#ahhh i kept writing later parts instead of this one

[nomsfaultau]

The Lambs Wolves Wear part 8

Dark SBI AU where Philza’s human children were replaced by monsters. Start of ficlet is here.

Both Tommys held Philza’s hands as he walked into the home. “Wilbur” and “Technoblade” froze painfully to see both imposter and real child side by side. Whorls of frost spread out from “Technoblade’s” bare toes, and “Wilbur” drained of color in a rather literal way, his illusion pooling on the ground in colorful streaks as the changeling stormed towards them. Tommy, frightened to watch his “brother’s” face melt off, tucked into Philza’s side. 

Mistaking the fear for “Tommy’s” apprehension of a tongue lashing, “Wilbur” seized Tommy roughly, “You idiot,” “Wilbur” hissed. Visions of his nightmares bled into the world, illusions of Philza attacking, killing, disowning them pouring into the house. “You’ve just killed yourself, you know that right? What the hell does he need you for if he has his real son?” 

“You’re yelling at the wrong Tommy,” Philza said weakly, trying not to lose all feeling in his legs as he watched his son threatened only minutes after he was finally back. 

Lip curling, “Wilbur” dropped Tommy, rounding upon “Tommy” who claimed, “No Dad’s mixed up! That’s the real demon, not me!” 

Tommy began to question what was happening, and Philza squeezed his hand harshly to silence him. Plastering on a thick smile, he knelt before his son. “These are your new brothers, okay? They’re m- not human.”

Tommy was relieved. “Oh, I thought Wilbur had figured out a next level prank and I had no idea how I was going to one-up melting my face off! Did Techno and Wil get turned into cows too?”

“No. But they’re safe.” Maybe. Philza needed them to be safe. “I’m trying to get Technoblade and Wilbur back, but it’ll take some time.”

“No it won’t,” “Wilbur” snapped from where he was trying to strangle a raccoon. “Wilbur is gone. Accept it.” 

“Tommy” bit his hand, and “Wilbur” shrieked at the lava melting through his skin. “It’s okay,” “Tommy” assured his fellow imposters as his little imp form perched in the ceiling rafters, unflinching at the illusionary spears hurled at him. “You can give them back now, Dad said he won’t be mad.” 

“Tell me the truth,”  “Wilbur” commanded sharply. 

“I’m not getting rid of any of you,” Philza insisted, just barely able to snap his mouth close before the yet slipped out. Of course he couldn’t, not when he still needed his kids back safe and sound first. 

“Wilbur” trembled, his talons curled into painfully tight fists. Then his hollow gaze dropped from Philza. “...I can’t help you, even if I wanted to. The Fae Queen has Wilbur, not me.” 

Philza couldn’t help his hopeful glance to “Technoblade”. But the mouth of the haunted vessel hardened. “You already have Technoblade. He’s right here. We didn’t steal him, like the others did.” 

Philza hadn’t much hope left to be dashed. He squeezed Tommy’s hand, and didn’t stop him as Tommy raced off to explore the monster’s powers. In the eyes of a child, their monstrous natures could only be viewed through the lens of excitement, unable to grasp the unfathomable danger he was in. He pestered them with a million questions. A risky game given the tension choking the room. 

“You have to be careful with them, Tommy. Your new brothers can play a little rough sometimes.” Philza poured his urgency into his gaze, keeping his voice as chipper as ever. Then, his fury turned upon the monsters. “If anyone hurts Tommy you are all grounded.” The trio of incomprehensibly powerful abominations cowered before him. 

—-------------------------------

“Tommy!!” Phil screamed at the top of his lungs. “Come here right now.” He looked at the mess before him, and it had Tommy written all over it by the bite marks on his flowerbed. Only question was which one. A twin pair of golden heads popped through the doorway. “I know it’s very funny for you both to look like Tommy, but I can’t have you looking the exact same. It’s gonna cause a lot of problems. Think about it, what if one of you gets punished for the other ones mistake? If I can’t tell who it’s supposed to be, both Tommys will get in trouble. I don’t care what you decide on, but you have to choose a way to tell you two part.” 

“I can be Tommy one!” the first Tommy exclaimed.

The second Tommy pouted. “I wanted to be Tommy one,” he said grumpily.

“Fine, you can be Tommy one; I’ll be Best Tommy!”  

“That’s not fair! I want to be Tommy one, too!” said the third Tommy. Wait, the third Tommy? Philza whipped around fast and counted the heads of his sons, realizing that somewhere along the way, he picked up a third Tommy. Philza was about to lose his mind. Where had the new Tommy come from? What had happened? Was this a new monster he was supposed to deal with? How is he supposed to fight against a new monster who he knew nothing about???

“Sorry, I’m not sure we’ve met each other before. Would you care to introduce yourself?”

“Dad, you seriously can’t tell I’m the original Tommy!?”

Philza groaned in frustration. “That’s it! Mandatory group hug!” The Tommys immediately scattered, but Philza was quick enough to scoop them all up. They writhed and groaned about cuties as he focused. Tommy one, too was biting him. Which….didn’t narrow it down. Best Tommy was kicking him and making disgruntled cow sounds, so probably human Tommy??? No, he needed more data. Tommy one was slightly feverish to the touch so he was likely the demon “Tommy”. But the other two? That was a little harder to tell. Best Tommy was normal temperature, but so was Tommy one, too. Wait…no. Tommy one, too, was room temperature, lacking his own body heat. Almost like he wasn’t really there. “”WILBUR!”” Philza shouted. 

“Wilbur” glanced up from the book he was unassumedly reading on the porch swing. “Can I help you?’ he asked, faintly annoyed. 

“If you also begin to make illusory Tommys, I will be likewise punishing you any time one of them gets in trouble.” Philza couldn’t afford to be mistaken ever again. He had to nip this problem in the bud before the consequences grew horrific. How was he supposed to defend Tommy if he couldn’t tell who he was? 

The changeling scowled. “Excuse me? I don’t care what those brats get up to, it has nothing to do with me.”

“This is clearly your illusion.” To prove his point, he dramatically patted the fake Tommy on the head. He blinked as nothing happened, then chuckled a little, catching “Wilbur’s” flash of a triumphant smirk. Philza ruffled the hair of the other Tommy, who dissolved beneath the iron of his wedding band like morning mist. ““Wilbur” if you compound on the doppelgänger confusion with your illusions, you’ll receive the same punishment.” 

“If you catch me~” he laughed with a voice like silver bells. 

“Why you little-” Philza began, stalking over to where he sat, only for a loud crash to whip his head around. One of the Tommys had turned into a cow, and Philza really couldn’t tell which. 

“Really now, I know you boys introduced yourself as doubles, but you are your own people with different personalities. Please be yourselves- ah, with the boundaries we established,” Philza warned before “Tommy” could turn into a hulking demon. “Wouldn’t you like to find a nice form all your own? Stop pretending to be someone you’re not?”

“Not when we can cause so much chaos!” “Tommy” cackled, racing off riding a blond cow. “And if you try to ground me I’ll rip your head off!” Philza sighed heavily and sat on the porch swing next to “Wilbur”. Technically he knew he should be following to make sure his child wasn’t eviscerated by a random flare of the demon’s temper…but god was he exhausted from trying to chase the pair around for days. The fact Tommy had survived so far was certainly justification for a five-minute break at the very least. 

With a startled blink, Philza realized the changeling sitting beside him no longer wore the disguise of Wilbur. The illusion puddled beneath the changeling, who was still wholly occupied with his book, albeit in a way where it was clearly just a prop so he wouldn’t have to meet Philza’s gaze. The fae was tense, waiting for a reaction. “...have you decided to be yourself now?” he asked cautiously, knowing how testy the changeling could be. 

“Wilbur” didn’t look away from his book, knees drawn up to his chest. “Whatever. Not like it’s an improvement.” 

Philza smiled warmly. “Of course it is!” It would make it so much easier to be rid of him if he looked like the monster he was. Or, so Philza prayed. He’d grown too familiar with the deadly, reading past the frightening features of the creature before him. The stiff posture not as a creature ready to lunge, but a teen bracing to be mocked for the true self he despised. “This means you’re more comfortable, right?”

“Don’t read into it too much, old man.” Philza’s smile grew a little wider at the way “Wilbur” eased a little. Above all, it meant “Wilbur’s” guard was lowering, regardless of what Philza did with the fact. 

Next>

[superherotiger]

BELOVED i am requesting backstory for your FAVORITE dadneto fic you have ever written

AHHH MY BELOVED!! Thank you for giving me a chance to ramble about ✨them✨

But oh boy, picking a favourite story is so hard!! I supposed out of my finished works, ‘The Hardest Part is Leaving You’ would be one of my top picks!

As you know, that fic started as just little chunks of writing which showed how Peter added something to Erik’s house in Genosha every time he visited, but then of course I had to explain why Peter was visiting him which is how I came up with the idea for the government liaison! It was such a blast to write, and then as it kept going I reached a point where I realised there would have to be a reveal otherwise we’d all feel robbed of a happy ending 🤣

I remember those last two scenes (Erik finding out and Peter telling him) being the hardest parts to write. I’d never done a reveal at that point so it was a struggle trying to find the perfect way for it all to come together, and I’m so proud of how it turned out!

And of course, who could forget the iconic pun at the end that gives me life to this day 🤣

But you already knew all that beloved! So instead I’ll ramble a bit about the sequel I never ended up writing for the Genosha fic!

The idea was that it would be a Dark Phoenix fix it of sorts, with Jean’s Phoenix powers going out of control and the X-Men trying to capture her like in the movie. Peter would get severely injured in the fight though and a dismayed Erik would take him to Genosha to recover. The story was heavily focused around Peter’s relationship with Wanda and how much Jean reminded him of his twin, considering they both suffered from powers that were beyond their control. It was also about Erik’s struggle over trying to protect his son, and how he eventually had to forgive Jean and choose to help her despite the anger he felt over Peter’s near death.

In the end, Peter was going to be a key player in bringing Jean back to a stable place along with the other X-Men, and after spending many months with his father, ends up deciding to stay on Genosha permanently. He’d later set up a school in his sister’s name and adopt Mr Dibbles, making Erik a proud grandfather.

Most of the elements of this story have been repurposed for other upcoming fics in the Outsider POV, such as finding Mr Dibbles on Genosha, the Phoenix plot line in a Jean POV, and a reverse of Peter getting drawn to Genosha from a traumatic event in the Fabian POV. So though we will probably never see a sequel to the Genosha fic, the ideas will live on in other ones!!

Thanks for letting me ramble! Love you dearest!! 💛💛💛

-Superherotiger

Send me an ask about the backstory of any of my fics and I’ll ramble!! ✨

[zeroinetoheroine]

Just read the latest chapter. I am frustrated ahhh.

Like, I just want someone to grab yn and tell her: hey, you have Stockholm's. Whatever feelings you developed isn't your fault at all. You thought you were willing/compliant but you gotta understand that a large part o it was a coping mechanism. Your mind had to become convinced in order for it to work, do you understand?

Abuse can be confusing because it erodes at your sanity and makes you question yourself. That's why you need to be away from your abuser for an extended period of time before you can pass judgement. Even if you feel that you truly have feelings for him, part of it also has to do with how women release the 'fall in love' hormones after orgasm/sex and it's not your fault. There's only so much you can do when your body does what it does. You developed what feels like affection for your captor, and as you know, you can't reason with feelings, you can only work through them.

You're not a traitor and you can sort + process your feelings out with time."

Ughh where's a therapist when you need one.

I can't help but feel like it would help tremendously.

Like, you care about dabi bc he kept you safe from the other villains at the party.

Maybe if she understood all those things, she would've left the necklace and they would've been okay.

I'm worried sick. Shoto is my favorite. He's been through so much he doesn't need any more trauma 😭 he doesn't deserve any of this.

But also, the necklace thing is like.. a metaphor for not being able to move on.

Because she can't, the past will continue to ruin the present - type of thing.

I like the way you write Shoto by the way!

(also if it were me in y/n's shoes, and shoto found the necklace + asked why I kept it, I would explain it as:

"I kept it so that when I worked through the trauma, I would bury it, toss it in the ocean or burn it as a form of catharsis. Like burning your scholly papers even you graduate or something.")

I love your writing. I'm sorry this isn't supposed to be criticism of any sort. I just have a lot ✨FEELINGS✨

Like it drivers me BONKERS (again, not criticizing you - like at ALL)

That she couldn't do what needed to be done. Like when all she had to do was please him.

In my mind, I would've done anything to keep Shoto safe.

I would've seduced Dabi and stayed focused instead of letting my emotions get the better of me. She's a trained hero for heavens sake! 😭

If I was thrown in a cell and nearly died + experienced the screams and knowing shoto could be one of them, I would've taken the second chance Kino gave me and done my best.

But that's me. I'm not yn, and I completely get where she's coming from and how there's only so much you can endure.

I just wish it translated better that I would do what it takes for Shoto... I love the way you describe him. My favorite is 'frusttatingly beautiful.' He really is stunning.

Ohhh, first of all thank you for such detailed ask dear anon 🥰🥰.

Y/n could really use a therapist, couldn't she? 😥 I keep torturing the main trio. She did try to seduce Dabi and keep Shouto safe until Kino betrayed her...

The necklace will be important later 😬😬😬.

As for staying away from her abuser...yeah...I don't think that will be possible 🥲🙉🙈.

[cynettic]

hi, i hope i'm not bothering you, but i can order a Scaramouche × Kitsune reader, the two met before the vision hunt (and before he was a fatui if you want) the reader was always in the same place, sometimes having a conversation , the good old routine, but with the hunting of visions the reader disappeared not wanting to give up his own vision, and years later a reunion, SFW or NSFW is by your will, thank you, I really admire your work

Summary - Scaramouche met you as a child, growing up with the constant assurance that you would be right there, sitting at your spot where he could meet you with every visit. He isn't happy when you suddenly disappear.

Pairing - Kitsune!Reader x Yan!Scaramouche

Warning - Slight Yandere warnings?

Penpal - Ahhh- hope this is what you were looking for. I couldn't find a spot to put much nsfw unless I considered writing more for the series ( I could, just put a request in if thats what you’re looking for ). But I hope you liked it!! You're not bothering me at all and I'm glad you like my work!

A/N - Alright- so considering that with the 2.1 update with Scaramouche coming in, I just wanna state beforehand that I wrote this prior so I dont know if we learn about his backstory or anything!!

Link for Part 2

Stay With Me

Scaramouche was used to the routine he’d found himself going along with every visit to Inazuma. As a child he’d pass through the wild fields that stretched just beside his hometown, adventurous and curious with all the tenacity of a child.

And of course you, a kitsune that sat perched on the ground awaiting the Kitsune Saiguu, was bound to notice him. Unlike the other earth kitsune statues, you hadnt turned to stone during your wait. Instead, staying in the same place did you interact with travellers and the locals, which included Scaramouche.

“Fox person!” The little boy chanted, pulling at the hems of your clothing. Bright blue eyes bore into your own, and you slowly shifted your head to pay attention to the boy who was on the verge of bouncing on you.

Humming in reply to his excitement, the little boy paused, both of his small hands still tightly clasping the fabric of your clothes. Soft matted hair brushed past his face in a messy manner, calling out the boy for his boundless running and rebellious urge to keep his hair messy despite his parents wishes.

“Play with me!”

Staring at the boy only a moment longer, you simply chuckled at his antics. “I’m afraid I cannot move from the spot in which I dwell~ Perhaps I’ll be able to entertain you if you bring cards?”

But the young boy had made up his mind at the statement to which you couldn't move. A pitiful frown enfluged his face as he cast you the nastiest glare a five year old could muster. “Boring!” He shouted into the distance of the fields, dramatically turning on his heels and bouncing up into a sprint away. You watched his small figure fade away into the background, absentmindedly sighing and returning to your mindless thoughts.

As a child, Scaramouche would pass by you fairly often. Frequent when he asked you to play with him, and storming away with the same expression when you denied him. Nothing out of the ordinary, you’d lived for an exceptional amount of time, and even though grumpy children were not your specialty, you’d grown accustomed to their behaviour.

Growing up, Scaramouche got no better. You soon noticed his violent tendencies before they became an issue, the way the children shied away from him when playing Temari. Hiding in front of a tough exterior, he scared them away and laughed, approaching you later with tearful sob.

“Will you play with me?” He asked again, trying to hide the fact that he still wept when the other children pushed him away.

But your answer stayed the same, helping him wipe his tears and coaxing him into your arms. Not the first time you’d made contact with a human, but the first time you held them in such an affectionate manner.

It was clear Scaramouche was beginning to see you as some sort of pillar of reassurance when he began running away from home to simply ask to be held. You always welcomed him with open arms, urging him to head back to his household and sort things out. There was no harm in simply providing love and comfort for a child who received none was there?

“Now now, hurry back home little one. Your parents must be growing awfully worried if you’re out by this time at night.”

“My parents dont care about me!”

Darkness slowly pooled into the fields, an obscure shade covering the two of you from the tree you were under. Biting back form your normal emotionless statements, you pondered for something to soothe and convince the boy. Misunderstandings and hardships were normal from what youd seen with children, and you could only offer your hand on his shoulder, a promise. “Go back, I promise to stay here if anything further happens. But you shold give them another chance dont you think?”

And so he’d sprint back to his hometown, and you wouldnt hear from him again till he ran up right up to you a few days later. Begging you to play a game with him. The normal you supposed, and with a grin that seemed to stretch wider with every day, you told him the same thing you told him every single time.

“You cant move?!” Scaramouche nearly yelled one time, tiny fists curling at his side. “Thats… thats stupid!”

“It is isnt it?” You only smiled in response.

Unsatisfied with your response, he clawed your arm, pulling you with all his might. Strong, you realized with surprise that he was much stronger than most children his age. Easy enough to tug away from, but strong enough to take you off guard.

Snapping your hand back to your side, you narrowed your eyes. You weren't angry… no, you hadnt felt strong feelings like that after the disappearance of the Kitsune Saiguu. “Do not attempt to move me,” was your curt response, said in the most stern voice you’d used with the boy.

He’d looked at you only a few seconds longer before bursting into tears, turning away and running. You didn't feel regretful for defending yourself, only turning once more with a tired sigh to stare at the distance.

But just as you stayed ageless, Scaramouche grew older. Still, crossing each others pass was inevitable when you sat in the plains, just alongside the path that lead to his hometown.

With a permanent scowl that seemed to stain his face, he still seemed to have mature a tad bit. Maybe hadnt improved in the social department, because he now scared children and adults and alike, but more mature…

“Hm? Whats this?”

Once again, sitting criss cross under the large tree that provided the perfect shade on sunny days, you stared at the boy expectantly. His hands hesitated at your question, but he resumed shuffling. “Cards,” he simply said in response.

A small featherlike feeling flitted across your chest, making you feel lighter and… almost ticklish. A small smile crossed your face, and you recognized the emotion to be one of adoration. For him to have remembered words you’d spoken years ago, it gave you a warmth you’d sorely missed. A warmth akin to watching him and the other children grow up.

“Ew, dont smile like that, its creepy.”

Swatting at his head, he frowned further when you laughed. “You’re more mature,” you pointed out, lazily leaning back. “You need to work on your people skills though, as someone who hasnt moved in years, thats pitiful that I know more than you.”

“Shut it!”

But as he grew up, you hardly got to see much of him. He’d reached your height and then fully disappeared, leaving no goodbye. And much as you hated to admit it, you hardly noticed, not when days passed in a flurry. You were used to being by yourself, entertaining the kids and greeting the people that passed by.

Sometimes, there’d be the reminder of the warmth he’d given you. But it was quickly overshadowed by your duty to remain seated in wait for the Kitsune Saiguu. A dedication kept in its earnest, but beginning to dwindle.

Inazuma was beginning to change.

“The vision decree…” you repeated, staring at the traveller who’d mentioned it to you. “Care to elaborate?”

The new archon threatenening to take away visions from every inhabitant of Inazuma. It was preposterous, so much that you didnt move. Your vision meant the world to you, but so did the Kitsune Saiguu. You werent sure just how you weighed the two till you saw civilians passing by you, ones you recognized, ones that didnt recognize themselves.

It was snowing, cold snowflakes melting into your skin while your hair soaked in the water. Unflinching, you hummed to a little tune, awaiting someone to pass you so that you could attempt to strike a conversation of somesort. The unnatural weather distanced all who entered the field though, and you simply waited. For the Kitsune Saiguu, for someone, or for some form of entertainment, you didnt know. You Slowly closing your eyes, you decided not to care.

“Im gone for five years and you’re still sitting here like a dumbass.”

Eyes snapping open, you find yourself face to face with a complete stranger. Dark purple hair with dark blue eyes, piercing and dangerous in a way you dont recognize at all. Fancy clothing that you cant identify or put a name on.

The boy took a step towards you, crouching down to stare at you directly. His eyes scanned over your figure briefly, and he brushed the snow out of your hair and ears with one flick of his hand. In the next, he was offering a coat to you. “Take it, you’re probably getting cold.”

You leaned forward, ignoring the coat he offered you. Gently, you raised your hand to brush the hair from his eyes, centred on the way his pupils widened. Offering a small moment of surprise and one glimpse into the small childlike blue eyed wonder he was. “Kiddo,” you breathed, pulling your hand back and scanning him once again. “You’ve grown.”

“And you havent.”

Snickering at his comment, you took the coat. You didnt need it, but he looked like he didnt either. He was already wearing clothing that kept him warm, and with careful observation and an untouched coat, you settled on the fact that he’d brought it here. Brought the coat here for you.

“Still havent improved with those social skills of yours have you?”

He scoffed, letting himself fall back till he was sitting fully. “I dont want to hear it from someone who refuses to move an inch for years. Lazy ass.”

You open your mouth to retort, but instead laugh at his comment, shaking your head. “Gained some humour on your journeys have you? Bad words too it seems. Anyways...” He had sat down, which meant that he meant fully well to sit, chat, and catch up. That familiar warmth filled your chest, a contrast between the cold snow. “Welcome back.”

It wasnt often that Scaramouche visited Inazuma, but when he did, he was sure to visit you. The two of you would sit down for hours, talking about the most trivial topics. He never mentioned what he did in his time away, and you never asked.

But things began to go downhill when news of the vision decree finally took action.

“Its no joke anymore! The Raiden Shogun has taken custody of almost a hundred visions!”

In that moment you made your decision, weighing your vision over the Kitsune Saiguu. Awfully selfish you knew, but you’d spent decades sitting there in wait.

And for the first time you sat up from your position on the ground, clumsily stumbling upright but gaining balance. It takes a few steps until you’re back to normal, and you begin your journey in order to escape the Raiden Shogun’s vision hunt decree.

_-_-_-_

You didnt expect to see him again.

Long grass tickled at the skin of your legs, making you adjust your footing to no avail. Sun slowly descending past the mountains to mark the start of an evening and the soon approaching night. A normal day of exploring the mountains and islands of Inazuma, observing the constant changing situation, and running away from the vision decree like a favourite past-time.

With the exception of a firm grip on your wrist.

Dark purple like hair, same hate brimmed eyes and lavish clothing. You recognized Scaramouche the moment he had appeared, looking just as surprised as you were. That being before he snatched your wrist and snarled, “You.”

You wouldve considered it pure luck to find him, an unexpected reunion with someone you actually remembered. But no, his tone had some predatorial edge to it that had you cringing. Hard. “Yes, its me.” You answered back with a frown, trying to loosen his hold. “Nice to see you too, is something the matter?”

He only seemed confused at your words, pulling you closer.

“Something the matter?” He asked as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Well, to start, you’re not sitting at your damn spot.”

Taken aback for a moment, you wondered if that sole fact was what drove the boy to such lengths. Surely he couldn't be so troubled over the fact that you moved… “The vision hunt decree, I'm sure I mentioned that I was sticking around in wait for the Kitsune Saiguu. I decided to wander around and avoid the conflict until I could settle back.”

“You could’ve waited for me,” he stated almost instantly. “I could have protected you.”

You felt your brows furrow quizzically. “Wait for you? Why in the world would I-”

“Why wouldn't I?” He pushed you closer till he could fully grab both wrists, taking a step closer as if his words would resonate clearer in your head. “You took care of me as a child, it would only be fair for me to repay the favour.” But he only seemed to be looking for excuses. “And besides, you can't just up and leave… I didn't know.”

Before you could interject with the obvious answer that he didn't need to know, you stopped. You’d lived decades, nearly centuries if you’d kept count, and you had learned to read people's expressions even when you’d stayed away from them for so long. He didn't know. It hit you in the most unpleasant way that he wasn't aware that it was none of his concern. To him, you were just another thing he needed to keep track of, something he had control over. His face basically screamed, ‘I depended on you to stay in that place.’

Deep breath in and out. You’d lived long, longer than him, you could deal with a child throwing a tantrum.

“Don't worry,” you gestured to the vision ta your side. “I'm strong enough to protect myself, I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be back when the vision decree ends.”

Unconvinced, he pulled you closer, just until your faces were mere inches away from each other. “No,” he said in a stern voice. “I’d rather you by my side, where I can protect you. I hate to question what you’re capable of, but you’ve been sitting down for as long as I’ve known you for.”

“I’ve lived decades more than you,” a simple reply, hopefully enough to get by him. You snatched your hands back with ease, ears flinching slightly when a cold breeze swept past you. But you stayed firm, not wanting to look vulnerable against the imposing air he had around him.

Still unconvinced. “You’re coming with me.”

“No I’m not.”

You’d known him as a kid, watched him grow up along with all the other small ones in his hometown. And maybe you admit you cared a smudge bit about the warmth he gave you when settling down to play cards, but he was different. He had changed in the worst way and you weren't about to deal with it.

“So you’re not coming with me voluntarily?” He asked softly, taking a small step to which you responded by stepping back. He had his hands up, as if telling you he wouldn't hurt you. But the way he said voluntarily sent shivers up your spine.

“No.” Hand on your vision, you held your own hand up threateningly.

He took his time when tilting his head, taking a deep breath in, and then appearing in front of you in just a short stride. Too quick to react, you hesitated before you could attack him. You didn't want to hurt him, he was still a child in your eyes, and you paid the consequences for that. He slid his hand just along your neck, and a jolt of electricity seemed to thrum inside you just as you collapsed in his arms.

Scaramouche was quick to catch you, hoisting you up into his arms dearly. “I do hope you’ll come to understand,” he said softly, cradling your unconscious form in his arms. Making sure not to crush your tail when carrying your legs, he looked past the mountains, sigh resting on his lips.

Because Scaramouche liked to have control of the things he held dear. Like keeping all your valuables neat and tidy in a closet, he was happy knowing you were safe and stable in that spot you always sat on.

And he couldn't have you moving could he?

[edna-skiffens]

The Best Medicine

Summary: You are in the hospital, but you can never sleep in hospitals. Good thing you have a very attractive night shift nurse who is willing to help out.

Word Count: 4.5K

Warnings: hospitals, light med talk, bad medical writing, fluff

A/N: Please ignore the plot holes or the fact that this isn’t the most realistic and also I know this isn’t how discharge works at the hospital.. It’s called fiction for a reason, darling. Also, I left the reason the reader is in the hospital open ended bc some of us may have medical conditions/reasons that we can attach to this, but if not I tried to keep it vague enough on purpose so that you can imagine whatever. Also if you like Nurse!Tom and have requests for him lmk bc i’m happy to write for him.

Toss and turn. Toss and turn. The routine was getting old. This was your third night in the hospital and sleep just wasn’t coming to you.

Maybe it was the medicine they had you on. Maybe it was the constant symphony of sounds and people passing in the hallway. Maybe it was because you weren’t at home in your own bed.

Maybe it was just because you were in the hospital.

You couldn’t be sure. What you were sure of is that you weren’t falling asleep anytime soon.

Feeling another presence in the room, you looked from the ceiling to the doorway where you saw Tom, one of the night shift nurses, standing cautiously.

“I didn’t wake you did I?” He asked as he eased his way inside.

“Nope.”

“So no sleep again, huh?”

“Nope.”

“Sorry darling. Let’s go ahead and get these vitals over with.” He took your blood pressure, oxygen levels, temperature and wrote it down in your chart. Putting the clipboard back on its hook at the end of the bed, he looked up at your tired face. “Okay. So now about that sleep. What do you think will help?”

“Not being in the hospital.”

He chuckled lightly while walking back towards your bedside.

“I know. You hate it here. You’ve made that very clear and I try not to take too much offense to it.” You let out a slight laugh and held back the fact that he was the best part of this whole experience. He almost made it worth it. “I’m sorry we can’t give you any sleeping medication. Do you think it’ll help if I talk to you?”

“You mean tell me bedtime stories?” You couldn’t help but tease him at the adorable suggestion, though it sent a swarm of butterflies off in your stomach.

“I was thinking more like bore you ‘till you fell asleep. But whatever works.”

“You’re the nurse. If you think it’ll help.” You both sat there smirking at each other for a moment. Something unspoken floating in the air between you two.

“Well, I need to finish my round of vitals first. I’ll come check on you when I’m done and if you’re still up we’ll see about those stories.”

“I’ll be here.”

About fifteen or twenty minutes later you heard a light tap on your door followed by “Still awake?”

“Always.”

“You up for a chat?” Tom asked as he made his way to the stool then rolled slightly closer to your bed.

“Got nothing better to do.” You teased again.

“Okay. Well you should probably lay down.”

“Oh. It’s going to be that kind of story, huh?” His laugh was so beautiful and you were happy you were the cause of it.

“No.” He corrected in between laughs “The goal is to get you to sleep. So sitting up won’t help.”

“Right. Right.”

“Well.. anything in particular you’d like to talk about?”

“Why did you choose to become a nurse?”

“Ahhh. Good question. So I actually went to an art school.” You couldn’t help the brief expression of surprise that crossed your face. “I know. Shocking. I did training specifically in dance and gymnastics and I loved it.”

“Wait, so what happened?” You asked, turning on your side to face him more comfortably.

“Well one day we were rehearsing for a show and I fell. Ruined my knee. Had to do physical therapy for months. I tried to get back into it, but it just wasn’t the same. However, through that process I learned a lot about medicine and the health side of things. It really turned me on to it. And when my Plan A got a bit messed up I thought ‘hey, this could work’. So far it’s treated me pretty well.”

You smiled at Tom, admiring his passion for his career and the determination he had to keep pushing after his accident. You enjoyed hearing him talk about it too. If you didn’t know any better you would say it was helping you relax.

“My story that boring?”

“Obviously.”

“Your sarcasm has no end.”

“Oh… goodness.. you thought that was sarcasm?”

Tom only laughed and shook his head the way he often did with you.

You may just have been his patient and he may have just been your nurse, but you both bonded. He kept you company and gave you comfort. In return, you kept him entertained during the quiet night shifts.

“I’m not going to sleep. I'm just resting my eyes. But still listening.” You told him as you nestled further into the hospital bed, trying to find a position that would make it comfortable.

“Okay, darling.” He grinned at you.

“Tell me more. What kind of-” You had to stop to yawn, “What kind of art stuff did you do?”

“Oh. Well, I was in a few musicals. I really enjoyed dancing. I did ballet ever since I was young and I love the control I have over my body. The tricks I can do with gymnastics or the turns and leaps. I mean I can’t do them to that level anymore, but I try to stay active.” He glanced up and noticed you hadn’t moved, “Are you still with me?”

“Mhm.” You barely respond.

“Okay. Well it was a performing arts school so we really were trained in many areas. We had classes in acting, singing, dancing, all of it. It was a lot of fun and I met my best friends there.”

Tom began telling stories about his time at school. Before he knew it, he lost himself and track of time. He looked back at you, quiet and still.

“Y/N?” You were finally asleep. “Goodnight, darling.” He whispered as he gently made his exit.

Because Tom worked the night shift, you never saw him when you woke in the morning. Instead, Tanya, a sweet nurse that felt like a big sister, or Linda, Nurse Ratched in the flesh, came in for morning vitals and meds.

You counted down the days until your release. Life in the hospital was pretty uneventful with the limit on visitors and limited activity. There’s only so many sitcoms one can take in a given timespan. The only thing that you really looked forward to each night was when Tom clocked in.

“Hi Y/N.”

“Hi Tom.” You would smile at each other.

“How are we feeling today?”

“Better. Ready to get out of here.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear you are feeling better and still ready to jailbreak.” He smiled while writing something down on your chart. “They should be bringing up your dinner tray soon and then I’ll bring by your evening meds after that.”

“Okay.”

“If you need me you know what to do.” He called to you before walking out the door.

You were disappointed when Shelley brought your evening meds by later. She was a nice enough nurse. She just wasn’t Tom.

You’d grown accustomed to mainly having him as your nurse during the evening shift. At first you weren’t sure if it was coincidence or on purpose, but after a few nights of staying up and talking, you grew closer to him. You saw less of the other nursing staff and more of Tom.

You tried not to build anything up in your head. You were sure everything he was doing was in his job description and a part of being a good nurse.

He would sneak you extra pudding cups from the cafeteria and bring you an extra heated blanket because you could never stay warm. If you needed a new IV, he held your hand to ease the anxiety. He kept you company and made you feel less alone in such a sterile and intimidating place. And when he noticed you had trouble sleeping he chose to sit with you to help you fall asleep. You couldn’t help the butterflies that built in your stomach.

It became a sort of routine. He checked on you during evening vitals, even if someone else was doing them, and you were always still awake. He would then come and sit with you and chat for a bit, telling you different stories until you eventually fell asleep.

Some nights when you were extra restless he would help you walk the halls.

“The doctors have to see you’re stable enough before you can be discharged. Plus, maybe it’ll tire you out.” He suggested.

He would help get your IV pole ready so you could walk with it. He helped you into your slippers and eased you out of bed after passing you your robe.

Walking the hall slowly, Tom knew he had to remain professional, yet he found a few excuses to graze his hand across your back to ‘steady you’ when you turned corners or he thought you were looking tired.

“It might take me a while to get back to my usual jogs in the park, huh?” You laughed in spite of yourself.

“You’ll get there. Baby steps.” He encouraged, as you turned around the Nurse’s Station. You missed the faces the other night shift nurses were giving you both, but Tom was sure to subtly flick them off. “So, do you like running?” He asked as you headed back towards your room.

Throughout your late nights together, he told you of his three younger brothers and his dog named Tessa. You spoke about what you would do when you were out of hospital. He talked about his friends and flatmates and the adventures they had. He told you many stories, but each morning when you woke up he was clocked out and the day shift nurses were there.

Tonight was your last night. You’re set to be discharged tomorrow and while you are ecstatic to go home, you’re going to miss one thing about this place.

“I bet you’re too excited to sleep tonight. I don’t know if my stories will even help.” Tom said as he sat down next to you.

You smiled up to him sweetly.

“What are you looking forward to the most once you get out of here?”

“Sleeping in my own bed.”

“Well that’s no surprise.” Tom laughed, a contagious sound making you giggle as well. “Isn’t there anything you’ll miss about this place?”

“Yeah.” He smiled “There’s one thing.”

“What’s that?” He asks.

“The pudding cups.”

“Ahh the pudding cups of course.” You giggled while fiddling with the IV line.

“They just don’t taste the same in the outside world.”

His smile grew wider as you giggled.

“No, but really. As much as I give this place grief and say I’m ready to get out of here - which I am,” You gave him a pointed look to which he held his hands up in mock surrender, fully believing you, “it hasn’t been too terribly awful I guess.”

“Oh, well, I’m glad we could make your stay not too terribly awful.. I guess.” He teased. “Do you have anything exciting to look forward to once you’re a free woman?”

“Nothing huge planned, really. The doctors did say to take it easy.”

“That’d be wise.”

“Yeah. I’ll just lay low for a while. My sister said she may try to come visit me though so that would be nice.”

“Oh that would be nice. She’s your older sister right?”

“Right. She moved away last year to be closer to her boyfriend.”

“Ah. Do you like him?”

“Sorry?”

“This boyfriend. Do you like him?”

“He’s alright, I suppose. He makes her happy.” Tom nodded along.

“And do you have a boyfriend that makes you happy?”

“N-No. No I don’t. Not at the moment.” You began fiddling with the IV cord again.

“No boyfriend or not a boyfriend that makes you happy?” He asked.

“Neither.”

“Well that’s a shame.” If the heart monitor was connected you would’ve been screwed. “I just mean someone needs to look after you once you get home. I hope this sister comes through for a visit. You’ve got to take it easy.”

“Oh I’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure you will be.” He smiled.

“How has your shift been tonight? Busy?” You asked, fighting back a yawn.

“A bit busier than usual. There was a slight emergency earlier which is why Shelley handed out meds tonight. Sorry I didn’t come around.”

“It’s alright. I know you have other patients.”

“Yeah, but none like you.” You were sure he said that to all of his patients. After all, you’ve heard similar lines ever since you went to the pediatrician as a child. But it still gave you butterflies.

“Are you getting sleepy?”

“A little. But it’s okay.” He gave you a pointed look but continued to talk anyway. “It’s the last night. One final request for storytime. Make it a good one.”

You thought for a moment before asking your question.

“Do you ever wish that life turned out differently? That you never had your accident and you could’ve followed your dreams to be a dancer?” You asked while turning on your side and getting more comfortable.

“Sometimes. At least, I used to. But I think I’ve accepted it now. And I really can’t see myself doing anything but this.” You nodded taking in his answer “I look at it this way. If it wasn’t for my injury then I never would’ve changed my career path and found my love for medicine. I never would have made so many of the friends I’ve made or the memories I’ve made. I never would have met you.” He finishes with a sweet smile.

“That’s a very positive way of looking at it.” You told him. “Be honest, are you a therapist during the day?” He laughed out loud.

“No. I’m not. I guess I’m a big believer in ‘everything happens for a reason’.” You nodded while covering a yawn.

“So I’ve been curious to ask you,” He began, “Do you usually have this much trouble sleeping? Because you can get help for that you know?” You smiled at him.

“What? I thought a night nurse talking to you was the cure?” Tom smirked and shook his head. “I’m kidding. No, I normally don’t. It’s just the stiff sheets and hospital sounds I think.”

“Darn hospital.” He rolled his eyes and joked. “So this time tomorrow you’ll be sound asleep in your own bed then?”

You knew it was meant to be a happy statement, but you were a little sad at the thought of not having any more late night chats with Tom.

“Yes. Thank God.” You forced a smile.

You felt another yawn coming and tried to hold it back. It was already past the usual time that you fell asleep.

Tom could tell you were exhausted so he launched into a story from nursing school, hoping to lull you to sleep.

You yawned your way through listening, trying to soak up every last moment with Tom. In the morning he wouldn’t be here. You’d leave and likely never see him again.

When he finished, your eyes were half open and he wondered how you were still awake. Or maybe why.

“Why are you fighting it? The point is to sleep. Give in.” He told you gently after another yawn.

You looked up at him, half asleep and rubbing your eyes, not finding the confidence to tell him the true reason you were trying to stay awake.

“I’m happy right now.”

He smiled down at you.

“I am too. But you need your sleep, darling.” You weren’t sure what to say and you didn’t have much energy left in you anyway. “How about this. I’ve probably been in here too long as it is. Let me go check in at the Nurse’s Station and then I’ll come back and check on you soon and see if you’re still awake okay?”

The thought that he was leaving gave you a sad feeling in your stomach. You tried to remind yourself that he was just your nurse. Nothing more.

“Okay.” You smiled at him, sleepily, while settling further into the bed.

He stood up and instead of walking towards the door he walked closer to you. He grabbed the thin, white hospital blanket and pulled it closer around your shoulders.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” He whispered before he walked to the door.

“Tom?” You called out just before he opened it. He turned around with an expectant look, “Thanks for everything.”

Even though the room was dim you could see his smile.

“You’re welcome, Y/N. Get some sleep.”

You don’t remember much after that. You don’t know if Tom came back to check on you. You just remember falling asleep with a smile on your face.

When you woke up the following morning it felt like any other morning in the hospital.

The hallways were much louder. Beeps, chatter, and phones were constant. The lights were brighter.

But you were quickly reminded that it wasn’t any other morning. You were going home today.

The door creaked open and Tanya, one of your regular daytime nurses, poked her head in.

“Oh good you’re up.” She made her way inside and over to the gloves. “How’d you sleep?”

“Pretty good. Thanks.” She gave you a smile, something hidden behind it.

“I’m sure.” She said quietly to herself. You gave her a questioning look. “Oh I just mean I’m sure you’re excited to get out of here.”

You nodded as she took your vitals one last time.

“Everything looks good. What do you say about getting this IV out?”

“I say that sounds amazing.”

She took it out and bandaged up your arm while informing you of how the morning would go.

“Dr. McCoy is making rounds now then he’ll be by soon to go over your discharge. You can get dressed whenever you’re ready. If you need help, buzz me. You’ll still have a breakfast tray come, but you don’t have to eat it.” She gave you a wink while taking off her gloves.

“Thanks Tanya.”

“Of course, sweetie. And in case I don’t see you before you go, you’ve been a wonderful patient. Take care of yourself.” You smiled at her as she left you to change into some leggings and a sweatshirt.

You were packing your remaining things into your bag when your doctor walked in.

“Y/N! How are we doing today?”

“We’re doing great because we’re going home.” You smiled while taking a seat to rest for a few minutes.

“I know you’re excited.” He laughed before explaining the conditions of your discharge. You had medicines to take, a follow up appointment, and strict instructions to rest for the next few weeks. After signing some forms he left you with a stack of papers. “Is someone coming to pick you up?”

“Yeah my neighbor should be here within an hour.”

“Sounds good. Don’t hesitate to call us or come back in if you have any trouble or questions.”

“Will do. Thanks.”

A few minutes after he left a nurse brought in your breakfast tray. There wasn’t much of a point for it but since your discharge wasn’t technically until 10:30 am you were still a patient during breakfast.

You took the pudding cup that you requested with every meal off the tray before sliding it away. Smiling to yourself, you tucked it away in your bag. All you had left to do was wait for 10:30.

Tanya came in to check on you again and told you to buzz the Nurse’s Station when you knew your ride was here. At 10:27 you had a text from your neighbor that they were out front in the pickup zone. So you hit the call button.

“Yes?” Linda, the scariest dayshift nurse, answered.

“Um hi. Tanya told me to buzz in when my ride was here so I could go down.”

“Okay we’ll be right in.”

Not even a minute later you heard your door open. Expecting to see Tanya or maybe even Linda you looked up.

An audible gasp left your lips when Tom stood in your doorway with a wheelchair.

“I hear someone needs a ride?” He smiled as he made his way closer to the bed.

“Tom. What are you still doing here?”

“I pulled a double.” You wanted to ask why, but decided against it. You were still in a little bit of shock from seeing him again. “If you’d rather I can go get Linda to walk you down?” He pointed back towards your door.

“No! No.. I’m just surprised s’all.”

“Well come on. I thought you’d be running out of this place once the clock hit 10:30.” Glancing up you saw it was now 10:34. Your neighbor is probably tired of waiting already.

You grabbed your discharge papers and reached for your bag when you heard, “I got it.” Smiling at him, you sat down in the wheelchair. Tom placed the bag around his shoulder and kicked the brakes off the chair. “Ready?” You nodded up at him.

He rolled you out of the room that felt so small for a final time. You passed the Nurse’s Station and waved bye to the staff. He turned by the elevators and when you looked up at him in question, he read your mind. Looked down at you he said, “We’re taking the staff elevators.”

When you made it there he hit the button, turning you around and backing you in once the doors opened. He hit the button for the Lobby and leaned up against the wall of the elevator, briefly glancing at you, as you rode down together.

“Well you made it. You’re a free woman.” He smiled shyly.

“Yippee.” He met your eyes for a moment before looking back to the floor. The dynamics felt different. It wasn’t like your late night talks together.

“Listen, Y/N.” Tom began as he stood up from the wall and faced you. He was about to continue when the elevator ding cut him off, signaling you had reached your destination.

Maybe that was what was different. You had reached your destination.

You had a fun time talking with Tom and entertaining each other when you were both up late at night. He was fun to get to know and you enjoyed having someone care for you. He was easy to banter with and certainly easy on the eyes. But your time at the hospital was up. You knew it would be eventually. You wanted it to be.

Tom was a nurse. He was just doing his job. He was helping take care of you. He was being nice. He was trying to make your stay more comfortable. There was nothing to read into.

Your time being his patient was up and your time with him was up.

You tried to remain realistic, but the sadness still crept up as he rolled you closer to the door.

Once outside, you saw your neighbor exit the car and wave you over. Tom steered in the direction and slowed before rolling to a stop and hitting the brake locks on the wheels.

“Hi, I’m Taylor.”

“Tom.” They shook hands as Tom passed off your bag for Taylor to put in the backseat.

“I’m sorry for the circumstances, but it really has been a pleasure having you as a patient and getting to know you, Y/N.” Tom admitted as he walked around to face you. He grabbed the papers from your lap. “Take care of yourself, okay?” You had shared many smiles with Tom, but this one felt sadder.

“I will. Thank you for everything, Tom. I mean it.” You reached up and squeezed his hand. He gave you a light squeeze back while smiling down at you. Taylor returned from the backseat of the car and Tom turned to them.

“These are her important papers about follow up appointments, medications, what to do at home, all of that so please make sure she doesn’t lose any of them.” He emphasized the point.

“Got it. Thanks.” Taylor held onto the stack while Tom turned back to you.

“If I can’t handle a few papers on my own, then maybe I shouldn’t be going home yet, Tom.” You laughed.

“I know, I just wanted to make sure they made it home with you.” He walked closer. “You ready to get in?”

“Yeah.” You nodded. He helped you up, supporting you just as a precaution. Once seated, you took a moment to catch your breath as you pulled the seatbelt down. He met your hand, taking it from you to buckle you in.

“You good?”

You nodded with a smile, “Just a little tired. No biggie.”

He looked you over before returning your smile, though his didn’t quite reach his eyes, “If you need us, call us. Otherwise go home and rest.”

This was it. This was goodbye.

“Thanks, Tom.”

“Goodbye, Y/N.”

He shut the door. He walked back to the wheelchair, released the brake locks and headed inside. He looked back only when your car was driving away.

“Here’s those papers that are so important.” Taylor handed you the stack after they got in.

“Thanks.”

“So how are you feeling?”

“Better. Thanks.” You felt them looking at you as they joined traffic.

“You sure? You sound like you feel awful.”

You try to remind yourself to forget the sweet and attractive nurse and start moving forward.

“Yeah. Yeah I’m okay.” You decide to distract yourself by reading through your discharge paperwork, when something caught your eye. On top was a sticky note with the hospital’s letterhead. You were sure it wasn’t there before. Looking closer it read,

Y/N,

In case you need someone to talk to when you can’t sleep.

555-5555

P. S. I have a connection to some pretty good pudding cups too.

Tom

The smile that grew on your face was undeniable. All the feelings you suppressed came flooding in. He wasn’t just being nice. He actually liked you.

One thing you knew for sure was that even though you would be in your own bed tonight, you still would be up, talking to a very special nurse.

Lmk if you want to be on my tag list

[bokuroskitten]

yooo the ddlg thingy w bo and kuroo was so so good, pls do a part 2 or another fic similar to that. i rlly rlly liked it, especially the poly relationship and the names ahhh 🥵

I’m glad you enjoyed it, Anon. Personally, it’s my favourite dynamic when I write. I’ve had this one saved for a while, so I thought I’d share. Enjoy the filth❦. 

Welcome Home. 

➪Genre: NSFW 18+  ➪warnings: Poly Relationship, DDLG Dynamics (Papa & Daddy title used), blow jobs, face fucking, hair pulling, gagging, praise and degradation kink, brat taming, penetrative sex (female receiving), falling into subspace ➪Character(s): Dom!Kuroo x Dom!Bokuto x Fem Reader ➪Summary: Kuroo comes home after work to find quite a surprise in the living room.  ➪Word Count: 2.7k ✯The most important part of these dynamics is trust & consent✯

“I’m home” Kuroo called out at the front door, a little pleased smirk slowly fading from his face as he received no response. He knew both You and Bokuto had the night off and was confused to hear silence.

That is until he heard a sharp breath, a subtle “fuck.”

Kuroo raised his brow, dropping his briefcase and kicking off the nice shoes you had bought him for his last birthday.

“(Y/N)?? Bo??”

“Living room.” Bokuto’s voice was tight when he spoke, concerning Kuroo even more as he suddenly felt the need to rush. “What’s the matter, Bo— “

Kuroo cut himself off, a slight flush rising on his cheeks as one of his signature laughs slipped past his lips.

“Well, I’ll be damned, right here in the living room huh?”

You were perched between Bokuto’s thighs, lips wrapped around the length of his cock and being held there by Bokuto’s hand, which gripped at your locks in a firm grasp. Your thighs trembled slightly, fingers curling into the fabric of the shorts Bokuto wore as you let out a choked little sob.

“She was being a bad girl~” Bokuto spoke with a little grin, loosening his grip a bit to allow you to slowly rise off his length. Kuroo approached tongue pressing over his bottom lip as he knelt down. It was only then that Bokuto allowed you to rise completely, strings of drool connecting your lips to Bokuto’s rock hard length as you let out a shaky breath.

“Were you being a bad girl for Bo baby? Hm?” Kuroo hummed softly, a smirk growing as you whined and attempted to lean into him, only for Bokuto to grip your hair once more and keep you in place.

“I-I...” You finally sputtered out as you caught your breath, a slow blush rising on your cheeks as Kuroo smoothed his thumb over your swollen lip. “Were you being a brat?”

You whined first before you answered, a breathy little “yes” slipping past his thumb before you took it between your lips, suckling it softly in an attempt to earn his affections. Kuroo had to bite back a groan that wanted to bubble free, tempted to keep his thumb between your lips had Bokuto’s raging cock hadn’t been bobbing and begging for attention right by his head. He pulled his thumb away with a pop, watching your lower lip tremble slightly as he stood.

“You know brats get punishments baby.” Was all he spoke before Bokuto groaned, tugging you back onto his cock. You whimpered, fists clenching back up in the fabric of his shorts as your head was pulled down low on his length, nose brushing against his pelvis as tears swelled in your eyes. Kuroo bit his lip at such a pretty sight before his tie was yanked by Bokuto. The males smashed their lips against one another, having them both groaning softly.

When Kuroo pulled back he chuckled softly, watching the hungry passion swell in Bokuto’s eyes as you choked on his cock, spit spilling past your lips and making a mess of the cushions beneath him. “She musta been real bad to get you going like this”

“Gunna fuck her pretty mouth,” Bokuto said in response, hand gripping your hair tighter as you choked a whine around his skin. “Since it was so fowl earlier”

Kuroo took a seat on the coffee table then, loosening up his tie and leaning back a bit to get a good view of the whole ordeal. “Well, fowl mouths do deserve a good fuckin’.” He repeated with a smirk, smoothing his palm over your trembling spine to make you squirm even more.

“Make sure she doesn’t touch herself. Only good girls get to do that.” Bokuto spoke through gritted teeth, rising your head just enough so you could take a large breath, chest trembling as your eyes fluttered and threatened to spill tears. Kuroo nodded and used his feet to push your thighs further apart, smirking when he felt the heat that was already built up under your skirt.

“‘m sorry... sorry for being a brat Papa...” You managed to whisper out, before Bokuto growled low in his chest, pushing your head back down and this time thrusting his hips forward, feeling his tip smack against the back of your throat.

“Now your words are all pretty huh? What happened to that little bratty attitude from earlier?” Bokuto grunted out, his eyes narrowing as his hips continued to thrust forward into your mouth. You took your punishment, tears spilling and drool bubbling you’re your swollen lips as you choked around his cock. Kuroo breathed deeply as he watched. Bokuto was always the rougher of the two, and watching the way he manhandled their partner had Kuroo tensing, his own length feeling constricted in his pants

“You gunna cum in her mouth, Bo? Yea, Washout that filthy mouth?” Kuroo purred, palm staying flush against your spine as he watched. Bokuto grunted out a response, gripping your hair tighter as he kept up the brutal pace, the sloppy sounds beginning to echo throughout the room.

“This what bad girls look like Kitty... mouth full of dick and eyes filled with tears,” Kuroo murmured, his nails slowly clawing down your back and earning a muffled sob, your fingers white around the fabric as you desperately swallowed down your boyfriend’s raging cock.

With a pace like this Bokuto knew he couldn’t last long. He thrust hard and fast, eyes rolling back a bit as he moaned. “Fuck- better swallow every drop, or we’ll do it again until you do birdy.” He sputtered between grunts, finally loosening his grip on your hair he thrust up one last time, tilting his head back in a moan as he came strings of white down your throat.

You whimpered, body trembling as you desperately swallowed him down. Bokuto kept himself between your warm lips a bit longer, moaning low as he felt your throat constrict around his dick. Slowly he pulled you off with a slick pop, tilting your head back so he could take hold of your chin instead.

“Lemme see.” He ordered, having Kuroo scramble to his side so he could see too, boys groaning in unison.

Your eyes swelled with tears, mascara running down your pretty face as you trembled. Your lips were swollen and a bit pink on the corners from being overstretched. Your chin was covered in drool, strings still clinging to you as you lulled your tongue out, mouth opening wide to reveal no cum was left in your mouth.

“Hmm good girl, you took your punishment so well baba.” Bokuto cooed, Kuroo humming in response as Bokuto smoothed his cock over the length of your tongue, watching the way you whined and softly wrapped your lips around his tip. You gave it a final suckle, settling for a kiss instead as you pecked along his length.

Bokuto shivered at such affection, reaching down to pull your trembling form into his lap instead. He smirked a bit as you clung to his thigh, core hot and damp as you mewled, gently rocking yourself along his thigh. Kuroo leaned in, smoothing his thumb over your cheekbone to wipe away from leftover tears and makeup.

“You did such a good job kitten, proud of you,” Kuroo mumbled, grinning a bit as you were quick to lean into him, continuing to ride along Bokuto’s toned thigh. He snaked a hand under your skirt, cupping your sex to feel the way it radiated against his palm.

“How’s your little cunny feel baba? You needa come now hm?” Bokuto spoke as he licked his lip, unable to hold back a playful grin as you nodded desperately, pressing your hips forward into his palm.

“Mhm, needa come, please Papa...” you murmured, head lulling a bit so you could nuzzle into Kuroo’s palm, eyes fucked out as you suckled one of his fingers. Kuroo groaned softly at such an action, feeling Bokuto’s palm smooth over the very obvious bulge in his slacks.

“Why don’t you fuck her babe? Still feelin’ a bit rough.” He leaned in so he could place a kiss against Kuroo’s earlobe. “I’ll save that for you later~” A shiver ran down Kuroo’s spine but he happily obliged, slowly pulling his fingers from your lips only to have you whining for attention.

“Don’t worry princess, Daddy’s gunna give it to you,” Kuroo reassured, standing so he could completely take off his tie and unbutton his work shirt. Bokuto took the opportunity to place a kiss against your swollen lips, easily scooping you up so your back was pressed flush to his chest. He eased his large palms over your thighs, hiking your skirt up in the process as he mumbled against your ear.

“Look at that wet little pussy... got off good on your punishment hm? You were such a good girl for Papa, so Daddy’s gunna give you a good treat okay birdy?” His voice had lightened, lost its edge from earlier as he nuzzled his nose into your hairline, gripping your thighs and pulling them further apart as you whined for any sort of friction. Kuroo shushed you softly, stripped of his work shirt and belt as he pulled himself free.

Bokuto couldn’t help but smirk as his rock-hard length, watching the way it bobbed once freed. “Looks like you got off on her punishment too.” Kuroo snickered at such a comment, cheeks a bit flush as he positioned himself properly. He leaned in to place a soft kiss against your cheek, lulling you back into focus as your eyes fluttered. He could tell the scene was getting overwhelming and had to reassure you.

“Don’t go just yet baby, I’m gunna make you feel good I promise.” He promised, palm smoothing over your soaking core. Kuroo and Bokuto watched with hungry eyes as he peeled away your panties, watching the way they desperately clung to your soaked pussy. You shivered as it was exposed, attempting to buck your hips forward only to be held fast by Bokuto.

“Relax baba.” He murmured, watching the way Kuroo gently brushed two fingers through your slit. “Let Daddy do all the work; you just sit here looking pretty for us.” You could only whimper in response, back arching a bit as Kuroo pressed against your clit, rubbing smooth circles on it with his thumb as his other hand coated his length in your slick, rubbed the tip against your folds.

“Please Daddy...” You murmured softly, one hand gripping tight to Bokuto’s forearm while the other reached for Kuroo, desperate to cling onto him. “Please Daddy please~” your speech was nothing but babbles at this point as Kuroo slowly pressed into you, groaning as your tight wet walls hugged perfectly around his length, sucked him in until his hips were flush against your trembling flesh.

“Shhh, you’re okay baby... Daddy’s gunna make you feel so good.” Kuroo promised, taking hold of your hand and intertwining their fingers as he slowly rutted within you. He went slow and deep, pausing every so often to feel the way your walls squeezed along him, milked him towards a high. You squeezed his hand tightly, head falling back onto Bokuto’s shoulder as you mewled from the pleasure, the tension slowly tightening in your core. Bokuto whispered words of encouragement against your hair, telling you how pretty you looked and how well you were doing.

His fingers gripped your thigh a bit tighter as Kuroo picked up his pace, biting on his lower lip as he watched the way your cunt swallowed Kuroo up greedily. His free hand smoothed over your throat, fingers slipping within your mouth which you happily took. You moaned around thick digits, suckling happily as you began to tremble. The knot in your stomach got tighter and tighter as Kuroo fucked into you.

“You have such a pretty pussy kitten. So perfect for my cock. You gunna cum soon?” Kuroo spoke between grunts, squeezing your hand tight as his thumb pressed to your clit. You were practically squealing against Bokuto’s fingers, tears swelling in your eyes once again as you reached your high. Kuroo wasn’t far behind, sweat gathering on his hairline as he pounded into you, hips rolling so he could rub along your sweet spot.

“Cum on Daddy’s cock birdy.” Bokuto encouraged, his fingers slowly pumping within your mouth as drool dribbled around his digits. His fingers gripped tighter to your thigh, pulling back on it as he pressed his lips to your cheek. Kuroo groaned in delight, pressing his forehead to Bokuto’s other shoulder as he rocked harder into you, feeling himself come undone.

The feeling of his warmth spilling within you sent you off the edge, eyes rolling back as you too finished. You squeezed his cock, spilling along his length and making a mess between the three of them. Kuroo’s thrusts became lazy, as he allowed both himself and you to ride out the high. You were completely dazed, fucked out, as you slumped into Bokuto. He hummed, slipping his fingers from your swollen lips and pulling your hair away from your forehead.

“You did such a good job birdy... taking Daddy’s cock like that,” Bokuto murmured. He ran a hand through Kuroo’s messy hair, grinned as he lifted up his head, placed a kiss on his boyfriend’s cheek.

Kuroo straightened up, slowly pulling out of you and groaning at the sight of the mess they created in Bokuto’s lap, the way your thighs trembled, and your pussy clenched at the air. He chuckled a bit as your face turned into the crook of Bokuto’s neck, eyes fluttering.

“You okay baby? Come back to us (Y/N) ...” he spoke softly, palm smoothing over your used core as Bokuto sat up a bit, nuzzling you gently. You had fallen deep into subspace, eyes glazed with tears and body trembling within Bokuto’s lap. Bokuto wrapped his arms around you, swaying you gently as you finally whimpered. “There you are baba; you feel okay love?”

Kuroo pulled his now soft length back into his pants, smiling softly as you let out a soft noise, curling into Bokuto’s lap. “Mhm... felt good.” You mumbled; your eyes still dazed. Bokuto sighed in approval gently patting your back. “Good. You gunna be a good girl for me now?” He asked expectantly, grinning a bit as a blush rose on your cheeks, feeling you nod against his skin.

“Well, that was a lovely welcome home gift.��� Kuroo purred, running his fingers through damp hair. “Gunna shower, wanna join kitten? I’ll clean you and put you to bed.” You perked up a bit at such a suggestion, mewling as you squirmed a bit against Bokuto, held your arms out to Kuroo. The action had him cooing softly, easily pulling you from Bokuto to hold you against his chest.

“Such a good baby.” He snickered. Huffing a bit as he adjusted you, he began to walk around the couch and towards the bathroom. His free hand smoothed over Bokuto’s head, fingers running through damp hair as Bokuto sunk into the couch cushions. A little smirk twitched on Kuroo’s lips as he leaned in, saw the bulge still tenting up in Bokuto’s sports shorts. He got up close to the grey-haired ear, tongue slowly poking along his lobe as he whispered.

“After I put baby to sleep, I’ll come back prepped, ass up and ready for you.” Kuroo purred low, earning a pleased grunt from Bokuto as he grinned in response. “Now that will be a fuckin treat.”

The boys were interrupted when you whined against Kuroo’s neck, legs tightening up around him a bit. “Sleepy.” You mumbled, earning a pleased little huff from both of the boys. You became so soft, so whiny after falling into subspace. But the boys didn’t mind, they enjoyed babying you as much as you let them.

“Okay kitten okay, we’re going.” He spoke as he patted your rear affectionately, placing a kiss against Bokuto’s lips that was soft and full of desire. Yet he still walked away, a smirk on his face as he held you tight and got excited imagining what Bokuto was gunna do to him.

[mandospace]

Inside and Out (Din Djarin x Reader)

Request:  Hello!! I was wondering if I could request something? I was wondering if you could possibly do like a touch starved Din? I would so love it! Whenever you are able and inspired to write of course! ❤️ thank youuuu!

Requested By: @snow30285​

Word Count: 3,997

Warnings: Fluff!! Blood, mention of an injury, first-aid

A/N: I got a little carried away with this! I hope you all like it, and if you wanted to be added to a tag list just let me know. Also, my requests are open for Din Djarin and Boba Fett!

MASTERLIST

He caught himself staring at your form for the fourth time that day. Din quickly averted his eyes, cheeks flushing under his beskar helmet. You hadn’t noticed his gaze, thank the Maker, and continued on with your task. Grogu giggled at you hiding your face behind your hands, playing a game of peek-a-boo with you. 

“Where did mommy go?” You hid your smile behind your hands. Quickly dropping them from your face, you smiled at the small green child that erupted into a fit of giggles. “There she is!”

Din’s heart stuttered at the image of you playing with his child, Grogu waddling towards you before leaping into your lap. Grogu continued giggling, his tiny little hand reaching out to grab at yours. 

“AHHH, YOU GOT ME!” You dramatically cried out before falling to the ground, wrapping a secure arm around his body to ensure that he was safe. He carefully stood up on your belly, waddling his way to your face. His little hand rested on your cheek, and the soft smile you gave him made Din’s heart falter once more. You rested your larger hand on top of Grogu’s little one, holding it to your cheek. The tender moment shared between you and Din’s son was almost picturesque, it reminded him of the old oil paintings that displayed a mother and child in the palaces of the more richer planets Din visited. 

You turned your lips to place a small kiss on his little green hand. Din felt himself involuntarily reaching a hand out, wanting to join in on the tender moment between the two of you. Din imagined that he was the one cupping your cheek, his big hands instead of the small green ones of his son. He imagined how warm your cheek would be, how soft the fine peach fuzz of your cheek would feel against his palm. How your soft, pillowy lips would feel against his skin...

“Din?” Your voice is what pulled Din back to reality. You looked up at him with concern in your eyes, gaze flicking down to his still outstretched hand. “Are you okay?”

Din brought his hand back to his side, leather creaking as he closed his fist. “’M fine,” he mumbled, turning to head back to the cockpit. “It’s time to drop from hyperspace.”

Nodding your head at his retreating form, you looked back at the child that let out a small yawn. “Come on, little one. Let’s get you to bed.”

——

“I should only be gone for a few days, a week at most.” Din commented, grabbing various weapons from his armory. You stood off to the side, Grogu balanced on your hip while the two of you watched Din strap the pulse rifle to his back. You’ve watched Din prepare for a hunt what felt like hundreds of times, but it never got easier. The worry that laid deep in your chest never went away.

“Remember to close the ramp once I’m gone,” Din moved to the ramp, pressing a button on his vambrace to lower it. “And set up the safety perimeter. I recently just installed the new security system, so it should alert you to any nearby life forms. And-“

“And have a blaster nearby and communicuff on me at all times,” you interrupted his ramblings. He only talked this much when it had to do with either your or Grogu’s safety. “I know, Din.”

Din turned to you with a sigh, black visor meeting your gaze. He noticed that your bottom lip was already between your teeth, showing your worry. He wanted to reach out and glide his thumb over your lips, releasing your bottom one from your teeth. “I just want to make sure you are safe, Cyare.”

You smiled at his words, noting the strange nickname he gave you. He only ever used it when he was leaving. “I know, and we will be. Don’t worry about us, just focus on your hunt.”

Din felt himself reaching out to you, but he stopped his hand midway. “I always worry about you...” Din’s voice trailed off, and your heart thumped in your chest. “And Grogu,” he added, his face reddening under the beskar. Just talking to you made him flustered.

He turned back to the ramp and gazed out of its opening. He had tracked the bounty to some forested planet, you weren’t sure of its name. After you visited one forest planet, you’ve seen them all. You could see Din’s shoulders tighten under his beskar pauldrons, anxious and excited at the prospect of a new hunt. This was the part that you hated the most: him leaving you. Before he even took a step onto the ramp, your free hand was reaching out for him, gripping his arm around the elbow, one of the only places on his body free of beskar.

Din stopped in his tracks, and he felt like he was going to both pass out and have a heart attack at the same time. Your small hand couldn’t even reach around the thick muscles of his arm. Even though he was wearing thick layers, he could feel the warmth from your hand seeping through. His eyes dropped to your hand on him, and he couldn’t believe you were actually touching him. It wasn’t even skin-to-skin contact, but his heart was already in hyperdrive. This all happened in a single second, the span of a blink.

“Be safe.” Your voice was small, timid at this new interaction you were having with the Mandalorian. You had always thought him attractive, even though you had never seen an inch of his skin. You admired his strength and how great of a warrior he was. The silver beskar just proved how powerful he could be if he saw you as an enemy. What really attracted you to him wasn’t his strength or how great of a warrior he was, no, it was how soft and protective he was over Grogu. He always held him with great care, as if he would break with the tiniest movement. He spoke softly to the kid, afraid he would scare him with his louder voice. Watching him and his son interact is what really attracted you Din, like some primal instinct telling you to find the strongest and most caring partner you can. “Come back to me.”

“Always, Cyare.” Din’s heart fluttered at your soft spoken words. Before his heart could leap through his beskar-covered chest and into your arms, he turned away from you. Your hand slipped from its resting place on his arm and he immediately missed your touch and warmth. He could feel the longing he felt for you nestle its way in his chest, right near his heart. Before he could do or say anything stupid that would surely embarrass himself, he trudged down the ramp and began his hunt.

———

It had already been six days since Din had left for his hunt. Your mind kept drifting back to the feel of his hard muscles under your fingertips. How his voice was soft when he said the strange name of ‘Cyare,’ a name he only said when he left. You knew it was Mando’a, but no matter how many times you scanned the holo-pad’s built in dictionary, you couldn’t find a single word of the dying language. You resigned yourself to the fact that you may never know what he was calling you, unless you asked him. But that was never going to happen, your words always stumbled out of your mouth when you talked to him.

So you busied yourself around the Razor Crest whilst you waited for the return of your Mandalorian, trying to keep away the thoughts of how his hands would feel on your skin. You had cleaned nearly every surface in the old ship and even organized the wires under the dashboard. By the time you were done with your chores, the Crest was nearly spotless- there was always going to be that one stubborn blood stain near the carbonite chamber that you were never going to get out. Din had brought back a rather difficult quarry that day, and as soon as he started flinging crude insults at you, Din promptly reached for his viroblade. The cut he made was only superficial, you learned later, but the man still bled quite a bit before Din shoved him back into the chamber. You had immediately tried to clean up the pool of blood, but Din took the rag from your hand with a gentle “Don’t worry, I’ll clean it up.”

Besides the one stain that refused to go away, the Crest was as good as new, or as new-looking that it was going to get. The rest of the day you spent playing with the kid, mind drifting back to thoughts of Din. You had just put Grogu down for a nap when the Crest’s new security system let out a loud beeping noise, alerting you that a life form was approaching the ship. Locking Grogu away in his pram-thankfully he was still asleep- you reached for the blaster that was resting atop the stack of crates. Running up to the cockpit, you noticed that a single dot was showing up on the ship’s new security system. You managed to stop the alarm from blaring before you made your way back to the hull. You were ready to protect yourself and Grogu from this intruder if necessary.

A loud banging noise sounded against the ship as the ramp started to descend. You gripped the blaster tight, switching the safety off. When you saw the silver glint of beskar, you sighed in relief, switching the safety back on before setting it off to the side. Din slowly made his way up the ramp, arm wrapped around his middle. Your eyebrows furrowed in worry, arms reaching out to Din once he was safely inside the hull.

“What happened?” You asked, reaching your arms out to catch Din when he stumbled. “Are you hurt?”

“Knife,” he grimaced as he lowered himself to the ground. His hand slowly fell away from his side, revealing his blood-soaked clothes. “Not deep.”

“Din!” You exclaimed in shock whilst dropping down to your knees. Your hands fluttered to his side, unsure of what to do. “I think you need to remove your beskar.”

“Do it,” he grunted, resting the helmet against the wall with a ‘ting.’ His hand moved to yours, dragging your hand to show you the release mechanism under his cuirass. Flicking the switch, the armor’s magnet released its hold on the beskar. Pushing it to the side, you grasped at the bottom of his tunic, trying to work the fabric up his torso so you could have access to the wound. You tried not to notice the small amount of dark hair leading down to his pants, or the beautiful color of his skin- a warm, sun-kissed tan. Your resolve failed when your eyes trailed over his abdomen, skin littered with scars over the lean muscle. Your fingertips lightly grazed his stomach and Din jerked back with a hiss.

“I’m sorry!” Your hands flew back from his stomach, afraid that you had hurt him in some way.

“No,” Din grunted while his head rolled to the side. “Didn’t hurt, it... felt good.”

You blinked at the Mandalorian currently bleeding all over your clean floors. Okay, he must be delusional. “Din, I don’t know if I’m the best person to do this. There has to be someone el-“

“No one else,” he mumbled, hand reaching for yours. “You can do it, Cyare.”

The familiar nickname is what grounded your rising panic. Making your way to the medicine cabinet, you grabbed the necessary kits and bacta so you could patch Din up. Kneeling at his side once again, you pulled back the remaining clothing to reveal the knife wound. He was right, it wasn’t that deep, but just like the quarry that Din had slashed at all those months ago, he bled quite a lot. You tried to remain as gentle as you could while you wiped a piece of cloth over the wound to soak up the blood. It took a few rags to thoroughly clean the wound, but you had finally gotten it to a manageable state.

“This might sting.” Grabbing the bottle of alcohol from your side, you tipped out the liquid onto a clean cloth. Your eyes flitted up to where his would be but was met with only the familiar visor. Din gave you a slow nod, telling you to ‘go ahead,’ and you placed the alcohol-soaked rag to his wound.

“Dank farrik!” Din yelped, jolting slightly upright in response to the stinging sensation that was radiating from his wound. You could just barely hear the grinding of his teeth from under his helmet, and you visually cringed at his pain.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologized but continued to clean the wound. The knife must have been serrated because the wound was jagged. You laid your free hand on the expanse of his stomach, rubbing reassuring circles into the skin. Din hummed at the contact. Your soft fingers sent goosebumps racing over his flesh, thoroughly distracting him from the pain. He barely registered the soothing cool of bacta when you pressed it against his wound. Din was too distracted by your touch. It was the first time that he felt someone’s touch, skin-to-skin contact since he was a child, and he knew that he was already addicted. You were completely intoxicating and you didn’t even know.

“Done.” Pressing firmly against the newly applied bandage, you could feel Din’s eyes on yours.

“Don’t stop,” he couldn’t stop the words from slipping past his lips. You had pulled away your hands from his torso, and you quirked a brow up in response. “It-it feels g-good.”

“What, me torturing you with alcohol and bacta?” You joked and began to clean up the blood-soaked rags.Your right hand reached for the medpac that was laying next to Din but stopped when he grabbed your wrist. Din slowly pulled your hand to his stomach, resting your soft flesh over his scarred skin. He shivered at your touch and laid his hand over yours, keeping you there. His gloved thumb began to draw patterns on the back of your hand, sending a shiver of your own down your spine. “Din, what are you-”

“C-can I touch you, Cyare?” He interrupted with timid words. He was staring at your face, you could feel his gaze through the helmet. You sat there in shock, unable to comprehend that your hand was sprawled against his warm stomach and distracting you with the light graze of his thumb. “Please,” Din whispered when you didn’t respond to his earlier question. You felt yourself nodding your head in a dumb stupor, not believing that this was real and happening.

He picked his right hand up from yours that rested on his stomach, and moved to cup your face. Din stopped halfway between your bodies, hesitating for a moment, before bringing his other hand up to pull off his gloves. His right hand continued on its previous path, only stopping again when he was a centimeter away from your face. You could feel the tangible tension in the air, the nervousness shared by the both of you while you stared at one another. He just held his hand there for a moment, afraid to touch you and learn exactly how your cheek would feel against his skin. Bringing up your left hand, you placed it over his right one and pressed his palm to your cheek. His skin was rough from years of fighting, but incredibly warm and soothing. 

Din let out a shuddery breath when you took his hand and pressed it against your cheek. You were so soft, so warm against his palm. His thumb lightly brushed over your cheekbone out of curiosity. Eyelids fluttering shut at his touch, the pad of his thumb left sparks against your skin. Din’s heart nearly lept out of his chest when you turned your face into his palm, lips softly pressing into the meat of his hand. Your eyes opened and you looked up at him with such a soft look whilst you held his hand in yours, lips moving over his hand, leaving behind a trail of wet kisses. Right hand joining your left, you gently laid his hand in your lap, palm facing the ceiling. Your fingers traced over every vein in his hand, stopping at his wrist when you met his vambrace. Lifting his hand up to your lips, you placed a tender kiss to his pulse point. Your kisses left him breathless, every brush of your lips intoxicating.

As much as Din loved your soft touches, he wanted to caress you, feel your lips against his. He knew what he had to do in order to feel your lips against his, and the thought made him draw in a tight breath. “Cyare...” He tipped his head forward, leaning his forehead against yours. Your hands trailed to the nape of his neck, fingers worming their way under his thick cowl so that you could feel his hot skin. The beskar was cool against your forehead, a soothing sensation. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you.” There wasn’t any hesitation in your voice. Being this close to Din was addicting. You wanted to feel more of his skin against yours, have his warmth envelop you.

“Close your eyes, Cyar’ika,” Din whispered. You followed his orders, shutting your eyes tight. He waited a few moments before you felt him lean back, cool beskar no longer present on your skin. You heard the locking mechanism of his helmet release with a hiss and the sound sent your heart racing. Was he taking his helmet off?

Din couldn’t breathe. He tried to pull the much needed oxygen into his lungs, but it was like his diaphragm wasn’t working anymore. Seeing you, truly seeing you without the many filters of the helmet had knocked the wind out of him. You were utterly breathtaking. Din sat there, trying to commit every feature of your face to his memory. You were even more beautiful than he thought was possible. The soft planes of your face made him want to reach out, touch you again. So he did. He was more sure this time, taking your face in both of his hands. You inhaled sharply when he first touched you, not expecting the touch, but you quickly relaxed at his touch that was becoming more familiar with each brush of skin. Both of his thumbs skimmed the planes of your cheekbones, felt the thickness of your lashes when he ghosted over your eyes. It was like he was a blind man trying to see with his hands, creating a mental image from his sense of touch. 

Din continued to map out your face, slowly trailing his thumbs over your skin. He saved your lips for last, wanting to savor them. His thumb brushed over them, and he inhaled sharply when he felt how soft they were. Din desperately wanted to mold his own to yours. “Ca-can,” he stumbled over his words, mesmerized by your beauty. He swallowed down the lump in his throat before he continued. “Can I kiss you, Cyare?”

“Yes.” You hadn’t meant to sound so desperate, and you were sure he could feel how your face heated up at his words. His slow touches were driving you insane, but not as insane as the knowledge that he was a mere six inches away from you, helmet off. It would be so easy to just open your eyes to see him. “Please.”

Hearing the wanting-tone of your voice that matched his ever-growing need for your touch, Din leaned in. His slightly-chapped lips timidly pressed against your soft ones, and you let out a sigh at the feeling. It felt like someone had poured molten lava over you that seeped into the very cracks of your foundation. Timid and shy at first, his kiss became more confident as he slotted his lips against yours. You couldn’t help the way that your hands reached up for his face to pull him closer to you. His kiss made you realize that you had been cold and alone your entire life, and that he was a blazing fire that would warm you to your core. 

Din softly gasped at your actions, and he decided that if he were to die right then and there that he would be completely fine since he was already in heaven with you. He felt the way that your fingers mapped his face like how he mapped yours. When you carded your fingers through his unruly locks, tugging him even closer, he hummed in contentment. Din’s arms snaked around your waist and pulled you to his chest. Your legs draped on either side of his hips, kneeling in front of him. You tilted his head up to yours since you were slightly taller than him in this position, his arms squeezing you closer. Din slowly grazed his tongue over your bottom lip, and he moaned at the feeling of your tongue pressing against his. He explored your mouth, tongue tracing each tooth. Din saw stars behind his lids from kissing you. He had never kissed anyone before, but now he knew why others found it so intoxicating. The feel of your soft lips pressed against his was something he never wanted to forget. He burned this moment into his brain, desperately trying to remember the way your lips felt against his, the way your fingertips tangled in his hair, the warmth of your chest pressed against his.

When the need for air became too great, you both reluctantly pulled apart. You could already feel your lips starting to swell from the passionate kiss the two of you shared. Din’s lips never left your face, though, and he trailed kisses down your cheek and along your jaw. You couldn’t help how his name spilled from your lips when he kissed the juncture of your neck and jaw.

“You are so beautiful,” Din mumbled into your skin. Soft praises fell from his lips with each kiss against your skin. He loved the way you said his name, the way your grip on his hair tightened when he kissed your neck. His grip on you never lessened, hands bunching the material of your shirt in his hands. He never wanted this to end.

“You are too,” you sighed when his lips returned to yours. Din lightly shook his head in disagreement, making sure to not break the kiss. His self-deprecation made you pull yourself back. 

“You don’t even know what I look like.”

Leaning your forehead against his like before, you traced your fingers over his face. “I don’t need to.” You grazed your fingers over his eyelids, down his prominent nose, over his swollen lips. “I know you are beautiful both inside and out, Din Djarin.”

Din was thankful that your eyes were closed so that you couldn’t see the tears forming in his eyes. He placed a loving peck against your lips before he nuzzled his face in your neck. Din breathed in your scent, immediately finding that it both excited and calmed him down. His lips brushed over your jugular, placing a soft kiss there. “I never want to let you go, Cyar’ika.”

“Then don’t.”

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum,” he placed another kiss on your neck.

“You know,” you started, fingers slowly working out the tangles in his hair. “I never know what you’re saying when you speak Mando’a.”

“You’ll learn, Cyar’ika,” Din closed his eyes, content at the feeling of you playing with his hair. “You’ll learn.”

_____

Mando’a translations:

Cyare = beloved/loved

Cyar’ika = darling/sweetheart

Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum = I love you

[whereisten]

The Interview

A Doyoung fic that’s part of our Halloween Series!

Summary: you’re a journalist that just booked her biggest gig, an interview with Doyoung, a vampire notorious for a series of murders in your city.

Pairing: Vampire!Doyoung x female reader

Other characters: Best friend!Johnny

Genre: horror, angst, smut, violence

Word count: 8.7 K

Warnings: blood mention, descriptions of murder and violence, cursing, smut! (Threesome (MMF), breast fondling, fingering, male masturbation, oral sex, penetration, slight overstimulation, c*eampie.), mentions of chains and knives.

A/N: I am sorry for taking so long to post this, but I hope you enjoy!! I didn’t proofread (shocker) so there may be some errors but I will fix them later. THANK YOU GUYS AGAIN FOR THE SUPPORT FOR OUR HALLOWEEN SERIES AHHHH!! It’s been so much fund and I hope you guys enjoy the last few fics we have coming up!!

----------

You entered the house and walked hesitantly inside, looking around to observe all of the meticulous paintings and art. The mansion was dark and gloomy, it sent a chill through your body to imagine all of the horrors and secrets it held within it. So much murder, so much blood and death. And yet, it was kept in pristine condition by a loyal maid. Not a speck of dust in sight, and no stench to even indicate a single crime having been committed.

You sat down in his office on a cushioned loveseat before you  placed your recorder on the coffee table in between your seat and his.

You heard the jingles of his handcuffs and the many footsteps of police entering a few minutes after.

He sat down across from you as you cleared your throat. You noticed his irritated and burgundy red wrists being burned by the handcuffs around them made of pure silver.

He was stunning, like a painting himself. His skin looked like it was made of the most expensive marble, his eyes looked playful, but held a dark glint about them that you couldn’t shake. His arms were in front of him as his hands were held together by the handcuffs, you couldn’t ignore the obvious presence of his biceps as they strained against the thin material of his long sleeved prison uniform. His veins also bulged from his wrists all the way to his neck.

The devastatingly handsome man looked...hungry.

His tongue darts out over his bottom lip as he watches you observe his features.

“Oh, a pretty one for once, thank God.” He smirks.

You look at him sternly and press record on the mechanism in between you two.

“Good afternoon, Doyoung, my name is y/n. Today, I’ll be asking you a few questions about the crimes you’ve committed, but first, I would like for you to confirm your identity.”

You hold your iPad in your arm and start to type a description of his features and what he is wearing.

Doyoung laughs.

You stop writing and look up at him.

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m chained up in my own house, and not in the sexual way for once…”

You look back to your iPad.

“Unless..you’d like to change that..” he says with a low tone that makes your body shiver.

“Doyoung..you’ve just been sentenced to a lifetime in prison for the brutal murders of 36 people. I’d appreciate it if you’d just answer a few questions so we can both go about our day.”

“Oh dear, I won’t tell you anything unless you get these barbaric things off of me, and get these useless men out of here.” He tilts his head towards the police officers behind his seat.

You shake your head. “No can do Doyoung, you’re a danger man, if they leave I’m done for.”

He chuckles lowly. “Don’t you trust me, sweetheart? My maid is no longer here, she testified against me and fled the country, so obviously I have no intention of ruining my place with anyone’s blood while she’s gone.” A smile crosses his face and it makes you uneasy.

You shouldn’t have done what you did next, but for the sake of writing a damn good article for Neo chronicles, you knew you had to. This trip would’ve been a waste of time and effort. It took you months to convince your boss to get you an interview with Doyoung, the notorious vampire that was just found guilty of capital murder.

He could tear you to shreds in moments with his hands and teeth, but something told you to ask that he be free..just for a few minutes.

He leans forward and keeps your eyes in his gaze. “You want them to release these cuffs, don’t you?”

You swallow hard then look up at the head police officer.

“He won’t cooperate unless you leave and take the handcuffs with you, please…” you beg, but the officer immediately shakes his head.

“Under strict orders from the judge, we cannot do that. It’s a miracle that we were even allowed to bring him back here.”

The tall man says without budging.

Doyoung turns to look at him. “Officer...these cuffs really hurt..it’ll only be for a few minutes..please.”

The officer furrows his eyebrows.

“Officer..I promise it’ll only take 15 minutes.” You continue.

“Fine...we’ll be right outside the door.”

You’re surprised to see that the officer agrees. He takes his key and opens up the cuffs. He then places them beside you on your chair.

“Slap these on the son of a bitch if he tries anything.”

You nod. A part of you felt so uneasy now that you were alone with him, but you had to make the most of it and get some information out of him while you could. No one could do what you were about to do, for Doyoung would be put away for life in a few days.

The door clicks and the room falls silent.

Doyoung turns to you and already starts to heal his wrists. “Well, then...should we get started?”

“Where are you from?” You ask.

He raises an eyebrow and throws an arm over the head of his seat.

“I’m from this city, dear.. I was just raised in a very different one...a few hundred years ago, without the cars, without the noise..”

“You’re the first of your kind that society has come across. Are there any more like you?”

He chuckles then looks at you and tilts his head. “There’s no one like me..”

You lick your lips quickly and lean forward. “Are there any more vampires, Doyoung?”

“Of course there are, some lurk in the shadows, some live boldly as the very doctors that take care of you. No one from my bloodline is alive however.” His gaze shifts downward as if he’s reminiscing.

“How do the vampires survive without being caught?”

He looks back up at you. “We just feed on animals to get by.”

Your heart began to race, you were finally getting information that no one else knew about, for Doyoung never spoke a word to investigators looking for answers about vampires.

“So why did you feed on humans and kill them instead of changing them?”

“For survival, sweetheart. I’m a man with very expensive taste..I’ve been killing humans for years, but I got lazy and decided to not run from city to city..I’d take out anyone that was evil or treated others like shit..some of my victims deserved it, but I’m sure you already knew that.”

You looked to the side. You did notice that he mainly killed other murderers or robbers.

“Furthermore, humans have polluted the earth so badly, the taste of animals that feed off of diseased grass is just disgusting. I couldn’t take it anymore.” His face winces.

“And human blood..is it good?”

Doyoung smirks. “Oh, my love, you have no idea. It’s sweet and savory, there’s nothing like it..and if I may say, it’s even better when the subject surrenders willingly.”

“Did your subjects surrender willingly?”

He looks up and tries to think. He taps his chin. “No..I don’t think any of those bastards surrendered, they were quick fixes to my thirst. There was one woman though..Hmm what was her name?...Was it Diamond or Daisy?”

You closed your eyes as you listened to him struggle to remember the names of his victim.

“Darlene..her real name was Darlene, but she went by Tiffany at the strip club she worked at.”

“Ahhh! Yes! Darlene..she was sweet, magnificent. I remember taking her in the back of my car, she was ecstatic. She felt amazing around me, so warm. Her body shook as I stretched her out and played with her beautiful womanhood..such a shame.. she was so willing.”

You swallowed hard as tears filled your eyes. Doyoung was making light of a dark situation that ended in the murder of a young woman just trying to live her life.

He leans forward to get your attention. “First..I tasted her lips, then I placed my tongue around her hard nubs. I traced my tongue down her abdomen and all the way...down, before letting it rest on her folds. I licked up her essence and listened to her moan and breathe heavily. I can still hear the rush of her blood in her veins. I can still taste her trembling core on the tip of my tongue, and feel her velvety walls around my fingers.”

You cross your legs as his voice lowers more and more with each sentence.

His dark eyes hold onto yours as his smile grows. He can smell the pool building in your underwear.

“In and out, I moved in and out, circling around her bud before she came hard all over my mouth. But I licked it up and kissed her thigh as she begged for more. She tasted delicious and brain became flooded with thoughts of just how wonderful her blood would taste too. So I wrapped her legs around my waist and pushed into her, sliding in between her delicious and wet folds and hitting her sweet spot over and over.”

“Doyoung..” you turn away and gulp, but he grabs your chin within a split second of standing up in front of you.

He tilts your head upwards and gazes down at your lips.

“I placed two fingers into her mouth...just like this.” 

On instinct, your mouth falls open, allowing him to place two fingers onto your tongue. Your mind went crazy, half of it screaming for you to look away from the dangerous man, the other half saying “yes, God, yes.”

You sat with your mouth agape, waiting for him to continue.

“If only you could taste her...nonetheless, when she came again, her eyes rolled in the back of her head and the veins of her neck stuck out to me, begging to be punctured into. I sucked her dry even as she clenched around me from the overwhelming pleasure.”

He withdrew his fingers, licking them as his eyes held onto yours.

“Your lips must be delicious too.”

You snapped yourself out of your daze and shook your head.

“Doyoung, what the hell?”

He sits back into his chair. “Any more questions, love?”

You clear your throat again and look at your iPad.

“Uhh..what are your abilities?”

He smirks. “Well, I’m sure you can imagine one of them. But in addition to that, we are fast, strong, powerful beings. Some can read minds, some can hypnotize..we are what humans aim to be, perfect beings.”

Your face grows into one of disgust. “With the exception of having the burning need to murder, right?”

He chuckles once more and rolls his eyes. “Humans kill all the time, what makes us so different if we do it for survival? Murders are done out of rage against those that are simply different in terms of religion, ethnicity, or sexual orientation all the time, why aren’t you interviewing those bastards?”

You hesitate.

He leans towards you and crosses his arms.

“What if you could make this world a better place by getting rid of those that commit crimes against the helpless? I can see that you’re one that believes in justice.. you can be like me, but use your abilities for good..”

You shake your head. “Absolutely not, you’re a monster. Just because you killed for survival does not negate the fact that you still took many lives.”

He leans back and nods. “Oh, pity then. I thought I’d have a partner for my getaway. I would’ve loved to keep such a pretty face by my side..”

Your eyes widen, you lean back and reach for the handcuffs..but they’re not there.

He jumps up from his seat.

You stand up as well. “What are you doing?”

But within seconds, your arms are behind your back and locked in the handcuffs that he stole from beside you.

“Doyoung!”

He pushes your body so that it lays back down on the love seat. You stare in horror as he crawls over you while looking up your scared face through his lashes.

He licks his lips.

“Thank you for giving me this chance to get away..”

“Help!!” You call out and soon the police break through the double doors.

Doyoung flicks his head towards them and holds out his hand. “Halt!”

He yells and they stop in their tracks.

You cry out. “Doyoung!!” But he’s already dug into each and every one’s necks and ripped into their throats.

Blood platters across the room and the bodies fall down dead almost unanimously as Doyoung moves incredibly fast. He appears as a blur one moment and the next moment, he is over you again, but this time with the lower half of his face covered in crimson liquid and his eyes intense.

He licks your collarbone, slowly trailing his tongue up your neck then to your chin. You tremble and cry as your heart races.

“Mmmmm...sweetheart, I’d take you right here, but you’ll taste so much better when you give in to me completely, I’ll see you soon.”

He disappears, you only hear the breaking of a window behind you.

You close your eyes tightly and sob.

The police officers that were outside in their cars immediately run into the house when they see that Doyoung has flown away.

They open your handcuffs and console you as you turn away from all of the dead bodies on the floor.

When things finally settled, you noticed that Doyoung had taken your recorder, leaving you without proof that this interview even happened.

———

[3 Months Later]

A national manhunt for Doyoung had been going on for months, no one saw the man or..creature. The good part about his absence was that there were no more killings. You tried your best to explain what happened that day, but you couldn’t. Everything felt blurry, all you could feel was this longing to be with him again. He had you under his grasp in just a few minutes, but that partially wasn’t your fault. You were hypnotized, just as the police officer taking him out of handcuffs was.

But you couldn’t help but feel guilty when you thought about the lives lost that day, the families that weren’t with their loved ones anymore because of your weakness. You swore it would never happen again.

You were released from your job at the Neo Chronicles, your boss was embarrassed and dealt with the harshest treatment from not only the legal system, but from the media as well. No one understood how such a huge mistake could be made. They had him and were ready to punish him for his crimes, but in just a few minutes, they lost him, the only vampire known to man.

You worked from home now, uploading conspiracy theories to your own website where people could submit photos, videos or written accounts of their experiences with the supernatural. They could do this anonymously if they wished. You wrote about Doyoung and the vampire community, you even went out at night at farms or in the woods to try to catch vampires in the act of taking blood from them, but you had no luck.

You would set your life to finding Doyoung, you’d make him pay for what he did to you. Even if you were intrigued by him, you’d make him suffer. However, you couldn’t help but wonder why he didn’t kill you as well.

———

[One Month Later]

You were about to do some research on cult practices that involved sacrifices, when you heard a knock at your door. You jumped up in your chair at your desk and turned to the door.

You swallowed hard. Had you done too much digging? Was someone tracking you? Were you being watched all this time?

Maybe you shouldn’t have visited the dark web.

You stand up slowly and walk to the door. You hear another knock.

You grab a tennis racket you placed by your door after playing tennis earlier that day. You then look through the peephole and see him.

Your heart started to race. Should you call the authorities? Should you scream for help? No. They would just be too slow, they’d be gone by the time a shriek escaped your throat.

You quickly opened it and held up your racket.

“Ah!!!” You yelled as you swung it, but he grabbed it with one hand and broke in two effortlessly.

Your eyes widened as he stood there with one corner of his mouth tilted upwards. His eyes sparkled in the darkness.

Your jaw fell open while the rackets ripped to your doorstep in two separate pieces.

“Invite me in...I have the recorder.” He demands through a husky tone.

You breathe heavily. “I-I..”

“May I come in...sweetheart?” He pouts.

You sigh and nod. “Yes.”

You didn’t want to but he had the evidence that you needed. Maybe you could just take it from him and he’d leave. With that piece of evidence, you could get your job back or make money online with your testimony.

Doyoung speeds past you and sits at your desk.

“Ooooo..satanic cults...interesting!” He searches through your computer.

“Hey!” You lock your door and walk towards him.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“How have you been doing, my love? Have you been well? Probably not...seeing that you’re stuck at home now, researching this nonsense.” He ignores your question and stands up from the desk.

You walk after him into the dining room.

“Answer me! Why are you here?”

“Have you thought about my proposal? You’ve had a lot of time..”

“Why didn’t you turn yourself in?!” You grab a knife from your kitchen counter and hold it behind your back.

He takes a look at your 4 day old pizza on your stove top and gags. “You and I both know I wouldn’t dare out well in prison.”

“So why the hell are you here?!” You say a little louder.

He turns to you suddenly and flips you around. In just a few seconds, he pins you against the wall with your cheek pressed against it and your hands behind your back.

You grunt as he presses in your back with your elbow.

“Did you know that you’ve been on my mind every night since that day?” He forces the knife out of your hand and trails the tip down the side of your face. 

You wince as you anticipate it breaking your skin, but he only drags it down your neck delicately and watches goosebumps decorate your skin.

He flips you back around so you face him now, he looks down at your chest and breathes heavily over it. He still holds both of your wrists in his hand, clenching his fist around them tightly as you squeal.

“The way you smell, the way you feel, the way you taste...it’s all haunted me..I want you so badly..”

You blink rapidly. “If you want to kill me, why don’t you just do it already.”

Doyoung chuckles and hangs his head low.

“I’m here to ask you again...join me..live as I live and give up this boring life..” he licks long your neck as you struggle in his grasp.

You shake your head.

“No..I don’t want you..I don’t want to be a monster like you.”

He laughs as he smirks while watching your lips. His closeness to you makes you dizzy, but you try to remain firm. 

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m too old to be fooled, I know you have a recording of our little interview on your ipad..I know you don’t really need that recorder..so why did you invite me in?”

Your face falls. How did he know that you had a second audio recording saved to your iPad.

“Okay...fine, I wanted a reason to let you in..” you search his eyes. 

He smiles and watches your lips.

“Oh? And now that I’m in, what else do you want?”

You pant and lick your lips. “I want..to feel what that woman felt..”

He kisses your neck. “Like this?” He whispers against your heated skin.

Your eyes close as your head falls back. “Yes..take me to my room..” you beg breathily.

He wraps his arms around you and by the time you open your eyes, you’re on your bed with your legs around his waist.

He grinds his covered member into you and listens to you moan.

He continues to kiss your neck and bite teasingly.

He licks over the warm area and moans. The cold touch of his fingertips makes you yearn for him more. 

“This is what I missed, the taste of your beautiful skin..”

He looks down at you through wide eyes, he adores your lips and eyes, watching as you finally give in to him like he’s longed for.

He leans down and kisses your lips.

You reach above your head and place your hands under your pillow. You grab a specialized collar.

“Look at me, Doyoung.” You whisper in between kisses.

He releases your lips and looks up. You suddenly lock the collar around his throat.

He hisses, flying to the ceiling and grabbing at it in an attempt to take it off, but he has no luck.

The collar made of pure silver sends violent and painful shockwaves through his body whenever he touches it.

It tightens slowly to stop him from breathing.

His eyes grow. “What..what have you done to me?” He says as he dangles from the ceiling and looks down at you on the bed with a smile on your face.

“Oh Doyoung, you’re old but you still didn’t see this coming..” you chuckle, everything went as planned.

“Please...please stop this...” he reaches out for you as he gasps for air.

 You stand up from the bed and look up at him.

“I’ll explain this quickly since you’ll be unconscious in about three minutes..”

He loses his grip from the ceiling, falling onto the bed limply.

“Do you remember a tall fellow that you bit one evening as he walked home from work?”

Doyoung groans in pain.

“I’ll take that as a no..” you continue. “Well, this victim’s name was Johnny, he owns Johnny’s Café and locked up kinda late that night when you found him. He became your prey and in the blink of an eye, was left to die in a dirty alleyway. No one was there to help him, no one…” your eyes start to water.

“He was my best friend..and you killed him. Or so I thought..you see, you made a grave mistake with this “murder.” You didn’t ensure his death by sucking until you heard the very last beat of his pulse. You got what you wanted and left him there with a faint pulse. He was able to pull his phone out and call me..I found him through Find My iPhone, and when I inspected his injuries..I realized that he had been attacked by a vampire.”

Doyoung’s eyes roll in the back of his head as he takes his final breaths.

“It was my first time seeing such a wound since I was young. Guess what, Doyoung? My family has hunted vampires since the beginning of time..my grandparents were sure that they had killed all of you in this city...but it seems we hadn’t, and Johnny’s attack is what brought this issue to my attention. Lucky for me, you fell right into my hands, making it easy for me to gain more information about your kind and the actual status of vampires in our city. I was ill-prepared for your hypnosis, however. That’s why I couldn’t lock you down the first time.”

You walk up to him and caress his pale face. You then yank his arm and drag him through your house and down to your basement.

You throw him down the stairs and walk down.

You both hear yelling and crying. 

That’s when Doyoung sees him. That night starts to come back to him, the night when he attacked Johnny.

Johnny is chained to a wall in your basement. His hair is long and disheveled. He yells as he begs for food. His fangs stick out, he looks weak and terrified.

Doyoung gasps. “I didn’t mean for this to happen..”

“This is where he will have to stay, I can’t turn him in because he’s my best friend, but I also can’t kill him or set him free to murder innocent people like a maniac..I will fix him, I swear I will.”

You flip the lid off of a coffin and throw Doyoung into it after much effort. Luckily, he was quite weak from the collar already.

“Even though you turned my best friend into a monster, I am thankful to you for bringing all of your kind’s secrets to light. I will find each one, and I will kill them.” You smirk.

“Enjoy prison, you monster.”

Doyoung only smiles. “I’ll be back, sweetheart. Hunting you will make for a lifetime of joy.”

You shut the lid over the coffin and nail it shut.

You drag the coffin upstairs using a pulley system then call the police to retrieve him.

—————

[2 Years Later]

You enjoy your life as a journalist once again. You gained wealth and notoriety for your interview with Doyoung. You also hunt and kill vampires that killed animals, you finally had used the training from your family to do so.

“I never thought you’d have to do this..” your mom said one day when you visited her for tea.

“I thought..we killed them all and kept you and the rest of our world safe.”

“They’re like roaches..they never die.” Your dad yelled from the living room.

“It is what it is..” you took a sip from your cup.

“But tell me, once one has changed...is there any way to turn them back?”

You thought of Johnny and how you had to watch him suffer now for the past two years. You loved him dearly and spent hours on the dark web searching for clues as to what to do, but nothing worked.

You didn’t tell your parents, for fear that they would tell you to kill him immediately or they’d do it themselves.

You wouldn’t give up on you, you just couldn’t.

The two of you were friends for her 10 years, how could you even think of killing him?

Your mother laughed. “Honey..we’ve tried everything, there’s no way…once they change, the hunger roars through them, making them impossible to tame.”

You nodded. 

“What is it you're not telling me?” She tilted her head when she saw the look of worry in your eyes.

“Nothing, it’s just...some of these people are good people..I just wish we didn’t have to kill them..”

“People? They’re not people! They’re savages and self-centered barbarians! Don’t fall for it, all they do is lure in victims for their own gain. They have no conscience.” Your father walked into the dining room with a freshly carved stake.

“Here.” He hands it to you. “You kill those bastards without any thought in your head, they’re meant to seduce you, make you think that they’re innocent humans with beating and good hearts, but they’re not! Kill them before they kill us.”

You nod and take it from him.

—————

[1 Year Later]

You receive news that Doyoung has broken free from prison. No one knows of his whereabouts so all eyes turn to you.

“We can set up police around your place to keep watch if you’d like..” your boss tells you.“There’s a chance that he’ll come after you first.”

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.”

You weren’t scared at all, and having police around would only draw more attention to you than you needed. What if they heard Johnny in your basement? What if they saw you bringing in live rabbits in the middle of the night?

And if something were wrong, they��d eventually go into your basement only to find a series of hunting weapons and digging gear, for you always buried the vampires you killed deep in the woods.

You headed home and walked in slowly.

The air felt crisp and cool, the night sky peered in through your windows. You looked around and that’s when you noticed that one of them were open, the wind blowing the curtain that should’ve been drawn over it.

You hold your stake close to you and quickly walk over to it.

You slam it down shut and turn the lock, but by the time you turn back around to head to your room, you see Doyoung.

“Hello, sweetheart.”

He stands just a few feet away from you with blood dripping down his mouth and neck in a steady pool.

You step back and walk around in a circle.

Doyoung smirks and walks in a circle towards you too.

“You knew I would be here, and yet, you came home on time..are you not afraid of me?”

He chuckles and holds his arms out.

You raise your stake in front of you.

“Do I look like I’m afraid of you?”

Doyoung tilts his head and pouts. “I’m not sure, your heart is racing, the sweat on your forehead is building, your grip on the stake is weak..”

“I didn’t give you permission to come in..”

He shakes his head. “No no, you didn’t..but someone in this house did.”

Your steps falter for a moment and you swallow hard.

When you listen closely, you hear something happening in your kitchen.

Then your eyes widen when you realize.

“Johnny..”

You gasp and run into the kitchen.

Doyoung laughs loudly.

You scream when you see Johnny sucking blood from a woman’s neck in the middle of your kitchen.

“No!!!” 

“I’ve missed you, my love...but I see you kept him around, locked up in the basement for fun..I used my senses to contact him and tell him to give me permission. You see, he doesn’t enjoy being locked up in your basement.”

Doyoung stands behind you and crosses his arms while leaning against the doorway.

“Johnny!! Stop this please, this isn’t you!” You try to shake him off of the woman but all Johnny sees is red. He has never had human blood before and now his eyes have been opened. You start to cry, your stake drops out of your hand.

“He can’t hear you, he’s enjoying what will now be his favorite meal in the kitchen.”

Doyoung grabs you by the neck and slams you against the wall. You yell out in pain.

“And here we are again, but this time we have some unfinished business, you and I...what should I do with you?”

You shake your head as he lifts your body nearly four feet off the ground while choking you.

“Please Doyoung, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have turned you in..please, just let me go, I’ll run far from here and leave the two of you alone to kill as you please.” Seeing Johnny like this leaves you broken. You can’t believe he’s free to live as a monster after all of your efforts to protect him.

“But running will only make me want you more, I enjoy this game that we play..” 

“Doyoung…” you tap his wrist as it becomes difficult to breathe.

“Being choked isn't so nice, is it?”

“What..what do you want from me?”

“I want you, but I like that you’re a challenge, you make my life exciting, and now that I have you here, I want to let you go again just so I can watch you run.” He grins.

“You can shoot some arrows or throw a few stakes, how about it, y/n?”

“Fuck you! I’m not some toy!”

You try to wiggle out of his grasp.

“Then take my offer..I’ll only ask one more time..will you give in to me?”

You start to shake your head, but Johnny rises up from the body on the floor. He runs his hands through his long black hair and licks his lips while panting.

“Y/n..I feel...amazing.” He smiles at you. Even after all these years of you feeding him small animals and keeping him locked up, he still looked at you with love.

You cry harder. “No..Johnny..please don’t give in, I can fix you, I’ll find a way to turn you back.”

He chuckles then steps closer to you. He already looks healthier with the heavy dose of human blood he just consumed. “And you’ve been searching relentlessly for this cure for how long now?”

Doyoung lets your body slide back down the wall as he loosens his grip.

“I’m so close, just trust me.”

“Y/n..Look at how happy he is, don’t you want to be happy too?”

“yes..join us..” Johnny traces his finger down the side of your face.

“No!” You suddenly push Doyoung off of you and dive to the floor for your stake.

You jump back up but Doyoung takes you into his arms.

“Is this what you want?! To die instead of being with your best friend forever?!”

You press the tip of the stake into his chest, you’re so close, but your mind doesn’t allow you to push harder.

“Do it! Kill me!” He doesn’t put you under hypnosis because he wants to see what your true desire is.

Doyoung watches your sad eyes as you struggle to stab him.

Him being so close to you makes you weak, you don’t know why, but you fall into him more.

You second guess everything and your will weakens more and more each second.

You lean forward and kiss Doyoung’s lips finally.

You relax into his arms as his tongue traces over your lips to enter.

You swallow back your disgust from the taste of blood on his lips and close your eyes. A rush runs through your body, it’s like you’re being commanded by waves at the beach, your body just enjoying the feeling of floating in his arms.

The stake falls out of your weak hands. Johnny comes up behind you, kissing your neck from behind while circling his arms around your waist.

If you could just distract them for a few more moments..you could catch them off guard, take them to your room and grab the stake under your pillow..just a few more minutes.. 

Then..a sharp pain makes you jolt. Your eyes fly open. Johnny’s fangs dig into your neck. He sucks hard while you groan.

“Johnny!” You cry out, but then you moan as a feeling of euphoria washes over your body. You feel amazing, your mind goes blank, a soft, tingly sensation makes you weak as blood rushed from your veins and to his mouth. You’re drunk from their love and you want more.

Doyoung continues to kiss your lips and smiles when he feels you finally giving in to him.

Your heartbeat drives him crazy, he just can’t stop thinking about how good you must taste, so he takes the two of you to your room and lays down beside you on your bed.

Your neck is bent backwards towards Johnny behind you still, your hard nipples covered by your dress are just begging for his mouth.

“Do you give in to me, dear?” His lustful voice echoes in your ear.

“Yes..” you whimper.

In one swift move, Doyoung tears your dress off and throws it to the floor. He licks your hard nubs passionately, darting his tongue out and playing around with them with the tip.

Johnny continues to suck slowly, his hand reaching to your front side. He placed two fingers in between your legs, swatting away your thighs so your legs open more.

You are enraptured by them, completely forgetting your plan. But it didn’t matter anyway, your fate was sealed the moment Johnny bit you. He would either suck you dry or leave you alive to turn into one of them.

A part of you feels regret, but another part has come to terms with your situation. Right now you were focused on the yearning in your chest that made you tremble and the building heat between your legs that needed to be tended to.

Without warning, Doyoung bites your breast and sucks hard after latching his lips around the nipple.

He groans as he listens to you yelp.

You run your hand through his hair. “Yes..that feels so good.”  You felt like you were already climaxing with both men sucking your blood at the same time.

Johnny’s fingers push past the waistband of your underwear and presses against your folds.

Doyoung sucks harder, the taste of your blood is sweet and intoxicating, he never wants to stop.

You feel Johnny’s long fingers rub circles into your clit, your legs widen more as you ache for more. He lets go of your neck and nibbles your ear.

“Can I?” He asks seductively.

“Yes..” you bite your bottom lip, your body becoming more and more turned on from Doyoung’s mouth and Johnny’s touch.

You can feel Johnny’s hard member against your back as he pushes one finger into your throbbing opening, sliding it in effortlessly. 

“You’re wet…” he pulls his finger out and places it into your mouth. You moan while licking his finger.

“So wet..” he then pushes two fingers in, your body flinches as he pumps in and out of your. Your head is dizzy, you felt that you’ve lost too much blood. You’re too weak and Doyoung feels it too.

He gives your breasts a few more kitten licks to clean up the blood on it, then looks into your eyes.

“How do you feel, my love?”

“I’m-I’m dizzy..” you moan shortly after as Johnny adds a third finger and presses upward while inside your pussy.

Doyoung smiles when he sees your low eyes. “It’s time for you to feed..”

Your eyes widen. “What?”

Doyoung uses his nail and digs a vertical line into his throat.

“Taste me..”

“N-no.” You shake your head.

“This is what you are now, y/n..just taste him and you’ll know..” Johnny whispers into your ear.

You stick your tongue out hesitantly and lick up the trail of blood on his neck. It tastes wonderful, amazing and different. You didn’t know what to describe it as but you felt that rush from earlier run through your body once more.

You lick again, this time, placing your mouth into the wound and actually sucking more blood out. 

Doyoung groans while pushing his pants down and taking his member out. He strokes it up and down and pants as you suck hard. You can’t use your fangs yet, but the feeling is still magnificent for him as well.

You need more, a hunger builds in your body and you tilt over Doyoung more to apply pressure.

Johnny withdraws his fingers, allowing you to completely kneel over Doyoung’s lap now.

He lays flat on the bed and watches you mount him. You look beautiful naked, like a goddess. Your eyes are wide with hunger and desire and he’s happy to be at the center of it all. He aligns his cock with your opening, watching as you slide down onto it slowly while wincing.

You breathe heavily and lean forward so you can suck his neck again. You place your hands on either side of his head and move up and down slowly, your body already clenching around him as he fills you up completely.

Johnny wraps his hand around his aching cock and strokes it as you ride Doyoung.

Your body becomes cold even as you sweat from the constant movement.

Your mind is flooded with sounds of Johnny’s moans coupled with the new sound of blood rushing through Doyoung’s veins and into your mouth. 

He guides you down onto him by placing both hands on your ass. You push down onto him harder and faster, moving your hips so that his cock curves into you and presses against that spot every time.

You whimper as your movements stutter.

Doyoung flips you over onto your back, he watches your mouth, covered in blood, fall open into a loud moan. “Come on, sweetheart. Tell me how badly you want to cum.” Doyoung says with an evil smirk across his face covered in your blood now.

He thrusts into you hard and places both hands on your knees. He pushes them further apart and watches as he slams himself into you.

“Johnny..she feels so good..she’s just like you imagined for all these years..”

“But how does she taste?” Johnny strokes himself faster as he aims for your breast.

“Her blood tastes sweeter than any berry, and her pussy? Well, you’ll just have to try that yourself.” He goes faster, so fast you can only feel a satisfying vibration that stimulates your clit.

You throw your head back. “Fuck..Doyoung..”

“Do you want me to stop?” He stops suddenly to tease you.

“No no no no, keep going..please!” You beg in a high pitched tone almost embarrassingly.

He resumes his speed, watching your hands grip the sheets and your eyes roll in the back of your head as you cum.

Doyoung grunts and releases inside you.

He milks himself out completely as you shake from your orgasm. You see stars and entire galaxies, a feeling washing over you like no other feeling.

You gasp and watch Doyoung pull out. He moves to the side while watching his cum leaks out of your entrance.

Johnny then flips your limp body over. He wraps and arm around your waist and pulls you against his hard cock. You’re sensitive so you cry out from suddenly being pushed into by his long member. 

He grabs your hair and bends your neck backward before biting into it to suck more of your blood. Your overwhelming sensitivity soon fades away and your climax starts to build again, the feeling in the pit of your stomach becoming nearly unbearable once more.

Johnny’s nails dig into your waist, slamming your ass against his hips as he reaches your depths over and over. He goes crazy from the feeling of your silky walls tightening around his cock. He wants to bury his cum so deep inside your pussy, that it leaks for days. And your sweet blood, he could drink it forever, he could drink you dry.

But Doyoung won’t allow that. “That’s enough..she’ll pass out if we take any more.”

Johnny stops drinking but grunts as he goes harder and faster.

Your knees make an indent in the mattress, you hold onto Doyoung’s hands for support as your mouth falls open.

“Fuck…” all you can mutter are curse words as Johnny destroys you.

Doyoung kneels in front of you, his intimidating cock sticking out hard once again.

He strokes it. 

You open your mouth and stick your tongue out. You had to taste him, again. You craved him.

With low eyes, you maintain eye contact as he fills your mouth and hits the back of your throat. You flatten your tongue, licking the underside of it. You press your tongue hard against every vein then kiss the tip once he pulls back out.

He pushes back in faster this time, listening to you gag and watching as tear up.

You moan to send vibrations through his body. Doyoung throws his head back and mutters “shit..”

You gag again but breathe through your nostrils.

Johnny presses into you one more time before shooting milky strings across your walls. He pants while cursing then lowers himself so that he can taste you from behind. He licks up all the slick that has escaped and sticks his tongue in as deep as possible.

The night went on for hours as you switched positions and brought each other to paradise too many times to count.

You collapsed onto the bed and fell asleep once the three of you were done.

———-

[The Next Morning]

For the first time, sunlight burnt your eyes and made you suffocate. You tried to jump up from the bed, but then you noticed that your legs and arms were tied to a bed that wasn’t yours. You looked around and saw that you were on it by yourself.

Where was Johnny? Where was Doyoung? Why did you feel a burning hunger in your chest?

You recognized the smell of an old building and looked above you. It looked like you were in some sort of castle. You were covered in a thin white sleeping gown that you didn’t recognize either.

“Doyoung!! Johnny!!”

A door in the corner of the room opens and in walks Doyoung with a smirk across his face and something in his hand.

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

“Doyoung..please, I don’t feel good.” You strain against the chains.

Your eyes widen when you realize what dangles from his grasp.

Johnny’s head..

“No!!!!” You scream loudly.

“Oh, like music to my ears..” Doyoung chuckles and dangles the head above your body.

He sees your body through the thin fabric, your breasts and perfect curves, the warmth between your legs that he missed so badly. He almost regretted his decision.

He bit his lip and watched you struggle.

“Doyoung!! Why?!” You sob.

“Because you’re mine, you can’t be his too!”

Doyoung walks back over to the door and chucks the head outside.

He walks back over to you. “Well, now that we know what happened to Johnny, we need to discuss what’ll happen to you.”

“What did you do to me?!” You say through gritted teeth.

“Actually..it was Johnny that turned you..not me, but I made sure to kill him this time.”

Your face fell. This was exactly what Doyoung wanted. He lured you in by using Johnny, then he got Johnny to change you. They both seduced you to crowd your mind and make you too filled with lust to care. And now, you turned into the very thing that you hated the most.

“Now you realize…” Doyoung nods and strokes the side of your face.

“I couldn’t just let you get away with exposing my secrets and putting me in jail..I mean, the sex was amazing, so amazing, but I still couldn’t let you get away with it.”

You shake your head. “Please..I’m yours, I’ll do anything. I always wanted to be yours but I was too stubborn.”

“And the stake under your pillow? Would you have used it against me?” He pouts.

“No! I was going to love you.”

“Love me? A monster?”

“Doyoung please!!”

“This is your prison now...and when you are free, look for me, I’ll be waiting for you, my love..” he walks out and leaves you alone still tied to the bed.

————

[3 Days Later]

You finally break your chains with your new strength. You run out of the room, but find that you are in an old castle. When you run through the destroyed halls and into the courtyard, you see nothing but ocean.

Doyoung left you on the notorious Gil-Eul Castle, a mansion on a secluded island that was hundreds of miles from the nearest coast. It was known as the meeting grounds for vampires long ago, but your family along with other hunters destroyed it, planting bombs in the form of air strikes to kill everyone inside.

You yelled into the sky and ran around rampantly, searching for anything to eat.

You felt like you were going insane without blood. You were literally burning from the inside out because of the lack of blood in your system.

————

[20 Years Later]

You survived the last 20 years off of fish and rats. You never stopped thinking about Doyoung and how you’d get your revenge. You’d kill him slowly, make him suffer like you had, and even though you didn’t look any older, you felt tired and weak from watching the years fly by in a broken castle.

Until one day..a ship approaches the building. You watch from above as several construction workers all onto the island.

You lurk in the shadows and wait until one of them has strayed away from the group.

The man turns around when he feels that he is being followed, but sees nothing.

He turns back around and continues walking.

You reach out from a hallway and grab him by the collar. You feed on him quickly then do the same with the other men. One by one, you kill each man to quench your plentiful years of undying thirst. 

But you’re not dumb, you save one of the men so that he can bring you back to your country. The man tells you that they had planned to clear the island and build a resort.

You take your tattered dress off and shower in the bathroom on board. You break down in tears when you feel warm water and soap on your skin for the first time in twenty years. You were finally free.

You find a set of clothes set aside by the workers and put them on. It’s a pair of sweatpants and t-shirt that’s not the right size, but it’ll have to work for now.

Once home, you hypnotize the man that brought you back.

“Tell them your team was attacked, you were the only one that survived. It was a man with fangs and pale skin. His name is Doyoung.”

The man nods, then walks off the ship and heads for the police station.

You, on the other hand, go in the opposite direction.

You thought about visiting your parents and letting them know that you were okay, but what would they say now that you were a vampire? Would they try to kill you?

You weren’t sure, so you continued walking to his mansion.

You closed your eyes and tried to focus, you knew that all vampires were connected and that if you tried hard enough, you could sense where he was.

It didn’t take long before you heard his voice. It was coming from an apartment about 10 miles away.

Of course he stayed in a nearby city.

You knocked on his door and waited for him to answer.

With round glasses on, he opened the door and smiled widely. “I knew you’d find me..”

“Invite me in.” Your voice was stern.

Doyoung nodded. “Of course.”

“Are you here to kill me?” He walks behind you.

“Yes.”

“Then go ahead.”

You turn to him.

“Why did you do this to me?”

“Life is pretty boring for an old man like me..I wanted to do something different.” He sits on the couch, then pats his thigh. “One last time before I say goodbye. I’ve missed you..”

You scoff. “You never came back, so I couldn’t really tell.”

“You were in solitary confinement, what could I do?”

You walk over to him and sit on his lap.

He placed his hands onto your ass and brought your body down onto his pelvis.

“Did you miss me?”

“No..”

He bucks into your clothes opening, brushing his hard member against it. “Are you sure?”

You bite your bottom lip, then reach to your back and pull out your stake.

You had made it with materials from the burnt down castle. You even engraved your initials into it, knowing that you’d use it to kill him.

“Yes..”

He smirks and licks his lips. “Are you ready?”

“Why aren't you scared?” Your brows furrow.

He chuckles. “I’ve been anticipating this moment for quite some time actually.”

You shake your head. “That’s not fair, this is too easy.”

He flips you over onto your back and suddenly you’re in his room and lying on his bed with him in between your legs. “And would you rather I make it difficult for you? Are you sure you want to wait another 20 years?”

You whimper as he commands your needy body effortlessly.

He grinds down into you. “If you won’t be mine willingly, then I would rather die..so are you ready, my love?”

You pause for a moment.

“Absolutely.” You press the stake into his chest, watching as his final breath leaves his beautiful lips.

[violet-knox]

Only Heroes Wear Capes

Year 7 - Chapter 75

Summary: Two years after graduating from Hogwarts, Severus finds himself fed up with his studies, looking forward to your return home instead.

Word count: 5006

A/N: Ahhh! I'm so excited to have started this part of the story! I can't wait to get to the pace of the story rolling. Hopefully I keep enough motivation to continue writing for this series. So much to explore, so little time to write! I currently didn't plan for any smut chapters for this part. I'm not sure if I'll ever write any more smut chapters for this series, but we shall see.

Previous Chapter - Chapter 1

~

It was pitch black when he finally left the potion-mixing room, same as it has been every day for the last few months. He couldn’t remember when the last time he saw the sun was and you were certainly noticing that. It wouldn’t be for much longer now. A few more weeks and he could start looking for a real job, one where he wasn’t treated like a hamster on a wheel told to go faster, one where he was actually paid for his work. These last two years seemed to have gone by so fast now that it was almost over. Yet a few weeks into his Potions Mastery, he could have sworn time had slowed down, feeling like it would take a thousand years to finish his studies. Every second of every day went by so slowly until he went home and crashed. And by the time he found himself able to catch his breath and grab a bite to eat, it was time to do it all over again the next day.

The first time you came home from a tournament, you looked absolutely shocked, like you didn’t recognize him. You told him he looked so pale and thin, you could have mistaken him for Death himself, and he knew it was true. His clothes had never been so loose, his skin whiter than the snow he walked through now. He swore he’d take better care of himself, and he did for a short while. But then you left a few months later and he returned to looking worse than he ever did. You both knew he needed you more than he could ever admit during his studies. He needed your support, your comfort. You motivated him to do better, to care for himself and when you weren’t there, when the only contact he had with you was a couple of letters, he spiraled down into an unhealthy disaster.

Just a couple more weeks, he kept telling you, trying to rationalize his actions, claiming he’d take better care of himself when this was all over, but he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to break some of the habits he’d grown accustomed to these last 2 years. He hoped that whatever job he got after this would accommodate your travels. He hated being apart for so long. He wanted to go with you, to be near you every week rather than every few months. He missed Hogwarts. Things just weren’t the same after you both graduated and nor did he expect them to be. He missed sitting on the bleachers watching you play, he missed eating with you during Christmas, he missed spending the evenings and weekends with you. He didn’t have any of that anymore. No Dining Hall to go to for a scheduled and prepared meal, no support from anyone, financially or otherwise and you were wrong about Spinner’s End. No matter what either of you did, it didn’t feel like home to him, it didn’t feel like it did when he was at Hogwarts.

Hogwarts was his home for seven years and he’d known no other home. He only felt happy at Spinner’s End when you were there. You were his home, his comfort. Wherever you were is where he felt happiest and you were almost never at Spinner’s End with him. The truth was, he’d spent more time in Spinner’s End than he did with you and sitting in that house alone only reminded him of his parents. But things will get better once he finished his Mastery. He’ll do better, feel better and perhaps Spinner’s End will begin to feel more like home.

Taking in a deep breath, he closed his eyes and apparated back to the Muggle world. There it was, the house that haunted his thoughts staring back at him when he opened his eyes. But today was the day you returned. It had to be. You told him two weeks ago you’d be on your way home and every day since he’d opened the doors hoping to see you there, hoping the house would turn back into his home away from Hogwarts once again and every day he would open the door to a dead house full of nothing but bad memories. Gripping the doorknob, he turned it slowly, pushing open the door. Today is the day, today is the day, today is the day.

The house was pitch black but he could smell a hint of lavender and soap swimming through the sitting room when he entered. You were here, you had to be. Severus closed the door behind him, placing his things on the couch and removing his shoes before heading upstairs to his room, your room. He smiled as he saw the door half open, your figure lying tired on your now shared bed fast asleep. He looked over at the clock and squinted. It was only 6 o’clock but judging by the smell of the house, he knew the first thing you did when you got home was start cleaning the house, he’d been neglecting these past few months. You never asked him to take better care of your belongings or this house when you were gone, and he could never understand why. This was your home, the house you’d grown to love and he knew you didn’t like coming back to looking the way it did. But you never complained, you never spoke a work, You only asked that he take care of himself. Every time you returned, he felt guilty for letting you come back to a filthy house, but he could never bring himself to care for a place that never cared for him.

Severus removed his thick cloak and gently laid it atop you, wondering why you’d crashed on top of the covers rather than beneath them. He wanted to slip into bed beside you, his body and mind aching from the long day he had, but he needed to do something for you, for the both of you. It was time he accepted Spinner’s End could never be the home Hogwarts was, but a home he could live in, nonetheless. Closing the door behind him, he made his way back downstairs and into the kitchen. Opening the fridge, expecting to find a few miscellaneous items, he let out a sigh of worry, realizing you’d gone grocery shopping as well. The fridge was full, easily two weeks’ worth of groceries stocking the shelves.

His guilt seeped in with every item he picked out, hoping he could one day make up for his own neglect. You shouldn’t have to care for him the way you do, tiring yourself out while picking up his slack, trying to make up for his decision to neglect himself and this house, your house. It didn’t matter to him that this was the house he lived in now, the house he could never seem to escape, nor did he care. But every time he thought of it as the place where you lived, the place you came back to over and over again, your house, your home, it broke him to pieces. With every slice of the knife, he thought about all the ways Spinner’s End had failed you since you moved in. The loud arguments from the neighbours, the stares and glares at the market, the broken pipes, the splintered wood, the small space.

Yet you always found a way to brighten up whatever situation you were in. He did love the bookshelves you’d found together, the ones that now lined every wall in the sitting room, waiting to be filled with as many books as they could take. He loved the taste of the tea you picked out, the smell of the candles you insisted on buying and pictures you made him take of the two of you, scattered all over the house. Those pictures were the only thing that kept him together while you were gone, the only reason he came back here when he knew you wouldn’t be there to greet him.

He put the dish in the oven and sat back, looking up at the window where you’d hung the photo taken on his last birthday. His eyes full of nothing but happiness in that moment, never leaving you as you placed a small cake in front of him, singing happy birthday. He would always treasure that moment, the feeling of being loved, celebrated and appreciated. But most of all, he treasured the idea of sharing such a memory with you over and over again as the years went by, as you grew old together and continued building your life. Maybe one day you’d make enough memories to fill this house, enough to cover up the darkness that stained every corner of this house from all those years living with his parents.

Taking the dish out of the oven, he reached for the plates he never touched unless sharing a meal with you, the plates you’d bought together along with the silverware. Turning on the kettle, he took out two teacups, and their saucers. He began to set the little table in the kitchen, happy there were two of everything. He smiled at the beauty of the pieces you’d both worked for, hoping one day the whole house would make him feel this happy. When the kettle began to whistle, he turned off the stove, poured the tea and carefully cared them to complete the table.

“So,” Severus turned around, his smile widening when he saw you walking towards him. “I woke up and there was this giant cape draped over me.”

You gestured to the black fabric tossed over your shoulders, dragging on the floor as you walked. It felt like you hadn’t seen him in forever, these last few months the hardest of your travels, knowing it would be the last for this year, that you’d have a lot more time with Severus this time. You were so excited to see him, you could hardly pay attention during your last game. All you could think about was coming home, seeing him and celebrating the end of your season and his studies. Two full years had gone by since the beginning of your life after Hogwarts. You were so used to life with Severus on Spinner’s End, playing Quidditch with your team and travelling all over the world that it felt like decades had gone by and yet, at times, it felt like no time had passed at all.

“It’s a cloak, not a cape,” Severus smiled as he walked towards you, meeting you halfway. He felt his heart warm with relief at the sight of you, his tense muscles completely relaxing like every worry, every problem he ever had had just melted away. Your lips formed the most beautiful smile, your eyes sparkling much brighter than the last time he saw you. Slowly, he pushed aside his cloak and slipped his hand along your waist, pressing you into him. You through your arms over his shoulders in response, your smile stretching from ear to ear as you stared back at him. You could hardly contain the happiness you felt, your heart pounding so hard you thought it might explode.

He wanted nothing more than to look into your eyes for the rest of his life, but his body gravitated towards you, his arms completely wrapped around you, pulling you into him as much as he could. His grip had never been so strong, his face completely buried in his own cloak as he hugged you.

“Severus,” you said, trying to get him to loosen his grip. He only mumbled in response, his hold on you never once faltering. You could never dream of someone loving you this much, and at certain times, that’s what your life felt like: a dream. You we’re apart more often than you were together since he started his Mastery, but the days you had together made up for every second of that. It was always like this, neither of you unable to keep your hands off each other. Nothing but happy memories were created when you were together, even if it was as simple as silently reading in bed or cuddling to the fire, your hearts filled to the brim with love for one another. “Sev, as much as I miss and love you, I do need to breathe.”

Severus immediately loosened his grip, realizing just how tight his hold on you was. He couldn’t help himself. There wasn’t a single moment in his life since he met you that he needed you more than he did now. You were the only reason he’d made it this far in his Mastery without turning to darker means of solving his problems. Instead, he bit his tongue, let your voice, your light guide him to complete his studies the right way and it meant the world to him that you’d be here when it was all over.

“I’m sorry. I just missed you so much.” He smiled at you as he held you, his hands refusing to let go of your waist, your warm hands a missed comfort laying on his chest. He could stay standing here for the rest of his life just to stay near you, happily dying in this very spot in this horrendous house so long as you were with him. But alas, Death would never be so kind as to give him such a gift and he would never bear it if Death claimed you along with him. Severus looked over at the set table, looking forward to finally sharing a meal with you, to share a bed with you again after so long. Reaching to the cloak you’d fastened around your neck, his hands went to relieve it from your shoulder when he felt a sharp sting from your own hand swatting him away.

“And what, may I ask, do you think you’re doing?” you asked as you took a step back and gripped the cape protectively. You pressed your lips together trying to contain your smile. You loved teasing him, something you’d begun to do more and more of these last two years.

“Taking back my cloak, as I assumed you didn’t want it by your complaints,” Severus rose a brow at you, wondering what it was that gave you such a need to act like he’d tried to take away your broomstick.

“I was not complaining,” you countered, letting your hands slide down the fabric. You loved this new piece of clothing he’d bought for himself. You’d told him before you left in September, he needed to find himself a winter coat, but you never imagined him coming home with something as dramatic as this. Only a few months of owning it and it already smelled like him, a delightful smell to wake up to, something you missed more than anything. “And no, I like your cape, I think I’ll keep it for a while.”

“It’s not a cape,” Severus corrected you once again, knowing full well you only continued misnaming it because you knew it bothered him. A cape. What a ridiculous notion. Why in Merlin’s name would he wear a cape like some sort of Muggle child. He turned around and took a seat at the table, hoping his action would derail you from your never-ending mission of irritating him.

“Really? Does it not billow behind you when you walk? Does it not drape over your shoulders when you wear it?” You spoke dramatically, gesturing the motions of the cape with your hands, your chin raised with the pride you knew he felt when he wore his cape. You hadn’t seen him wear it, yet you knew it suited him well. You always knew hidden behind that silent boy at Hogwarts was a dramatic man ready to save the world with his gifts, you just never thought he’d express it so boldly.

“A cloak does both of those things.” Severus rolled his eyes at your absurd argument and crossed his legs. He missed this. It was a stupid thing to miss, he knew that. Bickering wasn’t exactly something any couple strived to achieve, but he loved your little back and forth conversations about things that didn’t matter. He loved hearing your voice, seeing the passion in your eyes. He loved any conversation he had with you and he didn’t care what subject matter you discussed nor did he care who was right. He just wanted to be with you, to talk with you, to destress through you.

You smiled at him before looking down at the set table, realizing he must be starving, knowing he hadn’t eaten a thing all day. The topic of his eating habits was one you knew would never end and it annoyed you more than anything. Every time you saw him, you begged him to eat something, to care for himself and bring some food with him to the potion-mixing room, to at the very least eat breakfast before leaving. But every time you returned, you were disappointed to see he’d continued to neglect his food, getting skinnier with each visit. You worried for him, for his health and his wellbeing. But now that he was about to graduate, you hoped things would be different, that you’d be around more to help him regain himself again.

“I made your favourite,” Severus said, noticing your eyes fixed on the dish in the center of the table. He felt his heart flutter when he saw you smile, your eyes sparkling with joy as you quickly took your seat. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a proper meal, though it was likely the last time he’d seen you. He hated eating at this table alone, memories of his father walking into the kitchen and interrupting his breakfast to tell him he took up too much space always came flashing back when he sat here alone. But with you, things were different. He didn’t think about that past, he thought of the future and the countless meals you’d share together, the celebrations you’d have together.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you said with a soft smile, knowing very well he only did this to pamper you. You didn’t think it was possible, but you thought he somehow was able to miss you more than you did him. He always went out of his way the first week you came back, constantly neglecting his studies, trying to make the most of every second you had together like it was the last you’d ever share. You were always trying to tell him to slow down, to focus on his studies, that you’d have the rest of your lives together, but you always failed to convince him.

“It was the least I could do after neglecting this house all these months.” This always happened. You came home, he felt guilty, he promised himself he would do better, and the cycle continued. Perhaps this time would be different. Perhaps this time his mind would be fully with you, he’d enjoy baking cookies with you during Christmas, enjoy opening your gifts, enjoy cuddling by the fire with hot cocoa. He wanted so badly to enjoy every bit of those moments with you, but his mind always wondered elsewhere. Not today, not this time.

“I know you’ve been busy with your studies Sev. I’m sure the house understands,” you tried to reassure him as you served him first, putting a reasonable amount of food on his plate, knowing he’d complain about the portion size. You put an equal amount on your plate and began to eat, making sure Severus did the same. “Speaking of, how are things going with your Mastery?”

“Slow. I thought I’d be done by now.”

“You’re graduating a year early! You’ll be finished your studies sooner than anyone else and you think it’s been slow?” Always so ambitious and you loved him for that. But sometimes you worried his ambition got the better of him. He undermined his achievements more often than he celebrated them, which was why you were going to make sure he celebrated properly once he received his degree.

“I’d be finished by now if that toad of a man left me be instead of trying to hover over me to take credit for everything I do,” Severus scoffed in irritation, his grip on his cutlery tightening. He hated his supervisor. And to think he was at one point honoured that he’d accepted him into his program, that he was one of the few in the World that got to study under such a man. Now he knew why he accepted so few candidates, why all the candidates had the highest marks. He was a fraud, cheating and lying his way to the top. “I’ve been memorizing my results every day, writing them down when I got home and keeping them here to prevent any thievery which has slowed down my work drastically.”

“Severus, that’s a bit extreme,” you argued, worrying for him over what he was saying. You knew that he was struggling, that he’d come to know he wasn’t learning from a Potion’s Master at all but a thief, claiming the work of his apprentices in exchange for funding. But you didn’t think Severus would fight back so hard. Your concern for his career grew. You didn’t want it ending before it even began, knowing how much power his supervisor had in the Potion’s community.

“What else am I to do? I can’t let him take credit for the work I’ve done.”

“I can’t wait for you to get out of there. I hate how horrible he is to you.”

Severus hated burdening his troubles on you. But it felt good. It felt good to have someone on his side, to support him when everyone else was against him.

“Just a few more weeks,” he whispered as he took another bite of food. Time couldn’t go fast enough. He wanted it to be over, to be free so he could go on and show the Wizarding World what real skill looked like, but for now, he would have to try and live through your victories instead. “How was your final game?”

“Oh, we lost. It was no surprise though with our best keeper out of commission, there was only so much we could do,” you said with a smile. You couldn’t care less what the outcome of the game was. You were just happy the season had ended. You loved your team and you loved playing Quidditch, but you grew tired of it and your body ached for a break from the constant training.

“You don’t seem awfully upset about the loss,” Severus raised a brow. You were usually very enthusiastic about Quidditch, especially during the first year you began playing professionally. He could still remember how happy and excited you were for your first game, wanting him to be there, sitting at the top podium to watch you play. He’d never seen you so determined before. You wanted your first game to be a win and you got your wish, the work and effort you put in paying off in the end.

“Honestly, I could only think about seeing you again the entire game. I didn’t care if we won or not, I just wanted to go home.” And that was the truth. You cared much more about him than you did anything else in the world, and that included Quidditch. You could tell he’d been struggling through the few letters he’d sent you, that he’d been unhappy alone in this house, alone at the potion-mixing room. The moment you felt his pain through his writing, you wanted to drop everything and return to him. Owls weren’t fast enough and words could never express how you felt. You needed to see him, to be there for him and help him out of the misery he found himself in.

You finished up the last of your food and picked up your teacup to finish up your tea. You looked down at Severus’ plate and as expected, saw he’d only finished half of what you’d served him. You both had a lot of work ahead of you and it had to start with self-care. Severus needed to learn to put himself before his studies, before anything, before you. You only wish it would be as simple as flipping a switch. At least he’d eaten something, which was likely an improvement on his current eating habits. Half a meal was a start you could work with.

“Thank you for cooking Sev. It was delicious,” you said.

Severus sat back in his seat and smiled, delighting you enjoyed the meal as much as he did. You’d barely been reunited an hour and already he felt like the happiest man alive. He couldn’t begin to imagine what his life would be like right now without you, how he’d be in a constant state of sadness and frustration. At least he could do this for you to make up for the fact that you spent your days off supporting and comforting him. Severus stood and reached for your empty plate, intending on clearing the table but you stopped him before he could pick up a single item.

“No, let me do that.” You quickly shooed away his hand and grabbed your plate along with his. “You’ve had a long day and you haven’t gotten a chance to rest.”

You placed your empty dish in the sink and his on the counter, waiting to be put away and turned back towards him. You smiled at him as you removed his cape and immediately began to miss his scent constantly surrounding you. He looked so tired, it was a wonder he was able to stay awake enough to make and eat dinner. “Run a bath and I’ll meet you upstairs?”

Severus nodded and took his cloak back before you leaned in to give him a quick kiss. He watched you pull out your wand to clear the rest of the table before he made his way out of the kitchen, unable to help himself from looking back at you. He loved seeing you in this house. He’d completely forgotten this was his childhood house when he saw you so comfortable in it. With you here, it was just a place he shared with the person he loved, a home you were building together. You made it all worth it, the sadness he felt coming home to an empty house when you weren’t here, the stress he felt during his studies, the loneliness he endured every night. It was all worth it just to have a few moments like this with you.

With a deep sigh, he tore his eyes away from you and made his way up the stairs. He walked to the bathroom and turned on the faucet to fill up the tub, adjusting it to your preferred temperature. He rummaged through the cupboards and added some bath salts and oils, putting aside the last few rose petals you had left, knowing you’d scold him for using them up, saying he should have saved them for a special occasion. But this was a special occasion to him. What could be more special than the love of his life returning home after being away for so long? Absolutely nothing.

While the tub filled up, he walked across the hall and opened his parents’ room. He always kept this room closed and for the first year and a half, no one ever went near this room. You respected that he wasn’t ready to move in here despite the fact that it was larger than his room and he loved you even more for it. Slowly, he walked to the edge of the bed, sitting down on his mother’s side. He reached over to the nightstand and opened it, reaching in to grab the small pouch he’d hidden in here the first day you’d moved in together. He emptied the pouch into his and stared down intently at its contents.

He’d been coming in here a lot lately, especially when you weren’t here. He missed you beyond belief these last few months, his heart breaking every night when he went to bed alone. He was almost ashamed to say he cried most nights. He had nothing to look forward to when you weren’t here with him and surprisingly, he found comfort sitting in this room. He imagined himself moving into this room with you, surprising you one day when you came home to a larger room, a larger bed, a nightstand of your own, a secondary bathroom with a bigger tub, a big window letting in the sun when you woke up in the morning next to one another.

He dreamed of a day where you both pledged to spend the rest of your lives together, a day where he’d take out the ring he held in his hand and ask you to marry him. Marriage was never something he thought he would consider with how horrible a marriage his parents had. But when his mother sent him her family ring, the Prince family ring, he knew Fate was on his side. He knew he would ask you eventually, he knew that you were meant to be the day he realized you loved him just as much as he did you. But time fought against him. Excuses after excuses. He could never find the right time to propose, you were too busy, he was busy, he couldn’t find the perfect location, the weather wasn’t right. He wanted it to be perfect, to be the best day of both your lives but he couldn’t figure out how to achieve that just yet. For now, he put the ring back into the nightstand and closed the door, hiding away his dreams to be shared another day.

~

Next Chapter

~

[sugako]

c+k: kuroo

kuroo x f!reader

cw: 18+ minors dni, nsfw, smut, established relationship, dom!kuroo, dumbification, eating/drinking, light nipple play, size kink, slight breeding kink (??if you squint), sorta bratty reader (for like a second), thigh riding, l-bombs

wc: 1.5k

a/n: ahhh very sorry this is late for confessions + kisses....finally we’re back where i’m most comfy writing - smut!! 

You jumped up from the couch when you heard the front door slam open and his loud voice ring through the house. 

“I’m home!!!” With giddy steps, you sprung to the entryway and threw your arms around his shoulders as best you could with all the bags in his hands. He got in a quick peck against your lips while he toed off his shoes before rushing with you to bring the food to the small table. 

Kuroo and you could hardly get a day off from work and Valentine’s Day was certainly no exception. It didn’t matter much, you thought. You got to spend every morning and evening with him in your shared apartment. He set the takeout on the table, throwing the other bags behind him before he sat. You sat across from him and began unwrapping your meal. Of course, he had gotten take-out from his and your favorite restaurant. It was too expensive to go to regularly, but special occasions like this were worth it. 

He was already swallowing down his fancy grilled fish before you got the chance to start on your dish. You motioned behind him, about to take a bite. 

“What’s that?” You asked with a small smirk. 

He gulped down a splash of the cheap beer he also brought back before he spoke. 

"You can find out later." He answered simply before shoveling more food into his mouth. Rolling your eyes, you did the same, both eating quietly until you were finished. 

He turned to pick up the bags, but before he could hand them over, you jumped up. 

"Wait!" You yelled, moving down the hallway. "Let me get something first!" In the bedroom, you picked up a large, awkwardly wrapped bag and a smaller square box. You nearly tripped over the floorboards as you crashed into the couch beside Kuroo, who was cradling his presents for you. 

He pushed them into your arms the minute you set his gifts down, and you both went at tearing off the paper. His soft gasp made you look up just as you had revealed the soft pink ear of a plush from him.

“I love you,” he said quietly, clutching the large bag of chalky candy hearts. You rolled your eyes and unwrapped the bear the rest of the way. 

“That’s not even your real present, you dork.” You scoffed, starting in on the second package. The sweets box wasn’t even wrapped, you assumed he had gotten it on his way home, but you appreciated it all the same. He finally unwrapped his real present, a nice watch he had just mentioned he wanted not too long ago. You had to be quick with gift-buying for Kuroo, if you waited too long he would just buy it himself. 

This time his expression grew serene and he looked up at you with a genuine smile. “Thank you, I really do love you.” 

“I love you too, Tetsu.” You replied, removing the last of the tape from the final present from him. It was a small flat black box and your heart fluttered at what could be inside. He watched you with bated breath as you carefully pulled the top off. 

Inside was a petite chain neatly wrapped behind the padding, holding a tiny, round glittering diamond just above a teardrop garnet. 

“Tetsu… thank you, I… it’s really beautiful.” You sputter out. He pulls you to straddle his lap and holds out a hand. 

“Let me see it on.” He says softly. Nodding, you hand over the jewelry and lean into him so he can clasp it behind your neck. You trail sweet, little kisses up his neck, just barely grinding into him before he takes his hands away and holds your hips down. “Already, baby?” He chuckles into your ear, fingertips ghosting under your shirt. “Someone’s needy tonight.” 

“Missed you today,” you pant, basically grinding against his thigh now, “Want you.” 

“Really?” He smirked. “What do you want?” Not waiting for a response, he tore off your shirt and pants, leaving you nearly exposed in the skimpy panties and bralette you had decided to wear tonight. “Gotta tell me what you want to get it, baby.” His hands trailed up and down your waist, kneading at soft flesh. He watches how the gem settles against your skin beautifully. 

“Want… uhh, want your cock.” You finally choke out. He’s pushing his thigh harder and harder against your clothed slit, flexing his muscle every now and then. You can feel that you’re drooling out already probably staining his black pants. 

“What about it? Where? How?” He keeps going, slowly pulling the bra off and attaching his mouth to your hardened bud, his long fingers playing with your other breast. 

“I don’t…” You gasp as your clit hits just right between the fabric of your panties and his leg. “I don’t know.” 

“C’mon, baby, just tell me. You can’t be that dumb already, haven’t even seen my cock. And I’ve barely even touched these pretty tits.” He coos against your shoulder. When you glance down you can see the outline of his large cock pressing against the slick fabric of his pants. It only makes you rut into him faster. 

“I just, I don’t know.” You whine again, but he tsks at the answer. 

“Wanna cum on my leg? Huh? Can’t let you if you don’t know the answer.” One of his hands leaves your body to quickly unfasten his belt and unbutton his pants, pulling them down just enough to let his hardened length spring out. Your tongue lolls out at the sight on instinct, mouth watering at his pretty, purple cockhead. “Well, if my dumb, little baby doesn’t know then I’ll have to decide for you. How about that?” 

“Ah, uh-huh,” you moan out, nodding quickly when he hooks his fingers into the band of your underwear and easily rips at the flimsy fabric. A small whimper escapes your lips as he tosses the ruined material to the side and sits your lips right on top of his cock. 

“Good girl,” he groans, “Sit up, c’mon.” He helps you lift your hips to the tall height it takes for him to line his cock up with your entrance. Your thighs shake as the thick head slips in. “So tight, baby, and so wet. All for me?” He moans when your shaking hips fall about an inch down and you cry out. 

“Y-yeah, all for you! Only for you!” 

The stretch aches between your legs and you’re not even close to his lap. His long cock hook up into you, the sheer length and girth sending you into a spiral. One of his big hands is tightly wrapped around your hip, helping you up or pushing you down, you can’t tell, while the other starts drawing tight circles against your clit. 

“T-tetsu, gonna cum if you…” The rest of the words fall off your sentence.

“Shhh, I know, baby, I know.” He forces you down another few inches to his thick mid-section. Your cunt clamps around him at the sensation and he has to force himself from fucking up into you right then. The extra lengths and burn from the increased thickness sends you over the edge of your spiral and you explode around him. He can’t stop you when your hips fall and you bottom out around him, shaking and jerking all while holding him close. “That’s it, come on.” He breaths, shallowly rutting against you as your pulsing hole kept him firmly in place. 

Just as your breathing starts to even out and the spasms slow, he grabs both your hips and thrusts up, deep and hard inside of you. His pace is ruthless as he chases his own release. 

You missed him, and his cock, for good reason. Besides barely seeing him over the past few days, you hadn’t slept with each other in nearly a week. Not that he would tell you, but he hadn’t even touched himself in the last week from a combination of exhaustion and wanting to hold back just for you. 

So now, just a few minutes into fucking your dripping, tight hole, he knew he was almost finished. Part of him felt a little embarrassed, but that was quickly washed away when he glanced up at the fucked out look on your face. He buried his nose in your chest, moaning into the soft flesh of your breasts as he pulled you down into him as deep as he could go and shot himself inside of you. 

Little moans and cries from both of you fluttered around in the air while you caught your breath. His length twitched inside of you, and you lazily ground into him, milking him for all he could give you. 

For a long moment, you held each other in silence. His eyes flit down to the necklace again when you pull away and then back to your eyes. You go to say something nice, tell him how much you love him, anything, but some deeper part of you sneaks out instead. 

“That wasn’t very long.” You say simply. His soft, loving expression vanishes with slightly bewildered eyes and tight-knit brows. 

“Excuse me?” He says quietly. It’s not a question. One of his hands holds your face, squishing your cheeks together, and pulling you so your nose is nearly touching his. “You can just ask if you want to be punished, no need to be a brat. But since you want something to last, let’s see you last, baby.” 

[softyoongiionly]

Portraits of a Tiger || 04

Legends of a great and equally terrifying warrior nicknamed the Tiger have been emerging from your fellow villagers for quite sometime. Stories of his skill, his stealth and his supposed wickedness have been passed around to the point where he is more prophecy than person. You have lived your life with a strong sense of conviction, rarely letting gossip influence your opinion. However, you would be lying if you said that his legacy didn’t intrigue you. When the Tiger and his infamous army arrive in your village to refuel, you come face to face with the man behind the myth.

And no amount of marketplace gossip would ever be enough to capture the true complexity of his nature.

Pairing: Merchant! Reader x Warrior! Yoongi

Genre: Adventure, Romance, Smut (later), Fluff, Angst

Word Count: 8k

Warnings: language, depictions of violence both verbal and physical however they are fairly mild, mentions of war and power dynamics, there will be smut in future parts so, (18+ only please).

A/N: ahhh yes romance is in the air lads. I hope you like this new part!!! I’m having so much fun writing this series for you guys :) LOVE YOUUUUU

As always, a HUGE shoutout to my beautiful friend Rachel @bulletproofbirdy​ for her assistance with this fic. I love you sm and I hope you especially like what I’ve done with the place >:)

It’s been a few days.

Nothing of substance has happened since the night you kissed Yoongi by the river other than a clear shift in your relationship with him.  

He doesn’t treat you differently in front of the patrons at the market nor does he spare more than a glance your way when you’re delivering bread.

But every night, without fail: you meet by the river.

You speak about things that seem too heavy for the daylight: war, peace, hope, loss...

He listens to your thoughts and offers many of his own but the night always ends with his lips on yours.  

His hands moving across your body as if he’s trying to learn every inch of you.

Whilst you’d happily have him against a tree or down on the mushy floor of the riverbed, Yoongi always stops things before they go to far.

He whispers promises of a night without boundaries in a place you both can call your own.

He tells you that when the time is right, he will give you everything you deserve and more.  

You agree with him despite the desire that rages in your body.

You know it’s best to wait until things are more concrete between the two of you.  

So you part ways every time and spend the rest of the night longing for one another until sleep finally offers you momentary peace.

Until the dreams begin...

Today however, you are concerned with someone else’s dreams.

Namely, your dear friend, your original confident, the smartest gal in the world: Rachel.

After your first rendezvous with Yoongi, you had rushed over to her home and spent the better half of the night gushing about the kiss.

Of course, she had been over the moon for you and the two of you had jumped around her living room like a bunch of excited schoolgirls.  

However, towards the end of the conversation, particularly when Jungkook’s name was brought up she had grown slightly somber.

Although their interaction had been brief, the chemistry was palpable and as much you had faith in your friend’s abilities, you didn’t foresee her making a move on him.  

So- you have decided to take matters into your own hands.  

With a basket full of fresh bread, you walk down the dirt path towards their camp to begin the initial phase of your plan.  

It was unlike the members to be absent from the fields surrounding their tents but, you presume it’s because training had concluded for the day.

You expected to see Namjoon out on their bench cribbling in his journal but, there is no one to be found.

There is a bit of anxiety that comes over you as thoughts creep in of the day that this area truly is abandoned.

The day Yoongi and his battalion move on.

Deep in your gut, dread begins to grow but you force yourself to take a deep breath and focus on the objective at hand.  

You tug the bell to signal your arrival expecting Seokjin’s boisterous presence to greet you but, instead you hear a bit of shuffling before a hand slips out between the cloth to tug open the entrance.

Immediately, your heart ignites in a fit within your chest at the sight before you.

Yoongi stands there, body completely rid of his normal attire, with only a pair of tight-fitting long johns adorning his figure.

His hair is out of his usual updo and pushed away from his face, long platinum tendrils cascading down his strong chest.

“Oh- hi...” You cough as the tone of your voice is audibly strained.

He smirks, his eyes lighting up as he sees you, “Good evening. Delivery?”

A jagged nod comes from you as you extend the basket towards him, “Yes. Here you go, I added some-”

Yoongi’s lips are on yours then, interrupting your sentence, one of his hands taking the basket whilst his other hand settles on your cheek.

As usual, his lips eliminate any thought in your head unrelated to him, your body going slightly limp beneath his touch.

He lingers for a moment before pulling away, his brown eyes sparkling with satisfaction.  

“This color is beautiful on you.” He murmurs nodding to your dress and pecking your lips once more, “did you make this?”

You smile, licking the taste of him off your lips, “Thank you. My mom made it for me last spring.”

He grins, “She’s very talented.” He lifts the basket, “This is a wonderful thing to wake up to, my men are going to destroy it.”

You giggle, raising your brows, “Late night?”

“Very. We were out until sunrise.” He explains, “Much of our training is nocturnal and the forests around here allowed us to teach the new recruits some important skills; we all slept a little later than I anticipated...” He chuckles sheepishly, glancing behind him before his eyes fall upon you once more, “It’s nice seeing you in the daylight.”

You giggle, “Is it? That’s a relief, I feared that maybe the moonlight and the beauty of the river was what kept you coming back every night...”

Yoongi’s lips twitch as he adjusts the basket on his arm, “I think you know very well what keeps me coming back.”

Before you can offer another flirtatious quip, a ball of fluffy black hair shoves its way through the opening of the tent.  

It’s Jungkook and he looks as though he hasn’t been awake for more than 30 seconds.

“Hyung- is the bread...” He mumbles sleepily before his eyes widen as they spot you, “Oh- I’m sorry...” He bows his head, “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Good uh...” He squints up at the sky, his lips pouted slightly, “Good evening Y/N.”

You bow your head, offering a smile, “Good evening. You didn’t interrupt at all, I was actually looking to speak with you when you have time. I know you’ve just woken up so, I can come back later...”

Jungkook’s cheeks heat up involuntarily as he steps behind Yoongi a little more, “Alone?”

Yoongi eyes you curiously, “What do you want with the boy?”

He chuckles at his younger brother who looks both intrigued and frightened all at once.

“We don't have to be alone.” You assure him, a bit of laughter leaving your lips, “It’s about my friend-”

“Rachel?” He assumes, wide-eyed, “Is she ok?”

You smirk knowingly, “She is. I was actually going to inquire whether or not you were interested in her but, I think I have my answer.”

“Ah- “ Yoongi interjects, looking at you pointedly, “You’re here to play matchmaker for my little brother?” He looks amused, his deep gaze boring into your own as he speaks again, “Don’t you have your hands full with another endeavor?”

The depth in his tone sends a bit of electricity up your spine and, you’re thankful that Jungkook doesn’t pick up on the bit of suggestion in his voice.  

He’s hung up on your reply and aching to know more.

So timidly he says, “Is she- maybe...interested in me?”

Averting your gaze away from Yoongi, you nod towards Jungkook, “I have a feeling she’s more than interested. However, she is incredibly stubborn and refuses to acknowledge the way you look at her. So naturally-” You gesture to yourself fluidly, “I decided to come here and ask you myself.”

“Naturally.” Yoongi agrees, his lips twitching, “Well, I don’t want to intrude on your plan so-”

As he tries to retreat back into the tent, you stop him with a raised hand, “Actually. I need your help after I speak with Jungkook so, don’t go far.”

Yoongi chuckles, shaking his head, “You’re aware that I oversee a battalion of 20,000 men, correct?”

With a shrug, you gesture for Jungkook to come closer before throwing an incredulous look Yoongi’s way, “Romance waits for no one...”

“Neither does war.” He retorts with a smirk.

"In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity.” You remind him, quoting a famous war strategist, “It won’t take long anyhow, plenty of time to return to your post, General.”

Jungkook, who has been zoning out for the last minute or so raises his brows at your tone, his lips parting in curiosity and glancing towards Yoongi.  

He doesn’t hear people quarrel with Yoongi often, even if they are joking so, hearing you speak so candidly to him causes him to wonder just how close the two of you have gotten.

If Yoongi is impressed by your knowledge, he doesn’t show it. But what he does do is raise his brows whilst his teeth secure themselves to his bottom lip.

“Make it quick.” He insists sharply despite the excitement dancing through his gaze.

Before you have the opportunity to respond, he disappears behind the curtain, leaving you alone with Jungkook.

“Hyung must really like you...” He observes softly, pursing his lips, “He isn’t the type to joke around with new people.”

Stifling a smirk, you shrug and gesture to the bench in front of their tent, “That’s a shame. Your hyung has quite the sense of humor. Now- I know you don’t have a lot of time, so I’ll make this quick.” You begin as the two of you sit, “Normally I’d like to approach a situation like this with a bit more class but to be frank, you won’t be in town long and after the way I saw you looking at Rachel, I don’t think you’ll mind my intervention.”

Jungkook blushes, his fingers coming up to tuck a piece of hair behind his ear, “Ke-Keep your voice down, I don’t want my hyungs to hear about this...” He pleads, “They’ll tease me relentlessly.”

You allow yourself the grin now, admiring how shy he is but you concede not wanting to embarrass him.

“Do you not want them to know you’re courting someone?”

He shakes his head, “No I just don’t want them to know until I speak with her first. I know you say she’s interested but- I'd still like to hear it from her.  My hyungs will pester me about it constantly and if she ends up rejecting me, I don’t really want to be reminded about it.”

“I understand.” You concede, “I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I’m sure I’ve never seen her behave this way around a man before. It’s unlikely she will reject you...”

“Still-” He insists, the color on his cheeks deepening, “it's possible. I never assume people’s opinions of me.”

It’s very odd, you think, here is this fine specimen before you: handsome, experienced, talented, respected and yet- he doesn’t seem to see himself that way.

Sounds a lot like someone else you know...

“That’s probably best.” You smile, warming up to him rather quickly, “You are interested in her though, aren’t you?”

He bites his bottom lip in thought before nodding, a bit of shyness in his eyes, “I am yes. Though I’m not totally sure how you figured it out based on our limited interaction. I’ve only spoken to her once- and I made a fool of myself.”

You giggle, “Yes but, you saw her for the first time in the plaza, didn’t you? She stopped you right in your tracks.”

His toffee orbs widen, “How did you-?"

A smirk comes over your mouth as you once again shrug at his question, “My job requires me to be very observant.” You reply, “People often say more with their movements than their words.”

“Hey!” He grins, showing off his perfect teeth, “I think that too! Well- that's something Yoongi-hyung taught me. I’m trying to get better at it but, I find it harder to observe people I don’t know. Strangers make me nervous...”

His sudden warmth makes you happy as you didn’t really expect him to be this bubbly but, you’re happy he’s comfortable with you given your intentions behind this conversation.  

If he’s courting your friend, he’s courting you too.

“You could have fooled me.” You retort, “I saw the way you handled the clan leader...when I came by your tent, I was anticipating on meeting someone very different.”

Jungkook chuckles, “I get that a lot. I rarely live up to people’s expectations of me- I think that’s one of my strong suits. Aside from my brute strength obviously.”  

“Yes of course, we mustn't forget about that...” You concede, laughing lightly along with him, “So back to Rachel then- you plan on courting her yes?”

He shifts on the bench, his tan fingers coming up to adjust his peasant blouse, shyness returning to his features, “I would love to. She-” He pauses, looking away from you, his eyes deepening in thought, “Aish...she really is something isn't she?”

At his question, you smirk and allow warmth to fill your chest, “Now where have I heard that before.” You muse allowed, “I could facilitate a meeting between the two of you? Although- I will likely have to tell a teensy white lie because, if I warn her that you wish to meet with her- she would probably combust on the spot. Also, I doubt she would believe me...”

He smirks fondly, nibbling on the inside of his cheek before his brows furrow, “Why wouldn’t she believe you? She must know how desirable she is right?”  

“Certainly not. She has no idea. Which is why I finally decided to take matters into my own hands.” You explain, propping your chin on the palm of your hand, “Rachel is a brilliant woman. She could easily run a small country if the opportunity was presented to her but, she has no concept of how wonderful she is.”

Jungkook pouts his lips, “I was certain she knew. How could someone that beautiful not understand their own beauty?”

You raise your brows, “Do you recognize yourself as desirable?”

He snickers, “Don’t be silly. I might be a suitable partner because of my status as a warrior but, I don’t think there is much else I have to offer. That’s what has me so worried...what if you’re wrong about her desire for me?”

With an incredulous look, you shake your head in disbelief, “The two of you amaze me. You’re so brilliant and yet- so foolish at the same time. I assure you; you have plenty to offer. The women in this village nearly faint every time you pass- quite frankly, you are incredibly handsome with an unusual amount of talent and-”

Jungkook is smirking, pleased with your response as he interrupts you, “I thought you were interested in my hyung Y/N-” He teases and snickers as you roll your eyes.

“That is neither here nor there.” You insist, “The point is, the courtship is worth pursuing because I believe it will go well. So I came here to suggest a plan...”

“What is your plan dear matchmaker?” He chuckles, folding his hands and resting them on the table.

“My plannnn is-” You draw out the word before leaning in closely and divulging your ideas.

You are elated when he agrees and feel slightly giddy at the thought of your dear friend meeting up with the potential love of her life.

Romance certainly is in the air.  

The plan is set in motion after a few more moments of talking and the conversation ends with Jungkook eagerly rushing back to his tent to prepare.

Feeling satisfied with your healthy dose of meddling, you brush your dress off and start towards the exit of the camp.  

However, the deep voice of your suitor stops you in your tracks, sending butterflies directly into your stomach.

“Leaving without a goodbye?” Yoongi calls softly, departing from his tent.

You turn with a smile on your face to see him fully dressed in his training attire: fitted black pants and a matching tunic, his sword strapped faithfully to his hip.

“I figured I caused enough havoc amongst your battalion today. Besides, I wasn’t sure if you’d be dressed and I didn’t want to disturb you.” You explain, your hands sliding down to play with the fabric of your dress.

“If havoc is putting a ridiculous smile on my brothers face than please feel free to wreak havoc anytime you wish. I have dreaded the day where I’d have to convince him to go after his potential partner and you’ve gone and lifted that responsibility from me.” He explains, stepping towards you a bit more “He says his meeting with her tomorrow evening?”

“If all goes well.” You reply, your face heating up in light of his presence, “My plans usually play out successfully.”

“I have no doubts about that.” He chuckles, his feline gaze glancing behind you momentarily before returning back to your face, “Will I be seeing you tonight?”

Pretending to toy with the idea, you narrow your eyes and place a finger on your chin, “I suppose its possible, if you aren’t too busy with your duties here...”

“My duties?” He places a hand on his chest, stepping closer to you once again, “If anyone were to be tied up with their duties, I imagine it would be you. Being a full-time apothecary is enough but, now you’ve gone and taken up matchmaking as well.” Yoongi’s eyes glint as he stares at you, “You never have to concern yourself with whether or not I’ll have time for you...”

You resist the urge to throw yourself at him, frustrated by the effect he has on you.

“Then I suppose you will see me then.”

He grins, “Good.”

For a few seconds, the two of you stew in silence before the need to kiss him becomes too much to bear and you take the steps necessary to wrap your arms behind his neck and place your lips against him.

You can hear his sharp intake of breath as you do, his hands securing themselves at the base of your back.  

The movements of the kiss escalate quickly, and you find yourself forgetting that you’re stood in the middle of a military camp, where anyone could walk out and see you both canoodling in the courtyard.

Yoongi seems to realize this too as he pulls away with heavy breath and hesitation all over his face.

“My my my...” He murmurs, shaking his head, “You really have no regard for my well-being do you?”

His light scolding causes you to giggle which in turn breaks the disapproving expression on his face.

“I’m trying to improve your well-being actually.” You insist, your fingers toying with the tendrils of hair at the back of his head, a dreamy smile on your mouth.

He raises his brows, “Oh? How do you figure that?”

Before you can reply, the rustling coming from behind Yoongi pulls you out of your conversation.

The rest of his battalion have seemingly woken up and are beginning to flock to the courtyard in preparation for their training.  

Glancing behind him, Yoongi sighs before turning back to you reluctantly, “Tonight?”

You offer him a smile and step back out of his grip, “Tonight.”

He takes your hand and brings it to his lips, placing a kiss on the back of it before heading off to his men.

Tonight now seemed a century away despite the fact that the sun was already heading off towards the horizon.  

-The next day-

Your night with Yoongi followed the similar structure that it usually does.  

Deeping meaningful conversation, playful banter, difficult questions and well, a healthy dose of unresolved lust.  

He asserts the end to your displays of affection every time, offering the same words of comfort.

You’re fine with this of course.

You’d never want him to do anything he didn’t want to do, and you’d certainly want the first time you were intimate to be special.

However, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t feeling dejected.

It’s not because Yoongi says it’s not the right time or that he doesn’t think the two of you were ready.

You respect him and his choices completely and would never attempt to coerce him beyond his initial responses but...

You are beginning to feel alone in your desire for him.  

For you, there has never been another to ignite such a powerful response within you.

You’ve never wanted anyone so badly.

It makes you feel insane and yet, here he is, so calm in his demeanor and easily able to refuse any opportunity to sate your hunger for one another.  

It’s very silly, you think, he is clearly interested in you.

He makes that very obvious.

And yet, you can’t help but feel confusion.  

He wouldn’t be in your village for much longer and soon enough you’d have to say goodbye for a length of time you’d rather not assign numerical value you to.

You wish you understood his intentions more and at the same time, you wish you were able to quell your desire for him.  

You did feel alone in that way.

Yoongi was an incredible, multi-faceted man with seemingly thousands of years’ worth of knowledge behind his eyes. He was open and yet so secretive all at once and because of that, you couldn’t understand why he behaved this way.

The two of you would intentionally rile each other up only for him to put a stop to things every time.

But it’s almost as if this was part of his plans with you all along.  

And you just couldn’t understand why.

So naturally, you end up running to the person who always keeps you grounded for advice: Rachel.

Although, after your conversation with Jungkook yesterday, you have multiple reasons for paying your friend a visit.

“He stopped things again before they went too far and-“ You sigh, looking down at her hands that secure a warm mug of tea, “I feel a little strange about it. I’m starting to feel like maybe he doesn’t desire me the way I desire him...”

Rachel is sat across from you on her sofa as she usually is, her legs tucked up on the cushion.  

She takes a sip of her tea before her brows furrow in disagreement as she shakes her head, “I sincerely doubt that. He was very, um...excited wasn’t he?”

He was, you think, and he usually is but that only adds to your confusion.

“I don’t know...” You groan, “...he says he is but- he keeps saying it’s not the right time. I’m worried I may be too lustful towards him; I’m wondering if it’s off putting.”

“He does not seem the type to play games. If he says it’s not the right time...he must have a right time in mind?” She suggests before looking at you pointedly, “And I don’t believe you are being lustful. Even if you were, what’s wrong with that”

Nothing.

Nothing is wrong with being lustful as long as you are being respectful which you can honestly say you are but, the insecurity you’re feeling is contributing to a bit of shame within you.

“I’ve never wanted anyone this way, I feel like I’m going mad. He seems so calm and collected and yet- here I am, flustered and confused. I’m used to having a handle on my emotions I guess and I wish I knew how he was able to keep himself so composed.” You ponder the end of her question, “There is nothing wrong with being lustful. I just don’t know if he feels the same if it’s so easy for him to control himself around me...”

Rachel nods along, her bright eyes listening intently before she pauses to think, “You know, you have to remember he is a ten-year veteran and the leader of the most elite military force in our country. He has so much control and discipline applied to himself in all areas, I can’t imagine he would be able to easily relinquish that control. Especially with someone he has so much affection for. I am certain it is not easy, merely well-practiced”

She has a point but then again, she usually does.  

You bite your lip, turning your attention to the fabric of the chair, picking at it, “You’re right. I suppose I’m being a little immature about this...I should just be more patient.”

It’s decided in your mind that you should move on to the other reason you came to visit her this evening: a deceitful conversation with a much happier ending.

“By the way, what are you doing this evening?”

She’s stood up now and striding over to the kitchen, rubbing your arm as she passes you, “You are not immature at all! I’m confident your general is worth the patience.” She assures you with a wink before she thinks to herself once again, “I don’t have anything in particular planned, why do you ask?”

You giggle at her wink and follow her with your eyes as she heads over to make herself another cup of tea, “I have a favor to ask you- that goes beyond our mutual agreement to keep each other sane.”

Rachel snickers and shakes her head, “I don’t know if there is much hope for our sanity but what do you need?”

You smile but it doesn’t totally reach your eyes, your mind annoyingly still occupied elsewhere, “You make a good point.” You concede before brightening your expression intentionally, “I had a customer today that inquired about the type of material the village school covers for children ages 3-5. They are considering enrolling their child this year and wanted to speak with a teacher. I was hoping you would be able to meet with them? I told them to stop by the school and speak with someone but I was hoping that someone could be you because you’re so experienced.”

Rachel brightens at the mention of a new student “Oh really? I would be happy to meet with them! At that it’s primarily playing games, reading stories and singing songs but I have a lovely little bunch of students that age already!” She cheers, clapping in front of her chest, excitedly.

Her joy is infectious, and you can’t help but grin despite your knowledge that she would certainly not be receiving a new student; you almost wish that she was though.  

“Great! Well they should be around right before sundown. I gave them your classroom number and a bit of background on you and the school.”

“Oh my goodness! That’s not far off...well I have to bring in the dried flowers for tomorrow’s art lesson anyway...oh and where did I put the new wax pencils. Did you see where I put them?” Rachel abandons her cup of tea on the counter and begins puttering around in the baskets on her kitchen table, completely distracted.  

You spot what she’s looking for and hold up set of pencils setting on the end table, “They’re right here..” You call, turning in the chair to hand them to her, “I would wear that blue dress of yours too, it’s very complimentary.” With this suggestion, you can’t help the glint in your eyes that shines through the bit of sadness still present there, “Well- thank you for your words of wisdom. I’m probably going to take a break from the river tonight, so I’ll be home if you need me for anything. I have no doubt that tonight will go wonderfully though...”

“Oh there they are!” She chirps, taking them from you before looking down at her current outfit, “I suppose I should change, I certainly look a bit of a mess...” She pauses then to look you, noticing the glimpse of sadness in your eyes. “Don’t hold yourself back from love, Y/N. Your general is certainly just as passionate about you. I would bet all the gold in the kingdom on it!”

The excitement and certainty in her tone is almost enough to pull you out of your funk but, the stubborn naysayer in your head has different plans.  

“No you don’t, you look wonderful! I just love the blue one on you.” You insist, before crossing your arms and slumping back against the chair, “I am not holding back, I’m just- trying to be reasonable I suppose. His passion is clearly controlled, and I guess I should work on controlling mine as well...” You explain matter of factly with a pout on your lips.

Rachel matches your pose as she steps around the chair to look directly at you, unconvinced, “Mmhmm. Perfectly reasonable.” She drawls sarcastically before chuckling when you attempt to kick your foot at her.  

“I am!” You assert, trying to hold back a smile, “I’m just some silly little girl fawning over the man of my dreams while he gets to CALMLY walk away like us canoodling against a tree doesn’t affect him- and I feel foolish for desiring him so much when he’s able to do so.”

Rachel lets out a cackle your display of frustration. “You are NOT a silly little girl. A silly grown woman? Maybe," She giggles, “but I am CERTAIN he wouldn’t have to address this “right time” so often if he didn’t desire you. Do what makes you feel powerful! But don’t play games with the poor Tiger’s heart needlessly...from what you have said he is a much gentler man than we’ve given him credit for. “Though,” She tilts her head, her hand coming up to fuss with her hair,  “you certainly shouldn’t seek advice from me. I spent the day with paste in my hair without realizing.”

Your pout deepens, “I would never play with his heart... I’m going insane with desire over here and he gets to be all collected like ‘when the right time comes- I promise you it will be worth the wait’ and oh look at me, I’m extremely handsome and I can just kiss passionately for minutes on end without going further...” You grumble haphazardly before you hesitate slightly, “Well I’m not sure what him being handsome has to do with it but you get my point.” A smile threatens your features even more when she mentions her hair, “Paste is all the rage darling, you are simply fashion forward. Besides- I have a feeling this uh- new student of yours will look out for you.”  

Rachel hugs herself as she laughs at your little outburst, “It has EVERYTHING to do with it! You know it does-” She accuses playfully, “I do get your point though. I’m certain you will meet again...and say what’s on your mind! You are much better at that than I am anyway.” Rachel’s face is full of hesitation then, shaking her head, “Most of my students “look out for me” by piling dandelions on my desk and leaving goopy handprints on my clothes...I hope this new student is sweet.”

A smirk plays on your lips then, dropping your other topic of conversation, “I’m sure they will be, their parents seemed nice enough...”

”Oh really?!? Do you know anything about them? Should I bring anything along? Are you sure they want to see me? Should I get going?!” She babbles excitedly, glancing towards her front door.

Her eagerness serves as your cue to head out, your stomach brewing with hunger, nerves and excitement.

You couldn’t wait to hear how tonight will go for her.

“It is almost sundown so I suppose I should get going...” You concedes with a sigh before offering her a genuine smile, patting her shoulder as you head towards the door, “Just bring your lovely self, they are very eager to meet you.”

“Okay, if you’re certain!” Rachel smiles, gathering a collection of dried flowers into a basket before heading for the door with you, “If you change your mind and go to the river after all YOU HAD BETTER TELL ME!”

“You look amazing-” You promise as you step past her through the doorway, “I have a feeling you’ll have more to tell me the next time we meet but I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

Rachel looks confused for a moment before merely shrugging it off, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek, “Okay then, I’m off! I love you ok? Hang in there...”

You embrace her shortly unable to help the growth in your smile, “I love you too. I wanna hear about the meeting tomorrow ok?”

She agrees happily, already bounding off towards the schoolhouse, a basket of flowers in her hand.

Despite the uncertainty you may feel about your own romantic life, you are filled with joy at the thought of your dear friend starting a fairytale of her own.  

Even though she has absolutely no idea...

---------------------------------------

Rachel arrives at the schoolhouse just before sundown, using her master key to unlock the heavy oak door of the main entrance before heading off to her classroom.  

The windows surrounding the exterior of the schoolyard allow for the different hues of the sunset to stream in thorough the glass, providing a beautiful stroll down the hallway.

Rachel feels optimistic as she opens up the door, immediately setting the basket of flowers on a nearby desk and lighting the various lanterns around the room.  

The sun would be up for another half an hour or so but, Rachel was unsure as to how long this meeting would go so a little extra light wouldn’t hurt.

Since she doesn’t have a concrete time of arrival, she decides to busy herself with a bit of prep work and light cleaning for the next school day. She figures that if a parent were to walk in on her likes this, it might add to their overall impression of the school.  

A teacher’s work is never done.

After roughly 40 minutes or so, Rachel is beginning to worry that this parent potentially changed their mind. That is until, a light knock sounds on the outside of her door.

“Come in!” She calls brightly, standing up from behind her desk.

She has no expectations for what her visitor might look like as she honestly hadn’t even considered it since you asked her this favor. However, the man who walks in through her door most certainly is not who she would have ever expected.

Because the man who just walked in, is Jungkook.

Tall, strong, doe-eyed, shaggy haired, WARRIOR Jungkook...

The terror cub himself has now found his way inside her classroom.  

And she is both terribly confused and terribly excited all at once.

“Good evening,” She chokes out, smoothing her hands down the front of her dress, “Forgive me but- you're not the person I’m meant to meet with are you? Did you see any folks outside, looking a bit lost perhaps?”

Jungkook looks terrified but he steps inside nonetheless, one of his hands positioned awkwardly behind his back.

“Uh- Hi, I mean- Good evening mam...” He bows before her, “Um...” He shuffles forward a bit, his eyes scanning the room for a moment, “Heretheseareforyou.” Jungkook rushes out, shoving a bouquet of fresh daisies onto one of the empty desks, his eyes averting Rachel’s very confused expression, “I am the person you’re meant to meet actually...”

Rachel gasps to herself as she spots the daisies, her heart immediately picking up in her chest, “Oh! Oh goodness thank you, that’s very kind of you...” She smiles, her hands seemingly frozen in place at the front of her dress, “I’m- I’m so confused I apologize. Do you have children?”

He shakes his head, his floppy black hair following the motions. He is dressed in a pair of tan linen pants and a rather tight-fitting white peasant blouse, the golden expanse of his chest on full display, his feet tucked into a pair of leather boots. Rachel does her best to ignore how good he looks but, he makes it very difficult.

“No I don’t.” He answers, cringing slightly at the juvenile nature of this situation, “You know Y/N right?”

Rachel giggles, the sound a little higher pitched than usual, “I do yes. We’ve been friends since we were children...”

“Heh yeah, sorry I knew that but uh- so Y/N...” He begins, his hands coming up to assist in his explanation, “She paid me a visit earlier and suggested that...welll- She suggested that I pay you a visit.”

“Oh well- is everything alright? Are you in need of my assistance?” She inquires softly, her face decorated with concern.

Jungkook’s chest is filled with warmth at the sight of her unease, feeling very lucky to be the object of her concern.

“Everything’s ok I just- I wasn’t sure how to go about speaking with you.” He hesitates, feeling a bit of discomfort as he tries to find a way to explain his presence here, “I know you’re a very busy woman and I wasn’t even sure if you’d even want to speak with me which- by the way, if you’re uncomfortable with my presence, please let me know. I don’t want to be a bother...”

Rachel shakes her head instantly, her hands coming up to stop him from continuing that train of thought, “No- no not all! I mean-” She clears her throat, “You aren't a bother at all, I would love to speak with you. Although, forgive me- I'm a little confused as to what you’d like to speak about. Is it the school? Are you interested in meeting with the students?”

Jungkook grins softly and shakes his head, “No mam. I mean- I wouldn’t be opposed to meeting with them but, I am more interested in meeting with you...”

She gulps, her eyes widening a bit as she places a hand to her chest, “Me?”

He bites his lip and Rachel swears she sees a sparkle in his eyes as he steps closer to her.

“Yes mam. I uh-” His throat bobs with his own uncomfortable swallow as he shoves his hand in the pocket of his pants, pulling out a piece of crumbled parchment, “ I have travelled many miles. I have seen the mountains, the ocean and the forest. I have seen the sun in east and the moon in the west. I have seen the royal palace and all the riches it contains. I have seen all a man would need to see in his lifetime and yet, I have never felt complete until my eyes fell upon your face.”  

Comically, Rachel’s mouth has fallen open, her face colored with shock.  

Her heart seemingly freezes in her chest as Jungkook’s nervous gaze leaves the parchment and gazes up towards her.

“I wrote this when I was 17.” He begins sheepishly, “I promised myself that I would read it for the woman who captured my heart...”

Rachel inhales shakily, a slight sting in her eyes as emotion overcomes her.

“But you just read it to me...”

He chuckles warmly, his hand tucking a bit of hair behind his ear, “I did.”

“Am I-?” She begins but Jungkook cuts her off, stepping towards her a bit more.

“I know it’s a bit much isn’t it? I’ve never been very good with subtly and with my departure looming in the background, I couldn’t help but confess to you while I still had time. You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and your existence makes me warm. I haven’t felt warmth like this before and I- I guess I just wanted to see if I had a chance at courting you...”

Rachel finally closes her mouth for a moment only to cover it with her hand.  

She’s in complete disbelief that this is happening, but she responds nevertheless as best as she can.

“You- you have more than chance, you have a million chances I- oh wow, I feel a little faint goodness gracious...” She sighs, fanning herself as she leans against her desk, “I don’t understand...”

He rushes over to her then, a look of concern on his face, “Are you alright? Do you need some water or something?”

She shakes her head, letting out a shaky breath at the close proximity between them, immediately noticing the way he smells like amber and rosemary.

It warm, just like he is.

“I’m ok, I just-” She looks up at him, “I honestly cannot believe you feel this way about me. I’m just a schoolteacher, I probably have paste in my hair...and you’re a warrior I- I'm confused.”

Jungkook snickers, tilting his head to the side as he spots the bit of paste still clinging to the end of her hair. With gentle fingers, he reaches out and extracts the bit of dried gunk from her hair, discarding it on the desk, “You are not ‘just’ anything. You are bright and warm. Your duty lies with educating the children and I believe that to be far nobler than what I do. Please don’t sell yourself short, especially not on my account.”

Subconsciously, they seem to lean into one another, Rachel’s nerves dissipating slightly, “So then, you said you wish to court me yes? How- how do you intend we do this?”

He purses his lips, “Well,” He tilts his head to the side, “I would love to have dinner with you. I know that there aren’t many eateries in the village but-”

“I can cook for us!” She chirps happily cause his grin to broaden, “I know a spot we can eat, it’s really beautiful and it’s private for the most part.”

Jungkook is bursting with fondness, nodding eagerly at her suggestion before turning around to grab the flowers, “That sounds wonderful. Are you available tomorrow, same time?”

“Yes! I mean-” She clears her throat as the volume of her voice escapes her, “Yes, yes I’m free. I can meet you at the plaza?”

“Yes, of course. I’ll meet you anywhere you’d like...” He nods and haphazardly pushes the flowers in her direction, “Here, I picked these for you. I’ll pick more tomorrow as well- do you have a favorite? I hope daisies were alright...I’m not familiar with the flora around here.”

She smiles brightly, accepting the flowers graciously, securing them to your chest, “These are perfect! I love wildflowers, really anything that grows along the east part of the river...” She muses thoughtfully, “Daisies are some of my favorites as well. I’m sure Y/N told you that though...” She giggles but Jungkook shakes his head.

“She didn’t actually. I suppose it was just a lucky guess.” He smiles before stepping back slightly, fiddling with his hands now that they are empty, “So tomorrow then?”

With another rapid nod she responds, “Yes, tomorrow.”

“Great! Well uh-” He hesitates, glancing longingly towards her lips before extending his hand, “May I?”

With a harsh swallow and a shaky hand, she obliges, sticking her hand out towards his.

As if she were made of glass, Jungkook carefully raises her hand to his lips before placing a chaste kiss over the ridges of her knuckles, “Until tomorrow...”

“Until tomorrow.” She squeaks, covering her mouth once more.

He bows his head, offering another devastating grin before leaving the classroom.

With a hefty sigh, Rachel stares at the door in disbelief.

“It seems as though my dear friend isn’t an apothecary but a criminal mastermind...” She muses to herself, her cheeks on fire as she giggles to herself, “Huh, you think you know people.”

-------------------------

You decided shortly after your meeting with Rachel that you would in fact be going to the river because, regardless of your uncertainty: you still wanted to see Yoongi.  

“Something is troubling you...” He notes the moment he steps out from behind the trees, dressed down in a pair of black pants and a longer gray linen robe to ward of the slight chill in the air.

“What makes you say that?” You challenge with a grin, your heart fluttering as soon as you see him, “I’m just hoping my plan is playing out as I’d hoped...”

“Ah-” He lifts a finger, “I recall you saying that your plans play out relatively well. Also, you and I both know that my brother and your friend are smitten over one another so- I find it hard to believe your thinking so hard about a clear victory.”

You bite your lip, unsure of what to say next as Yoongi has so clearly seen right through you.  

“We don’t get much time together; it would be a waste to spend it discussing the internal monologue going on inside my head.” You joke, stepping towards him.

He clicks his tongue, “Now see- that is where you’re wrong. It was your internal monologue and your resulting opinions that drew me to visit you in the first place. The other talents your lips have are merely a bonus.” He smirks but his eyes hold some degree of concern, “I want to know what’s on your mind Y/N...no matter how insignificant you may find it.”

Yoongi’s sincerity draws you out of your shell, your heart picking up slightly at the thought of discussing your feelings.

“It’s silly...” You warn him causing him to chuckle.

“Good, I could use a bit of silliness after today.” He promises with a grin but his laughter dissipates as he notices even the slightest bit of distress on your face, “Your thoughts aren’t silly Y/N, at least not to me. I’d really like to hear what you’re thinking.”

Gnawing on your bottom lip, you take a deep breath and muster up the courage to be honest with him, “What are your intentions with me?”

He tilts his head, stepping closer to you after your question, face decorated with curiosity, “Which intentions are you referring to?”

You feel yourself growing nervous under his gaze but, you stay strong anyway and push through, “All of them- I suppose. It’s just that, I’m having difficulty...I’m-”

The hesitation in your features concerns Yoongi and he can’t help but quell the distance between you, taking your hands gently in his own.

“My girl- what's troubling you like this? Have I upset you?”

He’s tilting his head, trying to find your gaze as you look down at where your hands are connected.

His question causes you to look up at him, lips parted as you shake your head.

“No, no of course not.” You assure him, entwining your fingers with his, “I just- oh I promise you it’s going to sound silly...”

Yoongi chuckles incredulously, gently shaking your hands in his grip, “Y/N, darling please tell me what’s on your mind. I promise you I won’t find think it’s silly.”

Your heart sings at the pet name he gives you, taking a momentary break from it’s uneven rhythm, “I’ve just been wondering why you haven’t...well, why we haven’t- why we haven’t been intimate.”

Yoongi’s chest tightens with realization, his grip on your hands tightening ever so slightly before taking a deep breath, “There is nothing silly about that at all.” He assures you with a gentle smile, his eyes shifting from your hands to your face and back again whilst he tries to come up with a response, “It’s a perfectly normal thing to be curious about, especially considering how often we kiss. To be quite honest, my reasoning is probably what will end up sounding silly to you...”

“I don’t think it will, I just want to understand where your head is at because,” You sigh, looking into his eyes, “sometimes I feel alone in how much I desire you and I thought maybe if I got an idea where your head is at, I could understand why you always stop things before they go too far.”

At this, Yoongi raises his brows, “You think you’re alone in the desire to take me to bed?” He confirms, his voice deepening, a ghost of a smirk on his lips, “And here I thought you were clever...”

With a pout to your lips, you playfully tug your hands out of his grip causing him to chuckle before capturing them once again, “I am clever! Clever people get confused all the time, besides you just said this was a perfectly normal thing to be curious about.”

He laughs still and nods, guiding your hands up to his shoulders, “Yes I did. However, I was referring to you wondering why we haven’t gone to bed together yet, not you wondering whether or not I wanted to take you to bed. That IS silly...”

“It’s not though...” You insist, a shiver running down your spine as he slides his freed hands around your waist, “You always seem so composed. We’ll have been kissing for what feels like forever and then- you stop us. Which is ok of course but, I just don’t fully understand why.”

He hums thoughtfully with a smirk still on his lips as he pulls you closer to him, “My composure is an illusion Y/N. My job requires me to have complete control all of the time, especially in the face of an enemy...”

Scoffing, your pout deepens at the end of his sentence, “Oh so I'm your enemy now? Gee Yoongi, I’m so glad I decided to share this with you- I feel much better now.”

Yoongi laughs heartily at your sarcasm before leaning in and pressing a kiss to your forehead, “You are an enemy to my composure darling- you are just refusing to realize that.”

His kiss causes your heart to sing with satisfaction, despite the fact that you are trying very hard to focus on pouting.

“Even if that were true...I still feel silly for how much I desire you.”

He quells the playfulness between the two of you then, one of his hands coming up to cup your cheek, “You are not silly, and you are not alone. My entire world has shifted because of you. I think you’d be shocked if you knew how much you occupied my thoughts.” He assures you, placing another kiss on your forehead, “However, that isn’t the answer to your question is it? You’re wondering why we haven’t gone to bed together despite how much we desire each other.”  

“Yes.” You murmur, leaning against his hand, “If you have any insight on this general, please provide a briefing...”

He smirks fondly, brushing his thumb over your cheek, “You really have no idea how much I want you. I don’t think I could possibly explain it. Because of that, I want to wait until I can give you everything I have. Right now I- I simply can’t.” He admits, a bit of sadness now in his tone, “I want to wait until I have a proper villa, until I don’t have to worry about leaving at dawn to continue training, until I can stay underneath the sheets with you, until I can spend hours pleasing you- without the threat of war in the back of my mind. You deserve a man with no distractions, right now- I'm just not that man yet.”

His explanation makes perfect sense and you feel a bit of guilt for ever wondering how he felt about you in the first place but before you’re able to comment on his words, he speaks again.

“But please- please don’t think that means I don’t desire you.” He whispers, smiling softly whilst he places yet another kiss to your forehead. Letting his lips linger there, he sighs hopelessly, “One day, when I am finally free of my duties- I will spend days memorizing your skin with my lips...” He begins kissing his way down the bridge of your nose, puckering his lips gently as he does. He bypasses your lips however and uses his hand to tilt your head to the side, give him access to your neck, “I will memorize every bump,” He kisses your skin, “every curve,” Kiss “every line,” Kiss “every scar,” Kiss “every spot that gives you pleasure.” He inhales softly through his nose when he hears you gasp, your hands tightening on his shoulders, “Will you wait for me darling? Will you wait until I can give you my soul? My heart is already yours, I just need a little bit longer....”

You’re already nodding, certain with your response despite how much his presence is currently affecting you, “I’d wait for you forever, General Min.”

You can feel him grin against your neck, “I only need six months...” He chuckles, his laughter increasing as you playfully smack his back. “Then I’m yours forever.”

At his amendment, you smile and kiss the side of his head, “Forever sounds nice.”

Yoongi sighs, sliding his hands across your back to pull you into his embrace, “Forever it is then.”  

[heartj4yn0]

REMEMBER ME? TWO

PAIRING. erin x jaehyun 

GENRE. older!erin x older!jaehyun | angst ? | fluff | childhood friends-lovers!au | “frenemies”-lovers!au

warnings. childhood friends bickering  

— disclaimer: this is a work of fiction ! don’t take things seriously

AUTHOR’S NOTE. based on my childhood, except for the fact that mine doesn’t have an ending :/ 

WORD COUNT. 529

She remembers Jaehyun handing her a folded paper one day. She ran away with it, it was filled with apologies- to her. But she brushed it off. 

She went back to him and threw the paper in front of him. Oh how she regrets it. She wished that she had kept it. 

For memories, of course. And just like that, the only thing she looked forward to was Jaehyun playing basketball at exactly 10pm every single day below her house. 

Every single night, at 10pm exactly, she would open her windows and watch him play. Her eyes lit up, her eyes shaped like moon crescents. She could only talk to Jaehyun’s older brother, Jaejun. 

They would always swim together. She wished it was Jaehyun instead but they stopped talking after the paper incident. She would always come downstairs to see him. It was enough for her even though they stopped talking. 

Notifications

Instagram:  _jeongjaehyun has sent you a message!

He sent me a message? Hmm… What could it be? I’m so nervous !!! Ahhh screw it, just open the app! 

Message *click*

Jaehyun ✓

_jeongjaehyun

What are you up to these days?

I’m so bored, want to catch up via skype? That’s if you want to, of course. 

Hmm nothing, really. Just trying to avoid having mental breakdowns TT

Omg! Yes please! Missing those days xx| clear

Are you kidding me? really brain? xx? Who does that???

Omg! Yes please! Missing those days!!

Okay great, you’re still using the same user hmm?

Mhm , you know me

You’re up for a call now? An audio one, I know you’re shy

Oh god, Jaehyun. You’re lucky I can’t see you right now 

or else my hand would be by your face by now! 

Sorry ma’am, I’ll take it back. 

I just miss you| clear

I just miss those carefree days with you.

Best believe, I do too. 

Now are you going to call or do I leave? Jk...unless..? 

Please don’t do that!!! 

I’m calling you in about...now!

INCOMING AUDIO CALL FROM JEONG JAEHYUN.

Um um i’m so nervous! What should I do? Relax Erin, you got this! It’ll be awkward at first but later on, it’ll be like old times. 

CALL ACCEPTED.

Um hi?

Hey, you! 

Welp, this is awkward…

Tell me about it. She laughs.

I miss you. He mumbles

Hmm? Sorry my neighbor's dog was barking and I don't even know why.

I heard that, Jaehyun. Should I say it back?

Oh it’s nothing. I was just rambling nonsense. 

Oh. 

I miss you, Jaehyun. I heard it, the first time. 

I miss you, I miss you, I miss you. 

You’ve been on my mind since the day we stopped talking. 

I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Jaehyun.

Hey, it’s okay. All that matters now is we’re here? Hmm? 

You both ended up watching Train To Busan that ended with you screaming until midnight. He laughed so much and the fact that he stopped laughing since the pandemic started, speaks a lot. 

You’re the reason he laughs and smiles. His mom even noticed the change in his demeanor. I’m so happy for you, son. His mom's thoughts. 

  to be continued. 

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

if you’ve read until here, thank you so much! it means a lot. here’s the second part of REMEMBER ME? i’m planning to write 4 parts of it but now, i’m not sure :/ i’m out of ideas aaaaa & i can’t w the text aligment (someone help me!)

part 3 soon?

love,

heartj4yn0.

DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

[scarfdyedshadow]

On the Decline of Mage Characterization in Ancillary Type-Moon Works (or On Magi Getting Flanderized Into One-Dimensional Evil Arrogant Sods) Part 1: The Matter of Magi Themselves

Yes, I am dumb enough and obsessed enough to basically write an entire essay on this. Yes, the title is pretentious as all hell.

A disclaimer before we start though, this is not directed at or meant to condemn or call out or mock or invalidate the many a Tumblr shitpost on evil arrogant magi getting owned by Guda or various other characters. It may not be humor personally up my alley, but I understand the appeal, and it’s not like there isn’t some grain of truth to them. Likewise this isn’t meant to in any way condone anything Nasuverse magi. A fair amount of them are evil regardless of mitigating circumstances, a lot of the ones that aren’t outright evil have capacity to be evil because of ethos and mindset, and the acts they commit are certainly evil. I am not condoning them, or dismissing them as not evil. I simply urge a more nuanced rather than simplistic analysis of that evil. This also unfortunately omits Mahoyo, which probably has quite a bit of insight, because I haven’t gotten around to reading it yet, thus rendering me a fake fan you should not listen to. Thank you for your consideration. Also, spoilers.

This first part is primarily concerned with the inhumanity of magi and misconceptions about magi and their ethos as a whole, while the next part will actually go into the history of magus villains in Type-Moon works and what I feel is their decline, and build upon and further points of this part. There may be a potential third part on the Crypters, Gordolf, and Olga, the modern faces of Nasuverse magi and the greatest illustration that magi are far more nuanced, complex, pitiful and yet admirable, than they aren’t, and Nasu’s thesis statement on the power of love and life.

(Note: Okay my theme is actually pretty eyesearing to the point I recommend you read this on dash, I’ll go get it fixed)

"Do you know what it is that magi are aiming for?"

After a moment of blankness, Gray replied with a difficult expression.

"Umm...I heard about it in class. What was it...the Spiral of Origin?"

"Right. The Spiral of Origin, or more simply the Root. Sometimes it's referred to as「 」, the thing for which there can be no reference. It is the source of everything, the 'zero' from which all matter and phenomena flow. Ah, but now that I'm trying to put it into words, I'm realizing that's not a good idea. After all, even the idea of 'zero' has baggage that makes it unsuitable as a comparison."

"Regardless, the goal of magi is to eventually reach that place. Of course, there are also those who simply derive pleasure from touching the supernatural, or from being superhuman. Because we are weak, we fall to that diversion. But in the end, that's not our ultimate goal."

For modern magi, most understood that reaching the root was something that just wasn't possible for them. After all, even though magecraft itself had been in a state of continuing decline since the Age of Gods, there were no reports of anyone facing that past and trying to return to it. Likely, the appearance in the Far East of the fifth - and often called the last - Magician was the same as the gate to the Root being all but closed to everyone else.

Even so, we didn't give up.

Anyone who would give up in a situation like this would never have become a magus to begin with.

Ironically enough, despite opening up with a quote from Lord El-Melloi II Case Files, which I’ll have some critique for, the crux of my thesis is this. As originally presented in Kara no Kyoukai, and generally only kept up to a meaningful degree in other Nasu written works like Stay Night, Clock Tower 2015, and Grand Order, magi were the piteous, tragic, inhuman not as in inhumane but as in a broken machine product of an impossible ideal and a broken system. They were the villains, yes, unambiguously so, but at the same time they were sympathetic and nuanced to an extent that would decline down the road.

You see, Araya. A mage always lives hurriedly. What for? If it was for themselves alone they wouldn't bother with the outside world. So why do they intrude upon the rest of the world? Why do they rely upon it? What will they achieve with that power? What will they save with the Ars Magna (Ars Magna: Meaning 'great secret technique', it stands not for a technique that is not learnt through study but for a mystery that is secretly passed down)? If that was the case it would have been better for them to become a king instead of a mage.

You think people live foully, but you yourself would not be able to live like that. You would not be able to live while accepting the fact that you know that everything is worthless and base. You would not be able to live without the pride of knowing that you alone are special, and that you alone can save this crumbling world. Of course, I was like that too. But that sort of thing has no meaning. --- Accept it, Araya. We chose the path of transcendence called magecraft because we are weaker than everybody else.

Magi were presented as absurd, as farcical, as maddeningly helpless and hopeless compared to those living normal lives. This will come up in Part 2, especially as pertains to Touko and Gordolf and the like, but normal everyday life, not superior thematic superpowers or an army of Servants, is what is truly far more powerful than any magi.

"... I'll just ask one thing. What do you mean when you say that secrets are kept even within that Association?"

Unexpectedly, I hear something from the sofa.

Over there is Shiki, who has been sitting there since before without a word. She's the type of person who doesn't get involved in a conversation that she's not interested in, so until now she had been staring at the scenery outside the window.

"--- There is that. A mage won't reveal the results of his experiments even within the Association. What the person next to them is researching, what their goals are, and what they have obtained are all a mystery. The only time a mage will reveal the results of their work is when they are passing it on to their descendants just before they die."

"Studying for their benefit alone, yet not using that power for their own sake? What purpose is there in a life like that, Touko? Is it that the goal is to learn, and the process is to learn too? If the only things you have are the beginning and the end, that's the same as having a zero."

Their pursuit for the truth is maddening. It is greedy yet at once devoid of greed. It is selfish yet at once devoid of selfishness. Their ethos and methodology are not fundamentally inhumane, but inhuman. Magi are an odd sort of creature indeed, and it isn’t the case that they’re all evil in their absurd quest. Indeed, virtually all early Nasuverse ancillary material, and this is still said today despite the opposite being true in practice, is that the vast majority of magi are shut ins who stay inside researching as opposed to eating babies.

The everyday life of a magus is mostly spent conducting research. Magi who use magic outside of a research capacity, such as those who use magi to work and profit for themselves, are few in number. People who treat magic as a tool, such as assassins, are called “spellcasters”, and are looked down upon with disdain by the magical establishment.

Furthermore, it is precisely because they are magi that few magi use magic in their daily lives.

Practically speaking, for every mage you see committing mass murder or fighting the mass murdering mage with superpowers, there are ten who we certainly can’t call conventionally moral, who we certainly can’t call normal humans, obsessively striving towards a seemingly impossible goal inhumanly but not inhumanely. Because Type-Moon does action series this has never been tenable to properly depict besides the minority, but it is the truth regardless. This is from a later work I actually have some measure of criticism for, but Strange Fake actually illustrates that point perfectly.

"A mage's mage," he muttered disgustedly to himself, eyes narrowed, "is no different from a hard-working corrupt politician." What about me? He wondered as soon as the words were out of his mouth. As long as corruption stayed hidden, it was difficult for the public to tell the difference between a corrupt politician and an honest one. In which case, mages, who never entered the public eye to begin with, probably ought to be lumped in with them. There were exceptions, but from the standpoint of the general public, mages were generally evil.

Other Nasu written works like Stay Night and Clock Tower 2015 also touch upon it.

Magic is just what it sounds like… magic. I don't care if you get ideas like abracadabra or whatever. You can just think of us as people who do strange things by casting spells. Oh, though it's not like we fly around on brooms or make stars appear with a wave of a wand. …Well, we could do that, but we don't bother as it's kind of meaningless. We're basically heretics who hide ourselves from the world. We're prohibited from standing out and even if we weren't, we would rather be at home studying magic.

Clock Tower 2015 especially hits it up by depicting what might be called the ideal magus, the point of being a magus that is often distorted by human concerns but that all of them are to some extent, not an inhumane monster but an inhuman man who has dedicated his life to magecraft.

"Ahhh, the life of a magus is so brief. It would have been great if I were born with just the brain and nothing else." Like what you just saw, Leiv was a pure academic magus. All his efforts were poured solely into his theory and magecraft. He cared naught of any other responsibilities, the application of his magecraft, his lineage, or building his faction. From Leiv's perspective, those magi were the same as the plebians that were "normal people". If one were to decipher the mystical, then he must sacrifice his humanity. A magus was a creature with nothing but magecraft on his mind. There was no room for burdens such as "life".

So to begin with, what we call magi are far from all arrogant murderous sods, and if anything arrogant murderous sods are the minority. They come in all manner of varieties, united simply by the pursuit of the impossible, by the desire to reach the truth, by the desire to transcend. Even more so than just that, they do have their values and ethics. They are often cruelly distorted, to the extent “magi parents” is a phrase that might as well be an oxymoron, but I would opine that as a product more of recent years than anything.

"Keep those for me. They are some awful cigarettes from Taiwan but I only have those now. Of course there isn't any company that made them, it's a famous item that some eccentric master made only one box of. Yeah, out of all my possessions that is the second most valuable thing I have." Leaving behind some strange words, she turned around and walked out. ... Perhaps her most valuable possession is herself, that kind of thought popped into my mind so I asked her, but she only turned back her head and answered. "That's rather rude. I know it's me but even I don't treat people like possessions." Like herself when she has her glasses on, she pouts as if she's sulking. And then, returning to her usual cool expression Touko-san continued talking. "Kokuto. Those people called mages, with an apprentice or other people they are close to they feel like parents. Since they are something like their offspring, they often fight desperately to protect them as well. ... Well, it's like that so relax and wait here. I'll bring Shiki back tonight." Thock thock, the sound of her walking away. Unable to say anything to her back, I let the brown-coated magician go.

That magi value their children, their apprentices, their legacies, even if only as a next step on the path to the Root, is also a truth echoed at the same time that it’s often contradicted. But then, magi are in of themselves contradictory creatures. After all, despite pursuing an inhuman ideal, despite throwing away their humanity, they themselves are still human. That contradiction between reality and ideals, best exemplified by Fate/Stay Night, is one of the themes at the heart of Nasu’s work.

So, to repeat it once more, magi as a whole, magi society as a whole, is not fundamentally inhumane but inhuman. That inhumanity often lends itself to the inhumane, but not necessarily, and indeed I opine that should be considered on a deeper level. That inhuman society is by no means a good thing, but to simply call it evil and magi evil and call it a day is to do a disservice to its nuance. There are arrogant murderous magi as well, sure, but they too are products of a tenacious ideal, they are the long shadow cast by lineages stretching for thousands of years.

In reality, what really forged the magus of the modern day was not a supernatural power or transcendent conscience, but a tenacity built and reinforced over generations. Clinging to a shadowed, intense ideology for hundreds, or in some cases even thousands of years, developed its own sort of extreme power. Even if science were to exceed magecraft in all other respects, as long as that ideal survived, magecraft itself would be ineradicable.

But what then of Souren Araya? What of that bastard Zouken and worst dad of the year Tokiomi and that arrogant asshole Kayneth? Rest well assured that I will cover them in exacting detail in the next part of whatever the hell this is, and everything I say about them will build upon this. That may seem contradictory, since this part is mostly devoted to showing that magi are far more than just evil sods, but believe it or not Kayneth is going to be mightily relevant to how pitifully weak magi in truth are, and Tokiomi is going to be relevant to how magi value their children in ways that don’t have to be inhumane, but can be inhuman. Until next time, all I can ask is to consider that while magi are indeed monsters, monsters really can be quite interesting creatures.

Things in this world were all like that.

It wasn’t limited to magecraft. It wasn’t limited to those beyond humans (monsters). In a world of common sense (the obvious), it was something everyone understood.

If you said that misunderstandings, miscommunications, disagreements, and false understandings are what connected them, then...

“We are misrecognition. Our world itself is misunderstanding. We can experience a multitude of truths, not just one single reality. No matter how wise you are, or how much time you are given, you will never reach something like a single truth. Magi may just be those who continually reject that fact.”

Speaking as if in self-deprecation, my master had pursed his lips at that.

He had finally realized that his words and the objective that all Magi pursued, known as the “Spiral of Origin,” were in contradiction.

Sources: Lord El-Melloi Case Files (TL by TwilightsCall), Kara no Kyoukai (TL on baka-tsuki), Fate/Stay Night (TL Mirror Moon), Clock Tower 2015 (TL by food), Fate/Strange Fake (TL by OtherSideOfSky)

[ve1vetyoongi]

Mic Drop | myg

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: smut, angst, fluff

au: rapper!yoongi, photographer!oc

summary: when underground rapper min yoongi uncovers the dirty secret behind his biggest rival, your brother and hip hop champion kim namjoon’s success, he is determined to take home this year’s mic drop contest trophy no matter who he hurts along the way. you’re behind the camera, content with capturing namjoon’s picture perfect persona from the sidelines but when his hard-faced enemy Gloss, makes you realise you could be more than just the point and shoot, you start to feel your loyalties shifting.

warnings: multiple smut scenes, dirty talk, dry humping, penetrative sex, fingering, oral sex (both m and f receiving), lots of orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, cum play, cum eating, but also tender fucking lol, very brief mention of death.

word count: 29k (rip)

rating: definitely explicit

playlist: visit my playlist page and select “mic drop.” (all links to be added later)

a/n: ahhh you don’t understand how happy i am to finally put this out into the world!!! i started writing this fic back in july and after a few rewrites (more on this at the end of the post if anyone sticks around until then) she’s finally finished eee <3 also!!! this fic is brought to you courtesy of the love yourself collab! this project has been super fun to be a part of n i wanna say thank you to everyone involved who made it such a welcoming experience! you can check out the masterlist here (link will be added later f u tumblr) to read all the other amazing fics from the incredibly talented authors in this project (literally so talented??? it’s sickening???) (im so excited to finally read them all now im done w this monster lol). all the love as always <3

Introducing Runch Randa!

The host is barely audible over the chants of your brother's name as the lights dim and the arena is sent into a haze of strobe lights.

The air is already heady with body heat and fragrant with sweat from the thousands of bodies smushed together in the pit and beyond that thousands more seated in the stands, phone lights twinkling in the darkened arena like stars. A girl in your peripheral clutches a sign with MARRY ME RUNCH RANDA scrawled in sharpie, torso clad in one of the cheap merch hoodies with your brother's face printed on the front, just like hundreds of others around her.

It's a full house. No one's surprised. The Mic Drop semi-final always creates a buzz of anticipation within the hip hop scene. But this year, with your brother Namjoon returning to compete for the trophy again, there isn't an empty seat in sight.

A buzz pulses through the crowd when the bass kicks in. It makes hearts beat faster, blood run hotter, a crescendo of screams crashing violently through room, the sheer volume enough to make the walls shake in time with the stamp of impatient feet.

It's infectious. Almost. If you hadn't been here a hundred times before, countless nights the same as this one that all started to blur into one somewhere along the line. Different crowds but the same energy, the same hum of anticipation that used to get your bones rattling, your skin hot with suspense. Now it's just routine. Now you feel nothing.

Besides, you're just here to do your job. The photographer. To take pictures, not to enjoy the show. Just like always.

Five seconds. You know Namjoon's set list like the back of your hand by now. Five seconds until he takes the stage and the crowd goes wild.

One, two, three, four...

Like clockwork, the stage lights up and there he is, face blown up in painful detail across every screen. Runch Randa. His stage name pulses through the room, a mantra, chanted until throats turn sore and mouths run dry.

Dark framed glasses cover his eyes but his stance is enough to tell you that he came here to win, his presence immediately filling the empty stage with an energy that makes it impossible to look anywhere else, even for a moment.

He is already damp with sweat, neck glistening beneath the white lights. Like routine you snap a few shots when he taunts the camera with a smirk, brushing a hand through his immaculately gelled hair teasingly, mouth turning up into a grin when the audience roars.

Runch Randa walks across the stage with the ease of someone who lives and breathes for moments like these. Grabs the microphone with two hands, shiny silver rings glinting on his fingers beneath the harsh strobe lights.

You can see his opponents in the front row, nothing but rookies, the intimidation etched into their features visible even from where you stand side stage as they swallow the bitter pill that they stand no chance against him.

Once upon a time you were the same as the wide eyed fans in the pit, filled with an admiration for your brother. He was everything you wanted to be; a whirlwind of fearless, brazen passion when he got up on stage. But things changed once Namjoon won Mic Drop, claiming the trophy at the tender age of seventeen. After that he started filling arenas. Then stadiums. And you were left behind in the ruins of his whirlwind, feeling the Namjoon you once knew slip further away as Runch Randa took center stage, viewing his perfect persona through the lens of your camera with the same sour resentment as the rookies.

Because when a familiar beat permeates the arena, you can't help but close your eyes and imagine the name the crowd screams is yours. That it's you out there instead of him. It's you pouring your heart into the lyrics that you find yourself whispering unconsciously in time with your brother.

Your lyrics.

The lyrics you wrote especially for this performance. The same lyrics that would be streamed by millions, top charts and win Namjoon another stupid trophy to add to his already elaborate collection.

The only reason Namjoon still kept you around was because he couldn't write them himself.

The track ends and the Mic Drop host crosses the stage with a grin. Namjoon's arm is thrust into the air triumphantly.

"And our first finalist is...Runch Randa!"

You snap a picture of your brother smiling victoriously.

"He's gonna win. I know it."

Namjoon's manager Jimin sidles up beside you, grin plastered to his face. It's nauseating.

"Does he ever lose?" You murmur

Runch Randa! Runch Randa! Runch Randa!

--

Mic Drop. The most highly anticipated event in the music industry for its ability to make hip hop artists stars; as well as its tendency to break them just as easily.

Fame. Money. Glory. Just a few of the reasons why rap rookies from across the globe are desperate to compete in the ruthless battle of blood, sweat and rap that is Mic Drop.

They all think they have what it takes. That they have that special something the judges are looking for. Unfortunately, most don't even make it past the auditions phase.

When your brother, Mic Drop legend Runch Randa, announced he would be ditching his celebrity status and stadium concerts to return to his underground roots and compete for the trophy again, it raised a series of questions

Why now? What did he have to prove?

Once the press got wind of the fact that your parent's, CEO'S of the most prestigious record label in the industry Big Hit Entertainment, had run into a spot of financial trouble, everyone assumed your brother's re-entry was a master plan to win the lavish cash prize afforded to competition winners. Sure, you couldn't deny that it was partly true --- Big Hit's stocks were plummeting and a lot was at stake.

Truthfully, though, you knew your brother well enough to see that Namjoon's motives were far more selfish; to put it simply, he was greedy. Fame was his drug. Once he got a taste he could never get enough.

Of course, a cheque signed and delivered by your father's hand shut any rumors down very quickly. Your parent's were good at silencing people if it meant protecting Namjoon's reputation.

Even you, their own daughter.

The name tag labelled OFFICIAL PHOTOGRAPHER was nothing but a cover up for the true reason you spent so much time at Big Hit -- writing each and every one of Namjoon's hit songs. A secret you were forced to keep as you watched your brother through a camera lens.

Which is how you find yourself as his strictly-invitation-only after party, an attempt at building momentum for the big final in just a few weeks time, with a camera in hand.

You're sat in the corner of the A-list club Jimin rented out for the event, swirling the deep red liquid in your glass with a bored disinterest as you watch your brother shake hands with company investors and big buck producers, most of which you'd never even heard of.

These things always seem to drag on, the clock ticking slower with each agonising second spent smiling courteously to uphold the supportive sister persona. Your feet are starting to hurt in your heels and all you want to do is hide away in the Big Hit studio and scribble down the lyrics floating aimlessly in your mind. That's the only good thing about these events -- they give you time to think, a rare relief in between your brother's busy schedules.

"Well, well. If it isn't my favorite lyricist."

A cheerful voice jolts you from your thoughts and when you blink up through the flashing lights you're met with a lazy grin belonging to Hoseok, one of the producers at Big Hit. He's an ex Mic Drop contestant himself, coming fourth and just missing out on the semi-finals three years ago. He never had the stomach for it anyway, he always says, but you never miss the rejection in his eyes.

Hoseok is also one of the only people who knows about your secret. He was hired to help you work on tracks for your brother once he made it big after all, and although he would never admit it you knew he probably had to sign a hefty NDA. Still, you were grateful to have him around — you couldn't deny you made something of a dream team together.

"Mind if I sit?" He gestures with his glass towards the empty space beside you, and you move your purse so he can squash in on the leather couch. "At least some of us are having fun, huh?" You follow his gaze to Namjoon on the dance floor, hands all over some vaguely recognizable celebrity's hips.

You grimace and swig back the remaining alcohol in your glass. "Too much fun, apparently."

Hoseok snorts, wringing his hands. "Y'know, we could get out of here if you're as bored as I am..." His words slur just slightly and you figure his confidence is a result of the amber liquor in his glass. The shy Hoseok  you know well returns quickly though as he averts his eyes when you raise a brow. "Not like that! I just thought maybe we could get a drink or something...if you want to?"

You shift awkwardly, having to shout over the booming club music for him to hear you. "I should really stay here. People might ask questions if the sister of the host just...disappears."

"Right!" Hoseok smiles sheepishly then slaps his own forehead. "Right. Forget I ever asked."

You shake your head fondly and turn back towards the dance floor just in time to see Namjoon whisper in the ear of the DJ, music cutting as he takes the mic and hops up onto the small stage to address the party.

Finally! A sign he was going to wrap up the evening for good!

He clears his throat and the huddle of mingling bodies below him fall into an expectant hush.

"Uh, so I'm not usually very good at these speech things --" He pauses and the crowd laughs. You tap your knee impatiently. "But I just wanted to say thank you. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for your support. So, the next round of drinks are on me! I haven't won — yet — but its never too early to start celebrating, right?"

Namjoon raises his flute of champagne and the party-goers cheer just as a flurry of confetti drops from the ceiling. The music starts again and you're too busy picking the brightly colored paper out of your hair disgruntledly to notice the way the room suddenly quietens and the guests part down the middle like prey from a predator.

"Y/N. Look." Hoseok elbows you sharply and flies forward in his seat, whisky sloshing over the edge of his glass. "Shit! Is that--"

Is that really him? What is he doing here? He's back!

You look up just in time to see the commotion as a figure in a black hoodie weaves effortlessly to the front of the room. You don't recognise him but something about his presence gives you chills.

Namjoon is too busy throwing back his drink to notice as the man climbs the stage, his skinny jeans and high tops sticking out like a sore thumb against the sea of dress shoes and cocktail dresses. He clearly wasn't invited.

By the time your brother senses the change in the air, it's too late.

You feel your face pale, choking when the figure finally turns and lets down his hood, revealing a head of blue hair and a venomous smirk.

"Gloss?"

Namjoon turns and his smile dissolves. He just stares stiffly at the person in front of him like he's seen a ghost. In a way you suppose he has -- the ghost of his past. After all, the last time anyone saw this face was five years ago at the Mic Drop final.

It is him! It's Gloss! Why is he back?

The night that changed all of your lives. When Namjoon claimed the Mic Drop trophy and Gloss, his opponent, lost everything.

It's been years since the last time you saw Gloss but you still recognize the distinctive confidence in his gait, the way his eyes flash with something dark as he looks your brother up and down with a breathy laugh.

Namjoon is frozen, breathing heavily.

Gloss' voice is husky when he finally speaks. It makes you shiver.

"Runch Randa. Long time no see, huh?"

A beat of unbearable silence.

"What are you doing here?"

Gloss's chuckle makes Namjoon snarl. You see the way his jaw tenses and his fists clench. He's too wound up; he'll snap if you don't do something and fast.

You get to your feet but Hoseok pulls you back down sternly by the elbow. "Don't." You protest but his grip is too tight so you just fidget helplessly instead.

Something settles in the atmosphere; a nervousness that makes you itch, makes your heart pump into overdrive as you watch them draw closer, eyes narrowed like boxers in a ring, waiting for the other to make a move. Hoseok covers his eyes.

"I wouldn't start celebrating just yet, Runch. The competition has only just begun."

The crowd gasps when your brother's clenched fist swings at his smug opponent. The rapper ducks but not quite in time and you can't remember which comes first — the crunch that crackles through the speakers when Namjoon's ring-clad knuckles collide with Gloss' face or the ear splitting thump of his mic dropping to the ground.

--

The party ends abruptly. Your head spins with confusion as you watch the guests leave in shock. Seeing Namjoon up on that stage opposite his biggest opponent again makes your stomach sick, like you were reliving the events of five years ago all over again.

Deep down you had always expected this moment to come. For Gloss to return looking for revenge or something. After all, Gloss didn't just loose Mic Drop to anyone -- he lost to Namjoon, his former best friend and music partner. Namjoon and Yoongi. They were supposed to win together. But for reasons still unknown, even to you, Yoongi was disqualified moments before the final commenced, plummeting your brother into the world of fame alone.

After that, Gloss all but disappeared, his pitiful downfall nothing but a hip hop legend to those who heard it. No record deals or sponsorships or stadium tours like your brother. A legend in his own right, but for all the wrong reasons. Mic Drop banned duos from competing thereafter.

Eventually you gather the courage to head into one of the back rooms where the rappers had been hauled by security guards in hi-vis jackets after their scuffle. You can hear Jimin babbling before you even reach the door.

"What were you thinking? Punching him? You better hope the press don't get ahold of this or else you're in big trouble—"

"Let me go!" Namjoon grunts to Jimin whose face is almost as red as his own. "I'm gonna end this once and for all."

"You'll do no such thing," Jimin tuts, pushing him firmly by the shoulder so he slumps into his seat with a roll of the eyes, other hand pressing his phone to his ear. "Do you even understand the amount of damage control I'm going to have to do to? — hold on, yes, this is Park Jimin speaking..."

The room smells of disinfectant and medical gauze and you spot Namjoon instantly, surrounded by an abundance of medics. His breathing is still ragged, the vein on his neck standing to prominence, knee bouncing as he impatiently waits for his ruby knuckles to be bandaged, too engaged to notice your arrival.

To your left you're surprised to find Yoongi. He's the epitome of composure despite the heavy tension in the air. He grabs a roll of bandage and begins to patch up his own fist, eyes lighting up with something you can't put your finger on when you slide into the room.

"Well, look who decided to turn up. If it isn't Namjoon's little sister. Long time no see, Y/N."

You freeze. It's been years since you heard him say your name. It makes you feel funny.

"Yoongi." You swallow. "What are you doing here?"

His shit eating grin makes your blood boil. "I take it you haven't heard yet, then."

You roll your eyes. You should be checking on Namjoon not humoring whatever stupid motives his opponent has. "Heard what, Yoongi?"

"I'm re-entering the competition, too."

You stagger backwards. Yoongi? Re-entering the competition? Mic Drop?

"But--you were disqualified--I don't understand?"

"I was disqualified. Disqualifications are only valid for five years, according to the rule book. Who knew?" He smirks when your eyes widen. "And I think you'll find that my sentence is up. I'm gonna win this time, once and for all."

"I don't think you know what you're doing, Yoongi—"

"There's more." He licks his lips. "I know your secret."

Your heart stops, mouth running dry. You throw a glance over your shoulder. Namjoon is still engaged, swatting away a medic's ice pack with a scowl, thankfully too busy to notice when you draw closer, voice a harsh whisper. "W-what secret?"

Yoongi lets out a dark chuckle, wincing just barely when he touches a damp cloth to the cut in his lip, a red splotch forming on the fabric. "You know exactly what secret I'm talking about, Y/N. Wouldn't it be ironic if someone slipped a tip off to the judges panel about Namjoon's ghost writer—"

"Shut the fuck up Min Yoongi or I'll break your nose for real this time!" Namjoon's voice bellows behind you, making you jolt. He charges at Yoongi, lip quivering like he might make his threat a reality. "Leave her out of this!"

Yoongi's nostrils flare. "Everyone knows she's a part of this, Namjoon, whether she likes it or not!"

All eyes look your way, as if expecting you to say something, but Yoongi's words fall cluelessly on you. You hadn't so much as thought about him in years. What did you have to do with this stupid ongoing feud with your brother that he refused to let go?

You glance between them, settling for sending a blank look at Yoongi and shuffling over to Namjoon instead. Your brother seems prideful at your show of allegiance. Yoongi scoffs.

"Namjoon?" Your mouth is dry with the shock of the situation and it comes out sounding funny, like you're wary of him. A gash above his eyebrow starts to dribble crimson. "Shit, you're hurt..."

"Get off me." Namjoon shakes his shoulder violently and you gingerly remove your hand, brows furrowed at his rejection. He directs his attention to Yoongi. "And you. You want a fight? It's on."

"Joon!—" He waves you off. It's pointless anyway. When he gets this rash there's no changing his mind.

"You want to end this thing once and for all? Then let's do this. You and me. At the final."

Yoongi raises a brow. "Deal. I'd shake your hand but you might try and knock me into next week again."

Namjoon doesn't laugh.

A hoard of security guards bust into the room and head straight for Yoongi. "Finally. What the fuck do I even pay these people for?"

"Get off me!"

You place a hand on Namjoon's shoulder and find that he's trembling. Rage? Nerves? Adrenaline? All three, probably, if the vacant blackness behind his eyes is anything to go by.

You're already trailing behind your brother when you hear Yoongi's voice carry down the hall. "I'll see you at the final! When I win. Secrets always find a way to come back and bite you in the ass, Runch. You should know that better than anyone!"

--

Namjoon begs you to come as his plus one to some scummy gig Gloss is rumored to be performing at tonight. To check out the competition, he says, but you recognise the way he nibbles his lip as he does.

Fear. He'll never admit it but Namjoon is scared he’s going to lose.

You agree to join him because you think it may put his mind at rest.

As Namjoon's manager, Jimin has all sorts of connections, mumbling thank you's into the head set sitting around his ears like a permanent accessory and scribbling down the address of some club down town.

The driver your parent's hired to escort Namjoon around as a paparazzi safety precaution drops the three of you a block away; the car's black tinted windows and shiny number plate would be out of place in such a scummy part of town. The plan would only work if you went unnoticed. Namjoon couldn't risk running into a Runch Randa fangirl tonight. It was technically against the Mic Drop rules to have any intel on your opponents, after all.

You don't like to tell Namjoon that his disguise won't do much for blending in. He dons a designer cap pulled down low over his face, long black coat drowning his figure and expensive leather boots crunching against broken glass and cigarette stumps as you near the club. It's too put together to seem natural, a dead give away that he doesn't belong here among the sea of ripped jeans and septum rings and tattoo sleeves around you. Even with a patterned bandana covering half of his face, the sculpted cheekbones and piercing eyes smudged effortlessly with black eyeliner poking over the top scream celebrity.

Luckily for you, the plain dress and knit cardigan hugging your body doesn't alert the suspicions of the bouncers cross armed at the entrance.

Namjoon wrinkles his nose and prods a half empty solo cup discarded outside with his toe, Jimin practically jittering with nerves and barely avoiding a stumbling drunk as you approach the men who stand at nearly double your size. Namjoon said it was best that you acted as spokesperson tonight — the only reason he even brought you along was because nobody would know your face and your position at Big Hit allowed you to pull some strings.

Your fingers shake as you produce a photography license from your bag, heart pounding as one of the menacing bouncers raises his eyebrow beneath the deep red hue emanating from a tacky neon sign posted above the door.

Luckily the breath you're holding is leaving you in a relieved thank you as he nods, moves to the side and gestures for your entourage to dip inside with the rest of the crowd. Namjoon charges ahead into the darkness and you follow him with an awkward smile to make up for his rude demeanour.

No turning back now...

Music hits like a deafening wave, blasting from the speakers at a volume that makes the walls shiver and your head throb. The club is alive with reckless anticipation, a sea of sweaty bodies gyrating on the dance floor in time with the pulsing beat. The energy swallows you whole, knuckles turning white as you cling to Jimin's sleeve, letting him elbow through the throng of indistinguishable faces that glitter beneath the tacky disco ball dangling haphazardly from the ceiling.

The crowd eventually spits you back out in a quieter corner of the club, Namjoon already making a beeline for the seedy bar. "There's a whiskey sour with my name on it and it's the only thing that'll get me through this shit." He murmurs as he crosses the room and occupies a bar stool beside a couple mid heavy make out session, pulling the hat closer around his face.

With a sigh, you turn back to Jimin who is eyeing up the strip pole and the exotic dancers nearby with wide eyes. "I still don't think this is a good idea."

The italian leather couch you slump into is suspiciously sticky beneath your bare thighs. "He needs to get the apprehension out of his system," you counter. "Once he sees that there's no competition he'll be able to take him down."

"I hope you're right." Jimin is wringing his hands, not knowing what to do with them now his headset is sat on the backseat of the car a block away. "I'd hate for this to knock his confidence."

"What?" You snort. "You think Gloss might actually beat him?"

Namjoon is the best rapper around, there's no debate. Nobody could beat him. Not even Gloss.

"No." His pursed lips say otherwise. You raise a brow. Jimin lowers his voice. "Maybe. Namjoon's rash. Gets ahead of himself. If he doesn't pull it together he'll play straight into Yoongi's hands..."

"Shows starting." Your open mouth snaps shut when the cushions dip beside you and Namjoon throws his arms over the back of the couch, swirling his half empty glass with an overconfident smirk.

Jimin averts his gaze. He knows he probably said too much. Sure, you're technically his colleague but you're also Namjoon's sister, the daughter of his boss. If Namjoon had overheard his position at Big Hit could have been called into question.

You would have to grill him more about Yoongi's motives later. Namjoon was right; the show really was starting.

Lights send the club into a dizzying purple haze, a new beat rumbling through the club that makes your skin prickle. It's almost drowned out by the electricity in the air, the frantic stamping of feet, the brazen chants of a single name over and over that fills you with a funny tingly feeling.

Gloss! Gloss! Gloss!

Something about it feels dirty.

The crowd is packed tightly together in the pit now. Even from where you sit, avoiding club goers eyes on the opposite side of the room, you find your attention glued to the stage. The set up is nothing like the one your brother occupies every night; just a wooden structure, painted black at one point but scuffed and scratched by the soles of shoes that boast the history of the place. The speakers are propped on broken crates, no big LED screens or back up dancers like your parents hire out for Namjoon.

Though none of that seems to matter when your gaze falls on the sole microphone stand placed centre stage beneath a blinding spotlight. It's the only familiar parallel between the two performers. It's a symbol of an artist, of the passion that comes with being up on that stage — any stage. It belongs to a performer.

You have to peer through a sea of frantic waving hands on your tiptoes to catch a glimpse of the combat boots taking the stage in time with the music rushing in your ears, mouth dry at the silver rings glinting under the harsh lights as fingers curl around the microphone.

"Yoongi." Namjoon grunts beside you, back stick straight and alert now. The traces of his previous smirk have been erased, a line appearing at the bridge of his nose. "There he is."

Yoongi throws his head back, breathes in the stuffy air that carries the shouts and whistles of the crowd like it's the sweetest oxygen money can buy.

The stench of beer burns your eyes but you're scared you'll miss a glimpse of his messy blue hair, or the eyes drunk on the fierce energy pulsing through the club to stop watching even if you tried.

When his voice permeates the room it's husky, burning through you like a shot of dry whisky. Namjoon stiffens, loosens the bandana around his face so he can see better.

Is that Runch Randa?

"Namjoon..." You hiss. "People are looking."

"Shut up." He grits, jaw tightening as Yoongi's lyrics cut through the tension like a serrated knife.

The way he moves across the stage like he owns it is exhilarating, makes the blood in your veins pump hot, limbs turning to lead as the crowd hangs off his every word.

He's good. Great, even. His lyrics give you goosebumps and you realise you haven't felt like this about a performance in a long time. Passionate. Yoongi is exhilarating to watch and it shakes you to the core.

It's then that it dawns on you. The reason Namjoon feels threatened is because there is a real chance that he might loose everything.

Gloss might take the trophy once and for all.

You only rip your eyes away from the stage when you feel Namjoon stand up beside you, his body disappearing into the crowd.

You get up too. "Leave him." You watch Jimin mouth. "He's just angry, he'll calm down—"

You don't care about Namjoon, not when the air is suddenly too thick, too heavy to breathe. Not when your hands sweat and you heave with a desire to run from reality and the suffocating smell of stale cigarette smoke that made your throat burn, like you can't get your body to breathe.

"Y/N? Where are you going?"

You swear you're floating, feet never seeming to quite touch the ground as you battle against the hazy dizziness that makes the room spin, ignoring Jimin's exasperated shouts of your name as you push through the gaps between bodies and pray your sense of direction is still intact enough to pull your outstretched arms towards the exit.

--

It's dark outside when you spill out of the exit, spluttering and heaving for air.

The brick is cool against your back when you slide down a nearby wall, hugging your knees.

A deep breath. In then out. Your chest loosens, lungs begin to feel full enough again.

Until a gravelly voice rings out into the night, clearer than the thump of unintelligible music from inside the club that makes your head pound.

"So it was you I saw back there. Good to know I'm not seeing things."

Even before you lift your face from between your knees you know who it belongs to. The single person you want to see least in the world at this very moment.

"Go away." You grumble but all that follows is a low chuckle as Yoongi slumps down next to you, ensuring to leave a safe distance between your crouched bodies.

It's funny. You had been preparing yourself to see him all night but now he's actually here in front of you, your mouth is dry.

He looks the same as he always did; dark eyes that burn hot as they scan your face, cocky smirk turning up the corners of his mouth. His brow looks wearier than you remember though, too weary for a man of twenty three. The only indication that time has passed since him and your brother were best friends.

"I assume Namjoon sent you here, then?"

The mention of your brother's name offers you the courage you need to look at him directly. His forehead still gleams with sweat in the dim moonlight, hair slicked back with a red bandana. There's a ring around his eye now, black and bruised. He must have taken off the black hoodie he donned on stage, left now in only a white vest which exposes his arms and to your dismay makes your blood run a little hotter.

"He's inside. I just came along because I had to." You mumble. "I'm not his spy, you know."

"Sure as shit seems like it." Yoongi spits with an amused chuckle, head lolling on his shoulders to face you. "He worried I might tell everyone about his little secret? Or was he trying to find his own leverage?"

A hot anger boils beneath your skin, rising all the way to your cheeks. Namjoon wouldn't do that would he? He didn't play that way. He didn't need to get an upper hand on Yoongi. He just wanted to see what he was up against.

"What's your problem, Yoongi?" The smirk on his mouth never falters, something glinting behind his eyes that tells you he wants to get a rise out of you. Even so, you can't help the way your voice raises, staggering to your feet. He chuckles darkly in response. "You get off on being an asshole or something?"

"You're too naive. What's so bad about telling the truth?" He closed the space between you until he's hovering above you, breath warm against your cheek. Your heart starts to race."What's so bad about taking back what is mine?"

Your breath hitches when his hand presses into the wall beside your head, effectively cornering you beneath his chest. "You could ruin his career."

Yoongi snorts. "What? Like he ruined mine?"

A few beats of silence. His eyes scan your face and it makes your stomach feel funny. You push at his chest, sucking in a shaky breath when he backs off a little and you realise part of you is weirdly disappointed that he did.

"Yoongi I don't know what happened between you and Namjoon—"

"No. You wouldn't know." He scorns, slinging his hands in his pockets, face darker now at the mention of his feud with your brother. "Because Namjoon loves secrets right? Namjoon likes to use people, Y/N. Just like he's using you now, to get to the top. And then he'll throw you away just like he did with me, sweetheart."

"Namjoon wouldn't do that." You bite your lip, the words leaving your tongue sounding a little less sure than you intend.

"Why? What makes you think you're any different?"

"He's my brother."

"I was his brother once too, remember?" He swallows, shaking his head in disbelief at your denial. "The only blood that matters to Namjoon is the blood shed to get him to the top."

You wrap your arms around your torso instinctively. Yoongi's words cut too deep. Maybe something inside of you thought Yoongi was right?

No. You came here to protect Namjoon yet here you were allowing his enemy to get inside your head.

"Fuck you, Min Yoongi." You spit, enjoying the way his eyes widen at the venom lacing your tone. "I made a mistake coming here."

Before you could brush past him and escape the heat  running through your blood stream which feels fuzzier than hatred should, a hand curls around your wrist.

"Shit. Looks like someone's on your trail."

A quick glance over your shoulder reveals none other than Jimin, face hidden by the visor of his black cap but recognisable none the less. He speaks a few words to the bouncer, probably asking if they saw you come out.

"Oh no."

The bouncer gestures in your direction. Jimin's eyes pause for a second as they skim across your form stood rigid with shock and your heart falls out of your ass when he starts in the direction of where you stand way too close to Yoongi unable to move a single muscle as you brace for discovery. To pay for your betrayal of your brother.

"You coming or what?" Yoongi snaps you back to reality with a tug on your arm, feet stumbling over each other as he drags you behind him further down the alley and around a nearly pitch black corner, too far away from the street lights to be basked in their orange glow.

"What the fuck, Yoongi?" You try to shrug out of his grasp, heart beating faster when you see the flat look on his face. "Let go of me!"

Yoongi comes to an abrupt halt. "Listen, I'm trying to save your ass here. You want to get caught? Go on then! Not my problem."

You nibble your lip, glancing one way at the dark alley and the other at Jimin pacing up and down the street with furrowed brows.

"Just trust me, Y/N."

Jimin's footsteps get closer and closer. It's now or never.

Tightening your jaw, you turn back to Yoongi and nod. The words feel foreign as they pass your lips. "I...trust you."

With that, Yoongi grabs your hand and breaks into a sprint

Turning the corner, the alley meets a dead end. The back of the club is just as run down as the front, littered with cracked beer bottles and cigarette stumps. The sign above the door labelled NO ENTRY doesn't offer any light and apparently Yoongi doesn't listen to directions because he fishes in his back pocket for a key, sliding the bolt and pushing on the bar to hold the door open with a small nod for you to go inside first.

With a deep breath, you do.

The door closes behind you with a jingle of chains, cutting off the slither of moonlight it provided and sending you into complete darkness. You hear Yoongi slide the bolt back across and then he fumbles for you in the darkness, your body pulled down next to his with a yelp so that you're out of direct view of the window which looks inside the room.

"I think they followed us." His voice is silk but there's an underlying insinuation. Be quiet.

Yoongi's eye level now, knees squeezed up against yours in the cramped space beneath the window ledge. Your eyes slowly adjust to the darkness, able to see the way he scans your face when he thinks you aren't looking. The way he grumbles and looks away when you catch him.

There's not time to dwell as you hear footsteps turn the corner, tracking all the way to the door where the bolt rattles, a sleeve wiping the window and pressing a cupped face to the glass.

"She's not here, man. You must have seen someone else."

It was Hoseok. You'd recognise his voice anywhere. Countless all nighters in the studio together does that to a person. Had Jimin called him all the way down here to look for you?

Jimin chimes in quickly. "I could have sworn it was her..."

The voices trail off as they retreat back down the alley, around to the front of the club.

A sigh escapes you, head falling against the wall in relief. When you open your eyes Yoongi is looking at you again. There's something pained in his expression, unspoken words visible in the way he bites his cheek to stop them from spilling out into the darkness.

His fingers are still wrapped around your arm, an electricity buzzing through your veins when you feel him lean in closer, pulling you towards him just barely.

His lips. Chapped and so close to yours. God. You think you want to kiss them. Just to know how it feels. You've never seen them up this close before. Not close enough to feel his hot breaths puffing against your forehead. Not close enough that if you just lifted your chin a little bit...

Yoongi lets out an embarrassed cough, jolting you out of your thoughts. "That was a close one, huh?" The spot where his hand resided feels cold when he rips it away.

Yoongi's face is wiped of any emotion again. He's not completely slick though as when he finally speaks again he sounds husky, the betrayal in his voice surprising even him.

"Are you okay?"

What were you supposed to say to that? I almost got caught with my brother's enemy and then thought about kissing said enemy. No, I don't think I am okay.

"Fine. Thanks."

Yoongi offers you a hand, getting to his feet and pulling you up after him before he leans across your body to flick on the lights.

The yellowish stream burns your eyes but allows you to take in the room around you. There's a keyboard in the corner, piles of sheet music strewn across the wooden desk beside it. A pair of speakers hooked up to a worn looking sound machine. A mic and a pair of headphones slung over the back of the mismatch wheely chair tucked beneath a desk.

A studio.

He must notice the way you look around with wide eyes, redness creeping up his neck as he busies himself by kicking some of the clutter on the floor behind the desk. "Wasn't expecting guests."

It definitely wasn't the high tech producing set up you were provided with back at Big Hit, no hifi system or fancy computer programmes. The furniture was mismatch, like someone had collected a bunch of spare puzzle pieces and shook them up in the box until they made a picture.

Somehow of the pieces still manage to seem somehow inherently Yoongi; the basketball tee with GLOSS on the back draped over his chair, even the empty water bottles overflowing in the trash can. The tiny framed picture of a younger looking Yoongi next to a woman you think you recognise but can't quite put your finger on.

"Genius lab?" You snort, nodding towards the sign hanging haphazardly above the monitor.

Yoongi shrugs. "What can I say? It's true."

"Confident." You muse.

You share a smile. It's strange. Familiar. The way his eyes crinkle and even the husk of the chuckle that follows reminding you of when things were good, back when you considered Yoongi to be a sort of friend. Before things got fucked up.

"You'll take it back when I win."

Old habits might not die hard but the rational part of your brain registers the implication of his words, even beneath his playful facade. The studio suddenly feels cold. Nostalgia dissipates. You remember why you're here.

"Why didn't you just let them find me?"

"You know as well as I do that Namjoon risks getting disqualified if Jimin causes a scene and gets himself caught snooping around here."

You huff an exasperated breath. For all Yoongi's talk of  having the upper hand he sure did seem reluctant to use it. "Isn't that what you want? What's stopping you? Want to drag it out or something?"

Yoongi lets out a breathy laugh, crossing the room and ducking into a drawer in the far corner. He returns with two glasses and a murky bottle of something strong, already a quarter empty as he pours some out. He offers the second glass towards you but you wave it away.

"Suit yourself." He takes a swig of the dark liquid, squeezes his eyes shut. "Because I want to win fair and square."

You shake your head. "All of this. Just for a stupid trophy?"

He eyes you over the rim of his glass, swirling the liquid with an overconfidence that makes you grit your teeth in annoyance. "So Namjoon knows how it feels to lose something he loves." He looks you up and down then, coughing and turning his head when you notice it. "Yeah. I guess it's for the trophy."

Yoongi is despicable, you think. Is he really so fame hungry that he will destroy anyone standing in his way to get it? Even Namjoon? Sure, your brother has his faults but if there is one thing you know it's that he loves being on that stage. What happened between them that makes Yoongi think he deserves it more?

"So its a revenge thing, then. And what if you lose, huh?" The way your voice raises makes you wince. Yoongi slams his glass down and flashes you an are you serious face.

"Y/N don't you see? I have nothing to lose. Namjoon already took everything. My life, my family, my fame. Everything. You know how it feels to have it all dangled in front of your face? And then get it ripped away like it was never yours to begin with?"

Yes. You'd never tell him that, of course. But you did know. You had to watch Namjoon perform your songs every night through a camera lens. Snapping shots of him in his element and wishing those picture perfect moments were yours. What did Yoongi know?

"I see him on the big screen, on stages I dreamed of. Crowds screaming his name. It was supposed to be me, Y/N. Meanwhile I'm sat here," Yoongi gestures to the shabby studio you find yourself in, liquid sloshing over the edge of his glass. "In clothes I printed myself, making music in a shitty club for free because nobody will even listen to my shit."

He's panting by the end of his spiel, knuckles pressed to his eyes as he tries to regain his composure before he lets too many of his weaknesses show. Something resonates inside you, softening the anger towards him with what you recognize as sympathy.

"Then why do you still do it? Make music?"

"Because it's the only thing that never left me alone."

You sigh. While you're collecting your thoughts something catches your eye — a Polaroid picture, tacked onto the plasterboard behind his computer. It's of a smiling Yoongi and much to your surprise, a smiling Namjoon, arms wrapped around each other like nothing could ever break them apart. You briefly wonder why he kept it, if he hated Namjoon so much.

You turn to him again.

"Don't make me regret saying this but you're good, Yoongi. Like really good. Your performance earlier it was...amazing. I mean that."

Yoongi's stern eyes soften with surprise. He almost seems pained, like the simple compliment means more to him than you expected.

"So, you don't have to do this. Big Hit has connections, I could get in touch with a couple record labels--"

He stiffens again. "What? Are you my manager now? As if any record label would take a chance on the biggest Mic Drop loser in history, Y/N, don't talk shit."

You trail off. It's true and you know it.

He swallows hard. "You know what I think? I think you're here because you know that I might actually win this thing. As much as Namjoon knows how to play dirty he doesn't have the talent. He never did! That's why he's using you to write his material." His laugh makes you shiver. "How can he even call himself an artist? It's pathetic."

That's all it takes for your patience to snap. Is the way your blood boils with a sudden and insatiable rage because of the way he bad mouthed your brother? Surely you didn't actually believe him? No, everything he said was a lie -- it had to be.

Your hand curls into a fist, anger spilling over as you charge at him full force. Yoongi barley flinches, his fingers deftly curling around your wrist before it can meet his jaw and pulling you into him at the waist so he can slot his bottom lip between yours.

"Fuck yo— hmf?"

Your eyes widen as you register his slightly chapped lips moving against your own, remnants of the amber liquid he poured down his throat earlier sour on your tongue, a surprised gasp leaving you when Yoongi flips your bodies and slams your back roughly against the wall, settling himself between your legs.

"Gonna finish what Namjoon started, sweetheart?" When he pulls back you're panting, eyes trained to his parted lips with wonder.

He kissed you. Yoongi kissed you. For real.

His warm breath still mingles with yours as you try to choke a response, anything. Yoongi's eyes have a dark glint to them and god you should hate him for winding you up like this but being this close to him just feels too good.

Then, before you can think better of it, you grab his collar with your free hand and smash your lips together in a tangle of teeth and tongue that makes your entire body burn with relief.

The groan he lets out against your mouth tells you he wants this too. "Fuck, couldn't help myself." He pants. "You're driving me crazy."

You feel a dampness throb between your legs when his hands tangle in your hair, lips never leaving yours as he pulls you across the room and drops into his chair.

A whimper is pulled from your lips when his palms cup the flesh of your ass beneath your dress, though it's not in protest, dizzy with desire when he pulls you into his lap and bucks his hips so that his half hard cock brushes against your clothed heat.

"See what you do to me?" He pulls back to smirk at your swollen lips, a much needed breath entering your lungs, filling you with another bout of restless desire as Yoongi's eyes scan your face hungrily. It feels too good even though it should be so wrong.

"W-we shouldn't." Your mouth is dry, words coming out a little unsure which gives away just how much you want to keep going. "What if--"

A particularly harsh thrust of his hips makes you moan softly, head falling into the crook of Yoongi's neck. He growls when he catches sight of the growing wet patch on the front of his jeans, testament of his effect on you as much as you hated to admit it.

"What if Namjoon finds out?" His hand shoots between your legs, pads of his fingers tracing your clothed core, the coarse lace of your panties adding a delicious layer of friction against your folds. The delicate touch sets your body alight, skin burning to let go and submit to the feeling despite the voice in the back of your mind screaming no!

"What if Namjoon finds out that I make you this wet?" Your panties are sticking to your heat by now so it would have been futile to deny it. He smiles smugly when your legs shake and you throw an arm around his neck to keep your balance.

"S-shut up." It's meek and it only makes him laugh darkly, the husky sound sending shivers down your spine as he leans in closer to nibble on the lobe of your ear.

If you didn't know any better you would think he was unaffected by this. Your chest heaves with desire and your hands itch with a yearning to touch him but Yoongi appears the epitome of composure, maintaining sinful eye contact as he pulls your panties to the side. The only give away is the way his cock twitches against your leg with each jerk of his hips, a funny sense of pride erupting in your chest knowing that he wants you too.

Open mouthed kisses drag down your jaw, lingering at your neck. His teeth nibble at the sensitive skin, tongue laving out to soothe the sting and it feels too good to worry about the bruises his sinful lips leave behind as a reminder of your weakness Namjoon could never know of.

"Look so pretty marked up, sweetheart." The pet name makes your clit throb, head throwing back as his mouth attacks the sensitive spot on your neck like he knew it was there all along. It's almost concerning how quickly he has you falling apart in his lap. How easily he turned you into a shuddering mess, barely able to form coherent sentences in between breathy gasps at the sensation of him making you his for all to see. "Show everyone that you're mine, hm?"

When Yoongi removes his hand from your core you slap a hand over your mouth to stop a whine of protest from escaping. Yoongi's eyes narrow, palming his bulge through his trousers as he watches you writhe in his lap with amusement, every twist of your hips falling short and providing no relief for your pulsing clit, already missing the feeling of his hand cupping your mound and considering how it would feel skin on skin—

Oh god. What am I doing?

You let out a groan, but not the good kind.

"What?" Yoongi seems to read your mind, snapping you back to reality when he pulls your panties to the side. He circles your entrance teasingly and you can't help the way you whimper. "Don't act like you don't want to sink down on my cock, Y/N. You could ride me right here and nobody would ever know."

"H-how can I trust you?" It would ruin Namjoon if he found out. He was already stressed, already growing distant from you. This had to stop before it went too far. Before there was no going back.

"Because I can make you feel like this." A lithe finger slides into your heat, easy because of how you drip over his hand. "Think about how much better my cock would stretch you out, hm?"

Each drag of his finger against your velvety walls has you squeezing your eyes shut. The sensation is overwhelming, and when he adds a second digit  you feel your repose crumble. Lust seems to crash over you like a wave, clouding your thought with a hazy desire to just give in and let Yoongi take you, uncaring about the repercussions now as you push down to meet his thrusts so he hits deeper than before.

"Fine." Your words are slurred, too busy chasing the feeling between your legs to see the way it makes Yoongi's eyes light up. "J-just hurry up and fuck me Yoongi."

"Well well," Yoongi settles back against the wall, looking between your bodies to watch the way his fingers disappear into your soaking cunt with an expression almost primal, his own breathing ragged now as he tries to resist turning you over and fucking you into tomorrow then and there. "Never thought I'd actually get to hear my name on your lips like this. Say it again."

A sharp flick of his wrist has you falling against his chest, pulsing around him. "Yoongi!"

"That's right," He licks his lips, free hand unzipping his jeans to relieve the pressure on his length. "Me. Yoongi." The way he mimicks your breathless tone makes a hot blush rise in your cheeks, aware of just how fucked out you must seem right now but too horny to care. "Been waiting for this. Ah shit!"

You take it upon yourself to hurry along the process by reaching into the waistband of his boxers to wrap a hand around the shaft of his cock. It pulses at your touch, the pace of Yoongi's fingers in your cunt stuttering as he flies forward, knuckles on the hand gripping your thigh turning white as he tries to regain some control while you stroke him firmly.

"Fuck your hands. Sinful. Knew they would be. God you're going to kill me if you keep this up, I swear." The worlds tumble from his mouth in one heaving breath as you twist your palm around his sticky head, enjoying the way his thighs twitch with a want to buck into your fist and his nose flares with the effort it takes to resist.

His cock feels girthy in your palm, hot and heavy as you help him shimmy his jeans around his thighs. When his cock slaps back against his stomach, impossibly hard and leaking with anticipation you feel your mouth water.

"Like what you see?" He almost taunts.

You bite your lip. "I don't think you're gonna fit."

It must have brushed his ego because the tip seemed to flush an even deeper shade of red. "Wanna sit on it and find out?"

A nod is all it takes for Yoongi to slide your panties to the side, slapping your hands away to grip the base of his cock and line it up with your entrance.

You both groan in unison when he pushes into your heat, the stretch burning with every inch, fingers clutching the fabric of his tank top at the sensation of finally being full.

"Fuuuck." You see his tongue snake out to wet his bottom lip when his hips finally join flush to yours, hair sticking to his already damp forehead as he allowed you to adjust. "So fucking tight for me, princess."

His cock throbs impossibly deep inside you when you unconsciously clench around it, feeling your face flush as you whimper for him to get on with it and fuck you already.

"Shh, patience." His thumb pulls at your bottom lip, setting it free with a pop. "Move."

At his command you do, bracing yourself on his shoulders. You raise up, feeling every ridge of his length until just the tip remains inside your heat. Then you are slamming back down and flushing at the groan which tumbles from his chest.

"Such a slut, taking my cock so well." His palms feel hot on your hips, dragging you up and down through the motion that has you panting.

Yoongi looks utterly amazed at the visual of you sinking down onto his length, unable to stop the satisfied grin settling into his features when you cry out after a particularly deep thrust. "Imagine if Namjoon could see you now. Falling apart on my cock?"

"Can we — hnng — not talk about my brother when you're in my fucking guts?"

"Why?" A whine leaves you when he slips out of your cunt, grabs you by the ass, and hoists you to your feet, roughly bending you over the desk until your cheek presses against the cold surface. Yoongi tugs your hands behind your back, cock already sinking back into your heat before you can protest at the emptiness. "Worried he'll think you're a slut for taking my cock when I'm the one whose going to fucking end him?"

"Yes!" You cry, unable to hold back now as you feel his cock hit deeper than before with every ram inside you that fills the room with the slapping sound of his pistoning hips, brushing your sweet spot each time and making the coil in your stomach tighten.

God, this is so wrong and you know it. You know it shouldn't feel so good when Yoongi's hands tangle in your hair, pulling you so that your back arches flush against his sweaty chest. Know how many people would be hurt if they knew how much you love it, how you push back into his thrusts, eager for more.

"Shit, you're squeezing so tight." His voice sounds strained now, thrusts turning sloppy as you feel him shudder. "Close, shit. Where can I—"

"Inside me. Want you to f-fill me."

"Holy sh— always wanted to hear you say that. Okay, fuck."

A few more pumps of his cock and he's spilling inside you, the feeling of his release coating your walls enough to have you falling over the edge unexpectedly too, vision turning black as you cum with a cry.

The only sound that fills the silence is your heavy breaths mingling with his as your arms give out. You're silently grateful, as much as you hated to admit it, for the strong arm around your torso that holds you to him when your legs turn to jelly.

Yoongi slips out of you, admiring the way his cum leaks down your trembling thighs. The emptiness makes you keen, clenching around nothing.

"Made such a mess of you, kitten."

The sound of his zipper makes your heart sink, stiffening as he tucks his spent cock back into his pants. For a second you think he's going to leave you like this, shame caressing your cheeks as you envision how fucked out you must look.

But then, Yoongi's palms are back on your thighs as he kicks the chair from under his desk and pushes you roughly onto the cushion. "Think you can go again for me, princess?"

"Wha--?" His swollen lips make you loose your words, the way his tongue tantalizingly caresses your bottom lip drawing a choked whine from your throat instead.

"Fuck, always thought you'd make such pretty noises." It's mumbled gruffly under his breath, like he's confirming it with himself rather than addressing you. He pulls back to stare at you spread out for him, lidded eyes widening at the visual of your skirt pooled around your waist, legs kept open by the rough grip around your thigh that exposes your swollen slit. The way your arousal drips down your inner thighs along with his own release has him swallowing thickly. "Like being filled with my cum, huh? Such a slut."

Yoongi traces his fingers up your inner thighs, thumb applying a gentle pressure to your clit, legs struggling to fall shut around his hand to escape the over stimulation. "P-please Yoongi, I can't."

"You will." It's growled against your neck, hot breath making you shudder. "I know you can take it."

A knee slips between your thighs, holding them open so his fingers can deftly continue their brutal attack on your sensitive folds. Each drag of his knuckle up your slit makes you whimper, the way the pads of his fingers rub firm circles into your clit making it pulse. The feeling is more intense than before, borderline agonizing as a warmth builds in the pit of your stomach again.

Eventually the pain starts to dissipate, turns into something closer to pleasure when you feel a single digit slip into your heat, the slide made easy by the fact that his cock had already stretched you out and his release lubed you up nicely. Each pump makes a lewd squelching noise that has you biting your lip to stop from groaning unabashedly, Yoongi's gaze fixed to the sight of his knuckles disappearing inside you.

When you buck up into his touch again, desperately circling your hips to try and grind your clit against the heel of his hand, Yoongi lets out a dark chuckle. The muscles in your cunt tighten, skin damp with sweat as you fuck yourself on his hand in search of a second high that burns ever closer.

"Look at you, all needy again from just one finger. All fucked out again even after I stretched you out."

With that Yoongi removes his hand from your heat all together, leaving you gasping and clenching around nothing as your release falls farther away, unable to resist the groan of frustration that passes your lips.

"Don't stop!" Your head lolls back against the chair, thighs trembling with desperation to feel his touch again. "I was so close--"

"Suck." Yoongi raises his fingers to your lips. You notice the way they gleam, sticky and white in the studio lighting. The pads of his fingers smear the wetness across your swollen lips as he pushes for entry which you gave to him eagerly, humming around the digits. "Be a good girl, hm?"

He all but groans when your eyes flutter open and lock with his, tongue swirling around his fingers teasingly, enjoying the taste of your own arousal mixed with the saltiness of his cum, almost in sensory overload at the thought of how much better his cock would feel in your throat.

"That's it." A knuckle drags down your cheek possessively, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "Good girl."

A sticky trail of spit follows Yoongi's fingers when they leave your mouth with a lewd pop, your breaths coming out shaky and desperate as you watch his eyes zone in on your aching core.

The sight of him dropping to his knees is enough to have you squeezing your eyes shut in anticipation, whimpering when his hot breath grazes over your throbbing clit. "Wanna taste you for myself."

And with that his tongue runs a rough stripe up your slit, eyes falling shut as he hums against your folds contentedly.

"Fuck Yoongi!" Your eyes roll back as he laps a few teasing licks across your bud, body turning to putty when his hands roughly pull you down the chair so that he can attach his mouth to your mound fully.

A guttural moan rises from his chest when you grind your core against his face, knuckles turning white as you clutch he chair like it's the only thing keeping you grounded, stopping you from floating away and losing yourself to the feeling of Yoongi's tongue teasing your already wrecked hole. An impatience rises in your stomach every time his nose grazes your clit, pushing your hips more forcefully to chase the relief it brings.

"So eager." You knew he'd have a smirk on his face if his lips weren't already occupied, wrapping around your clit and sucking with just the right amount of pressure to have your fingers tangling in the blue locks that spill loose from his bandanna now, holding him to your core so that you can rock against his tongue easier.

"Close sweetheart?" The way your chest heaves and little gasps spill past your lips as you chase your high must give away the effect he is having on you. You nod breathlessly and to your surprise Yoongi places a chaste kiss to your folds before pulling back all together, leaving you writhing and desperate for him to make cum for the second time. "Did I give you permission?"

Your heart beats furiously as your release slips away once again. Yoongi only stares at you intently. His lips glisten with a mixture of both of your releases and the thought alone makes your core ache. A loose shake of your head makes his eyes darken, licking some of the dampness from around his lips. "Gotta use your words, baby. Did I say you could cum?"

Dizzy with arousal, your words sound slurred and alien to your own ears. "N-no."

"Good. Now ask nicely."

"Please." It comes out whinier than you anticipate but Yoongi's hands twitch against the flesh of your thighs, giving away the fact that he likes it despite the way his mouth presses into a tight and unforgiving line. "Can I cum? Please?"

A deep laugh leaves his bitten lips. "I don't think you deserve it." His head dips back down between your legs, sloppy kisses pressed to each of your thighs as he edges ever closer to your dripping core. "I want you to count, okay?"

"O-oh, okay." He attacks your clit again, tongue swirling where his teeth graze across the pulsing bud. You're so sensitive that you're sure just the light brushes of his lips will send you over the edge if he keeps going.

"G-gonna cum if you--"

"Don't." The authority in his voice makes you gasp. "Didn't I say to count? One."

"Fuck!" Hot tears streak your cheeks when he pulls back so just his hot breath ghosts across your glistening folds. "I..I was so close!"

"Hey, hey." His hand reaches up to stroke your cheek, a strangely gentle action in comparison to the bruising grip on your thigh. "You're doing so good. Trust me, okay? Wanna make you feel good."

For the second time that night you nod, putting all your trust into him for reasons you are too fucked out to dwell on there and then.

When his tongue snakes out to tease your clenching hole again it draws an agonizing cry from you, the coil already tightening in your belly. You shut your eyes.

"Don't" The hand on your chin tightens, forces you to look down at where his face is buried between your legs, authority lacing his words again. "Keep your eyes on me."

As soon as you lock eyes he gets to work again, humming out a "good girl" before you're losing yourself again to his tongue and he has to plant your feet down roughly to stop your hips from bucking too much.

Before you know it your clit's throbbing again and you're about to fall over the edge but before you can even let Yoongi know he's pulling back with a pant, practically gasping for air but still flashing you a shit eating grin. "Didn't think I was going to let you, did you sweetheart?"

"Two." You manage to breathe. "Two!"

By now you're sick of the teasing, a hand coming between your own legs to finish yourself off, ready to come undone whether Yoongi likes it or not. Before you can get your way, Yoongi's swatting your hand away. "Desperate slut. Wanna cum that bad huh?"

"Please!" You practically whimper.

That seems to do it for him, his eyes glazing over with what you recognise as lust. As if the last of his self control just snapped. Anticipation makes your blood run hot.

"Then make it to three and we'll see if I'm feeling nice."

"Shit!" Yoongi's tongue plunges into your heat with a new found eagerness, thrusting in and out like a man deprived. You manage to maintain eye contact this time, falling apart at the way he groans in appreciation when he tastes himself, fucking your hole with his tongue mercilessly like he wants to get every last drop of his cum.

His thumb finds your clit and the coil in your lower belly tightens too rapidly for you to comprehend, tugging on his hair as you cry out. "Yoongi!"

"Cum for me."

His permission is all it takes to have you falling over the edge into a shattering orgasm that makes your vision turn black, mind wiped of any hesitation and guilt and replaced with a single word, over and over again: Yoongi.

When you finally take a gasping breath, he's there, rubbing encouraging circles into your hips and leaving kisses across your stomach that makes something in your chest warm, heart beating a little faster and not just from your orgasm.

"So fuckin' pretty when you cum." You're sure that's what he murmurs against your damp skin. "Can't believe I had to wait this long."

You furrow your brow. Yoongi sits back against his heels, wiping your arousal from his mouth with the back of his hand and flashing you a lazy but satisfied smile, looking awfully pleased with himself. Like this was his biggest dream come true.

It dawned on you that it probably was in someways -- what better way to get back at an old friend than by fucking his sister?

You suddenly feel like an idiot for letting him charm you, guilt washing through you, flying forward when your chest aches with regret.

Yoongi notices how you pale. "Are you okay? If that was too much then I'm really sorry--"

"Too much?" You suddenly feel exposed beneath his gaze, shuffling around to pull your skirt around your thighs, eyes roaming the room hurriedly for your panties so you can get out of here and quick. "This is all too much, Yoongi."

"What?" He puts a hand on your shoulder to stop you as you brush past him but the way you jolt at the touch makes him rip it away like he touched a live wire.

"I...shouldn't have come here. This was a mistake."

Namjoon's face was embedded in your mind. The way his eyes would crumple with betrayal if he found out you came here at all -- let alone let Yoongi take you so intimately. And you hadn't even tried to stop yourself from falling into him, gave in to your emotions too easily and allowed Yoongi to use you as a swipe at your own brother.

"Why? Didn't seem so upset when you were coming on my tongue." The scoff in Yoongi's voice makes you freeze.

"I can't stop you from hurting Namjoon," Your lip quivers and you have to press your nails into your palms to stop the tears spilling over. "But do you really have to hurt me, too?"

"Y/N, wait--"

Your hands shake as you grab your bag and head for the door. "Shit happened between you and my brother, I get it. But we were friends once, Yoongi. Doesn't that mean anything to you? We can't see each other again."

Your tears are warm in contrast to the cold evening air as you take off into a run, needing to get as far away from Yoongi and the evidence of your own betrayal as possible.

By the time you stumble back into the Big Hit company building, the studio is empty. To your surprise, words seem to flow out of you easier than they ever had before, a heart shaped stain appearing on the formerly empty page of your notebook.

--

Sleepless nights were becoming your norm. You had barely slept a wink since that night, not when every thought was plagued with guilt, the same name running circles around your mind, the same dark eyes and swollen lips and messy hair tauntingly appearing in your mind whenever your head hit the pillow.

Yoongi.

That night with Yoongi felt something like a dream, a hazy memory, the only evidence of it being real the fact that every time you closed your eyes you could feel the way Yoongi's hands burned your skin, how his lips moved perfectly in sync with your own.

As much as you knew it was a mistake, something that should have never happened, you couldn't help the way your heart throbbed every time you replayed it over and over in your mind, repeatedly, until you felt like you were going insane with guilt. It was eating you alive. But sometimes you would remember the way you felt when he was pressed up against you and every ounce of regret felt worth it.

You hated yourself for it, and you knew your brother would hate you to, if he ever found out.

He could never find out.

So, you take to avoiding Namjoon altogether. It wasn't that hard really, you knew his schedule well enough to be a step ahead of him at all times, and it wasn't as if he was enthusiastic about your company to begin with.

Of course sometimes your paths have to cross, but you still can't look Namjoon in the eyes when you slip into one of the Big Hit practice rooms where you know you'll inevitably find him.

The music hits before you even open the door. Namjoon is dressed in casual clothes, cap pulled down low over his face as he raps into a mic, the way his voice husks a tell tale sign that this was not the first time he'd gone over the same verse.

He seems stiffer than usual, all elbows and knees as he scrutinises his own form in the wall to floor mirror. You've seen him perform this choreography flawlessly hundreds of times so your brow furrows with confusion each time his feet miss a beat or his knees literally buckle under the pressure.

On the far side of the room sits a row of men and women in formal suits. Investors, brought in to bet on the contestant most likely to win. They watch Namjoon with intent eyes, some shaking their heads in disapproval, others whispering insults below their breaths.

Is that really Runch Randa? Pfft, he'll never win with footwork like that.

Jimin stands close by, hopping from one foot to the other and wincing with every mistake Namjoon makes. He's been making desperate phone calls for the last week, pleading with any investor he could get ahold of to take a chance on Namjoon which was hard to come by after the royal media fuck up the other day at the after party.

This was Namjoon's only chance at a do over — he needed their money if he wanted to win this thing. The judges were expecting a show from him. Smoke machines and good lighting are expensive, after all.

Namjoon, however, only seems interested in the reactions of your parents sat in the back row, expressions grave. He's chastising himself, self loathing evident in his eyes every time he stutters over a lyric. He knows how hard they worked to establish Big Hit and the disappointment in their eyes as it slowly slips through Namjoon's fingers like sand makes even you feel jittery with nerves.

For a brief moment you're grateful that you are practically invisible in this room, no eyes even glancing your way as you join them. You're glad that Namjoon takes the brunt of the pressure. You never were the strong sibling after all.

The music cuts, Namjoon coming to a stand still. He crumples at the knees, forehead pressed against the polished linoleum floor as he tries to catch his breath.

Jimin slumps into a chair, head in hands. That tells you all you need to know.

Investors leave the room, some sending apologetic looks towards Jimin with a shrug. Others deposit their cheque books back into their briefcases, taking pity on the pleading smiles and firm handshakes from your parents when they apologise for Namjoon's lacking performance. One even pats Namjoon on the back, following the small crowd as they leave the room. "Take a break, buddy."

Nearly everyone has filtered out before Namjoon gets to his feet shakily, slumping down into a seat beside you. You don't acknowledge him, afraid of what you might let slip if you do, fiddling with your camera as a distraction.

It's him who breaks the silence.

"How's the song coming along?" He seems disinterested, clicking his knuckles with no real intention of listening to your response.

"Fine." Another lie. It wasn't coming along at all, really, but now is probably not the best time to tell him when his nerves are already heightened by his failure to gain any crucial investments.

His eye is still slightly swollen from the fist fight a few days ago, a permanent line forming at the bridge of his nose that wasn't there before. You almost didn't recognise him. He stares at his own broken reflection in the steamed practice room mirrors vacantly, like he doesn't  even recognise himself.

A few moments of uncomfortable silence pass. Namjoon's heavy breathing slows to a regular pace.

"I know you went to see him."

It echos menacingly through the room and you stiffen, clutching the floor beneath you for support. Namjoon's hard eyes still don't look your way but you see him analysing your reaction in the mirror. The way your mouth gapes speechlessly tells him everything he needs to know.

"Not even gonna try and deny it?" His head shakes in disbelief.

You throb with guilt. "H-how did you find out?"

"I have people everywhere keeping an eye on him, Y/N. You're lucky the paparazzi didn't catch you, because it sure as shit looked shady. My own sister," He scoffs around the word, as if it tastes bad in his mouth. "Siding with him?"

You place a hand on his forearm, surprised to find him shaking beneath your touch. "I'm not siding with him, Namjoon."

"Then what are you doing?" He roars, ripping his arm away.

What was I doing? You don't even know yourself.

It takes everything inside you to keep the expression on your face neutral, to wipe away the regret and the sadness and the fear that makes your voice wobble.

"We just talked." You had to avert your gaze, scared that somehow your disingenuous eyes would give away what really happened with Yoongi — a little more than talking to say the least.

"About what?"

"The secret, okay? I wanted to protect you—"

"Protect me?" Namjoon pinched the bridge of his nose. "How is meddling in business that doesn't even concern you protecting me, Y/N?"

"Have you forgotten that what you're — we're — doing is against Mic Drop rules? That you could be disqualified or...worse! Get your trophy revoked?"

"Pfft. Yoongi won't say anything.."

"What makes you so sure?"

"It's me he wants to hurt. I know him, Y/N. He'd never forgive himself if you—" He eyes you carefully. "If anyone else got dragged into this. It's between me and him, that's it."

Your head is spinning. You remember a time when things weren't this way, back when Yoongi and Namjoon were friends. Partners. What happened between them that made them so hell bent on destroying one another?

"There are things about Yoongi that you will never understand, Y/N. Things he did that can never be forgiven."

It briefly crosses your mind that if Namjoon could cut Yoongi, his best friend, out of his life, just how easy it would be for him to do the same to you if he found out just how unforgivable your betrayal was. A funny feeling pools in your stomach, a distance settling between you and Namjoon as, to your dismay, you realise just how much you have in common with your brother's enemy.

"But what about you, huh? Why should he forgive you? You took everything from him! I'm not surprised he's back to kick your ass. If you ask me it's him who should be holding a grudge—"

Namjoon's hands clamp onto your shoulders and you recoil from the contact. You're breathing hard, the tears welling in your eyes threatening to spill over any second.

"Listen to me. He's trying to get in your head. You need to stay away from him Y/N. He's bad news."

"Tell me why! Help me understand!"

Namjoon's face is grave. "Some secrets are best kept that way. It'll only make it worse if I tell you."

Before you can protest he's striding across the room and hitting the play button on the boom box in the corner, music blasting from the speakers again.

"Joon—"

"Just stick to taking pictures and stop getting involved in business that doesn't concern you."

Then his body is twisting across the room in time to the music with an intensity he didn't possess before. Like a machine on autopilot.

You shove your camera into your bag and let the door slam shut behind you.

--

"We were a mistake."

The cursor flashing on the empty document on your computer screen feels like it's taunting you.

"Please don't tell my brother what we did."

You've been like this for the last week. Holed up in one of the tiny studios at the Big Hit company building, head swimming with beats and melodies and lyrics that just won't seem to fit together. Not when your mind is preoccupied with a more pressing issue.

"Are you thinking about me as much as I'm thinking about you?"

Yoongi.

God, how are you supposed to write this song for Namjoon when all you can think about is his enemy?

You don't know why you're still so hung up on Yoongi. It's not as if what happened between you meant anything. It was just a spur of the moment mistake. You were both tense and needed someone to help blow off some steam. That's it. Nothing more, nothing less.

Right?

You'll never admit that deep down, a part of you wants to see him again. To check that he's real and that you didn't imagine the whole thing. To see if he is going as crazy as you feel.

That's when the answer hits you. The only way to make this right is to end things once and for all. Tie up all your loose ends and tell Yoongi that you and him were a one time thing. Make sure you were on the same page.

Then maybe you'll be able to concentrate on helping Namjoon beat his ass.

A sudden confidence grips you, standing up abruptly from your desk, alerting the attention of Hoseok who up until now has been quietly engrossed in the track he's producing.

"Where are you going?" He asks.

There's an address burning at the forefront of your mind. You have the route committed to memory. How long it'll take to get there. How long it'll take to get back before anyone else at Big Hit notices your absence.

The only place you knew where you might find Yoongi.

"I won't be gone long. Cover for me if anyone sees I'm gone, 'kay?"

Hoseok eyes you curiously and pulls his headphones to sit around his neck. "O-okay but don't you think you should take an umbrella? It's raining and you might catch a cold — oh."

You don't hear him, the door already slamming behind you.

--

In hindsight, Hoseok was probably right. You're soaked before you even get half way to Yoongi's studio.

Not that you care. Not when there are so many things you want to say to Yoongi. So many questions only he knows the answer to.

Not when you're about to see him again and you're giddy and nervous and scared of the way your heart feels like it's about to bust out of your chest.

You don't really know why you're doing this. For Namjoon's sake? To ease your own guilty conscience? Both?

You shake your head before your confidence can deflate and focus on putting two feet in front of the other instead, trying to take your mind of your destination by focusing on your surroundings. You always liked this part of town, with it's bustling roads and street vendors and buskers. Here it's easy to forget, to just close your eyes and let the buzz of cars and the melody from a nearby street guitarist and the torrent of ice cold rain whisk you away, like life is operating at double the speed but you're too caught up in your own thoughts to care.

So caught up in your own thoughts that you don't spot the guy handing out flyers on the side of the street until your face is colliding with his shoulder.

"Shit, I'm so sorry!"

The guy lets out a groan as you helplessly watch his flyers flutter to the ground like autumn leaves, disintegrating on the rain dampened street.

"Does nobody look where they're going any more? My boss is going to kill me..."

The guy gets to his knees and starts grabbing as many flyers as he can by the handful.

"I'm so sorry, at least let me help?"

You hear him sigh deeply but he doesn't stop you when you drop down beside him.

You stamp on a flyer before it can be whisked away by the breeze. It's ruined. The rain makes the ink bleed into a black blotch in the center of the sodden paper, but if you squint you can just make out the barely legible print.

Live Classical Piano - 7:30 - 9:30 Every Wednesday At The Coffee House!

A throat clears, shaking you back to reality, and a nimble hand thrusts towards you, palm up, waiting for you to deposit the pile of flyers you collected.

"Just gonna stand there all day, sweetheart? Some of us have a job to do."

Shame heats your cheeks. "I wasn't looking where I was going, I'll pay for these —"

Its then, as you let your hood fall down, that the boy stiffens. You look up slowly, meeting a widened pair of piercing grey eyes for the first time. The very same eyes you haven't been able to get out of your head all week.

"Wait...Yoongi?"

It's him. He's here? A coincidence surely but it sure as shit doesn't feel like one.

Just seeing him knocks the breath out of your lungs.

Yoongi blinks a few times, eyes wide with disbelief. Then he's ripping the flyers from your slackened grip and grabbing you by the wrist, dragging you behind him to the side of the street where you're just out of view from passerby's.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" He deadpans.

You take in the way his mint hair clings damply to his forehead, shirt darker in places where droplets of rain soak into the fabric. He's wearing one of those traditional pianist outfits with the funny tuxedo jacket and a little black bow tie strung around his neck that looks like it came from a bad Beethoven Halloween costume. It catches you off guard. No wonder you didn't recognise him before. Not exactly hip hop.

"What are you doing here?"

Yoongi glances over his shoulder warily. "Look, you can't tell anyone you saw me here okay? Did Namjoon send you?"

"What? No--?"

"Just leave, Y/N. Before someone sees you here and tells your precious brother that you've been hanging around with scum like me." He spits, drops your arm and starts in the direction he came from.

"Yoongi, wait!" You blurt, throwing your hands up in frustration. He freezes."Can we...can we just talk?"

Yoongi nearly does a double take. He's usually full of jibes but this catches him off guard. "Talk?"

He backtracks, though you notice the way he keeps a safe distance between you. It feels silly considering how much...closer you were just a few days ago. You wonder, as his eyes look you up and down, if he's thinking about it too. If you crossed his mind as much as he crossed yours.

"Listen, I don't have time for this, I need to go get some more of these flyers..."

Your heart drops, embarrassed for even entertaining the idea that he would want to see you again.

"Please?"

He hesitates. You're sure he's going to blow you off again but then his eyes fill with something scarily close to concern. "Shit, you're shivering."

Your hair hangs in heavy tendrils around your face, droplets of cold rain caressing your cheeks. Your knees knock, arms wrapped around the damp hoodie clinging to your torso to retain some warmth.

Yoongi shrugs off his jacket, despite the way his own teeth chatter. "You're going to catch your death dressed like that."

You stand there dumbly as he holds it out to you. He kicks a stone with the toe of his sneaker awkwardly when you finally wrap it around your shoulders.

"I thought you didn't want to see me again." It's almost accusing but you're sure you hear a trace of a pout in his voice.

"I...I didn't want to." Yoongi looks up. "But I think we should talk about you know...us."

Yoongi bites his lip, like he's having an inner debate. Like he's about to do something he knows he shouldn't.

"Fine. Let's talk. I, uh, guess I have some things I need to say to you too." He scratches the back of his neck. "But not here. Could I—would it be weird if we got coffee or something?"

Definitely weird. That's what you should say. But you don't.

"Okay."

You don't miss the way Yoongi's cheeks turn a little red.

--

The coffee shop Yoongi takes you to is a quaint little place, definitely not the sort of establishment you expected rough-around-the-edges Min Yoongi to frequent with its exposed brick walls and mint green espresso mugs with smiley faces on the side that give it a somewhat cosy appeal.

"I work here," He explains when he sees your eyes roaming. "Needed some extra cash."

You nod. Makes sense. The smell of pumpkin bread and coffee beans is still a welcome relief from the bitter chill outside.

The guy at the counter nods in greeting when Yoongi approaches, already grinding up coffee like he knows his regular order. Yoongi flashes him a tight smile. You figure they know each other, not that Yoongi seems the type to mingle within barista social circles but then again he is full of surprises today.

They share a few hushed whispers, staring not so subtly in the direction of where you sit hunched in one of the corner booths, but you just ignore it by watching a rain drop crawl down the window with rapt attention.

Words barely pass between you and Yoongi until you're both seated, him with a coffee you learn he takes black and you with a much too sugary frappe which you take to stirring with your straw nervously, chin in palm.

It's Yoongi who finally breaks the silence.

"What are you thinking?" He looks at you expectantly over the rim of his mug. For some reason it makes you nervous.

Guilt niggles at your repose. The cafe is alive with indistinguishable chatter, a coffee machine whirring loudly nearby. In reality, you merely blend in to the hubbub. But as you watch Yoongi fiddle with the rings on his fingers in anticipation of your response it's like a hush has fallen and all eyes are on you. Judging, like they know how wrong it is for you to be here.

He's been the only thing on your mind all week but now you're here in front of him it's like your mind is blank.

"Did you tell anyone?"

Yoongi blinks. "Namjoon's secret? I said I wasn't going to say anything—"

"No. Our secret. Us..." It feels foreign, referring to Yoongi and yourself as a unit. You hate to admit it makes your heart beat a little faster. "Namjoon knows."

Yoongi's coffee cup clatters to the table and words rise like bile in your throat, everything you've been bottling up inside tumbling out before you can stop it.

"Namjoon knows! He found out about us somehow and now everything has gone to shit and...I shouldn't even be telling you this! God I'm an idiot! I just don't know what to do—"

Your wailing is interrupted suddenly by a warm hand covering your own. Yoongi's hand. The touch is gentle, comforting, something about the squeeze of reassurance it provides calming your hyperventilating. It feels right.

Why does it feel right?

Yoongi must misinterpret the puzzled look you flash him as a warning he's crossing a boundary because he retracts his arm jerkily, a flush creeping up his neck.

He glosses over the weird moment hastily.

"Slow down, go back. He knows?" There's a lilt of surprise to his voice. Either he's a really good actor or he is just as panicked as you by this news. "And you think I told him?"

"Well, not exactly. He knows some of it — not everything! — he thinks that I just spoke to you after the show...I assumed you would have filled in the blanks by now."

Yoongi laughs breathily. Relieved. It flummoxes you. Shouldn't he be satisfied that his plan to get under Namjoon's skin was a success?

"Y/N, there were hundreds of people at the gig, anyone could have seen us. Jimin and Hoseok probably told him. You act like I tried to seduce you just to get revenge, or something." He gulps back the last of his coffee and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before his expression suddenly turns serious. "You don't think that right?"

"Isn't that exactly what you did?"

Say no.

Yoongi opens his mouth and then shuts it again. He doesn't deny it.

Something in your chest twists with disappointment. It scares you shitless and you know you have to end this — whatever this is — before there's no turning back.

"Look, it — we — were a stupid mistake okay? I need to know that you're not going to use this against him. It would kill him."

"Mistake?" Yoongi's face drops. "Didn't I say you could trust me?"

It sounds somewhat pained, like he wasn't expecting you to think so lowly of him. His eyes soften with a certain gentleness now and you almost feel bad for thinking they could ever look at you with sinister intentions.

"Do you regret it? What we did?"

You hesitate. You want to say no so badly. But that's not why you came here.

Pull yourself together!

"Yes."

He raises an eyebrow. "You really believe that?"

"Do you regret it?"

"No." His eyes glint. You can't breathe. "Which is exactly why I'll never say a word. I don't play that way. Fair and square remember?"

You're speechless. All you can get out is a measly oh as you stare at the coffee in your cup and process.

"What did Namjoon say anyway?"

Your fingers find the patterns carved into the surface of the wooden table top, feeling the grooves as a distraction from the embarrassment flushing your cheeks. "He told me not to come back and find you."

A wry smile creeps across his face. "But you did?"

Even Yoongi is accusing you now? God, you played right into his hands. He's probably enjoying this. That you broke Namjoon's trust again, all for him.

The worst part is that you can hardly bring yourself to care. Sitting with Yoongi still feels deliciously indulgent — seeing his face again, feeling the heat of his body where your knees brush under the table finally satisfying a craving that had been growing inside you since that night in his studio.

"He doesn't control me."

He just nods. "I get that." His fingers tap in time with the sickeningly happy radio tune that plays overhead, eager to change the subject, like he's aware that he already said too much. "How is Namjoon anyway? You written him a song yet?"

Not allowed. If any information gets leaked about Namjoon's Mic Drop stage the first person he'd blame was you. You had to keep your lips tightly sealed.

You shrink back into your seat. "You know I can't tell you that."

"Okay, then." Yoongi throws his arms over the back of his chair, a cheekiness in his voice, like he's testing the waters to see how you'll react. "Ask me something instead. I'll tell you whatever you want to know. Shoot."

That's allowed, right? Where's the harm. If it doesn't involve Namjoon then it can't hurt him...

"Okay..." You purse your lips, eyes travelling around the dimly lit coffee shop. "Why do you work...here?"

Yoongi nods to the stack of damp flyers beside him. Live classical piano. "I play piano here sometimes." He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. It's kinda cute. "Needed some spare cash and this was the only place that could take me at such short notice."

"You play piano?"

He nods and you follow his gaze to the grand piano stood unoccupied in the corner. You imagine how Yoongi would look bent over the keys. How his fingers would move across the instrument with concentrated precision. How the tune would mingle with the warmth of the coffee shop on a cold evening.

"I didn't know you like classical music?"

"I don't. Not really." He cocks his head, finding the right words. "Namjoon has investors right? People who just throw money at him?" You nod, somehow ashamed. "Teaching me to play piano was my mom's investment in me. She always said it might come in handy some day."

You nod. "And do you have to wear that stupid costume every time?"

"This?" A snort leaves you when he shoots you a look, a shy smile finding the curve of his lips. "Don't mean to brag but it's a huge hit with the older ladies."

You can't help but laugh when he smugly tugs at the bow tie around his neck, unable to miss how his eyes light up. You share a smile that makes you feel light headed.

"I'd have to see it to believe it."

"Well, you know where to find me if you're ever bored and need a good laugh on a Tuesday, Wednesday or Friday evening." He shifts in his seat. "Or you could just come back to my place, y'know if you wanted to —" You frown, the easiness that had settled between you dissipating as you both sense the inappropriateness of his suggestion. "I know I shouldn't ask, it's just I have a piano and—"

For some reason the rational part of your brain taps out and your heart says fuck it.

"I'd love to."

--

"So, where do you live?" You ask when you finish your drink and nervously copy Yoongi who is already getting to his feet.

"Oh about that...I live in the apartment upstairs actually." He chuckles sheepishly."Cheap rent, you know?"

It takes you by surprise but you don't press.

"Oh. Right."

Yoongi extends a hand towards you. The thud in your chest gets faster when you slide your palm into his and he pulls you behind him to the foot the stairway you had disregarded upon entry, the distressed baby blue door at the top labelled RESIDENTS ONLY seeming strangely inviting.

Yoongi gestures for you to go first and you've barely ascended three steps before a voice rings out behind you, making you freeze like a child caught in a mischievous act.

"Use protection you two! And close the door so that Odengie's innocence isn't compromised this time!"

The barista from before rounds the corner, a tray of empty mugs in his left hand and a cloth for wiping down tables in the other.

You suppress a laugh. "Odengie?"

"His goddamn sugar glider—" He says it more to himself rather than in response to your query, flashing the tousled haired boy an exasperated look. "Really, bro?"

The other man either doesn't notice or doesn't care. "What? He's too young to learn how baby sugar gliders are made." His eyes suddenly flit to you and, as if remembering his manners, he deposits the cloth onto a nearby table and reaches a damp hand through the staircase to shake yours with a friendly smile. "I'm Jin, by the way."

You take it cautiously, wiping your now wet hand on the back of your jeans. "Nice to meet you?"

"Come on," Yoongi is flushed red as he pushes you up the rest of the stairs with a pressure at the small of your back. "We'll be back down in a minute, chill okay?"

Yoongi shoulders his way into the apartment, pulling you across the threshold alongside him, but not before you catch a glimpse of Jin's teasing grin poking around the staircase, words reaching your ears before Yoongi could slam the door shut in time.

"Oh, so it's a quickie? Have fun!"

A laugh escapes your lips, Yoongi pressing his back to the door with a sigh of relief. "Sorry about him. He's my roommate. Kind of came with the apartment, you know?"

You glance around at the small maisonette that unfolds before you curiously. It feels more like a dorm room, a mismatch pile of shoes piled at the entry way, a pair of beanbags substituting a couch surrounding a small gaming set up littered with empty pizza boxes you presume belong to Seokjin.

"Ah. He's part of the furniture then."

The other corner of the room is littered with an assortment of vinyls strewn out beside a pair of speakers and a record player, the needle still hovering over the grooves of an album by an artist you don't recognise. Yoongi's touch to the decor, you suppose.

"Guess you could say that. He's not so bad once you get over the uh...small rodents."

You trail behind Yoongi into what you assume is his bedroom, if the frameless mattress which lay on the floor in the corner beneath the window with sheets unmade and strewn across the floor messily was anything to go by.

He flicks on the set of fairy lights tacked to the wall, a surprisingly homely touch that makes you think Yoongi isn't as cold as you believe him to be.

Yoongi approaches a clothes rack stuffed with a variety of stage outfits. "Here." He pulls an oversized hoodie from one of the hangers, throwing it at you from across the room. "You're clothes are still wet. Wouldn't want to catch a cold. You can wear this until they dry."

"O-Okay." You stand there dumbly. He isn't expecting you to strip right in front of him, is he?

He seems to sense your hesitance, turning around so his back is to you with wide eyes. He plays it off by grabbing a selection of clothing for himself, shuffling past you with eyes trained to the ground. "I'll use the bathroom. Tell me when you're done."

You are soaked through to your underwear but you leave them on since Yoongi probably didn't have a spare pair of panties laying around you could borrow. The fabric of his hoodie is soft and warm when it slips over your otherwise bare skin and you breath in the woody scent that seems to embrace your entire body, ignoring the way it makes your head dizzy, and roll up the large sleeves to free your hands before calling to him that you are done.

When he re-enters the room, pulling a grey beanie over his head haphazardly to match the much more Yoongi appropriate outfit of a simple white tee and sweats, his breath hitches at your bare legs peeking out from the bottom of the garment. His lingering stare makes you hug your torso self consciously, eyes never leaving you even as he grabs the pile of sodden clothing you discarded earlier and lays them neatly over the radiator to dry.

You practically hear the way he swallows awkwardly when his eyes lock with yours, caught in the act. He's quick to lighten the mood.

"Well...here she is."

You turn as he moves across the room to the piano occupying the opposite wall, wood stained dark but bleached slightly in places by the stream of sunlight which washes its surface from the opposite window. The stool beneath it scrapes against the scuffed floor boards when Yoongi makes enough space to seat himself on top of the blue velour cushion.

"I know it's not much — nothing like you're used to I mean, but it makes music just the same."

He must take the way you hang back near the door frame as a sign of your distaste which couldn't have been further from reality; it's simply to allow you to study the way Yoongi sits with his back perfectly straight, fingers lingering over the keys like he knows the piano as well as an old friend. And, though you'll never admit it, the way your heart thumps at the thought of being in Yoongi's most private space.

"Where did you get it?"

"It was my mother's." The breath you suck in is slightly too harsh. "Like I said earlier, she liked to play, before she..."

Died. The word never passes between his lips but it sits heavy in the air like a weight.

Yoongi's eyes avert yours so you don't press any further, instead focusing your attention to the pattern of scratches embedded into the piano's lid, unable to help the way your fingers trace the coffee cup rings littering the surface like rugged halos. "It's beautiful."

The side panel is littered with lines, carved deeply into the wood with a penknife; a makeshift height chart like the one you had on the back of your bedroom door as a kid. Your drop to your knees to squint at the nearly illegible words scrawled next to the markings that ascend almsot to the top of the instrument.

Yoongi aged 3...Yoongi aged 4...Yoongi aged 5...

All the way until Yoongi aged 7 where they stop completely.

You frown but he lets out a soft laugh, somewhat pained. "That's when she got sick. I grew up quickly after that."

Straightening up, you swallow thickly, unsure what to say, so you just settle for changing the subject instead.

"So, what can you play?"

Yoongi fiddles with the open sheet music book on the piano stand. His fingers tremble slightly as he turns the worn pages before finally settling on a sheet that is lightly crumpled and ripped around the edges and coffee stained and ferociously dog eared at the corners. Tell tale signs that he had played this piece before, over and over again.

His favourite, you perceive.

Sure, he had literally fucked you into next week already but your hands get clammy at the knowledge that Yoongi feels comfortable enough to share such an intimate tidbit about himself with you. Music means a lot to him after all. Anyone can see that.

You catch a glimpse of the piece over his shoulder.

Romeo and Juliet - Love Theme.

Yoongi notices how you raise a brow at his choice.

"I know I said I don't like classical music but this arrangement is different. You know the story right?"

High school had given you enough general knowledge about Romeo and Juliet for you to nod in confirmation.

"It's like you can feel the passion they have for each other in every note, you know? Like nothing could ever come between them."

His words are so earnest they make your heart ache. You hadn't put him down as the hopeless romantic type.

"I mean not really. They still die in the end." You counter. He frowns.

"But only because of their fucked up families. It's their feud that comes between them in the end. This piece comes before all the shitty parts. If you play it over and over again it's like they never stop loving one another."

His hands fold in his lap and he sucks in a bashful breath, nose scrunching with embarrassment at his dramatic outburst. "It's stupid. I know. Forget I said it."

"No, no I understand completely. Maybe if they weren't so busy fighting they could have listened to their hearts. Right?"

"Right." He scoots across the piano stool, patting the empty space beside him with an encouraging look. "Sit."

Like a magnet you find yourself drawn to his side, shivering when his shoulder brushes yours. His arms hover over the piano, poised and relaxed, concentration etched into the hard lines of his face.

"Ready?"

You can only nod. And then he starts to play.

Yoongi's fingertips eagerly caress the keys of his piano, eyes lifting from the sheet music to gauge your reaction while his hands carry the melody on autopilot, the pretty silver rings he dons glinting with every movement. His neck is bent slightly, allowing his head to bob and sway along with the rise and fall of the rhythm, eyes screwing shut as the composition reaches its most pivotal sequence.

He's practically raking the keys now, pure passion and violent emotion splashing every inch of the room. You shut your own eyes, hands clutching the bottom of the stool until your knuckles whiten, like you might float away with the beautiful tune if you don't ground yourself.

When he said you could feel passion with every note he wasn't wrong. You could feel his passion clear as day.

Slowly, he comes back down from his high, wrists coming to a standstill. All he can do is take in heaving, ragged breaths, body slumped down, spent with the sheer effort expelled in his performance. Oxygen is lodged in your own lungs as you take in how how his bangs stick to the beads of sweat prevalent on his forehead

You recover before he does, unconsciously fumbling around in your tote bag, hands curling around the Polaroid camera you bring everywhere just in case a photo opportunity arises.

They never usually do. Until now.

"Stay like that." The viewfinder raises to your eye and you snap a shot of him with precision, the soft click that emanates through the room making Yoongi's eyes snap open.

The picture dispenses from the camera, black square fading out to reveal a hazy image as you shake it back and forth. Yoongi, face relaxed, lashes pressed softly to the tops of his cheeks with a lazy smile.

It's the Yoongi you remember. Your Yoongi.

He smirks when you slide it into the back pocket of your jeans, cheeks glowing with a contentedness you hadn't seen for a long time. "You always did like taking pictures of me."

"Shut up."

When your hand tentatively closes over his where it still rests on the piano, it's his turn to shoot you a curious look. With a shaky breath you flip his palm, slotting your fingers together perfectly, and lean across the piano to press your lips against his.

His mouth is softer than you remember, not attacking with the rich taste of lust but rather caressing your lips gently, sweetly. Taking your time to commit each tickle of breath against your nose, each slide of his bottom lip between yours, to memory. Everything other than the dizzying sensation of his tongue tracing your bottom lip disappears. All your worries, reluctances, regrets,  just dissolving like the setting sun.

Everything feels safe here with him. Everything feels right.

It barely lasts a minute, not much more than a delicate brush really, but when he pulls back you are already breathless, immediately starved of the satisfaction that came from finally feeling him against you again, tasting the spearmint mixed with something so inherently Yoongi you didn't quite realise how much you were craving.

Yoongi sighs blissfully. You need more.

Your hands tangle in the front of his T-shirt but before you can pepper his mouth with a series of further eager kisses, his free hand plants on your shoulder and pushes you back carefully.

"About what you said the other night." His eyes are wide with concern, trained to your lips, resisting the urge to capture them again with all his self control. It made your heart flip. "I don't want to hurt you Y/N. We don't have to do this—"

"I want to. So bad." His thumb caresses your knuckles. "I trust you."

In that moment, it's true. You trust him more than you've ever trusted anything in the world.

"But Namjoon..."

His words fade out when you lean in for another reassuring peck. Namjoon's name falling from Yoongi's lips doesn't make your skin crawl like it usually did. In fact you feel nothing at the mention of your brother.

"To hell with Namjoon. I'm a big girl. I know what I want."

Yoongi grins, hand coming to cup your cheek tentatively, eyes crinkling with what you could only describe as liberation. "And what's that?"

Your eyes narrow in on his parted mouth again.

"You."

His eyes darken and then his hands are tangling in your hair and pulling your chest flush to his in a kiss that is far rougher than before. No more beating around the bush. Just passion as you crawl into his lap and kiss him like it's the first time — or perhaps, more accurately, the last time. Like the world will end if you part for a single breath.

Fingers find the hem of his shirt and you're pulling it up his torso greedily, heart beating a little faster when you feel his warm skin beneath your fingertips. His chest is softer than you expect, a perfect contrast to the strong arms wrapping around your waist to pull you back to his lips.

It's not long before you feel his pants fill out underneath you. The feeling is all too familiar, reminding you of how it felt to be above him like this in his studio. That night feels like a life time away as his hands grab your hips and press you roughly down onto his crotch.

You both groan out at the feeling, something intense, something primal, heating up between your legs as you circle his clothed length, want and need blending into one as your core dampens with every twist of your hips.

Yoongi breaks away from your lips with a gasp when your fingers reach between your body and find the sensitive head of his cock, a wet patch forming on his sweats. His eyes are shut, head thrown back against the piano top as he bites into his thumb to stop little moans tumbling from his swollen lips.

He shoots upright when you slide down his torso, hardwood cold against your bare knees, fingers fumbling with the strings of his pants. When you finally get them open and slip your hand beneath the waistband, Yoongi all but groans at the feel of your cool palm grabbing his hot cock skin on skin.

You shimmy his sweats around his thighs, mouth practically watering as you eye up his pulsing length, unable to resist stroking it firmly with your fist. A hand covers yours.

"Wait!" A strangled noise of agony rips from his chest when your grip loosens, desperate to buck up into your touch but managing to stay firmly planted to the stool in favour of gaining your consent. "Are you sure?"

You scoff teasingly. "Would I be on my knees if I wasn't?"

His laugh is breathy, half a moan as you pick up your pace again. "Just nervous — ah!" A soft kitten lick to the reddened tip of his cock has him flying forward, knuckles white as they grip your shoulder.

"Min Yoongi gets nervous?" The precum that coats your tongue is salty, makes you itch to take him into your mouth fully.

"Shut up." His breathing is ragged, hands hovering over your hair. "Didn't think this would happen again. Needs to be perfect — holy fuck Y/N."

You give no warning before you sink down on his length, his hands finally tangling in your hair and tugging lightly when your nose presses to his pubic bone, groaning around him when you feel the head of his cock pulsing in the back of your throat.

"So warm, shit."

You come up for air, lips wrapping around his head and enjoying the way his thighs trembled when your tongue runs teasingly along the underside of his cock. His hand pushes at the back of your head, forcing his length further down your throat than you're expecting until you gag around his girth.

"Shit, sorry."

The groan that follows doesn't sound very apologetic though. The visual of your drool coating his painfully hard length mixed with the sensation of your warm mouth engulfing him whole nearly has him blowing his load then and there, utterly fucked out and oblivious to the string of groans leaving his lips when you finally come up for air. Tears streak your cheeks and Yoongi wipes them away with his knuckle tenderly.

"God, look at you." He's breathless, amazed. "C'mere."

A hand cups your elbow, pulling you to your feet so he can connect your lips again, humming when he tastes himself on your tongue. His hands are all over you now as he wraps you in his arms and stumbles backwards your back is pressed to the mattress in the corner. It dips in the middle when he crawls over you, tucking away strands of hair that fan around your face like a halo before his mouth is on you again like he can't quite help himself.

A series of open mouthed kisses caress your jaw, then your neck, all the way down your chest. Yoongi's eyes flick up to watch your face, lips parted with want as his hands fiddled with the hem of his own much too big hoodie swaddling your body.

"Can I?"

Your hand threads into his hair encouragingly. "Please."

A gasp passes his lips when he finally pulls the fabric over your head, eyes following his curious calloused hands as they explore the expanse of skin exposed to him now you're left in just your bra and panties.

"So beautiful." He traces his fingers down your shoulders, down the valley of your breasts, across your stomach. The light and delicate touches have you shivering, writhing for more. Almost as desperate to feel him everywhere as he is to worship every inch of you.

His touch stops at the hem of your panties. You're already working on the clasp of your bra, a violent nod the only permission he needs to drag the fabric agonisingly slow down your legs, unhooking them from your ankles carefully.

When he looks back up you are completely bare, laid out beneath the stream of half-sun-half-moon bathing the room.

Yoongi pounces, lips wrapping around one of your nipples greedily, tongue swirling around the hardened bud until you're gasping his name over and over.

"Can't believe you're letting me see you like this."

Hands wrap around your thighs, legs falling open, the way he licks his lips as he takes in your glistening heat not going unnoticed.

Yoongi's head shakes in disbelief, mumbling words which sound an awful lot like so pretty and fucking gorgeous as his head dips and he continues his trail of earlier kisses, tongue laving over your inner thighs and edging ever closer to your aching core.

"W-wait." Yoongi freezes and comes up to meet your face. His breath is hot against your cheek, eyes scanning your face for hesitation.

"What is it? Are you okay?" He's frantic, swallowing nervously as his palms cup your face. "Want to take care of you this time. What is it? Tell me."

"I'm fine. More than fine." You brush your noses together. It makes him smile. "Just want to feel you, that's all. Now."

Yoongi lets out a dramatic sigh, voice high and whiny. "But I've been dreaming about how you taste for days, Y/N. Literally. Dreaming about it."

You don't mention how you've been replaying the visual of his lips wrapped around your clit and edging you over and over again since it happened, just stroke his cheek in mutual understanding.

"Too bad. You'll just have to wait until next time." His features light up at the promise of a next time. Another moment like this, just you and him.

His face falls into the crook of your neck, nibbling the sensitive skin teasingly as a hand trails between your legs. When the pads of his fingers circle your entrance you whimper, clit throbbing with want when his hand pulls away nearly as quick as it came.

The want only intensifies when he brings two of his arousal coated digits to his mouth with closed eyes, guttural moan vibrating your flush chests when he savours the taste of your arousal coating his fingers.

"Next time." He hums and you are sure you nearly came untouched.

"Need you. Now."

He wastes no time taking his achingly hard cock into his fist, placing a supportive hand on your hip as he lines himself up with your entrance. You whine when he drags the tip up and down your slit, giving some brief but much needed stimulation to your clit.

Before he can push inside though you place a hand on his chest to stop him. He doesn't have time to dote on you again though because without further ado you're whipping off the beanie that still sits snugly around his head, throwing it across the room with a smirk.

His eyes glint fondly. "Whoops."

The room has grown darker by now, only lit by the gentle sparkle of the fairy lights and Yoongi has to feel around in the sheets to find your hand. In the same moment he tangles your fingers together beside your face, he pushes inside with a gasp.

Unlike the first time in his studio, Yoongi is in no rush. He wants to savour it. He fills you slowly, so that you can feel every ridge of his length dragging against your velvety walls. When he finally bottoms out and your hips press flush together, you squeeze his hand. Tight. It's this small action that tells him everything he needs to know. Explains the funny feeling in your chest without ever saying the words.

Your legs wrap around his back automatically when his hips begin to rock, angling your body so that he hits so deep with every thrust it steals the breath straight from your lips. Arousal drips from your heat down onto the bed sheets, making each slide deliciously smooth.

"Yoongi I.." It almost slips from your lips. The deepest, darkest secret that you haven't quite admitted to yourself yet.

Yoongi just ups his pace, exchanging words for actions to show you he feels the same. Fucking you a little harder, a little deeper. More sincerely. It compensates for the words neither of you know how to say.

"I know." You feel so full, so warm when he places his forearms at either side of your head to press you into the mattress. "I know."

All the yearning inside you disappears. All that matters is you and Yoongi now, nails scratching up his back, his forehead pressing to yours so that your moans mingle together until you can't tell whose was whose any more.

With a fucked out moan against your lips he's spilling inside you, sending you over the edge with him, hissing as you clench tightly around his cock.

All thoughts are wiped from your mind. Apart from the sensation of his cheek pressed to your chest, hot breath against your collar bone. How you can't believe you lived in a world without Yoongi in it. How you never want to go without him again. How you don't think you can deny how Yoongi makes you feel anymore even if you tried.

The stars behind your eyes fade, and when you come back down, Yoongi is hovering over your body, lips parted and eyes blown out, mesmerised. He's sweaty and smiling and you can feel the way his heart beats in time with yours.

"You okay?"

"Never better." His smile stretches into a grin when your words slur together. "—'m so happy."

A soft, chaste kiss is pressed to your forehead and before you know it Yoongi is tangling your legs together and wrapping the sheets around your bodies, entwined as one.

Me too. You knew that's what he meant. You'd dwell on it another time. For now your eyes are falling shut, satisfied as you inhale Yoongi's scent on the sheets...

Before a blissful slumber could take you away, you're interrupted by a series of knocks against the bedroom door. Both you and Yoongi shoot upright, exchanging a puzzled glance.

"I thought you said it was gonna be a quickie. Come on man, I need to use the bathroom!"

Yoongi groans into the pillow.

"That's it. I'm getting a new roommate."

--

As the weeks go by you start spending less and less time at the Big Hit office, turning up late to your shifts or clocking out before they were up. The perks of being employed by your parents is that they can't fire you in good conscience, you suppose.

Instead you increasingly find yourself at Yoongi's apartment, writing lyrics at the piano when he was around (sometimes even when he wasn't) or down in the coffee shop, helping yourself to hot chocolate refills on your work breaks. Jin joked that you'd need to start paying rent soon.

Just like how you were able to pick apart each of the boys' influence on the apartment the first time you went there, your own presence was becoming ever apparent.

In the way you spilled sugar on the counter when making tea and always forgot to clean it up, much to Jin's dismay. How some of your own hoodies and pyjama pants had begun to smell like Yoongi's washing powder, ending up folded neatly in his laundry basket and stowed away on his clothing rack like they belonged there. The way his piano top was littered with open notebooks filled with your messy scrawl and pens with the caps lost and half empty mugs stained around the rim with your chapstick.

Yoongi seemed wary at first, cautious to let you get too comfortable around him, dropping you home late at night once the lights in your house switched out and you knew it was safe to go inside.

But eventually he started to crave the little things that reminded him of you, unable to stop the smiles which crept onto his face as he loaded the dishwasher with the mugs and carried you to bed when you fell asleep at the piano stool.

Your bed. That's what you'd taken to calling it now.

Yoongi hated to admit that he was weak. When he got up on stage he was Gloss, hard faced and brazen and ruthless. But here with you, the facade he tried to uphold seemed to crumble into nothing. And the worst part was that he loved it.

Even when he was performing at the club or practicing for the competition, his thoughts always ended up wandering back to you. There were times when your schedules clashed or it was too risky to see each other or times you were simply too exhausted once you got home, falling into bed as soon as you crossed the threshold. But the knowledge that you were always there waiting for each other became the only safe place he knew and that was enough.

Of course you still had to oversee Namjoon's Mic Drop stage, it was your job after all, but that never seemed to come up when you were together. Just watching movies on his laptop or laughing at ungodly hours while you filled each other in on anecdotes that happened in the time you were apart, retreating beneath the sheets when Jin banged on the wall because it was four in the morning so would you please shut the fuck up.

For the first time in a long time you felt happy. Like you belonged somewhere that was all your own. No more answering to Namjoon or your parents. Just your own heart. And it always seemed to lead you back here to Yoongi, straight into his arms.

And as much as you hated yourself for it, you could feel your resentment for Namjoon growing. You'd be damned if you let him take this away from you, like he'd taken everything else.

Eventually, you stopped crawling through your bedroom window like a goddamn teenager and your parents stopped questioning why you never came home anymore. The cracks between you became a chasm. And right now, Yoongi was the band aid holding you together.

--

When Yoongi returns home later than usual, he's not even surprised when he ascends the stairs and find you and Jin laid out on the bean bags, already tipsy on red wine and giggling at his disgruntled expression.

That is until you take in the weary lines that had etched their way into his forehead, how his eyes look sunken and puffy. How his hands tremble against your waist when you pull him into your arms, body swaying back and forth lightly in your grasp like he could topple over any second.

You know what overworked looks like — after all, you had tended to Namjoon plenty of times when he refused to stop at his limits, barraging through them instead, a habit Yoongi also seemed to possess.

Ordered to stay on bed rest, Yoongi slumps face down into his pillow, letting out a long groan of relief when the mattress cushions his aching limbs.

You're already tucking him in, half way to the door to prepare him a hot cup of honey and lemon to soothe the husk in his throat from rapping too aggressively when his arms loop around your waist and pull you down to snuggle into the crook of your neck contentedly.

"Yoongi, let me go." It's futile, his grip is firm and he is already kicking the sheets over your body and pressing his cheek to the left side of your chest where you're sure he can hear how your heart races, a pout evident in your voice. "I want to take care of you."

"Mmf you are.." Words already slurring with the beginnings of sleep, he smiles groggily when you fall slack in his grasp and press your cheek to the top of his head in defeat. "Stroke my hair please?"

As soon as your fingers tangle in his blue locks he lets out a sigh of relief, like he'd been waiting to feel the touch all day.

Watching his face relax as he drifts off, you bask in the warmth of fulfilment singing your very nerve ending and silently wish that you can stay like this forever.

Just you and Yoongi against the world.

At some point your own eyes fall shut.

--

You're awoken by the sounds of muffled sobs.

The dark room momentarily disorientates you, heart quickening as you realise you're not in your own bed. Eventually your eyes adjust to the blackness, taking in the piano stood sturdily in the corner, breathing in the scent lingering on the pillow beneath your cheek and you're washed with a wave of comfort.

"Yoongi?" You croak.

The sheets are ripped from your body as Yoongi's form shoots upright. His bare back is damp with sweat, visible in the moonlight creeping through the slanted blinds, mattress rocking slightly with every sob that wracks his frame.

"Go back to sleep." His voice is gruff , but forcibly so and you hear the tremor lurking below the surface.

You sit up beside him. His face is buried in his palms. The sight makes your heart ache.

"Are you okay?" You're still new to this. Sure you're tangled up in his sheets most nights but you're still learning the ropes, unsure how best to comfort him. You settle for gently patting his shoulder, wincing at how cold and distant the action feels.

"I said go back to sleep." When his face emerges from between his hands you see the tell tale tracks of tears streaking his cheeks. Even when he wipes his face with the back of his palm there's a steady stream of them dripping down his chin.

"Is that what you really want?"

Yoongi presses his mouth together in a tight line, eyes black and empty as he tilts his head back and takes a shaky breath. That's when he crumbles. "Please stay."

"Oh, Yoongi." It's barely a whisper, afraid that if you speak too loud he'll shatter into a million pieces. He's like a scared kid, knees hugged to his chest as he wipes the hot tears from his eyes with a hard rub of his knuckles.

Yoongi stiffens when you fumble under the sheets to find his hand. You think he might pull away as you link your fingers with his but to your surprise he pulls your interlocked palms into his lap and squeezes so hard you feel the circulation in your fingers cutting off. The way he chokes back another sob stops you from complaining though, already cupping his cheek and tilting his face towards yours with your free hand.

"Why are you doing this?" His eyes squeeze shut, fresh tears sliding down his face and doing nothing to hide the slight tinge of red beneath them that tell you he's embarrassed to be seen like this. Vulnerable, so unlike the hard faced Yoongi you had come to know.

"Because I want to." You squeeze his hand and feel him squeeze back weakly. "You can tell me anything, you know."

Pressing his forehead to yours, Yoongi leans down and captures your lips between his own. I know, it says.

This is different to the way he usually kisses you. There's no hunger, no hands on your neck and your thighs that set you alight with desire. Just a sense of yearning, like he wants to be closer to you, the plump flesh of his lips slotting between yours like a perfect puzzle piece, slightly salty from his tears. It makes you ache all over, like you're somehow connected and sharing his pain.

He pulls away, sharp exhales tickling your face as he scans your eyes for any sign of hesitation, any sign that you're going to leave him here alone. This is side of Yoongi that you have never seen before. He always said he isn't good with words and you know better than anyone that he hated admitting that he needed someone. This was is his way saying he needs you.

And in that moment you feel a piece of your heart flutter into his hands.

"Nightmares." He mumbles, swallowing thickly and tipping his head back against the headboard, expression pained "Just nightmares."

"Want to talk about it?" You sit back next to him, and when he rolls his neck to face you. He looks unreadable again. Eyes void. You half think he's going to push you away, turn over and fall back asleep and leave you to stare at the ceiling alone with the silence.

But he doesn't. Instead he lets out a deep sigh, shaking his head at himself as he pulls you into his arms, stroking your cheek fondly when your head comes to rest on his chest, burying his nose in your hair.

"Why can't I say no to you?"

"Guess I have that affect on people."

He snorts lightly, the first proper reaction he'd given you and you're pleased at his amusement. Pleased you were able to comfort him somewhat.

Unspoken words cloak a heavy silence for what feels like hours, just tracing mindless patterns on his arm and listening to the way his heart slows to a normal pace beneath your cheek, grip around your torso never faltering. When his breaths dwindle to soft puffs against your temple you think he's already drifted off.

Until, "Do you remember when I convinced Namjoon to sign up for Mic Drop the first time. The day after my mom died?" His voice is gravelly, both with sleep and a sign of his withheld tears.

"Of course I do." You swivel in his arms to blink up at him curiously. Sure you remembered. After the funeral, your parents had taken Yoongi in — a repayment they called it. For helping Namjoon achieve his dreams. Of course, that was before you realised just how much Yoongi would help.

Yoongi became a part of the family for a short while. An extra seat at family dinners. Another pair of shoes by the front door. Another bed in Namjoon's room.

"Back then, I was too trusting. I thought that they wanted to help me...I thought that they saw me as their son." He spits the word with the bitterness of a man who was stripped of the title of 'son' before he knew what it really meant.

You think back to how Namjoon and Yoongi used to be. Joined at the hip, everyone used to say. Brothers.

"I think they did—"

"No." He stiffens. You bite your lip. "Namjoon never cared about me. He just saw me as a way to get to the top. And it worked."

You feel a pang in your chest.

"I'm sorry, he's your brother. I shouldn't be talking about this with you."

Yoongi almost turns away but you stop him by pressing your lips to his briefly. Telling him its okay. You understand.

"The nightmares." You say with an eagerness to change to subject before you could dwell on it too hard. Before you could admit to yourself that Yoongi was right. "You didn't say what they were about?"

"I'm getting there." He lets out a strained chuckle and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. The action makes you shiver.

"The last time I saw my mother she said that she wasn't scared to die. She was just scared that she'd miss seeing me on the stage. She was the only one who believed in me." The next words come out choked. "She said that if she couldn't be there to see it then I needed to make as many goddamn people watch me lift that trophy as I could."

Mic Drop was never about the fame for Yoongi after all. It always ran deeper than that; a need not a want. A vulnerable promise left unfulfilled.

The realisation makes you blanch. All this time, all these years, you hadn't been able to see the real greed right in front of your eyes; your own brother.

The image of Yoongi, crumpled and broken on that fateful day all those years ago makes its way to the forefront of your mind.

The same anger flashes across his face now. "Namjoon took that from me. I don't care about the fans or the money or the trophy — none of that shit! He took my dream Y/N. Do you understand how that feels?"

You find yourself nodding, slowly at first and then with vigour as the dam inside you breaks and your own tears flood. "I do. I understand."

And you do. You understand why Yoongi is so determined to win Mic Drop. You understand why he hates Namjoon as much as he does. You understand how it feels to always fall second best to Namjoon, to be outcasted.

"I keep forgetting her face. I can't hear her voice in my head anymore." Yoongi's crying again now, heavy sobs no longer able to be contained. "But in the dreams she's so clear. The disappointment in her eyes, its so clear, Y/N." His words are interrupted by hiccups that leave him gasping.

"I'm sorry." You whisper once he calms. It's all you know how to say.

"Not your fault." He flashes you a watery smile, wiping away the tear on your cheek with his knuckle. It makes your heart flutter, even despite the guilt weighing on your shoulders.

You feel useless. It wasn't your fault directly but you couldn't help but feel like you wronged Yoongi. All of this happened right in front of your eyes but you were too blinded by Namjoon's broken promises to see it. All this time you had let Namjoon make you think Yoongi was the enemy.

"I'm here now." Hands plant on either side of his face, eyes meeting his. "I believe in you."

He doesn't need to say anything. The way he kisses you speaks louder than words.

All you can do now is hold him, tangling your legs with his and pulling the covers over your intertwined bodies, stroke his cheek with your thumb and pepper kisses to his strained forehead which relaxes beneath your affections.

"I'll make this right." You whisper into his hair after his eyes flutter closed and the sun starts peeking through the window, watching dust particles floating in a stream of light in the room's golden glow through lidded eyes. "I promise."

--

"I like this." Jimin nods enthusiastically along to the track playing through the headphones Namjoon placed over his ears. "Sounds like a hit to me."

Namjoon's face contorts into a scowl. He disagrees, obviously, if the disgusted shake of his head is any indication.

Mic Drop is just a few days away and Namjoon had decided to scrap his entire stage after Jimin scored a couple big last minute investors who suggested he do something new, something exciting. Something that pushed Runch Randa's limits.

It was a bold move, this close to the big day. But Namjoon was cocky, said that he had enough experience in the industry to win in his sleep. Practice was a waste of time anyway.

"Next one." He waves his hand, barely even glancing in your direction as you press a button that cuts off the track and makes another one start playing.

The bass is louder in this one and it makes Jimin startle backwards, the headphone jack slipping loose so the music plays through the speakers instead.

"Hoseok and I still need to put the finishing touches on this one but it's pretty catchy—"

Namjoon cuts you off with a sharp no, it was too upbeat for his Mic Drop performance. Said he needed something with grit, something that would make the judges feel something.

"Let me see that." He gestures for you to get up, slumping down into the chair you occupied and slotting himself beneath the studio desk to scroll through the open folder on the computer screen.

He skims through countless tracks, demoed and ready to be recorded at Namjoon's disposal — you were something of a writing machine, always scribbling down lyrics on receipts from the store or on the back of your hand and paired with Hoseok you were a dream team; he always seemed to find a beat that fit perfectly. Unfortunately Namjoon's straight face gives away his disinterest in any of them.

"None of these will work." Namjoon throws the keyboard down with a force that makes you wince, jaw tightening as he presses his knuckles to his eyes in frustration. "I'm going to fucking lose."

You are about to tell him to write the fucking track himself like everyone else if none of yours were good enough for him but Jimin flashes you a glance. Don't make things worse.

You settle instead for a hand on his shoulder. He tenses at your touch. It had been a while since you'd been in the same room for longer than ten minutes and when you take in the gauntness of his cheekbones you briefly wonder if he's been eating properly. He always did forget when you weren't around to remind him.

You suck in a breath to give you strength. "There must be one that you like."

His lips purse and he disgruntledly goes back to scrolling again, clicking on a couple titles that draw his interest. You and Jimin let out simultaneous sighs of relief.

"What's this?" Namjoon's eyes narrow as he presses play on a track that sends you flying forward, heart in your mouth and colour leaving your face as a song plays that you swore to never show to anyone.

Yoongi's song. The one you wrote after that night in his studio. Probably the best song you had ever written.

"That's not — I was supposed to delete that one." The heat in your cheeks as you push him aside roughly to wrestle with the pause button has you hiding behind your hair, as if he would somehow know this wasn't just an ordinary song. That it was a song about his enemy, for god's sake.

Namjoon's slaps you away from the computer, head bobbing to the beat and you fall back into your seat in defeat, fingers crossed behind your back that he would hate it as much as the others.

"I love it."

Oh no.

"This is the one!"

Shit shit shit!

"A-are you sure?" You're rambling now, words slipping out way too fast and Jimin seems puzzled at your lack of elation at Namjoon's decisiveness. "I'm sure I could write something much better if you just give me some more time—"

Namjoon's arms pull you into a tight embrace before you can finish, your nose ending up smushed against his chest as he practically vibrates with excitement. Your body goes stiff, hands dangling at your sides awkwardly. Considering Namjoon's coldness towards you as of late his sudden display of affection takes you by surprise. Mostly because despite your physical closeness it only makes you feel even more distant from your brother.

A sigh of relief escapes when he finally sets you free, only to be replaced with pure horror as you watch him stick a USB drive into the computer and load up the song before sliding it in his back pocket with a grin while you have no choice but to stand there helplessly.

"I'm totally gonna win!" His change in attitude is abrupt but seems to soothe Jimin who nods enthusiastically. You feel sick. "I can't wait to see the look on Yoongi's face when he hears this shit."

The smirk on his face washes you with dread. If only he knew.

Yoongi was right. Secrets always find a way to come and bite you in the ass.

--

Every rap of your knuckles against the run down studio door seems to echo ominously through the alley like an omen.

"Y/N?"

As soon as the bolt wrangles across and the wooden panel flies open to reveal a disgruntled Yoongi, a warmth seems to thaw through the icy evening chill that, along with your nerves, is making your knees knock together.

His chest is warm against your cheek when he pulls you into his arms, the smell of cologne and black coffee consuming your senses. It's enough to make your tense limbs fall slack, curling into his firm frame instinctively. Finally. You can breathe again.

"Hey." He mumbles sweetly against your temple, a trace of a smile in his voice like he was happy to see you. You silently wonder if he'll still be so happy once he hears what you have to say.

The studio is basked in darkness, the contours of his face barely visible in the blue glow emanating from his desktop monitor. There's a dent in the cushion of the adjacent chair, Yoongi's hair sticking up at the back where the pair of headphones slung around his neck had sat moments ago.

"I can go if you were working, wouldn't want to interrupt." As the words are leaving your lips you cross your fingers, selfishly hopeful that he would send you away and you could avoid the conversation that was about to follow. Blame it all on circumstance, leave saying that you at least tried.

But that would be keeping a secret. It would make you just as bad as the rest. And the thought of him finding out from someone else was enough to make your palms sweat and enough to keep your feet planted against the carpet determinedly.

Yoongi's hands find you like he can't bare to keep them away, dragging you across the threshold without hesitation. "S'fine. Work better with you here anyway." He smiles and you try to return it but your lips are pressed into a permanent line, like they're scared the daunting words you have to say will come spilling out before you were ready -- if you ever would be ready. As you slump into a chair and watch him wheel another one around to face you with his arms slung lazily over the back, you realise there is no going back.

Considering the countdown to Mic Drop was nearing its end, less than twenty four hours to go before Yoongi would be stood opposite Namjoon on stage in front of thousands, he looked the epitome of relaxation, unlike the nerves in your chest making you jitter.

"Jin's on his way with takeout, I would've asked him to get more if I knew you were coming but I'm sure we can share— babe, are you alright?"

Babe. The endearment had started slipping from his lips frequently recently. At first he tried to cover it up with nervous laughter but now he was brazen, enjoying the way the word tasted on his tongue. It would be so easy to force a smile, to push "the right thing" to the back of your mind and let the selfish part of your heart accept his affections, even knowing you're about to hurt him.

But the clock ticking away on the wall sounds deafening with every beat of silence that follows, twisting the rings on your fingers until you could no longer distinguish the sound from the sinister thrum of your heart.

You can't hold it in any more.

"I need to tell you something." It comes out a hoarse whisper, nearly unintelligible beneath the stream of hip hop from the hifi system in the corner.

"What is it?" Yoongi's concerned eyes never leave you as he reaches over to switch it off, the room now draped in a shroud of quiet. The reality of the situation seeps into every dark corner and right into your bones.

"It's about us. Kind of."

Yoongi rolls closer, stopping your teeth from nibbling your cuticles by slotting his fingers between yours like a perfect puzzle piece. It seems to ground you, like you're filled with helium and he's the weight stopping your feet from floating off the ground. For a second you think everything will be okay. Nothing, not even this betrayal, could come between what you had.

"Did Namjoon find out?" Even in the dim light you see the panic stricken raise of his brows. When your head shakes in a violent negative they smooth back down, relieved, as if nothing you could say next would be worse than that. No matter how hard you try to meet his eyes you can't.

His hand squeezes gently then. You muster up the courage to squeeze back. Perhaps it would soften the blow that was about to follow.

"His song. The one I wrote for Mic Drop...it's about you. I thought you should know. Before you hear it for yourself."

Nothing but an immeasurable silence followed. "Oh."

Yoongi is unreadable, almost as if he didn't hear the words hanging like heavy storm clouds over your heads. You expected him to be angry, to shout -- even cry, maybe. Not knowing how he was feeling was even worse than any scenario you had imagined. Made you feel like you were back to square one and he was shutting you out of the window into his soul you'd worked so hard to wriggle through.

For a second you think the sudden cold against your palm is a result of the numbness coursing through your veins like you were dunked in ice water, but then you see his hand retreat to his lap, eyes wide and staring at it in disbelief like he'd been scalded.

"I...I don't understand." He sounds choked, face contorting with pain. Like it does when he wakes thrashing in the night with a bad dream. Unlike those times though, he doesn't levitate towards you for comfort, just stares at you vacantly like he's far, far away despite being physically close enough for your knees to brush.

"It was written after the first time we...y'know...here--" You glance around, convinced your mind is playing tricks when you see a vision of you in Yoongi's lap across the room, lips attached like nothing else in the world mattered. It feels far away and out of reach when the real Yoongi gets to his feet, creating a distance between you that is foreign, his form staggering across the room so that you could see the way his back tensed beneath his t-shirt when he grips the edge of his desk for support, processing.

"I don't understand."

"I was emotional. It just happened--"

"No. What I don't understand is why you're letting him perform it?" Fists send a stack of sheet music flying to the ground. His lip trembles, face red, with anger or affliction, you can't tell which.

"Yoongi--" You reach for him, fingertips barely grazing his arm before he's smacking you away with a violent shake of his head. He'd never resisted you before. Not even in the beginning.

"You expect me to just sit back and listen to Namjoon of all people rapping the lyrics my girlfr-- that you wrote dissing me? This has to be a fucking joke."

"It's not that kind of track!" You hug your body pitifully. It's the only thing you can do to stop yourself from falling apart as his mouth spits a venom that makes your heart shatter. His eyes fill with one thing. Betrayal. "I'm sorry. I just...I can't keep choosing between you anymore, Yoongi. He's my brother."

"And what am I, huh?"

Every second that passes, every stutter or attempt at explanation that leaves your mouth makes Yoongi crumple. You see it in the way his adam's apple bobs, how his shoulders slacken.

For some reason you can't open up. Tell him he means more to you than anyone ever had. That you thought your heart might really break and bleed out on the carpet if he didn't feel the same way.

Instead you settle for, "Why are you so mad? It's my job! I had no choice."

Without warning he's rushing at you, trembling palms capturing your face and pressing his forehead to yours. His breaths shake, chest heaving as he battles internally with the words flying from his lips like a ghostly breath across yours.

"Because I fucking love you, Y/N! Can't you see it? I fucking love you and your bastard of a brother always finds a way to ruin things between us!"

His admission stuns you, the tears welling in your eyes spilling over in a silent stream down your cheeks.

He loves you. He loves you.

"Yoongi--" Words just won't come. Nothing feels right.

Because you love him too. It had taken you this long to admit it to yourself but it was clear now. Every breath, every beat of your heart, every fucking song you would ever write was for him. It scared you before but now, stood here in front of him, you know it's true.

Something hopeless niggles at the back of your head, stops you from spilling everything to him. If he loves you, how can he expect you to choose?

If words couldn't make him see the truth then you'd just have to show him the only way you knew how. Straight from your heart.

You're crying as you dig around in the bottom of your bag to retrieve a USB, pressing it into his curled fist firmly and begging him with your eyes to understand. "Just listen to the song. Please. It'll explain everything. I promise."

You begin to back up and his hand shoots out to stop you, pulling you roughly into his chest which only makes you cry harder, tears creating a wet patch on his T-shirt.

"Please don't leave me. Not again." It's a fragile whisper.

It's all too much.

"I can't choose any longer, Yoongi. This has to end."

With one last look at his crumpled face you flee from his studio with eyes just as watery as the first time you'd walked down this very alley. Except this time it takes all of your strength to resist running back into his arms.

Yoongi can only stand there and watch you go, the USB hot against his hand.

This has to end. The words make his chest burn and he hates it. Hates feeling weak. You always make him feel so fucking weak.

If he can't have you then he had no choice but to do everything in his power to make sure he got the next best thing.

Suddenly it all seemed clear. Yoongi knew what he had to do.

--

The arena is almost desolate when you creep inside.

Just a sea of empty seats stretching out from both sides of you where you sit in one of the stands, nibbling the skin around your thumb and watching Namjoon pace the stage below.

It's gone midnight by now. Most of the crew went home hours ago. Not Namjoon though. He stayed to practice some more. Said he couldn't get the choreography quite right.

You tried going home but you couldn't get the fight out of your head. Everything reminded you of Yoongi and your thoughts started to wander. Did he hate you? Was he listening to the song right now? Why hasn't he called? Why is your own bed not as comfy as the one you shared with Yoongi?

It all got too much eventually. Something told you that you weren't welcome at the apartment so you ended up heading towards the only other place you knew, surprised to find your brother had the same idea.

A single spotlight illuminates the stage as Namjoon twists his body in time with the one, two, three, four he unconsciously mumbles under his breath, face contorted with a stark concentration that flits to impatience when his foot slips and he misses the beat. Again. It just about sends him over the edge.

"I can't do this anymore!" A microphone squeals and hits the ground with a thump. It reverberates through the arena, your hands flying to your ears as you watch Namjoon let loose all his anger on an innocent amp stand before collapsing into a heap at the edge of the stage. "Fuck this shit!"

You're flying down the stairs to his aid before he can do any serious damage to the stage equipment — or worse, to himself.

Namjoon scoffs when he hears the stage creak under your feet. "Nice of you to show up."

It stings. You snap.

"What happened to you, Namjoon?" You look at his sunken cheekbones, his curled fists, the blackness behind his eyes. "I don't even recognise you anymore."

He just sniffs and says nothing. The distance between you feels bigger than ever.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

A secret? Since when did Namjoon abide by a policy of honesty?

He takes your shocked silence as a yes.

"I'm calling first thing and dropping out of the competition."

Your world stutters to a standstill, breath knocked out of your lungs.

Dropping out?

"Shit Joon...if this is about Yoongi—"

He waves you off.  "No. This is about me."

You can't breathe. This can't be real. "I don't understand..."

"I've made up my mind. I can't do this any more. I used to love being up here you know?"

You follow his gaze, out over the empty arena. The last time you were here every seat was filled. You were down there, part of the crowd, packed into the cramped space with barely enough room to breathe.

Imagining how it must feel to be up here comes easy. If you close your eyes you can hear the screams, feel the body heat. Smell the sweat and the anticipation. See thousand faces looking up in awe. At you. It makes your blood run hot.

You much prefer being up here, you decide.

Namjoon brings you back down. "Now it just feels like a chore. I look out and all I see is disappointed faces. I can't pretend for them anymore."

"People travel miles to see you Joon! No one is disappointed."

"Not the fans. They love me. Well, Runch Randa, at least." He cracks a half smile. "It's me whose disappointed. In Kim Namjoon."

You always thought your brother was sure of himself. He's cocky, confident and above all fearless. It's his biggest strength (and his most irritating quality sometimes) but it's what you always admired most about him.

Clearly you didn't know your brother as well as you thought you did.

You bite your lip. "Why?"

He turns to face you, leaning back into his arms while he searches for the right words and, little to your knowledge, gathers the courage to confide in you.

"Because I re-entered Mic Drop for all the wrong reasons. I just wanted to prove myself, you know? Win for real this time, not just by default." He swallows. "But then I saw Yoongi perform. And to be honest? I saw you. I saw how much you care about the music. How you come alive when you're writing lyrics or when you're in the studio." His smile is woeful. "Im supposed to feel like that. But I don't. I never did. It's like I'm always asleep, y'know?"

You did know. Every time you lifted a camera. Every time you pressed the shutter and snapped another shot of Namjoon on stage you felt your soul grow exhausted.

It makes the distance between you and Namjoon close a little. For once you understand each other and you don't have to hide how you feel any more.

"I can't stop thinking that it's your name the fans should be screaming. Not mine. They deserve better than me."

"But you're the best performer I know!" You rush. It always seemed like he wanted to keep you out of the spotlight at all costs. "Why now?"

He lets out a deep sigh. "I'm a selfish person, Y/N. I thought I was protecting you from... all this." He gestures around him. "The late nights and the paparazzi and the criticism and a fucking manager on your back all the time." His eye roll makes you snort, sharing a brief smile at the image of hardworking Jimin mumbling into his headset like a man posessed.

He's quickly serious again though. "Fame comes with a price. But I realize now that the price is worth it if your hearts in the right place and...what I'm trying to say, Y/N, is that mine never was."

You let your chin fall into your palm. Huh. "So that's the big secret?"

"Actually...there's something else." He shifts nervously. "I know about you and Yoongi."

You freeze, scrambling to your knees with wide eyes. "Wait, Joon, let me explain—"

"Let me finish!" Namjoon brushes you off with a breathless laugh, nodding to himself, as if finally coming to a solid conclusion about coming clean when his eyes meet yours. "He's in love with you."

This time it feels like the whole world goes into overdrive. You forget how to breathe.

"What...how...huh?"

It's Namjoon's palm squeezing your knee reassuringly that brings you back down.

"He always was. Even back before things got messed up." A deep breath. Something was coming, you could tell by the way his eye twitched nervously. "That's why me and Yoongi fought. That's why I...I lied and said that I wrote the song the night of the Mic Drop final...accused him of plagiarism—" Your mouth gapes. "I know! I know. Don't look at me like that. I can see the irony."

It all makes sense now. She's a part of this, Namjoon, whether you like it or not.

The reason Namjoon sacrificed his best friend wasn't for fame but for your sake?

You want to fly at your brother, scream at him for keeping this from you for so long. For turning you against Yoongi. For keeping you from the only person to make you feel safe. Feel Happy.

But his eyes are void of anything other than regret and you can tell his betrayal had been playing on his mind all these years.

"Point is, I didn't want you to get hurt." He shuffles awkwardly, not knowing what to do with your silence. "That's not an excuse, I know. Do you hate me?"

"No." Your voice sounds small. His chest heaves with relief. "I just wish you had been honest with me before. Saved us a ton of trouble."

"I thought I was doing the right thing. But I was a shitty brother in the end anyway."

It's strange. Even after all the fights and the resentment and the goddamn secrets, you don't think Namjoon is a shitty brother. Sure, his actions and intentions were shitty there was no denying it. But now it's like the puzzle pieces finally click into place and the full photograph comes into view, crystal clear.

All this time, he just wanted to protect you, when you should have been protecting him. He was hurting too, you just never knew it.

"It's not too late, Joon. Just be happy for me okay? I think..." If Namjoon plucked up the courage to tell you his secrets then it was only fair that you did too. "I love him too."

A pinkish tinge caresses your face when you finally admit it, both out loud and to yourself.

You love Yoongi. And now all the cards are on the table there's nothing holding you back from it.

Now you just need to tell Yoongi.

"I know. You think I don't know who that song is about?" The grin that spreads across Namjoon's features is sincere."And I am. Happy for you, I mean."

Now the truth is out in the open it feels like your wounds are already beginning to heal. You place your hand over his and squeeze it tight. It was time to forgive.

A thought suddenly strikes you. "So what are you gonna do now?

Namjoon fumbles in the back pocket of his jeans, thrusting something towards you. A polaroid picture. The same photo you'd seen at Yoongi's studio.

He kept it, too?

"This kid." His finger jabs at the innocent face of a younger Namjoon, arm wrapped around the shoulders of his best friend. "I didn't get enough time to live as him before I became Runch Randa. I think it's time to just live as Namjoon for a while."

"But what about Big Hit? It'll fall apart and mom and dad will kill you—"

"No it won't. They have you. I already talked to them, in fact. There's a stage with your name on it right here." He pats the ground. "If you want it, that is."

You blink, stunned. You? "I...I don't know if I can."

"I believe in you." Namjoon says. "And I'll be cheering you on from the front row."

You'd have to think about it long and hard but you can't help the grin that appears on your face. Things were going to be okay.

An urge rises in your chest to tell Yoongi this news. To see the way his face would light up as you started the journey to following your own dreams, like he always said you should.

You and Yoongi were going to be okay.

"Hey! Maybe I should try photography now I have some free time." Namjoon tugs at the camera strap around your neck, lifting his eye to the viewfinder and laughing when you cover the lens with your hands. "Damn I'm kinda good!"

You bump his shoulder teasingly, the belly laughter that spills into the arena feeling like the most natural thing in the world.

You're only interrupted by approaching footsteps. Jimin bursts into the arena.

"Namjoon," he pants. "I have some bad news."

--

It's compulsory for all competitors to attend the crowning ceremony. Even those who get disqualified.

RUNCH RANDA BLACKLISTED FROM COMPETING IN FUTURE HIP HOP COMPETITIONS AFTER PLAGIARISM SCANDAL SURFACES.

Just one of the devastating headlines that hit the media after the judges panel received an anonymous tip in the form of a USB stick that exposed Namjoon once and for all. The same USB that you pressed into Yoongi's hands just hours before Namjoon's disqualification.

RAPPER GLOSS TO SNATCH MIC DROP TROPHY IN SHOCKING REVENGE FOR HIS BRUTAL DEFEAT.

Namjoon reads it aloud in the back of the car. He laughs at the end but it does nothing to lighten the mood.

The windows are tinted but you can still see the hoards of fans lining the streets, eyes steeped in betrayal.

You should hear the way they boo as your brother drives past. You should hear the way they chant his name instead.

Yoongi! Yoongi! Yoongi!

But you don't. You don't hear anything. You don't feel anything. All you can think of is the same three words, throbbing in your chest over and over again.

I love you.

Did he mean them at all?

"Y/N? Did you hear me?"

"Hm?" You look up. Namjoon's staring at you with concern.

"Your phone's ringing again."

It's no surprise when you pull out your phone and see a contact picture of yourself and Yoongi gracing the screen. He's been calling all morning. It takes every strength inside you to tap the red decline button.

"Aren't you gonna talk to him?"

Another call lights up the screen.

"Not like this."

With trembling fingers you shut your phone off all together.

--

Paparazzi cameras flash brazenly as you step out of the black company car, following Namjoon with your hood pulled tightly round your face. A hoard of body guards usher you through a back door to the arena. The main entrance is reserved for notable guests only, you learn.

While Namjoon's presence usually makes the room buzz with an electric energy, there's no excitement when he enters now. An awkward hush falls like a shroud as he elbows his way past pitiful stares. It's like someone died. In a way it's true; there's no trace of Runch Randa in Namjoon's hunched stance. Here, the dead still walks for everyone to see.

Jimin's waiting by the stage door. No words are exchanged as he slips passes into your hands. Namjoon's has a big red strike through the word TALENT, "guest" scribbled all too generously below it to match your own.

It's nearing show time. They're just waiting for you to take your seats, Jimin says, though you barely hear him. You're too busy imagining what you would do if you bumped into him right now, heart pounding whenever you catch a glimpse of blue or hear a laugh you're convinced you recognise.

Deep down you know exactly where you have to go to find him. To find Yoongi.

"I'll join you in a second, okay?"

Namjoon looks nervous, the first time you've ever seen him with such a severe case of the jitters. His smile is empty when you rub his forearm reassuringly. "Don't be too long. If I'm gonna do this I want you by my side."

You manage a smile. "Always."

With that, Namjoon takes a deep breath and pushes out into the life of the arena and you find your feet numbly carrying you down back corridors you know by heart until you reach his dressing room.

Your heart is blind, you think. Even now the shattered fragments ache for him, beat a little faster knowing he's just behind this door.

Why can't you go back to hating him, just like you did before? Deep down you know it's because you never really hated Yoongi. You don't think you ever could.

Forgiving him, though? Some wounds never heal, no matter how badly you want them to.

You pause outside the door. The stupid gold star that used to be there has been scraped off, replaced with a new name tag. Gloss. You put your ear to the wood. Nothing.

A deep breath and you find the handle. Should you burst in and give him a piece of your mind? Knock and enter politely? You can't help but scoff. Shouldn't he be the one coming to find you?

He calls your name before you can do either.

"Y/N?"

Fuck. Is hearing his voice supposed to hurt this bad?

You don't know what you're expecting when you turn around. Something different about him perhaps. A sign that he isn't the person you had grown to know. Grown to love.

But there he is. All messy blue hair and bitten lips and eyes a little red around the edges. Your Yoongi.

Your arms curl around your body like a band aid, holding you together. You can't crumble. Not now.

He looks stony but his eyes flicker with tender remorse when he sees the tears staining your cheeks.

His hands reach for you instinctively. The same hands that make love to his piano in the shitty apartment above the coffee shop. The same hands that could make you fall apart with even a delicate touch. You want to run into them so bad it hurts. But now they're stained red with betrayal and he chokes when you recoil.

Seconds feel like hours as you just stand there taking each other in like it's been years. It's only been a day or two. Maybe three? You can't remember. They all rolled into one meaningless blur of angry tears and insomnia.

You had a whole speech prepared for the moment you finally faced him again. But there are no words that feel right. You just need to know. If he meant every touch and every inside joke and those three words that make your heart soar despite how badly you want to hate him. And there's only one way to find out.

"Why did you do it?"

Your voice sounds timid and scared, like you feel. He winces.

"Y/N, let me explain—"

"Explain what?" Your voice raises shakily."How you lied to me? How you used me?"

He rushes towards you and it takes all of your strength to draw back, especially when his eyes look so frantic, so desperate. Like he's having one of his nightmares. It tugs at your heart because this time the nightmare is real and you're living in it.

"It's not like that—"

"Did you ever even want me? What about all that fair and square bullshit you told me huh?"

"Of course I wanted you Y/N...want you." His eyes fill with pain. "This wasn't meant to happen. I know how this looks but I just panicked!"

You rush at him, fists curled like that day in his studio except this time he doesn't stop you when you start hitting his chest, vision blurry.

"He was going to pull out! Namjoon was going to let you win! So that I could -- we could be happy!"

"What I...I don't understand?" His mouth gapes, processing. "But you didn't..." He swallows, like remembering is painful. "When I confessed, you didn't say it back. I thought we were over! I thought I had nothing to lose, Y/N. He had already won..."

You remember your words. I can't do this anymore. A misunderstanding that would never have happened if he just—

"Did you even listen to the song?"

His face drops at the mention of the song. "No." He looks like he might cry. "I was angry! I...I acted impulsively. I never got the chance..."

You bared your soul in that song in ways you never thought you could. He wasn't supposed to find out how you felt about him this way. Not here, when you're falling apart and there's nothing you can do to stop it. But it all comes tumbling out before you can change your mind.

"I wrote that song because I love you, Yoongi!"

Silence. He has to grip the wall to steady himself.

"Y-you love me?"

"I love you." The words feel indulgent on your tongue and even now as they hang heavy in the air and you're overcome with an indescribable combination of grief and longing, you mean them with every bone in your body.

You rush at him. You can't help it. Can't resist how your head falls into his chest and how you cry harder when you breathe in his scent one last time, sobs muffled by his hoodie. But he hears them, you know he does, because his hands are trembling when they pull you closer like you're fragile enough to break.

"I love you. So fucking much it hurts, Yoongi."

You're weak. You're so so weak.

You don't know why you do it but you grab his face with both hands and then you're kissing him. Showing him how much you need him, how much you mean your words. His hand cups your jaw like always and his lips press back with a tender desperation and you believe him. You believe that he loves you. Whole and true. Because in that moment, with his lips on yours, everything is okay. He's your Yoongi and you're his Y/N and he loves you.

But then you pull back and he's crying too and everything's broken and your heart goes numb.

"I'm sorry. God, Y/N I'm so sorry. If I could take it back I promise I would."

You muster up all the strength you can. You know what you have to do.

"I'm giving you a choice, Yoongi. You go out on that stage and pick up that trophy and we're over. For real."

He tries to kiss you again, grabbing at you frantically when you turn your cheek.

"Y/N, don't do this. We love each other. That's all that matters right?" He musters up the closest thing to a smile he can manage, like he's convincing himself more than he is you. "You don't have to—"

"No." You pull away from grip. It feels cold and wrong. "I have to do this. If you love me like you say you'll...you'll understand."

You turn but he grabs your wrist, pins you in place.

"I can't lose you to him again, Y/N. I...I already lost you once and I don't think I..."

The hard faced Min Yoongi you once knew is gone. All that's left is the vulnerable man in front of you who holds your heart in your hands with a grip so tight it scares you.

"He can't win...please."

You suck in a final breath.

"Please what? Don't make you choose between me and that stupid fucking trophy? You did this to yourself, Yoongi." You turn and this time he lets you. "The only person pushing me away is you."

"Y/N please, wait!"

You don't dare turn to look at him as you walk away. Not even when he pleads or you hear him fall to his knees, a strangled sob echoing down the hall. You're scared you might run back to him if you do.

You don't let yourself break down until you turn the corner. Yoongi doesn't follow.

--

"I'm okay." You assure Namjoon as you take a seat beside him inside the arena. It's a lie, of course. No amount of cold water splashed on your face in the bathroom could prepare you for this moment.

You're just in time. The ceremony is already starting. The host is taking the stage and the lights are dimming but you're too numb to care.

You go out on that stage and pick up that trophy and we're over.

Your decision is final. There's no going back. You've cried all your tears. You've said all that needed to be said. All you're left with now is a sickly feeling in your stomach as you look down at the trophy sat in a display case center stage.

We love each other. A slither of hope tugs at your heart strings. You barely manage to suppress it.

"Sorry! Excuse me!" The empty seat to your left sinks under the weight of Hoseok as he clumsily stumbles into the arena, late as always.

He offers you a smile which turns to a frown when you only stare past him vacantly, straining your neck to keep an eye on the stage.

A hand covers yours. You freeze at the contact, only relaxing when you peer through the darkness to find Hoseok staring at you gently. His voice is a whisper. "Whatever happens I'm here for you, okay?"

A wave of emotion crashes through you and you think you might cry again. You can't make your lips sound out a response but Hoseok understands and you feel a little stronger when you turn your attention back to the ceremony knowing you have someone by your side.

"As you all know there have been some...complications with this year's finalists." The host coughs and fiddles with his tie awkwardly. "But we are glad to announce that we do in fact have a winner here with us today!"

The crowd chants Yoongi's name again. Namjoon stiffens. Your free hand grabs his and he squeezes it tight.

"So without further ado, I would like to welcome this year's winner, Gloss!"

The crowd goes wild but the sound is drowned out by a ringing in your ears. It's like you're underwater, holding your breath as you wait and wait for him to take the stage and all the oxygen to slip away.

One...two...three...

You get to ten seconds, then twenty seconds and then thirty and by the time you get to forty you feel yourself break the surface, take a heaving breath.

You're floating. He chose you.

He loves you! Yoongi loves you! He—

No.

You're seeing things. You must be. That can't be Yoongi's face lighting up every screen in the room. That can't be him crossing the stage and taking the trophy from the hands of the host with a smug grin. That can't be Yoongi holding it up in the air like a martyr.

That can't be your Yoongi. This is a stranger.

You crash back to reality when Namjoon wraps his arms around your waist and you realise your sobbing. Sobbing so hard it hurts your chest and your lungs burn with misuse and you're sure the tears will never stop.

"It's okay! Shh."

Nothing is okay. Nothing.

Yoongi's face is still blown up on the big screens in painful detail. The smile on his face falters when he looks out into the crowd and spots you instantly. Sees you crumple.

There are two things Min Yoongi ever loved in this world.

His music and you.

The trophy feels cold in his hands. The crowd gasps as he rushes to the edge of the stage and calls out to you.

"Y/N wait! I'm sorry—"

You hear his voice through the speakers but it's too late. You're already running.

Yoongi's mic drops to the ground.

--

Yoongi's nightmares are back. Except this time they're different.

When he closes his eyes you're there. Smiling and laughing like you used to. His heart warms and he reaches for you...

And then he realises it's not you. Just a picture, blown up on the big screen as you cross the stage at the front of the room he's suddenly aware he's in.

He glances around at the indistinguishable people around him, all smiling and clapping ferociously. Why isn't he happy?

The bottle in his hand is half empty. He's realises he's screaming. So hard his throat burns and his lungs beg for air but you don't even look his way. He screams your name, over and over again. Nobody seems to hear him.

Namjoon's there too. Bouncing a baby on his knee, maybe one or two years old if he has to guess.

"That'll be you one day," He whispers, but its deafening to Yoongi. "Only the very best for my niece." The baby giggles up at him, stubby fingers wrapped around his thumb.

She has your eyes. The very same eyes Yoongi would look into like they held everything in the world. The very same eyes Yoongi saw fill with pain on the last day he saw you before things got messed up.

She has Hoseok's nose. And his mouth, too, small and heart shaped. The resemblance is uncanny as Hoseok appears beside Namjoon, takes the baby girl into his arms and places a sweet kiss on her forehead.

Then there you are. The same old Y/N. The same smile that makes your eyes crinkle and the same laughter than makes his heart melt. The same girl who used to love him.

Though it's clear that that much is no longer true. Not when you lean up to kiss Hoseok on the cheek, Namjoon drawing you into a hug when you present the trophy in your hands to them with an elated laugh.

A family.

It feels like he's been punched in the stomach.

Yoongi always thought winning Mic Drop would mean he had everything. Fame. Money. Glory.

He didn't need family. He always got by on his own.

It took holding the whole world in the palm of his hand to realise none of it meant anything if he didn't have you by his side.

You were his everything. But he was too stupid to see it and he let you slip away.

It's too late now.

A hand appears on his shoulder. It's cold, grip bruising. The voice that comes next gives him chills every single time.

"So was it worth it?" Namjoon asks.

Yoongi tries to answer but his vision is blurred with hot tears now and he's on his hands and knees and he's screaming.

And when he wakes up at ass o clock, sweaty and gasping for air, he still finds himself reaching for your warmth beside him.

But all his fingers find are cold sheets and bitterness.

extended a/n: okay so if you have reached this far then you are a TROOPER. a trooper who i love and appreciate endlessly for reading 30k of my waffle lmao im so sorry <3 ksksksk so this fic has been in my head for the longest time and in my drafts for almost five months so im super attached to it and putting this out is like the scariest ever?? i really put my heart into this piece, like y’all don’t understand how many times it’s cropped up in my dreams and I’ve woken up like MUST WRITE. it’s far from perfect but i tried my best!! i can’t tell you how many scenes had to be rewritten until i was happy enough with them bc this fic is literally my baby in every sense of the word and i wanted to get it right :( although that just made the ending even more SOUL DESTROYING to write for me ugh i had the ending set in my mind before i even started writing but there were moments where i jus wanted yoongi and oc to be happy ever after :( but alas, I feel like this ending was far more realistic for them and i couldn’t go against my gut sigh. there may be a few drabbles planned in the future tho to make up for the angst :) Anyway!!! I’ll stop rambling. Thank you for reading this far, if anyone has. TROOPER. love you <3

updated 12/01/19: drabble #1 | drabble #2 | drabble #3 

[flowerpowell]

The Royal Holiday Romance (Liam x MC)

PART THREE

A/N: Good morning and welcome to the third part of this mess of a series that I randomly decided to write. It’s still cheesy and still Hallmarky. Nothing changed in that department. And we’re almost kinda halfway through. I hope you’ll like this part! Characters belong to Pixelberry.

Rating: G 

Tagging: @twinkleallnight​ @kingliam-rys​ @sfb123​ @iaminlovewithtrr​ @gardeningourmet​ @gkittylove99​ @texaskitten30​ @delightfullypinkglitter​ @kingliam2019​ @queen-arabella-of-cordonia​ @lodberg​ 

Victoria looked at herself in the mirror and sighed. She wasn’t sure if her little black dress was an appropriate attire for meeting the King. On the other hand, she truly believed that ‘less is more’ and her LBD was inspired by the fashion of Audrey Hepburn. If the King had a problem with Victoria’s love for simple outfits it wouldn’t be her problem. She doubted it’d be the case though; Hana insisted that the King was a true gentleman and one of the nicest people she’d ever met. Victoria was already excited to meet him. Besides, she’d never met anyone from royal family before and she was interested what they would be like. Her obsessions with fairytales definitely added to that interest.

“Ready?” Hana walked into Victoria’s room in a house the filming crew rented for all the actors.

“I think so. What do you think?” She did a little twirl and Hana chuckled.

“Beautiful. You look like an actress straight from the 50’s. Come on, our car is waiting for us!”

Victoria took a deep breath before walking out. It felt almost silly how excited she was but the inner child within her was screaming with joy at the prospect of going to an actual palace.

“Here goes nothing.” 

~~~~

“Ahhh! I’m so excited! Do you think Hana will like my squid suit?”

“Mhm.” Liam only nodded and Drake rolled his eyes.

“Why do I have to be here as well? I’m not a noble!” He asked, for the fifth time that hour.

“Because you want to support me?” Maxwell suggested and Drake shook his head.

“Try again.”

“This is so exciting! Thank you, Liam! You’re the best friend a guy could ask for,” Maxwell said, completely ignoring Drake.

“You’re welcome. My father liked lady Hana a lot and since her role in The Crown and the Flame he considered her a friend of the Crown. It’d be nice to have her back here.”

“And her friend Maxwell insisted on inviting,” Drake noticed.

“You’ll like her. Besides, Hana said nice things about her and Hana is never wrong.”

“Your obsession with Hana Lee is a bit concerning.”

“It’s not obsession, it’s an appreciation for her art. You’ll never understand it with an attitude like this, Drake.” Maxwell stuck out his tongue at him.

“Your Majesty.” Antonio, the King’s assistant, walked into the room. “The ladies have arrived. Shall I ask them to come here?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Your Majesty!” Bastien called out from behind Liam. “The American Ambassador is on the line and wants to talk to you. He says it’s urgent.”

“Very well, then.” Liam nodded. “I’ll join you in a moment. Please excuse me,” Liam apologized and followed Bastien into his office. Truth be told, he was quite happy about that distraction. As much as he liked lady Hana, he wasn’t in a mood to socialize today. All he could think about was the mysterious Victoria. He wondered if she visited his secret spot again. He wanted nothing more than to go to that forest again and see her again. Maybe. If she was still Cordonia, that is.

“Liam, get yourself together,” he scolded himself in his head before returning to his duties.

~~~~

“The King had to answer a call but he’ll join us shortly. I’m so happy to see you both again,” Maxwell welcomed Hana and Victoria as Drake shook their hands.

“He’s always busy in the Christmas time,” Drake added.

“It’s okay,” Victoria tried to smile but she was too anxious to do that. Now that she was in the palace, it all felt real but still almost surreal.

“What an interesting suit, Maxwell,” Hana noticed.

“Thank you, m’lady.” Maxwell smiled and turned to Drake, sending him a quick, I-told-you-so look.

“Let’s go to the dining room. I’m sure you two must be hungry after working all day.”

Victoria only nodded, glancing one last time behind her to see if maybe the King had joined them. So far, there was no sight of him.

~~~~

Liam was sitting in his office with his eyes closed. If he had had any energy left before, now he had absolutely none. The ambassador talked to him for straight thirty minutes about his idea, which Liam didn’t fully understood. Something about the movie with Hana Lee and about the premiere of it, as well as some other details Liam simply hadn’t noted. He was tired, too tired to talk to anyone. Would Maxwell forgive him if he ditched the dinner?

“He’s probably too focused on Hana to notice I’m not here,” Liam said to himself before standing up and taking his coat. He needed fresh air first. He could join his friends later.

~~~~

It was already an hour since they came to the palace and there was still no King on the horizon. Victoria wondered if the Kingly duties were that absorbing or if he simply decided to skip the dinner. Hana and Maxwell were chatting and seemed not to notice someone was missing but Victoria kept glancing at the door from time to time. She talked a little with Drake who, as she learned, was half-American and was King’s best friend. He told her about his family’s ranch in Texas and about how different his life was in Cordonia. In return, Victoria told Drake about how she wanted to become a movie critic but became an actress instead.

“Y’know, it’s never too late to change your career path. Maybe you’re never really happy with your roles because you’re not doing something you really love?” Drake suggested when she confessed to him why she wasn’t so excited about the movie.

“I don’t know… It feels easier to be where I am rather than change my life drastically.”

“Maybe.” Drake nodded. “But I learned the hard way that we don’t grow if we stay in the same place. Don’t settle for less just because you’re comfortable or scared.”

Victoria chuckled. “That was deep.”

Drake smiled and motioned the alcohol on the table. “That’s whiskey talking. Or maybe my wife’s influence, I don’t know.”

“In this case, I’d like to thank whiskey and your wife for the advice. I’ll think about it.”

“Please do. I was in a similar spot before I met my wife. She completely changed me and made me realize all these things I just told you. And that being said,” Drake looked around the room, “I gotta go, I miss my wife.”

“Sure. Have a great night, Drake. And thank you for the pep talk!”

“At your service.” Drake smiled and said goodbye to Hana and Maxwell. Victoria sat alone for twenty minutes more before she finally decided to go home as well. The King wasn’t coming. He was probably very busy and Victoria wasn’t surprised he couldn’t make it.

“I think I’ll go as well. I’m a bit sleepy after today. You can stay,” Victoria added as she noticed Hana was getting up, too.

“Nonsense. I brought you here and besides, it is pretty late.”

“Hana, I know where to go. And I think I could use a walk. Please, stay here with Maxwell and don’t worry about me. We’ll see each other tomorrow morning anyway.”

“If you’re sure.” Hana hesitated and Victoria smiled reassuringly.

“I am.”

“Do you need a drive? I can ask one of our drivers to give you a lift,” Maxwell offered but she shook her head.

“I’ll walk, I want to get some fresh air before I’ll go to sleep. You two have fun, though!”

“Text me when you get to your room safely!” Hana called out after Victoria and she only nodded.

~~~~

Liam was wandering around the forest for over an hour, each minute feeling guilty for leaving his guests without their host. He truly believed they were better off without him as he was too tired to make a good impression on anyone.

It was already late when he decided to head home. He didn’t see Victoria, not that he was looking for her. He was that naïve to think he’d meet her again.

He was about twenty minutes from home when he noticed someone familiar. His heart began to race as he realized it was Victoria. As usual, she seemed to be lost in thought and didn’t see him. He admired how beautiful she looked for a moment before he decided to catch her attention.

“Victoria!” He called out and felt tingles when their eyes met. He watched as she walked up to him smiling from ear to ear and realized he was grinning like an idiot himself.

“Liam! What a nice surprise to meet you here!”

“Indeed it is. I… umm… was in the forest today and I missed you bumping into me.”

Victoria chuckled at his words. “I wanted to go there today but I had to be somewhere else.”

“Do you have any plans for tomorrow? There’s another spot I like and which I think you’ll like as well; besides, I just finished reading Little Mermaid and need to discuss it with an expert.”

“You read Little Mermaid?” Her eyes were sparkling with joy and Liam’s breath hitched.

“Of course. I’m always down to read a good thriller,” he joked causing her to burst out laughing. She quickly covered her mouth but Liam took notice of how adorable her laugh was.

“I’m free,” she replied. She had no scenes that day anyway and Hana would forgive her if she skipped one day of eating lunch together. Liam smiled at her words.

“Wonderful. Should we meet by the cave? What time would be the best for you?”

“Maybe it’d be easier if we had each other’s phone numbers?” Victoria suggested shyly. It was the first time ever she asked a man for his number. “This way we wouldn’t have to wait to bump into each other again and if something pops out we’d be able to contact one another.”

“I’m glad at least one of us is thinking straight,” Liam laughed. They exchanged their phone numbers and after chatting for a few moments, each of them went their own way, both of them thinking about the other one.

~~~~

“Good morning to you, Your Majesty who skipped your own dinner party. I hope the call was fruitful.”

Liam rolled his eyes at Drake’s sarcastic comment.

“The call was way too long and exhausting. I needed to go for a walk afterwards.” He bit his lip and Drake eyed him suspiciously.

“I know that look. You’re hiding something.”

“Not at all.”

“Mhm. Where were you yesterday and where are you going today?”

Liam sighed. “Drake, I really—”

“Be sorry that you didn’t come to dinner yesterday. We had so much fun! And Hana loved my suit!” Maxwell waltzed into the room, beaming.

“She said it was interesting,” Drake corrected but Maxwell ignored it.

“Where were you anyway?”

“I went for a walk and it took me longer than I thought. I’m happy to hear that you all had a great time,” Liam replied. They might have had a great time but he was sure he had even greater time. A certain movie critic had something to do with it. They shared a few messages since last night, mostly talking about movies and books. Liam found himself completely fascinated by this woman who was so passionate about cinema that it made him watch something for the first time since becoming the King.

“Maxwell had. He was talking to Hana all evening and left Hana’s friend out,” Drake noticed.

“She was talking to you!”

“Until I had to go back to Riley. Maxwell, you sucked as a host, face it.”

“Thank you, Drake for keeping her company though. Had I known she’d be sitting alone I’d have come sooner,” Liam said suddenly feeling guilty. He didn’t know this Tori but she was his guest and he felt bad for how Maxwell treated her.

“Okay, I’m sorry. I should’ve acted differently but I was just so excited to talk to Hana that I forgot about everything else. And Tori didn’t seem to mind. I told you she was cool,” Maxwell shrugged.

“We’ll talk about when I’ll come back,” Liam warned.

“Where are you going? Shouldn’t you have a meeting with my brother and Olivia today?”

“I rescheduled. I’m meeting someone.”

“Who?” Drake raised his eyebrows.

“Just… someone I met recently. I’ll tell you later.”

“Oooh, interesting!” Maxwell exclaimed. “Then I’ll tell you more about what I learned about Hana! Look, I even took pictures of us! I’ll use them in my book.” Maxwell showed Liam a few selfies from the day before. Most of them showed Maxwell grinning at the camera and Hana smiling slightly.

“Wait, stop,” Liam asked. “Can you go back to three pictures ago?”

“Umm, sure.”

Maxwell went back to the photo and Liam’s eyes went wide as he looked at it. He zoomed in on a person in the background, not believing his eyes.

“Victoria?!”

--------------------

[vexedtonightmares]

Hi. I hope you have an amazing day/night. I had an idea for a fic. That Elliott saves lucas from a monster. Elliott is a demigod and tells lucas he is too and has to go to camp halfblood (percy Jackson au)

ok i’m gonna start by saying that i’m literally so sorry for taking MONTHS to answer this, but i loved this prompt so much i wanted to give it the attention it deserved 🥺now, that attention went from a small 1k fic to a roughly 20k three part fic because i have No Chill and accidentally came up with an entire plot, but at least i’m sharing it now!! i hope you enjoy!!

you can read part 1 here on ao3 or down below the cut 💖 

love and other divine interventions 

part i. identity (8.4k)

Look, Lucas didn’t want to be a half-blood. What the hell was that even supposed to mean? It sounded like a disease, the more he thought about it. Not that he thought about it often, he really tried not to, because most of all he didn’t care what it meant. Hadn’t killed him yet, had it?

Lucas had first been told that he was a half-blood by his mother when he was twelve. She said she was worried for his safety, and that she might have to send him to summer camp in America. He didn’t know what any of that meant, but he also knew that his mother wasn’t well sometimes, so he never thought too much about what she’d said and whether or not it meant more than he took it as.

A few years later, his mother had been put into an institution to help with her mental health, and Lucas had been sent from Paris to the states to live with an aunt and uncle he hardly knew. That was the second time someone called him a half-blood. He’d been minding his own business, walking home from school, and some kid who looked both older and younger than he was at the time had gasped, saying that Lucas was a half-blood and had to come with him if he wanted to be safe. 

Lucas had learned about stranger danger, though, so instead he ran away and told his aunt and uncle what happened. Without any room for argument, his aunt and uncle packed up and moved halfway across the country. It was a bit of an excessive response, but Lucas was fourteen, he didn’t really have any say in the matter. 

Something similar had happened again when he was sixteen, then seventeen, and each time his aunt and uncle packed up and moved at even the slightest hint of trouble. He knew that they were just worried about him, they’d lost their daughter, his cousin, back when she was about twelve years old, and they never found out what happened to her. Or so they told Lucas, when he asked. 

He asked them what a half-blood was once, and they’d both told him to never say that word again. So, he hadn’t. He did write a letter to his mother, though, asking if she could explain what she’d meant. Everyone just thought she was crazy, but Lucas had never thought so. If she’d thought it was important for Lucas to know, it must have been. 

When Lucas was eighteen, he went to university in New York. His aunt and uncle hadn’t wanted him to, but they wouldn’t let him go back to Paris, so this was the option they’d reluctantly agreed to.

Strange things had always seemed to follow him wherever he went, but those occurrences happened far more often once he was in New York. He chalked it up to the weirdness of the city itself. Like this: the man on the street who’d told him he smelled like death— which was more rude than strange, actually— or the time that he could have sworn some sort of winged demon had been following him as he walked to class.

Generally, he chalked his experiences up to a lack of sleep, because the life of a college student was quite the busy one. Even if it hadn’t been, he probably wouldn’t have slept anyways. All his life he’d been plagued by dreams so haunting and wild that he’d felt that they were real, regardless of the fact that he knew that couldn’t have been the case.

It was after a night tossing and turning in bed, visions of a pale skinned man on a throne of bones trying desperately to tell him something, that Lucas decided he needed to get some fresh air.  

Lucas loved the city, he really did. Of all the places he’d lived in his life, New York was a close second to Paris. He didn’t let himself think of Paris too often, though, lest he be swept up in thoughts of his mother and how much he missed her. It was hard to keep in contact with all the moving, but he called the home that she was in every now and again to make sure she was alright. She never responded to the questions he’d written to her, but he’d more or less put all of that out of his mind. 

It became clear to Lucas while he was walking through the city that someone was following him. Every time he looked back, he could have sworn he saw someone dart out of sight. So, he picked up his pace. If it came down to it, he’d throw some punches, sure, but he wasn’t the best fighter there ever was. 

He kept walking, no direction in mind, and started to think that maybe he’d been overreacting, or maybe the sleep deprivation had gotten him at last. He walked so long that he made it somewhere there weren’t many people around, and even though he turned over his shoulder once more, whoever was following him seemed to have gotten bored and left him be. Finally, he thought, and paused to check his phone, blinking in surprise when he realized he’d been walking for nearly two hours. He had a tendency to get lost in his own head like that.

Lucas took a deep breath, started to turn around to walk back where he’d come from, and saw a light flash at the corner of his eye, something a bright and beautiful shade of bronze. Before he had time to react, he was pinned up against the side of an alleyway with a knife to his throat and a hand over his mouth.

By the time Lucas was able to assess the situation and look at his assailant’s face, he groaned internally to himself. Oh, fuck, he’s hot. 

The assailant in question didn’t look to be all that much older than Lucas himself, his skin was pale and golden, dotted with moles like constellations. He was wearing a bright orange shirt, which Lucas didn’t know how he hadn’t seen before, and had a leather necklace with a bunch of clay beads on it, each with a different design. Six if, Lucas was counting properly. 

The last thing Lucas looked at were his attacker’s eyes. A clear, bluish grayish color so intense, it made Lucas a little weak in the knees. Get a hold of yourself Lallemant, this guy is literally trying to kill you. 

Lucas opened his mouth under the guy’s hold and in return the guy pressed his hand in even tighter. His luminescent eyes raked Lucas’ face up and down a moment until his attention was caught by something else, off to Lucas’ left. 

“Stay here,” the boy said, loosening his grip on Lucas’ mouth, “And stay quiet, if you want to survive.”

Now, Lucas may not have been trained in combat, but he did know a few moves, one of which he employed the second it looked like this guy’s guard was down.

“OW! What the fuck?” the guy said in a strained voice as he fell to his knees. “Did you just knee me in the balls?”

Lucas didn’t spare the breath on answering, he just ran to the opposite end of the alley as fast as he could. He was almost away when he heard another voice join the fray. “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” said a girl’s voice, “I think you should go back to where Eliott told you to stay.”

Suddenly, Lucas felt his legs moving of their own accord. He agreed with this girl, he should listen to everything she said. 

The boy— Eliott— lifted his head to glare at the girl. “Lola, stop that.”

In his haze, Lucas could barely hear her mumble something about never being allowed to have any fun before he suddenly felt like he’d been dunked in a bucket of ice cold water. He looked around, wondering how he’d gotten back to where he’d run from. 

“What did you— wha—” he stammered, trying to regain sense of himself, when Eliott sighed and stood up, grimacing a bit. 

“I’ll explain everything,” Eliott promised, “We’re here to help you, not hurt you, you just have to please, for the love of the gods, stay where you are and shut up.”

For the love of the gods? Were these people in some sort of cult?

Lucas was nothing if not stubborn. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and frowned. “What makes you think I’ll do what you say?”

Eliott threw an exasperated glance at Lola, who simply raised her eyebrows back as if to say, should have listened to me. Eliott sighed and came back to stand in front of Lucas, holding the knife he’d very recently pressed against Lucas' neck out to Lucas to grab. “Does this make you feel better?”

“I could stab you,” Lucas said, taking it.

Eliott flashed a quick grin, holding out a hand as Lola tossed him a bow and arrows. “You won’t.”

Lucas narrowed his eyes. “Oh yeah? And what makes you say th— AHHH!”

Lucas liked horror movies, he prided himself on being hard to scare. He’d laughed nearly the entire time he’d seen the most recent It movie, and he’d chalked up all the strange things that had happened in his life to fever dreams at best, tragically large amounts of bad luck at worst. Maybe he hadn’t been scared because he either knew it wasn’t real, or refused to believe it was real. This, though, this massive beast looking moments away from eating him alive, this was real.

“Gods dammit,” Lola murmured under her breath, pulling a sword from nowhere. Lucas glanced down at the knife in his hands. Eliott and Lola weren’t paying any attention to him anymore, he could make a run for it, but his fear was that this thing in front of him would kill him if he did. 

“Excuse me? What the hell is that thing?” Lucas shouted, drawing the beast’s head in his direction. Fuck. Maybe drawing attention to himself by shouting wasn’t the best move.

Neither Lola nor Eliott answered him, assuming fighting stances. Lucas tried to emulate what they were doing, but his knees felt too weak and his head felt too dizzy. He hoped to whoever might listen that this was all just a very convoluted nightmare. He pressed the blade into his hand, just to see if it hurt, wishing that it wouldn’t. It did. 

There was a moment of silence where Lucas could have heard a pin drop, but then the thing made a horrifying, guttural sort of sound, and lunged. Lola charged forward, swinging her sword with the precision of a seasoned professional, but the thing was fast. It evaded her attacks, reaching out to slash her with its long claws. Lucas didn’t think, just knew that even if he didn’t trust these people, they didn’t deserve to die. He threw the knife Eliott had given him with all his might, and let out a startled breath as it embedded itself right between the thing’s eyes. 

Eliott, who’d had an arrow ready to fly, lowered his weapon and stared at Lucas with a dumbfounded expression as the thing crumbled to dust, leaving only the bronze knife in its wake. 

“How did you do that?” Eliott asked, searching Lucas’ face up and down. From his other side, Lola was looking at Lucas apprehensively. Lucas opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. Eliott’s expression went from shocked to worried, and that was the last thing Lucas saw before he passed out cold.

***

Lucas shot up in bed in a cold sweat, breathing heavily. Of course it was all a dream; sure it had felt realistic, but why would he be in bed if everything that had just happened in his mind happened in real life? Then again… 

Lucas surveyed his surroundings and groaned, before flopping back onto what he now realized was not his bed. Great, he’d been kidnapped. By a boy with eyes like the center of a storm and a girl younger than he was. 

“Lucas?” 

He turned his head to the voice in the doorway, not knowing what to expect. To his displeasure, it was the kidnapper himself. Eliott, was it? He didn’t look like a kidnapper, in that same offensively bright orange t-shirt and distressed jeans, light streaks in his wild hair from too much time out in the sun. Camp Half-Blood, read his t-shirt, and upon realizing this, Lucas felt like he was going to be sick.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Eliott said as he raced to Lucas’ bed, shoving a glass of an indeterminate liquid into his hands. “Drink this, you’ll feel better.”

Lucas was definitely not going to drink it, obviously. Eliott noticed this, rolled his eyes, and took a small sip from the side of the cup. “There, will you drink it now?”

“Where did you take me, and how do you know who I am?” Lucas asked instead. He could only hope that Eliott was kind of stupid, so he’d be able to outsmart him and escape. 

“I’m not telling you anything until you drink that,” Eliott said stubbornly, sitting on the edge of Lucas’ bed. The more Lucas looked at the room, the more it looked like some sort of infirmary, which made even less sense. Maybe Eliott had some weird doctor-patient kink or something. 

Lucas looked at the drink in his hands, then back up at Eliott, who was smiling bright as the sun. He rolled his eyes and took a sip, figuring that if the drink was safe, he’d do what Eliott said to get more information and get the hell out of there. The moment the liquid hit his tongue, he flinched back in surprise. It tasted just like his favorite meal that his mother made him when he was little. How was that even possible? Forgetting all about Eliott, he gulped down most of the rest of the drink until he started feeling a bit hot and Eliott grabbed the glass from his hands. 

“Woah there, don’t want you burning up on us, not when it’s taken so much work for us to get you here at all,” Eliott said with a smile, which Lucas decided is something a psychopath would do. 

He did feel better though, now that the heat had subsided. A lot better actually, better than he’d felt in a long time. He felt healthy and well rested, which was especially great if he needed to take Eliott out in order to escape. First, though, he needed answers.

“Where am I?”

“Long Island,” Eliott supplied.

Lucas glowered at him. “Where exactly am I? Why did you kidnap me?”

Eliott coughed in surprise, eyebrows shooting up and then furrowing deeply. “Kidnap? Lucas, I didn’t kidnap you!”

“Why were you following me, then? How do you know my name?” 

Eliott sighed and gazed at Lucas for a second that stretched to a minute. “I know your name because I saw it on your student ID. Your wallet was in your pocket. Don’t give me that look, I didn’t steal anything, you can have your two dollars and campus card back when you’re ready to head out into camp, not that you’ll be needing either of those things anytime soon.”

Aha, Lucas had caught him. “Because you kidnapped me.”

“No I did not—” Eliott broke off, shaking his head exasperatedly. “You’re difficult, you know that?”

Lucas shrugged. “So I’ve been told.” 

“You won’t be here a long time because I’ve kidnapped you, you’ll be here a long time because it’s one of the only places in the world safe for people like you. Like us,” Eliott continued, looking like he was gauging each of Lucas’ reactions. “No offense, but I’m truly and honestly surprised that you’re not already dead. Unless you’re secretly ten years old or something.”

“And who, pray tell, are we?” Lucas asked sarcastically, ignoring the latter half of what Eliott had said. The look in Eliott’s eyes went deadly serious.

“Half-bloods.”

“I think that’s, like, a slur of some sort..”

The more jovial light came back into Eliott’s eyes. “I’m sorry, what?”

“My aunt and uncle told me never to say that, because people used to call me that sometimes when I was younger. My mom did too, but when she said it, it didn’t sound like a bad thing…” Lucas trailed off, not even realizing it, consumed in thoughts of his mother, as well as his aunt and uncle, who would think him dead. Or lost, just like their daughter. He only came back to himself when he heard Eliott swear under his breath. “Excuse me?”

Eliott went red. “Sorry, it’s just… we had a bet going, about who your parent was. If your mom is mortal, that means I lose.”

“Are you going to tell me what the hell you’re talking about, or am I going to have to kick you in the balls and make a run for it again?” Lucas asked dejectedly. Eliott laughed like he was joking. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologized, “You mean… you truly don’t know, then? What you are? Who you are?”

Lucas stared at him blankly, shrugging. 

Eliott continued, “You’re a half-blood— which isn’t a slur, by the way— which means you’re half human, half something else, something that might not make much sense to you right now, or you might not want to believe, but I promise you that it’s true.”

“Ok.” What else was Lucas going to say? He was back to wondering if Eliott was a part of some weird cult.

“You’re half human, half god. Your father, whoever he is, is one of the gods of Ancient Greece. Or Rome, I suppose, but I have a feeling if you ended up here, you’re more on the Greek side of things,” Eliott concluded hesitantly, like he was waiting for Lucas to laugh in his face. Lucas sort of wanted to, but then again, if this was some weird cult thing, maybe it would be best to play along until he went under the radar and could escape. 

So, instead of laughing or asking a million more questions like he wanted to, Lucas said, “Oh, is that all?” 

Eliott blinked at him. “Is that a— you mean you believe me?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I?” Lucas asked. Yeah, this was definitely a cult thing. “Who’s my dad, then?”

“If you don’t know, we don’t know,” Eliott said apologetically. There was a look in his eyes that made Lucas doubt, for a moment, that this was all some big cosmic joke the universe was playing on him, that there might have been some truth to what Eliott was saying. But that was ridiculous, he couldn’t let them get to him.

Instead of dwelling on it, Lucas tried to divert the conversation, “Hence the bet.”

The corner of Eliott’s mouth quirked up and he averted his eyes, giving a shrug of acknowledgement. “Hence the bet,” he agreed. 

The two of them stared at each other a beat longer, then Eliott hopped up and held out his hand. “Let’s give you a camp tour then, hm? Hopefully you’ll be claimed by tonight, but Cabin Eleven always welcomes unclaimed campers, even if we haven’t had one in a while.”

“Um, ok,” Lucas said, getting out of bed without taking Eliott’s hand. In all honesty, it was more for his own sake than anything. Cultist or not, Eliott was very, very attractive, and Lucas was very, very gay.

Eliott walked with a little bit of a bounce in his step, like he couldn’t help it, and even though it sort of made Lucas want to roll his eyes, another part of him was endeared. Eliott picked up a bow and quiver full of arrows by the door and strung them over his back. Lucas had no idea what use that would be, but he was wary to find out. 

Outside of the infirmary was nothing like what Lucas expected. Eliott grinned at Lucas’ face over his shoulder and said, “Welcome to Camp Half-Blood.”

It was beautiful, that was the only word for it. There was a four story mansion in front of what looked to be some sort of dining pavilion, and on the opposite side there were massive strawberry fields, an archery range, and was that a rock climbing wall with lava pouring down it? It was hard to process everything he was seeing, and even harder when he looked a bit further and saw what Eliott must have meant by ‘cabins’. Cabin was an understatement, surely. There were many massive buildings, each decorated so wildly Lucas couldn’t even imagine the purpose of them. If this was a cult, at least the leaders seemed to treat the members well, everyone looked like they were having the time of their life, even the people sword fighting to the death.

Lucas looked back at the mansion on what seemed to be some sort of front lawn, and suddenly felt like he was about to faint again. “That man has a horse body.”

Eliott followed his gaze, laughed lightly. “Yeah, that’s Chiron, he’s a centaur.” 

When Lucas didn’t respond, Eliott stopped him, imploring him with his intoxicating eyes. “Wait a second. You didn’t really believe me did you, you little shit?” he laughed, again, like it was funny. “Why would I lie about your father being a Greek god? Mine is too.”

“No,” Lucas said numbly. There had to be some other explanation, maybe he was on drugs. He started to feel a bit feverish and breathless as he took in his surroundings again. A man with the legs of a goat trotted past him and his vision dotted. Great, a panic attack was exactly what he needed right now. He didn’t even realize he’d fallen to his knees until Eliott knelt beside him, looking concerned.

“Hey, Lucas, breathe for me, can you do that?” Eliott asked. Lucas tried to answer, but he couldn’t, tried to breathe, but he couldn’t. Eliott’s face in front of him was a bit blurry now, and Lucas felt numb all over, like he was outside of his body. Then, suddenly, his vision cleared, his breathing regulated, and he felt like himself again.

“What—” he began, looking at Eliott, who looked guilty.

“I’m sorry,” Eliott said, helping Lucas to his feet. “My godly parent? Apollo, the god of music, prophecy, the sun,” he paused, biting his lip. “Medicine.”

“And you’re being one hundred percent serious?” Lucas asked. “You’re not part of a cult trying to brainwash me?”

Eliott nodded. “I swear it on the River Styx.”

Lucas didn’t know what that meant, but thunder boomed in the distance, so it sounded serious. His resolve crumbled, and he had no choice but to believe this crazy story he’d been told. In some ways, it made some of the weird things in his life seem not so weird after all. 

“Ok,” he conceded, “I believe you. For real this time.”

Eliott smiled, but it was shallow, and Lucas thought about what he’d just said about his own father. “So you… you stopped my panic attack, then? With godly superpowers, or whatever?”

Eliott’s face went a bit dark, “I wouldn’t call it that, necessarily. I… I differ from most of my siblings in this way. Usually Apollo’s children are more inclined towards medicine, that much is true, but we don’t necessarily have healing powers of our own.”

“But you do,” Lucas inferred, and Eliott nodded grimly.

“It helps out a lot in battle, or with physical ailments, but I—” he faltered, and looked out at the water. “I hate using it this way, for mental ailments. Treating it like it's something that needs to be fixed— which I can’t do by the way. I can get rid of your panic attack, but not your anxiety, if that makes sense. The same way I could heal a broken leg, but not make sure that leg is never broken again. It seems like a cruel joke, sometimes, considering…” he trailed off, turning red, like he’d said something he shouldn’t have.

Lucas waited for him to continue, but when he did, he didn’t pick up his last train of thought. “Point is, we all have our things, from our parents, no matter how big or small they might be. Maybe finding out what yours is will lead us to find out who your dad is.”

“Maybe my dad’s also Apollo,” Lucas wondered aloud, and Eliott let out an oddly strangled noise.

“Let’s hope not,” he said, and before Lucas could ask why, he took off across the green towards the cabins. “Come on, let’s get you acquainted with some of the campers.”

And Lucas, well, he had no choice but to follow. 

Every camper they passed seemed to be a little bit enamoured with Eliott, smiling, waving, and greeting him with blushes and laughter. Once Lucas caught up to Eliott, he asked, “Why are they doing that? Aren’t we all technically related, or whatever?”

Eliott furrowed his brows. “Doing what?” he asked, just as a camper on the volleyball court blew him a kiss. Lucas raised his eyebrows and watched as Eliott’s face turned bright red.

“Oh that’s not— we’re not— The godly side of the family doesn’t count,” he explained, “There’s no DNA there, so you’re not really related in any real way to anyone, aside from your siblings. Like, a child of Poseidon and a child of Athena could date with no problem, but two children of Athena? That’s weird.” 

“Oh,” Lucas said, taking it all in. It seemed he had quite a bit to learn. “Who are you dating, then?” he asked, wishing he hadn’t the minute he said it. 

To his surprise, Eliott just looked over at him with one eyebrow raised and a small smirk. “No one,” he said, coming to a stop in front of what looked like a Barbie house. “Yet.”

Lucas opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by a girl with blonde hair and big green eyes bounding down the stairs in their direction. Instead of running to Eliott, like he expected, she ran right towards Lucas, smiling at him widely. 

“You must be Lucas!” she said excitedly.

“Uh…” Lucas said intelligently.

“This is Daphné,” Eliott said, “Daughter of Aphrodite.”

Aphrodite. Right. Which one was she again? The one naked in a seashell? Thankfully, Daphné filled in the blanks. “Goddess of love, beauty, all that good stuff. Someone had a lot of money betting that you were one of us,” she confided in him.

Lucas tried to look at Eliott for help in this interaction, but he was looking away pointedly. “My mom is normal,” he said instead, “Mortal.” 

Daphné bit her lip, like she was holding back a grin. “That’s what my sister Lola guessed, too.”

Why did that name sound familiar? “Lola…?”

“Me.” Another voice joined them. It was the girl he’d seen with Eliott, who he’d saved from being eaten by that monster. She looked at him with a bored expression.

“You’re welcome,” Lucas said, watching as her eyes narrowed, “You know, for saving your life.”

She grimaced at him, hand on the sword at her side. She started to say something, but Daphné glared at her, and she rolled her eyes, going back inside where she’d come from. 

“Your sister seems nice,” Lucas observed.

Daphné waved a hand airily. “She’ll come around. You didn’t have to be a dick, either.”

“Sorry,” he said, though he wasn’t, and Daphné looked like she knew it.

Eliott jumped in, likely to diffuse some tension, “Daphné here is a master of disguise. Her skill with beauty work can really transform anyone into anything, though more in an illusion way, not a shapeshifting way. Also, her love advice rarely goes amiss.”

That all sounded fine, but not really as cool as having actual superpowers, like Eliott, Lucas thought. As if sensing what he was thinking, Eliott continued, “Some children of Aphrodite have the power of charmspeak, too. They can make anyone do anything, just by telling them to.”

Lucas thought of the weird disconnected feeling that had come over him when Lola had made him stop running away. “Lola can charmspeak?” he asked, already knowing the answer as Eliott and Daphné nodded. “Well that’s just great.”

“It is,” Daphné said defensively, “It’s saved a lot of lives.”

“Anyway,” Eliott cut in again, smiled a bit tense around the edges, “I brought you to Daph because she knows everything and everyone. She can give you the rundown on some campers and their godly parents, if you want.”

Lucas didn’t see a problem with that, especially because he was severely lacking in mythological knowledge. Before he could do so much as nod, Daphné launched into a wild spiel, pointing to people as she did.

“Well, let’s see… over there is Alexia, daughter of Iris, goddess of the rainbow, ugh she’s with Arthur again— son of Hermes, you’ll meet him soon enough if you remain unclaimed— I told her not to go down that road again, but she never learns that my love advice is to be listened to, not ignored. There’s Yann, son of Hephaestus, god of blacksmiths and fire, he’s chill, you’ll like him, and he’s with Basile, as per usual, son of Ares, god of war— which everyone is still confused by, Baz doesn’t have a warlike bone in his body— we used to date, actually, a while back, but I suppose you don’t care about that. Emma and Imane, daughters of Dionysus, god of wine, and Nike, goddess of victory, respectively. Hmm… who else… Sofiane, Imane’s boyfriend and Eliott’s brother, another son of Apollo, Idriss, another son of Nike— he and Imane actually have the same father as well, which is rare but not unheard of. Oh! There’s Maya, Lola’s girlfriend, daughter of Demeter, goddess of agriculture…”

“You seem very well informed of people’s love lives,” Lucas observed, though he supposed that made sense, with who her mom was. 

Daphné glowed in response. “I mean, it’s my job as the head counselor for the Aphrodite cabin. I have a feeling love is closer than you think, by the way, for yourself.”

Lucas blinked. “Excuse me?”

Daphné shrugged, sparing a glance at Eliott, then back at Lucas. “Just a hunch. Speaking of love, I wonder where Manon is… I think she’d like you. She’s a daughter of Zeus. Maybe she’s in her cabin…”

Manon. A name Lucas hadn’t heard in years. It could be a coincidence, of course, but at the same time… “Manon Demissy?” he asked. Daphné frowned at him. 

“How do you know that?”

Lucas couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “She’s my cousin. She went missing when we were twelve…” he trailed off. Had she been here the whole time? Why didn’t his aunt and uncle know that? Did they have the same godly parent?

Daphné and Eliott exchanged a glance, before Daphné took a hold of his arm and dragged him after her, Eliott stumbling along behind them trying to keep up, towards the towering cabin at the end of the path, which looked more like a mausoleum than a cabin.

“Manon!” Daphné yelled once they were outside the door. “You’d better be in there, and you’d better open up, because your cousin—”

She was cut off by the door opening, and Lucas stared into a face he only had the barest memories of. She was a lot older now, sure, but still, Lucas knew exactly who she was. Her face blanched considerably when she saw Lucas.

“Lulu?” she asked, stepping all the way outside. 

Lucas shifted uncomfortably at the nickname. “Uh, no one really calls me that anymo—”

Manon pulled him into a tight hug, and Lucas melted into it. His missing cousin, apparently, was just like him. When she pulled back she searched his face. “But how are you— Are you a half-blood?”

Lucas shrugged. “I guess so.”

“Who’s your father, then?” she asked, looking to Daphné and Eliott both.

“We don’t know,” Eliott said, “He’s unclaimed.”

“At eighteen?” Manon seemed confused by his age more than anything, even though they were only about a month apart in age. 

Eliott and Daphné seemed to be thinking the same thing. “How did you survive this long? Most demigods don’t make it on their own past twelve out there, and the gods are supposed to claim us all by the time we’re thirteen,” Eliott said.

“He could be the son of a minor god,” Daphné offered, “Alexia was out there until she was fifteen.”

They were all looking at him expectantly, so Lucas launched into the story of his childhood, to when he’d been sent to live with Manon’s parents, how they’d moved around any time anything strange happened, and how everything had only been able to catch up with him now that he was on his own in New York.

Manon shook her head. “It still doesn’t make sense, though.”

“Your parents think you’re dead, by the way,” he said, wondering why that wasn’t bothering her. 

She looked apprehensive for a moment, then said, “Lu, my mother and her husband died when I was twelve. That’s why I came to camp. I don’t have any family out there, other than you.”

“What are you talking about? Who the hell have I been living with for years, then?” Lucas demanded, but Manon looked confused as ever. 

“We need to talk to Jo,” Eliott said, and Daphné nodded. “Her mother is Hecate, the goddess of magic, if anyone can peel back the Mist on this one, it’s her.”

“Why do I have a feeling you’re not talking about actual mist?” Lucas asked as he followed the three of them across the green once again. None of them answered him, which was answer enough.

“Jo!” Eliott yelled as they came across a purple cabin with a strange energy surrounding it. “We need your expertise!”

Hardly a moment later, a girl that seemed to be a bit younger than Lucas was at the door, breathless and smiling widely. She looked at Eliott with what was either severe infatuation or admiration. “Anything for my favorite camper,” she said, looking at all of them in turn, until her eyes rested on Lucas. “You must be the newbie! You’re a lot older than I thought you’d be, how the hell did you make it out there that long?”

“That’s what we need your help with,” Manon said, explaining the rest of the situation. Jo’s expression hardened as she did so, and she nodded seriously at the end. 

“I’ll see what I can do.” Then, her expression was bright again. “Come inside Lucas! I don’t bite, I promise! Unless you want me to.”

“Jo,” Eliott said, exasperatedly, like he’d had to do this a lot. 

She put her hands up. “Alright, alright. Come on, let’s see if we can figure out your story.”

Lucas tried to protest as she pulled him inside, door shutting behind her, leaving Eliott, Manon, and Daphné on the outside. She looked at him sympathetically. “I know it's overwhelming, but I promise you don’t have to be scared. Your job is easy, you just have to sit there while I work my magic. Literally.” 

He was led to an entirely dark room and shoved unceremoniously into a chair. Jo waved her hand and a bunch of purple orbs filled the room, glowing with light. “Just close your eyes, and think about your family— your mortal family. I’ll do the rest.”

Lucas did as he was told, first thinking about his mother, and Manon, meeting his extended family when he was young. Only… that was odd, his aunt, Manon’s mother, looked quite a bit different than she did now, though maybe that was just because she was younger. There were weird, fuzzy gaps in his brain, from when he’d had to leave Paris and come to live with his aunt and uncle, which seemed strange. There were a lot of weird, fuzzy gaps, actually, the more he thought about it. Jo gasped, and Lucas opened his eyes.

Jo sighed, looking at Lucas like she’d seen something she wished she hadn’t. “It really is a curse, being able to do the things that I do,” she said simply, holding out a hand. “Come on, we have lots to share.”

Eliott, Daphné, and Manon were all bickering when Jo opened the door to let them both out of the cabin. They looked up at Jo expectantly. Well, actually, Manon and Daphné did, Eliott looked at Lucas, searching his face with his eyes, almost like he was asking if Lucas was ok. Lucas nodded, giving him a hint of a smile, which Eliott returned with one of his own. 

“I’m not sure y’all will like what I have to say,” Jo warned them all, then turned to Manon. “Can we go to your cabin? I don’t want to talk about it with a bunch of people around.”

Manon frowned, but they all followed her back to the massive cabin at the end of the row once again. While they walked, Lucas couldn’t stop thinking of what all this secrecy and worry might lead to. Bad enough he’d just found out that the people he’d been living with weren’t actually related to him, did he really need to learn that he was the son of the god of, like, toilets, or something? 

When they walked in Lucas noticed that the cabin was more or less set up like a museum, not a livable space. There was a massive statue of a god that Lucas assumed was Zeus, because he was carrying a lightning bolt (hey, he didn’t know much, but he knew that much), but it was a bit unnerving, because it felt like his eyes were following them as they walked across the room. 

“Where are your siblings?” Lucas asked, looking around. All of the other cabins seemed to have a great number of campers living in them. 

“I don’t have any,” Manon said, opening a compartment in the wall just outside statue Zeus’ eyeline. Daphné followed like she’d been there a million times, and Eliott and Jo didn’t seem to have any hesitation, so Lucas went after them, closing the compartment behind him.

“Zeus is one of the Big Three, which includes Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades,” Manon continued as they followed her, “And a long time ago, there was this big pact between the Big Three to never sire any more demigods, because of some prophecy nonsense, or something. I don’t know, it was before our time. There was this big war, and then they decided to do away with that rule, but the children of the Big Three are more powerful than most demigods. Which makes them more dangerous, more of a liability. There were a lot of us, for a time, but then the gods decided to get rid of us in case we’d cause too much trouble. As if it was our fault for existing. Each of the Big Three was supposed to choose one child to live, and I happened to be the luckiest of the bunch, because I was just a baby. I think I technically have a sister, but she’s a Hunter of Artemis, so she was exempt from this new rule. Poseidon chose this guy who’s an adult now, living in New Rome, because he pretty much saved them from destruction a number of times and he also hadn’t had anymore demigod children after him. Hades refused to choose, and the gods banished him to Tartarus. He only had two kids, both of whom pretty much saved the gods asses a million times over, and he didn’t think they deserved to be punished for existing, rightfully so.”

They were now in a chamber that Lucas definitely thought hadn’t existed previously. It was decorated in a way that seemed somewhat recent and it looked like more of a secret hideout than a bedroom. Everyone took a seat on various furniture, Daphné and Manon’s hands tangling together as they sat beside one another on the bed. Lucas was still trying his best to take in all the information, but he got lost at Tartarus. “So… Zeus killed a bunch of his kids, is the moral of the story?”

Daphné scoffed. “It was Hera who did it. She hates all children of Zeus, because she’s the goddess of marriage. Really, she just wanted to punish him, and all those innocent kids got caught in the crossfire. She only roped Poseidon and Hades into it so the other gods would agree. Everyone knew Poseidon only had one demigod child, and no one cared enough about Hades or his kids to intervene in that regard.”

“But if they all hate Hades, why is he one of the Big Three?” Lucas asked. 

“I mean, the whole concept of the Big Three is inherently sexist to begin with, because it only recognizes the male children of Kronos,” Manon said. “But that’s basically why. He’s also much more powerful than anyone gives him credit for, he could wipe us all out if he wanted to. I think Zeus knows that, which is part of why he had him banished.”

“So what’s Tartarus, then?” Lucas asked, catching on, but still hopelessly lost.

It was Eliott who chimed in this time, voice cold and somewhat afraid. “There’s the Underworld, and then there’s Tartarus, which is like the hell of all hells. Worse than the Fields of Punishment tenfold. It’s the home of all the monsters, where they go to regenerate when we kill them, and is a prison or a home for the nastiest immortal beings in the universe. The only thing deeper than Tartarus is Chaos, from which everything was borne. The good, the bad, all of it. Only three demigods have ever been inside Tartarus, and they all barely survived it. Hades is being punished there, because he refused to kill one of his children.”

Lucas looked at each of them with wide eyes. “But that’s awful!”

Manon nodded grimly. “Hades isn’t the nicest of the gods, not by a longshot, but he’s a million times better than my own father, and he definitely doesn’t deserve what’s happening to him right now.”

“Zeus isn’t my dad, is he?” Lucas asked warily. 

Manon smiled sadly. “You’d be dead if he was. Hera killed my mother and my stepfather, you know, as retribution for the fact that I’m alive, even though she agreed to letting one of his children live. Don’t worry about this all too much, though, you’re probably just a child of a minor god and you’ll get some sick powers out of the deal.”

Jo sat up in her beanbag chair. “Actually… that’s what we have to talk about.”

Oh, right. Lucas had almost forgotten about her magic, and what they were trying to find out about his past. Daphné encouraged her, “Well? Spill.”

Jo sighed. “So, I was able to see through the Mist on his memories, and I’m not sure you’ll like what I found. His aunt and uncle, the ones who’ve been hiding him all these years, they’re two of the Kindly Ones.”

“Kindly Ones?” Lucas asked, but he saw everyone else’s faces had paled. 

“I’d wondered why they never came after us anymore… I thought it was because of Hades…” Manon mumbled to herself, but Lucas still didn’t follow.

“The Kindly Ones, better known as the Furies, are monsters that serve Hades. They come after us, sometimes, but they mostly stick by his side and do his bidding,” Eliott explained. “If they’ve been protecting you all these years…”

“You must be a child of Hades,” Manon said, finishing both Eliott’s thought and her own. 

Lucas laughed loudly, sure they were just joking around with him. Hades? No way, he was just some minor demigod, not someone who should, for all intents and purposes, be dead. These people were all crazy after all, he’d been right all along. He forced another laugh and shook his head. “Come on, guys, you can’t be serious.”

But they weren’t looking at him, they were looking just above him.

“Unfortunately, it seems that we are,” Daphné said gravely, and Lucas looked above his head just in time to see a glowing symbol disappearing. 

“What was that?” he asked.

“You’ve just been claimed,” Eliott said, “By the god of the dead. Lucas, you are a son of Hades.”

And wasn’t that just fan-fucking-tastic.

Not only was he half god, he was half of a god who should have had him killed when he was a baby. He supposed that was a point in his father’s favor that he wasn’t dead, but couldn’t he have done more to keep him hidden from this world? He was a god, that should have been in his power. 

“The good news for you is that you have four eyewitnesses,” Manon said, and Lucas could nearly see the wheels spinning in her head. He didn’t know how that helped anything, now there were just four other people who knew a secret that could get him killed the moment he stepped back outside into camp.

Daphné, though, seemed to understand what Manon was saying. “Four eyewitnesses who saw you claimed by any god other than Hades,” she said, and Lucas understood.

“I can’t ask you guys to do that for me,” he argued, “What if something happens to you as a result?” He didn’t even know any of them, really, he couldn’t ask them to risk themselves like this.

“If it’s a choice between seeing you live or seeing you die, I’m going to go with the former, no matter who you are,” Jo said simply, and the other three nodded beside her. Lucas appreciated this level of blind faith in him, even if he didn’t know if he deserved it. Obviously, he didn’t want to die, and it meant a lot that these four people he barely knew cared enough to make sure he didn’t. They could very well do the same with every other demigod, but every other demigod wasn’t there right now, so Lucas let himself feel this unearned love, just a little bit. 

A thought struck him, then, that may put a crimp in their plan. “But how will I pretend to be the child of another god?” 

Jo winked at him. “Leave that to me. My siblings are great and all, but if you really want magic done right, you come to me. I can make it look like one of the other gods has claimed you.”

“But which one?” Manon inquired, tilting her head to one side like she was working through every god in her mind. “It has to be one of the male gods, because his mother is mortal and that’s easy to prove, but it can’t be one of the ones that has obvious, testable, powers.”

“He could be Apollo,” Daphné suggested, “Apollo has a lot of different skills, so Lucas must fit into one of them.”

“No,” Eliott interjected, voice sounding a bit hoarse, like he hadn’t meant to say anything. Everyone’s heads shot in his direction and he blushed, pretending that the floor was very interesting all of a sudden. He mumbled, “Children of Apollo have certain traits that are too easy to prove Lucas doesn’t have.”

Lucas didn’t know whether to take offense to that, and he was a little bit hurt that Eliott didn’t think him worthy enough to be a son of the sun god, but he supposed that’s what he got when he was a child of a death god. 

Manon snapped, taking everyone’s attention off of Eliott, for which he seemed grateful. “What about Hypnos, god of sleep? I’m fairly good friends with Lisa, their head counselor, and the only real requirement for that one is the ability to sleep.”

“I, uh, have insomnia,” Lucas admitted. Of course, he couldn’t even fit in with the sleeping god. Eliott snorted into his hand, and tried to cover it up with a cough, which weirdly made Lucas feel better. 

“Ares?” Manon offered.

Lucas squinted. “The war guy?” 

“What about Dionysus?” Jo chimed in, only to be cut off by Daphné.

“Mr. D literally works at this camp, Jo, absent as he is at the moment. I think he’d know who his children are.”

“Right…”

“What about Hermes?” Eliott suggested. He looked a bit uncomfortable with everyone’s attention on him again, but he continued, “I mean, he’s sort of a jack of all trades, so his kids don’t usually have any particularly defining characteristics, aside from the occasional theft.”

“I’ve stolen things,” Lucas supplied, in a way that he hoped was helpful.

Eliott smiled widely, gesturing to him. “He’s stolen things!”

“That just might work,” Daphné said with a nod, starting to smile. “And Arthur would have our back on this, should the truth come out in any way. I mean, I think we should keep it between the five of us, but we know Arthur’s trustworthy, is all. Plus, no one would question it, Hermes has lots of kids.”

“It would also make sense as to why you’ve gone this long without coming to camp. Hermes is powerful enough that some of his kids have issues in the real world, but a lot of them can make it without any problems,” Manon added.

“Well?” Eliott asked him, smile still just as bright as a second ago. “What do you say, Lucas, son of Hermes?”

Lucas nodded slowly. “I think I could do that. And you guys are sure that— that you can help me with this?” He didn’t want to ask for too much, but if they were willing, it would be nice to not be alone. 

Each of them nodded in turn. “We’re a team now,” Manon promised, daring the others to disagree. They didn’t, which was a relief. 

When Lucas thought about all the ways he’d thought his life would have gone, and this was so far out of anything he’d ever considered that he was still having a hard time processing it all, but it really struck him, in that moment, that it was all real, that this was his life now. 

He looked at Eliott, who looked back at him with curiosity in his eyes, and it felt like a wave of understanding passed between the two of them. Lucas didn’t entirely know what that understanding was, but it comforted him. Maybe, just maybe, this would turn out all right.