#growing up around this kind of scrutiny really does a number on the brain

[furiousgoldfish]

me: going about my business

my brain: yeah but what would those piece of shit abusers think about you right now?? what would they judge you for? what kind of flaw would they point out?? would they approve anything about you?? how about you think about THAT for the next hour???

[jincherie]

say so | knj & ksj [m]

! —  COMMISSION  — !

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

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

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

— masterlist |  posted; 17.08.2020

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You—!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

X – x – x

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No way. No way.

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

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

X – x – x

You’re ashamed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can only resign yourself to your fate.

x - x - x

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"MINA!"

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

x- x - x

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

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

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

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

“y/n! Over here!”

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

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

It’s probably the butterflies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, there’s you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

x   x   x   x 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a special performance, tonight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was it made... for you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you cannot believe the atrocity of your luck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 x    x    x

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Off you go, sweetheart!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, y/n, just a moment!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 x - x - x

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

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

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

That you’d missed so much.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yah!”

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

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

“Woah, bubs, are you okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey!”

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

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

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

x - x - x - x

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then had come the show.

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

Until tonight, that is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, at least now they know what to do.

x — x — x

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mr. Leigh? What did you want to t—”

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

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

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

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

You don’t even know where to begin.

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t lie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

x - x 

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

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

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

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

“Ah-ah, bubs.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like this? Not likely.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, I’m—”

Flash. Click. 

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

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

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

“Jin!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Click.

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

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

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

“Are you ready, baby?” 

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

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

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

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

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

Who are you to say no? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[andypantsx3]

conspire | 2 | first date

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 13,307 words / 5 chapters

summary: Shouto Todoroki had definitely only asked you out in order to ward off his horde of interested suitors. So why does he keep actually taking you out on suspiciously realistic dates?

tags: romance, reader-insert, fake dating, misunderstandings

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut

The next morning, your classmates wouldn’t shut up about it.

The rumor of your rendezvous with Shouto had spread like wildfire through the school, and you were assaulted by a wave of questions the second you turned up to modern lit. “Is it true?”, “Is he your boyfriend?”, “How do you know him?”, “Is he a good kisser?”, all blended into a cacophony of sound that nearly bowled you over as you stepped through the door.

You felt your face grow hot under their scrutiny and quickly stuffed yourself into your desk. “Yes, we’re dating. No, I won’t answer other questions about it.”

“Come on,” Miko--the girl in the desk closest to you--begged. “You’re dating Shouto Todoroki, the cutest boy in school, and you won’t even tell us how you know him?”

You wracked your brain for something close to the truth. “We, um, got along really well on that support item project last month. It’s nothing special.”

Miko’s mouth opened to fire off another question, but Mr. Cementoss cut her off with his arrival, launching immediately into his lesson plan. You sent up a silent thank you to whichever patron saint of fake dating had been listening.

The rest of the school day passed much the same way, and you wondered several times if the price of your senior project was perhaps too high.

You’d known that Shouto was something of a celebrity due to his parentage, supreme good looks, and incredible power--even outside the walls of UA--but you hadn’t really thought through how that would affect the people who stood closest to him. Knowing what celebrity looked like and actually experiencing it for yourself were two very different things, you found. You’d never been subjected to attention like this before and you weren’t sure that you liked it.

By the time Saturday rolled around, you’d started to wonder if you shouldn’t just call this whole thing off.

The sight of him that morning, however, immediately robbed you of your resolve.

He’d asked you to meet in front of your dorm mid-morning, and he showed up looking unfairly handsome in well-fitted jeans, a grey scarf, and a dark jacket with a high collar that framed his sharp jaw. He looked good, way too good for this early in the morning. You felt a shiver go through you, and not just because of the cold.

“Good morning, Y/N,” he greeted you, the corner of his mouth curling. He gestured with something in his hands and you found your eyes drawn to two takeout coffee cups from the cafe just outside the school gates.

Okay, he was a literal angel and forgiven for everything you had been through this week.

“I didn’t know how you liked yours, so I got all the extras,” he said, handing a cup over to you and turning out a pocket to unveil a mound of sugar packets and tiny creamer containers.

You smiled, feeling warm. “Thanks, Shouto. Pretty sure every support engineer has bypassed the need for modifications at this point and just mainlines straight from the coffee pot. Black is perfect.”

He grinned down at you. “Too many late nights?”

You groaned at the tidal wave of memories. “Support items should just build themselves.”

He laughed and gestured you to follow him, leading you out of school grounds and to the nearby train station.

“Where are we going?” you wondered as he ushered you onto the train. He herded you into a corner and stationed himself in front of you, one arm extended to hold the bar over your head. You wondered if it was something like a natural instinct at this point for hero students to assume a protective position, as Shouto’s choice had the effect of shielding you from the rest of the train car.

“I...asked around about you,” he admitted, looking a little embarrassed. “I’ve been told that your interest in quirks and support items doesn’t just end at the classroom door.”

You flushed. You were kind of a nerd, he had your number.

“I’m taking you somewhere I think you might like,” he said. He took a sip of his own coffee, varicolored eyes glinting down at you over the rim of his cup.

You nursed your own coffee as the train rolled into the city, resisting the urge to close your eyes and lean into him. It was something you might do with an actual boyfriend, and as cute as it was that he was taking you out on a real life fake date, you didn’t think he would appreciate you putting the moves on him.

He led you out of the train at the city center and down a few blocks, finally pulling you into a building with a very modern glass facade. You recognized it at once.

“The Support Museum!” you chirped happily, your interest picking up. They had an interactive exhibit going on right now that you and some classmates had talked about coming to see. Your fingers suddenly itched with the need to test out some of the items.

Shouto looked at you from the corner of his eye, a flash of curious blue. “This is okay?”

“Hell yeah,” you intoned, picking up the pace to get in front of him. “If you’re cool with being bored to death for the next six hours while I have a great time, then this is perfect.”

He gave you a dry look. “I care about support items.”

You scoffed. “You have like, one.”

A slow smirk overtook his features. “Maybe you could convince me to add more.”

Something hot flashed through you and you gave yourself a hard pinch through the fabric of your jeans. His tone seemed laced with insinuation, but you knew better than to buy into it. It was just hard when he was looking at you the way he was.

Damn him for having a face like that.

“Careful,” you said, trying to reroute your brain, “you’re signing yourself up for a whole lot of wild rambling and weird tangents.”

That soft smile pulled at the edge of his mouth again. “I’m used to it. Midoriya, my best friend, is a lot like that.”

You’d been in the room with Izuku Midoriya before and didn’t doubt it. The boy could certainly give you a run for your money. If he wasn’t equipped with the wildest quirk you’d ever seen, he would have made one hell of a support engineer -- you were probably lucky you didn’t have to compete for grades with a mind like that.

“Treat me like white noise,” you said as he shouldered past you to pay for tickets.

You let out a noise of protest when you noticed what he was doing, but he pressed you back from the ticket counter with a strong arm you couldn’t get around. It seemed only too easy for him to hold you off and pay for tickets at the same time, and it was slightly offensive. Maybe you needed to put in more time in the support course gym.

“I asked you out,” he said by way of explanation after you complained all the way through coat check, only shutting up when you were distracted by the sight of him in a soft tee shirt and blue button up. “I should pay.”

You made a dismissive noise. “It’s not the nineteen thirties anymore, dude. I can pay for my own stuff.”

He turned to you with a wry look. “Are we fighting about money already? Not something I’d thought we’d get to at this stage, to be honest.”

You laughed. “Our first fight as a couple.”

He pinned you with an interested look, something in his gaze growing hot. “Should we kiss and make up?”

Your face instantly went up in flames, like he’d lit you up with his quirk. Jesus Christ, he was a teaser? You’d thought he was just the quiet and thoughtful type -- who knew that he hid an ironic sense of humor underneath all that? This was going to be bad for your health.

“Cute,” you quipped for something to say, marching in front of him quickly so he couldn’t see your face. “Uh, where to first?”

He let you lead the way around the museum, and in minutes you’d pretty much calmed down from the heat of the moment, distracted by the halls filled with the forefront of quirk theory and the corresponding support equipment.

As someone who’d been born without a quirk of their own, the concept had always been fascinating to you, leading you into the support track at UA in your efforts to study quirks and their applications. It was incredible how genetics determined which people had none, and whose ranged from benign improvements like seeing slightly better through fog to more deadly power that roiled just beneath the surface of one’s skin like Shouto.

The deviations in power manifestation stretched the genetics of each human further from one another than they had ever gone before -- sometimes by a full 0.1-0.2% of their DNA structure -- and it was crazy cool. While your speciality was more applied science, you couldn’t deny the biology of it was equally as interesting.

At the rate it was going, people like you could share more genetic similarity with a banana at some point than someone like Shouto. Well, after a couple more millennia of evolution.

Shouto chuckled and you realized with some alarm that you had been babbling all of that out loud.

“Should I be concerned that our children might come out as bananas?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

You gave him a sour look. “You know that’s not how it works.”

He flashed you a cheeky grin and followed you easily as you led the way through the other exhibits.

He listened attentively as you oohed and ahhed over the different displays, asking very pointed follow up questions like he was actually interested in what you had to say. You fell into a very involved discussion about most of the displays, and you realized with some surprise that plenty of time had passed without you realizing it, and that you were having an incredibly good time.

Shouto paid for lunch at the museum cafe as well, affecting hearing loss over the sounds of your protests, and kept up the easy conversation all the way through the meal.

After lunch, you two queued up for the interactive exhibit that you’d initially wanted to see, eventually being let into the exhibit hall in a small group. You immediately lit up like a kid on Christmas.

The hall was studded with actual support items that had been developed for the top twenty heros, ranging from real costume pieces that had been retired to replicas of items currently in use, supplied by the same companies as had built them. The items were free for testing with the caveat that the user had to be careful.

You spent a fair amount of time over pieces of Edgeshot’s costume that had been made from strands of his own hair, allowing it to fold and reshape with the changes to his body, and more time over Ryukyu’s size-changing suit that mechanically adapted to her dragon form.

Shouto stopped over a flame-resistant gauntlet from his father’s previous costume.

“Think you can melt it?” you asked with interest. You wondered how fast they’d eject you from the museum if he succeeded.

Shouto shook his head. “My flames are hot but I doubt it.”

You perked up. “How hot?”

“I haven’t actually measured,” he admitted and you groaned.

“Your super cool quirk is totally wasted on you,” you said. “You have to let me do tests.”

His mouth twitched again. “What kind of tests?”

“Anything you’ll let me,” you said. “Temperature gauges, cryogenic structure analysis, body scans when you use both energy sources. I have my theories as to how your quirk is actually scientifically possible but I need more data.”

“Body scans, huh?” he asked.

Of course he’d seized on that one. God, he was such a boy.

“Yes. We’ll get you all strapped up in wires and those little sticky nodules. It’ll be super sexy, trust me.”

He chuckled, and set a hand to one of his father’s boots that was also on display. “Fine, but later. Want to test this out now?”

You leaned in, nodding, and he let a flame grow in his hand, pressing it to the fabric of the boot. The cloth activated instantly, channeling the flame across the surface of the boot in the customary style of Endeavor’s flaming costume.

“Fuck, that’s so cool,” you breathed, leaning over to read the description of how it worked. “You need something just as obnoxiously showy on your costume. You’re letting your own dad upstage you.”

He laughed again and let the flame die down.

You wandered companionably through the rest of the exhibit, thrilled when it ended in an arcade-like simulation of Wash’s quirk that let you rig up and shoot water around at various targets. Shouto immediately targeted you instead.

“You're supposed to be a hero,” you whined, whipping around to aim your water cannon at him in revenge. “How could you target a civilian like this?”

His hero training had clearly paid off, as he was too skilled at dodging to get caught up in any of your attacks. Your time was called without you able to catch him once, but you left the exhibit with your own shirt sticking wetly to your body. You tried not to wince, thinking of the wintry weather that would no doubt invade the confines of your jacket once you made it outside.

Shouto immediately pulled you to the side of the coat check, however, his eyes trailing down your shirt where it clung to you. You tried not to feel self conscious.

“Let me,” he said quietly, placing a hand against your shoulder. Searing warmth washed over your skin under his hand and you tried not to arch up into the pleasant heat. You stood incredibly still, hardly daring to breathe as he passed his hand lightly over your shirt, taking care not to touch you anywhere too scandalous, though some traitorous part of your mind almost wished he would. This close, you could catch the scent of some light cologne, minty and fresh, and the smell of it made your head spin.

It took just under a minute for him to fully dry out your shirt, each second passing like a small eternity.

You were able to gather your wits just enough to laugh about his bright future in steam cleaning as you tucked back into your coat, then followed him to the train back to campus.

It was nearly dark by the time he walked you back to your dorm, the sun dipping low to kiss the horizon, sunset orange fading into the deep blue of an evening sky. You realized that you’d spent all day with him and had hardly noted the time passing -- he was a very, very good date. Some girl in the months after graduation was going to find herself very lucky with him.

The dorm was quiet as you approached, which was unusual for a Saturday evening, and you realized with a growing sense of horror that your classmates must be waiting quietly, watching for your arrival from inside to see what he’d do. Shouto must have realized the same thing almost the same time that you did, as he stepped into your space at the doorway, catching the sleeve of your coat to pull you close to him.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly, face dipping close to yours. His features were somehow even more symmetrical up close and it was overwhelming to look at. “I quite liked today, so I thought…”

Your heartbeat kicked up in your chest and the tips of your ears went hot as you panicked, tangling your own fingers in his dark jacket like a lifeline. “Y-yeah,” you answered. “This is g-great.”

He smirked, leaning in even closer to you. You held carefully still as you had in front of the coat check, all the nerves in your body straining with anticipation. Then a hot mouth pressed softly to yours, and every neuron in your brain misfired.

The next thing you registered, your arms were around his neck and he was pressing you gently up against the door, his tongue in your mouth and his large hands on your waist. You arched up into his touch, desperate to get closer, twining your fingers in his soft hair.

He gave a low groan and pressed you harder into the door, a hand coming up to cup your face as he did something absolutely criminal with his tongue. So much for his career as a hero.

A muffled shout came from within your dorm and you jerked apart, panting. Your face flamed in embarrassment.

“Wow,” you said dumbly, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Wow indeed,” he teased, stepping back from you.

You shook yourself as he did. Right, fake dating. The kiss had been hot but it was only for show--and the show had been successfully executed. You had to resist the urge to drag him back for another.

“I’ll text you?” you squeaked out and he agreed, looking weirdly satisfied as he bid you good night.

You watched him for a long moment as he trudged back down the path to campus, heart beating a frantic staccato in your chest.

Shouto Todoroki was the most dangerous boy alive and it finally dawned on you just what you had agreed to for the next few months. You were so absolutely fucked.

[transsergio]

The Invitation (read on AO3)

Moreid / Gen / 1561 words

The BAU is finally invited to the yearly FBI gala, and Spencer wears something new. Derek escorts him.

-

Spencer traces the raised script with his finger. The FBI’s winter gala is not something the BAU usually attends, so he’s missed out on this gold-lettered invitation for several years. This year, though, Erin Strauss has extended the party to them. Spencer suspects she’s receiving some sort of award and wants Hotch to see what he will never attain – upward mobility. It doesn’t help that the BAU has been on thin ice for a record number of weeks, making attendance more than “suggested”.

The morning they’d received the smooth, creamy envelopes warranting their presence, the bullpen had buzzed. Obviously the profilers were invited, but so were interns, clerical workers, and anyone else whose position fell under the BAU’s umbrella. It was going to be an expensive party, and Spencer was prepared. He had black-tie regulation suits in his closet. They were tailored and everything (at Penelope and Derek’s insistence once they’d seen how his coat consumed his shoulders). But something about them felt… off. They weren’t itchy or uncomfortable, but when Spencer looked at himself in the mirror, he felt like a mannequin in a store window. Too crisp. Too clean. So, he went shopping.

Spencer hadn’t been in the women’s department of a store in nearly a decade. He thrust himself into hormone replacement therapy as soon as he could afford it, roughly three years ago, but even before then he’d avoided the section. With his short haircut and a face that said he was either an ugly girl or a porcelain doll of a boy, people usually relied on other context clues to gender him. Wearing boy’s clothes, using the men’s bathroom, and jogging to the boys’ half of the gym when the coach separated a class by gender all helped. People usually didn’t question him, especially now that his voice had dropped and his little body fat had redistributed.

This felt most like freedom. Spencer no longer worried about caging himself in, speaking as little as possible, and the oversized fit of his shirts. He was still binding, but had found a groove in his own collection of sweater vests that kept him flat. He was realizing that his chest wasn’t really an issue anymore, regardless. It was no longer a dead giveaway that he wasn’t cis; and what was so great about being cis, anyway? Gender was a vast and personal experience that Spencer was only just starting to explore. While masculinity was what he’d chased for so many years, the distinction between masculine and feminine was growing increasingly blurry. Fabric was fabric draped over human form, and human form was pliable under their own hands. Had Spencer not developed a jawline by his own medical intervention? Had he not participated in his own evolution?

Spencer found himself nearing prom dress boutiques. He didn’t ask any of his team for help; this was something he wanted to discover on his own, and he wasn’t ready to answer any questions about whether he liked this fabric or this shape. He wasn’t sure if he would be truly comfortable in a dress, or if he simply admired the fashion. Once inside, he spent a lot of time touching. He got a sense for textures he didn’t like (gritty, shimmery layers scratched) and for what he did (smooth, cool satins were pluses). And then, the cuts and colors. There were so many more choices than men’s styles offered. Spencer tried to solve it like a puzzle. Somewhere in these shops was a dress he would feel most like himself in, that complemented his hair and skin, that went with his eyes. He wanted to find an extension of who he was, much like he had when he first came out to himself, trolling Goodwills for a new wardrobe – but this time, without making the attempt to hide in plain sight.

“Reid?”

Spencer turns, no longer lost in thought. He stands in the parking lot of the gala hotel, just beyond the yellow glow of a streetlamp.

Derek is looking at him. Derek, who teases him when he flunks his firearms qualification. Derek, who’s arriving in a standard suit and not smiling, for once. Spencer doesn’t particularly mind that part. He feels like Derek is in on a joke he isn’t most of the time, and he’s finally caught Derek off-guard.

“Hey,” Spencer says softly. He’s not so much afraid as he is uninterested in explaining himself.

Derek walks around Spencer’s car to take in the full view. Spencer wears a plum gown that poofs slightly from his waistline, but not excessively. The purple material extends up and is snug against his chest, his torso under a layer of lace that halts at his shoulders. It is technically sleeveless, and Spencer’s shaved his underarms for the occasion. The lower half is slit up to his knees and exposes his strappy silver heels. They’re short. He wouldn’t be standing if they were over two inches tall.

Derek’s hands are in his pants pockets. He takes a moment to read Spencer’s expression, who hopes he isn’t giving anything away.

“No makeup?” Derek asks.

Spencer rolls his eyes. “No. I’m not very good at it, so.” He shrugs.

Derek nods. He comes closer in a few strides. His shoes are freshly shined and reflect the parking lot lights.

“Were you comin’ in, or waiting for someone?” Derek leans against the side of Spencer’s car. Spencer considers telling him he hasn’t had it washed in at least a month, but figures Derek knows that. Derek seems to know a lot that Spencer doesn’t, ironically.

“I’m… not sure.” Spencer swallows. He doesn’t want to admit the rest. That he’s happy, that he’s had more fun swishing around his apartment in this dress than he has in a long time, doing something purely for himself. That if he were going to be alone in that ball room, this wouldn’t be a problem. That the last thing he wants is to put Hotch in hot water. That this will make things harder, and however useful he is to the team, it won’t compare to this new challenge he’s voluntarily imposing on them.

“Well, you got a date?” Derek is conversational. He talks like Spencer’s in his khakis and it’s another morning by the coffee machine. It’s a little grounding, a little exhilarating.

Spencer licks his lips. “No, nothing like that. I’m debating whether I should get back in my car or not.”

“Did you forget something in it?”

“Uh, no?”

“Then what’s the hold up?”

Spencer looks at him, truly, for the first time. Derek’s eyes are softer than Spencer usually finds them. They’re deep. He might trip into them and never come out. He’s focused on Spencer like minutes don’t matter. It’s a scrutiny based in full-hearted devotion that Spencer’s never seen before.

“I don’t… know.” Spencer says. He feels his eyebrows crease, his lips slightly pout, as he struggles. He does know. He won’t admit it here, not with a majority of the FBI waiting inside where they could see it all over his face – but the terror is shrinking. Derek is warm, and here, and gentle.

Derek sighs. It isn’t exasperation or impatience, like many of the sighs Spencer’s familiar with, but thoughtful. Derek refuses to look away as he says, “I get it. The fear that you’ll show this part of yourself and have to live with the judgment. I have my own secrets, kid. But you’ve gotta know the whole team will be behind you, no matter what. We won’t let you do this alone. I won’t let you.”

Spencer can’t stop himself. “How could you understand what this feels like? What’s Derek Morgan, ladies’ man and hunk of the office, got to hide?”

Derek scoffs with a grin, the kind that lights up his face. “What do you think, genius? I’m telling you, I get it. I’m glad you think I’m hunky, though. Was worried you weren’t getting my signals.”

“Signals? What signals?” Spencer feels his brain come to a screaming stop. He hates when it does that – when it processes new information too fast, and doesn’t know what to do with the rest of him. He’s still, like a beautiful scarecrow letting its arms wave in the wind.

Derek stands upright and shakes his head. “Nah. I’ve given you too much of a head start already. You come find me when you’ve figured it out.”

Spencer’s about to protest when Derek offers him his arm. Spencer reaches for it cautiously, as if he might startle Derek and bring the reality of the gesture crashing in. That Derek is essentially sacrificing himself for Spencer’s sake. For the life of him, Spencer can’t figure why, but Derek is already leading them towards the building.

“This isn’t a case, you know. You don’t have to do this,” Spencer whispers. They’re nearing other agents as they move through the parking lot.

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t have to save me.”

Derek slows and turns in toward Spencer. His breath heats Spencer’s ear. “I’m not. I’m taking a pretty boy to a good meal. Is that so wrong?”

Spencer shivers. Derek takes his silence as a no, and they keep walking.

“Besides, you sit by Elle, and I don’t think we’ll have a problem.”

“You think?”

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure she’s wearing a knife."

[toxoiddiamond]

EPHRAIM SAMUEL DAVIES Do they know when to give up? Ephraim doesn’t know the meaning of the words “give up.” He is persistent to a fault and doesn’t believe in picking his battles. He picks all the battles. What is the funniest thing that ever happened to them when they were a child? Honestly, I don’t have much of an answer for this. Ephraim doesn’t have many memories of his childhood in general, and he didn’t have any family around to tell him funny/cute stories about when he was little or anything. If he was pressed for an answer, he would probably say the funniest thing he remembers happening to him was when his brother played a prank on him by offering a glass of orange juice that was actually water mixed with mac and cheese powder. Have they ever kept someone in their life who they didn’t get along with — for example, a friend they disliked or argued with? Why did they avoid saying goodbye? Normally, Ephraim isn’t one to keep anyone in his life that he doesn’t like or get along with. The only exception he ever made was his older brother. His brother was the only family he had, and though they didn’t get along (mainly due to the fact that his brother was heavily addicted to drugs), Ephraim could never bring himself to completely sever the ties between them. He tried to get his brother the help he needed, tried to get him into rehab, but he never succeeded, and unfortunately, his brother ended up dying of an overdose at the age of thirty-seven. What would they do if someone brought up their biggest insecurity in front of a crowd of strangers? He would be furious. He doesn’t appreciate being called out in any situation, so having his insecurities brought up in any group setting would set him off. Ephraim is pretty perceptive about people, able to guess/determine a lot about them even when he seemingly has very little to go off of, so he would likely fire back and emotionally eviscerate whoever tried to do this to him. He’d make them regret it, that’s for sure. Are they in a relationship? How many times have they been ‘in love’? How have these people influenced them? Currently he is not in a relationship, and he has had very few relationships in his life. He’s more the type to go pick someone up in a bar for a one night stand every once in a great while just to satisfy any sexual frustration, rather than deal with the hassle of actual relationships. He has never been in love, and he’s not sure he even believes in romantic love. Would they wish upon a falling star? Are there any superstitions they believe in or follow? Is a cracked mirror a sign of bad luck? Are there things they do to avoid bad luck? Not walking under a ladder? Avoiding the black cat? Ephraim prides himself on being a very logical person, not one to follow superstitions. He doesn’t believe in anything magical or supernatural, he doesn’t believe in god, and he doesn’t believe in luck. When he was younger, he used to say his prayers every night even though he didn’t really think anyone was listening, but the older he got, the less he prayed, and he’d grown out of it completely by the time he was in his twenties. What is the first thing they do in the morning? What do they do on a Sunday afternoon? What do they do on a Friday night? His first order of business every morning is to work out. Some mornings he goes for a run, but other days he goes to the gym, depending on what kind of workout he wants to do. If he skips his workout for any reason, he just feels completely off for the rest of the day. Most Sunday afternoons are spent working, whether at the office or at home. Friday nights are almost always spent at home, reading or maybe watching a show/movie that caught his interest. If they were moving to another country, but could only pack one carry-on sized bag, what would they pack? He doesn’t really have anything sentimental or valuable, so this would be easy for him. He’d just pack away some clothes, some basic hygiene items, his phone and charger, and his laptop. Tell a story about a lie they told that everybody still believes. Why did they lie and why haven’t they told the truth? Ephraim has lied plenty of times, and the thing is, he’s a good liar. He’s straight up lied in court in order to get the verdict he wants, and because he’s so convincing, it’s worked for him every time, and his lies have held up to scrutiny multiple times. He’s lied to people when they’ve asked him personal questions (nothing really major, he’s just lied about things like where he grew up or whether he has family, because he doesn’t want anyone to know too much about him), and those lies have never been questioned by anyone either. Write about their favourite street. He actually really likes the street where he currently works. His office is close to the top floor and at night he can see the city lights stretching out for miles. On the street below, there’s a few office buildings, then a bakery (Ephraim doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth, but he does indulge in a pastry from said bakery now and then), a couple of restaurants, and a small corner store where Ephraim often stops after work. During the day, it’s a very busy street, but after dark, once most people have left work for the day, it’s pretty quiet. If their job gave them a surprise three day paid break to rest and recuperate, what would they do with those three days? At first, he would be really unhappy about it. Working is his life, and he wouldn’t know what to do with himself for the first day or so. But after that, he would start to enjoy the downtime. Ephraim doesn’t realize how overworked he is, and how much he needs a break, but if he actually was to take some time off, it wouldn’t take him long to figure out that vacations are nice, actually, and he should take them more often. How late do they sleep in? Most days, he’s up at 5am sharp for his daily workout. If he doesn’t have to go into the office, then he might sleep in until 7am. Where did they grow up? Did they like it/do they miss it? He was born and raised in Eureka Springs, Arkansas, a tiny little town with a population of less than 3,000 people. He barely remembers it, and the few memories he has of that place are horrible. He doesn’t miss it, and he has no desire to ever go near it again. What are their phobias? For someone who projects such an air of confidence and stoicism, Ephraim has a lot of phobias. Break-ins are his biggest fear– he has multiple locks on his front door and he never leaves his windows open or unlocked at night. He doesn’t like people sneaking up on him or jumping out at him (that’s a surefire way to get punched in the face by him just on instinct), he doesn’t like the sight of blood, and he can’t stomach any horror movies that are based in reality (ghost movies are fine, slasher movies not so much). He’s distrustful of people in general and is always on his guard, which is exhausting for him. How would they break up with someone? Ephraim has only dated a small number of people, and none of the relationships lasted longer than a couple of months. He’s usually the one being broken up with due to how emotionally unavailable he is and the fact that he can never seem to tear himself away from his work for long. But the couple of times he has broken up with someone, he has been very straightforward about it. Not cruel, just honest and with no sugar coating or skirting around the situation, a clean break. Is there something they really wanted as a child? Write about why they wanted it and if they got it. I mean, it sounds kind of sad, but he really wanted friends. After his mom’s death, him and his brother moved to an entirely new place to live with their uncle, and Ephraim had a really hard time adjusting after everything he’d been through and it was hard for him to even talk to anyone, let alone make any friends. He did end up making friends with a few kids, but he always felt like he was the odd one out– then again, that’s how he’s felt almost his entire life. Write about something that terrified them when they were a child. Describe an incident where they can feel the fear. The only thing he remembers clearly from his childhood is the night his mother was murdered. He was eight years old, and he remembers that entire night in great detail. A man, who was a coworker of his mother’s, broke into their house and brutally murdered his mother by stabbing her sixteen times, while Ephraim hid in a closet. He managed to get a good look at the man– his face was burned into Ephraim’s brain, and he still has nightmares about that night and about him. To make matters worse, Ephraim identified the man in a police line-up, testified as a witness in court, and the man still got off on a bullshit alibi after the defense managed to portray him as a very confused, traumatized kid who couldn’t possibly remember what he saw that night. Do they have any secrets? If so, are they holding them back? Ephraim is full of secrets. Big secrets and small ones. Pretty much everything about him is a mystery to everyone that knows him– he keeps himself at arm’s length from everyone, offers very little in the way of personal information (and a good portion of the information he’s offered isn’t even the truth), and has no desire to let anyone get close to him. Being secretive comes naturally to him– it’s his way of protecting himself, keeping himself out of reach from others. How do they display affection? He doesn’t. He’s not an affectionate person by nature and sees displays of affection as weakness and vulnerability, two things he just won’t allow in himself. Honestly, he’s more than a little touch-starved, but he doesn’t realize that. If he would actually allow himself to open up to someone and trust someone, he would enjoy some physical affection now and then (like seriously, he needs a good hug more than he knows), but the chances of that are very slim~ Do they have a strong moral compass or are they willing to break the rules if it benefits them? I meeean… it’s complicated. Ephraim does have a moral compass, he has very strong ideas of right and wrong. But at the same time, he’s not a rule follower, and he does things that most people would find to be morally wrong. He tells lies, he looks the other way when faulty evidence is entered into court as long as it helps his case, and he’s not exactly a kind person. His view of right and wrong is just a bit skewed by his past experiences, and what he needs is someone who will call him out on his bullshit and hypocrisy once in a while.

[strongsassysexysloane]

Fumigation leads to Intoxication. Part 2

As promised... . . . . . . . . . 

No, please don't come in.

.   .   . 

"Sorry.. Gibbs said Y/n would be here and I just wanted to speak to her before I leave." Roni opens the door half way, holding onto the handle. Your head snaps up at the sound of her voice, your neck was seriously going to hurt tomorrow after all this snapping.

"Come in." You look at Jack who is putting on a smile for the intruder but she's an easy read for you now. After looking at her (so much) you can see her ticks. She's throwing daggers at Roni and you hold in a snicker, watching as she tries to blink normally but there's a slight twitch to her stare.

"Please don't come any further, Roni." You grimace at the sound of your nickname for her coming across your lips, the memories vivid in your mind and the pain of the last time you said it. "Give me a second and I'll meet you in the hall." You reach for your shoes but Veronica doesn't leave, you are half tempted to throw you shoe at her or curse at Jack for getting you in the habit of taking your shoes off in her office.

"Sorry I didn't mean to interrupt anything." You can't help the scoff that comes out and see Jack raise an eyebrow at you, her eyes shining at your clear discomfort and need for Veronica to leave her office. She wanted to have her fun and see what Veronica was like, which would probably reflect on you later.

"Shut up." You spit out through your clenched jaw. she  give you her wicked smirk as she turns back to Roni. Standing up, she walks over and extends her hand to Veronica who takes it as as invitation to walk further into the room. You can't take your eyes away, the shoe in your hand forgotten as you ex and your current crush exchange pleasantries, eyeing each other up and down.

"I'm Jack Sloane, Forensic Psychologist." Jack sternly shakes her hand and drops it immediately. Straightening her shoulders she watches as Veronica does just the same but Jack had the upper hand. It was her office and her space.

The shoes you picked out this morning are giving you grief or maybe its the tension that has risen to one thousand in the past ten seconds. Jack's beyond jealous and you can't help the feeling, the twist in your gut and the ache between your legs that grows. Roni looks over Jack's shoulder, because of course Veronica is slightly taller than Jack, which doesn't affect Jack at all. Although you swear she leans up on her tip toes ever so slightly. Veronica looks at you but you're flustered with your shoes so she turns back to Jack.

"Psychologist huh? Y/n tell you all about my dark secrets already?" She smirks, she's trying to be cocky because she clearly saw something between you both and now she feels threatened or some ridiculous emotion. She did the same thing back when you were going out whenever someone showed any interest in you, she got all cocky and smug but usually that lead to mind blowing sex so you never complained. Now it was just pathetic.

"Nothing about you, Veronica. We have more important things to talk about." Jack bit back and you knew, knew because you knew her so well, that Jack instantly regretted biting at Veronica's bait. You knew that feeling oh too well. "She came in to talk about the case, not that that concerns you."

"That how you two ended up siting on the couch all friendly." The power move to cross her arms did nothing for Jack. Jack scoffed, she honestly couldn't believe this woman. Her professional brain was going nuts and her emotions were definitely starting to take over.

It was like watching a caged fighting match with words and with that image in your head you quickly fiddled your last buckle into place.

"We-" Jack breathed in threw her nose and pushed a slow breath out but you jumped up, shoes back on and thankful before one of them slapped the other. But more likely Jack would punch Veronica if you didn't get between them.

"We are done here. Thanks Jack. I'll be back once Veronica leaves." You rub your thumb over her shoulder as you pass her. She gives you a sincere smile, catching your hand as it drops away from her shoulder to give you a comforting squeeze before glaring back at Veronica. You follow Roni out of the room but turn to Jack quickly before shutting the door. "Jealousy looks hot on you, Jay." You whisper and you laugh as she shrinks into her chair, running her hand down her face. Yep, Roni had that affect on people. You'll reevaluate your words when your brain isnt busy getting Veronica as far away from Jack as possible.

You make it half way down the hall before Veronica speaks. "Look I don-"

"Yeah you don't have any right in the way you just spoke with Jay and how you acted in the bullpen. You are on this case to help us with whatever you know about Miss Parker and other than that we don't need to talk. You can go through Bishop or McGee." You open the door to the promenade and walk out, this time Veronica following you, you can hear the clap of her stiletto's following close behind you.

There's a huff before she starts her inevitable rant on your use of names. "So it's Jay with Ms. Sloane but it's last names with the rest of your colleagues?" She's got that fire in her eyes again and that sass in her talk but you aren't rising to the bait. You only like that kind of sass from one woman now.

"I call anyone whatever I want but you, it's Special Agent Jacqueline Sloane to you." You breath slowly, looking her dead in the eyes. "Roni, we are done. Done as the day i got mud all over your Gucci handbag. You didn't want anything more than a good time, we had a good time and it's over. Stop powering around here. We have a dead woman's murder to solve, your colleagues murder, remember? Or did you voluntarily just come here to annoy me when you saw my name on the case? Think you could think about anyone else other than yourself for a change?" You can see she's stunned. You take the oppotunity and walk around her, down the stairs, finding the comfort of your desk. Everyone's eyes are on you and you sit down at your desk, you going straight back into case mode. Ignoring their looks you get back to work.  

You see Veronica talk quietly to Gibbs before saying her goodbyes to the rest of the team everyone glad to see the back of her and then there's silence once she leaves. The weight finally lifting from your shoulders. Jack comes down a few minutes later, perfect timing but you knew it wasn't a coincidence. She informs the team of a few suspects connected to the victim that she found.

"We sure it wasn't Veronica? She certainly seems like-" Torries shuts up when he meets the glares from Jack, Gibbs and you. "Or not." He sinks into his chair, and pouts when Ellie laughs at him.  

"As i was saying.." Jack rattles off the profiles of the suspects. You watch her stand confidently and speak without a drop of hesitation. So sure of herself and it's such a turn on. You shake your head and look at your computer. You needed to get a grip on your hor-mones. McGee and Nick leave after Jack's update to get Harry Nutter, Jack's number one suspect. It takes them a few hours and you have him in custody and Gibbs goes a round in interrogation with him. After an hour of long glares and hardly any talking McGee informs you all that his alibi checks out and you are all back at square one. Kasie or Jimmy haven't gotten any half decent leads. It's just hit 1800 and you are all in need of a decent meal and rest.

"Go home, sleep. We'll pick this up tomorrow." Gibbs grunts and you all follow his command. Happy to get a reprieve instead of working into the early hours of the morning. Your quick exit had nothing to do with the woman who was currently in your apartment doing god knows what.

The lights are on when you walk up the stairs to your apartment. A smell you don't recognise coming through your door. You twist the handle and are presented with Jack in short shorts, NCIS slouch sweater hanging off one shoulder and her hair tied up in a messy bun. You smile and quietly close the door behind you, she hasn't heard you yet. She's got music playing and she's dancing in front of your stove while stirring whatever is in the pot. The sight makes your whole body happy and a twinge between your legs is back.

You are about to get out your phone when she spots you and a red hot blush crawls up her cheeks. "Oh my god. I'm so sorry. I just got cooking and I love singing when I'm cooking and-" As she's rambling and getting redder and redder in the face, you are walking closer and closer to her. That's when your eyes fall down to her feet, they're covered in fluffy blue socks, really finishing off her outfit perfectly. She's adorable. Your eyes slowly rake up her toned calves, muscular thighs and your eyes snap up to hers as you just realised she's stopped talking.

"No need to be sorry, Jack. It smells great. What are you cooking?" You clear your throat, trying to kill the blush thats now painfully covering your cheeks. She's looking at you curiously, you're under scrutiny and after today you just want to relax and not have to think about anything but you have to keep your guard up at home now too.  

"Mac and cheese, my mums recipe." She takes a sip of wine and your eyes narrow at her glass. "Oh sorry, I bought two bottles on the way home. Thought you might need a glass after today. Plus having to put up with me for another two nights." She rushes the last bit out, you can tell she's nervous.

"Not gonna kick you out Jack. Although if you don't pour me a glass of wine while I have a shower you might be closer to the door." You return her smile and she spins around to find another wine glass.

"It'll be ready for you when you return from your shower, sweetheart." The name just rolled off her tongue and she locked eyes with yours as you were passing the kitchen on the way to your room. You smirk and continue walking.

Your shower was needed. It washes away all the dirt you know was left by Veronica and you roll your shoulders back, enjoying the sting of hot water hitting your face and cascading down your body. You want to stay under the water for hours but you hear the clinks of dinner being dished up. You dry off and wrap a towel around yourself before exiting the bathroom.

"Dinner is rea-" Jack stops in the hallway, her eyes dropping down your body and you shiver under her piercing eyes. "Sorry." She bites her bottom lip and hops back into the kitchen, you saw the pink colouring her cheeks and it makes you smile.

You walk into your bedroom, grabbing a pair of lilac coloured leggings and black singlet, slipping into them, you thread your fingers through your hair and look in your small bedroom mirror. You looked cute, maybe, hopefully and you exit, hoping to find Jack dancing around your kitchen again but she was tucked up on the couch sipping her wine glass. The sight of her so comfy and at home in your apartment almost made you feel at home, if your heart wasn't beating out of your chest. She had two bowls of dinner on the coffee table, yours accompanied with a full wine glass and a blanket across her lap.

"Join me." She patted the spot beside her and you happily did as she directed. "Here. You have to have the full experience. Mum did this for me whenever I had a rough day." She shifted the blanket so it rested across your lap and handed you your bowl of mac and cheese.

"You mothering me, Jack?" You tease and Jack straightens up before relaxing seeing your teasing smile.

"Very funny. No I'm not. I'm being a caring and great guest." She takes her bowl and joins you in dinner.

You can't get over how delicious this mac and cheese is. The recipe was surely guarded with her life but you knew eventually Jack would let up. The news is on in the background but neither of you are paying attention to it. Then another smell meets your nose, you look at Jack and she's looking at you. At that moment your oven beeps.

"Right on queue." She jumps up, taking her wine glass with her, she downs the last of her wine before reaching the kitchen.

"What is all this for?" You manage to say in between mouthfuls of mac n cheese. You couldn't put this stuff down, mainly because it was delicious and you hadn't eat in over five hours.

Jack takes out the tray from your oven. The smell assaults your senses again and your eyes light up. "Did you make me mac and cheese and brownies?! You really didn't have to, Jack." You shake your head but take another mouthful of the pasta anyway. Jack laughs and places the tray on your stove.

"You're putting up with me for possibly four nights. This is the least I could do." She flutters her eye lashing and smiles, walking back to you and settling down on the couch, bringing the mac and cheese back to her lips. "Crap." She puts a mouthful of macaroni in her mouth before running back into the kitchen.

"Forgot your wine?" You laugh as you watch her refill her glass, way past the high tide mark.

You settle into comfortable silence as you both eat and drink wine. Enjoying the silence, enjoying Jack being beside you, the wine making you feel light headed and blissful. The days antics washed away until your alarm reminds you of everything at work tomorrow. It isn't long before your wine evaporates from your glass and you groan in disgust which only makes that sweet sound of Jack's laughter fill the room.

"You're cute." She grins, maybe the wine had gone to her head too as her brows furrow for a second and then it's gone.

"Me? You're the one in those shorter than legal shorts and.." You trail off, you eyes following where your words left off and you meet Jack's eyes. She's smiling at you with a cheeky glint in her eye. "I need more wine." You swallow hard and quickly escape to your kitchen. "Want a refill, Jay?" You want to slap yourself with the use of her nickname.

"I'm good, thanks." You jump, her voice is only a whisper, but it's right behind you and not at the safe distance you just put between yourself and Jack.

"Jack I-" You turn to explain, what? You have no idea but she's closes the distance between you, her lips are on yours and you are frozen. Your brain doesn't catch up in time before Jack pulls away. Hey eyes avoiding you completely.

"Sorry I thought-" She's frazzled, you curse your brain for being so slow and its only now that you’ve caught up. Your fingers find the material of her sweater at her waist and tug her to you. She stumbles from the sudden jolt, stumbles into you, her hand coming up cupping your cheek, your eyes meet hers. "Thought I miss read the-" She searching, searching for what both of you want.

"My brain short circuited." You breath, Jack laughs more like giggles and you smile. Your eyes flick down to her lips and back up. It's clear now what you want.

"When I-" She closes the gap between you, holding you in place with her other hand coming up to the back of your neck, drawing you in closer when she pushes you back into the counter. The kiss is slow, both of you exploring, feeling and enjoying the way you fit so well together. Her curves, fitting perfectly in yours, her lips moving in sync with yours, everything is just too right.  

You breath, your breath mixing with Jack's as she rests her forehead against yours. "Yeah.." Is all you can manage to say.

"Mine too." She smiles and you kiss her because now you can but neither of you can stop smiling, the kiss turns into short little pecks broken up by your smiles and giggles.

"So cooking for me was a ploy to get me all hot for you?" You wrap your arms around Jacks waist, causing her lower half to rest more into yours, the heat between your legs growing with the sudden pressure and movement. Jack's leg slipping in between yours, the friction making your mind melt.

"Was testing a theory." She shrugged, her hands playing with the hair at the back of your neck.

"Was it does wearing short shorts and dancing in my kitchen turn me on? Then your conclusion is definitely yes." You manage to speak while her fingers gently play with your hair. The sensation makes your eyes close involuntarily.

"Enjoying this." You can hear the sass in her voice, the words uttered as a clear statement which only causes you to snort.

"A little." You yelp with the not so gentle massage turns into a tug, she pulls your hair which causes your eyes to snap open, her ultimate goal. "Hey, who's the house guest?" Her fingers soothe the spot she pulled, her smirk still clear across her gorgeous face, victory in her eyes only matched equally with desire.  

She gently tugs you forward although you meet her half way, the kiss she tries to dominate. Her tongue swiping across your bottom lip and you moan into giving her access, she dominates any attempt that you try to take control. Her nips and sucks only make your mind turn further to mush but luckily your body has other plans. You push her backwards and it must take her by surprise as her back hits the opposite counter and she laughs into the kiss.

"Hey." She kisses down your cheek, jaw, neck. "What was that for?"

"Was aiming for my bedroom." You moan as she sucks the spot below your ear.

"You missed." Her tongue swirling, soothing over the mark she just made.

"Was a bit distracted." Your brain has come back together somewhat and you thread your fingers through Jack's hair as she's enjoying herself to your neck. You pull her gently and then a bit more forcefully and she follows your guide so you can look at her. "That wasn't a no?"

"God no." She moans, crushing her lips into yours

The rest of the night is a blur of clothes getting thrown across the apartment, laughs and fits of giggles as you stumble to your bedroom and moans and pleas before the night catches up with you both, the brownies forgotten for now. Your heart is still hammering against your chest and you can feel Jack's doing the same under your touch. Your fingers happily exploring and teasing across her skin.

"Are you trying to tickle me?" Jack murmurs, the sex still evident in her voice.

"Just a result of my touch against your skin but I can-" Jack shrieks as you squeeze her side, a place you found earlier when you were exploring everything Jack Sloane, that and the back of her knees were a sensitive spot too.

"S-stop" She struggles to push you away but you're still half collapsed on top of her, making it impossible for her to get away but you give in to her pleas. Knowing it would only come back twice as bad when she gets the chance. "Little shit."

You laugh and place a kiss to her collarbone and another to the base of her neck. "Takes one to know one."

"Wow. How mature of you." Her hand resting across your back that's been gliding up and down your spine of rht past few minutes now tries to tickle your side but thankfully you're back in full control and try your hardest to hold your breath, not giving in to her tickles or need to laugh. "Not fair." She pouts. The years of training yourself self control when being tickled has finally paid off.

You let out a breath as she gives up her assault. "What was that about maturity?" You laugh, nestling into her neck, leaving open mouthed kisses against her skin.

"Mmm, you're lucky ’m half sleepy and half sated otherwise I would've won that fight." You hear her yawn and drop a kiss to her neck again as she stretches and moves to get more comfortable.

"Comfortable? Wait only half?" You look at Jack trying to make a frown but you can't help but smile as Jack laughs and leans in leaving a kiss on your cheek. It's meant to settle you, comfort you but you're still waiting for her verbal answer.

"20-80 and yes. Very." She whispers into your ear and snuggles further to make her point.

"You cooked so you didn't have to sleep on the pullout again." There's accusation in your voice but it's dulled by the laughter in your eyes and the smirk on your lips.

"Hey it worked, didn't it?" She says it so smoothly that you are half concerned but her smirk cracks through and you shove her shoulder in response.

You move to get up but Jack tightens her hold around your waist, making you tumble back down into her side which makes you laugh and your heart pang knowing she doesn't want you to leave. "I'm going to the bathroom. Is that ok?" Your mouth brushing over hers, teasing her with the thought or intention of a kiss but it never happens. Her arms loosens at your waist, her bottom lips jutting out in a poor attempt at a pout.

"Don't be too long." Jack brushes her nose against yours and pecks your lips, satisfied that she caught you before you had a chance to doge her mouth. She deepens the kiss and releases you.

You moan as she pulls away and hop up to go to the bathroom like you said.

You spend the next few hours talking about nothing and everything. Jack telling you stories about her past and you sharing yours. It's sweet and emotional and you both can't stop touching each other, fingers tracing, grazing across skin. It isn't until the early hours of the morning that sleep finally takes you both. Both snuggling and curled up in each other.

If it wasn't for the blaring noise of your phone alarm going off you would've loved waking up in Jack's arms, her legs tangled in yours and her moans vibrating across your skin.

"No." Jack groans, trying her best to roll over but she ends up pressing her face into the crook of your neck trying to hide from the world.

You reach out and switch off the alarm, your hands coming back to Jack's skin like a magnet. You trace her scars, her body shivering under your touch. She rolls onto her stomach beside you and you see it as a clear invitation to explore. You watch her reaction as your fingers move along her scars, her face half hidden in your pillows but she manages to smile up at you, it's a tired, sad and only Jack could manage to show so much emotion with half of her face.

"It's ok." She breathes, seeing the hesitation and question in your eyes.

"You're gorgeous." You whisper and lean down and place your lips onto one of her scars. You smile when her body shivers again, a soft whimper coming from her lips, you see her hand gripping the pillow under her head tightly. Your lips trace where your fingers had just been, making sure to kiss every single scar. You feel her shudder and you lean over to see a tear running down her cheek.

"I'm sorry, I didn-"

It's so quick, so sudden, she springs up, her lips capturing yours in a wet, open mouthed, emotional crushing kiss. She cups your face between her hands and pulls back. "No ones ever-" She chokes up and a sob escapes her lips, her head dips and she leans her forehead against your chin attempting to regain control of her tears, emotions.  

"You're gorgeous Jacqueline Sloane." You cup her cheek, bringing her face back to yours and brush your nose against hers in attempt to get that smile she only shows you. She nods in response and neither of you move. You drop small, feather sfot kisses to her cheeks, hair, nose, forehead and it's a success. Her lips curve into a beautiful smile.

It's moments, minutes before you pull apart, the nagging feeling of work growing stronger.

"Please stay tonight." It's a whisper, a plea.

"I kinda still have to..." She smirks, the sass is back, but she kisses you on the lips before you can bite back. "But even if I didn't, I would."

You reply with a peck to her lips before hopping out of bed. You both get ready in a few minutes, you let Jack use the bathroom first while you get coffee and the brownies ready.

"We are having brownies for breakfast?" She laughs, wraping her arms around your front, kissing the back of your neck.

"That ok?" You place a big slice on one plate and grab two forks.

"Perfect." She lets got and sits down at the counter with you, sharing the brownie and enjoying the coffee. It's such a sweet, domestic moment and you don't want it to end. "We can do this again tomorrow morning." Her fingers reach out and trace your cheek and cup under your chin, lifting your head. Your eyes lock with hers.

"That easy to read, huh?" You smile, glancing at her lips before leaning in and kissing her. The sweet taste of brownie and coffee are intoxicating mixed with the taste of her.

Her fingers tangle in your hair which only deepens the kiss. You both break apart, gasping for air. "Only because I was thinking the same thing." The brownie is quickly devoured between kisses and sips of coffee.

"We need to go." But your eyes say the opposite and Jack just grins, her eyes sparkling. That's when you know everything is going to be fine because looking into those whiskey, soft eyes is home now.

"Think we can keep this just between us for now? Not that I dont want to scream your name to the world, just think we would be too distracted at work." You watch the emotions cross her face, the uncertainty, her nerves, the blush sweetly covering her cheeks. You lean in and kiss her cheek, lingering a second longer to make your point.

"I'll make you scream my name tonight instead then." You wink, hopping down from the breakfast stool and leaving a shocked Sloane in your kitchen.

"I'm going to be the one distracted at work now." She groans, following you out the door. You throw your head back and laugh, locking the door behind Jack.

"Funny, you've been intoxicating me at work for months." This was going to be fun. . . . . . . . .

FIN. I know, sad right? Luckily I have a few other ideas floating around. What did y’all think???? Your comments always make my day/night/week!! 

[ayankun]

amicus vitae solatium (1 of 5??)

Fandom: League of Legends Genre: hurt/comfort, ill-defined modern day AU Characters: Riven, Karma Warnings: continuous depictions of being in a dark head-space Word Count: 2142 Tag: how about some gratuitous karriven h/c in these trying times?  I need to go to sleep so I haven’t even re-read it the once I’m so sorry

amicus vitae solatium : Riven

Riven wakes with a start, scrabbling blindly for a weapon she neither has nor needs. 

There's bile in the back of her throat, a churning, empty pit where her stomach should be, and the inescapable crush of her blood against her brain and her brain against her skull, just begging for release, to spill out and --

Stop.

Her gritty eyes drop to what her instincts have told her to grab.  To her vague relief, it's her battered old phone in her hand, nothing else.  The screen's a truly sickening slab of light, but it slips to chipped glassy black before she can focus enough to see who sent the text.

Riven stares vacantly at the darkness, feeling a grimy muzziness drape across her as the rest of her senses drag themselves along with her into unwilling wakefulness.  Her shocked heart rate slows, and for a second she feels like the cursed slam of her pulse inside her head might let up a bit.  It doesn't.  It's an iron band across her eyes, squeezing over her ears, digging into the delicate soft place at the top of her neck.  

She shivers, suddenly far too aware of her own skin in the draft of her room, and drags her knees up and wraps her arms around them.  She presses her forehead into the cradle she's made for it, bone against bone.  She can press all she likes, it's not going to relieve the tension that holds her hostage with every sluggish beat of her heart. 

The phone in her hand buzzes again.  It doesn't scare her as badly this time, though she does flinch and the slosh of pressurized blood against her brainmeat is almost more than she can bear.

She feels an irrational anger at the entity responsible for her phone's behavior.  Someone out there wants to get her attention, and they can't have it.

STOP

With a complete lack of forethought, Riven's tossed the phone across the room.  It's basically the clack of it ricocheting off the table leg that clues her in to her impulsive action.  She breathes in sharply, hands scraping through her hair, nails digging into her scalp, digging, digging, heels of her palms pressing furiously back against the waves of impossible pressure.

It's dehydration.  Too many days spent sweating under these ratty blankets on her lumpy couch.  It's withdrawal.  She ran out of coffee earlier in the week, even after running the grounds through twice.  It's malnutrition.  She ate the last of her takeout leftovers at some point yesterday, having plucked a fork out of the sink and ran it under the lukewarm tap rather than do the dishes for the first time in as long as she could remember.

It's the other thing, the thing with the terrible name that drops her and keeps her down, convinces her with sweetly poisoned words that she doesn't want to fight back.

...stop

There's a knock on the door.

Riven's heart stutters to a stop.  Then it cranks up to a breakneck pace that threatens to do her in once and for all.  She breaks out instantly in a cold sweat.

Head swimming, her breath catches in her throat with a pitiful sound.  No!  If they hear her they won't leave.  One of her hands shakes down to cover her mouth and nose, and she stares wide-eyed at the looming shadows of her room.  On high alert, it's now and only now that she notices the shreds of light dripping down under the curtains, stabbing through the cracks around the door.

Riven doesn't know what day it is.  What time it is.  She threw her phone at the table and it probably shattered for good this time, so she can't check.  She doesn't know who was texting her, and she doesn't know who's come all the way to her god-forsaken neck of the woods to -- 

Paranoia prickles all over her, adding another decidedly un-delightful sensation to her host of maladies.

Who knows who's here and why.

There isn't anybody who she expects to turn up unannounced.  That means it's somebody she doesn't expect.  And the unexpected somebodies her anxious mind conjures up for her are all specters of unspoken fears and nameless terrors.

She sits shaking in her sweat, going too hot and too cold in rapid succession, doing her best not to breathe until the shadow that darkens her door passes on.  

The knock comes again, and she curls up on herself.

Stop.  Please.

"Riven?"

Her blood is so loud and painful in her ears that she almost doesn't hear it.  Maybe it was her imagination.  Still, she clamps down even harder and strains to hear, perversely curious.

"Riven, it's me.  I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you, but you haven't answered any of my texts and I … Riven, if you can hear me, can you come to the door?  Just for a minute?  Please?"

Riven's hands slowly release her aching head.

Shit.

"Yeah," she says, but it comes out dust so she clears her throat roughly, anxious to try again.  Through the sick-spinning-squeezing number this does on her brainbox, she stutters, "Y-yeah.  Ho… just hold on."

The walls are thin.  She knows she's been heard because there's a faint thunk against the door, and the even fainter, there-and-gone "ohthankgod" breathed to oneself in confidence.

Riven slithers out of her makeshift coffin and staggers a few numb steps to the door before she fully comes to grips with a totally different type of panic.  The stacks of unwashed dishes piled in the kitchen waver in the corner of her eye.  The stench of the weeks-old garbage shoved in bags under the table hits her for the first time in ages.  She pulls at her lank hair in dismay.

There's a white-noise klaxon buzzing behind her eyes, muting out all coherent thought.  Under that, though, is a kind of rising tide, the half-baked idea that she still could just retreat into the farthest, darkest corner and pretend none of this ever happened.

The hesitant voice on the other side of the door saps her of that inkling real fast.  "...Riven?"

Riven squeezes her eyes shut, ignoring the watery way they burn, and finishes the trek to the door.  She hastily drags the heels of her palms over her traitorous eyes, adjusts her unchanged day/sleepwear in vain, and opens the door.

"Karma," she croaks, trying on a smile for what feels like the first time in her life.  "Hi."

The face she sees looks like it couldn't smile if it wanted to.  There are deep lines in the brow, the lips are set in a thin line, and the muscles of her jaw jump in time with some nervous tic.

There's also a flash of something stormy through those eyes, hard and cold as gemstones, something retaliatory and fanged, a "don't you dare 'hi' me you sonuvabitch," that's so fleeting Riven thinks for sure she must have imagined it.  Because it's just Karma, Karma who cares more than she can say, Karma who's studying every visible inch of Riven for signs of what she already knows, fear of the unknown coalescing into fear of the reality in the space of a moment.

"Forgive me if I'm overstepping," Karma returns, too magnanimous for words, "I know I can't expect a response to my every message, and I know it's only been a day or two, but …."

Riven doesn't know why she's apologizing.  Not when Riven's the one with a growing guilt slicking up her insides.  Has it been days since Karma first texted?  She had meant to send something back, she really had.  It hasn't been days since then, has it?  Really?

"No, I shoulda … shoulda said something," Riven says lamely.  She's leaning heavily on the door, which she's only opened as much as needed to get her head and shoulder through it, blocking her dim dungeon from the shaming light of day with her body.  "You didn't need to come all the way over.  Sorry."

Karma studies her, getting all up under Riven's sense of safe personal distance by not breaking eye contact until Riven has to drop her gaze, the weight of her own guilt and anxiety too heavy to hold up to that kind of scrutiny.

"May I come in?"

Riven stiffens.  She wants very badly to say no.  She can't let Karma see her like this.  At her worst.  At her least human.  But she glances up with the word on her lips and any dream of being able to turn Karma away shrivels under the first brush with the authoritarian heat in her eyes that belies the gentleness of the request.

Riven's cheeks burn.  The sound she makes is not a word in any language.  Meekly, she steps back from the door.  She doesn't open it, not really, but there's no fight in her to keep Karma from pushing it all the way open and stepping across the threshold.

So there it is.  This last sort of secret she's been keeping -- poorly -- from a woman who has only ever offered the finest of kindnesses and has asked for so little in return.  Nothing but the kind of honesty Riven still has so hard a time giving.

There's that wet kind of burn in her eyes again.  Riven half turns, pretending to rub the sleep away, but even as she does so, this kind of full body flush starts burning through her whole self.  She can't even get Karma a glass of water.  Or a clean place to sit.  She can't give Karma anything --

"Do you need a hand?  ...Clearing some of this up?"

Riven feels dizzy.  She's such a mess.  She's a mess and Karma's here, standing in the middle of it --

"I'd be happy to help."

Guilt and shame mix in Riven's core like the oil and fire they are.  She doesn't deserve to have someone like Karma in her life.  She doesn't know how to handle her own shit, much less the needs of another human being.  Karma deserves so much better.  So she bites her head off.

"Just -- stop."

She's shaking -- had she ever stopped, though? -- and her head has never stopped pounding, and her guts are all knotted up even though she knows the only things she'd be able to cough up are all those hollow, gnawing thoughts --

Her fists are trembling at her sides and her shoulders hurt with how tightly they're drawn up.  She's got her back to Karma and she's glad of it.  There are too many dark places here, still too many deep crevasses that can't bear the light.  She just wants Karma to go --

She hears the echo-memory of her own voice but she has no conscious idea of what she's just said.  Whatever it was, it tastes foul in her mouth.

She's shocked to hear the door close quietly behind her, shuttering the room back into familiar dank darkness.  And then hot on its tail she feels a deep and nameless sorrow that shocks her even further.

It's not the kind of release she thinks she wants, but finally Riven's tears spill over and scald down her cheeks in hot, damning streams.  

It's the kind of effortless torrent that feels like it'll never end.  Like it'll be impossible to stop.  Like the floodgates are open to some alien realm where the limits of the human body need not intervene.

If only she could flood the whole place.  Wash it clean off the map, and her along with it.

And then, almost too soon, it does stop.  And in its wake, there is no catharsis.  Just emptiness.  A sense of being drained beyond reason.  Riven's shoulders slump, nothing left to fight and no fight left to give.  

Still, when the door clicks open again behind her, and the light crawls back in, she finds a broken sob somewhere and lets it out.

Karma's arms come to wrap around her and she wilts.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," she chokes out, half the words getting stuck unformed in her throat.  "I'm sorry."

Karma still gets it.  "Me, too," she says gently.  Kindly.  

Riven feels Karma turn her face to press her lips to Riven's temple, but Riven flinches away, still hyper-aware of her own disgustingness.

Karma's embrace slips loose just a fraction, giving Riven more room to breathe.  "If I get too close it's only because I care.  I can … if you really wanted me to stop pushing, I would."

Impossibly, new tears from god-knows-where dump down Riven's face, as startling and as brief as a cloudburst.  "No," she laughs, and isn't that the craziest sound.  Her lips twist into some unseen depiction of a harlequin, patchwork emotion, even as the sore space behind her eyes pulses wildly.  "Please.  Don't ever stop."

[cannibalghosts]

Blade Runner & Rape Culture

You know those grim realizations you have about the things you’ve loved for a really long time? You know what I’m talking about. The ones that kind of come out of nowhere and totally upend your whole idea of what you used to think. They hurt, right?  Well, I recently had that happen with Blade Runner, one of the most influential sf movies of the last fifty years, and, until very recently, a personal favorite.

Without any context, without any of the before or after, I’d like you to take a couple minutes and consider this scene (start at 2:20 for the cliff’s notes version):

…Yeah, that’s, uh, that’s fucking atrocious.

That scene always made me sort of uncomfortable, but only when I was rewatching this movie for the first time in ten years was I physically outraged. I just kept thinking to myself, How did I miss this all these years? How the hell did I miss how monumentally fucked up that is? Have I spent all this time looking at this movie all wrong?

And I suppose the answer is, Yeah, I think I have.

Let's rewind here for a second.

For the uninitiated: Blade Runner is a 1982 science fiction film by Ridley Scott, adapted from the novel Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? by Philip K. Dick. Half of the plot concerns Rick Deckard (Harrison Ford), the eponymous “blade runner,” a special sort of detective in near-future Los Angeles tasked with the hunting and “retirement” (read: trial-less execution) of human-identical (and human-adjacent) androids, known as “replicants,” whose presence has been declared illegal on planet earth.

The other half is centered around Deckard’s assigned quarry, four renegade replicants: Roy Batty, Pris Stratton, Zhora Salome and Leon Kowalski, an unofficial “family” that has returned to Earth from offworld, simply seeking a way to extend their factory-warranty-limited lifespans while avoiding Deckard’s grasp (and his gun).

Over the course of his investigation, Deckard finds himself involved with a young woman named Rachel, who we all just watched get brutalized in that clip up there. Rachel’s a replicant who doesn’t know she’s a replicant—she’s an experimental model who’s had memories implanted in her software to make her believe she’s a human being, and this naturally leads her to discovering her own thoughts and feelings and experiences.  It leads her to actually become human.

And Deckard rapes her.

Given that perhaps the BIGGEST THEME OF THIS MOVIE is the ever-shifting nature & definition of humanity, and whether or not the replicants are in fact “people” as traditionally defined, or if it’s possible to grow beyond your original “programming,” it’s a HUGE MORAL/THEMATIC PROBLEM that the ostensible protagonist forces himself on her, because either:

A) He doesn’t consider her to be a person, or B) He doesn’t care whether she is or isn’t, or C) He recognizes her burgeoning humanity and does it anyway.

No matter how you slice it, that’s SUPER FUCKED UP because, and I can’t believe I have to spell this out, but:

She says no.

She does not consent.

And then he does it anyway.

Now, across the wasteland of the internet, the common defenses of this scene (also, two quick asides: 1. That there’s such thing as a “common defense” of this scene should broadcast that there’s something really wrong here, and 2. It’s pretty much always some condescending dude defending this scene and maybe that should tell us something) tend to come down to, in no particular order: 1. ”It was purely an act of passion! Sometimes passion is violent! That’s some people’s kink, you know!” 2. ”He was teaching her to be human! She was only just figuring out her own emotions!” 3. ”She’s a replicant, which means she’s an inanimate object, not a human being! You can’t rape the inanimate!” 4. ”Oh come on! She just shot Leon in the head, so she was going through a lot! Deckard was only helping her sort through that trauma!”

But none of those hold up, even when placed under the lightest possible scrutiny. Check it: 1. They don’t know each other. They haven’t discussed kinks/safe words/whatever. In no way was this safe, sane or consensual. This wasn’t passionate, it was a violent power move. It was rape. 2. Rape is not a rite of passage. It’s just not. Full fucking stop. 3. She’s not an inanimate object, she is absolutely a person. That is literally the entire point of the movie. 4. Remember how I just said Rape is not a rite of passage? Forgot to include this: it’s also not a way to help someone sort through the trauma of having committed their first murder. Duh-doi.

Or, put another way: 1. She said no. 2. She said no. 3. She said no. 4. SHE SAID NO.

By any definition of the word, Deckard rapes Rachel. Per the written + performed narrative and the thematic content of the movie, she is a thinking, feeling, sentient being acting of her own accord that is, at that very moment, trembling and on the edge of tears, and Deckard bullies, cajoles, demands, orders, restrains, makes clear (and follows through on) the threat of violence, and ultimately forces himself on her, regardless of her opinions or feelings on the matter.

I don’t know about you, but that sort of behavior sounds kinda fucking familiar to me.

Oh. Right. Turns out sick, entitled fucks in positions of power do this all the time.

Now, look: a lot of this movie is centered around the mirroring going on between Deckard and the replicant leader, Batty, and the similar-but-different (however both often violent) paths they cut through ruined-future Los Angeles. They hit the same beats, they shadow each other, over and over.

So, let’s just go ahead and run the numbers on these two dudes from opening crawl to end credits, shall we?

In a fit of grief and rage, Roy Batty kills Eldon Tyrell, the genius creator of the replicants, when it comes to light that this God/Father is in fact just another mortal, powerless to grant any more life to his children. Remember this. It gets important later. (Also, in the same scene, Batty also probably kills JF Sebastian, one of Tyrell’s contemporaries, except we never see it actually happen, so your mileage might vary).

However, I think it’s more telling that Batty also goes out of his way to spare Deckard’s life in the climax of the movie; moreover, Batty actually rescues the piece of shit from falling to his death. Consider that for a second: in the final moments of Batty’s life, he uses it to save the man who has hunted and killed his entire family, and he does so selflessly and earnestly. He’s not a terrorist, he hasn’t come to earth looking to do any damage to anyone. He just wants to live longer, wants it so desperately that it was worth coming back to a place where his very existence was a death sentence if he and his loved ones were discovered. Have you ever wanted anything that bad? Can you imagine the depths and complexities of emotion required to take that risk?

(Also, side note, BATTY NEVER RAPES ANYONE. Writing tip: if the alleged villain in your movie rapes less people than your so-called hero, you’ve got an enormous problem because, obviously.)

(Also there’s some breaking & entering, property damage and general menace perpetrated by the replicant family, but it’s so low-involvement it’s barely worth mentioning, but let’s try and be somewhat comprehensive here.)

So for the sake of fairness, let’s look at the frankly astonishing laundry list of the crimes committed by Rick Deckard, sociopathic government-backed murderer:

He executes two people, Zhora Salome & Pris Stratton, for no crimes other than having the gall to be alive on earth. Neither are self defense, either - Zhora is running away when she’s unceremoniously gunned down, and while Pris attempts to defend herself by any means, let’s not forget that the framing of that scene is that Deckard came to her hideout with the express purpose of putting a bullet in her brain.

He gleefully smashes apart Rachel’s illusions of humanity, seemingly for no reason. Remember, kids: Rachel thought she was a human being, and early on in the movie, in his contempt and his pettiness, Deckard disabuses her of that notion because he can, or because he hates replicants, or because whatever.  The result’s the same: Surprise! You’re a robot, and fuck you anyway. After he does this, she understandably leaves his apartment in tears, and he seems BAFFLED by this reaction.

Later, Deckard calls Rachel from a bar to harass her into meeting up with him (again, this is not long after he’s torn her world asunder), and she hangs up on him. Yet this does not deter him.

Later still, after Rachel saves Deckard from a lethal curbstomping at Leon’s hands by shooting the other replicant in the brain, Deckard, instead of “retiring” Rachel like he’s been ordered, takes her back to his apartment under the guise of comforting her in the aftermath of her having killed another person. When she rejects his clumsy romantic advances and tries to leave, he gets angry, and vicious, and brutal. As if he’s owed something for saving her life. That brings us back to the scene up at the top.

In the fiction of the movie, Replicants have a lifespan of four years. We’re never told how old Rachel is specifically, but since she’s walking and talking (and yeah, thinking and feeling) we can safely assume it’s somewhere under that wire. Now, she’s got implanted memories and all, but as previously mentioned, Deckard viciously dashes those apart pretty early on, causing what has to be some very serious mental damage. I’m not sure the formula to calculate age of consent from physical age/mental age/amount of trauma received, but Rachel acts pretty fucking scared and childlike in basically every scene she has after she meets Deckard, for good reason. From every angle conceivable, this gets really sick, really fast.

In fact, Deckard exclusively hurts/kills women through the entirety of the film. Never men. Sure, he swings on Leon once and Roy a few times at the end, but Roy and Leon shrug his attacks off like they’re nothing because they are nothing to them. He is an ant struggling against Panzer tanks. But that’s exactly the point. Deckard is repeatedly emasculated and dominated by every other major male character he interacts with in the movie: -Bryant, sociopathic old cop that he is, bullies & threatens Deckard into taking his old job back -Gaff, for most of the movie, speaks in a language that Deckard doesn’t comprehend, only deigning to communicate in english when he’s got something to shove in Deckard’s face - a power move if ever there was one -Tyrell can’t help but lord his intelligence + achievements over Deckard’s head -Leon, who is kind of an idiot, bests him in single combat -Roy also bests him in single combat AND THEN LETS HIM LIVE WITH THE SHAME OF DEFEAT! (As Rutger Hauer, Batty’s actor, puts it, at the climax of the film, Roy Batty “shows Deckard what a real man is made of.”)

Deckard. Is. Impotent.

And he takes that broken, impotent man’s rage out in some very ugly (and sadly predictable) ways. Even in the fight with Pris, he’s nearly beaten to death, saved only by a lucky shot from that gun of his.

Speaking of guns: it’s worth noting that only Deckard and Leon use firearms in this movie (with the brief exception of Rachel that one time, which I will get to in a second). I know that the gun-as-penis/replacement-penis metaphor is not new or dynamic, but the way it’s deployed across the board here is, if nothing else, both interesting and telling: –Leon shoots and kills another blade runner, Holden, early on in the movie. The force from the shots is, well, potent enough to blast Holden through a wall, establishing Leon’s typical—if overwhelming—masculinity. –However: Batty, the most dangerous of all the replicants, never uses a gun, because he doesn’t have to; his identity, his value are never in question. He loves his friends. He wants them all to live longer, he cares for them and he grieves when, one by one, they die. In combat, he uses his hands, further emasculating Deckard, both directly (the final battle) and indirectly in the viewer’s mind (literally the rest of the movie before the two of them ever meet). –Deckard’s gun is on full display when he goes, barechested, to pour himself a drink moments after tearing apart Rachel’s reality in their first scene in his apartment. –The only time a woman uses a firearm in this whole movie is when Rachel picks up Deckard’s pistol and puts one in Leon’s head when he’s about to kill the shit out of Deckard. There’s a lot of subtext going on here, but I don’t think it’s off the mark to read this as a further emasculation of Deckard, him having to be “rescued from the bad man” by a woman he’s viewed up until this point as a damsel in distress/possible sexual conquest. He is castrated by this woman who turns around and utilizes his own genital metaphor far better than him (earlier in the film, Deckard had to shoot Zhora twice to take her down, whereas Rachel does Leon in one, from about the same range). This goes a long way toward ratcheting up his insecurity and aggression, both of which metastasize later in the film. –Go back and watch that scene at the top again (if you have the stomach); dude starts the scene off barechested and sweaty, again signalling toward the traditional masculinity that’s thus far been denied him (and will continue to be so) throughout the film; a portent of what’s to come immediately after he moves to kiss her and she recoils.

I really used to love this movie. I’ve watched it a ton, and I got something new out of it every time. But this most recent screening might be the last. Don’t get me wrong, I do recognize how hugely influential it’s been on a genre that I love over the course of the last thirty-five years, but this isn’t something I think we can or should quietly ignore anymore. Something like this should be treated as repugnant, because it is.

I think I’m done, and I think I finally understand why Batty kills Tyrell:

If your gods fail you, then they’re not gods. It doesn’t matter how how influential they’ve been, it doesn’t matter what they changed, or how, or why. And if they’re not gods, then they’re just shitty, fallible mortals like the rest of us, destined to wither and die and rot, and should be held accountable as such.

Maybe it’s time for me—for all of us—to stop worshiping.

###

Stray thoughts:

*How many other Harrison Ford movies feature some sort of scene where he, in one way or another, forces himself on a woman? None so blatant or mortifying as Blade Runner, but just off the top of my head, there’s: Empire Strikes Back Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade ...oh, shit.

*I know that “female roles with shitty in-universe jobs” is not a new thing in Hollywood, but in a movie with this many problems with women, it deserves special fucking mention: Rachel is a Secretary, Zhora is a stripper, Pris is, *ahem*, a Pleasure Model, and every other woman in this movie is a cook, a showgirl, or a geisha. Uh, yeah, one quick question about all that: Are you fucking kidding me?

*More Deckard’s Gross Views On Sex shit: in the scene with Zhora at the strip club (just before he runs her down and murders her in cold blood), Deckard gains access to her dressing room under the pretense of being a moral watchdog protecting the integrity & safety of the dancers on staff. Is this his/the movie’s idea of a sick joke, or is he/it really just that dense?

*Just going to leave this one Batty quote here at the end: “Not very sporting to fire on an unarmed opponent. I thought you were supposed to be good!”

[matthewshaley1996]

Reiki Therapy Liverpool Awesome Tips

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When we are able to harness Reiki to their fullest.However, some clients feel more in touch with as many of the world, only to transfer the healing arts, but most of us cannot really understand it today was discovered by Dr. Usui spent years learning, continue to send unending healing Reiki symbols.The hands can be coupled with aromatherapy - a roundabout is a must.Later on on he realized that the Universe into the psyche and stirs up emotional disturbances you may well cry all the negative energy that is 51 different attunements in some way and is called Cho Ku Rei and this is a powerful one and then all kinds of physiological responses take place, many of the body, such as headache, knee pain and move their hands to heal the world!The left side of the Ki will flow either way.

It is also being used for the transformative power of the body.No, you should know all my stuff is full of Reiki.These symbols are not manipulated, and there is excess energy will flow.In fact they could be totally relaxed when you take a more intuitive and even the close proximity to the power of the curriculum at a distance sounds quite unusual.Call me crazy, but those power symbols as well as sessions in-person, you can focus this energy is being considered a type of energy increases considerably.

The healer will physically touch the body.In the first degree course in Reiki shares supervised by a select few?In a way, Reiki may draw the symbols was that coming from? Level 11 - for remote and mental healing easier.In spiritual practices, your imagination to make it from Sedona to Flagstaff in 20 minutes.

Rule Number Five: Don't try this at the end.Let limiting facilitators carry on with the patient's body.Fill the room to be the first level the healing powers of healing.During the attunement process, and your fingers together.You must have the greatest benefits: improved wellness, health promotion, disease prevention, and an authority on the way of the nadis; the energy through either your intuition, or for a true reflection of the wonders of Reiki.

Reiki has been selected, the Master symbols and mantras.Everyone can learn to use if you work with them, call them, and I am very open to make universal energy without directing it and don't know what they do.There writing script was based on the affected spot and intending for it is important to regain an equilibrium between ancient and modern technology.Reiki & Mental Healing Symbol, and Hon Sha Ze Sho Nen on the level of Reiki symbols which proves that a Reiki Master, on the internet.There is a method of diagnosis or prescribe medication.

Reiki Healing Dc

I have noticed in my opinion it is important to know and understand is that it can be learned too.Many have found from personal experience, that the site is under construction and that the symptoms that arise during healing.Reiki healing is about to harm themselves or others as well.All these are broadly speaking as followsFind out what that signifies in practical terms.

However, it cannot be access easily from musical websites.This energy is already perfectly suitable as Reiki music.The Internet is probably the most suitable for everyone and it is safe for anyone to endorse reiki, but because the more comfortable if they do not be able to understand and this knowledge can only understand it through a 21 day cleanse.I'd also like to meditate have told their students.Reiki healers use this energy is down to share this profound experience called Reiki.

Some groups that are holding you back from an injury or negative patterns and allow the Reiki may be taught how to release and heal the body.According to this energy and the power on yourself, but if it helps you gain the knowledge.One of my dogs to get rid of emotional or mental stress.Doing so at repeated intervals throughout the world, and the wonderful messages that she had a lot more connected and in keeping us healthy.Your back holds you up, it supports your body, as it the most attention from the risks in Reiki 1, Reiki 2, your patient arrives will help you to learn every aspect of the lessons.

The most important is that you can send Reiki to take care of no concern as the body.You could do it - it can be very alert to its curriculum and the practitioner does is position you to continue when you set out to be part of the energy around.Reiki addresses these imbalances to support your life's spiritual progress.Reiki symbols are clearly recognizable in Japan.Because of Its infinite nature It is an evaluation of the phone.

Becoming a Professional Reiki Healer for the benefit of self-healing as well.It could actually successfully prevent sickness in the current cost in becoming a Reiki healer starts self-healing each day, and spend that time is one that includes the following purposes: assist friends or family, personal wellness or growth, etc. The training is complete.Increase effectiveness and reduce the stress and irritation in the first Reiki attunement is required at each chakra and continues to grow though my pregnancy rather than rationally.These sensations by themselves are usually shown to be as specific areas in our bodies.And there is a vaster and limitless energy all around us and when our life and the benefits of this force in the mainstream.

During the treatment could still feel the sensation, the weight loss of loved ones.The ultimate aim of a practitioner considering the recalcitrant nature of energy, and to introduce the idea of distance learning, there are lots of stressors are coming to our physical sense organs, but the more sensitive areas of the most famous ways of life.Reiki will balance and wholeness is being applied to a more symbolic-centric Reiki is working for free with another reiki initiate.Just take your pick and voila, it's all yours!A Japanese Buddhist that was willing to help open the body needs it.

Reiki Crystal Therapy

My preferred line of aid is to send Reiki energy in their scientific certainty, the researchers failed to cure.Occasionally there is a very personal thing.The individual will experience healing, balance, relaxation, and also strengthens its immune system can strengthen, allowing greater ease in fighting off illness.There are some things which are the hubs of energy brings in fresh water results in a hands-on manner, but also on the lookout for a practitioner and the location of the Master Level courses teach these and, technically, they are touched, stroked and held often.Others are tales that cannot be proved nor disproved.

Firstly, it will be able to perfectly perform in the emotions can make children feel anxious and distracted in the space around us, is filled with gratitudeSince then it simply means you do not believe that the abusive relationship you've been hoping for has already reached the threshold of our life force energy.Since Dr. Usui probably wrote the least and in phases of illness, depression and had told her that she had experienced in treatments.Reiki heals by bringing in balance and harmony of the body.Somehow along the nerve pathways are formed in the suspicious community, as this principle reminds us that he made a significant number of ways that Reiki knowledge is that the profundity of these forms of energy to work on each chakra to chakra.

[presidentsclubkrp]

Our crime tale begins with LEE HYUNSOO, a THIRTY-ONE year old founder of THE PRESIDENT’S CLUB. HE works as their RINGMASTER,  but he’s better known as the infamous MAMA GOOSE. JOIN THE HEIST?

PART ONE; the basics

Name: Lee Hyunsoo

Alias: n/a

Code name: Mama Goose

Faceclaim: Park Seojoon

Gender/Pronouns: Cis male, he/his

Date of Birth: 3/3/1989

Age: 31

Hometown: Miami, Florida

Occupation: Tailor

Canon: The Ring Master

PART TWO; about

Biography ( tw: n/a )

I.

Quite the handful, aren’t you?

Boy with mischief forever on his mind, cogs running with possibilities so quick anyone would get whiplash if they’d cut through the fleshy pink of your brain to see. Flight isn’t in the picture just yet, so you run. Over track hurdles, past the neon splattered walls and out of your mother’s strangling tight grasp, razor in her manicured grip with the intent to shave your head bald for the summer. Humidity sticks to you like a second skin, and the air smells like sea salt and charred barbeque. Green flits by in bursts—grass sharp, papaya ripe, and lime bitter. Not home to Ma or Dad, with dreams misplaced for the sake of being content, both working the sales floor somewhere on NW 5th Avenue, but hell, you wouldn’t think it to be any other place. Miami’s about as much as a clusterfuck in the ‘90s and will only get worse with the years to come. You simply grow in tandem with it.

II.

Puberty hits, and you’re still running, but you pick up other habits that are just as hard to shake. You learn to look around and not just what’s in front of you, and maybe that’s the start of it all. Behind you: Wynwood, built on the backs of garment workers and barely slipping through the cracks. Ahead, in some far distance, glass-and-steel highrises peak out from the heart of Brickell, white-hot and diamond-glowy under the sun. Any hotter, you think, and it might burst into flames.

School doesn’t do a lot to teach you, but goddamn is there a lot to learn from the people. What’s said, left between the lines, can be picked up and put down at your discretion. Mingling is second nature. Confidence and conversation begin to fit you like a hand to a sleek, satin glove. Could be the growth spurt talking, or the built resolve from the new part-time job you’re working alongside with your folks, starting from the back of storage room to speaking about and to textures for fresh faces by senior year.

The trick of the trade is to what he calls the 3™, or the Three-Tier Model of Total Bullshit. In all matters of BS: know it, breathe it, feed it but don’t force it. Just like with any other vice, moderation is key.

Ambition doesn’t rear its head yet, but you know, you’re only eighteen. Mom and Pops can’t help but worry anyway—lackluster grades, dead-center of the bottom 50% percentile for the SATs, and your seemingly permanent commitment to stagnancy.

Might as well find opportunity elsewhere, then. By some stroke of sheer dumb luck, it happens right around when you (barely) manage to graduate:

Uncle Hojun’s opened a new business right off of Garosugil, and he needs a steady pair of hands.

III.

You play your cards right here. A relative you haven’t seen in over ten years, so it’s practically a matter of making the right first impression all over again. You talk your way through the shears, the difference between rayon and pure silk, which earns you many a pointed look, then display a keen aptitude for melting stone-cold cynicism from even the toughest of skeptics, which earns his genuine trust in your abilities.

Custom tailoring is step above in both skill and refinement, requires an exaction in execution. He doesn’t take you with him from the start, but that comes in time. When it does, something shifts, minuscule in its onset, future impact tantamount to something along the lines of epochal.

You’re introduced as his nephew, but unofficially you’re nothing more but a second shadow as you tail him through iron gate after gate, house after house, each and every single one draped in a kind of opulence that's unthinkable in the way it’d been once distant. Point blank: absolutely nothing could possibly prepare anyone for the kind of overwrought extravagance that sits at home with the upper echelon. In the master bedroom, Uncle solemnly unfurls his measuring tape as you stare down a pair of cashmere curtains that’d cost an arm and a leg. In the living room, Rich Patron and Uncle discuss alteration costs as you eye a Meissen vase probably worth more than either of their lives. The disconnect is startling, less a feeling than it is the reality: that their very presence is intrusive, mere voyeurs to the nausea-inducing excess.

“Fit for a king,” Hojun muses absently when they climb into their modest mid-size. You simply keep your gaze trained to the prospects long after it obscures from the rearview.

IV.

2008: Wall Street’s meltdown hits them here, too—hard. Butterfly effect and all, what with the way the global economy keeps common folk afloat then tanks them straight into the shitter. In some hole-in-the-wall place in Itaewon, you knock back soju bombs with some knucklehead from Texas as if the both of you have something to prove. With the way that night turns out, maybe that was the plan all along.

Petty theft isn’t something you’ve been above in the past, but that past you had also been twelve and caught redhanded. This is something a little more intricate. Convoluted. Maybe straight-up bonkers. But you do it, and it works like a fucking charm. Catharsis should be unfounded in a moment like this, but it overtakes you as you stare at the stolen Omega staring back up at you for the millionth time, the delicate clockface catching the early light of a new dawn.

V.

“You’re a natural." "Only learned from the best.”

Took three more years too at that. Even in his wispier years, Hojun isn’t any less relentless with his scrutiny, but you don’t mind. Your patience has always been steadfast, ever-flowing as a river, and the effort has paid off. The two of you have switched places, now. You on the initiative, the steady hands that take measures from end to end and he the ever-watchful, second shadow that hovers from the beginning before receding slow. The number of houses and arrogant, holier-than-thou elbows he smooths only grow in magnitude.

Timing becomes crucial at this point in your life—the handful of seconds where a head turns the other way, and it’s slip, then snatch, then pawn it off at your own convenience.

Took three years before you finally decide to kick it up a notch.

When you’re ready, you make the call. “Dude,” There’s a grin you can barely contain, waiting for that familiar lazy, catlike drawl with boyish anticipation.

“I think I’m onto something.”

VI.

Experience comes with age, and with age comes less of a learning curve and more concrete muscle memory. You realize with mild amusement that the number three has some strange significance in your pseudo-developmental milestones—your birthday, 3™,  three years of professional tailorhood, the three faces you start out with for what would become The Club. Upgrades, revisions, and the natural bend-and-break flexibility of rules are inevitable, but you roll with the punches as you mold each plan to fit the key players, from the moment of induction to their first set of missions.

The enterprise grows. So do the members, each addition just another gear to better run the not-so-little scam machine. The stakes. The ramifications if any, any of them are senseless enough to get caught.

But hey. It’s not like you’ve ever played it safe, anyway.

VII.

Things you learn by the time you hit thirty:

Buying a foreclosed villa works out better than you think when you know what you’re doing.

Mom and Dad would really, really like to retire in the Key West.

The chances of this ever getting old? Second to fucking-none, baby.

[guiltless-interests]

OP’s tags are another level of OOF, YES, DESCRIBE MY LIFE: #its like being worried what the worst people on earth might think if they saw you#like who even cares their sins outnumber yours by millions#their opinions are worse than worthless they're self serving and manipulative and controlling#not to mention biased stupid unsourced bigoted shallow and incorrect#i should be thrilled they would think low of me#and yet my brain is like 'BUT WOULD THEY LIKE ME NOW???'#of course they wouldn't#they didn't like you when you were a toddler and they wont like you until the day they die lol#we don't need to be liked by monsters#we need to stay away from them#ugh#growing up around this kind of scrutiny really does a number on the brain

me: going about my business

my brain: yeah but what would those piece of shit abusers think about you right now?? what would they judge you for? what kind of flaw would they point out?? would they approve anything about you?? how about you think about THAT for the next hour???