#i know the book says porcelain skin but I love the tan she has in the OG art | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dumdumsun · 3 years

Text

Of Starlight

A/N: One more chapter!

Warnings: none that I'm aware of

Word Count: 4200

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Chapter 19: The White Violin

To say that Five was nervous would have been an understatement. Not only would he be meeting the children of the love of his life, but her mother as well. Just hours ago, he was trying to prevent an apocalypse, and fought for his life for the past eight days. Now he was worrying about whether or not Michael and Jada would like him? What a rollercoaster this week has been.

(Y/N) had made a pit stop at her home, mentioning she had to grab something. When she invited Five inside, he hesitated, but she insisted. So, he unbuckled himself and left the car, joining her at her doorstep. Once she unlocked the door, they stepped inside and then she left his side not too long after, telling him to “make himself at home”. Five instinctively shoved his hands into the pockets of his shorts as he watched his love disappear down the hall to her bedroom. Letting out a quiet breath, he let his green eyes wander around the living room.

It was clear that (Y/N) had been living quite a comfortable life. Her home wasn’t as grand as their childhood mansion, but it wasn’t a small home either. All around her walls were framed abstract paintings, awards her novels had won, and family photos. On her wall across from the long leather couch was a seventy-two-inch flat screen television. On either side of the television was a bookshelf. Upon further inspection, Five noticed that the bookshelf on the left consisted of children’s story books, while the other was full of novels. As his eyes roamed, he noticed Vanya’s book in the ‘H’ section of the alphabetized system. He hummed and stepped back, wandering further into her home. He noted that the general theme of the interior was navy blue and white. A nice, calming touch. Something tranquil to come to after a hectic day. He shook the thought from his head as he approached the dining room. On the glass table was a cup that was knocked over. Five tilted his head and set it upright, wondering why (Y/N) hadn’t taken care of that. She didn’t seem like the type to leave a single speck of dirt around her home, but then again, she hadn’t been able to look after her home in days. He had himself to thank for that.

His attention was brought to the small table in the corner of the dining room, where a framed picture was facing down. Curious, he walked up to the table and picked up the photo, his stomach twisting in knots only slightly. It was a wedding photo of (Y/N) and Anthony. The man’s golden tan skin bathed in the sunlight, lighting up his lovestruck facial expression. He had dark black hair and full brows, sporting a well-groomed extended goatee the same color. His full body wasn’t in the frame, but it was clear he had somewhat of a muscular build and the way he held himself radiated confidence. His hazel eyes were gazing at (Y/N). Five couldn’t believe what puberty had done to her. She was the picture of perfection. Her (e/c) eyes sparkled naturally in the sunlight, the way her dazzling smile reached those eyes told nothing but the truth of how her life had truly changed for the better. The only time he had seen (Y/N) as an adult was the apocalypse, where he never had the chance to see her smile. The woman in this picture was a woman who had escaped the horrors of her childhood, who made something of herself, who didn’t let those horrors define her. A sense of pride swelled in Five’s chest the longer he stared at the photo. She had achieved true happiness.

And here he was, bringing all of that negativity back to her.

“Okay, I’m back.” (Y/N) announced as she stepped into the dining room. Five quickly set the picture down in its original place, but it was too late. The smile she wore faltered a bit, but when it returned, it was more melancholy. Her steps towards him were slow, cautious. “He reminded me so much of you, Five,” She whispered, her shoulder brushing against his as she turned the photo upright again. “He was so patient with my baggage, so gentle and careful. Like I was this porcelain doll to him. Not a single scratch could be left on me, it was so unbelievable sometimes.”

“Are you trying to say I’m gentle and patient?”

“With me, you are.” She giggled. She let her elbow nudge his as she shifted her arm. “I miss him… he couldn’t fill the void you left, but he was so wonderful to have known in life. A wonderful partner…”

Five’s frown deepened. “I’m sorry about Anthony, (Y/N)... He must’ve been pretty great if he was able to pull you out of… the dark? Is that what you call it?”

“Yes, the dark,” She whispered before her gaze shifted to his, which was already fixed on her. “Five, I-I hope you know I… I love you. I can never fully heal from Anthony’s death, but… I’m not going to just ignore this. What we have. Or had…”

“What we have.” He whispered back, stepping closer to her. Absentmindedly, (Y/N) set the photo back down as their lips grazed each other. Five’s hand gently gripped her arm and her free hand reached up to caress his cheek. Without another moment of hesitation, the two closed the gap between them, their lips colliding in a slow kiss. The feel of her soft, warm lips against his was almost enough to send his knees buckling, but Five held himself together. It was hard to, though, when the hand on his cheek moved into his hair. Tilting his head into the kiss, he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her even closer. Five could have time travelled and spent forty-five years in the apocalypse over and over if it meant he’d come back to this. Come back to this person who could be the beginning and the end of him, who could easily end his life if it meant hers was saved, who could tear down his walls simply with the warmth of her graceful smile. His beautiful Starlight.

His lips chased hers when she slowly pulled away and she quietly chuckled at him. The moment their lips were separated, their gazes met. Nothing, absolutely nothing but pure love and adoration. And if her confession seconds ago didn’t tell him, the look in her eyes certainly did. Her hands slid from his cheeks down to his arms, gently patting his elbows as she raised her brows. “Well… shall we get going?”

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“So, we’re telling them everything? The truth?” Five asked as (Y/N) pulled up in front of her mother’s small home. The girl, after turning off the car, slowly sat back with her lips in a thin line.

“Yeah… That was the original plan,” She whispered. Five frowned in confusion and when she looked at him, she sighed. “We’re gonna pretend to be neighbor kids…”

Five blinked. “You’re not serious, are you? I thought the whole purpose of this was to be honest with them.”

“Well, yeah, but just think of how they’ll react. If it actually registers in their minds that I’m a kid… Oh my god, Jada will bawl her eyes out… Michael’s gonna have a panic attack, I just know it. A-And then they’re not gonna let me comfort them and then my mom’ll have to do it and they barely even let her do it-”

“Starlight-”

“And then if I introduce you as my lover, they’re gonna think I’m trying to replace Anthony-”

“(Y/N),” Five took hold of her hands that were flailing about. She stopped and stared at him with frantic eyes. “We’ll go with your plan. Does your mom know?”

She nodded.

“Okay…,” He slowly freed her wrists, watching as she began to relax. “Ready to go?”

She nodded again.

She was not ready to go. The second the teenagers stood in front of Michael and Jada, (Y/N) froze. Five gently nudged her to start off. She blinked rapidly and cleared her throat, waving shyly. “Hey, there… Um, we just moved in next door and… wanted to meet the neighbors.” She awkwardly nodded. Michael perked up and held his hand out to shake.

“I’m Michael! And I’m six!”

“I’m Jada!” The little girl laughed as Five gently shook the boy’s hand.

“I-It’s nice to meet you, Michael and Jada…” (Y/N) whispered.

Jada bounced on the couch, widening her hazel eyes in curiosity. “What’re your names?” (Y/N) immediately turned to Five in alarm. The boy placed a hand on her arm to calm her. He very slightly smiled at the girl and nodded.

“Well, my name is Five and-”

“Five?!”

“Yes-”

“Like the number?!”

“Yes, and this is… Star.”

This only made the children even more excited, their faces lighting up.

“Star?!”

“Yes.”

“Like the shiny things in the sky?!”

“Yes.” Five sighed and stared down at his feet. (Y/N) giggled. She then slowly knelt down in front of the two. She gulped and took a deep breath before lifting her head to look them in their faces. This was so much harder than she thought.

“How have you two been?”

Jada was the first to speak, “Oh, uh, good! I miss Mama. But she’s at work…”

“Yeah, but we don’t know when she’s coming back,” Michael scratched his cheek. “Because um… I remember one time when Daddy went to work and then, uh… he didn’t come back. I think he was hit… by a car. And I hope Mama didn’t get hit by a car.”

Five looked to (Y/N), who was shaking. He quickly knelt beside her and took her hand in his. “Your mom is fine, Michael, trust me.” He whispered.

“How do you know?”

“We saw her… before we moved. We met her. And she said that… she misses you two a lot. And… there isn’t a second that goes by when she doesn’t think about you. She hopes you’re happy and healthy. She… told us you two are her favorite people in the world.”

“Oh, yeah, she wrote a song about it!” Jada squealed. “She wrote a song about us and she sings it all the time!”

“It’s Jada’s favorite song.” Michael smiled and tried to hold his sister close so she’d cease her bouncing on the couch. (Y/N) let out a laugh as she watched her kids with tender eyes.

“She also said,” She started off, inhaling deeply. “That she didn’t want to leave you two. And if she could, she’d bring you two with her everywhere she went. But she can’t because- Well, she can’t… A-And she,” She stopped to wipe the tears cascading down her cheeks. “She hopes you two don’t hate her f-for leaving you for this long. And that she loves you… so, so much… You two fill her with so much joy and she doesn’t know what to do without you a-and-”

“Why are you crying, Star?” Jada hopped off the couch and hugged her mother tight. (Y/N) immediately wrapped her arms around her daughter. “Why are you crying?”

“N-Nothing, Jada, I just… I just feel bad because she misses you so much…”

Michael plopped down onto the ground in front of them, joining the hug. “Don’t feel bad. She’ll be home with us soon. That’s what she sings every night. That she… um… she’s gonna wipe our tears away when she comes back.”

“You’re right, Michael,” (Y/N) tearfully laughed. “My god, you’re so right…”

Michael turned to Five with a small smile, reaching his arm out. The time traveller looked around with a frown before pointing to himself. The little boy nodded and motioned him closer. Five shuffled over to the three and was going to ask what he needed, but Michael only pulled him into the hug. He was shocked, to say the very least. He considered leaving the hug, but when Jada tugged on his jacket to pull him closer, he gave in and wrapped his arms around the little family.

All the while, (Y/N)’s mother watched from the side, grinning through her tears.

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“What’d you think of the kids?” (Y/N) whispered as she and Five strolled down the sidewalk, hand-in-hand. After the tear-fest, the two decided to get some fresh air and walked around the neighborhood. It was abnormally normal for Five to simply walk down a sidewalk without a task at hand, without answers to find. But right by his side was the answer to all of his questions.

“I think… Jada looks exactly like you,” The two shared a laugh. “But I must say, they are very intelligent children. And so kindhearted, as well. I mean, they just met me and were so comfortable with me.”

“I don’t know where they get that from.” She chuckled. Five gently tugged on her hand, causing her to step closer.

“You’ve got to start giving yourself credit for things like this. They’re your kids. Where do you think they got it from?” He smiled, raising her hand to his lips. “You’re the most caring person I know, Starlight.” He pressed a tender kiss to her knuckles as she leaned into his side. This beautiful and peaceful moment was squashed, however, when Five glanced over at a newspaper stand and dropped (Y/N)’s hand frantically. He rushed to the stand and took out a newspaper. “No, no, no…”

“Five?” (Y/N) stepped closer, her hand hovering over his shoulder. “What’s wrong…?”

“(Y/N)... we need to get back to the Academy.”

“W-What? Why-”

“The apocalypse is still on.”

Her car sped towards the Academy, the two hoping to god no lives had been taken in their absence. Arriving at the Academy, there was… Well, there was no Academy. It was in shambles, fire acting as a source of light in the night. Thankfully, in the midst of all the wreckage, (Y/N) could count four of her siblings standing around. Unfortunately, she didn’t see Vanya anywhere. The two teens charged out of the car and towards their siblings. “Guys!” Five grabbed (Y/N) by the hand and pulled her with him. The four all turned to them with exhaustion written all over their faces and bodies. “This is it. The apocalypse is still on. The world ends today.”

“I thought you said it was over.” Luther stepped closer to them. Five held up the newspaper he’d been clutching in his hand since he found it.

“I was wrong, okay? This newspaper, I found it in the future the day I got stuck. The headline hasn’t changed.”

“No, that doesn’t mean anything.” Diego shook his head. (Y/N) detected tears in his eyes and walked closer to comfort him, but he only held his hand up in dismissal. Backing off, she turned back to Five. “Time could’ve been altered since that newspaper came out this morning.”

“You’re not listening to me. When I found it, I assumed this place came down along with everything else,” Five glanced around at the wreckage. “But here we are. The moon’s still shining, the earth is in one piece, but not the Academy.” Five was nearly cut off when Klaus snatched the newspaper from him, flipping through its pages.

“I’m confused…”

“Then listen to me, you idiot! Vanya destroys the Academy before the apocalypse. I-I thought Harold Jenkins was the cause, but he was the fuse-”

“Vanya’s the bomb...” (Y/N) sighed in realization. Five gestured towards his love with an exasperated huff.

“Someone gets it… Vanya causes the apocalypse.”

“We have to find her.” Luther muttered as the sound of helicopter blades and sirens could be heard above them. A blinding light shone on all six of them from one of the helicopters. Diego stood and shielded his eyes from the light.

“We have to get the hell out of here!” (Y/N) grabbed a hold of Five’s arm. The siblings began to disperse, Luther commanding them to regroup at the Super Star Lanes. Pulling her close, Five blinked both he and (Y/N) there.

The boy would have pulled off the employee’s head and shoved it up where the sun didn't shine when she told him they needed to pay to get in, but (Y/N) stepped up and slammed some money onto the counter. It was more than enough for them and their siblings. She quickly grabbed his hand and pulled him to one of the lanes, sitting him down in a chair. The boy’s leg was bouncing rapidly and she had to place her hand on it in order for him to look at her. “I know it seems next to impossible, but please keep a level head, bub.” She leaned in and pecked his lips. He let out a sigh and gently pulled her to sit beside him without a word. The two patiently waited for the four to show up and when they did, they all gathered in the seats provided. Silently. No words spoken amongst each other. By this time, (Y/N)’s legs were swung over Five’s lap, the boy resting his hands on her knees as he stared forward, deep in thought. He didn’t break out of his trance until Luther spoke up,

“Look, I hate to be the one to say this, but everyone needs to prepare.”

“For what?” Diego furrowed his brows.

“To do whatever it takes to stop Vanya.” His answer earned him a smack to the chest with the notepad from Allison. Luther stammered and sighed.

“We may not have a choice, Allison.”

“Bullshit,” Diego mumbled as Klaus picked up the newspaper once again. “There’s always options.”

“Yeah, like what?” Five tested, but only received an ‘I don’t know’.

“Look, whatever we decide, we need to find Vanya. And fast, okay? She could be anywhere.” Luther stood from his chair.

“Or… here.” Klaus’s voice turned everyone’s head in his direction. He shook the newspaper a bit before they gathered around him. In the paper was an advertisement for the performance of the Saint Pluvium Chamber Orchestra, with Vanya as first chair. (Y/N) leaned forward to read it, Five placing his hand on her back to keep her from falling over.

“That’s right. Her concert is tonight.” Diego whispered.

“Hello,” The same employee from earlier approached the family, everyone irritably turning to her. “I hate to intrude, but my manager says if you’re not gonna bowl, you gotta leave.” She shrugged, walking off as said manager slapped a pair of bowling shoes on the counter. Luther, absolutely over this whole situation, grabbed a bowling ball and carelessly threw it. The ball bounced a couple of lanes over before knocking all ten pins down.

“Strike.” (Y/N) lazily cheered. She looked over when she heard Allison tapping on her notepad she’d just written on.

SHE’S OUR SISTER

“We’re the only ones capable of stopping this,” Luther stared intently at her. “We have a responsibility to Dad.”

“To Dad?!” Diego raised his voice. “No, I’ve heard enough about-”

“He sacrificed everything to bring us back together.”

“I’m with Luther on this one,” Five spoke up. “We can’t give her a chance to fight back.” When he felt his love move her legs off his lap, he turned to see her frowning in distaste. “What, are you against this?”

“Of course, I’m against this, Five, I don’t want to have to hurt Vanya.”

“What other choice do we have?” Luther raised his brows at her.

“There are billions of lives at stake. We’re past trying to save just one, (Y/N).” The boy gently held her hand. The girl sighed and turned her head away from him.

“It’s just that we’ve hurt her so much already…”

“Hey, you know, guys, uh… maybe I could help.” Klaus suddenly spoke, hopefully glancing around at his siblings. Luther blinked and shook his head.

“Now is not the time, Klaus-”

“No, let him finish,” Diego interrupted Luther. “He saved my life today.”

(Y/N) stared up at Klaus with a small smile. “Really, Klaus? You did that?”

“Yeah, yeah, I did… take credit for it. In fact, the real hero… was Ben.”

The silence between the family was deafening. Diego, Five and (Y/N) were intrigued while Luther and Allison were doubtful. Klaus sighed and walked in front of them. “Today… Listen. Today, he punched me in the face. Remember, I told you, (Y/N), you saw it!”

“Well… I didn’t actually-”

“And earlier at the house, he was the one who saved Diego’s life, not me.”

Luther scoffed. “You’re unbelievable, Klaus.”

“You want proof, is that it? (Y/N), did you or did you not see Ben punch me in the face today?”

The girl stiffened when she felt all eyes on her. Her own darted from Five, to Luther, then to Klaus, who waited with a hopeful smile. Inwardly sighing, she nodded. “Yes, I saw it.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Luther hissed. “You’re always defending his reckless behavior-”

“No, Luther, maybe I’m just the only one who listens to him-”

“No, you encourage him!”

“Fine, I’ll give you some real proof!” Klaus interrupted and grabbed a bowling ball. Readying to throw it, he stared at the space behind (Y/N). “Showtime, baby. Catch!”

Five quickly pulled his love into the other seat with him before the ball could get anywhere near her. She felt her heart sink when the ball smacked against the floor, slowly rolling away to the next party lane. She looked to Klaus in disbelief, now feeling like the world’s biggest fool. Her brother slowly lowered his arms as he stared back at her apologetically. “Is there any way to silence that voice in your head that screams out to be the center of attention? Or the voice that encourages it.” Luther leaned towards (Y/N), who nearly lunged at him.

“Fuck off, Luther!”

“You know, I liked you a lot better before you got laid,” Klaus immediately regretted that when seeing the shock on both Allison and Luther’s faces. “Which was a complete… It- It wasn’t his fault, ‘cause he was ridiculously high, right? And- And the girl, she thought he was a furry-”

“Stop!” Luther shut him down. He then slowly turned to Allison, who grabbed her notepad and walked away from them. Luther called out to her and followed quickly. To make things even more awkward, a woman suddenly walked over to the siblings with her son.

“Excuse me!” She beamed, the four turning to her. “Excuse me, it’s my son Kenny’s birthday today, and… uh… wouldn’t your kids be happier playing with kids their own age? Assuming it’s okay with your two dads.”

(Y/N) got quite the kick out of this, burying her face into Five’s shoulder and quietly laughing as the boy tensed in anger. “I would rather chew off my own foot.” He spat. The woman’s face slowly fell before she escorted her son away. (Y/N) was still laughing as she leaned away when she felt Five get up from his seat.

“If I was going to date a man, you’d be the last man I would date.” Diego stated. Klaus, offended, turned to his sister.

“He’d be lucky to get me.”

“Oh my god, I love you guys.” She snorted into her hand. When her laughter finally died down, she turned to where Five now stood. He was clutching something in his fist and something in her knew he was about to blink away, so she stood quickly. “Five.” She called out and rushed over to him. He turned to her and placed his hands on her shoulders.

“Starlight, I have to take care of something.”

“But Five, you can’t.”

“I have to.”

“But where?! Where do you have to go?!” Her voice broke as she latched onto his sleeves. He glanced down at her hands before meeting her eyes.

“It’s The Handler. I need to… discuss something with her.”

“Five-”

“Starlight, I promise I will come back for you guys. I’ll come back to you,” He gently rubbed her shoulders. “Okay? I love you.”

“I love you, too.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. Five smiled warmly and leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss. She pressed hers right back to his as her grip on him loosened. When he pulled away, he gave her one last smile before blinking away. She willed herself to return to her seat by her brothers. They picked up on her anxiety immediately, watching her tap her fingers to her knee repeatedly as she bit her lip harshly. The two sat forward with concerned looks.

“(Y/N)?” Diego called, but she hadn’t heard him. Klaus reached over and grabbed her working hand.

“He’ll be back, dear. He wouldn’t just leave us, leave you.”

“I-I know,” Her voice broke, the girl cursing at the sound. “I just… e-every time he leaves, I’m terrified it’s the last time I’ll see him.”

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themadauthorshatter · 3 years

Text

Let's dive back in.

I'm excited to meet our Million In One man❤

Sanders Sides BEETLEJUICE AU Part 2!!!

We start with Patton working on the model town, especially their own funeral, as Thomas tries dusting around. It's been a few more weeks and they're bored.

Thomas gives up and sits down, asking why there's so much dust, as neither have a body, and why they can't just leave; France is supposed to be really nice this time of year. Patton shrugs, but wonders maybe this house is their heaven.

Thomas smiles at that, though still questions why heaven is so dusty.

Patton hides a smirk and keeps working; "...Reeeasons?"

The two share a laugh and Thomas asks what Patton read in the hand book.

Patton stops his work and passes to book to Thomas, saying he can barely understand it, but maybe Thomas will.

Thomas gives it a go, skimming through the pages, checking for a table of contents, and an index before starting back at page 1; "Like Medical Chemistry all over again."

Cut to Patton as he continues on the model, more specifically the cemetery. We don't hear what Patton's thinking, but we see it on his face; the cemetery isn't big enough, because he didn't plan it out fully, the wreathes for his and Thomas's graves aren't as funeral-esque as he'd like, and he didn't make a different model for Dice, who he's still annoyed with.

He snaps out of it when he hears an, "OH!" from Thomas and asks what's up.

Turns out people usually won't see or hear the dead and Thomas and Patton are TEMPORARILY stuck in the house, but the amount of time isn't specified.

They hear a pair of cars pull up and investigate to see Dice again, who's not in any fancy clothes, but is still in black, and is accompanied by a VERY fancy looking business man.

Our ghost friends wonder what's going on, and get a bad feeling when they see Dice nod and shake hands with the business man.

Patton, however, notices the watch he's wearing and finds a telescope he has, using it to gwt a closer look.

The watch has rubies on it.

Thomas, who's more far sighted, asks what a guy like that is doing in this part of Florida, and pauses when he sees the growing excitement and unease on Patton's face.

They watch the two leave, and see Dice give the house another look and take a flask out of his coat and drink from it before going to his own car.

Thomas continues to watch as Patton leaves the window, leaning the telescope back against the wall.

WHICH MATCH CUTS TO A MAN HANDING A WOMAN A NEWSPAPER. She stares at it and then races away. We're in a studio, specifically in the dressing room/makeup area, it's nothing but controlled chaos, and everyone is fussing, well most at least.

These calm souls are the people painting on and fussing over a man, who we see in quick cuts, one with LOVELY, fluffy, full of volume, red hair, tan, smooth skin, and a body carved by gods, long legs, a thin waist, and lean body, but still muscular(so he's fit, but not buff; he has muscles, but he's still got the body of a ballerina), lovely eyelashes, eyebrows that match his hair, soft lips, ears pierced with roses and ruby studs, and all in all, a painting brought to life.

This, dear fans, followers, and viewers, is Roman Scarlet- now Deetz- and is preparing for his photoshoot, one that requires him to look like a porcelain doll to match with the set.

The idea came from his adopted son, who isn't there.

While we're focused on Roman, we hear a man whistle and compliment him, saying he looks like he was painted in oil and pastels. Roman smirks up at him and reminds him that he knows, because he's already said it.

Remy Deetz, his husband, shares a smirk and almost kisses him, almost because he stops himself-much to Roman's confusion- and says he's not allowed to distract anyone while they work, including Roman.

Remy looks the same as he usually is, but his hair's darker, just saying that now.

Everyone stops as we see the well dressed man from before, being Roman's agent.

Roman greets him quite warmly and asks what brings him and how his excursion went.

The agent reveals it went well and he's got good news AND bad news, so which would Roman like to hear first? Roman would like the former, please and thank you.

Good news: the house he's interested in is up for grabs and, seeing as how he's placed the highest bid on it, is as good as his.

Roman rejoices at this excellent news, clapping his hands and being a happy boy, before askimg what the bad news is.

The girl we saw pushes her way in and hands Roman the newspaper as his agent also delivers the bad news.

The house is up for sale because the original owners are dead, having drowned in a car accident. And unless Roman wants rumors to arise of him killing the two for the house, he'd better wait for a little while.

Roman has the wind knocked out of him, and asks how long they died.

A month.

After a moment, and a glance to Remy, Roman asks if he can still put a down payment on the house.

He can, but, again, he can't move in for a while.

Roman accepts thise terms; it's lighter on his conscious and still lets him have the house.

TIME JUMP A MONTH OR TWO AHEAD AND CUT TO THOMAS AND PATTON!

They're asleep in bed, and we get a ghost gag of Patton hogging the blanket and revealing a floating Thomas, who wakes up and falls down with a yelp.

Patton wakes up, too, but it's because there was a loud BANG that happened just as Thomas hit the floor.

He asks how high Thomas was to fall that hard, as Thomas asks Patton if he heard that BANG, especially one that happens again.

They quickly leave their room and see moving men enter the living room, and haphazardly shove a couch on a roller until it hits the stair railing.

Remy races over and tells them to please try being a little more careful becasue this is country craftsmanship, not city hocus pocus.

Roman slinks in and takes in the house he'd wanted so much, admitting it wasn't what he'd expected, but one of the owners was a small interior designer, so what was he expecting in the first place?

Thomas, from his place next to Patton on the upper level, gapes at the comment, very much offended as Roman goes back outside to examine the exterior.

Thomas wonders if Dice had a point, but Patton squeals at the fact that Cardinal Rose is in their house. Thomas isn't as enthused, mainly because 1. They can't talk to him, 2. He can't see them, and 3. Dice SOLD this house to him after the two had just died.

Patton is discouraged, but still smiles with Thomas that there's a celebrity in their house.

Thomas smiles with him and they have a fanboy moment, holding hands, squealing and giggling, and jumping with excitement; happiness now, stress later.

Cut to Roman outside as he scrutinizes the area. There's no fence or no gate to keep any intruders out. Not even a garden to make it pretty, at least.

His looking brings him to his car, and looks inside, his look of, 'what can I fix about this?' becoming a mix of disappointment and frustration.

"We'll be here for a little while, the LEAST you could do is come out and look at it."

He sighs and walks away, but we focus on the car as the back passenger door opens and reveals a boy.

He's a petite little thing, a young teenager between 13 and 16, kind of cat-like, but has that 'angry cat' look to him. He's got bags under his eyes, a slight scowl on his face, and is dressed in black. His hair is extremely cleverly dyed, black on top, where everyone can see, but purple underneath, which we see as he runs his hands through his hair.

He stares at the house with a mix of sorrow and indifference, muttering that they're now the Addams Family, maybe a little worse.

Remy calls for the boy, our emo himself Virgil, and asks him to be a dear and take his luggage inside and look for a room he wants; there's five bedrooms and three and a half bathrooms, so there's a lot to pick.

Virgil remarks that he'll try not to invade the master bedroom, because that's undoubtedly going to be Remy's and Roman's room, and trudges toward the house, Remy ruffling his hair.

Remy watches Virgil before turning to Roman, who's standing and doing his best thinking face.

Remy wraps his arms around Roman from behind and asks for his opinion. Roman gives it to him flat: he wants to change the house. Remy gives him a withering look and Roman stipulates it will be just a few things, nothing major. Maybe take down a wall or two and put them somewhere else, maybe some paint, just things that will make this house their home.

Remy politely asks him not to, because this house belonged to someone else and shouldn't be torn up, but Roman reiterates: not the whole house. Just a couple things and then it can be hone. And he dares Remy to say the house is perfect as is, because it's not. He's just trying to make Roman and Virgil comfortable and he knows it.

Remy admits that he DOES want Roman and Virgil to feel at home and there are a few touch-ups that can be made, but this house wasn't even theirs to begin with, so they shouldn't change up too much.

Roman, quite solemnly, states that the house is theirs now and the owners aren't coming back, not when they're in a better place.

Comedic cut to Patton and Thomas as they sit and watch the moving madness unfold, right in their house. Virgil slips in, and catches Patton's attention.

Virgil looks around as Remy and Roman return.

Remy asks what the teen thinks of their new home. Virgil looks over at Roman, who's judging again, and murmurs that he(Roman) probably hates it. He spots a spider on the stairs railing, like between the rungs, and admits he could live here, letting the spider crawl onto his hand.

Remy walks over to an armchair and takes a seat, taking a breath and checking his watch. He doesn't know about Virgil and Roman, but it's only been twenty minutes and he already feels at home. Roman muses, "Good for you," and notices the kitchen, sighing at how that, at least, is acceptable and something he's probably not majorly changing, maybe he can even get into cooking, like he's been trying. As he walks up the stairs, Virgil calls about, quite bitterly, about how great it is that cooking is another thing Roman's good at.

Roman walks to the beginning of the stairs and dares Virgil to repeat that, though Remy calls for them both to leave each other alone; even though the comment was a little rude, Virgil's still nervous, and new to Roman's lifestyle, and needs time to adjust, and moving around a lot does not help with that. Roman counters that he's nervous too, but that doesn't mean he's going to be a sourpuss and snap at anyone who passes by.

Patton and Thomas try to ignore the argument, but are appalled by the fact that Dice gave their house to these people. Patton wonders why they even moved, if they hate it in this part of Florida. Thomas groans that they're probably from the city and probably want to use the land for making more condos and apartment buildings. Patton asks if Remy's a writer, though, and Thomas leans to his side until he falls to the floor, groaning how both their idols are selfish and insufferable. Patton rubs his arm as Virgil walks by.

The two catch a glimpse of each other, though it's in slow motion(nothing but TV perspective in this series), Patton giving a confused look as to why a teen would wear so much black in the Florida summer and Virgil having his own confusion be because he thought the house was empty before they moved in, the owners are dead, after all.

Before Roman and Remy can really go at it, someone walks through the door and muses that despite the change of scenery, Roman hasn't changed at all, being dramatic and lovely, as always. His entrance catches everyone's attention, though Virgil hightails it into room hunting.

Remy rolls his eyes as Roman squeals with joy as he hugs his friend, Janus, a golden blond who displays a tattoo on the side of his face to hide his scar, has gotten his ear on the same side cropped so it's sharp, and looks almost as impressive as Roman, though he slays in a plain black suit and yellow dress shirt.

The two hug and Roman barely contains his excitement at the fact his friend came all the way from the city to see him.

Janus returns the gesture and is glad to see Roman too, because this place, in its current state, will not do, and it's a good thing Remy's a best seller, because they're renovating big time.

Roman gives a glance to Remy and says that the house itself is fine, he just wants to make small-ish changes.

Thomas quickly sits up just as Virgil opens one of the bedroom doors, Thomas shouting and Virgil calling out, "Knocking down a wall and throwning paint on it is not a small change!"

Roman harshly shushes and gestures for Virgil to go away, but Janus shakes his head; guess Virgil hasn't changed either.

Patton pulls Thomas back and asks what they're going to do, because he can't tell if this is paradise or punishment.

Thomas shrugs and replies that he's not sure, but knows they can't stop them, seeing as how no one can see them, but that sets off a light bulb in both their heads and they turn to each other.

Both have been reading the handbook, and there's a word for thise in their situation, a word that makes them smile and foght to contain another hit of excitement:

Ghosts.

With a laugh, forhead touch, and quick kiss, they get to work.

#sanders sides #sanders sides au #beetlejuice au #roman sanders #ts roman #remy sanders #ts remy #virgil sanders #ts virgil #janus sanders #ts janus #character death tw #implied alcohol #dice sanders #critic sanders #not handling grief well tw

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sparkles-and-trash · 4 years

Text

South Park Main 5, Headcanons Masterpost ~

Stan Marsh

Looks:

hair is actually nice and somewhat floppy naturally, but because he wears a hat most of the time, it’s usually flat and a little greasy kshdhsd

hair is that blue-ish black color

eyes is piercing ice blue

skin is light, kind porcelain like, but he also tans really fast?

soft sweaters are the only thing he’ll wear from early autumn to late spring

in summer he’ll literally only wear band shirts and flannels lol

Personality and General Trivia:

totally cares more for animals than most people let’s be real

sometimes he struggles with seeing things from others point of view and ha can come across as a little self centered

he is aware of it tho and tries to be better at it

his instagram is filled with Sparky haha

let’s Sparky sleep in his bed every single night even tho Sharon tells him not to

likes reading and writing, has a tiny obsession with dark themes and Lovecraftian stuff

he and Kenny volunteers at the local pet shelter and homeless shelter together

the pet shelter was Stan’s idea, and the homeless shelter was Kenny’s

wants to be edgy but is really just very soft

“Kyle said...”

believes everything Kyle tells him lol

enjoys video games a lot, prefers single player, story based ones tho

also still enjoys boardgames a lot, and when the big group isn’t up for hit, he, Tweek, Jimmy, Butters and Cartman groups together to nerd it out

has clinical depression, but is managing it with help of a therapist, his mom and friends

sometimes things gets pretty dark, but he is getting better at reaching out and asking for help in those times

Friendships:

like I mentioned above, he struggles a bit with seeing things for other’s point of view

but he is aware of his flaws and is trying to be better

can get a little bit caught up in his own drama, but listens when his friends tells him he needs to get over himself

will always stand up for his friends, especially if they’re not there to do it themselves

when he starts getting closer with Butters in early high school he gets really upset when he realizes how much he gets shit-talked

enjoys spending time with his friends individually, probably the most of the group, and takes initiative to do so a lot

which is very important to Kenny, since he tends to feel a little overlooked sometimes, and it makes their friendship really strong

same with Butters, except Butters doesn’t usually doesn’t mind mainly being in a group, but the first few times and Stan hangs out alone it’s obvious he really appreciates it

Family:

daddy issues

sorry I don’t make the rules lol

has a decent relationship with Sharon tho

she’s a good mom

and he wants to be a good son

Shelly is still kinda angry and scary

she keeps the “only I can beat you up bro” attitude and there is secretly mutual respect there

but we don’t talk about that!!!

Ships and relationships:

okay so my main ships for him are stutters (Butters), stenny (Kenny) and Style (Kyle)

my fav is stutters tho

I usually head canon him as bi or pan, but as with everyone in SP, I’m open to different interpretations if different Au’s and stories!

I just really like the idea of them learning to balance facing their issues AND celebrate the good things in life together

I def think he can be a bit insecure in relationships, struggling with feeling like he’s not enough, and would need a partner that naturally will be affirming and positive

that’s not to say he’s super needy or clingy, he’s just a bit insecure

but I really think he would truly be a good partner

he’s caring, kind and very appreciative

which is again why I really like him with Butters offh

Kenny McCormick

Looks:

sandy blonde hair that’s always messy and floppy/softly curled

teeth is kind of crooked due to lack of funds for braces

his front teeth are kinda big and has a significant gap

lots and lots of freckles man

all over his face, shoulders, back, hands and arms

tans fast

I actually really like him with brown eyes? like, soulful deep brown eyes

but also very, very clear blue ones, like almost unnatural (yes that’s a mysterious thing)

medium tall

wears his hoodies, usually with the hood up, no matter if it’s freezing or a heatwave

not conventionally attractive, but charming looking lol

likes to wear some eyeliner every now and then

and nail polish, but it’s like super clumsily put on and always chipped

Personality and General Trivia:

falls asleep in class a lot, but always seems to know the answer if the teacher asks him something

also has decent grades

I think he’s way smarter than he gives himself credit for, both socially and school wise

the therapist of the groups

actually, the therapist of the whole school

knows a lot of secrets due to this, but he always, ALWAYS keeps them

I see him as very friendly and approachable, but terribly hard to get close with

lots and lots of walls, man

very much an observer type?

quietly stays in the background if that’s an option

but if he is talked too, or feels like he has something to really contribute to in a conversation he’ll jump in and be comfortable talking and taking up space if he is with friends or people he knows

if not, he’ll just stay in the background with that.... look on his face that just makes you know he knows more than he says

works at Tweek’s parents coffee shop, is kinda close with Tweek because of this

zones out a lot

“…what?”

can fall asleep anywhere

Friendships:

is pretty close friends with Butters!

Butters used to have a little crush on him, but Kenny didn’t find out until years later lol

he also has a lot of patience with Cartman compared to the others

which is why Cartman actually cares when Kenny sets him in his place

likes learning new things, and does that with Kyle a lot!

both school and homework stuff, and things like cooking and other homey stuff, the two of them really bond with this

him and Stan volunteer together, and I already mentioned, and that time means a lot to Kenny

since he works with Tweek, the two of them are pretty close and good friends

is the one of the main boys who gets along the best with Craig and those guys

actually hangs out with them from time to time, so does Butters

it low-key drives the others crazy

Family:

I often like to think his parents would keep having these bursts where they try to get their shit together?

and it’s slow, and one step back and two backwards, but the fact that they’re trying at all means a lot to the kids after years of them... not

I can also see Kevin stepping up and taking more charge, Kevin get’s way too little love in this fandom!

Kenny usually never fights with his sibs

but when he does it’s with Karen, usually because he’s worried about her and it’s nor pretty

none of them can stay mad at each other for long tho

Kevin trying to be all “big brother” and kinda failing because he is chaotic, but he really wants to do right and Karen and Kenny knows that and appreciates it

Ships and relationships:

ohhh kay here we go, unpopular opinions ahead!

first, my main Kenny ships are Tokenny (Token x Kenny) and Stenny

rn Tokenny is my main, I love the potential dynamics, both with their personalties and backgrounds and families

I tend to head canon him as pan or bisexual, and demiromatic

I know the demiromantic part is... controversial, at best

but hear me out!

I see him being very comfortable with discussing sexual stuff, and being attracted to someone physically is never something he feels awkward or bad about

but when it comes to more emotional connections, he is way more awkward and fumbling

for those who doesn’t know, a demiromatic person (like myself! surprise!) won’t have crushes or romantic feelings for someone they don’t already have some form of emotional bond with! We can still feel sexual attraction tho, and some of us are comfortable with casual sexual encounters (like me!) and others are not, and both are very valid!

I usually have two ways of writing him

either him being comfortable having casual sexual interactions, but struggling with the romantic aspect and having to figure out how this works for him

him having some trauma related to debating sexually very early, thinking he was all ready and it was just sex, but getting his emotions caught up in it and being very heartbroken and confused, and therefore having issues with being intimate with people for a while

I mix them up depending on the story, but the first one is usually my go-to!

Kyle Broflovski

Looks:

he still covers his hair a lot, either with hats or hoods?

because I really see him being insecure about it

it’s a medium sort of red, and like, really curly and fluffy

not frizzy, big like... big

I usually give him green eyes, but I also could see him with a light brown or hazel!

some light freckles on his face that only really shows up if he’s spent time in the sun

pretty tall, kind of lanky

d i m p l e s

Personality and General Trivia:

big nerd energy

in every way, board games, video games, loves school, like genuinely, enjoys studying for tests, loves fantasy books, the longer and more complicated the better

co-captain of the debate team with Wendy

is good with arguments unless he gets too passionate on the subject, or if someone knows his weak points and uses them to tick him off

it’s usually Cartman

his mom wants him to go to an Ivy League but honestly he just wants to go to the same one in Denver as Stan, Butters and Cartman are planning on, and now that Kenny is also considering it he seriously think he’ll die if all his friends go to the same college without him

he struggles with FOMO, which is kind of an issue since he’s a busy guy, and some of his friends are not lol

if any one of these kids become a jock, it’s def Kyle with his basketball change my mind-

but not like, a letterman wearing fuckboy type of jock, but like, is obsessed with his sport and his team and works really hard to do well type of jock

Friendships:

very loyal

he and Stan walks Sparky together at least twice a week, just to be sure they’re always caught up with each other even when they’re busy with school, sports and dating

yeah they’re still super best friends

when they started high school he got closer to Wendy as she’s also on the debate team, in all of his AP classes and they share a lot of the same interests

they’re still good friends, but nothing more

the first time Cartman got really drunk was at a party freshman year, and at the time everyone was pretty fed up with him, and he ended up crying and Kyle found him, and Cartman thinks Kyle doesn’t remember, but he does

that was the first night Kyle really kinda understood why Cartman was the way he was, and even though he still thinks he’s a dick at times, he tries to remember everyone have a story, and to give people time

but he often gets too riled up to remember that lol

good pals with Jimmy, they share a lot of interests in fantasy stuff and have the same humor

he also start to go along well with Craig when they are around middle school age, but they’re both kinda too stubborn to admit they’re friends until a year later lol

Family:

even tho Sheila is pretty overbearing and can be too much, he is a mommy’s boy deep down

tense relationship with his dad

enjoys cooking, so that’s where he spends a lot of time with his mom!

tries his best to keep up with Ike and his life

sometimes he is a tad cringy when doing so, but Ike appreciates the gesture

Ike is pretty confident and strong in himself so he doesn’t care if Kyle is a bit awkward lol

the type of brothers who genuinely enjoys spending time together

Ships and relationships:

I like Style, Kyman, K2 and Kyvid!

I think he’d be a late bloomer when it comes to love and dating

struggles with opening up and letting himself feel these things

I often think of him as biromantic asexual, but I’m not always set on it!

he’d enjoy traditional dinner and a movie type of dates a lot, such a nerd

Eric Cartman

Looks:

keeps his hair cut pretty short and styled

has heterochromia iridium (different colored eyes), one blue and one brown

also he has a real nice smile when it’s a genuine one

which is rare but like

it happens

is kinda insecure about his weight and tries to compensate with always having the newest stuff and pretending not to care

sometimes tries to diet in secret

he isn’t huge anymore, but is still sort of broad, and isn’t skinny, but like..

kinda bulky, if he wears the right type of clothes it’s hard to see if he’s chubby or buff

but he is def chubby

Personality and General Trivia:

spends way to much time on reddit arguing with randoms

angry gamer, will call you a slur on voice chat

after almost getting dropped by his friends in middle school he tries a little harder to be a more decent person

still an asshole at heart, but like, an asshole who sometimes cares about some people

always tells people that’s he’s seen that meme before, even when he hasn’t

nothing is ever his fault and the only ones who can get him to admit he’s wrong are Kenny and, very, very rarely, Kyle

he wears supreme hoodies for a full year of High School and stands in line all night for the new ones and never shuts up about how he is the first in South Park to have the new stuff

Kenny finds it hilarious to buy the fake supreme stickers and put then on his own worn out hoodies

Kyle makes it his main goal in life to put things (everything from used gym socks to old food he finds in his locker) in Cartmans hoods and see how long it takes for him to notice

can’t handle alcohol, is constantly being teased for it

sloppy drunk lol

one of the main reasons the other bothers with Cartman trough middle school, when he is at his worst, is because of his big basement, the old Coon Lair, who got a big renovation around 7th grade and is an awesome, private hangout spot with a big TV and wifi and gaming systems

Friendships:

constantly says he hates his friends but would die if everyone left him

is secretly terribly jealous of Kyle, both his closeness to Stan, his basketball skills, his grades and his family

but they had that thing in Freshman year when Kyle found him drunk, alone and sad, and Cartman himself barely remembers it, and doesn’t think Kyle does because he never mentioned it

but he does

so much tension there, but also co-dependency

sees Kenny and Butters as his best friends, and knows deep down neither of them feel that way about him and it secretly kills him

is in the same board game group with Stan

is low-key terrified of Tweek lol

Family:

big mommy issues

but also very protective of her

I really enjoy the AU/headcanon that Liane marries Clyde’s dad

it’s not like, the only version I like, but I put it in as many au’s and works of mine as I can

I def think both boys would be mortified right away

but Clyde comes around first, because he really wants a brother, even if that brother have to be Cartman

Cartman would never admit it, but after some time he really starts to see Clyde as a brother and genuinely cares for him

Ships and relationships:

I mainly see Cartman as gay

sometimes I start of AU’s and stories with him not being out to himself or anyone else tho, I think that whole journey for him will be very interesting and help him grow as a person

I def think he’d have a few girlfriends before he comes out tho?

he can be very charming when he wants too yanno

my only Cartman ship is kyman atm, but I’m def open to explore more of

Leopold Butters Stotch

Looks:

I really really really like T A L L Butters???

like tall and gangly and adorable

I know it’s very popular to head canon that he bleaches his hair, but I like to think he has very light blond air naturally!

keeps it short on the sides and longer on top, with cute ass curls

soft sky blue eyes

also dyes his bangs light blue in high school!!

Pete the goth helps him because he is a pro of dying bangs

I like to think he’d be into pastel grunge, and keep his love for Hello Kitty and Sanrio etc, but still be a bit more... edgy?

Personality and General Trivia:

one of those people who’s friendly with almost everyone

but that doesn’t mean he’s friends with them, yanno?

gets drunk from one wine cooler

loves the theater and is in the drama club, but likes to be behind the stage, not on it

wants to be a director one day

watches Netflix on his phone every single time he has any time to spare, because he’s always binging a show

is usually pretty positive and kind, gives people the benefit of the doubt

but can be very stubborn, and if he has decided he dislikes or doesn’t trust someone, it’s almost impossible to change his mind

Friendships:

Butters put up with Cartman for so long because he genuinely thinks he can be fun when he’s not horrible, and he really tries his best to believe in people

he was also the first one to forgive him after the others cut him off

a very loyal and fun friend

takes a lot of initiative to do stuff, and loves hosting movie nights

thinks of these boys as his closest friends, but is also real close to Wendy, Bebe, Jimmy and Tweek

Family:

I just hate Stephen so much you guys

so tbh I usually like to just... have Linda leave him, or straight up kill him off oops

I know Linda is terrible too, I do, but I think she could possibly have a moment of realization if something happens like Butters potentially being taken away?

idk I’m not gonna go too deep into this, I know it’s such a heavy topic and I don’t wanna seem like I just ignore it, but I personally don’t usually include Stephen directly in my stories, and this is why, I hope y’all understand and respect that!

Ships and relationships:

my main Butters ship is Stutters (Stan x Butters)

I mentioned a lot why in Stan’s headcanons?

but idk, I just really think they’d balance each other well, and could have a very interesting and cute relationship!

I usually headcanons him as pan or gay, and genderqueer, but I’m open for other interpretations too!

he does date a little bit, but have never been in a real relationship and isn’t stressing about it!

he did have a pretty huge crush on (a very unaware) Kenny during middle school, but then they started hanging out a lot more and became really close and Butters didn’t really bring it much thought?

that’s until Cartman gets jealous and throws out a “what are you guys dating and fucking and being gay huh???” and Butters mind immediately goes to “omg ew no he’s like my brother!”

aaand that’s how Butters realized he was over his crush

they two of them stay close friends tho, Kenny makes Butters laugh and helps him be more sure of himself and Butters helps Kenny remember that they’re still just kids and should have fun and be good

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glitterbootsharry · 4 years

Text

Two- Witchy Woman

Disclaimer: I do not know much about witchcraft or anything associated with it besides the few tv shows and movies I have seen. If I have gotten anything wrong or mixed up, please feel free to let me know. I want to get as much right as I can as I have done some research, but I know I do not know a lot.

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I bite at my thumb pad as I look my dilemma in the eye and time is running out. Rowan will be here soon, and after making the last clean up check, I decide that my bleached tee isn’t good enough for the small study session. Two button up shirts lay on my bed, covering the blue plaid quilt my mum bought me when I first moved out- she cried as she pressed the nonexistent wrinkles out of the thick fabric with her hands, tucking the corners neatly under the mattress. My eyes divert between the two. They’re the same, in reality, just inverted colors of the other. The white droplets on the black silk. The black droplets on the white silk. I walk over to my top drawer and search for the matching neck scarf that I insisted on buying, giving my older sister another reason to roll her eyes at me. I hear a sudden knock on my front door and in haste, I pull out my answer to my dilemma.

“Coming,” I call out, buttoning the white droplet shirt. I ruffle my long curly hair before rushing to the front door, my shirt half-buttoned.

I turn the knob, holding my breath as I watch Rowan come into view. Her hair is pulled into a neat ponytail hoisted high on her head and she’s wearing a black graphic tee that her sleeves rolled up. “Hi,” my voice croaks as she stands outside my flat door with her backpack on her shoulders. The black velvet chicken lays across her throat as it tighter as she smiles softly at me with her mouth parts slowly.

“Hi.” My hand grips the brass knob tightly as I lean against the wooden door, crossing my legs in front of one another. I become all too aware of how long I look at Rowan, drinking in her brown eyes and drowning in her glowing skin. I want to stare at her all day- she could be doing nothing and I would be intrigued.

“Can I come in or are we studying out here?” She cocks her brow up at me, a sly smile forming on her mouth before I push the door open completely forgetting the reason she came here for.

“Oh, erm, yeah,” I rub the nape of my neck, embarrassed as I motion her through the doorway. She walks past me, her shoulder brushing my chest, and I smell the sweet scent of flowers. “How are you?” I close the door and follow her into my living room. It’s small, with only a couch, television and its stand and small coffee table in between the two, but it’s one of my favorite places in the flat. She sits down on the cream leather couch and begins to dig through her bag.

“I’m fine,” she says as she pulls out two copies of The Tempest. “Didn’t know if you had a copy so I grabbed one from the store. If that’s okay?” She hands me the red used book, corners of the pages slightly torn from the previous owners’ use. I suddenly feel warm as I stand in the room, all too aware of my looming presence. I sit down beside her, looking over the book before realizing that my own book is in my bedroom. “Thanks,” I hold up my gift before gently opening the cover. Inside was a new inscription from the gingerly handwriting that I have just now come in contact with.

“I owed you.”

I smiled as I turned the page and began to read the play again. I can’t help but notice how close we’re sitting next to each other, feeling the electricity nearly flying through us. I clear my throat as I try to concentrate on the printed words, but her slow breathing fills my ears. I adjust my black jeans and run my hand across the length of my jeans, wiping the slight sweat away. It was too much for any man to bear, being in the room with Rowan, let alone being this close to her. My pinky could reach over and touch the exposed skin of her knees and I’d melt into liquid. I look over at her, her brows furrowed in concentration, and I feel my heart begin to race. The black ink tattoo behind her ear is of a crescent moon and stars creeping onto her neck. “Do you want some coffee? Tea? Crisps?” I ask, finally breaking the heavy and unbearable silence between us. Rowan looks up at me, completely exasperated, and smiles softly, placing her hand in the crook of the small book with her pencil stuck in her ponytail.

“Sure,” she says, her voice melodic to my ears. Her eyes are dark when looking up at me and I feel my throat run dry and I can’t seem to watch her watching me. Normally, I’m calm and collected around women- I can chat them up all the way to my bedroom to pull my leg over, but Rowan… She makes me nervous when she walks into the room with my stomach in knots. “Whatever you have is nice. Don’t go and make a fuss because of me.”

You’re worth the fuss, I think to myself. What is going on, Styles? You’re never like this.

I shake my head and leave the living room to Rowan. The kitchen, though small, is big enough to let my thoughts out. I think Rowan’s beautiful, yes, but why am I so nervous around her? She’s just my classmate and we’re doing a project together. Calm down.

The kettle hisses at me, letting me know it’s ready and I pour it into a teapot, grab two cups placing them with sugar and milk on a small tray my absent father gave me two birthdays ago and tuck the half empty bag of crisps under my elbow. I walk back into the living room with Rowan on the phone, her voice frantic.

“You sure? Is she okay?” she asks, turning her body into the couch when she sees me. “Alright, erm, I’ll be right there. Thank you, Mary.”

She looks up at me with pleading eyes full of regret before she speaks, her voice barely above a squeak.

“I’ve got to go. It’s me Gran.” She stands and proceeds to shove her book into her bag before she walks out of my flat, but not before I place the tray down on the table with a force that I never meant to use, rattling the porcelain dishes.

“Wait, let me, at least, walk you down,” I call out, running after her as I rake my hair in frustration. I closed the door, half running after Rowan as she glided down the stairs. She’s in the car park before I can break ground. The sound of the engine spurring fills the air. She tries to turn the engine again, again, and again until I reach the opened car door.

“You’ll flood the engine that way. Be no use to you then,” I say, my smile trying to calm Rowan down. “I can take you.”

“I can’t ask that of you, Harry,” Rowan’s voice breaks, tears spilling down her face.

“You didn’t ask, love, I offered. C’mon,” I nod my head back to my flat. “Let me grab my keys and wallet and we’ll be on the way, yeah?” Rowan nods as she stands outside her car. I hear the slamming of her door when I turn to leave and a hushed, “Fuck.”

***

“It’s down there. First little dirt road on your left,” Rowan points at the small brown path that barely lets my car fit on its way. It was a quiet thirty minute drive to the small village Rowan calls home. Shere- the small town that never lets any new business go unnoticed. Rowan busied herself calling Mary again to check in, letting her know she was on the way. I pull up to a small weather worn red brick house with flowers planted in every inch of ground that could be except for the small gravel pathway that leads you to the front wooden door. Roses, tulips, daffodils, wildflowers- Rowan had every flower that one could have, but the majority of the vast arrangement of color were roses- pink, yellow, purple, red. Vines and moss creep up the brick of the house with no intention of stopping.

“You want to come in?” Rowan asks as she begins to climb out of my car. “Be a shame that you came all this way without a proper cup of tea and a thank you.”

“You want me to come in?” I ask, but Rowan pushes the front door of her home open by the time I climb out of my car. She left the front door open for me and when I walked in, the strong scent of flowers and chocolate hit my nose.

“Gran?” Rowan calls out, her eyes frantic as she walks into the front hallway. “Why don’t you wait for me in the parlor? Gran should be coming soon.” She turns her head looking back into the open sliding glass door into the back garden. “Erm, she’s got a bit of a memory problem so…” She looks back up to me, tears brimming over.

“Go,” I say, “I’ll find the parlor. Don’t worry about me.” Rowan smiles, graciously, and walks into the back garden, which unsurprisingly, has more roses and plants within eyesight. I wander around the small home, the cozy air reminding me of my childhood one, before I find the small unused parlor. Book line the walls- all the way from Poe to Everything to You Need to Know about Herbs. I run my finger over the spine of a small leather book labeled “Astarte’s Book of Shadows”. I pull it from the row, the leather claiming the books that sit next to it. It feels heavy when I finally have it in my hands and I have an urge to open it, but the feeling fades when I hear Rowan’s voice.

“Gran, you can’t do that. The cookies were burning. You scared me. What if I-“

“Ya Amar, you cannot worry about such things. I’m fine. How was your reading with that tall boy you told me about?” A sweet, but stern voice spoke back at Rowan’s concerns.

“You were sitting on the garden wall- the high one. But,” Rowan sighed. “My car wouldn’t start so he brought me. He’s in the study, Gran. Behave.” A small elderly woman that looked almost like Rowan with a crooked back turned into the room. Her skin was tanned like Rowan’s but with white long hair in a braid. Her skin, wrinkled with sun spots, was also covered with small tattoos. She looked up at me and smiled before sitting down on the blue couch that I was standing behind. I placed the black book back on the shelf and sat down beside the aging woman. I extend my hand and introduce myself.

“Harry Styles, madam.” She looks at my hand and smiles. Her fragile fingers wrap around my pinky, pulling me towards her. She places her other hand over the top of mine before speaking.

“You know she likes you too. Only one who's ever been truly nice to her. Alice Lloyd.” She lets go of my hand and laughs softly as she was in a small joke that I was unaware of.

Do what? I think. I never said…

“You didn’t have to.”

“Gran, behave.” Rowan brings three cups in one hand. I try to stand to help her, but she shoots me down. She brings an antique teapot. She gently pours tea into the three cups, smiling as she hands Alice her cup and as she hands me my own, her smile is full of gratitude.

“Quite a garden you have,” I say speaking to both women. “It’s lovely.”

“Gran started it when she moved here years ago. I just try to keep it up,” Rowan sits down into the chair opposite us. Her hair is down, small tendrils falling into her face as she blows into the small cup.

“You do more than that, ya amar. You put the new basil bush in just yesterday. Don’t sell yourself short, love,” Alice sighs before turning to me. “You from London, Harry?”

“Just outside. Holmes Chapel in Cheshire. My mum owns a pub there in town.”

“How nice,” Alice looks at my shirt and I’m all too aware that my shirt is nearly unbuttoned, exposing my two swallows on my chest and the butterfly on my torso. I clear my throat as I try to casually button the rest of my shirt. “You go to the university, as well? English major? Let me guess, you want to become a writer?”

“Gran,” Rowan’s voice is short- her eyes not faltering from her tea.

“Well, it looks like the fun for me has run out. The adventure outside has taken me so I think I’ll retire to my bedroom for the evening. Good meeting you, Harry,” Alice motions me to lean closer to her with her finger and when doing so, I feel the slight wet kiss on my cheek. I smile before speaking, “Nice meeting you Gran.”

Rowan helps her grandmother up and when they think they’re out of hearing, I hear the small whisper, “He’s got dimples, Rowan. Quite handsome. Don’t mess this up.”

I smile, my dimples evident, as I hear Rowan’s small, but grand response, my heart overwhelming with joy and wanting.

“I won’t. As long as he doesn’t.”

###

@awomanindeniall @sunflwr-styles

#harry styles imagine #harry styles au #harry styles ofc #harry styles fic #harry styles #harry 1d #1dff #1d fan fiction #harry styles poc #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic

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pastelbatfandoms · 4 years

Text

Never Ending OC Survey

BASICS.

FULL NAME : Roxy Mcmahon

NICKNAME : Rox,Foxy Roxy

PET NAMES: Babe,baby girl (by most of her boys) Princess (From Shane),Darlin’ and Sweetheart (By AJ and Mox),Pup or She Wolf (By Baron),Little Lamb (By Bray)

AGE : 30 (looks younger)

BIRTHDAY : April 27

ETHNIC GROUP :

NATIONALITY : Native American,French Canadian

LANGUAGE / S :english,knows some Japanese and French

SEXUAL ORIENTATION : Pansexual

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION : Demiromantic

RELATIONSHIP STATUS : Taken (Polyamoures)

HOME TOWN / AREA : Washington

CURRENT HOME : Connecticut

PROFESSION : Pro Wrestling

PHYSICAL.

HAIR : Naturally brown,Mid-back length. Has been Blond,Red and Black.

EYES : Brown

FACE : Heart shaped,dimples in cheeks

LIPS : bow shaped

COMPLEXION : Porcelain. but can Tan.

BLEMISHES : Some small moles

SCARS : On Arms from Wrestling as well as a long one on her back from being put through a glass table.

TATTOOS : N/A

HEIGHT : 5′1″

WEIGHT : Average.

BUILD : Muscular but lean

FEATURES : Piercing eyes, long fingers and small hands,high cheekbones

ALLERGIES : None.

USUAL HAIR STYLE : Typically left down,or half up half down. in a braid or high ponytail while wrestling.

USUAL MAKEUP LOOK : Used to just wear Cat eyeliner and Gloss now wears alot more mainly Eyeliner,Mascara,Different Eyeshadows,Highlighter and Lipstick or Gloss (depending on who she’s with)

USUAL CLOTHING : Depends on who she’s coming out with. Usually a T shirt or dress with her Man’s logo on it. Anything sexy yet comfortable. A long black robe or gothic dress when she was with The Undertaker.

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR / S : Losing her loved one’s,not being a part of WWE or Wrestling in general anymore. But hey she did marry into the business so...

ASPIRATION / S : To be one of the best female Wrestling managers like Sherri Shepherd,Trish Stratus or Vickie Guerrero.

POSITIVE TRAITS : Perceptive,caring,tough,brave,good on the mic,charming,affectionate,open minded.

NEGATIVE TRAITS : Stubborn, temperamental,arrogant,impulsive,indecisive.

MBTI : INFP

ZODIAC / Taurus

TEMPERAMENT : Hot headed

SOUL TYPE / S : ??

ANIMALS : Cat.

VICE HABIT / S : um Sex lol

FAITH : Agnostic

GHOSTS ? : Yes.

AFTERLIFE ? : Yes

REINCARNATION ? : Yes.

ALIENS ? : Yes

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT : Democrat

EDUCATION LEVEL : High School

FATHER : Deceased. Father in Law is Vince Mcmahon

MOTHER : Alive. Very Close,used to wrestle for GLOW

SIBLINGS : Sister in law Stephanie Mcmahon. Has 3 Sisters and 2 Brothers all in the Wrestling Industry. (AEW & TNA) Her brothers are famed high flyers Matt and Jeff Hardy.

EXTENDED FAMILY : Large! Nieces,nephews,Aunts,uncles and Cousins.

NAME MEANING / S :Beautiful

HISTORICAL CONNECTION ? : No.

FAVORITES.

BOOK : Erotic Romance

DEITY : Aphrodite

HOLIDAY : Birthdays

MONTH : July

SEASON : Summer

PLACE : Home or the wrestling arena,anywhere her men are.

WEATHER : Hot with a slight breeze

SOUND / S: The one’s her men make ;)

SCENT / S : Sex, leather,Cologne.

TASTE / S : What do you think? ;) I’m going to say anything creamy lol.

FEEL / S : Fur,Leather,skin

ANIMAL / S : Cats and Dogs

NUMBER : 69

COLORS : Black,Red,Blue and Pink

EXTRA.

TALENTS : Wrestling, Dancing, quick learner

BAD AT : Maintaining balance when it matters, ignoring her more sexaul impulses

TURN ONS : Piercing eyes, calm/suave personality, confidence, rugged exterior, Dominance.

TURN OFFS : Attention seeking, whiny, clingy,obnoxious,insecure.

HOBBIES : movies, reading,dancing,spending time with The Divas.

TROPES :

QUOTES : “Well then I might just have to get a little unstable.” “Well I do tend to fall for the pretty boy assholes.”

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1 : If you could write your character your way in their own movie, what would it be called, what style would it be filmed in, and what would it be about?

I mean it would obviously be a Docudrama like Paige’s movie ‘Fighting with My Family.’

Q2 : What would their soundtrack/score sound like? Metal mixed with Pop.

A2 :

Q3 : Why did you start writing this character?

A3 : idk I was 13 lol

Q4 : What first attracted you to this character?

A4 : The Wrestlers she was with lol I also had the idea to act it out when they,Triple H,The Rock,ShanoMac ect,came to the ring and I would pretend that she was with them lol

Q5 : Describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse.

A5 : Maybe how fleeting some of her romances are or how she just seems to like those with gold. But hey I like who I like.

Q6 : What do you have in common with your muse?

A6 : Her preference in men and how she looks ,her sun sign.

Q7 : How does your muse feel about you?

A7 : .idk

Q8 : What characters does your muse have interesting interactions with ?

A8 : Vince Mcmahon and Paul Heyman

Q9 : What gives you inspiration to write your muse ?

A9 : um watching Wrestling and dreams.

Q10 : How long did this take you to complete ? Along time because I forgot about it!

#wwe imagine #OC survey #foxy roxy

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xiolaperry · 4 years

Text

The Piano - Chapter 6

Summary: Belle French and her daughter arrive in New Zealand to an arranged marriage with Gaston LeGume. Gaston shows little interest in her or her piano and books. However, Mr. Gold is fascinated…

Rating: E (for smut, dark subject matter and violence in future chapters)

Also available on AO3

---

That evening the skin of her calf tingled, remembering his touch. She tuned out Gaston's hunting story as she replayed the caress in her mind.

Her attention snapped back when she heard her name.

“Belle, how are the lessons going?”

She gave a cautious nod. This was new. Gaston never asked questions. At dinner, he always spoke about his accomplishments and abilities. In excruciating detail. He sometimes reminded her of an overgrown little boy trying to impress his friends. When he spoke of the Maori it took all her effort to not roll her eyes. “How do they even know the land belongs to them?” was a popular refrain. It was better, though, than the stories of fights and brawls that showcased his quick temper.

“So you're getting along all right? Gold can be downright unpleasant sometimes.”

Belle smiled this time and nodded again. Having a conversation instead of being just an audience for his stories was a welcome change. Although Mr. Gold had not been unpleasant. Far from it.

“Aunt Cora told me to tell you and Tilly about the mission Christmas play. They have one every year at the beginning of December.”

“A play?” Tilly's face lit up.

“Yes. Reverend Hopper and my Aunt are in charge of it. Would you like to be an angel?”

“I would! Mama, please, may I?”

Belle signaled her affirmation. It would be good for Tilly to become part of the community. She knew she needed to make more of an effort. Especially with Gaston. He worked hard, spending more time out of the house than in it. And he hadn't tried to pressure her into his bed. Some men would have.

“It's settled then. Take her to my aunt's house tomorrow afternoon. It's next to the mission, you can't miss it. She can meet the other children and be fitted for her costume while you're at Gold's for a lesson.”

After the dishes were washed, Tilly bounced up and down, refusing to go to sleep. The excitement of the play and the gift of the cat had her wide awake. Gaston had gone to bed, and she did not want to disturb him, so Belle suggested shadow puppets.

“I'll be quiet as a mouse for a shadow puppet story!”

Belle set up the oil lamp while Tilly climbed into bed. She continued the story she'd begun on Mr. Gold's porch.

Her nimble hands created characters on the opposite wall to illustrate her tale. The sorcerer, besides enchanting his castle to look like a cottage, would transform himself into a black cat. Everyone chased the cat away, saying it was bad luck, except for one little girl who made friends with the cat by being kind.

A soft snore interrupted her. She kissed Tilly and snuggled in beside her.

---

The next morning Tilly twirled and danced all the way to the village. Belle didn't know where she got her energy.

“Do you think they'll be other girls there? Do you think I'll get wings?”

“Yes, and maybe,” Belle responded.

Cora's home looked very European compared to its surroundings. Belle rapped on the heavy wooden door with an ornate brass handle. To her pleasant surprise, Reverend Hopper answered.

“Belle, Tilly! How nice to see you again! Come in and meet everyone.”

Women and several children filled the large parlor. The buzz of conversation stopped when they entered. Tilly's damp hand squeezed hers when all eyes turned to them.

“I'd like to introduce Mrs. Legume and her daughter Tilly.”

Belle gave a brief nod and signed to the group.

“Mama says, 'Pleased to meet you all' and that you should call her Belle.”

A few murmured hellos greeted them.

“What's your mother doing with her hands? Why doesn't she talk?” asked a little blond girl, her voice ringing loud across the hush of the room.

“Emma!” An attractive dark-haired woman ran over, flustered. “I'm so sorry.”

Belle smiled and patted the woman's arm. There was nothing to be embarrassed about. Children asked questions; it was natural.

“My Mama talks with her hands. And she says most people speak rubbish anyway, and it's not worth it to listen.”

The woman let out a surprised laugh. “I suppose you know all about outspoken little girls, Belle. My name is Mary Margaret Nolan, and this is my daughter Emma.”

The two children sized each other up. Satisfied with what they saw, they started chattering, well on their way to being friends. The activity in the room resumed.

“Come sit by me,” said Mary Margaret. “May I get you some tea?”

“She says, 'Yes,'” replied Tilly, her answer for her mother second nature.

Belle sat down in the chair. The floral cushions were trimmed with rich red brocade. The two girls plopped to the floor in front of her.

Mary Margaret returned with the tea in cups even more ostentatious than the ones she had at home. They had gold trim, elaborately swirled handles, and roses of every hue. She compared them to Mr. Gold's blue and white tea set, elegant in its simplicity.

“Reverend Hopper is going around giving the children their lines, and Regina is measuring the girls in the other room and letting them pick out fabric. She is such a talented seamstress.”

Tilly pulled the wooden cat from her pocket to show Emma. “Look what I have.”

“Can I see?” asked Emma.

Tilly handed it to her. “Mr. Gold made it for me. He has a cat, Ebony. He let me name her.” Pride at this honor was clear in her voice. “Choosing a name is a tremendous responsibility.”

Belle stifled a laugh at the serious tone Tilly used when she spoke. She sounded almost like Mr. Gold.

Mary Margaret heard the interchange between the girls. “May I see your cat, Tilly?”

She examined it. “This is lovely.” Belle had to agree. It was well formed, the little eyes and whiskers charming.

“I didn't know Mr. Gold could carve. He made this for Tilly?”

Belle nodded.

“Are you.... friends with him?”

Belle wasn't sure how to answer. Were they friends?

Tilly saved her from having to respond.

“Mama is teaching him to play the piano.”

Thunderstruck, Mary Margaret leaned toward her. “My husband, David, told me he heard Gaston say that Mr. Gold traded 50 acres for a piano, but I didn't believe it. Is it true?”

Belle opened the little notebook she kept on a chain. She wrote, “Yes, it's true. Gaston traded my books and piano for the land.” Her mouth thinned as she remembered the 'discussion' they'd had about it.

“That is completely out of character. I would have never thought Mr. Gold would be interested in music. Or books. It makes no sense.”

Cora entered the parlor. “Tilly, Belle? Regina is ready for you.”

Regina was fast with the tape measure. She whipped it around, taking measurements and writing them down on a piece of paper. Finished with her notations, she asked Tilly, “Would you like to pick a fabric?”

Tilly considered them, stroking each one and holding the swatches up to the light. Regina didn't rush her. “May I have the blue, please?”

“I think that would be appropriate for an angel. Excellent choice.” She turned to Belle. “We're bending wire forms to make wings. We'll cover the forms with fabric and you'll attach feathers from an old feather bed. I trust you will be capable of doing that.”

Belle gave a sign of assent.

“Mother, please send the next child in.”

Cora led them out. “You can leave now, don't let us keep you.”

How did this woman infuse so much disapproval into simple words? Belle told herself it wasn't her, she would have found anyone lacking when it came to her precious nephew.

She waved goodbye to Mary Margaret.

“Are you leaving so soon?”

“Mr. Gold is expecting us,” answered Tilly.

“If it's all right with you, Tilly could stay here with Emma and I. After everyone's been measured and gotten their lines, we're going to practice.”

“May I? Please, Mama?”

“It’d be no trouble, really.”

Belle told Tilly that it was fine, she would return after Mr. Gold's lesson, and to thank Mrs. Nolan.

“Thank you, Mrs. Nolan. Goodbye! Pet Ebony for me!”

Thus dismissed, she left, pleased Tilly had made a friend. And she might have made one as well.

---

Mr. Gold was waiting in the doorway when she arrived. “No Tilly today?” he asked.

She shook her head.

He did not make eye contact and appeared ill at ease. She felt powerful. Desired. She never had that effect on anyone before.

After she drank her tea, she played, finding her voice through her music.

“Please take the top part of your dress off.”

The abrupt request resulted in a jangled chord. She stopped but made no move to comply. Did she want to do this?

“I want to see if your arms are as beautiful as I've imagined.”

She blushed. He'd imagined her arms?

“It would be worth two keys. You could earn your piano back faster.”

There were two options. She could refuse, and their arrangement would proceed along the same path. Or she could accept, the piano returned to her in half the time. Yes, she would do it. For the piano. Not because she was curious to see if Mr. Gold would touch her bare skin, and if it would be as electrifying as a touch through a layer of stockings.

Belle unbuttoned the top of her dress. Underneath she wore a thin white bodice with short sleeves above her corset. She resumed her playing.

Gold circled the piano to look at her from every angle. The backs of her hands and neck were the only parts of her browned by the sun. The rest of her delicate skin was pale, like the finest porcelain. He could almost see her nipples through her bodice. His cock stirred and took notice.

He stopped his prowling directly behind her. He let his fingertips just skim over her shoulders and down her arms, tracing the same path over and over, appreciating the softness. His tanned hands contrasted against the whiteness of her skin. It was a privilege to glimpse such beauty, to be close to it. He must be careful to do no more than this, lest he frighten her away.

His gliding fingers sent sparks dancing across her. Heat blossomed, the trail of flames he kindled consumed her. She was unused to the strange, dizzying sensations that rose through her body.

She could not concentrate on the melody, and it became mechanical. The ache he was building was the focus of all her attention. Her nipples tightened, and she could not catch her breath.

Overwhelmed, her fingers stopped. The desire advancing through her was too much. Belle stood up, re-buttoning her dress. Mr. Gold said nothing, only handed her a book.

On her walk back to get Tilly, her thoughts whirled. He wanted her, it was obvious. He touched her in such a reverent manner, like she was precious, like he didn't deserve to. She supposed he didn't. He wasn't her husband, after all. Mr. Gold made her feel alive and important. Her reactions to him were disconcerting but intoxicating. Her confused emotions followed her to Cora’s door, and all the way home.

#my fic #the piano #rumbelle #rumbelle fic

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cinnaminsvga · 5 years

Text

fox rain | three

→ summary: When the love letter you wrote and submitted as an assignment is leaked to the entirety of your university, it becomes a race against time to dispel rumours and convince the seven suspected muses of the poem that they aren’t the subject before anyone realises that you are the author. Easy, right? Well… maybe not as easy as you think.

→ pairing: bts x reader (feat. namjoon) → genre: college!au, crack, fluff, angst → warnings: none unless you count overly graphic descriptions of how stupid namjoon is (oh and like... ant gambling rings??) → words: 15.7K → a/n: this is late by a month and my whole life is a joke. i hope this makes you laugh bc i made namjoon extra dumb for y’all (for no extra charge. suck it, chipotle.) also: check bio for other chapter links for now!

— • masterlist | prev | three | next • —

“This can’t be my fucking life. Can it?” you say to your own reflection, curtains of despair dripping from every inch of your visage. Your reflection stares back, the same dead eyes twitching imperceptibly from the lack of caffeine in your system. At this point, you wouldn’t be sane enough to be surprised if your parallel self would reply, perhaps with some scathing remark about how you were slowly losing your grip on your life. Not that it would be unwarranted, anyway.

After Hoseok’s explosion the other day, your weekend doesn’t exactly feel as exciting as it usually is. Of course, your mood is still a vast improvement from last week when you were out of commission for most it after your mental breakdown. Although, it doesn’t erase the fact that you’re still knee deep in shit and that you have no idea how you’re going to face Hoseok and Jimin the following Monday.

Damn. You could really use some coffee.

The day seems to be in much better spirits than you, and it would be a waste not to let the universe’s good mood try to make you feel better as well. There is a coffee shop just a block away, and maybe you could take a walk in the sunshine afterwards to help relax the dread consistently knocking at the back of your mind. It’s a little bit optimistic, but it’ll have to do.

Shrugging on a thin cardigan over some other semi-decent clothes, you step out of your stuffy apartment with a spring in your step. You didn’t bother with any of your usual morning ritual, seeing as how you don’t plan on meeting with anyone you know from university anyway. So what if your landlady Mrs. Park sees the bird’s nest on top of your head? Who is she going to tell? Her gang of old auntie friends all hate you already for wearing a “TRANS RIGHTS” shirt in front of them, so it’s not like you’re vying for their acceptance.

Other than your less than friendly neighborhood aunties, there are better old people to hang around anyway. Nearby the coffee shop, there is a senior home where you used to volunteer during your spare time until your other commitments forced you to give up your spot to some other benevolent soul. Since you have been meaning to visit the grandmas and grandpas there when you got some free time, you suppose it would be nice to talk to kind ol’ Ms. Kim today and listen to her recount her many youthful adventures (which is, more often than not, a euphemism for her various sexcapades in the 70s.)

The senior home is closer to your home than the coffee shop, so you choose to stop and gaze at the plain-looking white building with its neatly trimmed bushes and white picket fence. It looks out of place in the neighborhood, with its very suburban and Americana design, but you know it is only because the owner of the establishment had gotten her inspiration from Forrest Gump. She has a crush on young Tom Hanks, and you honestly can’t blame her for it; that man… he is a Man, with a capital M.

You’re in the middle of debating whether you should buy your coffee first before visiting the seniors when you hear a distant shout coming from within the house. Alarmed, you take a step back, almost falling on your ass and onto the sidewalk. You pause, tilting your head to try and peak over the fence and through the large windows that showed the reception area within. You recognize Hana, the receptionist, sitting by her desk in her usual green scrubs, her head bowed over a book as if the sound had not fazed her in the slightest.

“Am I crazy? Am I starting to hear things?” You wonder aloud, still staring at the innocent-looking home. Has the universe had enough with your lacklustre existence that it has caused you to hear nonsense? Is this only the beginning of your slow descent into madness?

You don’t have to fret over your sanity for too long because moments later, the shout repeats itself. Like the previous one, this one sounds just as pained and anguished, though you aren’t sure if it was a male or female who had screamed. For all you knew, the person might have either stubbed their toe or gotten a knife stabbed through their chest; it’s not like you spend time distinguishing the subtle nuances of tormented screams. However, you are more certain now that it had come from within the home, even though Hana has yet to react to the chilling noise. She flips to the next page, tired eyes squinting at the small text.

You are stuck at an impasse: do you go inside the home despite the possible danger of entering a secret cannabilist society of which your acquaintance has been initiated to, or do you turn around and go home where it is 100% more likely for you to survive the next 24 hours?

The choice becomes apparent to you, however, when a tall, lanky boy bursts out of one of the doors behind the receptionist, with his arms piled to the ceiling with dinner plates on the cusp of making their way to the floor. Even through the window and behind a fence, you can tell that he is in dire need of help, which Hana does not seem likely to extend. The mess of legs makes a beautiful display of himself, his lower limbs flapping about aimlessly as his body contorts to try and keep himself and the plates balanced.

Finally, after what feels like hours of torture watching the poor volunteer make a fool of himself, he manages to steady himself, his legs crossed together like he’s trying to hold in his piss. Carefully, he squats down, placing the plates on the floor in front of the receptionist desk. For a moment, you feel as though you should be applauding, for whatever reason.

Now without dishes obscuring his face, you can make out the identity of the flailing giraffe man. He turns, fingers combing through his distinctly colored hair––

Oh god. It’s him. You gotta get out of there, fast, before he recognizes you. Maybe if you run quickly enough, then maybe he won’t notice you when he looks out the window around.

“Ha,” the universe laughs, clapping their asscheeks to the rhythm of Ludacris’ Move Bitch Get Out Da Way™️ with a smirk. “Cute of you to think your life isn’t basically a 20-year long trainwreck in motion.”

Inevitably he turns around, his eyes immediately locking on your face despite being half-concealed by the fence. He looks confused for a moment, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish until he lights up, recognition flooding his features. Even though you cannot hear him clearly, you just know that he said something stupid, judging by the way Hana has finally looked up from her book to stare at him weirdly.

Please don’t come out and greet me. Please just let me wave at you awkwardly and for you to stay where you are. Please don’t go out and talk to me––

Your prayers go unanswered once more as he sidesteps the wall of plates, his hip just barely grazing it and almost causing it to tumble down. The pile sways precariously from left to right, miraculously staying put as he rushes out to greet you. You can only imagine the mess he’d have to clean up if it did, shards of cheap porcelain left behind in his awkward, fumbling wake.

Luckily (or unluckily for you), he makes it out of the senior home in one piece. He crosses the short path to the fence in two inhumanly long strides, slamming the fence door open with a wide swing. It smacks loudly against the railing, the hinges making a pained groan as it looks to be at the inch of its life––literally. You vaguely remember replacing the screws on it just before you left over six months ago… Surely you hadn’t done such a shoddy job? Although, you know that simply can’t be true. After all, you’re dealing with none other than destruction incarnate himself, Kim––

“Y/N!” Namjoon greets happily, his dimples deeper than you remember. You swallow heavily, trying your best not to sweat under his overly enthusiastic gaze. God, you should’ve gone straight to the coffee shop when you had the chance.

Nothing like facing disaster head-on, as they say. “Hey,” you reply half-heartedly, though the walking inflatable tube man doesn’t seem to mind your lacklustre mood. He grasps your hands for a shake, swinging your entire body up and down with the care of a man who does not know his own strength. You, his unfortunate victim, are left to suffer through his artery-bursting grip.

“Oh god, you have no idea how glad I am to see you! Not that I’m not normally happy to see you at university, but––” He speaks so quickly that it’s hard to keep track of the specific contents of his sentences, so you can only hope that your unenthused nods will be enough to placate the bumbling buffoon. You resign yourself to a fate similar to the bobbleheads on the dashboards of those white suburban soccer moms.

“Wait, hold on.” What on earth..? You are full on gaping at the piece of work on top of his head, not even pretending to be polite as you try to process what is in front of you. “What the hell happened to your hair?”

You know from old Facebook photos that Namjoon has natural black locks, though you can’t say that his wacky hairstyles were also inborn. Ever since you have known him, he has always dyed his hair a sandy brown color, complimenting his tan skin. Now, however…

“You mean the weird blue streaks?” Namjoon says, rubbing a few strands thoughtfully. His hair is a walking disaster, and this is coming from someone who has seen what Kim Seokjin has done to his clients. (There’s a reason his Yelp reviews are terrible… He deserves negative stars, if you’re being honest.)

“Did you lose a dare or something?”

“Uh… Kind of?” He scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed. “I had meant to change my hair color to something more exciting, so I asked the kids at the daycare and they suggested blue. Problem is, the seniors said they preferred my brown hair but I already promised the kids so… Here we fucking are,” he says in one breath, appearing as though what he said was obvious.

“So your solution was to compromise… by coloring half your hair blue, like some botched version of Death the Kid?”

“Exactly!” He beams, glad that you understand him perfectly.

Oh my god… He’s… No words are coming to you right now, but you get the picture.

The thing about Kim Namjoon is… he’s not… bad. Or dumb, for that matter.

Okay, not the best compliment out there, but it’s true. You’ve known for as long as you’ve been a university student, and your first meeting is certainly one for the books. You wouldn’t exactly consider him a “friend,” and an acquaintance is a bit of a stretch on most days, but he’s a nice guy. He’s eccentric in the most positive way, and not at all in the same chaotic and evil way that Seokjin is (for which you are thankful for.) It has always been a bit tricky to get close with him, as his head is always so far up in his work that it almost feels like he’s being reclusive on purpose.

If you ignore the fact that he has that odd propensity to volunteer himself in any job on the face of the earth (with him being unqualified 9 times out of 10), it is easy to see why people think so highly of him.

He is a scholarship student with a 4.0 GPA, is the youngest candidate to ever receive the university president’s yearly public commendation, and has already released two reputable mixtapes with high praise from critics nationwide. He’s nothing if not a prodigy, and he’s amassed a hefty following for his accomplishments. As a music major yourself, it’s hard not to be a little starstruck with him if you’re being honest.

Most of all, you remember the first song that you had ever heard from him: Moonchild. You still can’t quite believe he let you hear one of his many masterpieces when the two of you had just been total strangers. The lyrics had been so heartfelt, so intimate, that you felt as if you were intruding on his personal space or something. But he had let you listen, let you take a peek at what goes on inside that nebulous brain of his. When he does things like that, it makes it easy to understand why people might think your love poem might be about him. He’s just so… easy to admire.

The poem isn’t about him, but. It could have been, in some other life. (Or maybe it is.)

(Was.)

(Will?)

Regardless, you still have to convince him otherwise. You just simply aren’t ready for that type of development, much less with him. Despite all his good sides.

Thus, Kim Namjoon leaves you at a standstill. Why do you feel so fucking weird about harboring this idol crush on him? How can he be so dumb and so smart at the same time? He has blue fucking hair for crying out loud! He’s causing you cognitive dissonance just by existing, and it’s giving your meagre amount of brain cells a workout.

Oh shit, have you been ignoring him? You were totally zoning out this entire time, haven’t you?

Somewhere around the time you were having your mini mental breakdown, Namjoon’s mouth had stopped moving, giving you an expectant look. Oh shit. He probably asked you something. Embarrassed and unwilling to give away that you had not processed even a single word out of his mouth, you nod and give him an approximation of what you assume is a friendly smile.

For a second, you think that you might have gotten away with it when Namjoon’s face breaks out into an enormous grin. He grabs you by the shoulder and envelops you in an chokehold-like embrace. You let out a wheeze, clawing at his biceps with your remaining strength to try and prevent your untimely death due to asphyxiation. “Namjoon..?”

He lets out a shriek at a higher octave than you thought a man of his size was capable of. Somewhere out there, a dog probably perks up at the supersonic sound. “Y/N, I knew I could count on you! Thank you so much for agreeing to help me with the elders for Zombie Tea Time!”

Now that caught your attention. You pause in your squirming to fix him with a confused expression. “I’m… I’m sorry? What did you say?”

His smile never falters. He presses his cheek against yours, rubbing it happily with a hum. In any other scenario, you might have fainted from how adorable he was being, but seeing as how all your blood is still trapped in your upper extremities from his vice hug, it is difficult enough trying to remember how to stay alive.

“Every Saturday, the senior home hosts this event called Zombie Tea Time where the old people all get to have their faces painted with fake blood and all the volunteers have to pretend to be innocent civilians trying to get away from them!”

The more Namjoon speaks, the more you feel your sanity dripping out of your ass like diarrhea. “Ex. Excuse me? Say that again?”

“Yeah, it’s a new thing the volunteers are trying out this month,” Namjoon says, finally (finally) releasing you from his hug. You don’t know if your flushed cheeks are from embarrassment or a stroke. “Like I said, we’re a bit shorthanded today, so I’ve had to wash the plates from breakfast AND pretend to get eaten by senile zombies. It’s… a lot.”

“Oh, I can tell.” You grimace, patting him on the shoulder empathetically. You freeze. “Wait. So that’s why you were screaming a while ago?”

“Huh?” Namjoon pauses, before his face does something funny where it looks like he’s either going to sneeze or take a shit. Thankfully he does neither, but instead reaches his hand around his back like he has an itch he needs to scratch. He makes a pained yelp, plucking something out from his asscheeks and pulling out what appears to be––

You stare at the object in his palm. “Are those… dentures?”

“Hmm…” Namjoon stares at it, too tired to be disgusted. He just nods his head sagely. “Must’ve been when I was too slow to dodge Mister Lee’s lunge. I was beginning to wonder why my ass felt like it was being eaten out.”

“Please, never say that sentence to me ever again.”

“Yea,” he agrees, sighing faintly. He pockets the teeth much to your horror, patting it gently like he hadn’t just placed a pair of dentures in his fucking scrubs. He dusts off his hands, his lips pursed so that his dimples stand prominently on display. You barely contain yourself from sinking your finger right into their hypnotizing abysses.

He looks at you hopefully. “So… Uh. You said you’ll help me?”

Oh right. You fucking said you’d help him fend off a hoard of virulent old people in face paint.

You look to the right, where the coffee shop is just within sight. Sweet, sweet caffeine, tantalizing you with its saccharine presence, dangling its wretchedly addictive power over your head. If you breathe deeply enough, you think you can smell the coffee beans from here.

You turn back to Namjoon, and you can physically feel the weight of his hopeful gaze on your shoulders. Your defenses have never crumbled so quickly in your life. Fuck him and his stupidly handsome ass.

You sigh, resigning your fate to eternally being whipped for a pair of pretty long legs and size B man titties. “Let’s fucking do this, I guess.” Easier said than done, but you already have one foot in elephant shit, so might as well submerge your whole body as well.

You follow Namjoon closely, having to take two extra steps for every one step that he takes. He crosses the reception area quickly, sending energetic finger guns at Hana which unsurprisingly goes unrequited. You take the more inconspicuous route and wave shyly at her, intimidated by her even after you have long since stopped working here. She levels you with one of her infamous hundred yard stares, lips turned downwards as she appraises you.

“You’ve decided to come back?” she asks, leaning back on her chair with a huff.

Namjoon is in the midst of trying to once again carry all the plates in his Play-Doh arms, so you’re a bit distracted when you shake your head in response. “Uh. N-no, Namjoon just asked me to help with the dishes, that’s all.”

“That’s a shame,” Hana says, no trace of disappointment in her voice whatsoever. She returns to her book, buzzing open the double doors to let the two of you pass. She flicks her hand lazily at the commotion happening behind her. “Better hurry back in there. The seniors are getting antsy.”

The doors open automatically, and you almost topple over when you are immediately bombarded with the terrifying symphony of old people hollering obscenities at frantic volunteers trying desperately to get away from their gnarled clutches. The hoard hasn’t noticed the two of you yet, and you fear to wonder what type of horrors that you will have to face once you step through those doors. You absolutely refuse to die on this hill, not when you haven’t even had your first kiss yet.

“I don’t think we’ll die,” Namjoon says, as if he can read your mind. You look at him skeptically.

“You think?”

He clears his throat. “I can’t promise we’ll come out of this unscathed, though.”

He takes a tentative step forward, the pile of dishes wobbling dangerously on their perch. You are quick to steady the leaning tower of Disa(ster), managing to transfer half of it into your own arms. You grunt, adjusting your stance so that you do not accidentally lose your grip. “Dude. How the hell did you get all those plates out here in the first place?”

Namjoon stands up straighter, the weight significantly easier for him to manage now. He smiles cherubically back at you, eyes crinkling cutely. “Oh, I was literally on survival mode and trying to stop lil Mrs. Sun from gnawing my leg off. The elders can smell fear you see, so they were definitely going to climb on top of me like World War Z and probably kill me.” He pauses, deep in thought. “Although, I think I dropped a plate or two while I was escaping, so watch your step!”

He says all of that with the same eagerness as man who is about to do something crazy, like jump out of a plane or walk a tightrope over a 100 ft canyon. Though, you have to admit that this entire scenario feels like it is on the same calibre.

“Is it me, or are the old people here 10 times crazier than I remember when I volunteered here?”

“You used to work here?” Namjoon says, amazed. “Oh, I didn’t know that! I only started a week ago when some other person resigned due to mental health issues or something.”

“You sure that this place isn’t the cause of their mental decline?” You say it like a joke, though you mean it seriously. Maybe the universe had been looking out for you when decided to get out of this place.

“Hmm… Maybe. Although, we only received this shipment of old people fairly recently.”

Pause. Rewind. “S-shipment?” you repeat, staring at him wildly.

Like the lovable airhead that he is, Namjoon fails to notice your astonishment and instead takes the first brave step forward through the double doors. He tilts his head towards the hallway, gesturing for you to follow him. The plates rattle dangerously from his movements. “C’mon, we gotta get these plates cleaned before the lunch crew comes to take over their shifts!”

Walking to the kitchen is easier than you thought, especially after you take into account the fact that all the old people completely ignored you and chose to only attack Namjoon, for whatever reason. You like to think that it is because the seniors still remember you back when you were still volunteering here and that they hold some semblance of endearment for you, but Namjoon begs to differ. In fact, he screams out his hypothesis as to why you have been left unharmed, all while two older women climb his back like demented crabs.

“Y/N! I think they can’t attack you because you’re in civilian clothes! They only attack scrubs!” Namjoon says, swatting away one of the women off his back with a surprisingly coordinated headbutt. She shrieks as she falls, landing on all four legs like a cat would do. She hisses lowly at you, before scuttling off to somewhere unseen.

“Let’s hope you’re right,” you wince, watching Namjoon unsuccessfully trying to spin quick enough to dislodge the remaining senior.

Namjoon perks up when he catches a glimpse of his attacker’s face, giggling and appearing as if he isn’t currently being assailed by a senior citizen. “Oh, Ms. Kim! I didn’t see you there. I love the zombie make-up you got going. Who helped you?” He looks at you, as if imploring you to compliment her as well.

“Uh. Yes. You’re looking very… yellow.”

Ms. Kim snarls, baring her teeth. “It’s the jaundice,” she says.

Not wanting to stand in that hallway any longer, you carefully place the plates back on the floor before you gently unclamp the old lady’s talons from Namjoon’s poor biceps. You wince, feeling the length of her nails and knowing that Namjoon is going to have some nasty scars.

You tell him so, but he only shakes his head. “Nah? I think they’d be pretty neat! Battle scars are cool right?”

You grimace at him. “If that’s… what you think, then sure.”

After grabbing your plates and hurrying after him before the elders make note of Namjoon’s survival, the two of you share a sigh of relief as you both slowly start piling them into the dishwasher. The task is menial and repetitive, and despite what Namjoon’s earlier chattiness might have suggested, he is quiet while he works. The silence is not as awkward as you feared, and honestly the peace is a welcome respite after all the chaos that you had to endure in such a short period of time. Although, silence has never been a good friend to your overworked mind, as it allowed you to stew inside your own head for much too long––and you have found in your 20 years of existence that it is probably for the best that you are not left without external stimulation for too long.

But here you are, forced to do exactly that. You would have engaged in some conversation with Namjoon to stop yourself from getting in over your head, but you are afraid of what sort of embarrassing topics might spew out of your mouth if you do. Heaven forbid that you start geeking out on him about your unhealthy obsession of collecting miniature glass horse figurines––that is a secret best kept between yourself and the tentacle monster under your bed.

You begin reflecting on the events from the past two weeks, replaying them second by agonizing second and ruminating on the state that your pitiful young adult life has become. The more you allow these memories to simmer, the more you slowly realize the weight of the accumulated stress that has long since made you hunch over like a goblin.

Hoseok and Jimin’s argument comes to the forefront of your mind, the unexpected heat coming from both of them confusing you to no end. You still don’t know the source of their ire towards one another, but what baffles you the most is how you could have missed it in the first place. Sure, you had thought they were at least more than acquaintances; one does not simply challenge a near stranger to a dance off in the middle of a library three times a week, for more than two months and counting. Friends might have been a stretch, though you can’t say you’re familiar with how their schedules look like outside your tutoring sessions together.

The question is though… should you interfere? Normally, you would have stayed far away from anyone else’s drama––you just aren’t the type of person to stick their noses in other people’s business. Yet somehow, you feel as if your poem was the catalyst to this violent chain reaction, that you have inadvertently caused the foundation of a precarious building to explode and bring the whole thing crashing down. To think that your silly love poem for a boy who hardly knows that you exist has become the center of so many people’s lives… the entire thing is giving you a headache.

Speaking of headaches… you should probably confront Namjoon about the poem as well. It is probably best that you plan your approach better this time, seeing as how your two previous attempts have been anything but stellar. Namjoon can’t be that difficult to convince, right? And even if he does see right through you, he doesn’t seem like the type of person who would laugh cruelly at you in the event that he figures out that you are the author. Not like Seokjin, at least. Luckily no one is like Seokjin, the fucking rat bastard that he is.

(In the distance, Seokjin has the sudden animalistic urge to slip anthrax in your milk tea the next time he sees you.)

You glance at Namjoon from the corner of your eye, definitely not ogling the way his arms flex as he loads the final couple of plates. The breath catches in your throat when you realize that some time while you were busy swimming in your junkyard of a brain, he had rolled up his sleeves up to his forearms, displaying his god-like veins for the eyes of the deplorable (you) to feast upon.

Your mouth feels dry, even though other parts of you feel more moist than you remember. Oh god, now is not the time to remember how hot this fucking nerd is.

Despite the fact that your biological clock is screaming “HORNY HOUR” at your monkey brain, Namjoon continues to be thankfully unaware of your internal panic. He closes the dishwasher door shut, clicking it on with a relieved sigh. He gives you a megawatt smile and makes your heart leap into a somersault, probably knocking around some vital organs along the way.

“Thanks so much for the help, Y/N! Couldn’t have done it without you!” he cheers, clapping you roughly on the shoulder. You wheeze under the impact, waving away his concern despite feeling like your lungs have probably slipped out of your asshole.

“It’s no problem, Namjoon…” you sigh, gazing sadly as Namjoon begins to do a final sweep of the kitchen before inevitably going to sign off for the day. You know your window of opportunity has already closed, and if you had not spent so much time staring at his beautiful man tiddies, you are sure you could have been a little more productive with him. Curse him and his damn chest.

But now, at least you’ll have more time to think of how to approach him and bring up the poem when you aren’t, like, seriously decaffeinated and on the cusp of a heart attack. You are about to bid him farewell with your tail between your legs when his hands cup your cheeks, catching you off guard.

You splutter incomprehensibly, arms flapping about like a fish out of water. “Wha––?”

“Oh, I forgot to mention! After my hours here at the senior home, I have the afternoon shift at the daycare center near our university and I was wondering if you’d like to come with me?”

If Namjoon’s cool, large hands holding your face like a delicate flower had caught you off guard, then his sudden invitation only exacerbated the furious blush blooming across your neck like a rash.

So what do you say?

“Meep,” is what you say, like the verbose poet that you are. Y/N, renowned campus poet, has the vocabulary of a five year old.

“Is that a yes?” Namjoon smiles, letting go off you in favor of looping his gangly arms around your waist. Another unflattering noise escapes your throat at his proximity and his firmness. “That’s so great! The kids love seeing new faces, and I bet they’d love to have a pretty girl around instead of plain ol’ me all the time!”

You gape at him. Did he just say…

“P-pretty?”

“Yea, sure!” Namjoon says, his stupid grin still on his stupidly handsome face. He does not appear to be embarrassed at all by his brazenness, which is starting to make you think he is either a well-seasoned flirt or just plain oblivious to the implications of his own words. Knowing him, you wouldn’t put it past him that the latter might be the reason.

Compliments and unintentional flirting aside, you really did not feel up to another harrowing experience with Namjoon at one of his other volunteering stunts. You are but a woman in clown shoes, and even the most seasoned clowns must have their rest.

“Listen, Namjoon… I don’t think I can go with you. I have to go, uh,” you pause, your hamster brain working a mile a minute. “Water… my dog? No, I mean… feed my plant.” You cringe, mentally slapping yourself.

Namjoon, the sneaky bastard, hits you with his strongest and most potent puppy dog eyes in his arsenal. It was super effective! “Please, Y/N? I won’t take too much of your time! Just play with the kids for two hours and I promise to leave you alone!”

C’mon, Y/N. Focus. Are you the type of woman to break down her defenses for the wilful fancies of any man? You’re made of stronger stuff than this. Surely you can look him in the eye and tell him straight to his face that you would prefer to go home and rest on this beautiful Saturday than go frolicking with a bunch of snot-nosed children––

“Oh, sure. Why the hell not?” you say, like the dumb fucking idiot that you are.

Namjoon’s dimples deepen even further. You glare menacingly at them, knowing full well that they were entirely the cause of your weakness.

“Thank you so much, Y/N! The kids will really appreciate your presence! C’mon, we haven’t got time to lose!”

Namjoon does not even give you the time to fully comprehend your own pitiful existence before he nearly tugs your arm out of its socket as he maneuvers you to the local daycare just a few minutes away from the senior home. You don’t get to say your farewells to any of the seniors or your old work colleagues, but it might be for the best… You will need all the sanity left in your body to survive the rest of the day with Namjoon.

On the bright side, that means you’ll have the chance to talk to him about the poem, though you’re still hesitant to do so with how badly your previous stunts had ended up. But then again, when else would you get another good opportunity to talk to your crush acquaintance about this? You suppose you’ll just have to wait and see what happens next, and hope for the best.

You have been at the daycare for almost three hours now, and there are still no signs of you ever bringing up the poem. You might as well sign your last will and testament with the macaroni art supplies currently decorating your body, making you look like a morbid pasta dish monster from hell. You hope to god that the sticky stuff all over your skin is just cheese… White, rubbery scented cheese…

“Ain’t this fun?” Namjoon calls out from somewhere, presumably under the mass of ten or so toddlers all climbing him like a tree. You are caught in a state of déjà vu as the children start feasting upon any exposed areas of skin that their kid-sized incisors can find.

You just wanted to talk about the fucking poem for fuck’s sake! Instead, you have to deal with thirty 2-foot children and one 6-foot manchild during one of your only free days in a week.

A miniature demon tugs your sleeve, forcing you to tear your eyes away from Namjoon’s slow demise. You bend down to the little gremlin’s height, mouth twitching upwards in what you hope is a somewhat decent smile. Judging by the kid’s unimpressed face, you doubt it.

“Yes?”

“Miss Y/N? Can you tell your boyfriend that Jake peed in the ballpit again? Aera slipped on the puddle and now she’s crying and disturbing the younger kids.”

Record scratch, freeze frame. Now, we don’t have time to unpack all of that. Out of all the things the kid had said, you are sure that his implication that you were Namjoon’s girlfriend should not have been on the top of your list of priorities, and yet here you are, your cheeks as flushed as a baboon’s ass.

“He’s not––We’re not––” you stammer, waving your hands as you try to explain to this unenthused six year old that what she said was entirely impossible. “Namjoon is just a friend!”

You turn to look for the man in question, desperate for him to back you up when you realize he is no longer there. Confused, you leave the huffing child in search for him. You leave the main playroom and search the nearby nurseries, the kitchen, the bathroom… all of them with no Namjoon in sight. Just so you can cover all your bases, you decide to check one of the supply closets too, not really expecting to find anything except––

“Namjoon? What the fu––fudge?” You quickly correct yourself, noticing that not only is Kim Namjoon inside the cramped broom closet, but he is also surrounded by five other children huddled around what appears to be a series of tupperwares connected together by plastic straws.

Namjoon hastens a glance at you, before refocusing his attention back onto what he deems to be more important. He nudges his shoulder against the smallest of the bunch, stage whispering into her ear. “Jihyo, did you bet the three lollipops on Ant #3?”

Jihyo shakes her head, looking mildly offended. “Oppa, do you think I’m dumb? I bet all of my chocolate bars on Ant #6.”

Namjoon whistles lowly, impressed. “All-in? You’re one smart lady.”

You clear your throat. “Namjoon.”

Namjoon has the audacity to hold a finger up to silence you. “Give me a sec… Okay, Seungcheol. You said ten hard candies for Ant #2?”

“Namjoon. Are you seriously running a gambling ring in a daycare?”

He peers up at you, smiling sheepishly. “I’m, uh… Teaching them about capitalism.” He deposits the candy bets into his pocket before starting the timer on his phone. The children begin to cheer raucously, little fists pumping up as they watch their bets race towards a slice of cake.

“I can’t believe this,” you groan, wanting nothing more than the earth to swallow you whole.

Eventually, Namjoon exits the closet, gently closing the door. The shouts of the children become muted immediately. When you gaze inquisitively at him, all he does is shrug his shoulders. “What? Secret clubs allow people to explore their interests.”

At this point, you don’t really want to argue anymore. And so, the hectic day goes by, full of running after the children and occasionally having to reel Namjoon in when he does something bordering on negligence. The parents slowly start filtering in by five in the afternoon, most of whom pat Namjoon affectionately on the back and thanking him for his stellar daycare service.

“Oh, Namjoon! My little Jihyo absolutely adores you! She hardly wants to leave whenever I come to pick her up.” Jihyo’s mother smiles, slipping a small tip into Namjoon’s waiting palm. The little shit pockets it, bowing graciously at her.

“All in a day’s work, madame. I just love children, you know?” he says, sighing dramatically.

From behind her mother, Jihyo gorges herself on her prize winnings, shoving a whole packet of M&M’s into her mouth. She swallows them quickly when her mother turns to bring her home.

“I hate this,” you say to yourself, smiling through the pain.

“Oh, before I forget!” Jihyo’s mother dashes back inside, startling you. She approaches you, grasping your hands in hers and shaking it wildly until you can hear your joints pop out of their sockets. “Your name is Y/N right? Thank you for taking care of Namjoon, too. It’s so nice to see that he’s finally snagged a girl as pretty as you.”

It is a testament to how dead inside you truly are by how nonplussed you are by their unfounded accusation. At this point, they could congratulate you on your recent engagement to Namjoon and you probably wouldn’t bat an eye.

“Thanks.” All in a day’s work of being a madman’s little bitch for the day.

After the last child is taken away, your Saturday finally ends. There had been no poem discussion and no progress made; only your respect from one of your long-time crushes being whittled away like the soaps on those ASMR channels until you are left with useless cubes of Irish Spring scented granules.

On your way home, you pass by Seokjin sitting languidly on the bench outside the coffee shop that you had originally intended to go to this morning. The closed sign greets you impetuously, and your wounds are salted further by the sheer presence of the most annoying man on the planet.

Seokjin sips on his venti iced Americano, Gucci sunglasses tipped downward on his nose. An odd, high pitched windshield wiper sound escapes his lips, and you belatedly realize that he must be his version of laughter. “Y/N. So nice to see you. I’m guessing that you just came out of a… fishy affair?”

You grind your teeth, flexing forward with the intent of hitting the rat bastard. Fish crackers fall out of your hair in clumps from your movement. “I’ll eat your toes if you say another word about this.”

You say that, but you know that there will be photos of you out on Facebook by the time your head meets your pillow for the night, as you hear the telltale sound of a camera shutter go off as you limp sadly back home.

The following Monday, you resolve to talk to Namjoon during your History of Music class together.

Now normally, you would never subject yourself to sitting near Namjoon in class. No, it is not because of your debilitating crush, nor his eccentric personality, nor something unexpected like insanely toxic body odor (which he does not have, by the way. He always smells alarmingly like cotton candy.) In fact, nobody likes to sit near Namjoon, made apparent by the two row radius of empty chairs around him. As much as everyone adores and idolizes him for his talent, no one can stand his propensity to overachieve like the infuriating know-it-all that he is. His hand is perpetually up in the air, begging to be picked for recitation, always with something profound to say.

“Sir, I don’t think your notes are correct. From my research, that type of music would not have existed until the 1600s––”

“Namjoon,” your professor seethes, Powerpoint clicker clutched tightly in his fists. His left eyebrow twitches concerningly as he tries to calm his breathing. “I would prefer it greatly if you do not question the actual expert in this area, is that okay with you?”

Yeah. He is definitely not someone you’d want to sit beside.

Though, he really makes it hard not to want to be around him. Despite all the imperfect parts of his personality, Namjoon always looks like the cover model of what a perfect college boyfriend should dress like. Terrible dyejob aside, his hair is slicked back in a fashionable way, revealing his beautiful forehead for all of humanity to behold. He is wearing a fitted graphic tee under a denim jacket, with loose brown slacks that look good on his endlessly long legs. To top it off, his signature wire-frame glasses sit daintily on his nose, making him appear as smart as he is.

You are suddenly reminded of the true scale of your crush on him as sweat begins to build on your neck and down your backside. How the hell are you going to approach him now that you are perfectly aware of how good he looks? It is people like Kim Namjoon that remind you of this universal truth: attractive people only exist to cause the less fortunate to forget how to use their basic motor skills.

Focus. Remember how much of a crackhead he was last Saturday? Okay, retain that information. Remember how fucking stupid he is, and this will be much easier on your heart and your loins.

Taking a deep breath, you make your way to where he is seated, right at the front of the class. It is a long way down the auditorium to where he is, and you can feel the stares of a few of your classmates as you make the treacherous journey right into the proverbial lion’s maw. You do your best to ignore them, quietly sliding up next to him and waiting for him to notice your presence.

From the corner of your eye, you can see that he is jotting something frantically on a notebook, a mess of words in more languages than you can speak decorating every available space on the smooth white pages. At the top of the paper, you can see what might be a tentative title for a song, perhaps? You can’t be too entirely sure, as Namjoon is part of so many clubs and organizations that he might as well be writing next week’s lunch menu for the cafeteria.

(Highly doubtful as Namjoon has a reputation for allowing inflammable things to catch on fire, but you wouldn’t put it past him to at least try and apply for a culinary position.)

It seems that Namjoon is too immersed in his writing to greet you himself, so you have to be the one to steel yourself and strike a conversation with him instead.

“Uh. Hey… Namjoon?” Smooth like butter. Seokjin would be proud.

Namjoon doesn’t reply. He keeps scribbling along, humming something indistinct under his breath.

You clear your throat. “Namjoon?”

No response. Again, “Hello?” You wave a hand in front of his face. His blinking slows for a second, but he continues to ignore you.

Starting to get pissed off, you huff quietly to yourself before bringing your palm backwards and slapping him upside the head. “HEY PANINI HEAD! YOU FUCKING IN THERE OR WHAT?”

That manages to bring him out of his headspace, thankfully. “Huzzat?” Namjoon jumps, cradling the back of his neck gingerly as he stares at you, confused. Recognition filters through his eyes as he realizes belatedly what had just happened. He blushes slightly. “Oops.”

“Oops is right. Were you really going to ignore me for the rest of the class if I hadn’t slapped you?”

Namjoon shrugs, grinning in that cute goofy way that he does. “Sorry. ‘M not used to people sitting beside me, is all. Glad to have a friend in this class though! Have you always been in this class?”

“Yea, but I usually sit in the back.”

Namjoon nods, turning back to his notebook. “Sorry for ignoring you. I really didn’t mean it. When I’m in the middle of writing, it’s kind of hard to get me out of my own brain. Plus, this draft is due in two weeks and I’ve scrapped three pages worth of lyrics already… I’m kind of in a panic right now.”

You peek over his arm, trying your best to decipher some of his words. Your interest is piqued, always having wanted to see his draft notebook ever since that first time he showed you Moonchild almost a year ago. “Lungs have capsized… I am drowning in my own body… Wow, those are some dark stuff.”

“You think so?” Namjoon squints at his own messy handwriting. “I got inspired by the fish in the aquarium I volunteer in. I’m actually excited to go back there, because I want to play it for the fish and see if they like it.”

“Isn’t it better to play it at the daycare of senior home so you can actually get… human feedback?”

Namjoon gasps, hand to his heart, offended. “How dare you assume that fish can’t give quality feedback!”

“Right,” you cough, raising your hands in defeat. How dare you, indeed. “Sorry.”

Namjoon sniffs, closing his notebook just as the professor walks in to start the class. “You better be. The fishies get really offended when people say stuff like that.”

The professor begins the moment he sets down his things, so you know you won’t have time to bring up the poem, not when Namjoon is already starting to fall into his overachieving know-it-all student persona. You tap him lightly on the shoulder, gaining his attention.

“Hey, I have to ask you something later after class. Will you stay behind for a few moments?”

“Sure,” Namjoon replies cheerily, flipping on his laptop to start taking down notes. He stops in his tracks before gazing warily at you. “Hold on. If this is about the fishies again…”

You have to resist the urge to roll your eyes, so you sigh instead. “No, Namjoon. This isn’t about the fishies.”

Appeased, Namjoon returns to listening attentively to the professor drone on about dead musicians and their impact on musical culture. You hardly take any notes, still nervous about talking to Namjoon about the poem. What would be the best way to approach the subject, you wonder? Your previous attempts with Seokjin and Hoseok had featured a lot of yelling and arguing, and you would prefer not to leave a bad impression on Namjoon of all people. Additionally, you don’t want to know what arguing with Namjoon would entail, because you have a strong feeling that any debate with him will only leave you second guessing your entire existence with how good he is at flipping the subject. Or, you could always kick him in the knees, but that would be like overpowering a baby––you’d be a monster for taking advantage of him.

The short one hour lecture flies by quicker than you would like. To your surprise, Namjoon only interrupts the professor twice, so you suppose that’s a win for everyone else.

“Alright class. Please remember that the research paper regarding 17th century music is due on the Friday before your break,” your professor says. He points a stern look at all of you, and maybe you’re imagining it, but somehow you feel like he pauses just a second longer when he passes his gaze over you. “And please, try not to send your paper to the entire student body to air your secret little crushes like a bunch of lovestruck idiots.”

Your ears turn an unflattering shade of red as most of the students chuckle at his little joke, all of them probably not knowing that the lovestruck idiot was just a few seats away.

“C’mon, Namjoon.” You sigh, shrugging on your backpack as you wait for him to finish packing up. Namjoon watches you curiously, brows furrowed.

“You seem dejected. Are you having trouble with class? Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“N-not… not really,” you say, shaking your head. “Can we talk about this outside? People for the next class are starting to come in.”

Namjoon follows you dutifully from behind, and you can hear him bid his farewells to a few giggling freshmen as the two of you exit the lecture hall. They coo openly in his presence, with one of them bold enough to compliment his fairly generous bosom, her fingers twitching as if she is only one push away from grabbing them by the fistful.

You walk towards the small cafe near the entrance of the building, grabbing one of the empty chairs and gesturing for Namjoon to sit across from you. He does as you say, confusion still gracing his handsome features.

“So, will you tell me why you’ve called me out here now?” Namjoon asks. Before you can respond, however, he reaches into his backpack and pulls out a half squished sandwich. He offers you the less crushed half, like the gentleman that he is, but you find it hard to accept when you feel like your stomach is turning inside out with nerves.

“Umm… How do I say this…” You groan, leg bouncing so incessantly that the poor table begins to shake. Namjoon doesn’t even try to stop his other sandwich half from sliding over, instead giving you a concerned glance.

Fuck it. Better to rip the band-aid off in one swoop, right?

“Y/N––?”

“Namjoon, are you aware that people think someone wrote a stupid love poem about you?”

His previously open mouth clamps shut, then. He stares at you in confusion, a dollop of mayonnaise hanging off his jutting chin. “What?”

Panicking slightly, you’re quick to continue your train of thought, probably to your own detriment. “NOT that the poem is about you, by the way. Well, it could be? No? I DIDN’T WRITE IT!” Pause for heavy breathing. “A-anyway, that’s not the point… I just wanted to ask if you were… umm… aware of it. Yeah. That’s it.”

Ohhhh my god. You stupid idiot. Fuck fuck fuck fuck you fucking stupid piece of shit ass tit fuck what other swear words are there oh yeah FUCK!!!

In the midst of your personal mental beatdown, you fail to see Namjoon’s genuine look of confusion, his head tilted to the side as he watches your face turn red. He chews on his sandwich thoughtfully. “Uh? No? I’m not aware? I really have no idea what you are talking about, Y/N.”

You finally stop swearing at yourself. “Wait, really?”

Namjoon nods his head. “Really. What poem are you talking about?”

“Please tell me you’re joking. I don’t really like being teased; I get enough of that from Seokjin.”

“No, I’m serious!” Namjoon raises his hands in surrender. “I wouldn’t joke about something that is clearly giving you distress.”

“It’s not causing me distress!” You screech back, voice cracking from your tone going up a pitch. You clear your throat. “Um. Wait. So that means you haven’t heard about the huge rumor going around about a love poem being about you?”

He shrugs his shoulders, lips pursed. “Not a clue. Am I supposed to?”

Huh. You stare at the imbecile before you, his previously handsome looks starting to look less appealing by the minute. Is this shithead for real? Did you really spend hours worrying over how you would approach him about the poem, only to find out that he has no clue what you’re talking about? Like, how is it even possible for him not to know? You can’t even spend a minute doing anything without someone bringing up that stupid mistake of a poem. How the hell did you ever have a crush on him?

“Pardon? Did you say crush something?”

“Oh shit,” you curse, slapping a palm to your mouth. Did you fucking say that out loud?

“Sorry,” Namjoon swallows thickly, a large bite of his sandwich visibly going down his gullet. “I was chewing too loudly so I didn’t hear you properly.”

You heave a sigh of relief. Okay, maybe being an idiot has its benefits.

“It’s fine. It wasn’t anything important,” you say, already arranging your things to get up and leave. If Namjoon is oblivious to all the poem shenanigans that have been circling campus, then who are you to inform him? All you can hope now is that he remains ignorant of the poem at all, and chalk it up as a success in your book. It’s not like he’s going to be curious to find out more anyway––

“Wait! Don’t go! You’ve piqued my interest now. I wanna know what you were talking about,” Namjoon pipes up, leaning his lanky body sidewards so as to block you from leaving. You halt in your movements, surprised by his sudden inquiry.

Sweat starts to form in the middle of your back at his earnest curiosity. “I––it’s nothing, Namjoon. I was just messing with you. Don’t worry about it.” You laugh nervously.

“I don’t think you were?” Namjoon rubs his chin thoughtfully. “You wouldn’t have been so adamant to call me out here just to be joking.”

“Listen, I really have to go. I have another class soon and I wanna grab lunch before I––”

“You said something about a poem.” He remains undeterred, pulling out his phone. “And it’s about me? Well, not about me, if that’s what you’re saying…”

“Hold up!” You snatch his phone out of his hands, holding it behind you to keep it from his reach. Even though you know his inquisitiveness is not his fault, it doesn’t stop you from wanting to punch him square in his cute little nose. Hell, you don’t recall wanting to fight anyone as much as you do right now.

(Seokjin sneezes somewhere in the distance, feeling offended for whatever reason. “Y/N should only be punching me,” he thinks to himself as he dumps way too much purple dye on this poor lady’s head.)

“Why are you being so weird right now? Give me back my phone!” He pouts at you, not at all knowing that your resolve is already quickly crumbling before him.

“I…” You gulp, foot tapping restlessly as you try to think of what to do. “Okay. Fine, I’ll show you the poem. Just… don’t read too deeply into it, okay? It’s just a stupid thing that got too many people excited over nothing.”

“Sure,” Namjoon nods his head, acquiescing quickly. “I don’t really like paying attention to much of the rumors and trends that happen on campus. I just want to see what this poem is all about.”

“Just… don’t let it get to your head,” you mutter, returning his phone to him. You direct him to the university confessions group page, watching as his fingers fumbled with his keyboard. Eventually, he gets to the post (pinned to the top, forever mocking you for your stupidity) and reads the short piece in record time.

There is a pause where neither of you speak. You know he has finished reading it from the way he has started to scroll down to the comments, though he quickly jumps back to the top when you glare at him to stop. He leans back into his chair, closing his phone and stares at you expressionlessly.

You click your nails across the coffee shop table as you observe him suspiciously, his lack of response making you more nervous. “Well?”

The left side of his mouth quirks up––but not in a way that might suggest glee or satisfaction––and he stays frozen like that for a bit. You have the sudden urge to wave your hand in front of him to check if he’s fine, and being the type of person to submit to your urges, you do as you please.

Thankfully, he snaps out of it, blinking quickly as if he’s forgotten that you were there. He scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed. “Oh, yeah. The poem, uh… How do I put it…”

“What?” What on earth could he have a problem with? Does he genuinely think the poem might be about him? “If you’re starting to think that the poem may be about you––”

“No, no, that’s not it.” Namjoon opens his phone again, peering at the poem questioningly. “I was just going to say that this poem is a lot less impressive than you were hyping it up to be.”

Excuse me??????? He did not fucking just say that.

“You did not just fucking say that,” you verbalize, glowering at him. You can feel the fumes start to steam out of your ears, but Namjoon remains oblivious (as per usual) to your emotions. He just hums, shrugging his shoulders with his nose upturned in the air, as if he had just smelled something horrible.

“It’s just… the meter is all messed up… Like, I’m all about free verse or whatever, but I can tell the author is trying waaaay too hard to keep whatever rhythm they had going on in the first verse.” He scrolls through the poem some more, before stopping somewhere in the middle. He shows you one of your favorite verses with a look of something akin to disdain. “And what’s up with all the moon references? That theme is so overused.”

“YOUR MIXTAPE LITERALLY HAS A SONG CALLED MOONCHILD! THAT’S WHY PEOPLE THINK THE POEM IS ABOUT YOU!” You explode, spittle flying everywhere from the force of your shout. A group of freshmen sitting nearby jump up in surprise, though most of the older, more dead-eyed college students do not even bat an eye at your spectacle. This university is full of cuckoos, is what they are probably thinking.

The biggest cuckoo of them all looks at you defensively, frowning somewhat irritably. Namjoon continues, “Yeah, but I used the moon in my song in a classy way! I would be offended if someone would write this poem for me after being inspired by my song.”

Is it possible for blood to boil inside your veins? Because you’re really starting to feel heat trail up your back up to your neck, causing you to see nothing but red and the tantalizing vision of your hands around his neck. Easy, Y/N. You can’t afford anger management therapy; you have a tuition to pay.

In all seriousness though, you cannot take this any longer. You have suffered long enough while having to follow Namjoon around like a bitch for two days, and if karma still wants to use the strap on you, then she’s going to have to do it some other day because you cannot physically stand being around Namjoon for another ten seconds if you can help it. And this is coming from someone who is around Kim Seokjin at least twice a week, so it is obvious that your patience and sanity is truly at its limit.

“I’m done.” You are barely able to keep yourself from slamming your head against the table. Instead, you stand up hastily, chair legs screeching against the tiled floor. You shoulder your bag quickly, waving at him without even turning to face him. The sooner you get away from him, the better. “You can think what you want. Just live your life, man. I’m done.”

“Okay? Well, have a nice day, Y/N!” Namjoon calls out a cheery goodbye, though his tone obviously still sounds confused even as you walk further and further away from him, a trainwreck of a human being. You resolve to yourself to call Hana the next morning to ask her to slip some opened sweets into his jean pocket so the ants at the daycare might climb out of their shelter to bite him in the balls.

How did you ever have a crush on that bastard? I guess that mystery will have to remain… unsolved.

Unluckily, your mood does not improve after lunch, nor do you calm down after your next class either. In fact, you are still steaming when you arrive to your tutoring session with Hoseok, so much so that you have completely forgotten to be worried about him after the events of last Friday.

(Record scratch, freeze frame. Pause. What the hell happened last Friday again? Your overworked brain cells can only handle one stressful event at a time, so you suppose that problem with Hoseok and Jimin will have to be solved another day.)

Hoseok, the caring boy that he is, also forgets to retain his moodiness from Friday’s argument when he spots you looking like you were about to pop a blood vessel at any moment.

Hoseok sits hesitantly in front of you, even placing his textbooks gently onto the table as if any sudden sounds might cause you to self-combust and splatter your guts all over the library floor. The only thing really keeping you from doing exactly that is because you wouldn’t want poor Jungkook the library assistant to have to clean up your mess.

“Umm… Hey, Y/N. You okay? You look kind of… red.” Hoseok says carefully, smile twitching on his face.

The suddenness at which you slam your hands on the table causes not only Hoseok, but also Jungkook who is three whole bookshelves away, to jump up in surprise. The former makes a terrified scream to accompany his leap into the air, staring at your frantically with his fists held up in defense.

“AHH? Y/N, what’s going on––”

“SHUT UP!” You point a finger menacingly at him, making him shriek once more. Your jaw is clenched, teeth grinding audibly. “YOU FUCKING KNOW WHAT, HOSEOK? I’LL WRITE THE NICEST POEM IN THE ENTIRE WORLD FOR YOU, OKAY? YOU DESERVE IT! FUCK WHAT ANYONE ELSE THINKS! I’M A GOOD WRITER AND NOTHING KIM NAMJOON SAYS WILL CHANGE THAT!”

Hoseok’s mouth opens, agape. He doesn’t know how to respond, not quite understanding what you were saying in the first place. A lot of angry words spilled from your lips in such a short amount of time, and Hoseok was more impressed with your flow than anything. Were you a rapper, by any chance?

Unaware of Hoseok’s musings, you huff loudly to yourself, slamming open your lecture notes and shoving them aggressively towards him. “ALSO, I TOOK THE LIBERTY OF WRITING A REVIEWER FOR YOUR MIDTERM! PLEASE READ THROUGH THEM IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS!”

“Umm… Thanks?” Hoseok says, not really sure which part of your loud declarations he is specifically thanking you for. He sneaks a glance at the front desk, thankful that it is only meek little Jungkook in charge today and not the cranky older librarian who already has a personal vendetta against you and your tutoring group for being public nuisances (not that she was unjustly pointing fingers, of course).

Your mental collapse aside, the rest of his tutoring session goes smoothly, with Hoseok still walking on eggshells around you just in case you might feel like exploding again. You know, for fun or something. Although, he does end up asking if he can leave a few minutes early, saying something about a paper due at the end of the week. The excuse doesn’t make you bat an eye until Jimin arrives for his own session, his grin faltering when he sees his hyung not there to greet him with their usual dance battle in the library.

“Ah… Guess Hoseok-hyung really is still mad over what happened…” Jimin sighs, slumping into his chair. He thumbs his textbook thoughtfully, tongue sticking out like a puppy.

“I’m sure it’ll blow over soon,” you say hopefully, though your heart isn’t quite in it either. Coughing awkwardly, you pluck his textbook out of his hands, desperate to talk about something else other than your crumbling interpersonal relationships. You pause at the page, however, before staring incredulously back at Jimin.

“Jimin.”

“Hmm?” Jimin is still listless, head pillowed by his arms on the table. “What?”

“This is a book on differential calculus. I’m supposed to teach you about writing academic essays.”

“Oh yeah,” Jimin sighs, closing his eyes. “I stole that book from some freshman on the way here. The English textbook I usually bring is with Taehyung right now.”

You pause. Actually, now that you think about it… “Jimin, do you actually even go to this university? What the hell is your major, even?”

“Wha-?” Jimin yawns, fanning his mouth with his hand. He blinks sleepily at you with a big, doofy grin. “Sorry, I played MapleStory for hours last night and I haven’t gotten much sleep. Can I just sleep during this session? I’ll still pay you or whatever…” he trails off, stretching like a cat under a patch of sunlight. Before you know it, the soft sound of Jimin’s snoring fills the silence.

Thankfully, Monday ends without much more commotion. You may have come out of this experience a little bit more broken inside, but hey! That’s what character development is all about, babey. You are just glad that Tuesdays are usually your quietest days, as you only have two classes to worry about. It is also one of the days when you have Creative Writing with Sera, who usually manages to rope you in to get greasy fast food after class. Despite the traumatic experience that particular class has indirectly inflicted upon you, your usual zeal and excitement does not diminish in the slightest. After all, writing will always be your first love, so there isn’t any way some silly poem mishap will make you detest it.

Hopefully nothing else will go wrong, because you aren’t so sure your sanity can take much more of a pounding.

(Fwip. Do you hear that? That’s the sound of karma putting on her strap.)

“Alright class, see you guys on Thursday. Don’t forget that we have a quiz at the beginning of class on Thursday, so please don’t be late.” Professor Puth says, his eyelids blinking out of sync. You hate to be someone who assumes what other people do during their off days as it is none of your business, though the perpetual cloud of marijuana that clings around him can only do so much to mask what his recreational activities might be.

“Dude, I think Prof Puth is finding Nirvana soon,” Sera says loudly, earning the giggles of a few classmates nearby.

“I’d be surprised if he could even find the exit of this building,” you snort, just as the man in question trips over air and nearly faceplants on the ground. Like the model students that you are, you both pretend to be busy doing something else, leaving some other poor soul to help your professor.

Two girls that you vaguely remember from somewhere approach Professor Puth. They are quick to help him straighten up, if his groaning and gasping are anything to go by. He thanks them gruffly and waves them off, but the girls seem adamant to stay put.

“Professor, I have a question…” One of the girls asks, nervously tugging on her ponytail. Her friend giggles surreptitiously beside her, urging her to continue. Their odd demeanor causes signals to go off in your brain, telling you to stop and listen. You tug on Sera’s hand, halting her from leaving.

“Wait. I wanna hear what they’re gonna ask,” you mutter, ignoring Sera’s complaints about being hungry. She can wait for her McNuggets for another five minutes, no matter how much she pretends that she’s starving. You had seen her eat two whole burritos before coming into class today.

Professor Puth raises his brow. “Yes? What do you need?”

“We were just wondering if you could… tell us anything about the identity of the author from that poem?” The girl manages to get all of it out in a rush, cheeks flushed as her friend nods fervently beside her.

“Yea, Prof! We’ve been dying to know! The suspense is killing us, knowing that the mystery author is in one of your classes!” The other girl continues, glittery excitement practically exuding out of her in waves.

Professor Puth sighs, leaning heavily on his desk. He appears about as done as you feel. “Listen… You can badger me all you want, but there’s no way I can tell you. Privacy laws prevent us from sharing information like that without prior consent, even though that student in question might have accidentally sent her assignment to the entire school.” You might be imagining it, but you think Professor Puth points you with a knowing look. You gulp, hastily bowing your head and pretending to fiddle with your phone.

“Aww, Prof! It’s been days and the university hasn’t shut up about it! Surely one of the theories on who the author and muse are must be true, right? You can tell us that, at least.”

You can’t bear to keep listening any longer, though Sera has started to become more interested in the conversation as it progressed. “Wait, wait… I wanna hear the Prof’s opinion,” she says, grinning despite your nails digging crescents into her arm as you try to pull her away.

“No can do! Remember, I have your freshman Halloween pictures saved on a harddrive, and you wouldn’t want me to accidentally send that to the entire student body as well, would you?”

That manages to snap her out of it. Quickly, the two of you leave the lecture hall and away from possible discovery by your poem-frenzied classmates. You are also relieved to be able to breathe in fresh air once more, after being stuck in that class surrounded by liberal art students for two hours. You always do feel a little bit more relaxed after class with Puth, although that might just be from all the secondhand drug use.

Perhaps the fumes really did dull your reflexes, as it takes a while before you realize that Sera has been nudging your shoulder.

When you finally glanced at her, there is a sneaky grin on her face: never a good sign. “So,” she begins, a singsong quality in her voice

After having been her friend for long enough, you have become adept at telling what Sera is going to say next. Call it intuition or whatever, but you like to think of it is a self-defense mechanism. As much as she is your friend, she does love digging into your personal life like it is the cover story of some shitty tabloid. You have to prepare yourself to be interrogated.

“You’re going to ask about the poem, aren’t you?”

Sera rolls her eyes, like you shouldn’t have even asked. “Duh, of course I am. What else would I want to talk about?”

You shrug your shoulders, pretending to think. “I don’t know. Maybe you could have asked ‘Hey, Y/N! How’s your mom been? Have you been eating and drinking well?’ You know, like a normal person.”

“Well, firstable, your mom is literally my friend on Facebook and I saw her go out to that bougie high tea place with Jennie’s mom the other day, so I know she’s fine,” Sera says as the two of you round a corner, heading closer to the parking lot where her car is. “And secondable, you don’t fucking drink water, because you like pretending to be a dehydrated piece of jerky.”

“I just like drinking apple juice, okay? Water is weird,” you say defensively, kicking a pebble as you walk.

“Nah, you’re weird,” Sera counters, ever the creative debater. She remains undeterred, however. “So. Any updates on the poem situation or am I going to have tickle the details out of you?”

You groan, pushing her away from your sensitive sides. “Please don’t… I have no upper body strength and I won’t be able to push you off!”

“That’s the point.” Sera laughs, pinching your cheek. She snatches her hand away, only narrowly escapes getting bitten by you. “Why don’t we skip my torture methods then and go straight to the juicy bits? It’s been ages since I’ve seen you!”

“What if nothing has happened since I last saw you?” You grumble, miffed that she really isn’t letting it go. You just want to have one relaxing day, is that too much to ask?

Apparently, it is. Relaxation is a rare commodity these days. Sera snorts, patting you condescendingly on the back. “Nonsense. You’ve got that post-mental breakdown glow around you. You look absolutely radiant with stress!”

The conversations pauses for a bit when you make it to the parking lot. You don’t have to walk too far, as her car is parked relatively close to the exit, which is just another display of how lucky Sera often is in comparison to you. While your unfortunate plebeian ass is busy drowning in shit, Sera is off somewhere aboard a yacht, getting a massage from some Instagram thot.

She hops into the driver’s seat, waiting for you to put your seatbelt on before backing out with one hand on the wheel. “McDonalds?” she asks, though it is pretty much a given that is where you are going. The last time you both tried diverging from your usual hang out spot, you got intense food poisoning from eating at Chipotle. Sera came out completely fine though, that lucky bitch.

She continues her questions on the drive there, and you relent by telling her most of what has happened to you over the past few days. You gloss over the argument between Hoseok and Jimin, not really wanting their spat to suddenly go viral on Facebook as well. Everything else, however––

“Wait, so you talked to Kim Namjoon? The Kim Namjoon? The Namjoon that you had an embarrassing crush on during our first year?” Sera laughs maniacally, almost driving off into the wrong lane. Luckily, you are quick to latch onto the wheel, saving the two of you from becoming roadkill.

“Watch where you’re going!”

“No, but Y/N! That’s literally so fucking funny!” Sera’s laughter has simmered to a giggle, despite the fact that she is still trying (and failing) to furtively glance your way when you hit a stoplight. “Is he like how you remember? God, do you remember how you were after you first met him? All starstruck because your senpai showed you a draft of his single? ‘Oh, Sera! He has the most amaaaazing flow! I’m going to suck his di––’”

“Shut up!” You whine, slapping her in embarrassment. “Believe me, that crush has died, along with any respect I may have had for him. Men are scum, and I’m going to only date girls from now on.”

“Fine by me! More dick to suck for me, I guess.” Sera teases, whistling innocently. Bold of her to assume that there is any innocent or pure bone in her body; you’ve seen her thirst tweets and no amount of holy water can cure the disease that your vision must have sustained.

“I just want the rumors to die down… It would make my life way more bearable.” You murmur to yourself, sliding down your seat.

Sera is silent for a while. The McDonalds is just within sight, so Sera waits until she has finished parking before she turns to face you fully, uncanny sincerity in her expression. It unnerves you how serious she is, not when you know that this is the same girl who would snort sugar packets if you bet her $5. She places her hands on your shoulder, fixing you with a meaningful look.

“Listen, Y/N. I know all of this is tough right now, but I’m sure it’s going to be alright, okay? The rumor is going to die down soon enough, and everything will be back to normal. Stay strong for now.” Her voice is soothing, sympathy dripping from every word. As mortifying as it is to admit, the tears flow down your cheek effortlessly; perhaps it is the consequence of having to bear this burden on your own for so long without anyone actually telling you that it’s going to be alright.

“Thanks… I think I needed that,” you say after a while, sniffling just a bit. Sera grins fondly at you, wiping your tears.

“No need to thank me. I may be a chaotic shithead, but I’m also your friend.” She unbuckles her seatbelt, gesturing for you to do the same. “C’mon, let’s go in. I’ll even share my nuggets with you.”

Despite her best efforts at comfort, you still feel a little bummed. You allow yourself to wallow in your self-pity for a bit, as McDonalds is a prime location to feel shitty about your life choices anyway. The heart attack inducing food, the barely hygienic facilities, the minimum wage high school employees… Nothing else screamed “I’d rather be dead but it could also be worse” quite like Mickey D’s often did.

You wait by one of the booths while Sera goes off to order for the both of you, leaving you with her phone and other belongings. She promises to let you eat four out of the twenty nugget pieces, which is asking a lot considering who you are dealing with. Sera could probably eat sixty nuggets if she so desired, but only stops herself so she can be physically well enough to continue being a thot. Chasing men all day requires physical fitness, or so she says.

When you go to place her things on the other side of the booth, you notice that Sera had accidentally left her phone unlocked. You can see that she had been previously looking at one of those popular forum sites for your university, where most of her repertoire of gossip is usually sourced from. You aren’t usually the type to frequent those types of pages, with good reason too. That exact forum is the reason of your current stress, where your most private thoughts and feelings were revealed for all to see. Any sort of positive opinion you might have had for that site was immediately dashed the moment that cursed poem was released into the wild.

It kind of pisses you off that Sera still uses that forum despite knowing how much anxiety it has caused you, but then again, there is only so much you can expect from her. Her appetite for drama and chaos is her way of life, her only other hobby aside from writing. You also vaguely recall her saying that she gathers inspiration for her short stories from some of the more outrageous posts made by your fellow schoolmates.

In the end, curiosity gets the best of you as you stare at the open webpage, tantalizing despite the murkiness that lies within. Oh, lighten up. It’s just a confessions page… Besides, you also kind of want to see what people are saying about your poem, and whether the commotion might have died even slightly over time. (Unlikely, but you remain hopeful.)

“Let’s see,” you murmur to yourself, sneaking glances at the counter to see if Sera is close to ordering. She appears to still be next in line to order, so that might give you enough time to read a few of the comments on the post. It doesn’t take you long to find the original post either, since Sera seems to have been perusing the same thing just beforehand.

“Typical Sera... Sympathetic in the streets, a nosey bitch in the sheets.” You snort, scrolling quickly through the comment section. Nothing seems to be out of the ordinary, except for a few overenthusiastic responses from a couple of people who have bombarded the forum so much that it takes you a few moments to navigate past their thread. You catch a few words here and there, mostly the names of the seven possible muses and not so much the names of any of the possible authors. Honestly, you are more than happy with these turn of events, perfectly content as long as your identity never sees the day where it becomes associated with that disaster piece.

You sort the comments by popularity, wanting to know what everyone’s biggest guesses are. You want to remain hopeful, but as the results start to load, the wave of nausea that suddenly hits you may have been the first warning signal that you should probably stop before you read something that you will regret.

posted by u/SeokjinGod [3d ago]:

[+103, -4] i’m really hoping that kim seokjin is the muse of the poem!! has anyone seen the ads for the new play he’s staring in? he totally looks like the lead actor in a romantic comedy ^^

➾ [+54, -69] psh. that idiot, the muse? PLEASE anyone who has ever worked for kim seokjin KNOWS that it’s physically impossible to form a human connection with that man

➾ [+2, -1] lol seconded

posted by u/namuwuchild [1d ago]:

[+88, -3] WAIT why am i not seeing kim namjoon’s name more often T_T he deserves more love!! stream moonchild or else i’ll bite your ankles

➾ [+1, -6] lol i miss when namjoon used to do actual hiphop… fucking hippie dippie go fuck a tree and some crabs while you’re at it

You sneak a look over your shoulder. Sera is at the front of the line, reciting her orders while the harried employee has to quickly punch in the inordinate amount of food items. Okay… While no one’s looking, time to downvote a couple of these and maybe report some of these assholes… No way in hell are you letting anyone think Moonlight Sonata is about either of those Kim idiots. You would honestly rather out yourself than let anyone think they are worthy of such public displays of love and humiliation.

You are just about to close Sera’s phone and vow never to set foot on social media ever again when the next post catches your eye––the first one where you actually see your name. In fact, your name is generously sprinkled a number of times in this one specific thread.

“Wait a second…” You squint at the top of the thread, reading out the username of the original poster. Is that… Is that your name?!

“User Y/NKook… Oh my god!” You shriek loudly, almost dropping the phone from your sweaty palms. It must be the same person who had organized that merchandise booth in the cafeteria the other week! The number of upvotes on the post isn’t making you feel any better.

posted by u/Y/NKook [3h ago]:

[+98, -5] idk why you noobs are even trying… intellectuals KNOW that y/nkook is real and i won’t take no for an answer… give me my childhood friends to lovers fic RIGHT NOW because this slowburn has been going on for years now and i can’t stand it!!!

➾ [+11, -0] omg op do you know them personally?? how’d you know that they were childhood friends?? i go to the same drama class as y/n and jungkook but they never sit together… are you sure it’s them??

➾ [+20, -1] of course!! they’re even neighbors… besides, haven’t you heard what his nickname is? his friends call him moon eyes for a reason! they say that y/n is the one who gave him that name ^^

You feel your eye twitch, disbelief flooding your senses. Why is this weirdo shipping you with Jungkook? You guys haven’t even spoken properly since elementary school… How does this dude know who you are? Are you being stalked? You whirl your head around, scanning the restaurant for any suspicious people who may or may not be following you. Is this what celebrities feel like when they get shipped with their friends? You feel a sudden surge of respect for them, unable to grasp the situation that you are in. God, you really hope Jungkook hasn’t read any of these.

You go to switch Sera’s phone off, feeling less accomplished than ever before. Maybe it is best to save yourself the anxiety of seeing your world fall apart and try to delude yourself into thinking that the past two weeks have never happened at all. However, there is a certain appeal to reading things that you know you should not, like watching a car crash and unable to look away. The urge to keep scrolling and gaze upon your own personal hell is hard to stop when you have already gained momentum.

“One last post, then I’m done…” You are hard set on that promise, not wanting your apprehension to destroy your peaceful afternoon completely. The next post on the forum greets you with a high upvote number, sending a lick of fear to run down your spine at what you might find. Please don’t be about Y/NKook, you pray helplessly. Little did you know, there are worse things to worry about other than being shipped with your friends.

posted by u/triceratops 👤 [1h ago]:

[+154, -5] hey guys i’m back again with another update! so i’ve managed to shorten the list a bit since last time i posted, and i’m 100% certain that kim seokjin is not the muse! sorry, gamers… our prince is in another castle it seems. worry not, though! that only helps our search better and shortens the list. on the other hand, the authors list has also been edited! turns out that neither jodi nor melody is the author, as they both submitted poems about something else. if you are interested to see the updated lists for both muse and author, please head to my profile and look for the original post titled “Mystery Moon Author & Their Mystery Muse” :-)

You have never clicked on a profile as quickly as you did in that moment. Not even a notification from UberEats could make you move that fast.

Lo and behold, the post that started it all is right at the top of the user’s profile, with the significantly shorter list that they had promised. Sweat begins to build on your temples when you realize that the authors list has decreased to seven names, with your name still obstinately sitting at the end of the lines. When will your suffering end?

There is still something that doesn’t sit right with you, however. As you peruse this user’s profile some more, you feel as if there is something weird about it that you can’t quite place. You never did like using this forum, so maybe you are just not used to the layout of the website? What is it about this user’s profile that is making your stomach coil with nerves?

Wait a second… Why is there an edit button beside their profile picture?

“Y/N! I’m back! Sorry for taking so long; I think I ordered too much again. You’re fine with BBQ sauce on your nuggs, right? That’s all I asked for––” Sera had been happily chirping away, sliding into the bench across from you before finally noticing your stoney face. She pats her face, rubbing her cheeks in confusion. “What? Do I have something on me?”

“How fucking dare you!” You hiss, slamming her phone on the table. Unfortunately, you had accidentally locked the phone in your anger, showing only a black screen.

Sera flinches backwards, bewildered. Her eyes flick to the screen and then to you. “Huh? I thought you liked BBQ sauce on your nuggs? I mean, I can ask for sweet and sour sauce if you want…”

“Unlock your phone right now and explain to me why you have triceratops’ profile logged in.”

Your words begin to click in Sera’s mind. Her face grows pale, her body unconsciously sliding further into the booth to hide from your glare. “U-uh… Haha, what on earth are you talking about..?”

“Don’t even try to lie, Sera. I saw everything, and I honestly don’t know if I’m madder that you betrayed me or that I was stupid enough to believe that you were my friend.”

Sera splutters incomprehensibly at first, waving her arms in panic as she tries to save her ass. “I––! You––! It wasn’t like I––”

You lean forward, peering at her coldly. “Oh yeah? What wasn’t it like? It wasn’t like we were friends?”

“No, of course not! I mean,” she backtracks, tongue-tied. “We are friends! It’s just… I made that post before I knew you were the author and I originally sent the poem to just a couple of people because I was so impressed, and I just wanted to––”

“Hold on,” you interrupt, holding up a finger. She squeaks, staring at you fearfully as you slowly get up to your feet. You cry out, “You were also the one who released my fucking poem to the world?!”

“Anna ou––” Sera whimpers, slapping her palm to her mouth. She lowers it, whispering ruefully. “I… didn’t mean to say that…”

“Oh, so you were meaning to lie to me even more?” You seethe, ready to burst into flames.

The poor McDonalds employee who had come to deliver your order to your table seems too frightened to approach the two of you, her arms shaking both with fear and the weight of five orders of 20 piece chicken nuggets. “Uh, is this a bad time?” The girl asks, eyes darting away from your heated glare.

Instead of answering, you grab the tray from her hands and dump the contents on the table. Sera squawks pitifully when a few of the nuggets fall to the ground, though she absolutely yells when you start chucking them at her head like tiny oily cannonballs.

“What the fuck––Dude stop!” Sera has her arms up in defense, shielding her face from your fiery attack. The sound of you ripping open a BBQ sauce packet has her straightening up, however. “No, not the BBQ sauce! Anything but that!”

“Give me one reason why I should show you mercy.” Your hand is poised to pour the sticky sauce all over her white Valentino bag, ready at a moment’s notice.

“Please, Y/N! I’m really sorry!” Sera jumps out of the booth, and goes on her knees. She clasps her hands together, shaking them frantically. “I really didn’t know it was you at first!”

“Well then, why didn’t you fucking take the post down the moment you did know it was me? I thought you were my friend!” You clench your fist around the BBQ sauce packet, causing some of it to spill onto her bag. She makes a desperate noise.

“I just… I like the attention?” She knows this is the wrong answer, judging by your unimpressed expression. She sighs heavily, head bowed in shame. “Look, I’ll fix this, alright? I genuinely didn’t do this wanting to hurt you… I just got so caught up in the clout that I didn’t really think about what would happen if you found out!”

“‘If’ I found out, huh…” You echo, more disappointed than angry now. You slump back into your chair, taking care to grab the napkins and cleaning the sticky mess on your skin as best as you can. “You really were going to continue doing this for as long as it took, huh?”

“I’m really sorry, Y/N.” Her voice is soft, repentant. It doesn’t do much for your sympathy, however.

“Fuck you, honestly. If you really are sorry, you’ll fix this mess as soon as possible.”

You reach for your bag, your movements jostling a few more nuggets to tumble to the floor. You don’t bother saying goodbye, not wanting to see if Sera is doing her Crying Face Emoji impression to try and soften you up. Not this time. This time… you don’t think your feelings can recover after this.

You have read enough stories about heartbreak and longing, but you don’t think any of them top the experience of losing a friend you realize you never even had.

The next morning, there is a new post on the forum from user triceratops.

posted by u/triceratops 👤 [0s ago]:

[+0, -0] Hello, friends. I think I’ve found the author.

It’s Lee Sera.

399 notes · View notes

nomimits7 · 5 years

Text

Dance with me | JJK

Title: Dance with me

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Rating: Mature

Genre: Yandere-ish? I honestly have no clue. Collage AU? Dance Major Reader, dance reader Jungkook

Warnings: Fainting is kind of described. A bit of cursing. Jungkook being a switch between personalities. Slight Yandere themed. My first attempt at smut, be nice. Unprotected sex, fingering. It sounds forced but its not. It starts one way, takes a turn south and ends up north… idk it’s a mess

Summary: You never told him, and probably never will, but you idolized him. He was the perfect dancer. The top dog in all categories. You wanted his approval or acknowledgement for your had work, instead you only received playful remarks and not the good kind. He constantly teased you about your dancing skills and background. This did not help your toxic addiction one bit. Instead it only worsened it.

A/N: This is trash and a bad attempt at writing. FIRST SMUT ATTEMPT so be nice... There yah go @toanimeornot as promised ... enjoy <3

***

Being a dance major has its challenges. First challenge that quickly got you a reputation among your peers, was the fact that you had little to no background in the field of dancing. As weird as it sounds, you still managed to slide your way into the academy of arts.

Your second challenge came in the form of one particular senior named Jungkook. Even if he was only one year older than you, he made it his life’s mission to make your life a living hell. And of course, the bitch karma had it in for you and had to make him look like a living Greek god. This little fact and the fact that he was one of the top dancers did NOT count in your favour at all.

At first, you welcomed the challenge of proofing to everyone your worth. It made you work extra hard and the reward was always sweet. But the energy you use to drive yourself soon turned toxic. You began losing sight of yourself. You began pushing the limits of your own body. Your normal, or rather recommended 5 hours of dance practice a day, turned into 9 hours. Your recommended 6 meals a day quickly turned into just 2 forced meals. You became obsessed with the idea of proofing yourself to everyone around you. Especially Jungkook for reasons unbeknownst to you.

You never told him, and probably never will, but you idolized him. He was the perfect dancer. The top dog in all categories. You wanted his approval or acknowledgement for your had work, instead you only received playful remarks and not the good kind. He constantly teased you about your dancing skills and background. This did not help your toxic addiction one bit. Instead it only worsened it.

“Well if it isn’t the ‘wanna be’ dancer Y/N!” his voice came flying across the studio, almost making your ears bleed with the amount of confidence his voice possessed. For such angelic boyish voice, it sure as hell wasn’t your favourite thing to hear as of late.

Normally you would have a string of comebacks lined up, carefully picked out just for him. But your whole body has turned against you, and it didn’t help that you suffered from fatigue due to your abnormal and ridiculous practice schedule. You weren’t sleeping like you use to, and you recently acquired a fever of some sorts. You couldn’t even get out of bed this morning and you have been living on caffeine for the past 3 hours just to remain awake.

“Not today Jeon.” You gritted out through a clenched jaw, to tired to even turn around and face your predator head on.

“Aw, are we in a bad mood?” He asked slowly walking towards you. Even though his voice was dripping with sarcasm, his eyes slowly took in your form, immediately noticing the weakness that seem to drip off you. His eyes quickly went from ‘playful predator stalking its toy/meal’ to concern. He could see the dark circles under your eyes which you had carefully hidden with foundation. He saw the slow steps your feet took. He saw the way your body was hunched over, clearly warn out. But what made his blood run cold was the lack of colour to your skin. Your beautifully tanned skin he always sneaked glances at before you started wearing long sleeves, now took on a porcelain white.

Even though he was concerned he knew better than to ask you about it. He loved seeing you mad, but only at his teasing and not at him directly. That fire in your eyes he loved dearly and that only he could light wasn’t present, so he decided to try and relight your spirit with the only way he knew. Teasing.

“Jungkook please. I’m not in the mood for you today.” You said placing your practice bag down. As you did so, your legs gave out momentarily. Jungkook quickly moved to catch you and before you knew it you were safely in his arms as his doe eyes stared down at you. Those same eyes you adored from afar, held a message you couldn’t comprehend.

His eyes went wide as he looked at you from a closer perspective. Your one glass blue eyes were truly lifeless, your skin, your beautiful skin nearly grey from lack of nutrients. Before you could see his facial expression, your instructor came into the studio. You quickly pushed Jungkook’s chest, desperately trying to get out of his supporting hands and away from his burning skin, and surprisingly, he backed off.

You quickly took of your jacket and tied your hair. You could feel his eyes on you, yet you chose to ignore it. Rather you tried to ignore it, until you turned around and was meet with his doe-like eyes filled with concern, which was a first for Jungkook. You were just about to say something, like a big old ‘What’ when your instructors voice drew your attention away from Jungkook and towards the centre of the studio.

Not to long after, you lost yourself in the world of dancing. Your body moving on pure instinct as you followed the moves the instructor gave. The choreography was supposedly next level shit, yet you quickly fell into step with the instructor, making it seem effortless. Everyone noticed the way you moved. The way you could do moves they couldn’t. How you, the one with no dancing background, could do something they couldn’t. Of course, Jungkook was part of the few that could keep up, yet his eyes were solely on you. Naturally he followed along with he moves even more easily that you, but he to couldn’t take his eyes off you. Not because you moved like a pro, but he watched your body for any sign of danger, you know, just in case. The fact that you moved so fluently was an added bonus, a bonus he surely wouldn’t forget.

You were a good 2 hours into practice when your body decided it had enough. Everything around you became blurry as your world began to spin at full speed. Your body swaying as your consciousness slowly slipped from your grasp and your energy left your limbs. Black spots formed in your vision as you heard someone call out your name, was that concern in their voice? The music stopped abruptly just as you began falling, falling, failing toward the ground.

Jungkook, who has been watching you like a hawk, saw the exact moment your body gave up. In second he had called out your name as he nearly printed towards you to catch you before you hit the ground. He swiftly gripped your waist just before you could hit the hard and waiting dance floor. He quickly lifted you of your feet, bridal style, and took you to an isolated part of the studio, close to his bag. Slowly and carefully, as if you were indeed a fragile porcelain doll, he laid you down with your head resting on his bag.

You looked as soft as ever lying there before him. He felt the sudden need to protect you at all costs, even if it meant from yourself. Hoseok, a.k.a. your instructor and a very good friend of Jungkook, quickly made his way over to you. Carefully, he double checked your pulse while Jungkook made work of taking your temperature.

“Hoseok, can we look at the log times? I think she might have gone to far.” Hoseok nodded as he went to fetch the requested documents and dismissing the rest of the student to an early lunch. Jungkook quickly took out his towel and water bottle, dampening the cloth and placing it on your forehead in an effort to break your fever.

After making sure you were indeed okay, he started searching for anything of nutrient value. You needed to get food into your body. Finding an energy bar along with one of those energy booster thingies people who gym uses, not that he uses them often, he settled besides you.

Hoseok came back soon after. His face was serious as he handed the papers to Jungkook. Jungkook took the papers from him and began scanning through them. His face soon took on the exact same seriousness as Hoseok.

“She practiced up to 9 hours a day. 9-fucking-hours-a-day. I know that it sounds fantastic and all, but the human body isn’t built to handle so much consecutive practise daily. She took no breaks in those extra 3 hours of practise. I want to see her food logbook as soon as possible.” Hoseok said. His voice firm yet filled with concern.

“Yes sir. I’ll have a look in her bag just now.” Jungkook said, giving Hoseok a small salute. Hoseok nodded and left after making sure Jungkook knew what to do, and if he was okay with taking care of you until you came to.

After Hoseok left, Jungkook made quick work of finding you logbook. Even if he knew he shouldn’t, he couldn’t help but sneak a peek at the contents of the cursed book. What he found nearly made him faint as well. For the entire week, you managed to fill one and a half pages worth of writing, not sentences but short lists of food you have consumed. You even had a few days missing and that concerned him the most.

You needed to regain consciousness as soon as possible. He slowly took the energy sachet thingie and emptied it into your mouth. He then proceeded to dab your face with the damp towel. He gently repeated this process until you started to stir.

Your eyes slowly fluttered open. The first thing you noticed was the lack of music playing. Which was odd considering you were still in the studio. The second thing you noticed was the doe eyed boy sitting next to you, dabbing your face with something cool. Your first instinct was to sit up but a firm hand on your shoulder stopped you as soon as Jungkook noticed your intend.

“There is no way in hell you’re going anywhere before we haven’t clarified a few things. Here, eat up.” Jungkook said shoving the energy bar into your hands. His demanding tone something you weren’t quiet used to, but you sure wouldn’t mind hearing it more. You where just about to protest when the door opened and Hoseok came into view.

“Y/N? Hey, you with us?” Hoseok asked as he made his way over to where you were till lying. You simply groaned in response, somehow knowing what was coming. Hoseok sat down next to Jungkook as both their faces were unreadable. The two males patiently waited for you to finish your energy bar. Once you were done, their faces changed to disappointment. You shrunk back into yourself as their gazes grew in intensity as the seconds ticked by. This was the exact opposite of what you were so desperately trying to achieve.

“Y/N” Hoseok sighed. “Why do you train so hard? You of all people should know that the human body has limits. Yours especially because you have a limited background on dancing.”

“The better question would be why your food log is so empty. I hope you just forgot to enter your meals.” Jungkook asked. His voice was laced with a little bit more venom than usual. It made you flinch slightly as you felt Hoseok’s disapproving eyes on you. Yet, all you could do was stare at the ground. How do you explain why you did it? They’ll never understand, how could they? They had it easy from the start.

A sigh left Hoseok’s mouth as he stood up. “You’re sitting the rest of the practice out. I also want a weekly report on your food intake. Oh, and I forbid you from practicing longer than 6 hours a day. Jungkook will monitor you. I do believe the both of you stay in the same apartment building?” Hoseok asked as he looked down on you.

You could only shake your head in confirmation as the weight of his words sank in. This was bad. How are you going to prove yourself with less time to practice? You needed those hours. Hoseok returned to the front of the class as the rest of the students re-entered the studio. Tears slowly made their way down your cheeks as you felt like the world biggest failure.

“Hey, don’t be upset with him, he cares for you. We both do actually, we only want to help you. We both see what you’re doing to yourself and its not healthy Y/N. You’re a good dancer, I don’t know if you noticed but your one of the best female dancers here! No one else could keep up and that says a lot. Come sit in front of the class and watch. I’ll help you later to practice. How does that sound?” Jungkook said.

You kind of forgot he was there. But you were more surprised at what he said to you. His words were filled with sincerity and for some reason it made you happy. What caught you off guard was the little confession that he cares about you, and the fact that he’s willing to help you practise.

So that’s how you found yourself in front of the class, eyes big and mouth slightly open. They have been dancing for about 30 minutes and with your luck, Jungkook was right in front of you. It all started out simple and somewhat normal, but Jungkook soon noticed your eyes not leaving his form and boy, did he take advantage of that. His body moved with purpose as he hit every trust with such power it made you scared for his limbs. His movements were sin reincarnated, his facial expressions even more so. But his little tongue licks he occasionally did and the fact that his eyes held you captive was the cherry on the cupcake.

You knew he was doing this on purpose. The smirk that grazed his lips as he made eye contact was a clear indication that he knew what he was doing. Hopefully he couldn’t see what he actually did to you. Your body has immediately reacted to his. As tired as you are, you where just as horny.

Let’s face it, you obviously had a crush on the one person in the studio who always gave you beef about your skills. The one person who always made sure to let you know he’s watching your every move. You’re now more convinced than ever that he in fact didn’t watch you for mistakes, but he watched you for, well you.

Jungkook’s a smart boy, he knew what he was doing and clearly, he knows what he’s doing know. He wants you to see him, and he’s enjoying every second of this.

Practise ended not to long after and Jungkook made quick work of packing his bags to help you stand, taking your bag in the process. To your surprise no comment was made on what had just happened in that practise room only moments ago, but the smirk was ever present.

“You know, you don’t have to take care of me. I can do that on my own. Besides, Hoseok isn’t watching anymore so you can stop pretending.” You said as you slowly made your way out of the building and headed towards your apartment building.

“Pretending? Wait you think I’m pretending?” Jungkook said as he suddenly stopped making you lose your balance for a few seconds. Of course, he was right there next to you to catch you.

“Whoa, easy tiger. I’m not pretending Y/N. Yes, I might have acted like a jerk, but I only did that because I witnessed first-hand what you do with criticism. It pushed you to become better, but clearly I went to far.” Jungkook said as he looked down. “Besides, I hate competition and guess who’s my biggest rival at the moment” He said as his eyes met yours.

“No, no. Don’t feel ashamed Jungkook. You didn’t push me to neglect myself… wait, what?” You said as his word caught up to you. He saw you as competition. You? The one with no dance background whatsoever?

Before you could properly respond, Jungkook grabbed your hand and pulled you towards your apartment building. And just as sudden as he grabbed you, his whole demeanour changed. Right in front of your eyes the doe-eyed boy changed into the dance major you saw that one faithful day. The exact day you decided to enrol into the dance academy.

His eyes were calculating and confident, they held a certain message you didn’t quiet catch. His body radiated with dominance as his hand tightened around yours. Before long, you reached your apartment building. To say you were slightly scared would be a lie, you were terrified. This is not the same boy you saw day in and day out, laughing and being all shy around girls, well all girls except you. This person was someone you have only seen once. And that scared you. Deep down you knew that this boy, rather man, in front of you were unpredictable. That much you could tell purely by the way he switched between personalities.

Perhaps you should be clearer on that statement. Jungkook had three personalities you knew of. The cute, shy, doe-eyed boy every girl wished to have. The confident dance major that knew exactly what movements to emphasize to make even men swoon over him. And lastly the overconfident senior with a way to big ego for his own good. The last one being the most prominent personality you saw.

But this, this was something different. Like a sick mix of all three of his personalities. Jungkook’s hand tugging on your wrist pulled you back to reality as you soon realized you’ve made it to your apartment door. With hesitant fingers you unlock your door to let the two of you in.

“Why don’t you go take a shower or a long bath and I’ll order us some food.” Jungkook said as he placed your bag next to your door.

“That won’t be necessary Jeon. Besides, don’t you also want to shower and relax rather than looking after me were I can clearly do it by myself.” You said as you made to push him towards your door, but the look he was giving you made you stop dead in your track.

“Y/N, my apartment is literally right across from yours. Of course, I’m going to take a shower, but I’m going to make sure you aren’t going to pull that ‘No-eating’ crap again. So, you have two options here. Either you take a shower here and relax and I come to you, or you come over as soon as you are done. BUT we are going to eat together. Got it?” Jungkook said, punctuating his last two words with two steps towards you.

With a simple nod of your head he left, leaving you alone to let his words sink in.

One shower and three pep-talks later, you found yourself outside his apartment door. When you came out of the bathroom after a well needed 30-minute shower you found, to your surprise that Jungkook hasn’t returned yet. So, you decided to go over to his apartment, bonus being you won’t be stuck with any dirty dishes.

Deciding against knocking you silently entered his apartment. His layout was similar to your apartment, but his taste was the polar opposite of yours. Jungkook’s apartment was darker themed. Come to think about it, his apartment was the polar opposite of him, if you were honest. His furniture was black his carpets dark brown. Everything just looked so expensive it left you feeling cheap just standing there.

“Well, looks who finally decided to be obedient for a change. The food will be here shortly, please make yourself at home.” Jungkook said as he dried his hair. His dripping wet hair. How soft would they be? Maybe he likes it when someone pulls- wait what?

Startled by your own thoughts you took a seat on the farthest end of one of his couches. It was silent for a while as Jungkook observed you. He couldn’t help but smile at the thought of you in his arms. He knew you saw him as a soft doe-eyed boy and perhaps as a jerk to, but he was determined to change your mind. He became obsessed with the girl who had a point to prove. He can’t really say there was a specific time or place his obsession became toxic he just woke up one day and yearned for your touch. He was consumed by the idea of your skin on his.

He knew he was screwed when you did in fact touch him one day. It wasn’t a friendly touch, more of a not-so-friendly shove with your shoulder as you passed him, but it was more than enough to encourage his need to grow. So, from there on he did anything he could to provoke a touch out of you.

But today things changed. You fell, not for him but you fell, and he was the one to catch you.

It made his heart swell with pride and greed as he held you close to his body. The icing on the cake was when Hoseok requested that he take care of you, and he wasn’t going to let this opportunity go by. He’s been waiting far to long to claim you to screw this up. He was aware his obsession over you was toxic, but no one needs to know that.

Jungkook was always the master of masks. He always played the innocent boy when it came to upholding his image. The only time he would let that mask slip was during his dancing. He knew exactly what he was doing after all. He didn’t mean to become obsessed with you. He was supposed to be the soft boy everyone knew.

Looking over to you, he decided to approach this as ‘normal’ as possible. Tonight, he’ll make you his, no matter what.

“I don’t know what type of movies you’re into, but I do have some pretty good horror films. I thought we might watch a movie or two to help us relax. Besides we don’t have practise tomorrow so we can stay up a bit later than normal.” Jungkook said as he went over to his small movie collection.

“Oh, I haven’t watched a horror film in so long. But I do warn you, I don’t get scared easily. These days horror movies are so bad they make me laugh.” You said as n giggle escaped you. Maybe this is exactly what you need.

Soon after Jungkook chose a film you haven’t seen, or heard of before, the food arrived. Jungkook insisted on eating before the movie began, claiming you’ll thank him later. To your surprise you finished all your food, sweat and sour chicken with noodles and dumplings, fried veggies and you even had a bite or two from Jungkook’s hotpot and fried rice. Jungkook went all out in buying your favourite foods, which kind off surprised you considering you never ate together. Must have been a coincidence.

Settling on the couch, you gratefully except the coffee Jungkook has made you. With one last glance, Jungkook smiles and hit play on the screen.

At first the movie isn’t that bad. One or two jump scares here and there, a lot of screaming and some blood. You’re a good 20 minutes into the movie when the real horror began. The movie took a complete 180-degree turn, demons and paranormal activity can’t even compare to what you were seeing. The movie was shot in a home video style, and suddenly the screams didn’t seem so fake.

“J-Jungkook, can I plea- AAHH” You were just about to ask to go home when another jump scare popped out of nowhere. Without thinking you grabbed Jungkook’s arm for some sort of stability. Jungkook immediately tensed at the sudden contact making you realize the mistake you just made.

Just when you wanted to let go, Jungkook grabbed both your arms, spun you around and pinned you to the couch. Hovering above you, he stared straight into your eyes as one of his hands made its way up to your throat, squeezing slightly.

“You know, I would rather prefer to hear you scream like that when you’re underneath me, and when it’s me making you scream.” He said in a very serious tone. Slowly he started closing the gap between your lips until his were barely touching yours. Again, without thinking you leaned into the kiss, deepening it.

Smiling, Jungkook trailed kissed along your jaw toward your ear.

“I’m going to fucking ruin you.” He whispered as he bit your ear, earning a desperate whine from you. You had no idea what was happening, all you knew was that you didn’t want this to stop. Even if Jungkook wasn’t the same shy boy you though he was, you somehow felt a sense of security in his arms. Your whining turned desperate as Jungkook continued to assault your ear with his teeth.

Smirking, Jungkook started trailing kisses down your neck. Increasing the pressure of his lips, he soon found the spot that had you squirming and making all kinds of noises as he began to harshly attack your neck, repeatedly. He became desperate to leave his mark all over you, to finally claim you as his.

“J-Jungkook, what are you doing? Don’t leave- Aahh- Don’t leave m-marks” You said as your squirming increased with every new attack. These words made Jungkook stop. Slowly lifting his head, he once again pinned you with his eyes. The same doe-eyes that now held a possessiveness that had your heartrate slightly increasing.

“I’m sorry darling, but you have no say in what I can and cannot do. Tonight, I’m taking what’s mine” crashing his lips to yours, his hands started rooming your body. Without much hesitation, Jungkook took the seam of your shirt and started pulling it up and over your head. Disposing the piece of clothing as if it was trash, Jungkook was pleased to find your chest bare before him.

“Ooh, naughty girl. Walking around without so much as a bra on, and that to in another man’s home. It’s like you wanted this to happen. No worries baby, I’ll make it happen.” He said taking one of your breasts into his mouth. Sucking and biting your nipple, he couldn’t help but groan at the obscure noises you were making. He continued his ministrations, alternating between each breast, until both were dripping with his saliva and your nipples were standing erected.

A pressure you haven’t felt in a very long time started building in your lower abdomen. It was a somewhat foreign feeling, the way it increased like a speeding bullet, yet still not fast enough. Being the pure flower you were, you only ever knew the feeling by the works of your own hands. This time the feeling was stronger, faster and to a certain extend even painful.

Moving back up to your neck, Jungkook made sure to press his prominent bulge to your pelvis, making you groan as the feeling increased. Once again, he attacked your neck, biting and sucking at the same time until your one side was almost completely covered in red marks.

“Take these off, now” he growled as he bunched up your shorts. Jungkook sat up as he took his own shirt of, watching you as you sat still, frozen in place.

“Darling, don’t make me repeat myself.” He said as his gaze landed on your bare chest.

“I- I haven’t d-done this before” you shakily whispered, shrinking in on yourself as his face fell slightly. Realization dawned onto his face as his eyes found yours. The same doe-eyed boy from before sat across from you as his eyes lit up slightly.

“You haven’t been touched by a man? Intimately, I mean?” he asked. At your confirmation, Jungkook slowly crept towards you. Once again, he was pinning you to the couch, a sly smile present on his face as he gazed down at you.

“Good girl. I will make sure I’m your first and last. No other man is worthy of you, baby. I’ll try to be gentle, but I can guarantee you, this won’t be our last round tonight.” Jungkook said as his head lowered back to your neck.

Nodding, you felt his hands descending down your body towards your front. Painfully slow he pulled your pants down your legs, leaving it forgotten somewhere on the floor. As light as a feather his hands trailed back up your legs, stopping at your knees.

“Let’s claim what’s mine, shall we?” Jungkook said as he parted your legs.

“I want to hear every single sound baby? You won’t keep quiet, I want everyone to know that your mine” He said as he lowered his head to your clothed pelvis. Slowly he trailed kisses along the seems of your panties, until finally kissing right on top of your clit.

You couldn’t stop the moan that escaped your mouth as the pressure in your abdomen increased again. Jungkook continued to kiss you gently over your panties until you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Jeon, please. I n-need more” You said as your hands fisted his hair. This gentleness he was showing you was soon forgotten as Jungkook sat up and, literally ripped your panties of off your body. before you could even think of protesting his mouth was back on your mound. This time there were no kisses, he flat out went straight to sucking and nibbling on your sensitive bud.

The most erotic feeling entered your limbs at this new feeling Jungkook has caused. Your body wasn’t yours to control anymore as your legs moved on their own at every single nip or suck, he would administer. You could get addicted to this feeling. Another set of moans left your throat as he added his tongue to the mix.

Yes, addicted you could get.

Without much warning, Jungkook inserted a finger into you. The feeling was foreign and sudden, leading you to gasp as he moved it without warning. Smiling Jungkook came back up to your lips. Drowning you in his lips as he slowly added a second digit. The stretch burned as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, smirking at the noises you were making.

Soon the burn was replaced with the same pressure from earlier, building at a steady pace until your walls started contracting around Jungkook’s fingers.

“Let’s see that pretty face as you come undone sweetheart” he said as he increased the pace at which his fingers were going. Not long after that your vision went white as the pressure finally exploded within you. You felt like you were floating as pure bliss entered your system.

“There’s the beautiful dancer that intoxicated me” Jungkook said with triumph. Adding a third finger to your sensitive body had reality crashing down around you.

“P-please, n-no more.” You whined. The all to familiar pressure resurfacing as Jungkook ignored your request.

“I don’t think so. I want to see that face again when you come undone when I’m inside you” Jungkook said as he removed his fingers. Pulling down his sweatpants he slowly stroked himself as he looked at you. With big eyes you watched his hand work up and down his shaft.

“This is going to hurt love, but I know you can take it” He said as he aligned himself with your entrance. Without waiting for a response, he pushed himself into you. Successfully stretching you around him as he bottoms out. The feeling of being full consumes you as Jungkook waits for you to open your eyes.

“Look at me darling, tell me you don’t want this. Stop me from going further, once I start there’s no turning back. You’ll be mine and mine alone. Y/N, please tell me to stop” Jungkook pleaded as he held onto the last bit of his resolve he had.

“Make me yours” This was all he needed to hear out of your mouth to begin thrusting. He didn’t start slow, he wasn’t gentle, but he was possessive.

With each thrust he gave his grip on you tightened. His eyes never left yours as tears streamed down your face. He made no move to wipe them away, he wanted to see you cry.

Jungkook soon realized his thrusting wasn’t making you cry as he longed for. Picking up his pace he pushed your legs up to your chest, going even deep than before. This seem to do the trick, your moans turned into screams as his pace became brutal.

“That’s it baby, scream for me. Let everyone know who owns you. You’re mine now” Jungkook said. His one hand moving down towards your clit and the other finding its way to your throat. The added stimulation on your clit and slight pressure around your neck was enough to send you over the edge once more.

“J-Jungkook!” this was all word that you managed to say as your orgasm hit you. This one being stronger than the previous one. Soon after your walls started contracting around him, Jungkook’s own walls broke. With a growl of your name he painted your walls in white as his thrusts slowed down.

“You’re mine now Y/N, Mine” Jungkook whispered as he came down from his high.

After Jungkook helped you clean up, the end credits off the movie came into view. A light chuckle escaped you as you realized that you missed the last half of the movie.

“Seems like I’ll have to watch the movie another time” You said as you made ready to leave, only to be stopped as a hand pulled you back into a hard chest.

“Hang on, I’m not done with you yet. Besides, I have a lot of other movies I would like to show you Baby” Jungkook said as his hands dipped underneath your shirt. Turning in his arms, his hands slipped down to your waist. Slowly he started swaying you side-to-side.

“Before we do that” Jungkook said as he brought his lips closer.

“Dance with me, Y/N” He whispered before kissing you.

***

AGAIN THIS IS UNEDITED! I hope you enjoyed it though....

#nomimits stuff #Dance with me #bts #Jeon Jungkook #jungkook x reader #is this a drabble?#I honestly dont know

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itsalliepg · 4 years

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50 QUESTIONS YOU’VE NEVER BEEN ASKED

Thank you for tagging me @boneandfur and @scalpeljockeybrycelahela <3

1. What is the color of your hairbrush? Black and green

2. A food you never eat? Canned sardines

3. Are you typically too warm or too cold? Too warm, that’s why I hate the heat

4. What were you doing 45 minutes ago? Having dinner

5. What is your favorite candy bar? Snickers

6. Have you ever been to a professional sports event? My school’s championships when I was nine counts? LOL

7. What is the last thing you said out loud? “Farofa!” it’s my cat’s name :)

8. What is your favorite ice cream? Anything with chocolate!

9. What was the last thing you had to drink? Guava juice

10. Do you like your wallet? When there’s money I love it LOL

11. What was the last thing you ate? An apple

12. Did you buy any new clothes last weekend? No

13. The last sporting event you watched? Campeonato Paulista (the professional soccer league of my state, but it was interrupted because of the Covid)

14. What is your favorite flavor of popcorn? Classic salted popcorn

15. Who was the last person you sent a text message to? My boss!

16. Ever go camping? I’ve never did but I’d love to

17. Do you take vitamins? No

18. Do you go to church every Sunday? I go every Monday and Thursday (not going anymore because of the Covid again)

19. Do you have a tan? My skin is naturally tanned LOL

20. Do you prefer Chinese food or pizza? Both! I can’t choose, these are my favorite food

21. Do you drink your soda with a straw? No, in a cup or directly in the can

22. What color socks do you usually wear? White

23. Ever drive above the speed limit? I don’t drive

24. What terrifies you? Frogs, spiders and heights

25. Look to your left, what do you see? My wardrobe

26. What chore do you hate? Ironing

27. What do you think of when you hear an Australian accent? That it’s cute :)

28. What’s your favorite soda? Guaraná, Brazilian typical soda

29. Do you go into a fast food place or just hit the drive through? Into

30. Who’s the last person you talked to? My mother

31. Favorite cut of beef? Top sirloin (I had to search the name in English LOL)

32. Last song you listened to? HandClap by Fitz and the Tantrums

33. Last book you read? The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck by Mark Manson

34. Favorite day of the week? Saturday

35. Can you say the alphabet backwards? Huh, no?

36. Do you like your coffee? Yes

37. Favorite pair of shoes? My pink Converse

38. At what time do you normally go to bed? Around midnight

39. At what time do you normally get up? 8am

40. What do you prefer, sunrises or sunsets? Sunsets

41. How many blankets are on your bed? 1

42. Describe your kitchen plates: It has some white porcelain, blue porcelain and glass

43. Do you have a favorite alcoholic beverage? Cold beer, red wine and tequila

44. Do you play cards? No

45. What color is your car? Black

46. Can you change a tire? No

47. What is your favorite province? The one I live

48. Favorite job you’ve ever had? I worked in a school in 2016 and the team was amazing

49. How did you get your biggest scar? I had a scar in my right thigh that I don’t know how I got it. Now my tattoo covered it!

50. What did you do today that made someone else happy? I washed the dishes so my mom could rest, she didn’t sleep well last night

Tagging @missameliep @lorirwritesfanfic @thequeenchoices @mangoruby @zigortega4life

#tag game

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btgalaxy · 5 years

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Estrella ~ BTS fantasy!au

➳ pairing: jin x reader, jimin x reader

➳ genre: fantasy!au, fluff, angst, slight smut

➳ word count: 3.5k

previous / masterlist / next

Chapter 1

The silk beneath your fingers is woven from the cocoons of the larvae of the Bombyx Mori, situated in the Marblewick Woods, hidden amidst the viridescent flora and foliage; expensive, and by all means worth the levy considering your deep slumbers each night, encased in a handcrafted cloud. You extend your arms above your head and arch your back as you stretch each muscle, bending over your fingers till they touch, intertwining them to push your arms further. You sigh as you sit up, blinking to adjust to the warm sunlight spilling through the window like a waterfall of silhouettes depicting a palace window.

“M’lady.” Your handmaid, Nova, walks in with a blush gown draped over her forearm wantonly, “Breakfast will be served at 7.”

You hum, allowing yourself to fall back against the pillows with a deliberate huff. Nova quietly laughs at your lethargy as she sets the dress down on the cream chaise longue by the window, overlooking the grounds.

“I’ll be back in 5 minutes, m’lady, to help you prepare for the day.”

You moan again in response, waving a hand in dismissal. Your eyes are closed, so you can hear only the gentle footsteps of her movement back to the door, and the click of the handle, signalling her leave.

She understands your reluctance to wake this day. The day you shall meet the dreaded Prince of Orion. The man you shall marry in due time, uniting your neighbouring kingdoms through your matrimony and dominating the East of Estrella. You’ve fought your parents on the matter relentlessly, insisting you’ve no desire to be married, nor to unite Lyra and Orion, that the two kingdoms should stay separated as Andromeda intended. But they dismiss your argument, and tell you not believe in such ‘fairy tales’.

The history of Estrella is widely debated, these days. Scholars and historians are very aware of the Great War, but its origins have been tied with mythology and legends, that the Gods and Goddesses the land once worshipped have now been deemed folklore and labelled as bedtime stories for the children of Estrella. You, however, believe otherwise. The stories inked onto the pages of the ancient books in the palace library are far too vivid and haunting for them to not be real; you see them in a way others can’t, a way one blinded by societal pride cannot.

You flutter your eyes open again, gazing up towards the ceiling, admiring the billowing patterns. Each room has been painted by the art maestro, Calypso Vega. She spent seven weeks cooped up alone in your palace, adamant to remain undisturbed till she’d completed her task. And she did it brilliantly. Every room is different, and tailored to its tenant. Yours has been painted to depict a story, the story of Andromeda and Calvus, starting from the left with fires and war, all the way to the right with Andromeda returning to the Onyx Sea. Perhaps that’s why the stories have stayed with you after all these years, having woken to them each morning and dreamt of them each night.

Nova returns far too quickly for your liking, if you could have it your way she’d not return at all and you’d spend the weeks curled up under your horrendously expensive duvet with your eyelids closed and mind wide open with lucid dreams of the Gods and their unparalleled power. But instead, you’re begrudgingly lifting your legs out of the comfort of your quilts, and lowering your feet against the cold of the marble flooring.

“The Queen chose your dress for the meeting today, she said the prince adores warm colours on a woman.” Nova smiles at you, attempting to be excited, but you give a blank response dropping your nightdress to the floor and stepping into some tan drawers, manoeuvred gently upwards to your hips by Nova’s practised hands. Next, she brings a white chemise over your head and you brace yourself against a post of your bed as she wraps a corset around your waist, tugging at the strings hard enough you stumble a little, even with the aid of the mahogany pillar.

“It’s a bit tight, Nova.” You choke out, as she pulls the final strings into a knot.

“The Queen requested I do it tighter today.” She apologises, “She wants you to look perfect.”

“I assume breathing isn’t a constituent of perfection then.”

She chuckles lightly, “I’m afraid not.”

Your crinoline is tied neatly around your waist, the metal bars already resembling a cage as your lower half becomes achingly heavier. Then finally, Nova takes the dress strewn across the chaise longue and requests you raise your arms. You do so, as you’ve been taught the past eighteen years following the same daily routine.

“It’s a beautiful dress.” Nova compliments, adjusting the trail and lacing up the back, “It was fashioned by a tailor in Bellmead, with the instructions the gown should be a warm colour, and suitable for a queen.” Nova laughs to herself, “He must know his way around royalty. And after the people see you wearing this, well, the nobles will come storming through his door.”

You watch your reflection in the mirror; the face staring back at you- sometimes it feels as though it isn’t all there. Like a part of you is missing, a part that might be small but undeniably cardinal. And the thought lingers on your mind nearly daily now, the notion that there’s something, some component of you or your history that’s hidden behind years of luxury and affluence, veiled by your palace life and highly regulated existence. Nova notices your expression and her features soften at the sight as she places a comforting hand on your near bare shoulder.

“Let me do your hair.” She guides you to the stool at your dressing table, littered with various perfume and cosmetics, all of the highest quality shipped from all over Estrella. Your mother says if it isn’t well made, then it isn’t worth having. That may just be the mindset of a queen, however.

Nova starts to pull at the locks of your hair into a bun, a few strands let loose to frame your face. You’re immediately aware of the resemblance of the hairstyle to the Queen’s usual updo, and frankly not surprised. By duplicating her appearance, you echo a sense of security to the new kingdom, a sense of experience; a false sense, but nonetheless present.

“Beautiful, m’lady.” Nova smiles slightly, placing the sleek silver brush on the white painted rosewood, picking up a translucent powder to lighten your skin, and then a small pot of red tinted balm for your lips. She swipes a generous amount of eyeliner across your upper lid to accentuate the striking colour, before finally bringing some wamrth back to you with a rose blush over the apples of your cheeks. You look like some sort of porcelain doll, just like every other royal or noble in Estrella.

You reach forwards, clasping onto an oceanic scented perfume from Volantis, down South. You spray over your neck and wrists, rolling your head back as the pungent aroma wafts up your nose and calms your frantic thoughts. You love the ocean, and anything that reminds you of it, but as princess of Lyra you’ve no chance to parade off to the warm beaches and fall asleep on the sand to the sound of the crashing waves. You’ve other duties to attend to. Like marrying a Prince you don’t love.

“Breakfast will be served in 20 minutes, m’lady. Would you like me to escort you downstairs? Or will you wait for someone else?” Nova’s insinuation is clear, but your head doesn’t feel right to see him right now. Not the day you will be engaged to someone else. The day that you will never be able to see him again, touch him again, kiss him again.

“I’ll go now.” You swallow down the bitter anguish biting at your throat, avoiding her gaze while you take a necklace from the jewellery stand and clasp it around your neck.

“He’s not angry.” Nova begins, and you busy yourself with numerous bijouterie, “He wants to say goodbye.”

“Well he doesn’t get that choice.” You snap, “He is a servant and I am his princess and he shall respect my wishes. Stop stepping out of your place, Nova.”

Although your words are harsh, you’ve no other way of coping with this seemingly endless torment. And so Nova bows her head respectfully, apologising quietly before ambling out of the room, head hung low. You shut your eyes and sigh, immediately regretful. She didn’t deserve that. You begin to walk out of the room, to go and tell her sorry, that you don’t mean what you say and you’re just stressed and upset, but instead you’re met by the force of the door from the other side. And his face appears from behind the gaping oak.

“Jimin?” You choke, as he lets out a breath of relief at the sight of you. He comes tumbling in all of a sudden, wrapping you up in his arms and burrowing his head into your neck, inhaling the scent of your perfume till his lungs are full and he has to breathe out, the gust flying over your flesh. “Jimin you can’t be here.”

“Nova’s on watch.” He mumbles, pulling back and settling his hands on your waist, as close to you as he can possibly be. You daren’t look him in the eye; you know you’ll cave. And he immediately knows what you’re doing.

“Y/N look at me.” He murmurs, bringing one hand to your chin, his thumb delicately grazing over your crimson lips setting your heart alight. His mere presence sets you on fire with pure, unadulterated passion and desire, and you know you’ll never be able to fend him off whilst alone in your bedroom with 20 minutes before anyone comes looking, so you can’t meet his gaze. You have to keep your eyes shut. For your sake and for his.

“Baby, look at me.” His breath fans over the tip of your nose, your eyes still screwed firmly shut.

He tugs you closer, “If you won’t look at me then I’ll have to kiss you.”

You’re eyes shoot open to this, beyond certain the moment kisses you all self-control will be lost to the aching depths of the Onyx Sea and never to be retrieved. How long has it been since you’ve looked at him like this? As the princess, your schedule is frequently packed with meetings, lessons, appearances, trips, and his servant duties are to be attended to all but 4 hours of the day when he sleeps, so you haven’t looked at him like this in a long, long time.

“Y/N,” his voice is deep, husky, ravenous, “I can’t believe you’re marrying him.”

You purse your lips, glancing downwards, “I don’t want to.”

“But you are.” His response is fast, but he continues slowly, deliberately. “You’re going to marry a man; a man that’s not me. And he’s going to touch you, and kiss you, and hold you at night, and flaunt you off to the public. He’s going to love you and I’m going to be stuck here for the rest of my life watching the woman I love give herself to another man each night.”

You aren’t sure when you started, but you’re crying now. Cautious tears, of course, careful not to tamper with your freshly made up face, but you can’t control the rate at which they come out. Jimin’s words are too harsh, too real to deny. And it’s making your heart ache.

“Jimin,” you breathe.

“I love you, Y/N.” Your heart stops for a second. “I love you and you must know I’m yours eternally.”

You finally meet his gaze, boring into you and encouraging the tears brimming at your eyelids, “I know. And I’ll always be yours.”

Then he does the one thing he shouldn’t do. He kisses you.

His lips are warm and soft, as they always have been, although the intensity of the kiss is beyond your usual, slow pace, this is frantic and fuelled by desperation. Perhaps if he shows his love hard enough, then you won’t have to go and marry some bastard prince? The thought is overlooked by lust as Jimin walks you backwards till the backs of your knees hit the bed and he’s clambering on top of you, mouth still working against yours.

The room’s getting hotter. The air, thicker. But you won’t stop him. This may be your very last chance to feel the way his body contracts when you touch him, the way his lips concede when you push back hard enough. And you don’t want to forget, so you savour each second.

He pushes down against you harder, his hands becoming more and more rapid with their movements as you trail your own across his pectorals and towards his abdominal muscles, flexing against your fingertips. He feels so good. His lips find their way to your neck, one hand situated on your hip and the other slowly sculpting the curve of your back as it sinks dangerously low. The breath in your throat hitches as he sucks harshly on the tender flesh of your collarbone, and you have to distract him with your lips again before he can mark you and leave you tainted for the Prince.

He’s always loved marking you. Preferably somewhere people can see, but he’s had to settle for the more discrete places. He has never and will never be able to announce his love for you publicly, as he so desires to, so by leaving a mark on your skin- it satisfied his possessiveness over you, your body. It was proof enough that you belonged to him, that you weren’t to be touched by other men.

Just as things become increasingly fervent, frenzied, fanatical, three gentle knocks on the door signal to you both that your time is up. Your mouths cease their movement, but neither of you go to move from your position on the bed, with Jimin’s chest pressed against yours, legs entangled carelessly. He sighs, pressing his forehead against yours and observing you through hooded, libidinous eyes.

“I don’t want you to marry him.”

“I don’t want to, either.”

The reality is tragic, but you’re both aware that there’s no choice in the matter. No easy way out. No running away. You just have to face this, meaning you will be married and he will be at the palace still, serving dinners and cleaning toilets.

Another knock at the door. “I won’t ever forget about you.”

The words must be a stab to Jimin’s chest as he holds his breath, digesting the situation of you with another man, thinking about him.

“This is too much.”

“You’re perfect, Park Jimin.”

“For you, I am.”

Nova enters abruptly, unaffected by the compromising position she finds you in and interrupting you mid-conversation. Jimin scrambles to his feet, offering you a hand as he pulls you up next to him, bowing his head to your handmaid.

“It’s 8, m’lady. We need to go to breakfast now.” Nova insists, somewhat apologetically.

“Yes, Nova, of course.” You blink rapidly, processing. Then you walk out of the room without looking back at his face, certain you will end up staying if you do. This way is better, this way you can remember him normal with you, gazing down at you hungrily with a venereal glint in his eye and a loving caress on your waist. It’s how you want your memories with Jimin to remain.

Nova escorts you downstairs, down past clusters of maids all frantically putting up decorations, watering plants, folding sheets, polishing, cleaning, dusting. It’s alive with a maniacal enthusiasm to prepare the palace for the Prince’s arrival over the next hour or so. He’s due mid-morning.

The breakfast room has been set up for a crowd you aren’t accommodating, as usual. The numerous platters of food bestrewn over the rich maroon tablecloth would fill an army, let alone three little royals sat so far away from each other they can barely hear another speak.

“Good morning mother, father.” You smile politely, biting back the despondency of parting with Jimin a meagre few moments ago.

The King grins expectantly, “A good morning indeed, Y/N.”

Your mother mimics his expression, “You look so incredibly beautiful. I knew that dress was worth the extra expense.” She continues to gush incessantly about her hardships unearthing the perfect tailor to craft your perfect gown, and how you should be abundantly grateful for all her hard work. You can only seem to manage a miserly nod of ‘appreciation’.

“The Prince is apparently the most attractive royal in Estrella, according to Lady Faye,” the Queen takes a polite sip of her morning beverage, “She says he’s an incredibly polite and handsome young man. The ideal suitor.” She seems to be grinning from ear to ear, but you can’t reciprocate. Not with the thought of your true illicit love hanging over your head like a guillotine.

“I shouldn’t expect any less for our Y/N.” Your father chimes.

“I think I’m finished.” You announce, sighing at the plate in front of you, barely touched.

“But you’ve not eaten.” Your mother squeals, peering over to see all the immaculate pastries and fruits surrounding you, untarnished by a greedy touch.

You wet your lower lip, “I’m not hungry.”

“You’re nervous is all, darling. You should eat.”

“I don’t think I could.” You get up from the seat, pulling out the chair as a server comes rushing over to hold it for you, “I think I’ll retire to my room until the prince arrives, if you’ll allow me.”

The Queen seems to think over your request, a little reluctant to see you leave so hastily before she can perpetually rattle on in your ear about the indefatigable advantages of a matrimony between two kingdoms. The first of it’s kind, she’d brag.

She pushes her lips to the side, “I don’t like you all alone in that stuffy bedroom. You can sit in the gardens until his arrival. The sun will be a blessing, you’re looking slightly pale.” Probably because you’re about to be married off to some foreign prince you’ve never met.

You bow your head respectfully, “Of course, mother. I’ll take a walk to the lake.”

“You haven’t very long before he arrives, don’t muddy the ends of your dress.”

Surprisingly, you’re genuinely thankful for your mother’s suggestion, even on a day she’s unrelentingly overlooking your wishes. The warm, mellow breeze outdoors lifts your mood ever so slightly and wallows up beneath your dress, wafting over the bare skin of your legs. It takes you to a place where life was much simpler, easier. Where you weren’t being forced to marry and you cared only of heedless frolicking in your pinafore and crying for Nova when you couldn’t reach the fruit on the King’s beloved blackberry bushes.

The lake ripples as the ducks sail through the lukewarm water like some picturesque vision only sought out in the depths of your most tranquil dreams, as though you’re in a sort of fictitious world. It’s always been that way; you know your life is beyond the imagination of most of the civilians inhabiting Lyra. Although they aren’t living in poverty, their lives will never come close to equalling the luxury and splendour of yours.

Suddenly, you feel something pinch at your shoulder as talons grate over your smooth flesh like needles. You feel Apollo’s beak nuzzle against your tied back hair, pulling some of the strands out of place in the process, nipping at the skin of your scalp. The small Phoenix has been living on these lands for centuries it seems, well before the palace was built. She is the one creature your parents permit to occupy this land, partly, however, because they wouldn’t know how to make her leave; she abides by her own rules. You slowly raise your hand to caress her oxblood wings, feathered with patches of vermilion and gold, creating a balayage resembling a flame.

“Hey Polly,” you coo, regretting not taking a pastry out from breakfast to feed her. She wobbles back and forth on your shoulder for a second, balancing herself before spreading her wings out and arching her neck backwards. She’s exquisite, truly. Her striking colours incite a blaze in anyone’s eyes, an unparalleled beauty.

The sudden ringing of bells, however, startle her, and she’s immediately off your shoulder and flying low across the lake, raking one talon through the water and frightening off all the ducks. You watch her shoot off into the sky before processing the sound ringing in your ears. The bells. The bells that signal an arrival. The Prince.

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