#oh God I forgot Scandal's last name

[therealdisneyfan2319]

Swing | Wanda Maximoff

A Stripper MILF Wanda Cinematic Universe Story

Summary: Wanting to make up for missed birthdays, you give Wanda quite the present

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Male Reader

Warnings: Smut (18 + MINORS DNI), language

Word Count: 1.9K

Masterlist

You anxiously paced around the living room of your shared house with Wanda.  She was en route back after dropping the boys off at Vision’s for the weekend.  The quiet hour you had to yourself was spent setting up the latest in a long line of birthday gifts for your girlfriend.  It was your way of making up for all the ones her ex had forgotten: how anyone could ignore Wanda on her birthday was incomprehensible.  She insisted that you didn’t need to spoil her, arguing that you didn’t need to make up for Vision’s shortcomings.  You ignored her.  It was the first time in your life you had a woman to spoil and you were planning on taking full advantage of that.  

The gifts started small: cooking her favorite dinner on Monday for no reason, surprising her with her favorite flowers on Tuesday, the new end table she’d been talking about for months on Wednesday, and a long after dinner massage on Thursday.  Wanda wasn’t used to such thoughtful displays of kindness.  Yet you were determined to make sure she had the best birthday yet, which is why you saved the best for last.  This was the present you knew she wouldn’t be expecting at all.  It’s the one she mentioned in passing once not realizing how you’d cling onto it for the last few months.  It was the most expensive of the gifts.  And it was the most…scandalous…of the gifts.  

The sound of the front door unlocking snapped you back to reality.  Your heart pounded in your throat, threatening to explode out of your body entirely as seconds turned to minutes turned to hours as you waited for Wanda to walk down the hallway.  

“Virginia’s over for the weekend.  She brought the kids with her, too.  I know Billy gets along with Vin well enough, but Tommy really doesn’t care for him or Viv.  And I don’t understand why the V names.  Could they not come up with anything else?” Wanda frequently voiced her disdain for her ex-husband’s new girlfriend and her kids.  While you knew that she was happy and secure in your relationship, you also knew that the topic of her failed marriage was a sore subject.  

“The boys’ll be fine, Wands.  It’s just for the weekend.”

“I know.”

“They’ve gotta get used to being around Virginia and the kids.”

“I know.”

“That means we have the weekend to ourselves.”

“I know,” Wanda smirked.

“I have a present for you.”

“Y/N, no.  You’ve already gotten-” “It’s downstairs.”

Wanda’s mouth snapped shut abruptly as she looked at you, a curious expression painted on her face.  

“Follow me?” you asked as you offered her your hand.  You smirked knowingly as Wanda sighed, dropping her hands into your outstretched one.  

“You know, you don’t have to spoil me like this just because it’s my birthday.  Really, it’s okay.”

“I want to make up for all those ones that Vision missed or forgot or whatever…plus this one is for both of us.”

“What do you mean-oh.”  Wanda’s eyes widened as she stared at the hanging mess of nylon and leather straps hanging from the heavy bag hook on the ceiling.  “Oh my god.”

“You like it?” you chuckled, giving Wanda’s hand a slight squeeze.

“Oh my god,” she repeated.  You felt her hand slip from yours as she carefully made her way over to the middle of the room.  Wanda brushed a strand of hair behind her ear as she eyed the set-up with a keen sense of curiosity.  

“Now if you really don’t want another gift, I can always take it back,” you teased, cheekily shoving your hands in your pockets, watching Wanda stare awestruck at the swing in the middle of the room.

“Don’t you dare,” Wanda warned.  “Where on earth did you find one of these?” she asked, reaching up to run her fingers through the straps.

“A magician never reveals his secrets.”

She gave you a look.

“The internet.  Some website.  Google suggested it.”

Wanda’s look turned into a smirk.  The nylon straps danced through her fingers as she continued to examine her newest present.  You felt your heart slowly creeping up your throat the longer you stared at the straps twirling through your girlfriend’s fingers.

“You remembered.”

“Wanda, how could I forget?”  Your heart threatened to burst out the side of your neck as blood rushed through every part of your body.  

“And this is why you wanted the boys to stay with Vision this weekend?” “Do you want to keep asking questions or do you want to try it out?”

Her lips crashed into yours before you could get another thought out.  Instinctively your hands found their way to her waist, pulling her body flush against yours.  She sighed into your mouth, her soft hands gently tugging at your hair.  No matter how many times you did it, kissing Wanda never got old.  Each kiss was a new experience, a new sensation that you perpetually craved.  She was the most entrancing woman in the entire world and she was all yours.

“So how does this work?” Wanda asked breathlessly as you nibbled on the sensitive spot under her jaw.

“Dunno,” you mumbled between kisses, your grip on Wanda tightening as soon as you felt her swoon ever so slightly.  “I think it’s pretty self-explanatory.”

“This won’t fall down, right?” she asked.  Her hands trailed down from your head to the buttons at the front of your shirt.  You shook your head, recoiling slightly as you felt her cold hands brush your chest as she tore at your clothes.

“Hope not.”  You undid the button on her jeans, your fingers slinking inside the waistband.

“Hope not?”

“I mean it should be good.  Don’t see why it wouldn’t be.”

Wanda chuckled as she shook her head.  She knew that you would’ve double and triple checked to make sure the swing wouldn’t fall down the second she got into it.  

“So how do I get in?  Do I just-?”

“I think you just sit back into it and put your legs in the straps,” you replied, stepping out of your jeans and boxers and kicking them behind you.  

Wanda, now in her long sleeve shirt and panties, carefully looked behind her as she grabbed the leather support straps and allowed herself to sink into the swing.  She fell back with an emphatic oomph, tentatively repositioning herself as the two of you prayed she wouldn’t immediately come crashing down.  

“How is it?” you asked, slinking over to the swing and positioning yourself between her legs.

“It’s actually pretty comfortable,” she observed.  “Can you help me get my legs up?”

“Yeah, but let’s get these off first,” you replied, teasing the palm of your hand between her legs.  Wanda whimpered at your touch, a jolt of excitement running through her body as her hips bucked into your hand.  You smirked at her as you pulled off the lace garment, tossing it over your shoulder.  “Leg.”

Wanda lifted her leg up as you grabbed the extended stirrup, guiding her foot through the loop so that her leg sat bent against the swing.  You gently grabbed her other leg unprompted, guiding it to the same position.

“I am definitely going to feel that tomorrow,” Wanda joked.  She reached one hand forward and grabbed your cock.

��Oh yeah?” you stifled a slight groan as she began to pump her hand up and down your length.  

“I’ve already got that bad hip, Y/N.  Let’s see how much more damage you can do.”  

You felt yourself twitch under her grip, hardening as you rocked into her hand.  Luckily you were able to grab the metal bar at the top of the swing to steady yourself.  

“You okay there?” she teased.  You groaned in response, leaning forward to capture her lips between yours.  She smiled into the kiss, knowing full well the intoxicating effect she had on you.

“You gonna keep distracting me or are you gonna let me-?”

“If you don’t put that inside me soon I may actually die.”

“Somebody’s dramatic.” “It’s my birthday, I can be as dramatic as I want today.”

“Is that so?” You grabbed the base of your cock, positioning yourself against her entrance.

“Mmhmm,” she nodded.  

Instead of pushing yourself inside her, you rubbed your head against her folds, coating yourself in the wetness that was pooling between her legs.  Wanda threw her head back and groaned.  She gripped the straps tightly as you teased her, dipping the tip inside briefly before pulling out and sliding around her clit.

“Is this what you wanted, Wands?”

“Y/N, please,” she pleaded in a tone that was uncharacteristically whiny.

With little warning, you pressed yourself into Wanda, her slick folds parting with ease as you buried your length inside her.  The feeling of her warm, wet walls around you elicited a groan from the deepest part of your core.

“Oh my god,” Wanda groaned, her eyes rolling back as you entered her at an entirely new angle for the first time.  “Baby, oh my god.”

“That okay?” you asked.

“Move,” she ordered as she screwed her eyes shut.

You didn’t need to be told twice.  Taking a firm grip on the straps, you rolled your hips into her.  The moan that erupted from her lips was pornographic.  Her body strained and tightened as your cock rubbed against the most sensitive part of her walls.  She squeezed against you as you thrust in and out, forcing you to work harder than normal.

“Fuck,” you gasped, biting your lip as Wanda’s wetness engulfed you over and over again.  

“Right there, Y/N, don’t stop,” Wanda begged.  Her hand came up to rest against your stomach as you picked up your pace, pounding into her slick pussy as you pulled the swing toward you.

“You feel so good, Wands.”

“I love the way your cock feels inside me, baby.  You always-fuck, that’s the spot right there-” Wanda let out a groan, unable to finish her thought as you pulled against the swing, changing the angle ever so slightly.

“You like that?” you gritted through clenched teeth, attempting to stave off your impending orgasm.  

“I’m close,” she whimpered, arching her back against the swing.  “Keep going, just like that.”

“Wanda, I’m gonna cum,” you whined.  “Should I pull-”

“Inside.  Please.  Fill me up.  I want to feel you finish inside me.”

Wanda’s words drove you over the edge.  You groaned loudly as you came inside her, painting her with your seed.  The sensation of being filled with your cum sent Wanda over the edge, too.  She moaned your name over and over as you filled her up, squeezing every last drop from you.

The two of you came down from your highs in a sweaty tangle of naked bodies and leather and nylon.  You collapsed on top of her, panting into her chest as your legs buckled under the ecstasy of your orgasm.  Wanda leaned back, rubbing her hands through her hair as she struggled to control her breathing.

“Best birthday present ever,” she panted.  “I am so sending the boys to Vision’s more often.”

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.  I don’t think it’s possible for us to use this quietly,” you chuckled.  “I’ve never heard you moan like that before.”

“That’s because you just gave me the best orgasm I’ve ever had.”

“So what I’m hearing is I need to cum inside you more often.”

“What you’re hearing is I need you to have your way with me in this swing more often.”

“Round two then?” you quipped.

“You’re on.”

[grimm-tales-gamer]

Fallen Hero: Sidestep 2

Wow, I didn’t expect people to be interested in my 20 fallen hero OCs! Here is number 2!

Name: Daniel Ward

Gender: male he/him

Villain name: Anathema

Villainous Role: anarchist

Motivation: justice

Scar: suicide

Reason for gala: money

Where is he now: hanging out with Chen aka dog dad.. with two broken legs.

   Daniel is one of my sidesteps who looks put together on the outside but oh boy. He isn’t (I swear I have sidesteps with most of their crap together, we’ll get to them). He doesn’t kill (ever), saves people, embezzles the rich for money, and more. However, he is much more willing to break bones and give concussions than my previous sidestep. What’s funny is that as I was fleshing Daniel’s character out I realized: oh god, he’s kind of like Batman.

  I mean it. He doesn’t kill because he knows in his heart that he wouldn’t stop killing. I’m not saying he’d turn I to a joker type; but getting rid of corrupt politicians, bad heroes, and so on is a lot easier when you just break their necks rather than ruin their reputation with scandals and proof of crime. Which is a kind of Batman way of looking at it.. if I remember the red hood movie right.

   Daniel’s scar gives him a sort of inevitability to his cause. As a testament to Malin’s writing, Daniel’s inner thoughts from Retribution say it better than I ever could. He knows he can never stop fighting. Even if Daniel finishes his original goal of stopping the farm and whatever else is coming there is still more to fight. He realizes he’ll have to be stopped by someone. So he begins to endure himself to Chen to see if he’d be willing to stop Daniel.

   Also around this time is when Daniel realizes Chen totally knows who he is, and after they kiss for the first time, begs Daniel to stop; but they both know that won’t happen (Malin why are you so good at this stuff). Eventually they fall for each other, Daniel may have even told Chen straight up he is Anathema but then the meeting with Hollowground sort of messed that up. If the prologue is anything to go by, Chen just knows, they just need to sit down and talk about it.

Well that was cheery. How about some fun facts?:

He’s had a crush on Julia for years and finally admitted to being in love with her in the hospital at the end of Retribution.. so uh, that’s a conversation they (Daniel, Chen, and Julia) need to have soon. Daniel is *so* looking forward to it.

Daniel has an addiction to caffeine. Coffee, soda, energy drinks, doesn’t really matter where it comes from. But, he prefers coffee. Daniel REALLY likes Turkish coffee.

Daniel actually really likes Argent (platonically) and has an 80+ relationship with her as the villain. He also trusted her with the regenerator.

Daniel regularly rolls and tries to stretch his right shoulder on the account of it always hurting after the heartbreak fall.

He chose his villain name so that Anathema would never be forgotten. At least to himself.

Daniel, in my head-canon, is the best fighter among my sidesteps.

Well how about stats and appearance now? Also armor stuff, I can’t believe I forgot about that in my last post.

Daniel doesn’t have a preference between anonymity and arrogance. Literally ended Retribution with 50/50. Daniel is empathetic at about 80%. As some of you might have imagined, Daniel is daring at about 95%! Daniel prefers his subtle manipulation over his sheer power of mind, his subtlety being around 78.

Armor:

Type: practical, no cape. Simple, no frills, kind of blocky around vital areas and flat areas like shins and forearms but sleek like a body suit everywhere else. Helmet is simple, almost like a military helmet and gas mask combo. Colors are a bit more complex: black with red accents. Usually the red follows joints/bones throughout the body.

Add ons: speed and strength

Extra: I always imagined Daniel duel wielding martial arts batons while in armor.

Daniel’s appearance:

Race: black

Height: tall, I imagine 6.5ft (about 2m)

Hair: coiled and black. Short and styled, kind of a crew cut, shaved on sides and back with a little on top. With a well trimmed beard. Though they both might get a little wild while Daniel waits for his legs to recover.

Eyes: brown

Style: nondescript military surplus. Simple, affordable, doesn’t stick out, and it lasts forever. He also regularly wears sunglasses, aviators of course.

[nysocboy]

Gemstones Episode 2.1 Review, Continued: Keefe's kiss, Kelvin's boner, and a thug with broken thumbs

This is a continuation of Episode 2.1: Junior likes dicks, Kelvin likes pecs, and f*k yeah, we got both!

In the last scene, Keefe is excluded from Sunday dinner with the family.  Now we see what he missed:

Judy and BJ accused of betraying the family because they got married at Disney World (by Prince Eric, the "hottest guy in the Disney catalog"), and because they don't have kids.  Judy argues that she's trying to keep her body "foine" to incite BJ's desire.  Nope, they need to make babies. The job/house/wife/ kids litany again.

There's also a jab at Kelvin's muscle obsession. It's not just homoerotic desire: desire of any sort is inconsistent with family.  

Left: Jonah Hauer-King, who played Prince Eric in the Litle Mermaid movie.

More Disruptions: We cut to Eli playing croquet, gazing at girl butts, and flirting with a lady. Suddenly Junior, his friend from his wrestling days, appears amid sinister music!   Eli ignores him and drives away.  A homoerotic disruption of Eli's heterosexual dalliance, parallel to the God Squad disrupting the nuclear family procession earlier. 

My Mans:  The family flies to Florida to inspect the site of the Lyssons' proposed resort.   When they return, Keefe and the God Squad meet them at their private airfield.  The family is shocked: didn't they know about the God Squad? 

"Uh-oh, my mans!" Kelvin exclaims, rushing forward to tell Keefe "You are looking great!"  In Southern Coastal grammar, "mans" is singular, "mens" plural.  He means Keefe.

Keefe tries to move in for a kiss, but Kelvin blocks him with an awkward hug.  He tries again, and Kelvin blocks him again. Finally he makes a blatant "enough!" gesture and backs off.  Judy finds this little dance hilarious.   It reflects the couple's conflict this season: Keefe wants to join the family as Kelvin's partner, the equivalent of BJ, sitting at the dinner table being criticized, while Kelvin isn't sure that same-sex romance is even possible.  His muscle cult is about desire: no love allowed. 

We cut to Eli in his office, watching a tv news show: Thaniel Block being interviewed about the "salacious scandal" story that took down Pastor Butterfield.  How famous was this guy?  I thought he was just the anonymous pastor of a satellite church.  They preach "sex only between married heterosexual partners, or you're going to hell," but privately they do everything under the sun.  Who will he target next?   Maybe Kelvin-- "Secretly gay youth minister holds wild sex orgies with his stable of muscle boys."  Ulp.   

Damn, we got old: Later, Eli is standing at the docks, worrying, when Junior approaches him and grabs him from behind, another homoerotic intrusion into his heteronormative life.  Junior complains that Eli forgot that he existed. 

Then: "We got old.  I look like a piece of shit, but damn!  You look sturdy!  Still got that mass going on!"  He grabs Eli's butt to check. Sort of presumptuous, dude, thinking that your ex will still be into you after fifty years. 

Eli thinks that Junior plans to blackmail him over revealing their days as loan enforcers (and lovers?), but he claims that he's just there for nostalgia, looking up an old friend.  "Why you all nervous, Eli?  Why are you bein' all weird?"  In this series, "weird" usually refers to sexual frustration.

Junior tries to hug him again, but Eli pushes him away.  On a scale of 1 to 100, how certain are you that these guys spent the psychedelic 1970s enjoying free love?  

As Eli walks away, Junior guilts him into a dinner invitation.

Sticky Stephens:  Nuclear families are  eating at Sticky Stephens, a parody of the Sticky Fingers Restaurant in Charleston that closed down in 2020.  Both sound dirty. The 1972 Rolling Stones album of that name  depicted a pair of jeans with an enormous bulge, leaving no question about why the fingers are sticky.

Junior points out a kissing couple: "Damn, look at that piece of tail he's with!" Ok, so he's bi.  Everybody watches as the man, Randall (Rene Rivera), lifts his girl onto the counter so they can have sex right in the restaurant!  Why doesn't someone on staff intervene? Eli yells at him to "tone down romance," and Randall yells "Suck my dick, Grandpa." But the couple leaves.

"I wonder what my Daddy would think about you and me being reunited," Junior says.  Eli answers: "He put us together, so he would think he did a pretty good job."  Except they were separated for a lifetime.  That's not a great job of matchmaking.

Junior says that his Daddy just disappeared one day, setting up a major mystery of the Season: Did Eli murder Glendon Marsh?

A Proper Erection:  The siblings meet at the Aimee-Leigh memorial to discuss who will be in charge of the church after Eli steps down.  Certainly not Kelvin, Jesse jibes: "All you care about is muscles," and it's not about God, "it's about being self-centered and popping boners."  Jesse just stated that Kelvin gets a boner when he looks at muscular guys, and he doesn't deny it.  He doesn't get the least defensive.  How out can you get?

Kelvin counters that it's about being healthy.  But, he concedes, "If you're healthy, you do maintain a proper erection." 

Judy agrees with him.  Their stories run parallel, so obviously they have both been having sex with their partners.  Fans who claim that Kelvin is not sexually active tend to ignore this scene, and actually the entire season. 

Next, Jesse goes to work on his son's masturbation.  He actually doesn't think that there's anything wrong with masturbation, but in order to convince Abraham to stop leaving secretions, he says that when you do it, all of your dead relatives, even your distant ancestors, swoop down to watch and judge you: "When people see you do something bad, it's hard for them to look at you in any other way."  In sociology it's called a stigma, a "spoiled identity."  I wonder if other people around have spoiled identities due to the bad behavior in their past.  Maybe Eli?

Back to Eli and Junior: Outside the restaurant, the guys run into Randall the Thug saying goodbye to his girlfriend.  "Bet you two queefs haven't seen action like that in years!" he jokes. Eli doesn't want to engage, but Junior gets riled: "How dare you talk to us like that! We're from Memphis, asshole.  We stuff twinks like you full of rocks and sink you in the Misssi-fucking-sippi."  Only gay men use the expression "twink." Junior knows his way around gay culture. 

Things escalate. Randall punches Junior, then Eli  The old wrestling training kicks in, and Eli punches, kicks, and head-butts him, and as he screams for mercy, breaks his thumbs! The end.  Dang!  These boys are obviously being presented as ex-lovers, and Junior is openly bi in the present!

The full review, with examples of "proper erections," is on RG Beefcake and Boyfriends

[angeldcgs]

if roz had a dime for every bright-eyed, air-headed hopeful young starlet she'd seen chewed up and spit out by the industry, she'd be well on her way to doubling her net worth. trying to make a lasting name for yourself in entertainment was perhaps even harder now than it ever had been, especially for someone born without familial connections, but she wasn't running a charity. enzo was her nanny first and foremost, and while she supported his efforts to further his dramatic education and pursue success of his own, she had no intention of providing him with any resources beyond paying him what he was worth. so far he hadn't shown any interest in exploiting her for connections, remaining curious but polite whenever he asked about her work, which only made her that much more keen to keep him around. "isn't it?" her lips curled into a smirk at just how incredulous he seemed. it was simple, perhaps a bit cheap, but she never tired of the amazement she was met with at the simplest of statements, like she possessed a worldly wisdom that he could only hope to one day mimic. "i've got wines older than you— god, that makes me sound... prehistoric." which wasn't exactly as daunting to consider as it was when she noticed a new varicose vein snaking up her calf. no, when she was emphasizing her age in relation to his, it somehow triggered a spark of excitement, something primal in the pit of her gut. feeling such a thing was only natural, but to act on that perverse sense of arousal would've been morally bankrupt. as far as scandals went, it couldn't be the worst thing, right? it wasn't illegal, at least. her concern remained focused on the stain as she doted over him, providing plausible deniability should he try and accuse her of coming onto him, trying a few more unsuccessful dabs of her home remedy before abandoning the rag altogether. "of course, darling," she smiled reassuringly, waiting patiently for him to strip his shirt off while she remained knelt beside him. "it's no problem at all." as each new inch of his smooth torso revealed itself, her gaze tracked the ascent of his shirt, getting a good eyeful of his sun kissed skin before she had to meet his eyes again. "i'll be right back, alright? keep drinking— have another glass!" despite her promise, roz didn't hurry on her way to the laundry room, instead leisurely strolling down the hall, taking her time to apply actual stain remover before finally tossing it in the washing machine and choosing the longest possible setting. the whole time she was imagining him on the couch in her living room, half naked and anxiously awaiting her return, perhaps even taking a courtesy sip of wine he didn't even like just to say he'd followed orders. by the time she returned to him, she felt positively giddy, warmed from more than just the wine. "oh, shoot," she stopped short and let out a dramatized sigh. "i forgot a shirt for you to wear... i could grab something from jaime's room, if you'd like." her son was only thirteen, but she reckoned enzo could fit if he squeezed a bit— the real hang up came with the ethics of lending her son's shirt to a man she intended to seduce, and if that was worse than forcing him to remain shirtless while they drank.

when he'd first moved to the city, his mother had made it abundantly clear that she had no interest in entertaining his silly delusions of achieving any kind of fame or notoriety. he didn't have the talent, nor the smarts or social skills to make any kind of clever business decisions, he'd burn himself out before he even began and end up back in their small town with a job at the grocery store. maybe she was right but enzo was determined to prove her wrong by any means necessary. with no financial support offered from his family, he'd been forced to make ends meet by himself and finding work in looking after rosalind's kids had been perhaps the greatest thing to ever happen. not only did she pay well but she was empathetic to occasionally having to work around his school schedule, plus she let him eat dinner there when she had to work late and gave him the occasional bonus in addition to his normal payment; it was a dream come true. no one had been so nice to him in a long while, not since he'd left home and without even realising it, he had come to crave her approval, seeking her validation in a way different to that of an employee wanting to impress their boss. she was so much more cultured than he could ever dream of, seemed to move around with such grace and purpose simultaneously that he had to wonder if she'd ever been uncertain about a single thing in her whole life. he felt a sudden wash of panic at his little accident and looked to ros with big, worried eyes as she stood up from the couch. his concerned gaze followed her as she headed towards the kitchen then turned back down to the stain, thumbing the evidence of his clumsiness. "wow, really?" maybe that was why it tasted bad, because it was so old. surely that couldn't have been safe, he didn't know much about wine but did you really have to wait two decades before drinking it? why bother? "that's crazy..." it was a question that would bother him for a short while then immediately leave his mind upon being hit with the next bit of stimuli, that being the sound of rosalind returning and then settling down beside him. his wide, dark gaze flickered between the stain and ros' face, whatever tension he'd let draw him up tight quickly dissipating as he realised she was annoyed at him for his spillage. it was nice to be taken care of, developing a sense of independence had been a nice change from his previous reliance on his family but he did secretly miss being doted over. "oh, sure! thank you." there was no reason to question her motives, not when she'd been so good to him throughout the weeks he'd been under her employment. he'd always been told he trusted too easily, yet he failed to see how that was a bad trait to possess. without second thought, enzo moved to pull his shirt up and over his head, revealing his tanned, smooth chest, dusted with a handful of freckles.

[brodingles]

Tabletop characters hanging out.

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

I Wish I Could Leave This Alone (I Know How Much You Want Me To)

Babe Heffron x Reader (plus guest) One Shot

Summary: Babe’s birthday gift to you has an unexpected party crasher

Warnings: smut, angst, infidelity (?), reader overthinking while getting dicked down, I wrote this and immediately posted it so it will be edited at some point

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Babe’s kiss was soft, but his touch was not.

 You couldn’t help the groan that escaped from the back of your throat as one of his hands gripped tightly at your hip, and when he smiled against your lips you couldn’t help but feel like you’d had done something to amuse him.

 “What?” you pant, leaning back at the waist to break the kiss and frowning at his smirk. 

 He chuckled warmly as he walked you backward towards your bed, the hand at your hip finding its way under your shirt and up against your sternum.

 “Where’d you go, Gorgeous?” he asked playfully, and you immediately felt guilty. 

He was right, you’d gone somewhere else for a while. That wasn’t fair to him, and you knew that. And while he was quick to call you out on it, he never seemed to truly take offense to it. You weren't sure what that said about him. Or you, for that matter.

You shake your head and bring your hands to the hem of his t-shirt, lightly tracing your nails across the sensitive skin of his lower stomach. “Started getting a bit ahead of myself, that’s all.” 

 Pressing a kiss to the hinge of his jaw, you use your position to slide your hand down the front of his trousers and cup him through his boxers.

“You forgot to breathe,” he mumbles, his voice slow and distracted. “Can’t have you blacking out and embarrassing yourself like that—Woah.” 

 A smile of your own breaking across your face, you nose at him until he brings his mouth to yours again, making a show of inhaling sharply as the backs of your knees hit the bed.

 “Good note,” you say breathily as you pull his shirt up his back, giggling idiotically as he intentionally gives you a hard time of it. Your shirt doesn’t last long either, and with a practiced ease, you have each other stripped and bare in the blueish darkness of your barrack.

 He isn’t gentle when his hands grip your bare skin, his movements excited and rough as he settles against the headboard and pulls you up to straddle his lap.

 “I remembered, by the way.”

 Taking his face in your hands, you hold him away to study him, confusion marring your constantly furrowed brow. “Remembered…?”

 His eyes are aglow in the dark, so amber and warm that they reminded you of the spiced ciders your family would make during the holidays back home. A wicked smile crosses his face, and he chuckles quietly.

 “I told you what knowing my middle name would cost you when you asked me last month, and the information I wanted in return. And I told you I wouldn’t forget…”

The cogs clicked in your head, and you made a sound of upset when you figured out what he was talking about. 

 Detail for detail, that’s the deal, Sweetcheeks.

 “Happy Birthday, Sargent Y/N.” He waggled his eyebrows, and you booed him quietly.

 “What are the odds a blowjob will make you forget about it?” you ask with a wince, gasping when he playfully rolled his hips up to meet yours. Feeling how hard he was made your blood begin to run hotter.

 “Hmm,” he hummed, leaning forward to suck a kiss on the delicate skin beneath your collarbone. “Somewhere between none and slim.”

 With an annoyed hum, you lean your head forward to rest atop his head and let him mouth at you, your hand coming up to pull at his hair only when you knew he was intentionally trying to leave a mark. 

 “And do you remember what I said I wanted to give you for your birthday?”

 Feeling the blood rush to your cheeks, you realized that you could only sit in hot embarrassment as he laughed at you again.

 “Such a prim and proper lady, scandalized by the idea of riding my face—”

 “Edward!” you hissed, hands that once held his face now pushing it away. “Don’t say it like that, come on—”

 The auburn-haired man laughed, catching your wrists and pulling you into his chest. you grunted with frustration, your face now pressed against the hollow of his throat.

 “It’s not like my mouth hasn’t been down there before, you know.”

 Sighing, you let yourself sag into him slightly, trying not to lose yourself in his lighthearted tone.

 “Yeah, but not like that, when I’m just…you know.”

 “Oh I see, you like it better when I do all the work and you get to take the princess position, huh?”

 “Jesus Christ, Babe” you sit up again with a huff, attempting to pull your wrists back from his unyielding grip. “I try to be serious for one fucking second….”

 Rolling his eyes, he surges up and kisses you sweetly, and for a minute you feel yourself begin to slip out of your body again.

But he brings you back. He always brings you back to him and here and now.

 “C’mon, Sweet Thing…” he croons shamelessly against your lips, rough hands releasing your wrists and sliding teasingly up and down your thighs. The touch has you trembling in his lap, and he’s kissing you before you can be too embarrassed. “If you hate it, I’ll stop and you can fucking edge me until I blackout, I swear to god. You gotta let me see you like this, Y/N. Please, Gorgeous…?”

Good GOD he was shameless, literally begging you to allow him the chance to make you feel good, to show you how good he can make you feel- how much he wanted to be the one to do it to you first.

 Anticipation was knotted in your throat as you smashed your lips to his, a flutter of heady resolve resting in your belly. As if he could taste what you were thinking, he wrapped his arms around you and hummed against your mouth.

 “God, you’re so perfect...” he pulled you into him, rolling his hips in a way that seemed to remind you of the urgency you both had felt before. 

When he pulls back this time he’s grinning at you like a complete idiot, happier than any man should be at the prospect of cunnilingus, in your opinion.

 But Edward Heffron was nothing if not enthusiastic in his pursuits.

 “Hands on the windowsill,” he said breathlessly, his cheeks turning pink and making you want to kiss him again. When you didn’t follow his request quickly enough he guided your hands there himself and folded your fingers around the frame of the open window. 

 You quirked an eyebrow at him. “Do I want to know how long you’ve been thinking about this, or will I be insulted?”

 He smacks your thigh lightly, drawing a surprised yelp from your lungs that melts into a hum of amusement as he kneads the reddening flesh.

 “How about we err on the side of caution and say….. just within the past few months?”

 “And you held me in the highest regard before that- right, Private?”

 He says nothing for a moment, and when he does agree to your proposed question he mumbles it into the valley between your breasts.

 “Hmph. You’re a terrible liar. This had better be worth it.”

 Seemingly satisfied with your ability to keep your hands where he set them, Babe encourages you to rise up to your knees so you’re no longer flush in his lap. Immediately, his eyes flick down to your sex, and you cannot help the way your thighs start to shake

 He says something under his breath that you can’t quite catch before he looks back at your face and his expression softens for a second.

 “Remember what I said earlier? I mean it, you know I mean it—”

 You’re nodding before he can finish the sentiment, letting a soft smile play at the corners of your kiss-swollen lips. “You’ll be the first to know if I want to stop. Promise.”

 With one more biting kiss to the middle of your chest he brings his assault downwards with hands, lips, and teeth- his touch just the right amount of hard and teasing to send your head swimming long before you finally feel his breath on the overly-sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

 “Oh fuck,” he sounds far away, but maybe that’s just because you’re feeling too big for your own body at the moment. “Could die happy here…”

God, he’s such a whore.

 The first touch of his tongue has you pitching yourself forward, eyes squeezed shut as you let your face poke out the window enough to feel the breeze on your clammy face. 

 Shit, he was good at that- it felt so good. If you didn't have your own goddamn skeletons in your proverbial closet you may have even been jealous to think of all the other women who had been privy to this most spectacular consideration. Babe was kissing you down there just as sweetly as he had ever kissed your lips, and it made you briefly wonder if anyone else from your past could have made you feel as high as he was making you feel right now.

 Bowing your head to look down at him, your breath catching at the sight of him looking up at you from between your thighs, his arms folded around your hips to control the small jumps you couldn’t seem to get a handle on.

 “Fuck, Babe!” you bite out, the idea of him looking up your body and watching you squirm threatening to overwhelm you. “Can’t fucking do that, ‘s gross angle for me…”

 “Oh?” he said, the sound and feeling of his voice running up your body in the most sinful way. “I beg to differ...”

 Knowing that watching him watch you would ultimately be too much, you shake your head to clear your thoughts and lift your head to look back out the window into the night air.

 Only to come face to face with Ronald Speirs.

 A sound of surprise, shock, embarrassment, and panic got caught in your throat alongside your cresting moan and resulted in the most depraved cry that seemed to surprise all three of you.

 Your blood boiled as it froze in your veins as you made eye contact with Speirs, mortification and utter shock leaving your mouth hanging open in a silent shriek of horror.

 You had no idea how long the other man had been standing there, but if the look in his eyes was any indication it had been long enough to know exactly what was happening on the other side of the wall, just below the window frame. A cigarette hung forgotten between his lips as he openly stared at you, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed silently.

 When Babe’s hand came up to squeeze your breast enticingly, you nearly jumped out the window. 

 Oh my God This can’t be happening right now I have to stop him Oh fucking hell….

 Your head whipped down and he looked up at you with heavy-lidded eyes, mouth red and damp as he panted wickedly up at you. “You okay, Gorgeous?”

 A crushing realization fell onto you in that very moment: there was no way you could tell him what was happening- who was there watching your shared private moment outside. Because that would mean that you’d have to explain that Ron always did this, that every night he would smoke near wherever you were sleeping that night and keep watch like a possessive and protective shadow. 

 And the only way you could explain that was by telling Babe about what you and Ron had once had- no, almost had. He rejected you, you reminded yourself harshly. He made his stance on you abundantly clear when he’d had you transferred into Easy Company. The fact that Speirs still behaved as if he was somehow responsible for you was not your problem.

 Besides, you had Babe. You wanted Babe. Even if the ache in your heart tried to tell you differently.

 You made your peace with Ron Speirs’ rejection a long time ago.

 Not trusting your voice, you nod vehemently and hope what is happening outside isn’t clearly written on your face. 

 A smug grin stretches across his face. “Good, ‘cause you taste better than I imagined…..”

 You curse as he pulls you back down to his mouth, your head flashing back up to see that Ron has gotten rid of his cigarette and shucked off his heavy coat and gun. His dark eyes look downright predatory, and if you had any sense in your sex-dumb head you would stop this debauchery and transfer somewhere far away from the both of them.

 You open your mouth to do something, anything to save yourself some dignity in this fucking exhibitionist nightmare, but Speirs’s finger flies up to his lips, the command clear even through the darkness.

 You knew this would happen eventually something in his gaze seemed to accuse. Did you really believe you could forget who you’re wishing was beneath you?

 But as you watch him tilt his head, something else is conveyed: he’s asking for permission. 

 He didn’t intend to leave. He wanted to watch.

But he would, if you wanted him to.

 It was cruel of him, and something in the way he worked his jaw told you that he knew it too, but like you he was too far gone to stop it. 

 You both know better, each of you having your own reasons for not wanting to inevitably hurt the other and cross that line. Your own sick, backwards ways of self-protection and showing affection for the other seemed to be twisting and becoming more complex as time went on. 

The more involved you became with Babe….Ron suddenly wanted to be your friend again just after you had first slept with Babe.

 You immediately understood that you and Ron were nearing your final days of dancing around each other, that you would have to be the one to stop it. Because Edward Heffron was too good and too kind to be fucked with like this. Eventually, you would have to stop being so selfish.

 In a final show of weakness, you nod silently to Ron, your breath coming in quick bursts as your lover has patiently worked you up and up to the crest of your crescendo, none the wiser to the wicked thoughts and realizations spinning around in your head. 

 I really am a monster.

 But you couldn’t focus on that right now, not as Ron stalked right up to the window with such confidence that you thought you had gravely misread the situation and he was going to announce himself to Babe. 

 You had just begun to make a hush of protest when his cold hands gripped yours and he knelt down so he was nose to nose with you, his hot glare turning it into another embarrassing sound of pleasure.

 “Shit!” You whimpered, your body trembling more violently as the coil in your belly began to constrict. Ron’s thumbs rubbed the back of your knuckles in a soothing motion as he made a sound of pity low in his throat, the clucking of his tongue quiet enough that it disappeared in the sounds of the forest surrounding them. 

When you get a better look at his face you can see his look of empathy is almost mocking, and you briefly wonder if you would ever have sex with someone who didn’t like to antagonize you the whole time.

 As you try to pull your hands out from under his, he shakes his head sternly before wrestling them into his grip, the action pulling you slightly further out the window and making you gasp.

Babe chuckles and grips your ass to control the speed in which your hips rocked, a nibble on your clit nearly making you scream.

 You’re a terrible person. You’re the worst kind of woman. you hate yourself for this.

 Ron’s brows furrow and his face goes soft, eyes a warm burn rather than a vengeful inferno. You don’t realize you have begun crying until he brushes the tears from your cheeks with quick fingers.

You press your forehead against his as your body bows in warning, your orgasm approaching with unforgiving intensity. 

 Ron doesn’t kiss you and you don’t kiss him. You never had and after this long, you don't think you ever will. You hate how much you wished you could though.

Especially with another man’s tongue working you into a frenzy at the same fucking time.

 “Please, I want you...” you said pathetically, and Ron had the grace to look down in shame. Guilty fingers intertwined with yours and with a sad grimace he kissed the backs of your hands.

 “I know you do, I’m so sorry,” he breathes across your knuckles, tongue darting out to wet the chilling skin where he kissed, kissing your hand as he had wished to kiss your mouth each and every day since he had met you. 

 But you couldn’t, he couldn’t. And he wouldn’t let you ever try.

 You came with a silent cry, only the whispered reminder from both of the men you loved to breathe saved you from falling apart in the most critical moment.

 Because you are cruel you take one hand from Ron, the one he wasn’t kissing, and pull it back. 

 Babe’s overgrown hair is soft and damp as you reach down to rake your fingers through it, quickly finding his hand on your hip and clinging to his fingers with painful desperation as you quake above him.

Pulling you impossibly close to his mouth, Babe holds you as you tremble through the last of your pleasure, suckling once, twice more before noisily pulling away from you. 

 The sound was so lewd even Ron had to close his eyes and grit his teeth in order to stay quiet.

your hair clung to your face, and after sliding his fingers from yours Ron brushes the sweaty strands around your hairline.

 As you begin to catch your breath, you remember who you are, who all you’re with, and all that’s brought each of you to this point. You remember that Ron Speirs has to go, will always have to go. 

 He didn’t want you to be his,  wasn’t interested in sharing his barracks or you asking him about his past or remembering your birthday. You didn’t matter, none of this did. 

 All that mattered to him was the fight. The big picture. “We’re all already dead. Why bother acting like this is anything other than a distraction?”

 “Y/N,” Babe’s gentle kisses land on your hips and you realize that the time for your decision is coming sooner than she had anticipated. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

 You take a few more shuddering breaths with Ron, and from the way he tightened his jaw you knew he knew that you were going to have to let one of them go. And, because he’s just as selfish as you are, he doesn’t want you to choose Babe. 

 He’d rather keep you like a lark he can turn to for reassurance and comfort. Like a bird in a cage.

 With a final sniffle, you look down, away from Ron, and give all of your attention to the beautiful, sex-mussed man who was looking up at you so sweetly and with such a clear desire for approval that you almost started crying all over again.

 Ron lets you slip your fingers from his and takes a silent step back as you return your attention to your lover. You let him disappear into the night.

 “Nothing at all, Babe,” you reassure him with a sigh, moving shakily down his body so you can kiss him as deeply as you can, sealing your body to his as you hold his face between your hands. “I just forgot where I was for a second there.”

 Nipping at your bottom lip, he waits until you pull back before smiling stupidly at you.

“That good, huh?”

 Shaking your head, you scoff and flick his chest. As he starts to chuckle, you roll yourself off of him enough to scratch your nails lightly across his stomach.

 “I’ll give you a full review after round two, how about that?” You smirk as his eyebrows shoot up, sitting up and swinging your leg over his hips to straddle him. “But right now, how about I reward the idiot I love for remembering my birthday?”

 If he’s surprised by your sudden proclamation of affection, he makes no show of it. And somehow that makes the moment all the sweeter.

~ ~

(HELLO SO SORRY FOR THE LATE FIC I LOVE YALL COVID IS A BITCH! I’M CURRENTLY WORKING ON THREE FICS SO HOPEFULLY THEY WILL FOLLOW SHORTLY! OKAY BYE BYE MY GORGEOUS GEODUCKS!)

taglist: @mrseasycompany​ @itswormtrain @mrsalwayswrite​ @happyveday​ @sunsetmando @ricksmorty @now-im-a-belieber​ @tvserie-s-world​

[literaila]

in which loki eats candy. begrudgingly.

*

convincing loki to try a gummy worm was turning out to be a surprisingly difficult task.

if the glare he was sending your way, and the frown that— always —seemed to be glued to his face, meant anything. he refused to meet your eyes, instead only looking your way when he thought you weren’t looking back.

you might have been playing it up a bit much. delighting in the small, wonderful pieces of sugar that tore between your teeth. the sounds of ecstasy every time you took a bite. the purposeful chewing sounds— mostly just to annoy him, you’ll admit. you wouldn’t deny that it was all a bit much.

but still, he was a bitter, sour-faced god, and he needed to try some candy.

you were certain it didn’t look bad. it was colorful, soft, perfectly sweet and not intimidating in the slightest.

…in hindsight, that probably should’ve been the first indicator that loki would hate it.

“c’mon,” you teased when you’d first noticed loki looking your way, peering eyes staring at the candy on the desk in front of you, confusion written between his brows. “i’ll give you one if you want”

he looked away quickly, disturbed at the thought of sharing maybe, or maybe the colorful look of the plastic bag you’d now opened. “that looks dreadful,” he drawled, turning away.

you laughed, never finding him serious, even when he was very. “you don’t like gummy worms?”

he scoffed. “i don’t need to try gummy worms to know that they’re miserable creatures, unworthy of my attention”

you’d tried your very hardest not to laugh, chortle, at that very clear statement, but, to be honest, it wasn’t an easy task. though, you did almost regret it after you noticed the scowl on loki’s face.

“they’re not actual worms, junior, it’s candy”

the glare only intensifies, loki has heard that word before, many times actually, but until now he’s never actually been in the proximity of the so-called-treat.

it’s really a shame.

“why would it be named after a living creature?”

you snort, pulling one out and holding it as close to him as you can as he’s sitting across the room from you, slightly leaned back in his overly dramatic swindle chair, watching you flaunt the small food in front of him. he looks far too comfortable for a god.

“it’s-“ you sigh and spin around in your chair— far smaller, definitely less comfortable than his, of course —“normally, people don’t take it quite so literally” you say, teasing him again, despite the ‘terrifying’ looks he’s giving you.

he doesn’t answer then, looking back to the papers in front of you, effectively ignoring you.

it would almost be infuriating, but you’re eating candy, so not much can change the pleasant mood you’re currently wearing.

“you can still have one, glorious god of the office, if you’d like,” you smile at him again, sweetly. “i’m not too opposed to sharing.”

loki stays silent for a moment before looking back at you, irritation— wonderful —the clearest emotion on his pale face.

and then

“i would never eat something so…” he pauses, smile as sweet as yours making its way onto its face (you might’ve appreciated it if it wasn’t accompanied by the glint in his eyes). “..vulgar”

and you know, you are absolutely aware that he’s trying to irritate you now, it’s the most obvious thing in the world and still, he’s undeniably good at getting under your skin.

you huff, shove a handful of gummy worms in your mouth, sending a nod his way and returning to your work.

loki would never win this game that you’d started. you wouldn’t allow it.

it’s minutes later when you have the idea, possibly the best one you’ve had all day.

and that is how you end up here, chewing loudly, trying to irritate the only god in the room with your insistent delight, hoping to break him before it’s time to go home.

and really, he could seriously use a bit of candy.

he’s been looking your way, you can feel it despite the papers you’re filling out, his terrible gaze on your face, the furrowed brows you know are awaiting your eyes for when you look up. he’s terribly inconspicuous.

you moan once more before he’s leaning back in his chair once again.

“would you quit it?” he hisses.

but, of course, you don’t know what he’s talking about.

“what?” innocently, pulling another worm out of the bag and stuffing your face with it before you laugh.

“your-“ he groans. “those noises! they’re very distracting, not to mention annoying and loud.”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about,”

there’s another smile, another groan. and you’re almost sure that loki is about to storm out of the office, crowded with only the two of you now, and leave for the night.

but wait, you haven’t gotten him to try one yet.

“would you maybe.. be jealous of my candy, loki?” the way you say it makes it seem like the most scandalous thing in the world, and the roll of loki’s eyes doesn’t escape your notice.

“of course not,” he answers, arms crossed over his chest as he stares at you openly now, shooting glares to the bag of candy every few seconds.

“hmm” is all you say, disbelief clear in your voice.

loki scowls again, watching your calm face. and you can see the composure slip from him as he finally, with the tension of several men, puts a hand out in front of you.

you almost cackle, terribly excited to watch him try his first bit of candy.

as soon as the gummy worm is in his hand, he’s picking it up with only two fingers as if it holds some disease, inspecting it.

“i swear, i didn’t poison it.”

loki doesn’t find that very funny, you suppose, but even with the frown on his face, he places the candy in his mouth. the calm expression remains for only seconds longer.

as soon as you see him swallow he’s coughing, gagging across from you, never failing to be as overdramatic as possible.

“that is terrible!” he says, acting as if you had poisoned him.

“you’re mad. gummy worms are delightful,” you say, still excited after having tricked him into trying it in the first place. you take another worm, placing it on your tongue and giggling at the way he flinches while he watches. “would you like another?” you ponder, finger to your chin.

“absolutely not.” he shutters. “mortals are sick creatures, insane with the poison they put into their bodies”

“and you,” you say, moving back to the papers in front of you, satisfied with this small interaction. “are very dramatic.”

*

it’s only a couple of days later when you try again.

loki hasn’t yet forgot the torture you enforced upon his tastebuds, which means he also refuses to let you forget.

mostly, it’s entertaining. incredibly amusing how insistent loki is that you’ve poisoned him, cursed him with “mortal things” and ruined him for everything else that he could possibly encounter.

so of course, you’re trying again.

late last night, after a long day of loki whining about work (and you), it was decided that candy was exactly what the prince needed. something to brighten those terribly blue eyes of his.

and really, you had no other option since he didn’t enjoy the gummy worms that you had so kindly shared with him.

a quick trip to the closest candy store was easy, brief, and you’d obtained exactly what you needed in within ten seconds of entering the shop.

now it was just time to wait.

you smiled at loki when he walked in, called a quick ‘good morning’ surprising him with how early you were, as usually he came in before you even thought of opening your eyes.

you placed the packets of candy on the corner of your desk, setting the trap and waiting for him to notice.

it didn’t take long.

“another treat?” he inquired, saying ‘treat’ as if it was anything but.

you really didn’t know why he found the gummy worms so bad.

“of course,” you answered, not bothering to look up or hide your smile. “none for you this time, unfortunately”

loki laughed, scribbling something down on the paper in front of him (what god needs eyes to watch what he’s doing?) as he stared at the bags on your desk, not uttering a word.

also unfortunately, you knew how high loki’s curiosity level always was, and you knew that eventually, he would want to know more. even if he really despised candy as he said he did.

you continued working, sneaking glances at his desk, watching him do the same thing as you were, eyes on you. you wondered for a moment if he would try and figure out what was on your desk himself. you didn’t quite doubt that he would’ve been able to turn himself invisible, if he wanted.

still though, you said nothing. he didn’t.

“what is it?” he asked, not bothering to indicate what he was talking about. he knew that you knew.

“just a thing i picked up. terribly mortal. definitely poisonous.”

he didn’t appreciate the teasing any more than he’d appreciated the gummy worms. after several, too many, seconds of him glaring at you, you complied.

“they’re called pop rocks,”

loki’s eyes widened, only slightly, before his expression relaxed again. “why are all these things named such unappealing names?”

you laughed, continuing to pretend to write. you were almost sure that the plan was working. “especially unappealing to a god, such as yourself, right?”

“right.”

…and then he sighed. you weren’t sure if it was because he was frustrated, or if he’d finally realized what you were trying to get him to do, but either way, you heard the wheels of his obnoxious chair push back.

and then he mumbled something.

“what, your highness? i didn’t catch that,” you looked up at him, enjoying his scowl this time.

“canihaveone?” he asked again, too quick to catch unless you already knew what he was asking.

“oh?” you mock exclaimed. “one of my mortal treats? the very mockery to your being?”

“they have peaked my interest,” he admitted, now staring at the black packages still on the corner of your desk. “and i’m very masochistic. i enjoy a bit of poison with my work,”

you finally laughed, his truth tied in with the lie breaking the game you were playing. it was simple enough to win, anyway.

“here, loki” you said. still chuckling as you tossed him a packet. you took one yourself, demonstrating how to eat the candy you were more sure he would enjoy.

possibly, your enjoyment in the gummy worms had been the downfall of his. you were a quick learner, luckily enough.

with the popping rocks in his mouth, head thrown back as he tried not to spill them off of his tongue—following your influence —the truth was revealed to both of you as you shared your laughs.

loki, god of mischief, office devil, absolutely adored the pop rocks.

despite the shouts of “these are torturous!” and the declaration that you were the most devious mortal he’d ever met, a far worse villain than he’d ever be, you still knew the truth.

his smile couldn’t just be erased, and the joy you’d felt radiating off of him from across the room was as true as the color of his eyes.

…and if a couple of days later, you noticed a stash-full of his own pop-rocks in one of the drawers of his desk, well. that was just a trick of the eye.

[nebulus-frd]

Jealous and protective Rowan and oblivious Aelin in a modern established relationship au

Hi!!!

Thank u so much for the request. I loved your prompt and also love Rowaelin deeply. Hope u enjoy it ♡

If you liked it or not, let me know. Leave a comment, compliments and especially, constructive critics, are always welcomed.

Wanna request your story? Come ⋆⭒ here ⋆⭒, tell me everything. ----------

The beach. The sea. Them.

Synopsis: Modern AU where Rowan and Aelin finally get a deserved vacation. But he isn't enjoying all the attention given to his wife during the first day of it.

Rated: T

Warnings: implied sexual content. If I forgot anything, let me know.

Words: 1700+ (oneshot).

1/1

It was their first time back at the beach after being married.

The life of a military couple was hectic, to say the least, but Rowan and Aelin were rather used to the chaos. This explained why Rowan found himself alone in bed on the first morning of their vacation. Although his wife had always been a late riser, he knew better than anyone how hard it was to break their routine and if he himself hadn’t take medicine to fall asleep, he wouldn’t probably have slept at all.

Not bothering to properly dress, Rowan moved to the kitchen only to find it empty. Did she go grocery shop? But to his surprise not only was the fridge completely packed, but three sandwiches also topple each other on a plate next to a note.

Good morning princess, did you sleep well? Not even a true love kiss was able to break from the evil medicine spell. I’m training on the beach. Join me… Or not, if you feel like sleeping throughout the entirety of our vacation.

Love,

Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius.

Rowan didn’t even feel the smile that broke through him. God, I love her. Of course, she was training. His wife always called him a workaholic and a military freak, only to always prove herself one. The food was warm enough for her not to have left for too long. And in half an hour Rowan found himself heading to their hotel gym.

Where was Aelin?

He had circulated the gym area twice without success in the mission of joining his wife. Could she be at the beach? It wouldn’t be a surprise. Aelin loves the sea, the sunny weather, and the heat on her skin.

Eight years ago, if someone said to Rowan that there were people who loved those things, he would have straight-out laughed in their faces. He couldn’t anymore. He had learned to appreciate each of these unlike anyone else.

Rowan loved the smile Aelin would have while watching the sea, loved the glow her eyes would reflect under the sun’s light, loved the heat from Aelin’s heart.

His wife had changed each perspective he had in his life.

And while at the beach, once again he asked himself how the hell, he was deserving of the woman he married to?

Aelin was coming out of the sea, dressed in a swimsuit that covered a lot more of what he was used to seeing, looking like the sea god herself had descended in the mortal world to bestow her beauty upon mortals. Thus, Rowan was hindered breathless and as soon as their eyes locked up, he could listen to her thoughts through them.

“Are you delight with the view?”

And the smile that broke in her lips made his knees go weak. She pointed to a small pile of clothes at his right and he could recognize the tennis beside it. As soon as they met Rowan girdled his arm around her hips and kissed her.

“Missed me much?” Aelin asked holding a smirk while still in his arms. Her turquoise eyes nailed on his green-forest ones. The only answer she received was a grunt and a heavy head dropping in her shoulder. “You know you could use words, rather than growling like a beast”, which made Aelin feel the smile coming from her husband, she could picture it too: the perfect set of teeth accompanied by two fangs that were borderline not-human, which had left so many marks on last night's activities, she had almost come to the beach in a diver suit.

“I can’t be bothered. There are a lot of more interesting things to do with my mouth… And my tong…”, Rowan’s impure statement was interrupted by the sound of Aelin’s phone ring, it took a moment for the woman to snap out of the mood her husband had put them in. Poor object, it earned a glare that, if possible, would have transformed it into ashes.

“Oh hi!... Yes, of course, I’m coming… Right, next to the bar… Yes, be there in a few”, she said on the phone friendly. With whom she could have made prior appointments?

“Where are you going?”, Rowan asked confused, involuntarily holding her tighter, Aelin didn’t hide the smile at her husband's unwillingness.

“WE are going to a functional training, apparently the hotel holds them every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday”, she said while putting on a pair of shorts and her tennis, Rowan just nodded in answer.

Once they were in the central area, the closer location between the hotel’s pools and the beach, the equipment could already be seen as well as 10 people roaming around it. Soon enough a man came up to them greeting Aelin, too friendly to Rowan’s likeness, although he could only spot the top of his head.

“Miss Galathnyius, it’s good to have you with us today”, the strange said while avoiding looking at Rowan’s side but he did not miss a beat.

“It’s Mrs.” his accented and low voice seemed to reverberate, earning him an alarmed glance from the instructor, as he had taken from his clothes and name tag.

“Yes, of course. Mr. and Mrs. Galathnyius it’s a pleasure to have both of you here”, the smaller man seemed ready to bolt as he alternated his looks from Rowan’s face tattoo and Aelin’s mirth-filled eyes, she just nodded and that was very well what he did. She knew it wasn’t jealousy from her husband, more like his inability to not correct a mistaken person.

Oh, how wrong she was.

…

Half an hour throughout the class, Rowan was calculating how much trouble would he be if he were to beat three civilians. As the training was open to anyone at the beach, around fifteen more people had come to enjoy the activities. Including a group of four men, who seem too inclined to help Aelin with her training.

Which had made Rowan seeing red since he heard the first suggestion in correcting Aelin’s posture during a core exercise. Whilst his wife seemed completed oblivious as not only agreed to a few suggestions and gave tips of her own. Rowan didn’t mind that both were right.

Nonetheless, at each suggestion made by a stranger, Rowan would casually assert his territory. Moving closer to Aelin, helping her with the weights and holding her during an exercise that required it. Of course, there was the possibility that none of the people participating held any second intentions towards his wife and were only trying to be helpful. He seriously doubted it, even though that was what Aelin seem to think.

Usually, Rowan had never been one to bluntly be jealous and if he found it necessary to discuss attitude with someone, he wouldn’t do it in front of Aelin. But he’d gone apeshit when one of the guys from before made a move to touch her while he went to grab for water. Fuck this. He had been by her side every single moment. What’s with these disrespectful motherfuckers?

The man whose hands extended to help Aelin in moving the piece on her waist only caught a movement in corner of his eyes before a mountain of a man was before him. His eyes caught a glimpse of a wicked tattoo on the man’s face, which had been hidden by the cap he was using.

Rowan’s intimidating demeanor and the fucking gold ring in his and hers left hands were more than enough for assholes to grasp the situation.

She is mine, I’m hers. Fuck off.

Either it was the rings or himself didn’t matter. Apparently, with one look everybody understood his warning.

…

However, nine hours later, he’d been left baffled as his wife complained how, after he glued himself to her side, nobody had talked or interacted with her anymore.

“Well, if you weren’t such a territorial bastard today, we could have made some friends that could introduce us to the town”, she said as they had clearly lost themselves while looking for a Japanese restaurant.

“I beg your pardon?”, Rowan answered seeing red all over again just from remembering the previous event.

“Oh, come on, you thought I did notice? You were just asserting your territory for the heck of it”, she said not bothering with more than an eye roll, still searching the street’s name on their map.

“For the heck of it?”, Rowan was bewildered. Aelin thought he was doing that out of leisure?

“You couldn’t possibly be jealous of those guys from the beach, right?”, she said finally dropping the stupid map that had put them in their current predicament and looking straight into his eyes. Whatever she saw there gave Rowan his favorite smile. “You were….”, she laughed, loud and uncaring. Beautiful. “You are unbelievable”.

Like the viper his wife was, she stealthy approached him in that dark alley. “My cranky husband was jealous of some gym dudes?”, her voice was surrounded by arrogance and seductiveness. Reminding Rowan just who he had married with. The most confident, assertive, dazzling woman he had ever met.

Their eyes were locked on each other as she stalked him like a snake ready to consume her prey. His response to her provocation was nothing more than a grunt. “You know what you should have done?... You could have kissed me right there, ravished me, really… And I would’ve said thank you”.

After many years into their relationship, one would think that Rowan had become numb to Aelin’s advances. However, it was very much the opposite of it. He would be scandalized, shocked… And excited, she burned him with bold words and even bolder actions that made his head spin. His calloused hand didn’t miss one second into holding Aelin’s by her backside and his mouth went to her neck.

“Ditch dinner, Fireheart, I will show you what I would like to have done”, Rowan could feel Aelin’s thundering heartbeat, like his own due to their proximity. It would never lie to him, he affected her just as she did him.

“Oh, why, when you say with such gentleness. I suppose we could make something at home”, she smoothed her hand at Rowan’s ringed finger each word, handing him a bright smile by the end. “I love you”, albeit the sentence was said in a soft tone, it swept bothering feelings between the two, such as sea waves that accompanied their evening.

“To whatever end”, he said holding her left hand and as they walked toward the ocean. Free, unrestricted, and vast. Much like their love.

[jincherie]

say so | knj & ksj [m]

! —  COMMISSION  — !

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

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

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

— masterlist |  posted; 17.08.2020

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You—!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

X – x – x

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No way. No way.

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

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

X – x – x

You’re ashamed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can only resign yourself to your fate.

x - x - x

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"MINA!"

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

x- x - x

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

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

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

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

“y/n! Over here!”

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

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

It’s probably the butterflies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, there’s you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

x   x   x   x 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a special performance, tonight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was it made... for you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you cannot believe the atrocity of your luck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 x    x    x

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Off you go, sweetheart!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, y/n, just a moment!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 x - x - x

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

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

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

That you’d missed so much.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yah!”

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

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

“Woah, bubs, are you okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey!”

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

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

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

x - x - x - x

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then had come the show.

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

Until tonight, that is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, at least now they know what to do.

x — x — x

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mr. Leigh? What did you want to t—”

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

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

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

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

You don’t even know where to begin.

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t lie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

x - x 

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

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

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

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

“Ah-ah, bubs.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like this? Not likely.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, I’m—”

Flash. Click. 

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

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

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

“Jin!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Click.

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

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

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

“Are you ready, baby?” 

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

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

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

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

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

Who are you to say no? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[otptings]

Reunited

✖︎Idol: Park Jisung

✖︎Genre: Fluffffy

✖︎Word Count: 1237

✖︎Synopsis: Tours are hard, but being reunited is all you could ask for

✖︎A/n: edited, the original goes by the name of tour. requests are open for enhypen, treasure, and svt. if you enjoyed this please like, reblog, or donate to my ko-fi in my bio thank you so much

“I miss you.” You held back your laughter at the sight of Jisung puffing out his cheeks in an obvious pout.

“Only two more weeks, then you’ll be back in my arms.”

“That’s boring, why can’t I just teleport there now? Or better yet you teleport here?” Shaking your head at his childishness you couldn’t help but feel the same. There have been more than enough lonely nights to last you for the rest of your days. Nights that were spent looking at all of the various photos and videos that Jisung - tried to-  regularly send you, along with scouring the Dreamies Youtube channel for any videos he forgot to tell you about.

You were more than grateful he was able to experience the tour, especially now that his knee was fully healed, but a miniscule part of you wanted him to be here, wrapped around you like a koala, your favorite habit of his. You’d give anything to be suffocating because of the immense warmth he constantly radiated, your head laying on his chest to listen to his heart beat. The moment when you’d look up at him only to see him already staring back, a sweet smile on his face as he leant down to place a kiss on your temple. Moments you wished you hadn’t taken for granted.

“I miss you more than you know, but I’ve seen all of your performances. You make me so proud everytime I watch them.” A dark blush spread of Jisung’s cheeks. He was weak to compliments. A mumbled ‘he’s on the phone’ was heard before the dressing room dorm burst open, the rest of the Dreamies making an appearance. The boys rushed to the camera, the sound of their screams and greetings making you giggle.

“Don’t think I forgot about you guys, I miss you too.” A mix of Korean and English could be heard, but due to their overexcitement actually understanding was out of the question. Jisung muttered a quick ‘bye’ before the phone beeped, signaling that he hung up. You laughed at his panicked expression before realizing he didn’t end the call with an I love you. Or the next time you’d talk.

Touring makes it hard to schedule things, having an estimated time when you two could talk did help. Giving you something to look forward to between his performances and your school schedule. You had started to get deep into your thoughts when your phone dinged.

Jisungie🐹

I love you ❤️i’ll try and call you tomorrow before practice

A smile spread across your face at his text. Jisung wasn’t forgetful, you don’t even know why you were so worried. Laying back against your pillows you grabbed your stuffed bear, a present Jisung had given you on your 6 month anniversary, hugging it close to your chest, attempting to ignore the empty sensation in your chest that had been steadily growing since he boarded the plane.

Three weeks can’t pass quickly enough.

Stuffing your hands in your pocket you huffed impatiently. You were waiting, just standing there waiting for the aircraft to deplane and the door to open revealing the purple hair boy, for the aching in your chest to finally be alleviated when he held you in his arms for the first time in months.

You felt your breath hitch when the gate doors opened without warning. 6 months, 26 weeks, and 4380 hours without Jisung, he’s finally back. People slowly started to trickle out, and your impatience only grew when none of them were your boys. After what felt like hours - approximately 5 minutes - Mark’s bright blue hair came into view. A mixture of relief and elation rushed through you at the sight of Jisung, his eyes moving rapidly before meeting yours, the same emotions flooding through them.

What you did was stupid, giving the company free ammunition to be mad at you. In your defense NCTzens already knew about your relationship, after 1 year together the company released a statement before Dispatch had the pleasure of creating a scandal. So what if you gave them a few couple pictures to leak.

Jisung met you halfway, his neck pillow laying discarded on the ground, arms wrapping around your waist tightly, as if he was scared you’d leave. That wasn’t a problem, your arms draped over his shoulders, holding him just if not more close. In your brain you could make out the Dreamies cooing over you too, but your attention was mainly on the feeling of your chest finally being full for the first time in 6 months, your other half was back.

You hadn’t realized just how much you missed the feeling of his arms around you, feeling protected in the way he seemed to fully wrap around you. You pulled away only long enough to look up at Jisung, frowning at his watery eyes.

“You’re crying.” Jisung’s hand came to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear you hadn’t realized you were shedding. Giggling, you buried your face back into Jisung’s chest. You refused to let go.

“Are they really crying? Oh my god we’re gonna be here all day.” You couldn’t see the aftermath of Haechan’s dramatic yelling, but you did hear the soft thud of someone smacking his arm - later you found out it was Renjun due to Haechan's whining about how unfair it was.

“It’s young love, they missed each other let them be.” Jaemin began to scold them, protecting his two babies as he always does.

Come on guys, let’s head to baggage claim. Sooner we get there, sooner we can go home.” Jeno’s voice broke through and you finally pulled away, not before he wrapped around your shoulders, keeping you tightly pressed to his side as you walked.

In a total of 37 minutes all 7 of the boys got their bags - including Haechan’s extra bag for souvenirs - loaded them into the van with the help of their manager, and returned back to the dorms, where you were currently curled into Jisung’s side as the other boys were spread out around the dorm, minus Chenle, Mark, and Haechan who were at their respective residences.

Jisung’s head laid on your chest while your fingers ran through his hair, massaging his scalp and listening to the soft sighs that left his mouth, his own hand playing with the bottom of your shirt, fingers threatening to touch the smooth skin underneath.

“I really missed you” Tilting his head up Jisung looked at, relief still evident in his eyes, “It’s hard being so far away from you, I can’t sleep in those different hotel rooms. Of course I have my members, but it’s not the same as having you beside me.”

“You’re back now, and you can’t act as if the tour was all bad. How was it anyway?”

Jisung recounted the tour days for you, making sure to spare no detail of how they convinced Renjun to reenact his voice crack on the stage during the encore, or when they woke Mark on his birthday by pouring water on him and how Haechan was the one to take all of the blame, or when they all decided to gave themselves temporary tattoos with a sharpie and how the makeup artists lectured them for hours while trying to get rid of the black ink - except for Mark who use blue because it was his favorite color.

Tours are rough on both of you, but being reunited is all you could ever ask for.

[alloftheimaginess]

Can you do a supernatural cast series where you’re the wife and you do different interviews, like the videos on YouTube like Ad or thirst tweets or just answering fan questions whatever plz. If you have questions just message me and I’ll try to explain it further

Lol sorry it’s been like four months so don’t hate me but it’s been hard work juggling trying to write, school and work so sorry. I think it sucks but hopefully you’ll like it and I’ll be tagging the other parts in this one

Burning Fan Questions

Other parts

Alexander Calvert

Misha Collins

Jensen Ackles

"Hi I'm Yn Padalecki and I will be answer the fans burning questions about my life" I say smiling at the camera as I grab the bucket that's full of questions.

"I'm super nervous for this because before I got here Jared double dog dared me to answer literally every single question so I can't use my skip button" I say and the crew behind the camera laughs.

"Please for the love of god let their be questions to embarrass Jared more than me so he can eat it" I say giggling.

"First question" I say grabbing a folded up piece of paper from out the bucket.

"Who is the rudest celebrity that you've ever had the chance of meeting?" I read and I laugh.

"Oh that's a lot of them, there's an unsurprising amount of rude celebrities who think that they own Hollywood" I say laughing.

"But enough stalling because I have to answer this question anyway, the rudest celebrity that I've ever met was Christian Bale, no offense but he was a total dick to literally everyone around him, on set, off of set just everywhere" I say digging around the bucket for another question.

"What scandals has your team had to cover up?" I read and I start laughing.

"Noooooo" I say laughing even harder because I know I have to tell them.

"Okay okay. When I was 23 I had first met Jared and we got caught you know doing the deed and then the pictures were about to go out and they had to buy all of them back for double of what they were going to get" I say laughing shaking the bucket up and grabbing another one out.

"Have you ever used your celebrity status to get something for free?" I read.

"One time when I was out my daughter, Harlow we were getting frozen yogurt and I left my credit card at the restaurant we were at before without realizing it and at the register she goes oh my god are you Jared from supernatural's wife and when I'm with my daughters I usually pretend like I'm not but I totally knew she was going to give us the yogurt for free so I was like yeah, and then I asked her how she was and she was like oh this is totally on the house" I say laughing.

"I eventually went back and tipped a massive tip because I didn't pay last time" I say.

I grab another one out and I put the bucket down opening it "how many kids do you actually want?" I read.

"Well I already have two now but I'm aiming for at least five" I say laughing.

"I have a big family I'm one of 9 so I've always wanted a big family but not as big as mine so four or five would be a perfect size family for me, I honestly have a enough love for a million but four or five is definitely good for me" I say grabbing another question.

"If we came to your house what would we find in your cabinets food wise?" I read laughing.

"What an interesting question" I say.

"Everyone in the Padalecki household has their own cabinets because they are huge smackers. Harlow's is filled with the stuff she likes such as teddy Grahams, fruit roll ups, dried Cranberries, jolly ranchers stuff like that. Mine is filled with little cakes, gushers, banana chips which I swear by, peanuts, popcorn and Jared's, he has tons of candy, he is absolutely in love with white chocolate macadamia cookies and he always has those in his stash and Kiernan she's still on baby food so she's fully stocked on that" I say grabbing another question out.

"If you had to marry anyone that has starred along side your husband in his show supernatural who would it be?" I read.

"Oh hmm" I say laughing.

"Okay, Jensen is like Jared's best friend but I'm way closer to Misha so I'd definitely have to say Misha but no offense to his wife because I'd totally marry her as well or maybe even Rob, I love that man to pieces, he's a really good friend but then there's Rich, no offense to his wife Jaci but Rich and I have the best dance off's so that would be something to look forward to" I say laughing as I grab another question.

"If you woke up in Jared's body and had to stay in it for a day what would you do?" I say laughing.

"Easy, I'd leave myself little notes with plans for tomorrow so when I switch back he'll have to go through with them and we could have a perfectly planned out day because I planned it" I say laughing.

"If you go out to dinner with your non-famous friends, do you all still split the bill or do you pay?" I read.

"It depends really, my childhood friends don't like for me to pay for their stuff so we'll all split the bill but if I'm the one inviting everyone out then I'll pay before hand because then it'll be a lot of work trying to break it up" I say grabbing another question.

"What's one thing that Jared does that absolutely pisses you off?" I read cracking up.

"Breathes" I say smiling at the camera.

"I'm just kidding" I say laughing.

"When I'm super busy and like concentrating on my work he'll come over and innocently wrap his arms around me but then when I'm not paying him enough attention he'll start softly biting me and while I'm trying to work that can be so annoying" I say.

"What was the worst rumor that has been spread about you?" I read.

"I've had some pretty bad ones that I like to pretend didn't happen because they were literally so outrageous but I guess the worst one was that I was cheating on Jared. A few years back Harlow and I flew to my hometown for a few weeks and we spent Halloween out there and my twin sister and I dressed up as Sally from nightmare before Christmas because we've always done matching costumes whenever we're with each other and I posted a selfie on Instagram so everyone knew what I looked like but no one knew my twin sister was dressed identical to me and she took Harlow around with her now husband while I helped my parents be set up for the party and the paparazzi caught them together while they shared a kiss and while Eric played with Harlow and she was giggling and they put the photos on the front of the magazine and I was getting so much hate before I even knew what was going on and I was getting calls from our friends and they were asking me like how I could do that and then I had to go and post my pictures with my sister and write this long ass message about it and it was super bad" I say moving on.

"Who do you look up to the most, and what qualities do you love about that person?" I read.

"My grandma, she pretty much raised me. My parents weren't around often so I had to live with her for like 5 years, me and all of my siblings" I say digging in the bucket.

"But the qualities that I love about her is one, the fact that she is the strongest person I've had the honor of meeting" I say holding up one finger.

"Two, her boldness is like unbelievable. I took her to the oscars and she started flirting with The Rock and that's when I realized my grandma was my hero" I say laughing and I pull another question out.

"What's something you did as a child that no one knows about outside of your family?" I read.

"For two years I only spoke in a British accent, I had everyone confused at school because I never broke" I say laughing.

"How often do you and Jared have sex?" I read burying my face.

"No, I'm not going to be embarrassed. Sex is a normal thing, it brings about joy, relaxation, sometimes accidental pregnancies" I say laughing.

"But back to the question, I don't know. He's gone for like nine months out of the year but if he has a three day weekend or whatever then we'll spend a night together but when he's home in the three months he's off of filming it's literally whenever the kids are gone if even just for 20 minutes. We try to keep it as normal as possible" I say laughing.

"What's the last text conversation you had?" I read pulling out my phone and I laugh.

"I texted Robert about his new Batman movie because it was announced the other day and I just seen it this morning so I had to quickly congratulate him and he tells me that while I'm super late he still appreciates it and won't hold anything against me when it's time to hand out movie tickets and I said I'd never forgot about you shiny and he sent the middle finger emoji" I say laughing.

"What are your pet names that you and Jared have for each other?" I read.

"Ha, finally a question that he'd normally not talk about but I was dared so I call him Bubba or bubs" I say laughing.

"Literally it's how he's saved in my phone and he thinks it's so embarrassing" I say pulling my phone out and showing his contact name and photo.

"He's Bubba and he calls me a lot of different things but the one he always goes back to is beautiful or baby" I say smiling at the camera.

“Do your siblings and Jared get along?” I read and I laugh sighing.

“Like I mentioned earlier I’m one of nine so that’s eight siblings and then all of my siblings are older than me. I’m the baby and they are all married so my older brother and his husband love Jared and Jared loves them, we’re actually both of their kids godparents but then with my third oldest sister she doesn’t like me so she doesn’t like Jared by default you know” I say grabbing another question.

“Okay this is a question I have to know how often you do and Jared shower together?” I read laughing.

“Do you have to know that?” I ask laughing harder.

“Sorry to let you down but we don’t really, we’ll not anymore with kids it’s best one of us is out the shower while the other one quickly showers because we can’t leave them along for too long” I say knowing that my answer is not what they were expecting.

“But before kids it’s was an every morning thing we did together before heading out for our different business or whatever we had to do that day” I say.

“Did you have an oh shit moment at your wedding, and if so what was it?” I read and I nod.

“Yeah actually I did. But it’s been so long since we got married that I actually forgot until I read this question. My brother bless his poor heart showed up drunk like he was pregaming our wedding and the security didn’t know he was my brother so they were like kicking him out and my sister runs in like “oh my god Yn, the security just kicked Kalin out” so I’m like half dressed and I go down to try to figure out what the hell is happening and then I meet up with him and he throws up all over me like I’m talking full body covered and the make up artist just left and I had to shower and call her back so she could come fix my face and it was very traumatizing because it was so gross” I say laughing.

“But the whole wedding was beautiful and he didn’t drink at all” I say.

“If you had to pick a song from the late 10’s-2020 to be you and Jared’s couple song what would you pick?” I read and I awe.

“That’s a cute question. I guess I’d have to say Flicker by Niall Horan, we danced together to that song when Alex Calvert and his wife got married and it literally felt so magical and now whenever I hear it, it takes me back to a happy place and I just think about slow dancing with my best friend and husband” I say smiling.

“Do you and all the wives of the supernatural cast get along?” I read and I quickly nod.

“Those girls are some of my best friends, they know what it’s like to have a family and their husband work on supernatural so automatically we have something to bond over also with Alex’s wife she has a massive family so we often talk about the drama and problems that come along with it” I say laughing.

"Last one. What celebrity have you had beef with?" I read laughing.

"Daniel Radcliffe" I say quickly.

"But it was when we were younger filming the Harry Potter movies. We didn't like each other for like the first 4 movies" I say laughing.

"Our characters were close in the movie but on set we hated each other, I don't know why and I don't think he does either, I guess our energies just clashed but when we got to order of the Phoenix and we talked it out before we started filming and have been best friends in person ever since" I say laughing and tipping the bucket over.

"That was my last question. I'm Yn Padalecki and this has been answering fan questions. Thank you for watching and I hope you got a laugh out of at least some of these questions or you learned something you never thought you would learn about me" I say smiling at the camera

[song-tam]

hey hey uh. roshan. i think i just kinda made a mistake i just.

i was w my cousins and theyre all like 5-11 years old and theyre all begging for a bedtime story and im the one designated to make them go to bed bc Oldest Child Responsibilities right?? and they just WONT go to sleep. so i give up and im like “fine what story do you want me to tell” and they all just shrug and its like wow THANKS guys thats SO helpful

and im too tired to make up anything rn so i think back to a fic i wrote a while back that wasnt shippy at all and i just. decide to swap out all the names and tell them that story for a couple minutes so they can just go to sleep please. but i like. forgot. how dark the story is.

((tw: murder, suicide)

basically its like when keefe was in the neverseen in lodestar what if he had to kill fitz to prove himself and he has no other choice so he does it but then his mind breaks and then he slowly just snaps but no one realizes it and then every time he looks at alvar he sees fitz so he kills alvar and then hes like dripping in blood when ruy finds him and ruy brings him to gisela and gisela starts threatening him with a sword and then keefe starts laughing and then he falls forward and impales himself. on that sword.)

anyways um. i started telling them that story. and i got up to the mind breaking part when i realized “oh okay this is not the kind of thing you should be telling five year olds” but then i was in too deep to stop and i tried just saying “im sleepy so part two is tmrw okay?” and they wouldnt LISTEN

so i just. kept telling the story. obviously toned down and all but i was like panicking still bc if i told my little cousins a story abt suicide they would FLIP and then their PARENTS would flip and it would be a huge mess

i got to the part where he kills alvar and my sister was like “is he gonna kill every single person he knows?” and im like “……..youre right! you guessed it! okay storytime over bc [sisters name] spoiled it sorry guys!!”

and then i ran away and now i am locked in the closet explaining all of this to you and wishing i could delete the last fifteen minutes of my life from existence

i hope youre having a better thursday night than i am 😭

oh my god aves that sounds like a super stressful situation to be in i'm so sorry that you had to deal with that asdjkfldjf 😭 but honestly same i never realize if a story is age appropriate or not until i start telling it and then it's like an "...oh fuck" moment

hopefully your cousins don't mention any of it to their parents or anything in case it doesn't go over well asjdklfjld but honestly i think you might be fine even if they do? like indian parents will be scandalized by hand holding but murder and gouging someone's eyeballs out is perfectly okay 👍

but yeah. praying for you and hoping youre doing good now <3 if they ask you to tell another story maybe just stick to fairy tales though? rumpelstiltskin always hits PLUS it has no romance lmao

[hermannsthumb]

I've read fics where Hermann disapproves of PDAs but what about the reverse? As in he's so stunned at winning the most amazing man in the Shatterdome (6 phds, literal rockstar, gorgeous Newt) that he deliberately provokes contact and shows of affection. Just to show off to people and send a clear back off signal. And Newt just dotes on him obliviously.

ok this one is another super old prompt and when I was writing it this week it KINDA got away from me. but I hope everyone enjoyyyys. partially inspired from conversations with @k-sci-janitor 👀 totally sfw, except for one brief reference

anyway, a fic about hermann being all affectionate with newt and also discovering what relaxation is 

——————————————-------------------------------------------

The day after the world doesn’t end, Hermann brings Newt breakfast in bed.

Honestly, it surprises Newt more than the whole world not ending thing. Up until the previous evening, after all, Newt was pretty damn sure the guy absolutely hated him, and that if Hermann was gonna do something as out of character as bringing him breakfast, it surely meant he’d spat in it first. Or maybe poisoned it. If hated isn’t the right word, Newt would say Hermann at the very least barely tolerated. And then the whole sharing the neural load thing happened. And, after that, hugging, not once, but twice, and then falling asleep in bed together. And now Hermann’s perched on the edge of his bed (which they shared while they slept) and handing him a plate.

“You had quite the busy day yesterday,” Hermann says kindly. Hermann has never spoken to Newt kindly before. Atop the plate are two pieces of toast, a soft-boiled egg, and a mug of coffee. The coffee and toast (Newt notices) are exactly the shade he prefers. He wonders if Hermann picked up on it before or after the whole mind-melding thing. Before wouldn’t surprise him—Hermann has always been weird about noticing details like that. The egg, however, is something purely Hermann in taste. “I imagine you could use a nice spot of breakfast,” he adds.

Newt shoves his glasses on and blinks at Hermann groggily. He struggles to sit up, partially tangled in his sheets, and then takes the plate. A little bit of coffee sloshes down onto one of the slices of toast. “Are you wearing my sweatshirt?” he says.

Hermann smiles and looks down at the ragged old MIT sweatshirt he’s tossed on. He may have a few inches on Newt, but he’s still one skinny motherfucker, and it hangs almost comically off his frame. “I am,” he says. “I poked around in your closet, I hope you don’t mind. My clothing was in a rather sorry state.”

Sorry state is an understatement for both of them. Newt’s surprised they haven’t been formally ordered to burn the shit they wore to the bone slums yet. Blood, dirt, and kaiju guts aside, Newt’s, at least, reeks to high heaven with sweat. “No worries,” Newt says. He picks up the coffee and blows on it. He wonders where Hermann got coffee that smells this good. It’s been hard to find anything decent and non-instant on the base these days, and (thanks to limited rations) chain shops like Starbucks cost an arm and a leg for even a small. He also wonders what people thought when they saw Hermann strutting around the base with bedhead in a sweatshirt that obviously wasn’t his. Newt almost wants to blush on his behalf. Scandalous.

Before Newt can so much as take a sip of the coffee, Hermann is suddenly unbuckling and shucking off his grey slacks. “Dude!” Newt yelps, flushing bright red to the tips of his ears. Hermann blinks at him innocently. “What are you doing?”

It’s not so much that Newt is upset as it is that it’s so wildly out of character for Hermann that he feels he owes it to Hermann to act at least moderately scandalized. In all his years of knowing and working alongside Hermann, he’s never so much as seen Hermann’s bare wrist before. Now he’s in Newt’s goddamn bed flashing calves, and thighs, and neatly-pressed little white briefs… Hermann rolls his eyes and tosses the slacks (unfolded!) onto Newt’s desk chair. “Making myself comfortable,” he says. “Would you like me to stop?”

Does Hermann iron his underwear? It would be at odds with the rest of his clothing if he did, which is usually in various stages of frumpy to outright wrinkled, but Newt can’t think of how else it would look like that. He wonders if Hermann’s stitched his name on the inner waistband. It seems like the kind of thing Hermann would do. Newt suddenly realizes he’s been staring at Hermann’s briefs (and, worse still, considering how cute Hermann looks in just them and Newt’s sweatshirt) for an uncomfortably long time, so he quickly shakes his head and drags his eyes to Hermann’s face. One of Hermann’s eyebrows is quirked up. Newt hasn’t been subtle. “No,” he says. He clears his throat. “No, dude, you’re—all good.”

He chokes down a too-hot sip of coffee to have something to do with his mouth.

Hermann smirks.

The bedcovers are drawn back. Hermann slips under them and drapes an arm across Newt’s chest, his hand curling protectively over Newt’s hip. With his other hand he snags Newt’s coffee from his grasp and takes a sip. Newt watches his jaw and throat work as he swallows it, a funny feeling blooming in the pit of his stomach. The mug is handed back over, Hermann’s fingers brushing against Newt’s, which make Newt feel even funnier. “Newton,” Hermann declares. “I think we ought to have sex.”

“Oh,” Newt says. “Can I finish my breakfast first?”

“Certainly,” Hermann says.

Newt’s heart pounds as he spreads a little packet of margarine across one of the pieces of toast; he can feel Hermann’s eyes on him, never straying once. Hermann’s hand draws little circles on his hip. Newt drops his toast twice to the plate before he can successfully take a bite, and even when he does, he doesn’t taste it. Hermann’s fingers dip under the hem of his t-shirt. Newt swallows his toast. “Why?” he says.

Apparently it’s the right question. Hermann nods, like he’s pleased Newt has asked. Like they’re talking theories or something. “I came to the conclusion while I fetching your coffee,” Hermann says. “It occurred to me that I wouldn’t have gotten up at seven in the morning to get coffee for just anyone. Then, of course, there is the whole drifting business—”

“You realized you wouldn’t have done that for just anyone too, huh?” Newt says with a smile. Hermann’s hand on his hip stills, and his cheeks go pink. Newt’s relieved to have gotten some ground back here. “Hermann, that’s sooo romantic.”

“The world was at stake,” Hermann sniffs.

“It’s okay,” Newt says. “I won’t tell anyone the great Dr. Gottlieb has feelings. So, what, you realized you have a big ole crush on me?”

Hermann takes the unfinished piece of toast from him and sets it down on his plate. He pulls Newt’s glasses off, kisses him soundly, and then puts Newt’s glasses back on. His mouth tastes like toothpaste. “On the contrary, I’ve always suspected it,” he says. “It’s just that now I have the time to confirm it.” He reaches up and strokes at Newt’s hair. “We have the time for lots of things, now, Newton. Whatever we’d like.”

Newt finishes off his coffee quickly, not even caring when he burns his tongue, and then tosses the remainder of his breakfast to the floor. His egg spills onto the massacred skinny corduroys he wore yesterday. Whatever, Newt’s burning them anyway. “God, get overhere already, man,” he says, tugging at Hermann’s borrowed sweatshirt. He needs to help Hermann confirm his crush or whatever, pronto.

--

It’s a few days before Newt and Hermann finally drag themselves out of bed and to the lab to tackle what little work remains for them to do—cataloguing what are apparently the last kaiju samples known to man (Newt), recording and backing up their drift data (Newt’s solo drift, and then their joint data), drawing some random scribbles on the board and pretending they’re important calculations about the possibility of the Breach reopening (Hermann. Okay, whatever, maybe they are important). Unfortunately, the delay isn’t for any sexy reasons, as much as Newt would’ve liked it to have been. The events of the last day of the war caught up with them pretty quickly after that morning in Newt’s bed, and they mostly just slept, ordered out dinner, popped ibuprofen for their various aches, and avoided medical at all costs. (Rumor had it the medical staff on base were looking for him and Hermann so they could do some brain scans. Apparently drifting with a kaiju brain is potentially dangerous, who knew.)

A rancid smell washes over them the second they push the heavy lab doors open, and Newt spots several hunks of kaiju organs rotting away on his workbench. Hermann clamps a hand to his mouth. “Oops,” Newt says, turning to Hermann sheepishly. He can’t help but cower as he does. He and Hermann got along swimmingly the past couple days—it’ll be sad to see all that hard work go down the drain over this. “Guess I forgot to clean up the other day. In my defense—we were kind of busy.”

But Hermann doesn’t snap at Newt, or thump his cane on the ground, or call Newt an idiot, or even look annoyed; he lowers his hand from his mouth and laughs. Albeit a terse laugh, but still. Newt gapes at him. “We were rather busy,” Hermann concedes. “So long as you clean it up in the next ten minutes, I—what, Newton?”

“Nothing,” Newt says, quickly. “I’m gonna—um—deal with it now.”

Hermann disappears from the lab while Newt is digging around in the storage closet for extra heavy-duty trash bags. When he comes back an hour later, he’s holding a cardboard tray of small plastic cups, and Newt has just hefted his last spoiled sample into the lab’s airtight biohazard bin (a bit mournfully, if he’s being honest, since he’s sure there’s still more to learn about the kaiju from them). Newt squints at the cups in the tray while he rips his messy disposable work gloves off. “What’s that?” he says.

“Iced coffee,” Hermann declares.

The gloves slap, wetly, into the biohazard bin, and Newt lets out a low whistle. “Dude. No way. From where?” He’s not sure when he gave off the impression that the way to his heart was good coffee, but maybe it’s true. Then again, Hermann could probably win him over with a cup of lukewarm tap water. Not because Newt is desperate or anything. He just really likes Hermann.

“A little shop a bit away from the base,” Hermann says. “I took the bus.” He draws back his chair and sits down with a soft sigh, setting his cane against his desk. Then he draws out a small brown paper bag from his parka pocket. He tosses it to Newt; Newt catches it with one hand. “They had these funny little cakes on sticks. I thought you might like one.”

“Cake pops?” Newt says.

“I presume,” Hermann says. While Newt inhales the little chocolate-dipped cake pop (which is so good, oh my God, Newt hasn’t had dessert that didn’t come from a vending machine in plastic shrink wrap in years), Hermann adds, “I wasn’t sure what sort of iced coffee you liked, so I made sure to get a variety.”

“Sick,” Newt says, spewing crumbs on his shirt. “Um. But, like, why though?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Hermann says. “I suppose I wanted to do something kind for you.” He carefully slides a straw out of its paper wrappings and pokes it into the lid of one of the coffees. Once he crumples up the wrapper and tosses It into his train bin, he grips his cane, and uses the handle to nudge Newt’s desk chair towards him. “You worked awfully hard cleaning the laboratory.”

Newt preens a little, even as he privately wonders why Hermann’s acting so weird. Well, nice. But nice is weird for Hermann, so they’re basically the same thing. Is this part of his whole deciding whether or not he digs Newt thing? Newt just assumed the awesome morning they spent together would be proof enough of that. Then again, Hermann’s pretty thorough. “I guess,” Newt says. “It was kind of my mess, though.”

Hermann pats at the empty chair with a smile. Hermann’s smiles are so rare—crooked, and stupid cute—that Newt’s heart gives a painful little twist at the sight of it, and he realizes he doesn’t actually give a shit about why Hermann’s being all weird, actually. “You’ve earned a break,” Hermann says. “Besides, I’d like to spend time with you.”

Newt’s too stunned to argue with that one. When he sits down, Hermann inches their chairs together until their knees are touching.

--

They don’t necessarily fall back into their usual habits by the next week, but the better ones they’ve picked up (being a little kinder to each other, a little more patient, a little more respectful, and also the fact that Hermann can’t seem to stop touching Newt) all but fall into the background as Newt throws himself into his work with renewed determination. Unfortunately, his desire to get it all done as soon as fucking possible speaks less to his awesome work ethic, and more to the fact that he’s just not sure what else to do with himself now, and he likes that work gives him the excuse to not think about it. Hermann said they have all the time to do whatever they like now. Well, Newt likes working. He knows working. Relaxation is a foreign concept to him, and it was a foreign concept to Hermann up until recently. While Newt is toiling away over his decaying kaiju samples in the lab, Hermann is out—

“Where?” Newt says.

Hermann gives Newt the most serene smile Newt’s ever seen cross his face. “I took a bath,” he says. “It was very nice. I bought some nice soaps, and lit some candles, and looked online to see how to do one of those mud masks. It was very relaxing. You ought to try it.”

“Try bathing?” Newt says.

“Yes. Well, no. I mean taking a bath. Is there something you’re not understanding?”

Newt tries to imagine Hermann with a mud mask on his face and cucumbers over his eyes and fails miserably. Hermann hates messes. He would never stand for mud, let alone on his skin. Where’d he even find a bathtub? Did he break into the rangers’ locker room again? Aren't candles banned on base for being a fire hazard, anyway? “Yeah,” Newt says. “Pretty much all of it.”

Hermann shakes his head with a snort, and Newt catches a whiff of something floral and fragrant—his fancy new soap or oil, he guesses. “I’m not surprised. You know, Newton, you are awfully tense.”

Hearing that from Hermann of all people, the king of having-a-massive-stick-up-your-ass, is probably the funniest thing that’s ever happened to Newt. He laughs out loud and plunges a bare hand into his kaiju sample with a gross squelching noise. “Sure, dude.”

He’s almost too engrossed in his sample to feel Hermann sidling up behind him and setting a hand at his waist. He definitely feels Hermann nose a kiss behind his ear, though, and the hot flush that spreads down across his neck from it. Newt’s hand goes sweaty around his scalpel. One thing he definitely wasn’t expecting from a post-no-apocalypse Hermann is how free he is with affection in any and all forms. “Give it a rest, love,” Hermann murmurs. He nudges at the heel of Newt’s boot with the end of his cane. Love? “Why don’t we head back to my quarters and watch a film? You can pick.”

“But.” Newt fidgets. “I have—my sample—”

Another little kiss. The soapy-oil smell is stronger now. Newt thinks it might be lavender. He wonders if the mud mask left Hermann’s skin all soft. “It won’t be going anywhere, Newton.”

Newt sets down his scalpel.

When they they pass by a group of LOCCENT staff in the hallway, Newt makes to drop Hermann’s hand (which Hermann had laced together with his own before they left the lab), but Hermann holds fast, maybe even faster than before, and looks at him with his stupidly sweet set of big eyes. Newt waits until they round the corner to say anything. “Sorry,” he says, lamely. “Um. I thought—you wouldn’t want—” Hermann continues to stare at him. His iris is still ringed red like Newt’s. “I just mean I know you’re weird about stuff like that. Public stuff.” Hermann has been a closed and tightly-bound book for as long as Newt’s known him; he can’t imagine that would suddenly change and he would start broadcasting his emotions far and wide in the course of a week just because he’s a little less stressed.

Or, you know. Maybe Newt’s totally wrong on this. “Ah,” Hermann says. He nods, very seriously. “Yes. I have been considering that as well. I see no reason to hide recent developments in our relationship.” He squeezes Newt’s hand. "In fact, I see no reason to not be quite, er, proud of them. You’re quite the catch.”

Newt remembers the stolen sweatshirt. Maybe Hermann wearing it out to get them breakfast was more calculated than he realized. “So if I made out with you against the wall right now you wouldn’t be mad?” Newt says.

“Well,” Hermann says, inclining his head to his door, "seeing as my quarters are right there, it seems a rather unnecessary inconvenience.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Newt smiles as Hermann leads him in. “Can I really pick the movie?”

“Within reason.”

[melancholia-cressa]

Weakness

So, one random morning, I was listening to a certain song for the first time. Once the lyrics sunk in, I just had this idea for a Dio and female reader-insert fic. Hope you enjoy it, even if I do hate the guy lmao.

warning: angst, implied child abandonment, mentions of blood and death, swearing, and minor spoilers for those who have not finished Part 1

Addendum: I actually forgot to mention that I based my interpretation of Dio's personality and thought process mostly from the Over Heaven light novel. It's a good read and it helps you understand his character better, so I say give it a shot

                         •:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

"How many times has it been this week?"

Dio grunted, turning his cheek away from the girl in front of him. Your arms were crossed over your chest with a brow quirked in a silent question. He felt the bruise on his cheek sting and smart by the slightest brush of the wind. If anything, the painful sensation was intensified by your glare. His tongue flicked over the cut on his lip in a fruitless attempt to wipe off the blood. Your exasperated sigh reached his ears; nothing more than a whisper in the breeze.

"Come here, you stubborn mule." Before Dio knew it, you had grabbed his arm and dragged him away from the bustling streets of urban London. Passersby didn't spare a glance for the two teenagers dressed in soiled commoner clothes.

Dio, hoping to spare himself from the embarrassment of allowing a girl to drag him around, watched the crowd go about their mundane activities. Women gossiped with each other, hands covering their mouths to stifle scandalized gasps, while men languidly talked about adult matters—business and what other dull subjects they had in mind. His gaze drifted to the hollowed junction between a clothing shop frequented by aristocrats and an apothecary that had seen better days. The blond already sensed the death and neglect in the air before the sight made his skin crawl. He caught a glimpse of a man in tattered rags whose back hunched over, shoulders sagging from the weight of his head tucked towards his chest. His hand loosely held the neck of a bottle of booze, empty and hidden in the shadows. The hairs on the nape of Dio's neck stood on end, but a harsh tug from you brought him back to reality.

"We're almost there," you told him. You looked at him from the corner of your eye before focusing on the road ahead. Your hand, small and thin with a bony wrist, squeezed his arm before abruptly jostling through the crowd. The throng of people parted, cleaving a path towards the outskirts of the city. Dio scowled, directing his attention to the cobblestone path and ignoring the pain blossoming in the palm of his clenched fist. Murmurs from the socialites rang as clear as the church bells, but you paid no mind to it. Something about your indifference made his indignation and annoyance worsen; his blood dangerously close to boiling over what little patience he had. Another squeeze of his arm and a quick glance from you told him this was a losing battle, one he had never won before. With a scoff, Dio grudgingly remained silent and continued to let you drag him.

From how long Dio knew you and vice versa, he wouldn't be surprised if you somehow noticed his apprehension and discomfort. He never understood why you went out of your way to help him. The first time he met you, Dio had slapped your hand away when you tried to help him off the ground. He expected you to either cry or throw a tantrum, like all the other girls he observed from his time in the slums, but you didn't. Instead, you looked him in the eye with a glimmer of emotion Dio couldn't describe.

"Sod off. I'm helping you, and that's that." The look in your eyes remained even when you roughly pulled him up and dragged him back to your home to tend to his bruises and cuts. Now, here he was again, being dragged by you and your insufferable pity suffocating him. Its spindly fingers ghosted over his neck, which uncomfortably tickled his skin; sharp nails poking the soft flesh that one squeeze could puncture it. Every time your eyes met his, Dio could see the swirl of indiscernible feelings in your gaze, forlorn and soft, just like his deceased mother's. The one who died thinking about others on her deathbed and wishing his son to do the same. The woman who lost her life in return for compassion and kindness. You resembled his mother—the gentle grasp on his arm, the feather-light brush of fingers tucking a lock of his hair behind his ear, the small smile that crinkles the corners of her eyes, the warmth in them—to the point where he found it disgusting and wretched.

He hated it, everything about you, but why did he still keep you around?

The cold, trickling sensation that dripped down his cheek made him jump in his seat. A cough echoed in his ears, followed by a faint snort that told him someone refrained from laughing at him. The corners of your eyes wrinkled in mirth while you held a cold, wet rag to his bruised cheek. He must have looked comically bewildered because you stuffed a fist over your mouth to keep in your giggles. A frown tugged the corners of Dio’s lips as his brows furrowed.

“What are you laughing about?”

“Oh, nothing,” you hummed. Your free hand grabbed his to replace the other one holding the cold rag, “Hold still while I get some more ice from the ice box.”

With that, you left with your skirt swishing from the rush towards the kitchen. A grunt rang in the living space, courtesy of the blond begrudgingly holding the cool cloth to his bruise. Upon looking around, he noted that nothing much had changed from the last time he was here (which was around a week). Moth-eaten curtains hid the windows, most likely coated in dust and grime, and the floorboards creaked at every step you took. The wooden chair he sat on felt cold and sturdy, indicating how you rarely sat on it due to your apprenticeship in the city, while the table across him bore scratches hidden under a doily you embroidered. A basket with a few apples and grapes tempted him, but he didn’t act on it. The house, smaller than his own, is located on the outskirts of the city, and he still couldn’t understand how you lived here by yourself like this. Knowing that women can’t own property of their own, Dio had asked you a question: how did you keep the house to yourself?

“I lie about father sending me on errands,” was your simple reply despite the fact that your parents were long gone. One morning, Dio had found you dragging your feet in the streets and, when you had suddenly leaned into him, the quiet sniffles told him everything. He had taken you home that night—damn his father, he never even cared where he went as long as he brought back a bottle of alcohol—and stayed upon your request. The moment he led you to your room, glimpses from an open door showed him emptied drawers and a barren wardrobe. A drawer box was left hanging from its cabinet, as if it was pulled out in haste. The candle was barely touched. Its wick remained spotless and barely any wax dripped down the candle holder atop the cabinet. He didn’t need to see the rest of the room to know what happened.

His ten-year-old mind didn’t know why he stayed, much less took you back to a cold, lifeless house. Yet, he did all that and more—he kept you by his side without a single, logical reason. You didn’t follow him around like a lost puppy would. If anything, he seemed to be the one drifting anywhere near you. He would wander the slums and traipse through the bars for scraps, mostly booze for his deadbeat father, then his gaze would land on you. You were there every single time, whether it was for apprentice work in that dress shop or buying bread in the bakery, and it drove him mad. Dio, the one who survived alone in this shitty reality of his, subconsciously seeking your company like a besotted fool. The very thought makes him scoff and laugh. Every time he asked himself about these coincidences, he came up blank. His mind conjured nothing but the image of your tear-stained face and the devastation that set itself in place of your usual smile.

Dio didn’t know why, but he’d rather not see you in that condition again. Never.

The creaking floorboards announced your arrival. With a sweeping flourish, you switched the warming rag with a new one wrapped around ice and firmly pressed it to his cheek. Dio hissed, throwing you a venomous glare at the amused smirk on your face. You shrugged, the damning smirk remained, and only laughed when he ripped your hand off the rag to grasp it on his own.

“Stop acting like a child,” you tutted, mocking him as if he was the child in the situation. Heat crept up his neck and ears, skin flushing a slight red. Whether it was from embarrassment or indignation, he didn’t know. All he knew was the annoyance fluttering in his stomach and the twitch of his fingers, ready to smack your hand away should it be necessary. Another laugh came from you, and the fluttering feeling increased tenfold.

“We are children. Speak for yourself,” Dio snarled, but this only earned him another smile from you. The soft, small one that always resembled his mother’s.

He hated it, how you sorely reminded him of his mother, but why won’t he leave?

                         •:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

“Oh, aren’t you…”

Your wide eyes shifted into crescents, a smile gracing your lips, as you told Jonathan your name. The blue-haired aristocrat gently took your hand and kissed its knuckles, which caught you by surprise. The slight flush of your cheeks said it all. Dio could feel his eye twitch at the predicament unfolding in front of him.

Is this what it felt like when God has forsaken you? Not that Dio believed in the supernatural, but it best captured his feelings at the moment.

He coughed into his fist, diverting your attention away from his stepbrother, and asked as nonchalantly as he could, “I thought you’d be working in the dress shop today? You told me you couldn’t come to the rugby game.”

“Oh, w-well…” You trailed off, fiddling with your thumbs and looking away from the blond. You gnawed your bottom lip, a tic Dio associated with nerves, as your eyes flitted between him and Jonathan. Somehow, this irked him more than it should. Jonathan watched the scene in curiosity, only recognizing you from the time he had seen twelve-year-old Dio walk after you in the city once. The oblivious boy asked about you, and Dio immediately glared at him until he was cowed into silence. Dio was about to demand an answer—childish, really, but his patience was being tested—until you finally answered him.

“Mrs. Smith allowed me to leave early—” once she knew you were playing, was what you thought but chose not to divulge that information—“so here I am.”

Dio let out an amused huff, the swell of relief almost choking him, “Well, what did you think of the game then?”

You hummed, placing a hand on your cheek with a mock thoughtful expression. Dio subconsciously tapped his shoe on the grass as he awaited your response. The raucous beating of his heart dulled his senses the longer you mused, which wasn’t that long in all honesty. It only took a mere three seconds before you spoke.

“I think you and Jonathan were amazing. I would have never expected him to pass the ball to you, then you taking the winning score.”

Dio would have basked in your compliment, which was a rare occurrence unfortunately, if it weren’t for the fact that Jonathan was included in it. Regardless, he sported a triumphant grin and clapped you on the shoulder with a hearty laugh. Your eyes widened in surprise, but this had gone unnoticed by Jonathan, who knew nothing of your relationship with Dio, and the man himself. The confusion swarming your mind remained even when Jonathan bashfully grinned and expressed his gratitude.

“Oh! Well, thank you, but this victory is all because of Dio,” he told you. You sighed, knowing that would stroke Dio’s ego, but the latter felt his heart stutter at the sight of your smile. If he didn’t despise Jonathan and plotted to take the Joestar fortune for himself, then he would have been grateful to Jonathan at the moment. That was not the case, but he took the compliment in stride with a boastful grin.

Unfortunately, his heart dropped when you dismissed it with a wave. “Nonsense! You deserve the recognition as much as he does!”

It felt wrong seeing you smile at Jonathan; the one that always reminded him of his mother. His blood simmered under his skin as his jaw clenched, teeth painfully grinding together. His heart hammered in his chest; mind screaming and urging him to lead you away from the spoiled, ignorant Joestar. He didn’t like this: how you and Jonathan are in the same space and breathing the same air. He felt those ghostly fingers grip his throat and prick his skin, the phantom sensation of nails scratching the sensitive area. Yet, he kept the polite smile and the pretense that he’s friends with his stepbrother. Dio Brando will get everything he wants soon. He can’t afford to ruin his carefully sculpted plan all because of a girl.

You are not worth the repercussions.

                         •:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

“How many times has it been this week?” You smiled, but the disgust and spite associated with the expression disappeared in a sharp inhale from Dio.

Blood stained your dress, splattered over your skirt and apron, as your fingers clutched at the arm embedded in your torso. Drops of blood found their way to your boots, the worn leather speckled with scarlet dots. A cough sent a spurt of blood to dribble down the corner of your lips as a terrified cry of your name echoed in the hall. Jonathan—it was Jonathan’s voice, followed by the voices of his companions Dio didn’t even bother to acknowledge. The muted horror of what he had done registered in his mind, and the blond vampire immediately ripped his arm away from you. The force propelled your body forward, falling towards the stone floor of the castle, but an arm hooked itself around your waist.

“You bloody idiot,” Dio hissed, dropping to his knees from the momentum of capturing you. One of his hands cradled your head, fingers buried into your hair, while the other held your body flush against his chest. “You bloody fucking idiot.”

“How many times have you taken lives this week?” Your voice warbled, hints of melancholy in your teasing tone. Dio briefly barked orders for the zombies to attack Jonathan and his comrades before he returned his attention to you. His heart clenched, cracks starting to form at the unsightly hole in your stomach, but his rage at what you have done made his mouth run.

“Why?” One of his arms supported your back, gripping you closer in a futile attempt at clinging to your life. He had no warmth—no comfort to spare for your dying body. It was the first and only time Dio cursed the consequences of his immortality, but he couldn’t dwell on that now. Not when you, the girl he had known since childhood and the one he shared a strange bond with, were waning between the realm of life and death. You looked at him, and Dio’s rage grew at the soft smile still on your face. It spoke of promises and hope, the things Dio had forsaken ever since his mother died and his father began to further drive a stake into his future.

They were empty and meaningless, but not with you.

“Why?!” He demanded, visibly trembling at your silence. Dio didn’t need to elaborate. You knew what he wanted to know. He wanted to know why you jumped in front of Jonathan to take the hit. The light in your eyes began to dim, but you shakily placed a hand on his cheek. The same bruised cheek you had tended to before his father died and he had been adopted by the Joestars. The memory made Dio shudder and he moved to evade your touch, but you stubbornly clasped his cheek with the remaining strength your fragile, bleeding body had.

“Should there be a reason?” You rasped, chuckling a little. The gesture resulted in another harsh cough and more blood to spill from your mouth. The red coated your lips akin to the lipstick of those aristocrat beauties Dio observed during the parties George Joestar hosted. The color mocked him, taunting him for his dependence on the wretched substance. The vampire’s eyes widened, then narrowed into slits. The rage festering inside him threatened to break through his cool façade. He was about to snap at you for your foolish remark when your thumb ghosted over the skin under his eye.

"This is a first," you whispered, chest heaving and eyes flickering between dark and light. "I thought I'd never see the day you'd cry."

"Save your breath," Dio fumed, cursing once more for the obvious tremor in his voice. "Just save your strength. I can save you—just—"

"Silly boy," your smile grew as you looked into Dio's eyes, finding semblances of the bruised boy you had bumped into when you first met. "I wish you wouldn't look at me like that, or I might regret my decision."

Before Dio could say anything, scream at you for your audacity in your last moments, your lips brushed against his cheek. His breath hitched and his hold on you slackened the tiniest bit. He felt your lashes flutter over his pale skin, the receding warmth of your body, and the dainty caress of your hands on his cheeks. Faintly, in the back of his mind, he yearned for more. Dio yearned for more time with you—to relive the days when you two were nothing but gullible children in a world dominated by greed and power-hungry beasts lurking beneath beautiful masks.

The moment shattered when your body sagged against him; your head lolled to the side and unceremoniously bumped against his shoulder. The blood from your lips marred his skin, but he paid no mind to it. His hands scrambled to hold you—keep you close to him—as his breath came in short, panicked bursts. Dio didn't care if he looked like an idiot in front of his army. He didn't care if Jonathan and his parade of fools saw him in his moment of weakness.

He only cared about you.

He lifted a hand, shoulders shaking a bit, to take a look at your face. The soft smile you always adorned, one that lit your expression, now painted itself on your pallid complexion. Your eyes remained close, and you looked nothing but peaceful the moment you died in his arms. The blood on your clothes and the hole he created didn't deter nor ruin your blissful image. He hated it. He always hated that smile.

It was the same smile his mother gave him before she died.

The ghostly, spindly appendages found their way around his neck. They ruptured his skin and crushed his throat as the back of his eyes stung. A lone tear dripped down his cheek and landed on your own, devoid of the flush it once had when you were still alive. A silent, choked sob slipped past his lips and he brought you closer; his nails digging into your arm from how tight he gripped your corpse. He brought your face into the crook of his neck. Dio couldn't bring himself to look at you, knowing what you meant by your last words.

You wanted to die as a human. This thought made him curl his body over yours, shielding the ghastly sight of your corpse from the others, if only to provide him some sense of comfort that you didn't shun him. You never did, not when you saw him discard his humanity and not even when you decided to join Jonathan to search for him. Dio never understood why you'd follow him to the ends of the earth. He never understood why you didn't leave him when he chose to become immortal. He never found the answers to these questions. Although, he understood why he never left you—he saw himself in you, a girl abandoned by her family and scorned by society. Dio couldn't find it in himself to leave you; his pride prevented him from stooping to their level. There was another reason, but the crushing weight of this revelation only served to choke him in his guilt-ridden wrath.

He loves you.

[vivithefolle]

Vivs, I came across this from a "Ron's a jealous slacker" fan, please use your expertness to contradict this stupid statement. Y do ron stans refuse to accept that he just wanted attention without actually doing any hardwork! Didn't he just desire being a headboy & a quidditch captain? He would have achieved it if he would stop being a self piting, lazy person & actually study or practice to achieve his dreams! he doesn't deserve any sympathy we live in actual world where hardwork matters only.

The funniest thing about this is that they’re actually talking about Harry.

Harry actually never did put in effort to achieve things. Except this once when he mastered the Patronus at 13, we’ll give him that. But Quidditch? Oh he just hops on a broom and woah suddenly he’s flying so well he’s in the Quidditch team and gets a great broom and is totally the bestest and a total fucking Mary Sue! Fighting against Voldemort? Well thank god for Loveus Ex Machina that always saves your ass without ever making you lift a finger ever! And how he defeated Voldemort too? With a spell he learned in second year and he only won that fight because ~surprise~ Voldemort’s wand wasn’t okay with killing Harry for bullshit plot reasons. Amazing. Wonderful. Inspiring. Our hero, everyone, never actually worked for anything a day in his life, ever.

Meanwhile Ron? Actually worked hard to get on the Quidditch team, which was something he dreamed of. Actually moved his ass to learn to fight and didn’t have the luxury of ~lurrrrve~ to excuse him out of fights.  Ron actually did MORE than Harry ever did, but of course, protagonist-centred favouritism paired with mindless Harmonian propaganda won’t let you realize that because it’s just so much easier to imagine yourself as ~the special one :))~.

...

Ron is lazy you say.

Did he really believe he was better than Ron? No, said the small voice defiantly. Was that true? Harry wondered, anxiously probing his own feelings. I’m better at Quidditch, said the voice. But I’m not better at anything else. That was definitely true, Harry thought; he was no better than Ron in lessons. But what about outside lessons? What about those adventures he, Ron, and Hermione had had together since they had started at Hogwarts, often risking much worse than expulsion? Well, Ron and Hermione were with me most of the time, said the voice in Harry’s head. - Order of the Phoenix, chapter 9

Harry must be lazy too then.

Ah, but Harry’s word isn’t enough, since, after all, he does say himself that Hermione is like his sister, yet there’s a bunch of irreducible folks who insist on disregarding their hero’s agency whenever it is convenient for them. Therefore let’s go grab quotes that will settle the matter once and for all:

Ron had taken over responsibility for Buckbeak's appeal. When he wasn't doing his own work, he was poring over enormously thick volumes with names like The Handbook of Hippogriff Psychology and Fowl or Foul? A Study of Hippogriff Brutality. He was so absorbed, he even forgot to be horrible to Crookshanks. - Prisoner of Azkaban, chapter 15

Doing his own work AND working on something that won’t give him extra credit once Hermione finally swallowed her pride and apologized (for the first and last time in the books). But yeah totally lazy blah blah blah.

“But what have you got your broom for, you haven’t been flying, have you?” Harry asked. “I — well — well, okay, I’ll tell you, but don’t laugh, all right?” Ron said defensively, turning redder with every second. “I-I thought I’d try out for Gryffindor Keeper now I’ve got a decent broom. There. Go on. Laugh.” &#145;“I’m not laughing,” said Harry. Ron blinked. “It’s a brilliant idea! It’d be really cool if you got on the team! I’ve never seen you play Keeper, are you good?” “I’m not bad,” said Ron, who looked immensely relieved at Harry’s reaction. “Charlie, Fred, and George always made me Keep for them when they were training during the holidays.” “So you’ve been practicing tonight?” “Every evening since Tuesday... just on my own, though, I’ve been trying to bewitch Quaffles to fly at me, but it hasn’t been easy and I don’t know how much use it’ll be.” Ron looked nervous and anxious. “Fred and George are going to laugh themselves stupid when I turn up for the tryouts. They haven’t stopped taking the mickey out of me since I got made a prefect.” - Order of the Phoenix, chapter 13

……………. Well damn. Remember how hard Harry had to train to get the Seeker position?

Oh that’s right, I forgot: HE DIDN’T! Because Chosen One Boy-Who-Lived poor orphan protagonist blah blah.

Ron though? Ron WORKED to get his position. Ron practiced, Ron worked out a way to practice alone by enchanting stuff to fly to him. When did Harry do that? Ah yes, he didn’t, because he had Oliver coaching him so he never had to figure out how to train by himself.

Meanwhile Ron was reading two years of Charms notes with his fingers in his ears, his lips moving soundlessly; Seamus was lying flat on his back on the floor, reciting the definition of a Substantive Charm, while Dean checked it against The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5; and Parvati and Lavender, who were practicing basic loco-motion charms, were making their pencil cases race each other around the edge of the table. Dinner was a subdued affair that night. Harry and Ron did not talk much, but ate with gusto, having studied hard all day. Hermione, on the other hand, kept putting down her knife and fork and diving under the table for her bag, from which she would seize a book to check some fact or figure. Ron was just telling her that she ought to eat a decent meal or she would not sleep that night, when her fork slid from her limp fingers and landed with a loud tinkle on her plate. - Order of the Phoenix, chapter 31

Another one for “EW FOOD HOW DARE THESE TEENAGERS EAT, DISGUSTING”, and also oh, surprise, Ron actually worked. Incredible. Can you believe. Isn’t he supposed to be lazy. Woah. I totally and utterly did not expect this at all.

Of course I must bring up something else -

“How many hours d’you think you’re doing a day?” he demanded of Harry and Ron as they queued outside Herbology, a manic gleam in his eyes. “I dunno,” said Ron. “A few...” “More or less than eight?” “Less, I s’pose,” said Ron, looking slightly alarmed. “I’m doing eight,” said Ernie, puffing out his chest. “Eight or nine. &#145;I’m getting an hour in before breakfast every day. Eight’s my average. I can do ten on a good weekend day. I did nine and a half on Monday. Not so good on Tuesday — only seven and a quarter. Then on Wednesday —” - Order of the Phoenix, chapter 31

Okay first off - Ron estimates his study time to be “a few [hours]”. That’s more than I ever did for my own exams and wouldn’t you know it, I passed them.

Second off: THIS CONVERSATION IS CLEARLY MEANT TO BE HUMOROUS AND YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO HAVE THE SAME REACTION AS RON.

As in “holy shit this guy is insane”.

To top it off, here’s also Harry’s reaction in case some people still care about their hero’s agency:

Harry was deeply thankful that Professor Sprout ushered them into greenhouse three at that point, forcing Ernie to abandon his recital.

Harry isn’t impressed. Harry isn’t awed. Harry isn’t filled with sudden godly inspiration to “ditch Ron and join a study group and become the smartestest in the school!!!”

No, Harry doesn’t care for studying and spending hours bending over a book. Harry would like to pass his exams and then never think about them again.

But the only thing Harry felt he was really good at was Quidditch. In the end, he chose the same new subjects as Ron, feeling that if he was lousy at them, at least he’d have someone friendly to help him. - Chamber of Secrets

Harry wouldn’t have expected Ron to help him had Ron never helped him before. So we can extrapolate that not only does Ron does his homework, but he will also take time and effort to help Harry out if need be.

But of course Harry doesn’t need or care for Ron totally absolutely of course yes. (Another one for the “Harry picks Ron over Hermione” guys!!! Canon is on our side, sorry not sorry!)

...

Also, let it be said:

we live in actual world where hardwork matters only

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahah.

Look at Kim Kardashian, at Donald Trump, at basically any billionaire. Did they really do any hard work, or did they build their whole career out of exploitation, cheap scandals and their parents’ already-existing fortune?

In our world, Harry would be rich because Mummy and Daddy left him a trust fund, Hermione would have Mummy and Daddy’s money to help her get by until she can find some dead-end job she hates because the job market is shit, and poor Ron would be stuck in poverty because he was poor to begin with and getting out of poverty is much, much harder than getting rich.

[7wanderingpaws]

Captain Bucheon 01

(gif is not mine)

Pairing: Baekhyun x reader (Lee Nari)

Genre: policeman AU; enemies to lovers AU 

Warnings:  langauge

A/N: First chapter! Yay! Super excited! Also, the feedback I got for the prologue - THANK YOU SO MUCH. Im super excited and happy and grateful. Hope you will enjoy this one! ^^

story masterlist masterlist

: prologue

>>>First<<<

Loud screeching was what woke you up. Thundering of footsteps down the corridor made you groan and turn in bed because for god's sake, it was Saturday morning and they just had to be loud at 10am!

Your roommate, lying in the bed just four feet next to yours, stirred awake too, though considering her eyes were fully open, she must have been up for a while now. “I’m glad it’s them waking you up and not me.”

You sighed and managed to smile but you were tired. Life in dormitories sucked, but yours even more so since you were assigned probably the worst dorms in the campus. Having to share bathroom and shower rooms made you leave your comfort zone. But finding toilets in the terrible state you did just purely horrified you. Why weren’t some girls flushing the toilets?!

“You know very well I won’t kill you if you wake me up, Yuyeon-ah,” you mumbled, your voice hoarse. Having Yuyeon as your roommate was the only positive aspect of the dorm life. Some would argue it’s the most important one but you were selfish and you wished you had a private bathroom like the other, more advanced, dorms had. There wasn’t even a kitchen where you could cook your ramyeon deliciously!

“Doubtful,” muttered Yuyeon, amused, and she moved to sit up and start her morning routine while you decided to lie around for just a little bit longer.

Working tirelessly many evenings made you tired and the exhaustion always caught up with you during weekends, where, frankly, you didn't have work. Also, it being the beginning of your second semester, the tension and stress were on but you decided you wouldn't let it affect you too much. You have had enough stress in your entire life and you swore you would become your usual cheerful self.

And you had been, indeed, working on it. But that meant getting over, and hopefully, forgetting everything that happened almost one year ago. Your brother was still in prison and your family, terribly disappointed and in pure shock at what had become of your brother (plus your underage drinking fiasco), you all decided it would be better for you to move to the dorms for the time being. Another story was forgetting about the person who was behind the entire turn-over of your life.

Byun Baekhyun.

You never saw him after that one time he came to your high school. In that moment, you were numb, paralyzed and it hurt to see him. He dared to act like he cared. But over the time, you grew hate towards him. A hate that was weirdly combined with some emotions you really didn't want to pay too much attention to, because they were all based on a fake relationship. A relationship, that was something so beautiful, just for it to end up becoming a complete nightmare. A trauma. A terrible trust issue that you might never be able to get rid of.

It was safe to say that you, Lee Nari, would rather spit at Byun Baekhyun than ever start a conversation with him let alone acknowledge his presence were you to meet him. Not that you were expecting to meet him. After all, you had been incredibly careful - especially around Oh Sehun - in avoiding him by never-ever-ever-ever even coming as much as close to the street where the main Bucheon Police Station was located (but too bad for you; it was literally in downtown Bucheon) and even if you had to cross it, you whined and had to be dragged by your wrist (by Yuyeon). On the good side, there was never a chance for you to cross his apartment building as he lived in a different neighborhood. So that was, thankfully, out of the possible trouble inducing locations’s list.

But still, you couldn't help feeling anxious about spotting him somewhere. The first few months, you might have been looking around with too much hope, wanting to see his real self instead of the ogling at the few photos you had together stored in your phone. Just one glance of his eyes, nose, lips was what you wanted; it was maddening.

Then the flashes of that day came back, ruining every sweet memory, every sweet touch of his engraved into your skin, every stroke of his lips - it all vanished, instead morphing into his stern, burning gaze of which you were on the receiving side. The way he blamed you, the way he wanted to arrest you, and then the way he wouldn't let even your own mother hit you yet he gave you the harshest of punches… The moment of you overhearing his conversation with his tall colleague (you already forgot his name) until your entire world crashed on you. He lied. He never liked you. He never wanted a real relationship with you. He used you to get to you. Byun Baekhyun wanted to arrest you and then he arrested your brother and smashed your heart into tiny pieces. How could you ever recover?

“What, you're not getting up?” shrieked Yuyeon when she came back from the bathrooms, towel hanging around her neck. “The results of the votes are today so you better get up and prepare. You're the school's star, missy,” she grumbled and went over to her table, continuing her complex skin-care routine.

Right.

The way to get over Byun Baekhyun was to live and you could do that thanks to your friends.

Pfft, you had places to be. Forget about Byun Baekhyun.

><

Because of your communications major, you somehow ended up in the university’s student council. You were representing your school year but it was still unclear how the hell you managed to win over more than half of your classmates when all you ever did was hide or be with Yuyeon.

You entered Bucheon University with pretty damaged self-esteem, your cheerful self still recovering from the scandal. However, despite always doing something mischievous with Yuyeon neither of you had a huge circle of friends. It was only natural that the two of you did everything together. Even now, it was mostly you and her, plus Sehun and some other friends.  Unfortunately to you, many males voted because of the nature of your chest. The quiet girl with huuuge boobs, they were saying with hushed voices.

“Don’t pay attention to them, it’s you winning at the end of the day,” advised Yuyeon at the time.

So when the both of you waltzed into the seminar room with a round table in the middle and took seats (Yuyeon was there for your moral support), you could only glare at one senior who was sitting opposite you, his eyebrows wiggling as he  shamelessly drunk in your chest which was, as per usual, hidden under an L-sized hoodie. It seemed you could never escape.

When the president of the student council, Chul, appeared you all stood up and bowed to him respectfully even though he was a student just like you. He was the oldest though.

To your surprise, he walked straight over to your chair, throwing a charming smile at Yuyeon, who let out a quiet scoff in return, before leaning down to whisper in your ear, not forgetting to touch your shoulder gently: “May I have a chat with you? It’s rather private.”

When he leaned away, you blinked twice but nodded and followed him outside for a moment. You could hear whispers erupting after you left though you paid no attention to them.

“What is it, Chul?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest. Chul was one of the very few who never got distracted by it and you were thankful. He helped you a lot in your first semester, like finding you a job and teaching you how to drive a scooter so that you could easily do the deliveries while introducing you to some other interesting people on the campus.

“So about the spring festival - I have two things,” he started, his gaze set on your eyes, always making sure he reciprocated the eye contact. “First, you are taking part in the relay running for our team with representatives. Second, you have been requested as the MC-“

Before he could finish, you sighed holding out your hand to stop him, feeling the nerves kick in, not even paying attention to the first news. “Those votes aren’t even valid. They are all mocking me, Chul. Besides, I don’t wanna do it.”

Chul let you finish, patiently nodding. “Well, hence me stealing you from the meeting.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been requested,” he repeated, emphasizing the last word, “by our main star.”

“I thought we haven’t heard back from the agencies yet?” you asked. You’d written countless emails to various agencies, asking for special famous idols of theirs. To your utter distaste, it also included Siamsa but you couldn’t tell anyone you knew what an annoying, fake bitch she was.

He shrugged. “Well, we heard back from a couple. Siamsa agreed to be the main star of the festival under one condition,” he murmured, lowering his voice. He pointed his index finger at you. “If you’ll do the MCing for her.”

That left you speechless. That delusional woman wanted what now?! “I don’t want to, Chul,” you shook your head, frowning.

It made you wonder why you were getting nervous in the first place. Was it because of her status and having to stand in front of your entire school or was it because of the connection you both shared and that was Byun Baekhyun? Just the idea of having to face her and having to be reminded that she dated your ex made you weirdly sick in your stomach.

He sighed, scratching his neck. “I’m sorry, Nari, but I’m afraid I’m gonna want you to accept it. She is the hottest idol out there and everyone wants her the most. Imagine the attention our university - and especially us, the school council, could bring in. Don’t let us down,” he added gently, though you could sense authority in his voice. Chul was always fair, you had to admit. He never asked you to do anything that made you uncomfortable, never asked you the reason for your reluctance in the past but now he insisted and it showed in his intense gaze.

“I’ll help you with the preparations,” he added, smiling encouragingly. “You’re much more outspoken and talented than you give yourself credit for, so I’m sure you’ll be a star just like Siamsa.”

Well, he really didn’t have to say that last sentence. If there was someone you wanted to be like, it was your good old self. Of course you had more talent, after all you were the big-mouthed one.

Chul patiently waited, seeing that you were mulling over the options. When you looked up at him, you slowly nodded while hating yourself. “Fine. I’ll do it. But-” you stopped him from smiling widely, “what happened with the original voting? Who won?”

“Obviously, you.”

You shook your head quickly. “But I mean who is the actual winner?”

“Not important,” he muttered, brushing past you. “Let's head back inside. Not everyone has the time to sit around waiting on a Saturday.”

><

Once the meeting was over, you couldn't wait to spill the news to Yuyeon but needed to wait until lunch time, when you would meet Oh Sehun. You had sent him a text earlier asking if he was still grabbing lunch with you and Yuyeon (secretly you were writing these messages for obvious reasons - you couldn't risk he would be with Baekhyun). Since he had agreed, you and Yuyeon were speed-walking to the cafeteria, both of you hungry.

Once sat down and joined by the tall friend, you looked around varily just to make sure he really came alone. 

Sehun sighed, tired with your dramatics. “I'm alone, Nari,” he rolled his eyes as he was mixing his tuna bibimbap. “And now spill. The both of you have been acting like rabbits on energy drinks.”

Shooting him a frown, you still rambled away for ten minutes, telling them what had happened. Yuyeon knew about Siamsa and your past experience with her and Sehun also knew the vital triangle connection of Siamsa, Baekhyun and you. He still seemed shocked and even uncomfortable when he heard your entire story.

“What made her request you?” he asked after he swallowed a big chunk of food. “I mean - does she even know your name? Your university?”

“And you literally met her a year ago,” added fervently Yuyeon, deep frown wrinkling her forehead.

Just like your friends, you also had many questions but no answers. Mulling over various possibilities, Sehun finally spoke up: “Should I ask Baek-”

“No.” Your answer was abrupt, but cold, empty and harsh to which Sehun winced the slightest bit. Even hearing his name made your heart race fast and hence the sudden cold behavior. Sehun knew you as a cheerful, kind girl so seeing you being affected by his friend to this extent made him quite perplexed but nothing he wasn’t used to by now. It was his fault; he should have known better than to bring him up.

Yuyeon shot you an unsure look but this time, you ignored it, focusing on shoving around the rice in the steel bowl with the spoon.

“You should have declined,” tried Yuyeon.

“I did decline,” you answered eagerly. “I feel like that bitch might have something up her sleeve. If she does, I should be ready.”

Sehun was flicking his gaze between you and Yuyeon, thinking over your words. Surely, things you didn't know about could hardly hurt you, right?

After lunch, Sehun bid his goodbyes to you.

“Where are you off to?” you pouted, looking up at him with puppy eyes. “It’s Saturday, let’s do something fun!”

“I’m going to the running tracks today with my friend,” answered Sehun and ruffled your hair in amusement to which you pulled back and away from his sneaky hand. “Maybe later, hm? I bet you’re gonna do something with the student council anyway.”

“You and your running, aish!” grumbled Yuyeon. “Go, go, we don’t need you anyway.”

“Don’t get into trouble!” Shouted Sehun as he turned to walk towards the gymnasium and the track field. He waved one more time before he had his broad back on you.

You scoffed and grabbed Yuyeon’s hand, yanking her towards the dorms. “Well, making trouble has been more challenging since we are old enough to do trouble,” you exclaimed, jumping a few times to make Yuyeon walk faster. She whined and tried to pull away but your grip tightened and you snickered. “But that doesn’t mean we still can’t go and have fun tonight!”

><

“Let’s do one more round.”

“Hyung,” groaned Sehun tiredly, feeling the sweat dripping down the sides of his face. “Enough.”

“One more.” Byun Baekhyun shook his head once before he took off for another round. “Losers will keep losing!” he shouted with a cheeky, handsome smile, running backwards for a bit to check on Sehun and when he saw the tall male run after him in challenge, he snickered and turned back, dashing off into a sprint.

It’d been like this for almost a year. Baekhyun was always a gym buddy with Sehun but in the past eleven months, Sehun became a small, indirect punching back. Whether it was because he suddenly became a mutual friend with a certain someone or whether it was a punishment for being there that night with her, he didn’t know. He didn’t want to know.

One thing he surely did know was that running helped him ease his mind and relax, maybe make him feel a little bit more numb like he so wished to be.

Getting rid of any intruding thoughts of Lee Nari was difficult. He felt sorry for her, the victim of his job. Fooling around with a young girl was not his plan but he knew he did it for the better good. He tried to persuade himself that he did it for the better good while pushing back the need to search for her and make sure she was doing alright. 

As he was nearing the finish line, Sehun caught up with him and they both jogged towards their bags nearby the tracks to freshen up. Sehun was heaving like a parched horse which made Baekhyun chuckle as he reached for two bottles, throwing one to his friend.

“Cheers,” exhaled Sehun harshly and quickly opened the bottle, gulping down the needed liquid.

Baekhyun hummed in reply and waited for his heartbeat to calm down before he would have a sip. “How’s everything?” he decided to ask. “The new semester just started.”

Sehun swallowed and closed the bottle. “It’s just the first week. You know the drill - introductions and boring stuff.”

“Nothing interesting happened then?” Baekhyun was very subtle in hints. Sehun was, thankfully, quick-witted.

“We will have the university festival in May,” he replied with the slightest of smirks on his face. “Siamsa is confirmed to perform.”

Baekhyun wasn’t looking at Sehun and even the information he just heard wasn’t worthy enough to make him pay attention. “Cool. She is an artist after all.” He noticed some girls approaching the track and he felt a small tinge of dissatisfaction. He really liked when the track was only his.

“One of my friends will be the MC. Actually, guess what! Siamsa made a special request. Funny, right? In what universe does a singer of her caliber ask for a mere first year student?”

Baekhyun snapped his head to Sehun. “Why?”

Sehun shrugged. “We don’t know why she wanted her out of everyone... though-“ Sehun pulled a thinking face. “It might have something to do with you.”

Baekhyun sighed, already feeling tired. “I don’t like that one bit. Siamsa is sneaky.”

Sehun nodded. “She didn’t want to do it but her senior kind of ordered her. So I guess she doesn’t have another choice.”

“What kind of senior is that if he makes her do stuff against her will?” huffed Baekhyun, his hands on his hips. “Isn’t he supposed to be there to support her?”

“Well, yeah. He did a lot for her so she feels like she has to do it.” Sehun decided to not share any more than that despite sensing Baekhyun’s questioning stare. He knew Baekhyun wanted to know what that “a lot” meant.

When Baekhyun knew he wouldn’t be getting more out of Sehun, he sighed and tapped his shoulder. “Thanks for telling me.” He moved to grab his bag from the floor when Sehun stopped him.

“Hyung.”

Baekhyun raised his eyebrows in question, waiting.

Sehun opened his mouth but then ended up closing it. Baekhyun was a tough nut to crack. It was obvious he was always interested in Nari’s well-being but him pretending not to do so was frustrating.

“I think-“ he re-started, remembering Nari’s emotionless face when he mentioned Baekhyun earlier that day. He opened his mouth to talk but Baekhyun was faster:

“I think it is better to leave everything up to her, Sehun. She is a smart young woman. If anyone can do well, it is Lee Nari. After all, she is finally able to do everything she was pretending to be doing.”

Sehun snorted a laugh, mockingly rolling his eyes. “And since when did you become so-ugh, respectful about that? Nari is stubborn and doesn't know anything about life.”

“It is none of my concern, Sehun,” replied quietly Baekhyun, looking somewhere off in the distance. “But I know she is stronger than you give her credit for.”

“She might hate you and she might not be over what happened between you two-”

“I locked up her brother,” gritted Baekhyun, “and before that, I wanted to lock her up. What makes you think there is any way for both of us to function normally even if we do meet?”

Sehun sighed. It was difficult to communicate with the both of them. Yes, they were both hurt but goddamn it. Anyone could know they cared for each other.

Baekhyun sensed Sehun's dilemma and so he stepped to the taller male and gave him a curt smile. “Don't push it, Sehun. She will be fine.”

><

Sweat was gradually collecting around your hairline until it turned into one huge tear drop travelling down the side of your face. The text message was as clear as the night sky.

Unknown number

drop it at the 1047 unit

top floor

“It's impossible,” you muttered, feeling yourself becoming nervous. You were standing in front of 1047 and it was definitely not the top floor. It was the first floor, just like the first  number indicated. 

Gnawing at your bottom lip, you raked your head about possible connections you could contact when you couldn't deliver the boxes as you were supposed to. There was never a responsible person, only an unknown number sending you messages with the quest and a requirement to always be careful (you supposed the carefulness was concerning the boxes). You would receive a confirmation message when the box was in safe hands. That was it. No unnecessary contracts; just you and the job at hand.

You tried calling Chul, you senior. After all, he was the one who fetched you the job but even he wasn't available at that moment.

When you were just about to lose your mind, your phone rang making you almost drop the box. Thank god for your reflexes. “H-hello? Chul?”

“Hey, what's up?” he chirped.

You told him quickly your problem but you weren't expecting his light voice to become more serious. “You can't find the place? Are you sure you are in the right building- shit, the time is almost up. I'll be there right now:”

Heaving out a breath, you checked your wrist watch. The box was supposed to be delivered within fifteen minutes. How would Chul make it in time for you, you weren't sure but you soon found out when you heard his rushing steps, his phone's screen lit up with the exact information you were provided with.

“Hey,” he breathed, taking in your worried gaze as you gave him an apologetic smile.

“Sorry for the fuss.”

He shook his head once, muttering a single “no need” before he took the box out of your arms and put it down in front of the door. Grabbing your hand he started pulling you downstairs. “We gotta get out of here.”

“Huh?” you looked back at the box helplessly, before you couldn't look anymore, instead watching out for your step on the stairs. “Wait - Chul, I need to fulfill the task.”

He shushed you and before you knew it, you were outside in the chilly air. Dragging you a few more metres, he heard an approaching car's engine and he was fast to push you into a small alley that was barely lit by any street lamps.

“Chul-” you started, frowning. You didn't like him manhandling you like that.

“Do you trust me?” he whispered as he made you press your back against the wall.

“Yeah,” you breathed, eager to hear any information he could provide you with to explain what the hell was going on.

To your utter horror, a police car drove by, but you weren't terrified about why the police car was there. You were terrified about a certain someone sitting in that car and you possibly having to face that certain someone. Just the thought of having to see his shocked or disappointed face yet again made you inwardly whimper.

When the car was far enough, Chul turned to you. “You are doing a great job, you really are. But you mustn't, by any means, get caught by the police while doing deliveries. Got it?”

Feeling your heart thumping loudly from the adrenaline, you nodded. “What about the box then?”

Chul cursed when he looked at his phone. “Three minutes left. Go in and check the box. If it's still there, take it to the top floor as per request. Sometimes they give misleading information to you in case your phone gets stolen. Next time, make sure to double-check all the information they give you, okay?”

You were nodding eagerly and already started walking back to the small apartment building.

“I have to go but write to me if the mission is successful. Now go, quickly,” he said and without waiting, took off into the opposite direction.

Due to the stress, you didn't even stop to think about the weirdness of the situation. Rushing back in, you went to the first floor where you left the box. You were rendered motionless when the box was no longer there.

Someone took it.

Feeling fear creeping into your system, you took out your phone to call Chul just when you received a confirmation message.

Unknown number

the box has been successfully delivered