Harry — always hated the Dark Arts."

"Yeah, but he just attacked Snape for no good reason, just because — well, just because you said you were bored." 

"And Mum helped him," Mel said, pouting. "You threatened to hurt Lily if she tried to help Snape!"

"I'm not proud of it," said Sirius.

"Neither am I," Emily stated. "As you've heard countless times before, I want you to grow having better morals than the ones I had when I was your age. I can't erase what I did, but I've learned to live with it."

"What you've got to understand is that your fathers and Sirius were the best in the school at whatever they did — everyone thought they were the height of cool — if they sometimes got a bit carried away —"

"If we were sometimes arrogant little berks, you mean," said Sirius. "Matthew was the only one who knew how to keep his feet on the ground. He was a flirt, yes, but he was never a total prat."

"He kept messing up his hair," Harry said quietly, referring to James.

"I'd forgotten he used to do that," said Sirius, laughing.

"Was he playing with the Snitch?" asked Remus.

"Yeah," said Harry. 

Mel felt tempted to mention her mother's crush; but what was the point, really? It'd been years since that, and in the end, Emily had stopped liking him, it was long over. Bringing that up would only make things awkward, and Mel knew there was no use in reliving things of the past.

"Well..." Harry started, "I thought he was a bit of an idiot." 

"So that's where you got it from, then?" Mel teased.

"Of course he was a bit of an idiot!" said Sirius. "We were all idiots! Well — Ruddy and Moony not so much..."

"Did I ever tell you to lay off Snape? Did I ever have the guts to tell you I thought you were out of order?" Lupin grimaced.

"Yeah, well, you made us feel ashamed of ourselves sometimes... That was something..."

"Matthew wasn't afraid to be brutally honest, though. He would say the truth no matter what," Emily tilted her head. "Perhaps that's what made me liked him. I had an awful temper and he would always stop me from doing stupid things."

"That explains your temper," The boy whispered to Mel teasingly as well. "Oh! And... he kept looking over at the girls by the lake, hoping they were watching him!"

"Oh, well, he always made a fool of himself whenever Lily was around," said Sirius. "He couldn't stop himself showing off whenever he got near her."

"How come she married him? She hated him!"

"Nah, she didn't," Sirius smirked.

"She started going out with him in seventh year," Lupin explained. 

"Once James had deflated his head a bit," said Sirius.

"And stopped hexing people just for the fun of it," said Lupin. 

"Even Snape?" 

"Well, Snape was a special case. I mean, he never lost an opportunity to curse James, so you couldn't really expect James to take that lying down, could you?"

"And my mum was okay with that?"

"She didn't know too much about it, to tell you the truth. I mean, James didn't take Snape on dates with her and jinx him in front of her, did he?"

"I was already friends with Lily by the end of our fifth year," Emily said, "actually, right after that day when we finished our O.W.L.'s we had a talk... yeah, I reckon that's when we decided to call a truce. I made sure she never got anywhere near Snape after that day, for her own sake, really. Snape was always awful to her."

"Look," Sirius said, "your father was the best friend I ever had, and he was a good person. A lot of people are idiots at the age of fifteen. He grew out of it. So did Emily, but they never did anything that could be considered a crime."

"Yeah, okay... I just never thought I'd feel sorry for Snape."

"Now you mention it," said Lupin, "how did Snape react when he found you'd seen all this?"

"He told me he'd never teach me Occlumency again," Harry shrugged, "like that's a big disappoint — Ouch!"

Mel had pinched his arm to stop him from talking, but it was too late.

"He WHAT?" Sirius yelled.

"Are you serious, Harry?" said Lupin. "He's stopped giving you lessons?" 

"Yeah— But it's okay, I don't care, it's a bit of a relief to tell you the truth, and Mel said she can teach —" 

"I'm coming up there to have a word with Snape!" said Sirius, trying to step into the fire but stopping when Lupin grabbed his arm.

"If anyone's going to tell Snape it will be me!" Lupin said firmly. "Emily needs you here. But Harry, first of all, you're to go back to Snape and tell him that on no account is he to stop giving you lessons — when Dumbledore hears —" 

"I can't tell him that, he'd kill me! You didn't see him when we got out of the Pensieve —"

"Harry, there is nothing so important as you learning Occlumency! Do you understand me? Nothing!" 

"It's true, kid," Emily said, a look of sympathy on her face. "We need you safe."

"Okay, okay," Harry responded. "I'll... I'll try and say something to him... But it won't be..."

Mel raised a hand to quiet him down, they both heard footsteps.

"Is that Kreacher coming downstairs?"

"No," said Sirius, looking over his shoulder. "It must be somebody your end..."

"We'd better go!" 

"Thank you for the talk!" Mel said quickly. "See you!"

They both pulled back from the flames, falling on their butts.

"Quickly, quickly!" Filch wheezed outside the room. "Ah, she's left it open..."

Harry pulled her close abruptly and Mel put the cloak above their heads just in time. Filch rushed over to the desk without paying attention to his surroundings.

"Approval for Whipping... Approval for Whipping... I can do it at last... They've had it coming to them for years..." He ran out holding a piece of parchment.

Harry and Mel left the room in a hurry, one floor down they took off the cloak and followed the noises. They ran to the marble staircase and found the entire school there.

It was just like the night when Trelawney had been sacked. Students were standing all around the walls in a great ring (some of them, Harry noticed, covered in a substance that looked very like Stinksap); teachers and ghosts were also in the crowd. 

Prominent among the onlookers were members of the Inquisitorial Squad, who were all looking exceptionally pleased with themselves, and Peeves, who was bobbing overhead, gazed down upon Fred and George, who stood in the middle of the floor with the unmistakable look of two people who had just been cornered.

"No..." Mel tried to enter the crowd but someone held her arm before she could get in.

"Wouldn't do that if I were you," Erick whispered. "Let them handle it. They're about to leave anyway."

"How do you know?" Mel asked in surprise.

"I helped them buy half of the things they needed for this. Umbridge doesn't check my mail."

"So!" The woman exclaimed. "So... you think it amusing to turn a school corridor into a swamp, do you?"

"Pretty amusing, yeah," said Fred unbothered.

"I've got the form, Headmistress," Filch exclaimed in joy. "I've got the form and I've got the whips waiting... Oh, let me do it now..."

"Very good, Argus. You two are about to learn what happens to wrongdoers in my school."

"You know what? I don't think we are. George," He turned to his twin. "I think we've outgrown full-time education." 

"Yeah, I've been feeling that way myself," The boy responded. 

"Time to test our talents in the real world, d'you reckon?"

"Definitely."

"Accio Brooms!" They yelled in unison.

Harry heard a loud crash somewhere in the distance. Looking to his left he ducked just in time — Fred and George's broomsticks, one still trailing the heavy chain and iron peg with which Umbridge had fastened them to the wall, were hurtling along the corridor toward their owners. They turned left, streaked down the stairs, and stopped sharply in front of the twins, the chain clattering loudly on the flagged stone floor.

"We won't be seeing you," Fred told Professor Umbridge, swinging his leg over his broomstick.

"Yeah, don't bother to keep in touch," said George, mounting his own.

Fred looked around at the assembled students, and at the silent, watchful crowd.

"If anyone fancies buying a Portable Swamp, as demonstrated upstairs, come to number ninety-three, Diagon Alley — Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes," he said in a loud voice. "Our new premises!"

"Special discounts to Hogwarts students who swear they're going to use our products to get rid of this old bat," added George, pointing at Professor Umbridge.

"STOP THEM!" shrieked Umbridge, but it was too late. As the Inquisitorial Squad closed in, Fred and George kicked off from the floor, shooting fifteen feet into the air, the iron peg swinging dangerously below. Fred looked across the hall at the poltergeist bobbing on his level above the crowd.

"Give her hell from us, Peeves."

And Peeves, whom Harry had never seen take an order from a student before, swept his belled hat from his head and sprang to a salute as Fred and George wheeled about to tumultuous applause from the students below and sped out of the open front doors into the glorious sunset. 

Mel clapped along with her classmates, she'd promised not to cry over silly boys, but this was a different kind of crying. No more afternoons with Fred and George around to make her laugh, to tease her about her height or her temper. It hurt, but she also felt proud to call them friends.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked. 

"I don't know."

"You'll be okay," He assured her. "I'm sorry Fred and you broke up, though."

"You and Fred broke up?" Erick asked in a strange voice.

"Have you been living under a rock?" Harry grinned.

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @kylosleftbuttcheek @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight @omiwashere @t-rexs-world​ @just-here-to-escape-from-reality​ @21bruhs @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @dielgonacoffee

[fanfictrashdump]

Universe in a Jar - Phase 4 fic

OK. I did something. A few days ago I reblogged this post about the magical trio. And then my brain went off on a monumental tangent and this happened. It’s not my fault, really– Loki is my all-time fave, Wanda could murder me and I’d thank her and Stephen is a smart, sassy bitch... all wins.

So, here, y’all can have it. I might leave it there or I might continue depending on my mood. 

Characters: Stephen Strange, Loki, Wanda Maximoff, OC

Rating: T? Language!

Summary: Baby-sitting beings arguably more powerful than him goes awry for Doctor Strange. He knows one person who can possibly keep them isolated and out of trouble. Well, he knew someone who could... he hasn’t seen them in decades and for stupid reasons.

XX

"Wait here. No funny business."

Doctor Stephen Strange half-dragged himself upright to deliver the warning. The portal-hopping and timeline clipping involved in the last twelve hours–if he could even call them that–of his life had really taken it out of him. Who knew fixing tears in the time-space continuum was so exhausting? Doctor Who made it look like a breeze!

Setting his companions with one last threatening glare, he walked up to a faded, run down apartment door with a crooked six hanging just above the knocker. In all honesty, the place looked even worse than what he had anticipated when the hospital directory gave him the address. Still, he knew he had made it here for a reason, despite the fact his stomach was roiling and begging him to reconsider. This was his Hail Mary. Tightening his jaw and frowning himself into another set of early wrinkles, he pounded the wooden entrance so hard the six righted itself.

A minute or so later, the door swung open, a woman filling the empty frame just long enough to lay eyes on the doctor.

"Nope."

The door slammed shut with a noisy shudder just as Stephen opened his mouth. He swallowed the dozen or so expletives that were threatening to wriggle themselves free from his throat. Instead, he straightened his hoodie, loosened his neck with an audible crack, and took a deep breath before the side of his fist struck the door four times.

Pound. Pound. Pound. Pound.

Silence.

Stillness.

His companions beginning to titter in the background because for all his pomp and attitude and the timelines are not to be meddled with–I am the Sorcerer Supreme, he could not get a single human to open the door.

Pound. Pound. Pound. Pound.

His teeth ground together harder in annoyance. "Seph! I have absolutely no problem in staying here all day. Making a fuss. Screaming at your door. Waking the neighbors. Being a nui–"

The door swung open, then. Stephen was met with a frown and eyes dark as storm clouds and for just a second he forgot why he was doing this. "What the fuck do you want?"

His expression softened under her glare, if only minimally. There was a reluctance in his frame that refused to give up even as he said the words. "I need help, Seph." His eyes flittered briefly over his shoulder and it was just long enough for the woman to notice that the sorcerer was not alone.

Standing on her tiptoes, she looked over his shoulder. Just down the harshly lit hallway, two figures–woman dressed in dark red and a man in an all black suit–stood watching the interaction and chattering among themselves. Her expression lightened just a fraction. "Who's the cutie?"

Stephen looked back, furrowing his brow and taking careful inspection of the other two before directing his attention back to the woman at the door. "Which one is the cutie?"

"Take your pick," she challenged back and even though his initial instinct was to roll his eyes and scoff, a little smirk tugged at his lips.

He whistled, gesturing the door with his head. His companions perked, if only due to sheer curiosity about this new person. "Wanda, Loki, meet Dr. Persephone Hale." He sighed, shoulders slumping in anticipation for what was to come out of his mouth. He gathered the most sincere look he could muster and held her gaze. "Please?"

A million expressions fluttered through her features, including a peculiar twitch of her nose he knew only happened when she was about to do something she really didn't want to. He tried not to celebrate the victory too soon. She was, after all, making him wait for it. After a moment of internal deliberation, she stepped aside and Strange signaled in no uncertain terms that the two needed to step inside.

"Thank you for having us. I'm sorry if we're intruding." Wanda looked tense as she spoke, like they had already had plenty of doors slammed in their face. Or perhaps she was just sensing the thoughts and emotions of their host and fearing the worst.

Seph waved her in. "It's not a problem. I am glad to help an Avenger and… an alien god." She offed them both a forced smile. "Where'd you leave the horns?"

Loki chuckled, straightening his suit. "They didn't go with the outfit. May I?"

"Of course. It's him I'm not crazy about."

The smile on Loki's face grew as he sidled past her, leaving Stephen to glare at them both. "Seph–"

"I don't care. I don't care about whatever excuse you're about to give me–"

"I'm sorry! I can't do anything else other than apologize."

"Yes, you're right. Why would the Sorcerer Supreme even bother with the lesser mortals?" With an icy glare, she turned on her heel and stomped into the apartment, though she left the door open in invitation.

Drawing a long sigh, Stephen reconsidered turning time back just ten minutes and foregoing this whole disaster before realizing he had no other choice, and so he followed her in and closed the door behind him.

The entrance hall of the tiny Bronx apartment melted away after a few steps, replacing stale summer air with a crisp country breeze. Faded blue flower-patterned wallpaper was familiar at first sight, as was the well-loved wooden stair banister, worn in places where the steps were squeaky from nights of trying to sneak in after curfew. Knick-knacks and pictures crammed into every possible space brought back memories that he had long since locked into the back of his mind and forgotten about. Everything within his line of sight brought with it a prickle and tingle of a life past but still haunting him, and he loved and hated it in equal measure.

"Who devised this portal? The work is rather formidable," Loki remarked, breaking the silence, in the closest thing to awe that any of the others had ever heard.

"Oh, i-it’s nothing impressive." Seph quipped, brushing away the compliment.

"So you studied alongside Strange, then?"

"No. Not magic, at least." Persephone gestured with her index around the room. "This is the only thing I can do."

"A feat like this without any of those silly rings that he needs? Impressive." He paced around, touching invisible seams and humming to himself. "With a little training you could do very well for yourself." Neither doctor could decide whether the tone he was using was encouraging or threatening.

"I don't think so," she replied, fidgeting in her oversized cardigan. "I was put off early on."

Despite the fact he was pointedly looking out the window, Stephen could tell Seph's gaze had fallen onto him. There were a million other things he would rather do than have that conversation–a root canal with no lidocaine, for example. He, instead, forced his focus on staring at the house sitting a couple of hundred meters away. The red trim of the roof was looking faded and the gutters were a little loose but it did not seem like the house was in total disrepair.

"I haven't been home in ages," he muttered, off-handedly.

"Oh! Weren't you born and raised in Manhattan? At least according to the Times, anyway." The sarcastic tone Persephone used made an uncomfortable weight press down into his stomach. He opted to count how many missing shingles there were on the roof.

"Ah, so there's history. That explains the dread at having to come to her door," Loki announced genially, clearly in need of some entertainment. "Wanda, you've lost our wager."

"Loki," Wanda warned, taking the time to fix him with a look before gesturing at the other two. They seemed to have been fighting a war entirely through stares.

"Which door leads outside?"

Seph rolled her eyes. "Which fucking door do you think leads outside, Stephen? I thought you were this hot shot genius doctor!"

"I am asking because that door," he gestured at the front door, "leads to the middle of nowhere in the Bronx."

"Then maybe don't take the door that leads to the Bronx, then, jackass. Or better yet, do. Until now, you've never had a problem finding a door away from me."

"That–" He killed the retort before it had a chance to meet the air and instead pivoted his questioning. "Is the key still under the mat?"

"I don't fucking know. Where did you leave the key twenty-whatever years ago you last graced your own doorstep?" With that last remark, she stormed off and up the stairs, cardigan billowing behind her, while Strange wrenched the back door open and threw himself into the field between the houses.

Wanda and Loki shared a look before making themselves scarce, elsewhere.

XX

About an hour later, Wanda opened the door to what she presumed was the main bedroom and peeked inside. Persephone lay with her limbs splayed out, dark curls smushed on one side, blinking blankly at the ceiling. With a sigh, she opened the door a bit more and let herself in.

"I hope you don't mind. Loki and I made some tea. And he might have eaten a whole sleeve of Oreos."

Seph laughed despite her gloom and shuffled to sit up against the headboard. Wanda smiled, offering her an extra mug in her hand, steam billowing from the top invitingly. "Sorry. I've been a terrible hostess."

"You're more hostage than hostess at the moment. I don't blame you." Wanda sipped at her tea for a minute in tense silence. "So, when did you and Stephen date? And how did he fuck it up?"

The responding snort was heartfelt and led to a long laugh. "No. Stephen and I have never dated."

"But there is history."

She ruffled her curls back into shape, out of nervous habit more than concern, and sighed. "Hard not to have when you've known him all your life. He grew up in that house across the way."

"I assumed as much." She gave her an encouraging smile, like a mother coaxing her teen into conversation. It worked exceptionally well on Seph. "Come on. We were neighbors growing up does not cover the level of tension from earlier."

Seph shrugged. "We both wanted to be doctors. I followed him to the same schools, undergrad and med school. We were pretty much our own support system. His sister passed, and his parents, my mom. We always figured it out together–"

There was a bit of confusion in the witch's face. "OK. That sounds really sweet, though."

"–and then one day I told him a secret. I told him I could make doors go to other places and I showed him, and I haven't seen him since."

“Ah, right.” Wanda winced. "That… sucks."

"Yep." She popped the 'p' before sipping at her tea.

"But when he got into magic, surely he–?"

"Nope." She swallowed at a lump in her throat and pushed away the ball of emotions that thinking on that day was dredging up. "That day he said I was crazy, that I drugged him. I've never heard an apology but he somehow gets to be Sorcerer Supreme."

Wanda sighed, taking a long draw from her tea before adding. "Jeez, what a dick."

"I'm assuming this scrawny, little thing is him," Loki remarked from the door, startling both women. He held out a framed picture of four children. "I am assuming he was bullied on that haircut alone."

"No worse than being the only Black kid in school in a small town in rural Nebraska," Seph retorted with a wry grin. Loki considered and shrugged, sitting at the bottom of the bed with what appeared to be a pack of saltines. "That's his little brother, Victor. He's the taller kid. The girl is his sister, Donna. That's the last picture we took before Victor died."

"Didn't his sister die, as well?" Persephone nodded. "So, they've all died. Seems like he's a harbinger of bad luck. Maybe we'd do well to stay away," he quipped, tossing the picture onto the mattress.

"Yes, tell us about harbingers of bad luck, Mr. I've Died More Times Than I Can Remember," Wanda sassed back, much to the other two's amusement.

"I have a question, Lady Hale."

She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Seph is fine, Loki."

"These portals, can you make them go anywhere?"

She shook her head. "Only places I've been to, sorry. Can't send you back to whatever planet you want to run off to."

He tsk'ed. "Well, it was worth a try."

"What did you two do to get stuck with the magic police?"

"Created a whole new reality by escaping my first arrest" "Held a whole town hostage in a fake TV show." They replied simultaneously.

"Fuck. No wonder he's desperate," Seph muttered to herself. "Why doesn't he just keep you in the fancy sorcerer place?"

"Too many artifacts to play with." "Too many books with dark magic."

"OK. He's clearly in over his head. No wonder he came here. There's no way he could keep you both controlled and contained without the..." She gestured around the room to signify the magic of her bubble.

"It's nice to let him pretend." Loki offered with a wink. "It's endearing."

Persephone laughed, sparing a passing thought to the idiot who didn't know what he got into. "Well, if you're stuck here, anyway, there's plenty of bedrooms. The bathroom is down the hall. Make yourself comfortable and relax. I'm going to go get dinner started."

Wanda smiled, stretching happily. "I'll take you up on that. I need a shower and some sleep."

Loki smirked. "I'll join you in the kitchen, if you don't mind."

XX

When Stephen returned, a long while later, he was immediately drawn to the familiar smells permeating the house and warming him from the inside out as much as the soft, honeyed whispers being exchanged in the dim light of the kitchen. He found Loki and Persephone at the stove, speaking in hushed voices, closer to each other than he would have deemed appropriate–definitely flirty. Loki had changed out of the black suit into a pair of joggers and a dark green tshirt and seemed downright at home bantering with the human over the simmering pot. His ease made Stephen's left eye twitch immediately, some long-forgotten jealousy roiling in his chest and clenching his fists on their own accord. He cleared his throat loudly to pull their attention.

Seph rolled her eyes and turned back to the pot to stir, though Loki lingered close for a few extra moments before taking half a step back.

"I guess the fun police is back," she muttered under her breath and Loki chuckled.

"Loki, could you go check on Wanda, please?"

"Wanda is sleeping, so no." He turned back to his companion, whispered something into her ear that made her giggle and turn to face him, bottom lip caught between her teeth.

The way his eyes trailed from her lips to his gaze made something snap inside the sorcerer. "Just get lost, will you?"

Seph craned her neck, fixing him with a glare. "Leave him alone. This is my house." Loki grinned, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek with a smug glint in his eye.

"I need to talk to you."

"Funnily enough, I heard all I needed to two decades ago, so…"

"Persephone, I am not playing here, I–" His demand was cut short by the flickering of the walls. Invisible curtains dividing this world from the little ratty apartment in the Bronx were faltering. Just beyond the constraints of the space, a whole new area, neither New York nor Nebraska, was reflected for just a second before it flashed back.

"It's alright, darling. He knows he has no authority here. Settle down, dove," Loki cooed cautiously, eyeing their surroundings with caution. "Do you want me to give you a moment with him?"

Seph sighed, studying Loki’s expression before nodding reluctantly. "Like I have a choice with this idiot."

"Very well. I will make myself scarce." He inclined his head at her, a gentle smile attached. Once he turned, he gave Strange a dirty look with a multitude of silent warnings and retreated to the living room.

Stephen snorted. "What did you do, bribe him?"

Rolling her eyes, she turned back to the stove. "Nope. He was hungry. I fed him. You'd be surprised how much less surly he is when he's full."

He frowned. "We ate before coming here."

"Hm… what's your excuse, then?" After a minute of silence, she glanced over her shoulder to check he was still there. He was. Unfortunately. "Besides, he eats three times as much as you do. Whatever you had wouldn't have made a dent."

"How do you know that?"

She let out a single laugh. "It's this revolutionary practice called talking. You wouldn't know about it, scalpel jock."

"Here’s a thought. How about you let your disdain for me go long enough for us to have a conversation."

The spoon in her hand slammed into the pot with a splash, driving bits of stew everywhere. Reality flickered within the portal and time dilated just long enough for him to notice before everything went smashing back into place. She was good at repressing these feelings, he knew. She must have spent their decades apart trying to control herself, unaided, and now it was his fault that she was losing control.

"How can you pretend that the single worst day of my life is just water under the bridge, Stephen?" She turned from the stove and he noticed her eyes glowed faintly in their intense hazel. "You accused me of drugging you, of deceiving you! I was grieving, my life was a mess, and I suddenly opened doors to places I hadn't been to in years, entirely by accident." She began to close the space between them, rounding the kitchen table. He felt like he should make a hasty retreat but found he lacked the ability. "I was terrified. I needed you! And you left me! I had no one!" Her voice cracked at the end, eyes filling with tears as she did all she could to retain the glare she was directing at him. "And after all that shit, you find magic and you–you didn't even have the decency to come and talk to me until you needed something."

"I didn't understand what had happened, OK? I opened your closet door and stepped into my childhood bedroom, Seph! How was that logical?"

"How did you think I felt, fucker? I was the one doing it!" Her voice rose to a shout and Stephen was quick to match it.

"I'm sorry! OK? I am sorry. I shouldn't have left. I should have reached out to you sooner. I should have helped. I am sorry. I'm s o r r y, but I was a dumb kid and the girl I was in love with could make distances shrink into nothing and I panicked!"

"You should've stayed gone, then," she replied, icily. "Because the boy I was in love with died when you left me alone in that room."

Cold filled his veins, and his spine quivered at her words. This was pure hatred, plain and simple. He couldn't find it within himself to blame her, to logic his way out of his role in her misery. Every excuse he could offer could be countered with 'yes, and it was happening to her, too'. She had been his one support through every bit of rotten luck he ever had. And he left her to her fate in a strange city without a lifeline. He never imagined he would be back to have this conversation, to pick at the scabbed-over wounds he had inflicted long ago.

"Persephone… Seph…" His hands tentatively grasped for her shoulders and gave a squeeze. She flinched, but did not pull away. "I am so sorry." With a little more coaxing, he had enveloped her in his arms, his nose pressed into her hair and inhaling the familiar scent of coconut. "I'm sorry. I am sorry," he chanted, feeling the front of his shirt dampening with her tears as her shoulders relaxed and molded into him. "I am going to make it up to you. I swear."

Persephone sniffled, pulling away from his frame. "I've waited a lifetime for you to come back for me." She blinked and tears streamed down her cheeks. "But I don't want that, anymore.” She made distance, wiping at her eyes and steeling her resolve. He wanted to pull her back to him. She needed to understand his point of view, though it suddenly occurred to him that he never bothered to understand hers. “You're welcome to stay as long as you need. But this isn't fixable, Stephen."

After a tense moment of staring at each other, she skirted past him, ignoring his protests and pleads to talk, opened the pantry door and disappeared through it with a ripple. 

“Stellar job, Strange. Now we’re stuck until she gets back,” Loki commented as he slipped into the kitchen, grabbed a bowl of stew and sneaked back out. 

For once, Stephen did not argue.

[every-kiss-begins-with-kay]

Connections

A/N: just a little note to say that I was able to write this with a little help from a couple of prompts by @givethispromptatry​ because I was having some really bad writer’s block (I changed the wording a little to help them fit the story):

“He tried to swallow his nerves as the man who had saved him leaned even further into his space. Their faces were inches apart and the distance was closing.”

“The sound of his mystery partner’s violin carried through that late evening air. With a small smile, he raised his flute to his lips and counted the notes until it was his time to join in.”

I’m also posting this one as oc (most of my stuff I write in oc but edit it to reader-insert before I post) so let me know what you think

“Neverland runs on belief. All you have to do is believe and it comes true.” Peter explains as the two walk into his camp.

“So, hypothetically, I could believe there was a magical raft that could take me away from here and one would just...appear?” Mattia inquires, only partly joking, as she takes in her surroundings.

Peter lets out an exasperated sigh. “No. As I have told you, no one comes or goes unless I allow it.” He steps closer to his guest. “All I would have to do is believe that your raft was merely an ordinary one, and you wouldn’t be going anywhere.” His smirk sends a shiver down Mattia’s spine. So far, she doesn’t have any reason to not trust him, other than a gut feeling that something is just...off.

Mattia shakes it off and wanders around the campsite. “So...what now? You said we were going to figure out why I’m here, since you didn’t ‘summon’ me or whatever, so...how are we going to do that?”

Peter chuckles. “First of all, it’s late. And you’ve had a hard day, you should rest and eat something.” He waves his hand and a campfire blows up in front of them, making Mattia jump back in both fear and awe. Peter laughs again, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Again.”

“You...you have magic?”

“It is just not sinking in, is it? This entire island is magic, lassie. I bet,” he saunters over and points his finger at her chest, “even you could learn to wield it, given time.”

She lightly pushes his finger away. “I’ve never been able to use magic. I just don’t have it. And I also don’t have time to sit around while you try to teach me because I need to get back to my ship and my crew and you already promised to help me do that.”

That smirk again. Mischievous, almost evil, and yet...magnetic. Peter steps towards her and she matches his pace until her back suddenly hits a tree, forcing a gasp through her lips. She tries to swallow her nerves as the boy leans even further into her space, their faces now only inches apart and the distance closing. He locks eyes with her as he whispers, “You have fire. I like fire.” His gaze keeps her locked in place as her mind races. Should she slap him? Run away? The way his lips are parted, she can feel his warm breath brush against hers-

Before she can get her thoughts straight, Peter breaks away, saying that he’s going to gather some food. Mattia lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding and sinks down to the ground, leaning her head back against the tree and wondering what the hell she had just gotten herself into.

--

A few days pass and the two grow more and more comfortable around each other. One night, they’re lying side by side, gazing up at the stars when Mattia starts humming.

Peter tilts his head to look at her. “What’s that?”

“Oh, it’s...it’s nothing. Just...something that popped in my head.”

“Please.”

Mattia feels her cheeks start to warm but she blames it on the heat from the fire. “My mother...she used to play the violin to me when I was a child. It always put me straight to sleep. She taught me how to play before she died, not long before I joined the Jolly Roger. I don’t know...why it just came to me, I haven’t thought about her in years.”

Peter sits up quickly. “The boys who visit every night, do you know why they can never stay?” He doesn’t wait for her to answer. “Because no matter how long they’re here, they always start to miss their parents. It’s part of the island’s magic, a way to keep anyone from staying here forever, like me. I guess it was bound to happen to you, too.” He stands up and walks into his tent.

His sudden change in attitude surprises Mattia. But she decides it’s best to just leave him be and closes her eyes, drifting off to the sound of her mother’s violin.

Peter barely makes eye contact with her the next day. The two simply go through the motions; chopping wood, hunting, collecting water. When the boys visit that night, Peter sulks in a corner by himself instead of dancing like he usually does. Mattia wracks her brain, trying to think of how to cheer him up, when one of the boys breaks from the prancing masses and points to the ground next to her. “What’s that?”

She looks down and sees a violin. At first she’s confused but she lets out a small laugh when she remembers that the island is magic. She picks it up and it feels...right, exactly like the one her mother taught her to play. The boy’s face lights up as he turns to the lively group, “Hey, I think she’s gonna play for us!” They all cheer as Mattia tries to gently turn them down, but then she catches Peter’s eyes through the crowd. The chants of “play it, play it, play it” fade into the background as they study each other. Finally, she stands and starts to play an upbeat, lively tune, appropriate for the night’s festivities. The boys cheer and begin jumping around the bonfire once again and she moves around with them, a smile plastered on her face.

Once all the boys have returned to their homes for the night, Mattia settles into the hammock she rigged up. She tries to drift to sleep but after multiple failed attempts, she picks up her violin again. She hesitates for a moment, worried that Peter might hear her, but closes her eyes as the first note of her mother’s lullaby rings out.

In his tent, Peter’s first reaction is to tell Mattia to shut up and go to sleep. But as he listens to her music, he smiles and pokes his head out. The peaceful look on her face entrances him and he settles on the ground just outside his tent. He raises his flute to his lips and counts the beats until it was his time to join in. The sudden addition catches Mattia off guard and she opens her eyes, but her hand never falters. The two smile at each other and play on.

When the song finishes, Peter rises and walks back into his tent. “Wait!” He turns to see Mattia clumsily getting out of her hammock, nearly falling. She sets down her instrument and walks over, twiddling her fingers. “I don’t know...what I said or-or did to make you angry with me today but I’m-I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Mattia. It was...it was the thought of you leaving me. I know we’ve only been here together a few days, but-”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “But I thought you had to get back to your ship? After we decipher why exactly you were brought here?”

“I think I know why and...it’s for that reason that I...I can’t leave.”

“What are you talking about?”

Mattia fully enters the tent and sits next to him. “I think...I was brought here for you. You’re all alone here except for when the boys visit each night, but...that’s not enough. It’s only been a few days, but I’ve seen a change in you, Peter, ever since I got here. I think you needed me and...I think I might have needed you, too.”

Her words hang in the air for a moment before a smile breaks onto Peter’s face, a genuine smile. He hangs his head with a laugh and she wraps him in a hug. He rests his face in her shoulder as she threads her fingers through his hair. “I’m not leaving you, Peter.”

“Good.”

[pochapal]

rank every year of the 2010s from best to worst i want some pochapal lore

[warning for discussion of my fucked up mental health and my myriad traumas. we’re really opening the pandora’s box here gang]

ok time for me to overshare on the internet again! super long post because i can’t shut up and you asked for it. anyway, by objective ranking: 

#1: 2012 - halcyon era, my personal peak. spent the whole year writing hunger games oc fics with my deviantart fanfiction besties whom i still think about all the time and always hope are having the best possible day. if you were here for this era understand i still hold you so closely and dearly in my heart <3. 

#2: 2013 - god i was such a good example of a human being back then. was the year my writing like actually took off and i had a healthy balance between creative stuff and a social life (said social life consisting of spending lunchtimes at school breaking into classrooms and discussing fandom shit with five other people. reading homestuck updates in the music room on one person’s really shaky mobile data...legendary). highlight of the year and maybe my life was in the april of 2013 when i got out of failing to submit a hard deadline essay by telling my english teacher i wrote a whole novel over the two week break and then producing said novel. god i wish i had that level of like. fucking confidence back me back then knew what i wanted and how to get it. 

#3: 2010 - the last year of childhood. i was 12 and played pokemon all the time with my friends and went places and had a moderately successful youtube channel and it didn’t matter that i was bullied so badly at school because i was basically high off life. summer of 2010 was so good specifically. i’d used to get the bus with a friend and go see movies and break into historical sites and get into normal childhood mayhem and maxed out my pokewalkers twice a month and i was buzzed because i had two (2) whole friendship groups to choose from and that was such a huge deal to me the terminal social outcast. it was so simple and carefree and even though everything and everyone involved in this era grew up to suck except for one specific person i kinda really miss it.

#4: 2018 - this was the first year i wasn’t depressed to the point of nonfunctioning. it was 20gayteen, i was on antidepressants, i was as close to thriving as i got at uni (going into town with people once a week, attending art and culture events, getting good grades across the board), i started to write for fun again, i got my cat whom i love dearly, i was exhibited in my uni’s city’s literature festival, GOD i actually nearly attended a pride event that year can you imagine. this year was basically my life’s second peak. miss getting the 8am train and daintily sipping on a cherry coke to keep me from passing out. wish this time could have lasted longer.

#5: 2019 - kinda absolute middle of the road year not for lack of anything happening but because the overwhelming amount of good and bad things cancelled each other out. so like there’s the fact that i was at the top of my uni game this year, was basically making the first steps into a professional writing career (covid i will never forgive you for killing all that dead </3), finally saved up enough to buy myself a gaming pc, and the summer after the homestuck epilogues, but equally 2019 was the start of the Pochapal Gender Fiasco which is by far the most horrible thing i am still currently undergoing and i burnt myself out mentally about halfway through the year (being stuck overnight in a hospital for a panic attack absolutely horrible horrible irredeemable) and then got like super death plague flu that i was sick with for three months (literally recovered less than a month before rona hit. god’s cruel karma.). so like...it kind of averaged out? the good shit was good but not as great as other years and the bad shit was awful but nowhere near as terrible as it could have been. gotta give a shoutout to 90% of my current mutual cohort for following me in 2019...omelette route gang make some noise !!

#6: 2014 - oof. this year essentially marked the start of a four year long downward mental health spiral because everything fell into awful alignment. i’d just turned 16, finished secondary school, had all my friends up and ditch me at once, was home alone for a whole summer, and was hit with Sudden Intense Body Image Issues that i couldn’t explain until uh. after very recent developments lmao. this one goes out to the me of july 2014 who did nothing but lay in bed and listen to the same two marina albums on a loop because fuck i’m attracted to men and also my facial and body hair are really starting to come in and if i think about this for too long i will literally kill myself because oh god i can’t handle getting older which is clearly and definitely the issue going on here. my brain fucking broke super hardcore and it’s a miracle that an overeating disorder was like the worst thing i walked away with. 

#7: 2015 - downward spiral year two!! i was so volatile this year it was such a mess. i was totally socially isolated after a brief stint of falling in with a group of people at the start of my first year of sixth form until january where in quick succession a) it turned out every single one of these people was friends with the person who sexually assaulted me whom i obviously had a lot of complicated feelings towards and b) baby’s first crush came out as bisexual but in the “women and also trans women” kind of way which tore me up so terribly in ways i couldn’t begin to understand. no words for the experience of seeing a girl kiss a boy and crying so hard at night you threw up because you could never be her no matter how much you wanted it. actually kinda get the sense what was going on there was bigger than just some crush lmao. then after that i was so mentally ill i basically attended school less than half the time and it was the only year in my life i failed my exams. i ended up having to resit my entire set of first year a level exams because jesus christ was i in such a bad way it was a miracle i even showed up to them. all i did was either have anxiety attacks or enter bedbound depressive slumps for weeks at a time. but it’s okay because it gets worse.

#8: 2016 - downward spiral act iii: the spiralling. prefacing this by saying that i actually had two whole good months (april - may) in that i was functioning enough to do my exams and finish school with decent grades. the rest was super extra mega terrible. my school attendance for year 13 dipped below 65% and literally the only thing that kept me from being kicked out was the fact that i was naturally smart at the subjects i took and also because the school would have a lot to answer for after letting me get to that state despite having a hefty file on how damaged i was. keep in mind every single part of this was fully untreated btw - i was just floundering around and letting it all fester. i spent three solid weeks going to school but locking myself in the bathroom all day every day and having mental health episodes then going home like nothing else happened only to continue the breakdown that night. then things got kicked into fucked up overdrive when i moved out to uni and was cut off from what little support structures i did have. it was so bad all i did was cry all the time and never went anywhere to the point where three separate sources recommended me to the wellbeing and crisis counselling service that i stopped going to after two sessions because i was fucked up in ways cbt techniques could not even touch. at least i tried to make an effort for the first two months of uni which like. good for me?

#9: 2017 - what lieth at the base of the spiral. helltrench year. i was at literal rock bottom. i stopped going to class, i didn’t hand in a single piece of work. i lied to my parents and would book trains each day only to go back to my student flat and sit there and contemplate suicide. like i would just slump on the floor in a catatonic state and vividly contemplate one of four or so ways i could end my own life. i only didn’t because i wanted to wait until the summer to collect my last student loan and transfer it to my parents as an apology for my death which obviously didn’t end up happening. honestly i can’t remember much of the first half of 2017 that’s how bad it was. i remember taking a gender studies class and the teacher made it Weird that i was the Only Male Student in the room and then she sent me a scolding email after i walked out halfway through a class and never returned. apparently i got into a lot of online discourse in this year but i don’t remember anything other than being put on a blocklist by the milkfic author over ace discourse which is funny if you have the context. mostly i just baited terfs and weirdo freaks to get them to say horrible things to me as what i guess amounts to some kind of digital self harm. anyway breaking point came in late august when i got kicked out of university and then nobody could ignore it any more so there was no choice left but for me to seek out help and recover enough to function which luckily i did. i really Do Not remember 2017. you could tell me anything about that year and i’d probably believe you.

#10: 2011 - extra circle of hell for this little fucked up gem of a year. on the surface it wasn’t actually that terrible, until the Summer 2011 Domino Effect Of Bad Shit. up until like may/june it was a pretty all right year! i was 13 and had a surprisingly successful youtube channel uploading pokemon soundfont remixes to an audience of i think ~350-400 subscribers at my peak? anyway then i got hit with the early summer triple combo of childhood friends moving away, cute and quirky sexual assault at the hands of a person in my friend group, and then having some Really Great and Super Appropriate interactions with adults on deviantart. like obviously there’s the actual ptsd-inducing event which totally disrupted and killed the person i was right up until that moment and reshaped every facet of my life for better or worse (there’s an alternate timeline where that didn’t happen and i got into electronic music and/or coding instead) but really it’s the events that followed in its wake which were kind of more fucked up. so like all of a sudden i was super aware of my body and me growing my hair out and being mistaken for a girl in class suddenly became this Less Innocent thing and i ended up spending hours overnight going to transgender questioning forums and looking up hrt timeline videos and having the wikipedia article on tracheal shaving saved because it was a life raft to me whose voice was imminently gonna deepen and i was simultaneously reeling with constant trauma flashbacks and the whole thing was so so fucked up. then i was on deviantart and i don’t remember exactly how but a small group of furry guys ten to fifteen years older than me started messaging me and encouraging and requesting me to produce nonsexual fetish stuff for them and talking to me about stuff like if i’d ever thought about growing up to be gay and i didn’t think anything of it for a long while because they called me a very talented writer and it felt so good to have someone be nice to me after being so alone and isolated for months on end. anyway the only reason i got out of that before it got bad was because they invited me to one of the big furry sites and i was weirded out because i thought it was a porn site and thinking about sexual stuff was a huge trauma trigger so i just ended up blocking them all and pretending like it didn’t happen. at the time half this shit didn’t bother me but in retrospect holy fuck 2011 was such a damaging year. to think if like three events didn’t happen i wouldn’t be the fucked up mess you see before you today.

god fuck this turned out super long but i’m not apologising because this was a therapeutic exercise for me and also constitutes as one of the biggest pochapal lore dumps of all time. come get your food or whatever.

[shewritestheblues]

the Elevator Bae - 11

***LOST BAE

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE (1 , 2 , 3) TEN

Erik Stevens x Black OC (Phoenix) 

A/N: the Elevator will be coming back soon, lol. Also, thanks to everyone who has sent me some encouraging words about the fic. I appreciate y'all so much. I promise to give y'all more fic’s soon. 

The days leading up to this one were rough. Five nights ago, Erik had received a text from an old friend. He hadn’t heard from Linda in almost a year. He made it a point to stop doing missions with her when he and Phoenix had gotten serious. Him and Linda had a bit of a steamy past. They were both part of the ghost unit and with the stress of their job, they found  themselves in each other’s bed most nights. Their relationship was never more than just sex but Erik knew when he met Phoenix, he couldn’t risk that. He battled with himself when he read Linda’s text.

Linda: Hey big head. Haven’t heard from you in awhile. There’s a job on the table and I wouldn’t wanna do it with anyone else. Interested?

With a sleeping Phoenix on his chest, Erik contemplated his interest in the job. His eyes moving back and forth between his baby girl’s face and the phone. He could do the job and that’s it. Linda would understand. He thought.

Erik: Wassup. What’s the job?

The three bubbles popped up immediately. He anxiously watched as the bubbles danced on the screen. Phoenix began to stir and he locked his phone thinking maybe the brightness of his screen was bothering her. She turned over and balled up on the other side of the bed. Erik took this moment to get up and slip on some shorts and silently make his way into Phoenix’s kitchen. He leaned against the counter just as his phone vibrated with a message.

Linda: Can you talk?

Erik listened out for any sounds coming from Phoenix’s bedroom.

Silence.

Not bothering to text back, Erik calls Linda.

“Hello?” Linda’s voice was low, like she was whispering.

“One shot kills the bird.” Erik says.

“Two shots to the head.” Linda snickers.

That was always their way of confirming their identity to each other. A smile crept up on Erik’s face. He hadn’t  heard that snicker in awhile. He internally chastised himself for feeling like he may have missed it.

“Wassup, Lin.” She could hear the smile in his words.

“Just killing niggas, Stevens. What about you? You’ve been MIA.”

“Nah, I’ve been working too. Just more lowkey.”

There was a beat of silence between them. Erik opened his mouth to speak when Linda’s soft voice beat him to it.

“Is she nice?” there was a hint of jealousy, but Erik pretended not to notice.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, she is.”

Another moment of silence.

“I’m happy for you, Stevens. You deserve someone nice.”

Erik looked down at his feet. Him and Linda had some good times and it seemed as though right now, all of their memories together were rushing to him. He stayed silent until Linda’s voice picked up again.

“Anyways, uh, yeah. This job is with this underground guy. He goes by Klaue.”

That name was familiar to Erik. His eyes grew big and he stood straight up.

“Klaue?” his voice boomed through the phone and the quiet apartment.

“Yeah. You know him or something?”

“Heard about him.” Erik caught himself and lowered his tone. He tiptoed to the bedroom door and peeked in to see if he had disturbed Phoenix. She was still sleeping soundly. He closed the door again, going back into the kitchen. “He be dealing with some black market shit.” That’s not all he knows about Klaue. Klaue is a name mentioned in his father’s book. He’s well aware of Klaue and his history with Wakanda.

“So, you’re aware of his work. Okay. Well, he’s working out a deal for some vibranium that’s being held in a--”

“I’m in!” Erik cut her off. He didn’t need to hear anything else. Linda didn’t ask questions. She knew better. Erik-- Killmonger  didn’t need to explain. She simply said, “Okay,” and let him know that she’ll keep him posted. They hung up.

Erik stood over the kitchen counter. His thoughts were racing a million miles a minute. This was the opportunity he had been waiting on. He couldn’t miss this one. He nodded with relief and began the quiet walk back into bed. As he inched closer to the bed, he could see movement. Phoenix’s hands were fishing for him. A smirk appeared on his face as he found entertainment in his girl searching for him. He loved it. He grabbed her hand as he found his comfort within the sheets and pulled her to his chest. Her heavy eyes looked up at him for merely a second before they shut again and she let out a deep breath as she sank into his body.

---------

Every night since, Erik would have insomnia. He wanted to tell Phoenix but he promised his last mission from only two weeks ago would be his last one until after her tour. She wanted him to be with her. He couldn’t disappoint her. He battled with the thought of maybe letting this go. He had found a sense of healing and happiness with Phoenix. Did he need to avenge his father’s death in this way? But in the end, he couldn’t help but to believe this was a once in a lifetime chance. The people of Wakanda needed to know the truth. So he stuck with his decision to go but decided against telling Phoenix. A week max and when he’s king, he’ll come for her.

Erik stands in the shower with the water as hot as it can be. With all of these thoughts, sleep wasn’t happening for him. As he is going over his decisions in his mind, crossing his T’s and dotting his I’s, he hears Phoenix come into the bathroom. She assumed he had a night terror and he just went with that. He was protecting her, he thought. She would understand later. She would have to.

Erik stopped Phoenix before she could completely disappear out of the bathroom.

***  He motioned his head for her to come back. “Get in.”

She was hesitant at first but she obliged. She undressed from her boyshorts and his Navy t-shirt that had became her nightly tee. Erik turned the temperature down just a notch so the water wasn’t too hot for her when she stepped in. When she joined him, he moved to the side for the water to meet her body. She watched him as he looked her naked form up and down. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her tightly. She knew something was wrong. She grabbed both sides of his face, making him look her in the eye.

“Talk to me.” she said softly.

“It’s the same shit. It just all seems so real.”

She rubbed his cheek with her thumb. He leaned in to kiss her. They stayed there, letting their lips warm each others. Erik pulled back, licking her touch from his lips. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it again. Phoenix rested her head on his chest and just let the water run down her back. She listened to his heart beat and noticed that it had started to pick up. She didn’t say anything. He didn’t give her much about his dream but she didn’t want to push him.

“Philly.” his voice was low and raspy and Phoenix could’ve sworn she heard it crack.

“Hm.” His heart is pounding out of his chest now. She could feel it thumping.

“I love you.” This time his voice was just above a whisper. ***

-------

The love they made that night was slow and deep. The intensity was unmatched to any other time between them. Erik would whisper his love into Phoenix’s ear as he made her scream it back to him. Their bodies were covered in bruises and bite marks. Three rounds before their bodies gave out on each other. They ended their sex with Phoenix riding on top of Erik and her body jerked with her last organsm before she callapsed onto him. They never bothered to move, falling asleep still in that position.

That was the only sleep Erik had and when his alarm woke him up just a couple of hours later, he held onto Phoenix’s naked body in a bear hug before kissing her cheek and whispering one last “I love you” in her ear.

-----------

Linda and Erik at just made it to the secret location where they’d meet up with Klaue. It was an abandoned factory building with puddles from leaky pipes everywhere. One room in particular held a table and a few chairs. The two opted to wait there until further notice. Time seem to drag as they waited. But Klaue is a black market criminal. He wouldn’t just show up on time and be ready to go. Erik knew what was going on. The abandoned building was being watched and once Klaue’s people knew it was all clear, he’d show up.

The look in Erik’s eye as he stared at nothing, was familiar to Linda. She perked up at the sight. Killmonger had surfaced. Her eyes almost twinkled and she moved herself closer to him. Sensing her undeniable excitement, Erik looked over to her.

“Welcome back, Kill.” she laughed.

He exhaled a small laugh without any form of a real response.

“I missed you.” her voice sounded distant even though she was sitting right next to him. “Doing all those jobs didn’t feel the same without you.” Linda placed her hand over his hand.

Erik looked at her hand and his eyes trailed up her arm until he reached her face. She looked so sweet. He then remembered the first time he met her. She was the last one introduced to his team in the ghost unit and he remembered thinking, “This girl ain’t gonna last here.” But, she did and she was one of the best. She was number two behind him.

She got up from her seat and made herself at home on Erik’s lap. Erik struggled with what he should do next. He was usually always so focused and prepared but Linda has his brain covered in a cloud of nostalgia. She smiled down at him, holding both sides of his face.

“No one else understands the thrill of the kill like you. I feel crazy when I hit the target and wanna do a happy dance. You were my happy dance partner, baby.”

Erik bit his lip to hold back from saying anything he could regret later. Linda’s soft fingers pulled his lip from between his teeth before smashing her lips into his. A feeling so familiar to them. Linda could feel his member hardening and she moved her hips up to feel more. She pulled back slightly.

“She could never know Kill like I know Kill.” she practically moaned out the words.

“W-What?” Erik pulled back.

“I know you miss this just as much as I do.”

Erik reaches to grab her hands from his face. “C’mon Linda. You need to chill.”

“Is she better than me?” She says, kissing his face between words. “She can’t ride it better than me. Nobody can.”

Erik pinned her arms behind her back, holding her in place.

“What she do ain't none of your concern.”

“That bitch could never take care of you like I did.”

Erik’s movement were quick… too quick. Linda hadn’t realized that he now has a tight grip around her neck. It didn’t hit her until she tried to breathe in. The soul had left his eyes and his grip grew tighter the more she stared into his dark orbs. His nostrils flared and the muscles in his neck popped with anger.

“You better watch your fucking mouth. That bitch knows me better than you or anybody else ever could. You were just something to do when there wasn’t shit else to do. We gon’ get this job done and you gon’ delete my number. Understand?”

Linda clawed at his thick fingers as she fought for air. She nodded her head. He released her neck and Linda coughed and took in deep breaths.

“If you play your role good,” he held her chin, “Daddy might give you a good-bye gift.”

Erik had already made up his mind though. Linda wouldn’t see the end of this mission. She was too close. All this time he thought what they had was just sex, but clearly Linda had been secretly holding on to what they were doing as a sign and he couldn’t let her show back up in his life and ruin what he has now. This was a set up to get him close to her again. She didn’t know about his ties to Wakanda and that was the only reason he was still here. This was his one chance to get there and she wasn’t about to mess that up.

Klaue finally made his grand entrance and grand it was. His groggy laugh could be heard echoing throughout the abandoned building and he had to show off some tricks with his arm. Linda played interested and Erik was just ready to go.

They loaded up into a black van and headed off to the museum.

------------------

The last thing Erik remembered was the sunset. Iit felt like it was a dream. As he stirred, he was expecting to wake up and roll over on Phoenix. He knew when he did that, he would crush her just enough to wake her and when she did, she’d be going off on him for ‘damn near killing her.’ But to shut her up, he’d just bear hug her and kiss her quiet. That always worked. But when Erik came to, he wasn’t in bed with Phoenix. He wasn’t even in a bed. He was strapped to a table and bright lights hung over him. He could hear talking around him. The voices were speaking Xhosa.

He was still in Wakanda… He was still alive?

He didn’t want to make any sudden moves to startle anyone, so he kept his eyes closed and just listened.

“Kufuneka aqhubeke nokudinwa.” (he needs to stay sedated.) One voice said.

“Kufuneka sithethe naye... ukuqonda.” (we need to talk to him… to understand.) another voice. This one was familiar to him. It was T’Challa.

“There’s nothing to understand. He tried to kill us. He tried to kill you.”

“Yes, Okoye. I know. But there has to be more.” T’Challa looks to Shuri. “No more sedatives.”

Shuri looks over to a monitor near Erik. “Brother.” she sounded concerned… scared.

“Yes, Shuri?”

She pointed to the display of brain waves on the monitor. “He’s awake.”

Erik opened his eyes as a sly grin grew on his face. He looked directly at T’Challa.

“N’jadaka. Welcome back.”

Erik looks down at the restraints around his wrist and back to T’Challa. T’Challa motions for Shuri to let Erik free.

“My King… No.” Okoye says from behind him.

Shuri doesn’t move.

“It’s best to free my wrist now before I get pissed.” Erik says. His voice rusty from not speaking. He doesn’t even know yet how long he’s been there.

T’Challa gives Shuri one last look and she does what he asked of her. Erik sat up with a stretch and rubbed his wrist. He slowly looked up at T’Challa before very swiftly jumping up and pushing him into the nearest wall. Okoye right on Erik’s heels with her spear just barely re-breaking the skin on his cheek. Erik’s snarls at his cousin but T’Challa remained calm.

“Didn’t I tell you to let me die nigga?” Erik finally spoke.

Okoye presses her spear more into Erik’s skin. “Back away now.” She demanded through clenched teeth.

“Okoye, please.” T'Challa said calmly. “We hold no threat, N’jadaka. I saved you because I had to. You are family.”

“He’s not family, brother.” Shuri interjects. “Family doesn’t try to kill family.”

Erik glared at her. He stepped away from T'Challa and began making his way to Shuri. “Oh yeah? So my father wasn’t killed by his own brother? HIS FAMILY?”

Okoye and T'Challa stepped between them.

“That is why I saved you.” T'Challa placed a hand on Erik’s chest. “My father was wrong, N’jadaka. I can’t— I won’t make the same mistake he did. You are royal blood and I want to make this right.”

Erik searches his face for a hint of bullshit but he was met with sincerity. Something he only ever saw in Phoenix.

Phoenix!

Erik held his head down. “How long have I been here?”

“It’s been three weeks since the fight.” Shuri said.

Erik didn’t say anything. He glided back to the table he was just laying on and sat on it. Three weeks. He wasn’t supposed to be gone this long. There’s no way Phoenix would understand this. He left her with no explanation. Erik wasn’t even sure yet if he could trust T’Challa and Shuri. He couldn’t risk Phoenix by sharing that he had her back home. Erik felt defeated. He had lost the thorn. He had lost the fight and now… he was sure that he now lost her.

“FUCK!” he snapped and slamming his fist onto the table.

Okoye and T'Challa shared a look and T'Challa approached Erik. “There is hope for you here, N’jadaka. But, only if you are willing.”

Erik didn’t have any more fight in him at this point. Sure, he was still angry and would jump at the opportunity to punch his cousin right about now, but he was tired. Phoenix warned him that one day he would get tired of fighting. For the first time, he decided to accept it. Phoenix would want him to try. To try to heal, forgive and trust. The same way he did with her. T'Challa could have let him die, but he didn’t. Maybe this was his second chance. He wasn’t sure if he truly deserved it but he would go with the flow.

“Yeah, whatever nigga.” Erik finally says to T’Challa.

Okoye scoffs.

---------

T'Challa, Okoye and two other members of the Dora Milaje escorted Erik to a rehabilitation center just outside the palace. He would be staying there until it was seen fit for him to be released. The first few weeks was an adjustment for Erik. His room was just big enough for him. A bed, a desk and a small, empty bookcase. A window sat just above the desk with a view over the village.

After Erik was settled in, he was introduced to his chosen therapist, Mama Kholo. She was an older woman with deep chocolate skin and long, silver locs. She reminded him of Madea. He was a bit standoff-ish at first but Mama Kholo was warm and understanding. She never forced or pushed him. It took Erik about three weeks to say more than ‘Good Morning’ to her. She would ask how he was doing or how he was feeling and Erik would just stare out of the window.

His silence was finally broken when one day, Mama Kholo came into Erik’s room for his daily session without words. She held three books in her small hands. She came in and kneeled down in front of his bookcase and neatly put the books down. She then walked out and Erik was left looking confused. When she left, he looked at the books. One had a note attached to the inside of its cover. It read,

I read your file, N’jadaka. You are wise beyond your years. But you are not wiser than me.

This book, a psychology book. That made Erik laugh. He sat on his bed with the book in hand and began reading. Mama Kholo didn’t return to his room for four days. Erik had finished all three books. He had thoughts and wanted to share with her. On the fifth day, she returned with three more books. When she stepped into his doorway, she noticed something different about him. He looked eager to see her.

“Good morning, Prince. You look rested this morning.” she smiled.

“Good morning, Mama Kholo. I am.”

She placed the books on the bookcase as she did before and had turned on her heels to leave when Erik calls out to her.

“You can stay.”

Mama Kholo raised an eyebrow. She looks out into the hallway. No one was there.

“You come with me.” she says, holding a small hand out.

Erik shakes his head. She motions for him to come again. He slowly stands and walks out with her. She leads him down the hallway and to an elevator. When the doors open, she steps in but Erik just stands there. Worry on his face as his mind races between if this is a setup and the first time he met Phoenix. He felt conflicted and Mama Kholo could tell.

“N’jadaka, it’s okay.”

He steps into the elevator with her and they go down three floors. He follows her through two large doors with the sign ‘Library’ over them. They go inside and she takes them back into a smaller room. In this room sits a loveseat couch, a lazy boy chair and a table. The table held coffee cups, a tray of muffins and a notepad. Mama Kholo leaves Erik in the doorway to figure out what he wanted to do and she sat in her lazy boy, kicked her feet up and picked out a muffin. Erik eventually sat down on the couch and he just watched as she hummed in satisfaction of her blueberry muffin.

“Did you enjoy your books, N’jadaka?” she asked.

That question lead Erik right into Mama Kholo’s trap. Their talks began has Erik’s review of the three books but she flipped it into how the books related to real life and before Erik knew, he was sharing his experience with the foster care system. By the end of their session, Erik found himself not wanting to leave Mama Kholo. He wanted to share more. The more he shared, the more weight lifted from him. Mama Kholo understood this. She was happy to see him wanting to open up more.

This became their routine. Muffins and coffee… or tea. Sometimes, when things would become overwhelming for Erik, Mama Kholo would just walk around with him. They wouldn’t talk but she’d show him around and allow him to reset. She never pushed him too far. She allowed him to come to her.

One morning before their session, Mama Kholo came into Erik’s room to see him doing pushups. This sparked an idea for her. She suggested that from now on, They would have talking sessions every other day and in between she’d take him to the gym facility located in the center. This really amped up Erik’s desire to express more of the feelings he had been holding inside. He opened up so much more to Mama Kholo. He finally broke his silence about Phoenix.

As they sat out in the courtyard, Erik sipped his tea. He was biting the inside of his cheek when Mama Kholo asked the question.

“Have you ever allowed yourself to love anyone, N’Jadaka?” she asks.

He looked up at her and his eyes answered her question. She gave him a soft smile before taking a bite of her muffin. Erik cleared his throat. “She hates me now.”

“Why do you think such a thing?”

“Because I’m here.” He adjust himself on the bench. “She doesn’t know I’m here. I left and I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want her to worry about me.”

“She didn’t know about your work?” Mama Kholo asked.

“She knew. But this was different. This is Wakanda. She would’ve tried to talk me out of it. I didn’t want that. I waited my whole life to come here. I couldn’t let her stop me from doing that.”

“So… are you saying you know she would have succeeded in changing your mind?”

“Yes. Phoenix likes to look at the bigger picture. She sees the good in everything. Somehow, she found some good in me.”

“You don’t think you have good in you, N’Jadaka?”

Erik sits, looking forward. “Would a person who has good in them do what I’ve done?”

“Well, N’jadaka, I think everyone has good. But I think each person has a different experience in life. Some people have to hide their good to survive. That’s what you did. But, you don’t have to survive anymore. You can come out of hiding and let your good shine through.”

Erik laughs to himself before taking a sip of tea. “You sound just like Phoenix right now.”

A huge smile forms on Mama Kholo’s lips. “Sounds like Ms. Phoenix knows what she’s talking about.”

A beat of silence sits between them. Mama Kholo watches Erik closely. He’s thinking. He drags his hand over his face and rolls his shoulders. Mama Kholo’s alarm rings, signaling that their session is over. Erik stands and helps her up and gathers their muffin box. He follows a step behind her as they make their way back into the center. They go up the elevator to Erik’s floor. As they approach his door, Mama Kholo says her goodbye.

“Mama Kholo.” Erik calls to her. She turns to see that he’s struggling with something.

“What is it, N’jadaka?”

“Uh, can you do me a favor?” he slides his hands into the pockets of his pants.

“Yes?”

“Can you put a word in to T’Challa? Ask him to check on Phoenix? I-- I need to know that she’s okay.”

Mama Kholo nodded with a smile and walked away.

----------

Their next session, Mama Kholo let Erik know that she passed on his message to T’Challa and he agreed to check on Phoenix. Some time had gone by after that. A lot of time. Waiting for an update, Erik began to regress. He wasn’t talking as much. Many of his responses to Mama Kholo were just sounds and grunts. She knew that he needed to know about Phoenix. She meant that much to him.

Mama Kholo visited T’Challa’s office to update him on Erik.

“My King,” she formed an X with her arms. T’Challa did the same and motioned for her to enter his chamber doors. She joined him on a beautiful couch that sat along a large window. She handed him Erik’s files. T’Challa looked through it and was impressed at how much progress Erik has made. His anger levels had decreased significantly. He was doing well and using the techniques that Mama Kholo taught him. Erik was journaling daily and working out had made a huge difference. But, he noticed the most recent notes of how Erik had become distant.

“I see here, Mama Kholo, that he has pulled back. Do you have any idea as to why his progress has stopped?” T’Challa closed the file and placed it on the panther shaped glass table before them.

“Yes, my King. I’ve noticed that since there hasn’t been an update on his friend, Phoenix, N’jadaka hasn’t been himself. I think he needs to know that she’s okay. He’s holding a lot of guilt for leaving her.”

“I do have an update for him. But, I wasn’t sure if he was ready.”

Mama Kholo became concerned. “Is she okay?” she places a hand over her chest, preparing for the worst.

“Yes, yes, Mama Kholo. She’s fine. But,” T’Challa cleared his throat, “She has a child now. I’m not sure how to tell N’jadaka that. If she means that much to him, I’m sure he wouldn’t take well to that.”

“His child?”

“...yes.”

“He deserves to know my King.” Mama Kholo insisted. “And I think that he’s ready.” She stands and T’Challa follows her. He gives her a hug and she makes her exit from his office.

T’Challa calls for Okoye.

“Yes, King?” she asked.

“Have Imani prepare N’jadaka’s chambers. He’s ready.”

“Are you going to tell him about his lady friend?”

T’Challa rubs his beard. He nods. “Yes. Which is why I’ll be bringing him back to America with me on Friday.”

Okoye’s eyes grow big and she immediately goes to challenge King T’Challa but he stops her. “He has made great progress, Okoye. It’s time for us to all move on.”

Okoye nods. She does the Wakandan solute to her king and passes the message to Imani. When she returns, she and T’Challa begin their journey to Erik’s room at the rehabilitation center.

*** The sounds of feet walking across the tile floor and the faint sounds of talking woke Erik up. He kept his eyes closed as he felt the presence of people outside his already open door.

“N’jadaka. I know you are awake.”

Erik opened his eyes and sat up on the bed.

“I have some good news for you. This is your last day here. Mama Kholo has informed me that you’ve made great strides in your rehabilitation. You will be escorted to your palace chambers today.”  ***

Tags: @shaekingshitup​ @purple-apricots​ @abeautifulmindexposed​ @lostennyc​  @tip222u​ @janelledarling​ @lushloaded​ @chaneajoyyy​ @thadelightfulone @raysunshine78 @toniilaney @purpleskiesxhopefuldreams @elaindeereads @lyniya @fd-writes @mygirlrenee @ajspencer1892 @yoyolovesbucky @greatpandagladiator-blog​ @shanyphantom​ 

[felixfeliciswriterblog]

Snapetober 2020 - Day 30: Self Hatred

Warnings: mentions of death, angst.

Length: 1414 words.

This is a missing scene from my main Severitus Snape x OC fic. Severus is married to Skyrah. They have a son (Corbin) who is about 1.

A MAGNIFICENT SPY

“Lumos,” whispered Severus.

He ascended the stairs slowly, making sure they didn’t creak under his feet and awaken anybody from their slumber. In the crib was his son, unaware of the pure evil and injustice in the world. Whenever Corbin smiled in his sleep, as he was doing now that his father was caressing his chubby cheeks, Severus would smile back. Not that night, though. He kissed Corbin on the forehead, making up for the goodnight kiss he had missed, and walked towards his own bedroom. The dim light coming through the half-open bedroom door told him that Skyrah, unlike her sister, Harry, and Corbin, wasn’t sleeping. He peeped through the door.

She was seated on the bed, with his pillow positioned on her back and head. A History book – the one she read whenever she was anxious – lay on her flexed knees. His first thought was that the light the old lamp from the nightstand emitted made her skin glow.

Beautiful, she was beautiful.

Everything about the Death Eaters meeting had been hideous.

Malfoy Manor had been dark, cold. One look at his wife and he felt warmer. It still wasn’t enough. He wanted her to look at him. Only then might he be able to forget Charity’s eyes before she…

Don’t go there, he told himself.

At the creaking door, Skyrah shot her head up. His name tripped off her tongue, breathy. Her eyes were tender, inviting. She tossed the book onto the nightstand and leaped out of the bed.

Cupping his chin to inspect his face, she asked, “Are you wounded?” 

Yes. Not physically. “No.”

“Are you okay?”

Not at all. “Yes.”

“Liar.”

Despite having promised they wouldn’t lie to each other, she did not sound incriminating but merely concerned. If there was something Severus disliked, that was worrying his wife.

“Did Corbin wake you up? Is that why you are awake?”

She took a step back, withdrawing her hands from his face, hurt.

"Is this what you think of me? That I’m incapable of staying awake for my husband?” Severus was about to reply when she held up her palm. “Corbin’s been sleeping like a log.”

He gulped at her cutting tone. “It is late. You should be resting.”

“I can’t rest when I’m worried.”

“I do not want you to worry so much about me. It is not healthy.”

She snorted. “I couldn’t agree more. Ease my worries. You could start by telling me what happened in the meeting in which my father thought my presence and his heir’s weren’t needed.” He drew in an intake of air and averted her gaze. More softly, she whispered, “Please.”

Severus… Please… Please… Help me!

His face contorted in pain.

When Skyrah took his hand, he locked their gazes. Her eyes were full of love, begging. Merlin. How was he supposed to tell her? Would she hate him as much as he hated himself if she found out? He walked past her and sat on the edge of the bed, lowering his head. His hair might have covered his distressed face like a curtain, but it did nothing to muffle Voldemort’s sibilant voice in his head.

Dinner, Nagini.

Severus gripped the edges of the bed, biting his lip to keep from screaming. Skyrah’s arm slithered around his waist. A kiss landed on the corner of his eye. It was then he noticed he had let a tear fall. She kissed his cheekbone, the corner of his mouth, his jaw, and rested her head on his shoulder. After that, his heart did not ache so much.

“You don’t have to tell me now… Just tell me what I can do for you for the time being. I just… I hate seeing you like this. I want to help you feel better, and I don’t know how if I don’t know what’s going on.”

He let out a shaky breath and leaned into her. Getting the hint, she tightened her grip on him and cuddled him in silence, waiting for him to make the next move.

“She said…” He trailed off. Skyrah raised her head, looking at him. “She said we were friends. She viewed me as her friend. I had to see her die.”

Friends?

His circle of acquaintances was limited to say the least. Skyrah considered the people who could have died in that reunion. Whoever she was, she used to work at Hogwarts. All his friends worked there, except the Malfoys, if they could be considered friends.

“Narcissa?”

“No. No, Narcissa is fine. A bit sick after witnessing the scene, like her son, but Lucius will take care of his family.”

“If the person isn’t a Malfoy then…” He shut his eyes. His silence spoke volumes. With a sinking heart, Skyrah cupped his face, forcing him to make eye contact. “Who?”

He shook his head. “I don’t want you to suffer more because of this damned war.”

“I work at Hogwarts, too. I will find out sooner or later. I want to know it now.”

He swallowed hard. “Professor Burbage… Charity.”

Skyrah gasped, blinking back tears. Although they weren’t close friends, Charity was passionate about her subject, terribly kind and tolerant, the kind of person that gave the desolate faith in humanity. She had appeared genuinely happy to find out about the Snapes’ marriage, and had once babysat Corbin.

“Charity died thinking I was on the Dark Lord’s side, a Death Eater.”

“But you aren’t,” she whispered, squeezing his waist. “You are a good man.”

“I sentenced her to death. Is that your definition of ‘a good man’?”

His sarcasm didn’t scare her. Nor did his self-loathing. She was used to them and knew how to combat them.

“Don’t you dare blame yourself for her death. If you’d saved her, your loyalties would be exposed, and we’d be doomed. You saved hundreds of lives. This war would be lost without you. Most wouldn’t have been able to keep their covers under such pressure. You fooled them all. You did your job as a spy, a magnificent job.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be a spy anymore!” He stood up to get away from her touch, breathing hard. “I don’t! I hate it. I have to see innocent people being tortured, murdered in cold blood, and there is nothing I can do about it.”

She rose to her feet and clutched his trembling hand in hers, waiting until his breathing returned back to normal. He didn’t push her away nor snap at her.

Taking it as a positive sign, she said, “I wish you didn’t have to do this. Your life's on the line all the time. It frightens me, but we are in too deep. We can only make the best of this horrible situation so that, one day, we believe the sacrifices you made as a spy were worth it.” He gulped soundly. Skyrah brought his hand to her mouth and gave it a chaste kiss. “Her death won’t be in vain. Not hers. Not Albus’s. Not our daughter’s. Not Lily’s or Daniel’s… Not a single death caused by my father. We’ll help Harry fight him.”

Skyrah changed Severus’s attire to his sleepwear with a flick of her wand. The lights went out next. She yanked him down to bed and spooned him from behind, nuzzling his hair.

“As your friend, Charity wouldn’t like to know you hate yourself so much for something that was out of your control. You’ll turn your pain into the motivation that keeps moving you. You’re so brave, so admirable and loveable,” she crooned, eliciting a sound from him that resembled a sob. “Shh. I love you. I love you even if you hate yourself.”

She dropped kisses on his nape and shoulder until his breathing became regular and deep. Although his body appeared calm, his mind kept reeling. Charity’s cries drilled his brain, as did Bellatrix’s maniac laugh alongside the sound Nagini’s fangs made when they sank into her skin. He could still smell the blood.

Skyrah drifted off to sleep thinking that, by the time he fell asleep in the comfort of her embrace, he would not feel so guilty. She had said it herself.

You fooled them all.

Even her.

Even himself.

He’d convince himself that Charity had to die for the greater good, and he would believe his own lie like Voldemort believed his fake loyalty. He’d move on. He was, after all, a magnificent spy.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: For some reason, my posts don’t appear in the snapetober search tag even if I tag it correctly. Hopefully, you see this one @snapetober​. There’s another post in my blog for this fest (day 18: falling)

I wouldn’t have been able to post this on time if it had been betaed, so I apologize for any mistakes you may have encountered. I did my best.

If you liked it, you can read the main fic here: AO3, FFN.