#so it appears i have written quite a number of AU/AH

[freeuselandonorris]

18 & 19!

hi! thank you for asking 🫶

18. The character that gave you the most trouble writing this year?

you know what, this is SO weird as i’ve written them very extensively in the past, but revisiting daniel and max after five years away was really difficult! i wrote you know how sticky it gets as a way of exploring daniel’s decision to return to the ‘red bull family’ (bleeagh i hate that phrase) and just generally poking at how he must feel as someone approaching his mid-thirties in a sport full of 20-year-olds snapping at his heels.

all that came to me pretty easily (mainly because i am the same age as dan so it was basically my own midlife crisis lightly repackaged) but i really struggled with my characterisation of max. when i’ve written him in the past, it was as a 19/20 year old hot-head, pre-championships, when he was still very much fighting for dominance. now he’s this strange mix of arrogant/self-assured and yet still quite childlike, especially around dan, and i found it very difficult to get the balance right of not making him seem like a complete arsehole and also not just being too sweet or docile.

i also don’t like making either him or daniel too self-reflective, because it frankly jars with how they act in real life, so it was tricky to get the sense of momentum in their characters because i didn’t want them to learn too much, if that makes sense?

19. What’s one pairing you want to explore next year?

galex!! but i feel SO intimidated by it because there are so many incredible writers in that tag already and i don’t know what i could bring to the table other than unhinged kink that hasn’t already been done by others, better.

having said that, i did just take a lunchtime shower (wfh life) and came up with the loose plot to a chaturbate sex worker AU borne of the realisation that alex is by far the most comfortable with talking about/alluding to filth on the grid (cf. the ted kravitz foot fetish inchident, giving lando a breast pump) (none of the previous sentence is in the bible, huh) and would do absolute numbers on PPV.

sample below i just hammered out in five minutes:

Can I message you 1-2-1? George types into the chat window.

On-screen, Alex’s eyes flick from side to side as he scans the incoming messages, bopping his head absently to the music playing quietly in the background.

“Nope, sorry,” Alex says, eyes darting up momentarily to the camera. “You’ll have to subscribe to my OF if you want to private message me. I’m available for sexting most evenings, if I don’t have anything better to do. Can I interest you in controlling my Lovense instead? Fiver for 30 seconds and you get to control the intensity. Bargain.”

George scowls, stares at his hands poised over the laptop keyboard. The sound of cash registers plays over and over, little hearts climbing up the side of the screen. Alex laughs. “Well, someone wants to, that’s for sure.”

He raises a black butt plug to the camera, apparently showing it off. Laughs at something in the chat. “Yeah,” he says. “Or someone better to do, exactly.”

In a rush, George types: You’re quite rude, aren’t you? Thought the deal was we pay you money and you do what we ask.

He hits send and instantly regrets it. Alex’s eyes scan the screen, a small crease appearing on his forehead, between his brows. “Ah,” he says, making direct eye contact with the camera. George shrinks back in his chair. “Nope! Common misconception, this. How it works is, you pay me money for the privilege of getting to see me come without touching my dick, and I don’t report your IP for harassment. Got it?”

The back of George’s neck is hot and clammy. He’s shaking slightly. What constitutes an appropriate tip? He clicks the screen, sends £30. Do you want to leave a message with your tip, the screen prompts. Sorry, he writes.

AO3 wrapped: writer’s edition

[highgaarden]

Can you make a list of your AU/AH fanfic please?

sure, anon.

make it so divine (complete)

Klaus has never met someone who overdressed in such beautiful order.  //  Actors/Celebrities AU, Mixed Media, Rated E 

higher than the empire state (complete)

“Why exactly do you need chloroform at 2AM?” is not a question Caroline ever expected to have to ask when she signed her name to be part of this company two years ago.  // Eccentric Billionaire / Office AU, The Originals, Ensemble, Rated T

all those friendly people (complete, multichap)

Rebekah sneaks out of a press conference with Caroline one day, leaving Finn furious, Elijah amused, Stefan bored, and him with all the questions. They hound, they squabble for their turn, they gnash at scraps, they turn their noses up at his weary, pre-approved answers.

They ask about Caroline.

Christ, he needs a drink. // Rival Musicians x Enemies-to-Lovers AU, Ensemble, Rated E

This Excess Company  (complete, multichap)

“Oh my God,” Caroline says. “Did he really name that stray after himself?”

(or: the one where they’re all actors living in the same apartment complex, and Klaus and Caroline have the misfortune of always spying each other from across their balconies.) // Actors x FRIENDS AU, Ensemble, Rated M

‘cause these lights won’t kill me now (complete)

“But you were always there,” he continues as if she hadn’t finally spoken. “In my sheets. Do you know how languorous you smell? How you linger? I was walking around 445 Lafayette Street one evening and when I looked up I saw the city as you saw it. Everything was on fire.“  // Model/ Photographer AU, Rated T

Some Great Machinery  (complete)

Stuck deep in the ugliest, stickiest, steamiest bit of summer, Caroline navigates a rumor– but this is not where the story goes. 

(Or, the one where they all work in a cinema.) / Cinema AU, ensemble, Rated T

In the corner of Maple and Vine (WIP)

the one where Rebekah exploits mug tricks for extra tips, Klaus is a passive-mostly-aggressive piemaker, and Caroline just wants to know why Klaus refuses to touch her. // Pushing Daisies x Mafia Family x Diner AU, Rated M, ensemble (lmao i mean everyone is MOSTLY AH??)

look how all the kids have grown  (WIP)

He’d taken the Caravaggio. They’d taken his brother. Something has to give. // Spies x Girl Gang x Enemies-to-Lovers AU, Ensemble, Rated M

if i stumble (tumblr fic)

Her shoes skid against the dull marble and suddenly they’re looking her way, and it’s like she’s struck, unmoving.

“It appears you’ve procured an audience, ‘Lijah.” The cut in his lower lip swells red when his smile stretches into the most contemptuous grin she’s ever seen. // Step-siblings AU, ensemble, rated M

[gyusbambi]

humph; han seojun (pt 2)

 click here for humph masterlist!

part 1, part 3

story: frenemies to enemies to lovers, high school au

synopsis: seojun and you have known each other since kindergarten. you’re neighbors and even attended the same singing and piano classes. despite knowing each other for such a long time, you don’t enjoy spending time with seojun. even though you are aware of his unfairness, you keep spending time with him. when will you finally leave your childhood frenemy?

note: juyeong is reader’s brother and is not related to the lims, jugyeong doesn’t exist in this story. humph! is a story inspired by pentagon's "humph! / 접근금지". originally, this is a seungyeon fanfiction, which i posted on my wattpad. words: 4k

after the encounter, you try your best to avoid han seojun. everytime you spot him walking in the hallways, your feet start moving faster. every so often you won’t allow yourself to put all of your books into your locker and end up carrying the heavy things during the whole day. why does his locker have to be next to yours anyway?

seojun might be academically not the best, but he sure isn’t dumb.

clearly, he notices how you turn around and walk into a complete different classroom whenever he makes an appearance in the same hallway. he also notices how you always walk around with piles of books, never taking the chance to place them into your locker, since his own happens to be next to yours.

one day he spots lee suho helping you with carrying your books. smiling, you thank your friend and hand him over some of them. while heading towards the classroom together, you talk about the upcoming school trip. unfortunately, you’re not quite able to see what’s in front of you since the pile of books cover your sight slightly. yet, as seojun walks past suho, his shoulder hits suho’s which makes the books fall out of his hands with a loud thud. 

quickly, you help suho collect the books on the floor and don’t fail to notice him muttering,

“what’s his problem?” 

_

it’s an entertaining thursday evening as you spend time in the karaoke bar with your classmates. kang soojin, who happens to be suho’s childhood friend, asked you and suho to tag along with them. first, lee suho declined the kind offer but you luckily managed to convince him. 

the noraebang is filled with laughter when taehoon, sua’s boyfriend, sings his lungs out to his favorite song. after your eyes wander from the couple too soojin and then too suho, a smile forms on your face. taehoon’s arm is around suho’s shoulder as they both sing a ballad. you’re happy that suho opens up to others more and you enjoy being able to spend time with these four, feeling like you’re making new friends.

however, it feels a little strange that seojun and chorong aren’t around. you remember how you would go to the karaoke bar every saturday, sometimes it was only seojun and you. secretly, you adored listening to his voice.

suddenly, the notification sound of your phone wakes you up from your short trance. 

juyeong: why is seojun hyung’s bike in front of our house?

it’s a message from your younger brother. why hasn’t seojun picked up his bike yet?

while the others continue singing, you excuse yourself and walk outside in order to call your younger brother. patiently, you walk back and forth, waiting for him to answer the call. you sigh when he doesn’t pick up and are about to dial his number again.

before you can do so, you jump and let out a yelp at a familiar voice,

“y/n?”

it’s han seojun.

frightened you turn around, palm pressed to your heart.

“you scared me!” closing your eyes, you let out a relieved breath.

“you’re here too?” seojun ignores your shocked reaction.

“yes.”

“with whom?”

taken aback, you stay silent for a short moment, not knowing how to respond. clearly, you’re aware that seojun, for some reason, isn’t on good terms with suho. therefore, you wouldn’t want him to start a conflict with the innocent boy right here, at the karaoke bar.

“uh, i’m here with soojin a-”

abruptly you trail off when you spot lee suho himself at the entrance, searching for you while his glance shifts through the place. luckily, seojun’s back is facing the entrance. the boy in front of you waits for you to continue but is caught off guard when you pull him around the corner, before suho can find you.

“what are you doing?” seojun questions with lines forming between his brows.

nervously, you try to come up with an excuse while avoiding his gaze, checking behind his back if suho saw you, 

“your motorcycle-”

“look who we have over here! seojunnie!”

at the sound of lee sungyong and his gang you stop talking and observe an annoyed expression appear on seojun’s face.

when you turn around to face them, they let out surprised laughs,

“y/n, long time no see!”

“why do you have to here.” seojun groan.

soon, you sense that something bad could happen any moment which makes you dart your glance around the area nervously, looking for a possible way out. timidly, you draw your mouth into a straight line before your fingers firmly grip around seojun’s, pulling him away from the others without thinking twice. the young boy seems shocked by your actions as his legs adjust to your pace.

in no time, you find yourself running away from lee sungyong and his gang, your hand still clutched on seojun’s wrist. adrenaline courses through your veins as you pass several stores, pushing people out of your way. to the sound of lee sungyong shouting your names, you keep your breath steady, push harder and run even faster. 

seojun himself forces his legs to push harder, his lungs straining. his breath thickening, he steals a quick glance at you. the wind whips your hair away from your face as you face forwards with an uneasy look. his mind is frantic with thoughts: how is it possible to move this fast?

yet, at this great speed, you can barely see a few feet ahead of you. your feet nearly slip from beneath you when your shoes pound heavily across the ground and mud splashes up your leg. 

noticing this, seojun rapidly takes your hand into his own without slowing down and takes the lead. since the boy is familiar with this dark area, he sprints around the next corner. the shoutings behind you don’t stop, demanding you to stop running. after sprinting for solid minutes, you finally hide behind a wall when seojun finds a way to trick the gangsters.

heart pounding faster than ever, you’re still concerned that they will find you. seojun squats down next to you, his legs tired from all the running. when your surroundings are safe, you swiftly stand up while your breath comes in short gasps. 

claiming you’re tired would be an understatement. you are exhausted. still you feel relieved that you could escape the group of boys.

moments later seojun sighs with annoyance behind you. 

“why did you have to drag me away?” the boy complains before you turn around to face him with a frown on your face.

it’s dark and quiet outside, indicating that it’s probably really late. the air is cold which makes you shiver for a moment. when you wait for him to continue instead of answering, seojun groans, not believing that you seriously don’t understand what he’s trying to point out.

“they’ll think it’s weird of us to run away like cowards. ah, you’re really dumb.”

“i’m dumb?”, you raise your voice with squinted eyes before he can leave,

“you’re the one who believes fish are wet.”

“fish are wet.” the boy slowly turns around to face you again.

“they’re not because they’re surrounded by water. once they get out of-”

“it’s water, y/n!”

it’s not worth arguing with someone as dumb as him.

with a mirthless smile you shake your head,

“you’re the dumb one.”

after that you leave to make your way home, completely forgetting to ask seojun about his motorcycle. the boy himself watches you walk away with a little worry. shouldn’t he walk you home at this time? ah, never mind. 

and so he walks home by himself, not used to the fact that his motorcycle is away from him.

_

the next day in school seems like a regular one. fortunately, you were able to get enough sleep this time. thankfully, seojun’s motorcycle was no longer parked in front of your house this morning. not expecting anything spectacular to happen, you enter the classroom with several books in your arms, like always. however, as soon as some of your classmates notice you, they walk to your seat with widen eyes.

“y/n! where were you last night?”, soojin asks you with a calm tone.

sua hits your shoulder playfully and whines, “do you know how worried we were?!”

oh, no. you completely forgot to contact them after your small adventure with han seojun.

“poor suho looked everywhere for you.”, taehoon pouts, his glance darting to suho, who was sitting on his seat peacefully.

after hearing taehoon’s words, you turn your head to the innocent boy with regret written on your face,

“i’m so sorry.”

“don’t worry, y/n. we’re glad you’re okay.” suho smiles at you as the others agree.

the day passes normally, like you predicted, until lunch break. 

considering kim chorong is nowhere to be seen, and you’re trying to stay away from han seojun, you sit next to you other friends during lunch. the same people from the karaoke bar talk about their plans after school, when suddenly everyone looks up to the sight of han seojun’s. his loud steps and irritated expression catches all the attention in the canteen.

however, you feel concerned when you’re approached by him, your heart beating a little faster.

“yah, y/l/n y/n.” 

you gulp when he carefully talks in a controlled voice, glaring at you through his cat like eyes,

“come out.”

the whole lunch room gasps with surprise at his statement, anticipating on what will happen next. just when he grabs your arm to drag you out of the room, lee suho steps between you both, slapping seojun’s grip away from your arm,

“what do you think you’re doing?”, he speaks with a low voice.

“you better stay out of this.”

han seojun hisses and holds on your uniform this time, pulling you away from the others.

your head is filled with endless questions when you’re forced to follow him out. what have you done wrong? the corridor is empty and silent as the boy in front of you pounds his hand on the wall behind you, leaving only a small gap between your faces. your back is pressed against the cold wall. 

blown away by the sudden closeness you swallow dryly, unable to wet your parched throat. his sudden change in mood slightly intimates you.

“you think you can piss me off easily?”

you’re taken aback when he snaps.

“wh-what are you talking about?” nervously, you stammer while excessively blinking.

after that, seojun laughs with edge, eyes leaving yours for a moment to remain his calm. why are you pretending to not know? seconds later he bends down to your height, now even closer than before. eyes looking deeply into yours, he tries to read you. yet, the only thing he’s able to see is your confusion.

“do you believe giving my keys to that bastard is funny?”

“i have no clue what you’re talking about.” 

luckily, the worry in you melts down a little but you’re still confused.

“you’re really starting to get on my nerves now. this morning lee sungyong came to me with these, and my damaged bike.”

frustrated, seojun takes his keys out of his jacket-pocket and holds them up for you too see. a line forms between your brows when you stare at the keys, waiting for him to continue,

“and what do i have to do with that?”

“are you kidding me?! you’re the person who had my keys the whole time!” seojun hisses, his voice raising which causes you to flinch lightly,

“my bike was parked in front of your house, remember? you gave my keys to that bastard!”

“i didn’t have your keys!” finally you defend yourself, slowly getting annoyed by his behavior.

“you did, i gave them to you last week!”

seojun’s face is still insanely close to yours.

“you did, but i gave them back to you.” you look into his eyes with confusion.

“what?” seojun’s expression reflects your own.

“i-i put them into your pocket. didn’t you notice?”

oh no. he absolutely didn’t.

“when did you do that?”

“the day after you gave them to me. i thought you would notice.” you mumble the last part quietly, suddenly feeling like it’s your fault.

precisely, you remember how you put seojun’s keys back in his jacket, which was hanging on his seat when he wasn’t around. taking the opportunity, you decided to quickly put them in there without having to face seojun for it, since you weren’t on good terms. 

all this time you wondered why the boy wouldn’t pick up his bike. it was standing there whole time, which made you believe that maybe he truly wanted to quit riding his motorcycle.

however, it turns out that he never noticed. how did the others find his keys, though? was it your fault? perhaps you should have simply handed them to him personally instead of being stubborn.

seojun sighs with frustration and runs his hand through his hair,

“how did they get them then?”

suddenly it all clicks. everything makes sense when you remember every detail from last night. with unease your eyes widen,

“the jacket you wore last night... it was the navy one, right?”

he thinks for a moment before nodding, waiting for you to continue.

“i put the keys in that one. maybe it slipped out while we were running?”

you glance around, not focusing on anything as you try to avoid his eyes. this doesn’t feel good at all.

a momentary look of discomfort crosses seojun’s face. he realizes that you’re possibly right and that he shouldn’t have accused you to do something like that. the fact that he already messed up by telling suho to stay away from you makes everything even worse. he feels guilty when he catches you looking around nervously. it’s not your fault.

right when he’s about to form words, two students run past him which causes him to stumble over his feet in shock. on the spur of the moment, his body is pressed on yours. at the sudden contact, you let out a small gasp when you notice that you’re stuck between him and the wall. one of his palms is still pressed against the wall behind you, while the other one holds on your shoulder to steady himself.

both of you look up at the same time, embarrassed by his sudden actions. when your eyes meet, your heart pounds against your ribs as if trying to reach thousand beats. it’s so intense that you internally pray for him not to hear it. his face is only a few centimetres away from yours which makes you freeze on spot. somehow you feel his breath on your cheek and you think you’re about to lose it. 

why are you so nervous suddenly?

why does his gaze make your heart beat so fast?

carefully, you study seojun’s face. his dark hair partly falls over his forehead, his eyes now relaxed, cheeks tinted a bright shade of pink.

in fact, seojun is blushing profusely. just like you, he’s taken aback by the closeness and can’t help but gaze into your eyes deeply. he too, feels strangely nervous, a little too nervous if truth be told.

after what seems like seconds, you can’t stand it anymore and forcefully hit his forehead with your head, which makes him stumble backwards.

probing the pained area, seojun winces, “what the hell?!”

“i-i told you i didn’t give them your keys!”, you decide to come up with that instead of showing how the boy effected you so easily,

“you always put the blame on me.” after mumbling that you rush back to the canteen in super speed, hoping for your poor heart to calm down.

seojun only watches you sprint away, unaware of how he made you feel. rubbing his forehead painfully, he shakes his head in order to get rid of his thoughts.

there’s no way. i should probably just see a doctor.

_

time passes quickly and finally the important day has come: the school trip. everyone from your grade was talking about the upcoming event the whole time, planing several games and activities. for you it seems nice too but since you’re avoiding seojun, which also automatically makes it harder to see chorong, you worry how you’re going to spend the whole time on your own. it’s a bummer that lee suho refused to join the trip. certainly, you attempted to convince your friend but unsuccessful. 

as soon as you arrive at the school gates, where everyone is already waiting with their suitcases, you feel uneasy. nearing the others, you concern about the fact that you’ll probably have to sit alone in the bus. yet, when you finally approach the others you spot suho standing next to soojin, sua and taehoon. instantly, a smile appears on your face and you greet them, adding that you’re happy for suho to join them. glancing around, it doesn’t take you long to see han seojun next to kim chorong. without looking at them for too long, you focus back on your other friend group with little uncertainty. 

one by one, students enter the bus after putting their suitcases into the bus trunk. for some reason you happen to be the last person to enter the bus. after putting your luggage into the trunk, you’re ready to go inside. yet, out of nowhere chorong appears in front of you with puppy eyes, begging for you to pack his snacks into your backpack, since his own is already full. not thinking about it too much, you agree and start placing them into your bag. chorong smiles with satisfaction and thanks you before his eyes check behind him. he winks at sua and gives her a sign after making sure you’re not paying attention to him.

sua then pushes her boyfriend and soojin inside when nobody is left, leaving chorong and you alone. eventually you manage to push in all the snacks into your bag. you’re surprised when you see that everyone is already in the bus and follow chorong inside as well. 

as soon as you enter, suho finds your eyes and waves at you, indicating that he saved you a seat next to him. happily, you nod and wait for the others in front of you to take their seats. 

you fail to notice chorong’s eyes widen when he stops in front of you, not allowing you to sit next to lee suho. sua understands the situation and slightly pushes kang soojin towards the empty seat next to suho. 

oh, well.

both of your friends exchange surprised looks. however, seconds later soojin smiles at the boy next to him, starting a conversation.

as a matter of fact, you feel upset. disappointed, you move on, eyes not leaving chorong’s back. who are you going to sit next to now? 

when the boy in front eventually arrives at the very back, you’re concerned. surprisingly, kim chorong takes the seat behind han seojun, leaving the last seat, which was next to seojun, for you.

han seojun doesn’t bother looking up, as he’s focused on his phone. clearing your throat, you request,

“chorong-ah, change seats with me.” 

“nah, i like this seat.” stubbornly, he crosses his arms across his chest, head leaning against the window with closed eyes.

the short conversation catches seojun’s attention and he looks up with curiosity. after taking a look at the filled seats his eyes land and you. he’s surprised when he notices that you have to take seat next to him.

letting out a quiet sigh, you give chorong one last glare before sitting next to seojun. this is either going to be really awkward or provoking.

of course, once again you don’t notice chorong peeking at the both of you before giving sua and taehoon a thumbs up, content that their plan worked successfully.

“are you sure this is a good idea?” taehoon whispers to his girlfriend,

“they look like they’ll throw hands at each other any moment.”

“ ah, don’t worry. they’ll make up sooner than you think.” sua takes a quick glimpse of you plugging in your earpods without exchanging any words with the boy next to you.

but sua was wrong.

half an hour already passes and you still haven’t spoken any word. although, there‘s a small desire of talking to you in seojun, he can‘t make himself form the right words. 

right when chorong is about to lose hope and fall asleep, something finally happens.

feeling tired from all the packing last night, you sense your eyelids getting heavier and you’re struggling to keep them open. nonetheless, you’re no longer able to do so and you fall asleep instantly.

out of the blue seojun feels your head resting on his shoulder. the boy is dumbstruck when his eyes widen, holding in his breath for a moment. his body shuts down and he doesn’t know how to react when his posture stiffens. besides that, he feels the skin on his shoulder tingle. 

seojun almost curses under his breath when his heart races once again. this time, there’s a fluttering in his stomach as well, causing him to go speechless. from the corner of his eye, he observes your expression. a slight frown forms on your face, hair covering parts of it, lips in a small pout. 

no matter what you do, you look so effortlessly... good. it doesn’t make a difference to him if you’re annoyed, confused, happy or simply tired. he always notices himself looking at you the same way, with adoring eyes. attempting to ignore it, he chose to tease you, not daring to ever show you. 

he knew he went to far and feels stupid for his actions. yet, why doesn’t he just apologize? perhaps he doesn’t want to accept the fact that you mean much more to him. perhaps he’s afraid he’ll never mean more to you.

still asleep, you unknowingly move your head closer to seojun’s chest, feeling more comfortable this way. after that, he feels your arm wrap around his torso, almost snuggling him.

the boy’s heart melts at the sight of you. although his heart feels like exploding, he doesn’t want to admit that he kinda enjoys the skin-ship with his you. right when he’s about to run his hand through your hair, the sound of a camera catches his attention.

he looks up to find sua taking a polaroid picture, chorong awing at the sight of his two friends sharing a moment.

“aw, you guys are so cute!” sua jumps up and down, while handing seojun the polaroid picture.

suddenly seojun gets aware of his surroundings and the situation he finds himself in. he blinks a few times before moving his shoulder purposely while coughing, making your head fall down in a swift move.

before it hits his lap, you open your eyes and rub them with a displeased expression,

“what happened?”, you ask with a low voice, completely clueless. 

“why- why do you fall asleep on my shoulder? that’s so uncomfortable. get a pillow or something!”

seojun stammers in the beginning, eyes not able to meet your tired ones. your friends sigh with annoyance and return to their seats, disappointed by seojun’s change in mood.

“sorry.” after rubbing your eyes, you steal a short glance at seojun. you’re slightly embarrassed and fix your hair while sitting up properly.

the boy only shrugs, quickly hiding the polaroid in the pocket inside of his jacket before you can see it.

seemingly, this trip is not going to be easy for han seojun.

little does he know, this was only the beginning of cupid chorong’s plan.

_

to be continued...

[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. 

[burningthetree]

So glad you want to talk about writing because I want to listen! How about numbers 2, 9, & 14 for the happy writers ask game :)

Ah Cat I love you, thanks for the ask <3

2. Talk about a favorite comment you received.

Okay so I’m going to be super cheesy and say that every comment I receive is my favourite one. Any comment, whatever the content, always absolutely makes my day because it’s like, you read my fic and you took the time to comment? I will love you forever <3 but for the sake of this, I will talk about two of my favourite comments I’ve ever received:

The first one was on one of the last chapters of fmn, and it was this really in-depth reflection on the little things in life, and how my fic made the commenter think about it. I don’t know if I should name-drop??? But I genuinely know that comment by heart, I’ve read it multiple times and it just lives in my brain even though it’s been months since I’ve received it.

Another favourite comment of mine was actually by you, Cat!! It was the one to the last chapter of fmn, and I can’t really pinpoint what exactly it was that made me love your comment so much. Maybe it was your reflection on the last chapter or the story as a whole, or your compliments you had on my writing and how I used canon elements — I reread that comment so many times, I still think about it a lot, and it truly meant the world to me <3

9. What inspired you to write your first fic?

I’ll give you two answers, because one might be more relevant than the other LOL. The first fic I ever wrote was for the Lord of the Rings fandom, I was ten, it was a bad fic, but I wrote it because I loved lotr and I started reading fanfic and how much I wanted to write it too, so I did.

If we’re talking Haikyuu!!, then what inspired my first fic was your Zombie AU actually! I remember reading it while I was sick, and I hadn’t seriously written in quite a long while, so after I finished your fic I decided I wanted to write my own again :D

14. Share a snippet.

I had such a hard time choosing one without giving too much away LOL so here you go:

The view of the city lights beneath them was breathtaking. Every building, every street, every car was drenched in the red colour of the sun shining its last rays of light onto Tokyo. The passersby on the ground below appeared so small and insignificant, as if no one else mattered but him and Bokuto.

In a way, Akaashi supposed that was true. At least for him, nothing else was important anymore. The only thing that truly mattered was that he was with Bokuto, who looked at him with his golden eyes that put the sunlight to shame.

Akaashi supposed he could look at the brightest of stars and none would compare to Bokuto’s eyes. Akaashi hoped he wouldn’t ruin the moment with what he was going to unload on Bokuto, to make him understand why he had been overwhelmed earlier. His fingers fiddled together and one of his knuckles cracked painfully, which had him wincing slightly.

This is cut off so badly LOL whoops but it’s all I have, gotta deal with it <3

[spacejammie-eimmajecaps]

You gotta share your writing process, you get things out so quick, I have a hard time just with the first draft

I never leave my apartment and I write all day without eating or drinking or doing anything else, so that's how it goes so quick.

Haha jk (kind of). The only upside of chronic illness is lots of free time. That's probably why writing goes so fast for me. There's nothing else for me to do all day.

Uhhhhhhmmmm but on a serious note, do you want a long and detailed explanation? Let's go with that (idk how to he concise)

So, for a fic like the one I'm working on right now, my first step is to make an outline. Generally speaking, this can be as vague or detailed as you prefer. And there's a few different ways to do it.

Outline option 1: use a poster board (or just a sheet of paper) and make a bunch of bubbles, write the main goal of each chapter in the bubbles

(Visual aid :D)

Outline option 2: make a numerical list with what you want to happen in each chapter (just the "main thing" is fine, or you can add more detail. But leaving it vague makes it easier to adjust as needed when writing the first draft. Trying to follow the outline too closely can feel restrictive for me at times. Its good to have a plan, but it's also good to let the story flow naturally while drafting it. Don't be afraid to veer off course)

(Visual aid :D)

After the outline is done, it's time to move on to characterization! I will show two examples (one that is the template I now use, and one example from my 20k word outline I wrote last summer for a jurassic park au that I may never get around to writing, because its going to take a very long time to do it, maybe an entire year. And ugh to that.). Ideally, characterization should be done for each character, even the minor ones. Just helps visualize the world and all that.

(Here is the general template, I usually put name and age above appearance)

(Here is an example from my jurassic park au outline, though it's not quite consistent with how I do it now, and it needs to be revised anyway)

Once the characterization is done for each character, I like to break the outline down into bite-sized pieces. What I mean by that is I copy whatever I've written for each chapter and paste it into a word document. One chapter per document. I really candle handle having an entire work in one document—that overwhelms me (the only exception is when the work is just one chapter. One doc per chapter is how I like to write). If I break it into chapters, and just focus on one chapter at a time, it feels much more manageable. I keep all of the word docs open in one window, going in order. Make sure to put the chapter number and whatever you're referring to the fic as in the title.

(Visual aid :D)

Now, if you appreciate having visual aids and have an idea of what settings you'll be using, that will be the next step. You can draw the layout of buildings, you can make maps of a town, etc.

(Here are some examples from my current project. Please ignore my messy handwriting. I was planning in making it easier to read if I was going to share it, but oh well)

(Examples from past project)

(The draft world map for my jurassic park au. Some of my siblings were staying at my apartment when I was working on this last summer, and they gave me so much shit for it haha) (and yes this is a huge presentation board lmfao the folding cardboard kind)

Now, you may find that you don't know the setting that well yet before you start writing. And that's totally fine. If you are drafting and find you need a visual aid to keep track of the scene, you can always stop to make one at that time.

I'm losing track of stuff here, and I've got an appointment with my new cardiologist in 30 minutes, so I need to wrap this up.

Let's see.... make the outline, characterization, visual aids... ah, right!

Okay, so next you should make a playlist (that is, if you like to listen to music for inspiration in between or during your drafting process). For me, I like to find at least 10 songs to start with for a fic that's as long as the one I'm currently doing (35 chapters). But right now, my playlist is at 64 songs for this fic. Not all of them actually fit the vibe, so I'd say I am only listening to about 30 of them. (Generally speaking, I listen to songs while driving, or while cleaning etc. That's when I find it easiest to imagine scenes while listening to music).

Outline, characterization, visual aids, music.

At this point, the drafting process can begin! I find it's best to write as much as possible in one sitting and really go with the flow. And if possible, don't go back over the chapters you've already drafted unless you get completely stuck. (I do find that it's best to go back over them every 8-10 chapters, but that's only cause I have a bad memory. I need to remind myself of what I've already written).

If you get stuck while drafting, another thing you can do is leave your missing parts in brackets. For example:

[More dialogue here]

[Change X to Y]

[Somehow, they get from that place to this place]

Doing that let's you keep going with the flow of writing without stopping to worry about details. Something that's important to remember: the first draft should be vague and messy. It's just for getting the idea out.

If you're too caught up on the first draft being "readable" or "good", then it'll really slow you down. There may be awkward dialogue, almost no setting or body language, plot holes, etc. That's fine. You can fix all of that during later drafts.

If you want to know more about drafting, I can explain it in another ask. Just let me know.

After the first draft is done, there's a couple different options.

Option 1: finish each chapter one by one, posting each as you finish. This can be a bit easier (especially with adhd) because you get dopamine from any comments and you have that weight of the expectations of others to make you keep writing. For me, these are motivational factors. For others, it might be stressful.

Option 2: do an entire second draft (and third and even fourth), where you're adding more setting and details etc. Then start posting it when you're done. I'd prefer to do it this way, but it can be hard to do so much of a project without posting any of it. I do think that doing this helps catch plot holes though.

For each chapter, whether posting one at a time or finishing the whole fic first, I generally do first draft (very vague), second draft (add setting, details), third draft (more setting, body language, inner dialogue for the character etc), fourth draft (mainly focusing on dialogue to make it more natural).

Then, before posting each one, I try to read the dialogue out loud, and I also like to listen to the whole thing with text-to-speech while doing a final read through. This helps me catch minor mistakes (my brain fixes many typos automatically, so hearing everything out loud helps me catch what I would have otherwise missed. Also I tend to skim when reading, even when I'm trying to focus really hard. So listening to it while I read helps with that)

Shiiiiiiit I've only got 15 minutes until my appointment. Uh, sorry about any typos or things that don't make sense in this reply, there's no time to go back through it. Please feel free to ask for more details about any of the things I mentioned, or about anything I didn't mention that you're curious about.

[cherryonigiri]

Moment I: Crash Landing (NOT) On You

Son of Zeus!Bokuto x Child of Demeter!Reader || PJO x Haikyuu AU

Summary: Bokuto swears it’s all Akaashi’s turtledove’s fault. If it didn’t decide to fly over Cabin Four, he wouldn’t be in this mess, fearing death (or at least serious injury) by celestial bronze gardening tool. (Featuring Kuroo, Son of Hermes, still the provocation master).

wc: 2.1k || genre(s): humor, fluff || masterlist: turtledoves & daisies

A/N: this is the first fic I’ve written in a while, so I’d appreciate any feedback/comments. Also can i just say that I’m absolutely infatuated with Son of Zeus!Bokuto 🥺

“Bokuto-san, be carefu!l” Akaashi worriedly watches as his white-haired friend streaks through the sky. Bokuto has his hands outstretched, golden eyes wholeheartedly focused on the turtledove fluttering in the air in front of him. Zipping closer, he swipes at it again, trying in vain to capture the bird as it darts away from his grasp.

His fingertips brush the feathers, only for it once again dodge his hand. “Dammit.” Bokuto scowls as he continues to loop around the dove. As much as he loves flying, the sun is starting to hurt his eyes as he struggles to capture Akaashi’s turtledove. He knows Akaashi loves the bird, but by the gods, did it have a “free spirit” and then some. To be fair, Akaashi had befriended it during a quest, so it’s probably all magicked up or something. Which would explain why it was impossible for him to catch the stupid thing despite being a literal son of the skies.

Apparently the turtledove just wants to make his day harder because suddenly it dives downwards towards Camp Half-Blood, darting past the lava-belching climbing wall as it makes it’s way towards the fields. Bokuto gives chase, plunging after the damn bird, pouring on the speed as he tries to catch up to the (he’s now 95% sure it’s) magic avian. He can see his outstretched hand getting closer and closer towards the bird and he is finally able to just get his arms around it when suddenly he hears someone shouting his name.

“Bokuto-san!” Akaashi cries out from a distance, watching in horror as his friend continues to speed towards the ground

“LOOK OUT!” a foreign voice shouts as several other campers scream. Twisting midair, Bokuto does his best to shield the bird from the impact as he plows through the soil, uprooting the rows of wheat, and—

Oh shit. He can see the golden stalks slowly floating down from the air. Please, please, please tell me I didn’t land where I think I landed. There’s a giant divot in the soil where he must have skidded to a stop. His head is aching, and he’s definitely scraped up, but otherwise he’s fine. Bokuto has never gotten seriously hurt from a fall before (courtesy of being a son of Zeus, he guesses). He’s a little banged up, and he’ll definitely be sporting a few bruises, but nothing a bit of ambrosia can’t fix. Groaning, he sits up, and gets a better look around him. There are several campers staring at him in shock, and an increasing number are beginning to look pretty pissed. In the distance, he can see emerald vines agitatedly waving in the air. There’s only one place within the entire camp where you could find moving plants, and oh my gods he is so screwed— Yup, he definitely landed smack dab in the middle of Cabin Four’s fields.

Gods he is in so much trouble- Demeter’s children are fiercely protective of the magical plants in their gardens, fields of wheat included. Grown from mysterious seeds gifted to them by their mother, the crops behind their cabin always seem to yield fruit regardless of the season and can regrow harvests overnight. (Bokuto can confirm this because he once spent an entire evening staring at a watermelon as it developed from bud to full fruit before the sun rose.) Cold dread settles in his stomach once he remembers that the plants only retain their regenerative abilities so long as they remain rooted in the soil of Camp Half-Blood. And he can tell with a glance that the piles of wheat surrounding him are most definitely not rooted in anything. Ah, that’s probably why more than half of Cabin Four looks like they wouldn’t mind tying him up and throwing him into the sacrificial flame before dinner.

Hearing footsteps behind him, he gulps as he stands, turning around to face a pissed off Cabin Four camper. “What the hell did you do to my plants Bokuto?” you scream at him. Bokuto is well known—his shockingly bright hair is recognizable anywhere, and he’s also a son of one of the Big Three, so it’s no surprise you know his name. Tilting his head, he tries to match your face to a name. Maybe you’re a new camper? A glance at the cord around your neck, filled with more than a few beads, assures him you’ve been at camp for a while. Damn, it seems like you’re one of the few campers he’d never crossed paths with up until now. Akaashi appears behind you, chest heaving from sprinting towards Bokuto. He makes concerned eye contact with Bokuto, and the owl-haired man nods reassuringly before revealing the turtledove safely tucked behind his arms.

“Um...I was trying to get this back to ‘Kaashi,” he blurts out, shoving the turtledove in your face. You raise an eyebrow before turning towards the bird. You coo at it, whistling and nodding as the bird chirps back at you. They’re one of the campers Konoha’s mentioned before - the ones who can talk to animals he recalls, watching in awe as you converse with the turtledove. You seem to nod before gesturing for Bokuto to release the dove, which he does hesitantly. Surprisingly, it calmly hops from his hand to your arm, chirruping and nuzzling your cheek with its head as you turn around.

Walking towards another section of the garden, you finally stop in front of a cluster of vines. Moving the dove to your shoulder, squat down, coaxing the vines to slowly grow outwards and around your hands. Your gaze becomes focused, and the spring breeze seems to dance around you as the vines intertwine, spiraling to form a beautiful cage. With a snap of your fingers it’s complete, vines retreating from your hands and moving back towards the soil, leaving you with a sphere of intertwining branches that somehow still look alive despite not being attached to a living plant.

With a small shrug, you nudge the bird towards the entrance of the cage, smiling when it happily chirps it’s satisfaction. Turning around, you hand the spherical container to Akaashi. “She didn’t like the metal cage, but as long as you leave the door open she promises to come back by sunset and not cause any trouble, right?” you pause to look at the turtledove out of the corner of your eye, but she quickly coos at you, assuring you that you shouldn’t be seeing any stray turtledoves for the time being. Akaashi quietly nods and thanks you, clutching the cage firmly to his chest.

For a moment, Bokuto breathes a sigh of relief - it seems like his days of turtledove chasing are over. That quickly changes as you whip around and stomp back towards him, seemingly with the wrath of Hades in your eyes. With one flick of your wrist he finds himself quite literally rooted in place with the surviving wheat stalks and surrounding grass tightening around his limbs. You pull something out of your pocket and oh gods is that a celestial bronze shovel?!

“You!” You’re glaring at him, pointing your shovel at his chest. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to get those magical wheat seedlings growing right?”

Bokuto swallows nervously before shaking his head. Your scowl deepens, and now the shovel is definitely pressing into his collarbone and he’s just the slightest bit worried that he might actually meet an untimely demise (via. a highly enhanced gardening tool).

“You’re so lucky we just harvested this field yesterday, otherwise I would have personally gone to Chiron and requested that you be banned from participating in all combat-related activities for a couple of weeks!”

“Hey, hey, hey! Isn’t that a little much? It’s not like I destroyed the whole field or anything,” Bokuto protests. Sue him for being a little competitive, but he enjoys the chance to butt heads with other campers (all in good fun of course).

“It’s not like I destroyed the whole field or anything,” you parrot back at him in a sing-songy voice. “Yeah, and thank the gods for that, otherwise I’d actually whack you with this shovel right now.” On second thought maybe he shouldn’t talk back. Wounds caused by celestial bronze- even tiny scrapes and bruises - sting like a bitch and aren’t as responsive to ambrosia and nectar. He’d rather not deal with a stinging injury for the next couple of days on top of recovering from his untimely crash-landing into your field.

“Woah, woah, woah, y/n.” Bokuto sighs in relief when he hears Kuroo’s voice. The dark haired son of Hermes approaches you, waving his hands placatingly in front of his chest. “I’m sure we all realize that Bokuto probably shouldn’t have dive bombed your field—”

“Hey, it wasn’t my fault bro!” Bokuto hisses at Kuroo.

“Shut up Bo, I’m trying to save your ass right now,” Kuroo whispers back, before going back to smiling sheepishly at you.

“--but I’d also appreciate it if you didn’t knock my best friend out with a celestial bronze object.”

Chuckling, you tuck the shovel back into your pocket. “I wasn’t gonna even touch him,” you retorted, “just wanted to scare him a bit since this is gonna be a pain in the ass to fix-up.” You sigh, looking at the carnage around you. Any plant grown from your mother’s magical seeds was temperamental at first— the first time you’d tried to grow this field of wheat the plants had almost overtaken all the land surrounding the cabins. It took a careful combination of soil preparation, plant magic, plus many hours of watering, shoveling and weeding, to coax them to grow without overrunning the rest of Camp Half-Blood.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, and now that Akaashi’s bird isn’t trying to Shawshank Redemption its way out of a cage every ten minutes, I’m sure you won’t be getting any sudden sons of Zeus falling from the sky anytime soon,” Kuroo jokes.

“Doesn’t mean it’s going to be a walk in the park to get this back together,” you complain. Your eyebrows are pinched together, lips sticking out in a small pout, and for some reason, despite the fact you’re probably still pissed at him, Bokuto can’t help but find your expression slightly endearing.

Noticing the small pink spots that appear on Bokuto’s cheeks, Kuroo follows his friend's gaze. His smirk deepens when he realizes what’s caught the silver-haired man’s attention. Golden eyes glimmering at the opportunity to provoke you just the tiniest bit, Kuroo replies “Would you mind untying Bo? I mean I know you’re into some kinky stuff y/n but I didn’t realize that—”

“Oh my gods, shut up Kuroo!” you growl, cheeks burning with embarrassment. A rushed wave of your hand causes the vines to drop Bokuto unceremoniously onto the ground. Within a second you’re less than an arms’ length away from Kuroo, celestial bronze shovel pinned against his throat. “I will not hesitate to hit you with this if another word about that so much as leaves your mouth Kuroo,” you hiss.

Kuroo gingerly eases the deadly gardening implement away from his neck, backing away with Bokuto in tow. “Don’t worry about it y/n, after all, we did agree it was only a one-time thing,” he responds, laughing when he sees your back stiffen.

“I hope you go rot in Hades, Kuroo Tetsurou!” you huff, as you roll your eyes. “Go drown in the Acheron or something!” you add before stomping back towards your cabin.

“I’ll let you know when Nico or someone else from Cabin Thirteen has an opening in their calendar to take me down for a visit!” Kuroo barks out a laugh when he catches you flipping him off as you walk towards the cabins.

Stretching your hands above your head, the tension seeps out of your shoulders as the sun sets. You can see the lights of the mess hall glowing in the distance, but you’re too exhausted to bother with a big dinner or company from the other cabins tonight. Instead, you stroll back to your bunk in Cabin Four for a well deserved nap. (If you get hungry, you can always raid the cabin pantry later.)

In the distance, a pair of golden, owl-like eyes keep drifting towards your retreating figure, wondering, why, of all things, you have a celestial bronze gardening shovel.

Bonus Facts:

Y/n owns an entire set of garden tools made with celestial bronze. Bokuto discovers this later and is genuinely scared + concerned™

“That” refers to a secret game of truth and dare that happened one night when all the counselors got bored during their weekly meeting. Both Kuroo and y/n have sworn on the River Styx to never reveal any specific details from said truth and dare. To this day y/n wonders how Kuroo has gotten away with using it to tease them despite their oath.

Bokuto has actually met y/n before, but just in passing. They were responsible for setting plant traps before a particular game of capture the flag that allowed y/n’s team to waltz over the flag and win the game within a half hour, all while Bokuto’s team could do nothing but dangle from where they were tangled in plant stems and watch.

[juniorfics]

hot chocolate

a Kirishima x GN!reader coffee shop!AU

written by: R

word count: 1.1k

warning: very heavy amounts of fluff :D

As the dark clouds filled the sky and the first few drops of rain fell onto the cracked concrete sidewalk, a small bell chimed as a customer came into a small but well loved café  

“I'll be with you in just a moment!” One of the baristas said, looking behind his shoulder. However, he froze for a moment, staring at them for what seemed like an unusually long time, when it was closer to a few seconds. He blinked, a small sign of embarrassment showing on his face, before turning back around and finishing what he was doing. The customer thought nothing of it, and glanced up at the menu. Meanwhile, the red-head behind the counter couldn't help but silently freak out as he continued working on the iced mocha latte for the previous customer. He only saw them for a moment, but from what he did see, he thought that they were very good looking, and was slightly nervous to take their order.

“Here ya go, sir!” he smiled, handing over the drink, “Have a nice day!” The customer smiled, taking a sip as they walked out of the building, opening their umbrella. The barista glanced over at the person in line, took a deep breath, and walked over to the cash register, a big smile on his face. “Hello! Welcome to Coffee Blossom! How can I help you today?” he asked, getting their attention.

“Oh, hi. Can I get a-” They glanced up at the menu again- “Uh...hmm. Umm...sorry, it's my first time here.” They chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of their neck.

“O-oh, it's no trouble at all! Please, take your time,” The barista replied, a tint of pink growing on his cheeks. ‘Their voice is so pretty…’ he thought, watching them quickly scan over the menu again.

“Uh….” They sighed, looking at the red-headed barista. “Um, do you have any recommendations?” They questioned.

“Hmm, my recommendation, huh? Well, I personally really like the hot chocolate! I know it's not coffee, but I could add some if you’d like.” he said, smiling at them.

They blinked. “That..sounds really good, actually. I'll have that then!” they beamed, their eyes sparkling like a child's. The barista’s heart skipped a beat, his blush growing. He prayed to himself that it wasn't too noticeable as he rang them up.

“A-anything else?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly. He cringed at it, but they, personally, thought it was quite cute.

“Nope, that’ll be it!” they smiled, fidgeting with the hem of their shirt.

“Alrighty! That’ll be 400¥, please!”

They reached into their wallet, pulling out the necessary money, and another 100¥ as a tip. She handed the barista the money, which he happily put into the register. Upon seeing the extra 100¥, he looked at them, slightly confused. They simply nodded back at him, which caused him to smile, his blush returning. He slid the extra yen into his pocket, looking back at them. “Could I get a name for the order?” he asked, because he had to put it on the cup, but also because he was curious about their name.

“Oh, it's Y/N,” they smiled, tucking a small piece of hair behind their ear. ‘Y/N...what a lovely name! And it suits them so well too..’ he thought, watching as she walked over to a table near the window. He blinked, turning towards the coffee machines to begin making their order. He decided then and there that he was going to do a little something special for them. Meanwhile, Y/N couldn't help but look at the barista while he made their drink. They couldn't help but think he was adorable. Not to mention he seemed so sweet. They had been to other coffee shop’s before, and saw how the other barista’s put on a fake smile and were nice to them, simply because it was their job, but he seemed genuine. A small blush had spread across their face just thinking about it, and they covered their mouth, staring at the window. 

A few minutes had gone by, and the red-headed barista had finished their drink. As he was writing their name, he hesitated for a moment, before scribbling a little something extra below their name.

“Hot chocolate for Y/N!” he said, looking at them. Their head jolted up slightly, they smiled and walked over to collect their drink.

“Thanks..um..” they said, remembering that they didn't know his name. Luckily, he spoke up. “Kirishima,”

“Ah, well, thank you, Kirishima,” They smiled, walking back over to their table.  Once they sat down, they blew on the drink slightly, taking a sip. Their eyes widened. ‘Wow, he wasn't kidding. This is delicious!’ They thought, taking another sip. ‘It's so chocolatey and creamy! I wonder what type of power they use here.’ out of curiosity, they opened the lid to see what was inside. They blinked. ‘Whipped cream? They don't normally put whipped cream on hot chocolate, do they?’ They took a bite of the whipped cream, then used the straw to push some of it out of the way. ‘..did he put chocolate syrup in here too? That would explain the extra chocolatey taste..and- did he use milk instead of water?? I mean, I'm not complaining, but, why would he..?’ They then saw the side of the cup. Just below their name was what appeared to be a phone number, along with a small message.

‘...oh.’ their faces practically exploded with color. ‘That...makes a lot of sense now, actually.’ They put the lid back on, and continued drinking the hot chocolate. They then glanced over to the counter, and- ‘OMG HE WAS WATCHING ME-’ They quickly looked away, their face getting redder by the second. They glanced back over, only to see that he was also a blushing mess, hunched over on the counter, his head in his arms. They giggled at the sight, and continued drinking their hot chocolate.

After about 20 minutes, they had finished the drink, and were about to head out. While walking to the door, they took a quick glance at Kirishima, who was busy working on another drink.

“Hey,” They said, trying to get his attention, which worked. Kirishima looked up, seeing that Y/N was leaving. Suddenly, they winked at him, and smiled. His face erupted into a bright red, and he looked down at the floor, only to glance back up at them, smiling. They gave a small giggle, before leaving the shop, walking on the damp sidewalk. Kirishima sighed, looking out the window. He smiled, seeing a rainbow beyond the horizon, and went back to working on the drink.

Man, was he excited to get that text.

[yuta-nakamots]

the christmas song - m.ti

Pairing - Taeil x Reader

Genre - Fluff, Single Parent!AU

Warnings - None (lmk if I should add any)

Summary - It wasn’t uncommon for when the weather grows colder, many hearts do as well. Though you hoped this was not true in the case of yours and Taeil’s, that the warmth of each other’s hearts would be enough to break the ice.

Word Count - 4.7k

Taglist - @ahgase55g7 @notnctu @yutacrush @pastelsicheng @puppywritings @neonun-au @dreamieofu

A/N - Inspiration: The Christmas Song by Michael Bublé. Special appearance by: @astroboy-lele​. This fic was also supposed to be released two days ago but finals has not been kind to me :’)

Written for the Taste of Winter Collab hosted by @dearyongs and @pastelsicheng. Also part of the Neowinter Festival hosted by @czennienet and the Neoholiday Festival hosted by @nct-writers.

When you had told your best friend, Furou, that you’d pick up her son from preschool, you thought that you’d just pop in and get the kid, that’s it. You didn’t know that you had signed yourself up to be the referee at a mini MMA fight.

“Xiaolong put the toy down.” You commanded the four-year-old you were supposed to be signing out. He was currently fighting over a little dragon figurine with a young girl who appeared to be his age or somewhere around there.

“No! I had it first!” He cried out. “Get your own dragon!” He yelled towards the girl.

“Xiao, give her the dragon, we’re going home.” You stated firmly.

He refused to give up the toy and started whining even louder, prompting you to pull the toy out of his grasp. “You need to learn how to share, young man,” you scolded before turning to the little girl he was fighting with, “I’m sorry about that sweetie, what’s your name?”

“Jaeha.” You were surprised when you heard two voices, one from the girl in front of you and another from behind you. Turning around, you were greeted by a handsome young man who you assumed was Jaeha’s father from the resemblance she bore to him. “Her name is Jaeha. Sorry about her, she’s a bit much to handle when she sees something she wants.”

“Oh, it’s alright, Xiaolong here needs to learn how to share things properly,” you motioned over to the said boy who still had his eyes on the little dragon in your hands, “I can’t believe he’s nearly five years old and doesn’t know what sharing is.”

“Jaeha’s the same way. It must be an age thing,” the man said with a chuckle, “Is he yours?”

Your eyes widened as you hurried to explain your relation to Xiaolong. “He’s not mine, I’m just here picking him up for my best friend. She has her hands full being a med student and all.”

“Ah, I see,” He remarked as he picked up Jaeha, “this little rascal is mine, though I wouldn’t trade her for anything else in the world.”

You felt a tug on your shirt and looked down to see Xiaolong still eyeing the toy. “No, Xiao, mommy is waiting for you at home. I can buy you a little dinosaur of your own if you want one so badly, how about that?” The boy broke into a smile at your offer.

“Oh, can you recommend some good kid’s stores in the area? I just moved here so I’m not too familiar with everything just yet.” The man informed you.

“At least you had the sense to come at the beginning of the school year, I pity the kids who are just thrown in during the middle of the school year,” you commented, “but the toy store I normally take this little guy to is the one near the end of this street, it’s in the little shopping center.”

“I’ll try taking Jaeha there once we get a little more settled in, thank you. My name is Taeil by the way. You are?”

“Y/n,” you said with a smile, “would you like my number? Like in case you ever need anything?”

“Yeah, sure! That’s very kind of you.” His voice was very sweet and kind of calming, you noticed.

When you were dropping Xiaolong of at Furou’s apartment, you couldn’t help but let her in on your encounter from just a little earlier. “Is he cute?” She asked, excited to hear you talk about a new man after your last relationship didn’t go so well.

“He is, but he Furou, I just told you that he has a daughter. He probably has a wife or at least a girlfriend if anything.” You didn’t want to get your hopes up in case this was true.

Furou hummed out in thought, “yeah well, you never know.”

You shrugged your shoulders, indifferent to the whole situation. “If you ever need me to pick him up again, feel free to call.” You said, nodding over to Xiaolong who was busying himself in front of the TV with his collection of toys.

A week later and you find yourself in a similar situation from the daycare, except this time it’s at the local swim center where you were supposed to be picking Xiaolong up from.

The only difference was that this time Taeil had gotten to the two fighting kids before you did. “Jaeha, no, Xiaolong had the goggles before you did. You can’t just take them from him when he’s clearly using them.”

Xiaolong made a face at her, seeing as how her own father sided with him. Jaeha made the same mocking face back at him. “But Daddy, he’s being mean.” She whined.

“That doesn’t mean that you have to act the same back to him.” Taeil explained calmly to the irritated four-year-old.

“Jaeha, how about you apologize to Xiaolong so he knows you’re sorry.” You proposed, joining Taeil where he stood in front of the two kids, both still dripping from being in the pool.

Jaeha let out a sigh before turning to Xiaolong. “I’m sorry for taking your goggles.” She admitted plainly.

“And?” Taeil prompted.

“And I won’t do it again.” Jaeha concluded.

You turned to Xiaolong, “do you accept her apology?”

“Do I have to?” He questioned.

“No, but it would be nice if you did.” You replied.

“Okay, then I guess I will.” You made a mental note to tell Furou that her son was getting increasingly sassier by the day so she better watch her mouth around him.

After both kids were sent off to go wash up and change, Taeil spoke up as you both waited for them to return. “Sorry about that again. If you don’t mind, how about I take you to lunch sometime as an apology.”

“No apology necessary but I like the sound of that. Are you free this week?” You inquired.

“Yes, actually. Does Friday work for you?” He appealed.

“It sure does,” you informed him with a smile, “we can talk about the details over text, the kids are coming back.”

Taeil’s smile mirrored yours as he agreed with you, “sounds like a plan.”

As you were dropping Xiaolong off at Furou’s once again, you told her about the new development in your relationship with Taeil. “Okay but no taken man would ask out a woman to lunch.” She commented.

“It could just be in a friendly manner because he said ‘as an apology’ for the kids fighting at swim class.” You reasoned.

“Check his ring finger,” Furou sighed out, “you need to check it next time you see him or else I really will strangle you.”

Your eyes widen at her statement. “Not every married or taken person wears a ring these days.”

Furou put her head in her hands. “You’re really frustrating to work with, you know,” she pauses as she looks back at you, “I’m rooting for you, I really am, so stop making excuses and actually try, will you?”

“Fine, fine, but if, and only if, he is single and is ready to be in a relationship.” You decided.

“Fair enough.” Furou agreed.

It was currently Wednesday and you had told your coworkers Xiaojun and Hendery about your upcoming dating on Friday. The three of you were hired around the same time under the marketing branch of Neo Corp. and quickly grew close to each other after finding out you were all the same age.

Part of your job as being part of the marketing team was to come up with possible marketing strategies for the company, which Hendery excelled at. Though sometimes, he got a little too extreme and that’s where Xiaojun comes in to moderate him. You did a little bit of both, coming up with the ‘Gen Z’ type of ideas with Hendery but also keeping things realistic and reasoning with Xiaojun why some ideas are better than others. Such was the case with your situation with Taeil.

“Do you know where he plans on going for lunch then?” Xiaojun asks, excited to hear about an actual possible relationship as opposed to Hendery’s weekly hook-ups.

You shook your head, “he said he would text me but he hasn’t yet.”

“Are you sure he even has your number?” Hendery chimed in.

“Yes, I’m sure. I told you that we traded numbers after the preschool incident.” You breathed out, wondering just how Hendery got himself hired.

He held his hands up in defense, “just double-checking.”

At that moment, your phone vibrated and you picked it up without much thought.

Unknown > y/n

11:46pm: Hi y/n, this is Taeil. I thought about this for a bit, and it’s actually quite embarrassing to admit, but I don’t really know where would be a good place to go for Friday. I’m open to any suggestions you have though, I trust your taste.

“Oh my gosh, guys he just texted me,” you exclaimed, “he said that he doesn’t know where to go and wants me to suggest somewhere to go.”

“How would he not know where to go?” Hendery wondered in disbelief.

“Hey, not everyone is level 100 at dating like you are.” Xiaojun teased though Hendery took it as a compliment and winked at him while laughing. “Anyways,” Xiaojun continued, “maybe you could go to that little coffee shop down the street. The one we ordered the sandwiches from last week.”

“Those were some pretty good sandwiches” Hendery interjected.

“Hmm, I actually like the sound of that. I’ll send him the address for it, thanks guys.” You told them appreciatively.

Xiaojun spun around in his chair, “wow, I can’t believe our y/n is finally going on a date for the first time in over a whole year.”

You looked up to shoot him a look. “It doesn’t help when all you men are so weird.”

“She’s not wrong.” Hendery commented in agreement.

When Friday came around, you couldn’t help but be excited for your little date with Taeil. You had even somehow managed to sneak out ten minutes before your lunch break began, though you probably should have just left then instead.

There was the familiar ding of the elevator when you hit the button and you hoped it wouldn’t take long since the indicator above the door showed it was coming down from one of the higher floors. You also hoped it would be empty since that was the floor the executives were on and you didn’t really want to be caught leaving for lunch earlier than you should be.

Luck clearly was not on your side when the door opened, revealing your director, Taeyong along with none other than Taeil. “...yeah she’s really nice and pretty cute too. I met her when I was picking up Jaeha from swim-” He barely managed to stop himself mid-sentence when he realized your presence.

“Good afternoon, Ms. y/n.” Taeyong greeted you as you stepped into the elevator next to him.

“Good afternoon to you too, Mr. Lee.” You replied, not missing the pout he made when you referred to him so formally.

“I told you to just call me Taeyong, we’ve worked together for almost five years now.” He whined, childishly stomping his foot to help get his point across.

You shook your head with a laugh. “I can’t help it, you’re my boss and we’re at work. When we’re not on the clock then maybe I’ll call you Taeyong,” you couldn’t hide your smile at the way his eyes filled with hope because of your words, “but right now you’re Mr. Lee, chief marketing officer of Neo Corp. and my head director, so let’s keep things professional.”

Taeyong let out another grumble, causing Taeil to chuckle, inadvertently reminding Taeyong of his presence. “Oh, right! Ms. y/n, this is Taeil, chief information officer. He just transferred over from our branch in Korea.”

You looked over at Taeil, unsure of how to react in case he wanted to keep your relationship on the low. “Ah, I actually met y/n last week.” He informed Taeyong, the two of them sharing a knowing look.

The elevator chimed once again as it slowed to a stop at a different floor. “Well it’s nice to know that you’re making friends here, Taeil,” Taeyong remarked as he stepped out of the elevator, “but I’ll see the two of you around, no funny business in the elevator!”

You laughed as the doors shut and the elevator continued on to the ground floor. “So, chief information officer? Really?” You asked in disbelief, turning to Taeil.

“Yeah, really.” He replied, a hand behind his neck as he looked away shyly. “I wasn’t planning on saying much about my job but since you’re in the company anyway, I guess there’s nothing to hide.”

“If anything, I have more to hide.” You joked, immediately stopping to explain when you see Taeil’s worried expression. “I mean like, with me leaving early for lunch right now and the other stuff that goes on in the marketing department since you’re an executive and all.”

“Oh, you can still talk to me, I promise I won’t tell Taeyong.” He said as you shot him a look while the elevator dinged once again, signaling its arrival.

Continuing your conversation on the walk to the cafe, you asked Taeil “why did you move here, especially since Jaeha is so young?”

“I was actually just recently promoted after the former head director retired,” he explained, “the branch in Korea isn’t as developed as the one here so the company asked me to move out to this one just to make things easier.” You nodded your head to let him know you were listening. “As for Jaeha, the timing worked out with school just starting up.”

“Don’t you have a wife or girlfriend that you could have left her with?” You question, hoping the question wasn’t too invasive.

Taeil hesitates a bit before responding. “Her mother...she passed away two years ago. I’ve spent so long mourning her loss and only recently did I decide that it was time for a change and the promotion came just like that.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“No it’s totally fine, I understand where the curiosity came from.” Taeil interrupted, which you weren’t upset about at all.

Speaking with Taeil was surprisingly easy considering the fact that you’ve only known him for a little over a week. Even as the two of you ate, it wasn’t awkward like you thought it would be. You were able to connect with him as you spoke about the best places to shop or go to hang out. You even had enough confidence to ask him out on a date to one of the latter places, which he agrees to.

This first date turned into a second, then a third, and even up to a sixth. Xiaojun and Hendery are always asking for the latest details, wanting to be kept up to date with your budding relationship. You made sure to keep Furou in the loop too since she was the one who helped to start this relationship by asking you to pick up her son from preschool. Though again, she had called you to pick him up from his swim lessons since it was finals season and she forgot she had a paper due at midnight.

It was already November and the fall weather was changing to winter, even the heated indoor pool was not enough to keep the chill out of the room, causing you to shiver just a bit as you waited for Xiaolong’s class to end. You distracted yourself by watching the kids swim back and forth with their instructors and got so caught up in it that you nearly jumped out of your skin when Taeil sat down next to you.

Both of you laughed at the situation and began talking about anything that came to mind whether it be about work, Jaeha’s antics at home, a new recipe you tried out, you really felt like you could talk to Taeil about anything. It was quite disappointing when you heard the chatter from the kids as they all began getting out of the pool and going to change out of their swimwear.

You said goodbye to Taeil when Xiaolong and Jaeha came out, bickering as usual, though it seemed to be more friendly since it was about which superhero would win in a fight though neither side really wanted to admit defeat. As much as you wanted to watch them continue their debate, you knew Furou would be waiting for you so you helped Taeil end it and take the kids out of the building.

As you were getting into your car, you hear an engine struggling to start from nearby though you pay it no mind since the cold weather can cause cars to act up. You looked around, trying to figure out which car it was when you realized that the engine really wasn’t starting and found a very frustrated looking Taeil getting out of his car and opening the hood of it.

You told Xiaolong you’d be back in a bit before leaving to offer Taeil help in any way possible. You didn’t really know much about cars so it just ended up being you offering him a ride home, which he gratefully accepted since the sun was starting to set and the temperature continued dropping.

Taeil smiled at you once both of the kids were secured in the backseat and resumed their previous argument. “Thanks for being so nice and helping me out like this. You really didn’t have to.”

“I didn’t have to,” you agree, “but I wanted to.” You saw Taeil make a face out of the corner of your eye. “I’m sorry, was that too cheesy?”

“It was cheesy but I like it.” He chuckled, which was not a surprise to you after hearing the jokes he often makes.

The ride to Taeil’s apartment was rather peaceful aside from the kids in the back and it ended a little too soon for your liking but it seemed that Taeil was thinking the same was since he graciously invited you inside for a bit to thank you.

Jaeha was getting tired and cranky and started actually arguing with Xiaolong though Taeil quickly put it to rest when he turned on the TV and put on a show that he claims Jaeha has been really into these days. As soon as the kids are successfully distracted, the two of you decide to move your conversation to the kitchen where you won’t disturb them.

“Taeyong has been asking about you a lot these days.” He informs you.

You raise an eyebrow at this. “Really? What does he say about me?”

“Oh, nothing much. Just telling me to take good care of you and how he’ll send me back to Korea if I hurt one of his favorite employees.” He shakes his head at the playfulness of his fellow executive. “I didn’t know you were one of his favorites though.”

“You’d never believe this but he hired me on the spot after seeing a few of the ads I had put together for other companies.” You pulled out your phone to see if you still had pictures of them that you could show to Taeil. “Mr. Suh even said that he thinks Taeyong may or may not have had a crush on me, though he was leaning strongly towards the ‘may have’ side.”

“Ah, that’s Johnny alright. Always getting up in other people’s business. I’m surprised he’s not on me the way Taeyong is though.” Taeil laughed.

“Isn’t he busy with the foreign expansion project? Or is that not under his watch?” You ask.

Taeil shook his head, “it’s under him but he’s working with HR and finances as well so things are taking a while.”

“It’s HR, what do you expect?” You joke, drawing a chuckle from Taeil too.

“But anyway, I’m glad Taeyong didn’t act on his possible crush on you.” He states.

“Oh? And why is that?” You questioned.

“Well, you see, I actually really-” He was cut off by the sound of your phone ringing.

You pick it up, checking the caller ID, and let out a gasp when you see it was Furou and just how late it had gotten. “Hold on, I have to take this. Hello?”

You’re answered by the audio of Marlin from Nemo going “have you seen my son? Have you seen my son?” and nearly snort from how ironic it was.

“Sorry, I stopped by somewhere else for a bit. I’ll bring Xiao back in a bit, I promise.” You told Furou.

“Okay, but hurry up, his dinner's getting cold.” She grumbled.

You rolled your eyes, forgetting that she couldn’t see you. “You have a microw-” the beeping over the line interrupted you and you pulled the phone away from your ear only to see that she hung up on you. “That bitch, I swear-”

“Xiaolong’s mom?” Taeil guessed.

You nodded your head and let out a sigh. “I should get going before she gets any more pressed on where her son is. I’ll text you when I get home.”

“Alright, please drive safely.” He tells you as he goes to get Xiaolong from the living room.

The first snow had fallen in the second week of December, indicating that it was time for the annual marketing department’s holiday party. Most, if not all, of the people in the department, looked forward to the party since Taeyong had declared it to be totally informal, no treating people as superiors in the workplace, no formal mentions of names, nothing.

You knew a fairly large amount of people in the marketing department and most of them knew each other as well so it was easy to pinpoint an unfamiliar face in the crowd. “Who’s that guy in the corner over there?” Hendery asks you as you both stood in line for the buffet.

You looked over, finding the person in question, only to realize it was Taeil. Next to him was Taeyong who had caught you staring and waved at you. Taeil turned as well, smiling as you waved over at them before sending you a little finger heart. “Okay, now I really want to know who he is. What was all that about?” Hendery pressed.

“Can’t you see? That’s clearly Taeil,” Xiaojun butted in, “who else would she be giggling about when they send her a heart like that? You’re so dense sometimes.”

“Hey! That’s only sometimes though.” Hendery defends, emphasizing the word ‘sometimes’. “Let’s go sit at the table next to them. Xiaojun go sit down before someone else does.”

Xiaojun let out a whine. “That means I have to get out of line and get back in line once you guys already have your food though.”

“We won’t start eating without you, I promise.” You tell him.

Xiaojun caves at that and goes “ugh, fine” as he walks over to the table next to Taeyong, Taeil, and the other higher-ups.

“That promise only extends to you right? You didn’t say ‘we promise’, right?” Hendery whispers into your ear.

Scoffing, you hit his shoulder, “Be nice.” He rubs the spot where you hit him and mocks your expression.

Hendery’s teasing continues throughout all the games like ‘pin the tail on Taeyong’ when he insisted that you do it on Taeil, which Taeyong even supported and allowed to happen. This paired with when Hendery screamed out yours and Taeil’s names for the pocky challenge was really pushing your buttons but you couldn’t deny the fact that you enjoyed being with Taeil and getting to feel the slightest brush of his lips against yours.

“So, do you have any plans for the holidays?” You ask him as you take the seat next to him, seeing as how Hendery was actively talking to Taeyong who was currently in yours.

Taeil lightly hummed “mmm, no, not really. Why?”

“I was just gonna say that if you don’t have anywhere else better to be, I’d like it a lot if you were to come over to my apartment sometime.” You say shyly.

“I like that too,” he admits with a smile, “how about Christmas Eve? That way we don’t get in your way in case you have any plans for Christmas?”

“Yeah, that sounds good to me.” Laughter erupted from the table next to you and you looked over to see Taeyong all but choking down your glass of water with a half-eaten pepper in front of him while Hendery films him with his phone. “Thank god we’re off for the rest of the week.” Taeil nods in agreement.

It was Taeil’s idea to cook dinner together since he didn’t want you to go through the hassle of making a large meal on your own. You were thankful though since you didn’t really trust your own cooking abilities, especially since you were fine with just eating whatever since it was usually just you eating the food you made.

Taeil was, by far, a much more skilled cook than you though he never once made you feel bad about it, instead of teaching you and giving you tips every so often. Being able to cook with him made the time go by so much faster and it made you wish that cooking was like this all the time.

The two of you took your servings of food to the living room and ate on the couch, Jaeha seated on the floor in front of both of you, the Hallmark movie on TV illuminating your living room. The movie was barely even halfway through when you hear the slightest of snores from Jaeha.

The little girl had cleaned off her plate and was now dozing off, the tiniest bit of drool forming at the corner of her lip. “I think that’s a sign that I should get going soon.” Taeil whispers, careful not to wake his daughter.

“You can stay if you want.” You tell him.

He shakes his head, “no, I really should get going. I’d rather wake her up now and get her home sooner than have her get a weird sleeping schedule going.”

“No, I mean like, you can stay the night if you’d like.”

“A-are you sure?” Taeil asks, eyes growing wide.

“Of course.”

“In that case, there’s something I want to do first.” He pulled out his phone and began typing before holding it above both of your heads.

You look up at his phone at back at him in confusion, “what are you-”

“It’s mistletoe, look!” He showed you his phone screen and sure enough, it was an image of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling.

Rolling your eyes, you tell him, “if you want me to kiss you, you could have just asked.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Then can I just ask you to be my girlfriend?”

You froze with your mouth slightly open. “Moon Taeil, that is like, the smoothest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“Sooooo is that a yes?”

“Definitely a yes,” you set your plate down on the side and leaned over from where you were sitting, closing the distance between you and Taeil, “now how about that kiss?”

Taeil’s lips met yours and couldn’t believe how soft they were. You felt his hand come up to caress your cheek as your lips slowly began moving together. His lips parted ever so slightly but before either of you could do anything, “Dear Santa, my wish is to never see this happen ever again.”

You and Taeil broke apart from each other, looking down to see Jaeha with her hands over her eyes. Taeil picked her up and settled her in between both of you. “Well, sweetie, you’re going to have to get used to it because you’re going to be seeing y/n a lot more often now.”

[isolemnlyswearpevensie]

Paper Cut Part 2 | Edmund Pevensie x Reader Soulmate AU

Warnings: Making out/kissing

Time/Era: Modern AU but the Pevensies have been to Narnia. 

Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: Y/N confronts Edmund about the intense injuries she had received in the past. 

A/N: Here’s the second part to paper cut :) If you haven’t read the first part, link below! Please send requests :D Enjoy! 

Part 1 | Part 3 | masterlist | read on ao3

“Edmund, I think you have a lot of explaining to do.”

Edmund’s face was unreadable, almost as if it was made of stone. He stayed quiet; the only sounds that filled the air were the shuffling of the barista and the espresso machine. Y/N wished he would just say something. The silence was damning. 

“Edmund?” His gaze didn’t falter at his name but stayed glued to Y/N’s hand. His eyes traveled up her arm, taking mental notes of every scar, bruise, bump, or cut. Edmund stood up without a word, the chair making a painful screeching noise in his path, and walked out of the coffee shop. 

Meeting her soulmate had been completely different in her head; maybe they would fall into each other’s arms in the streets of London. He would sweep her off of her feet after noticing a small scar on her neck and say something disgustingly romantic. “I’ve been waiting for you, Y/N, you’re even more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.” Then, they would fall madly, deeply in love, and adopt a dog. Fall wedding perhaps? Maybe summer? But here Y/N sat, one hand on her stomach, the other gripping a foreign notebook. Before Y/N could process what was happening, Edmund was out of sight and she was left to her own thoughts. 

~

“Y/N! Wake up!” Y/N was startled by Y/B/F/N shaking her awake. “Don’t you have a final in like an hour?” 

That sentence felt like a bucket of ice water. Y/N sprung up from her warm bed and scrambled to get ready. The clock seemed to run dangerously fast and by the time she opened the door of her lecture hall, the test was being passed out. 

“You have three hours and because I’m in such a good mood, you may use your study guide.” The professor continued to pass the packets around the room. They looked thick and time-consuming. Time management had never been Y/N’s strong suit. 

When she was handed her paper, all she could do was take a deep breath. This professor was a harsh grader, so unless her answers were 100% correct, there was no way Y/N would pass. She took the unfamiliar notebook she received from Edmund out of her bag and opened it to his scribbled notes. 

His handwriting was somewhere in between messy and neat; some of the words ran into one another and they were all slanted to the right slightly, yet the letters were beautifully constructed and entirely intelligible. Edmund also took it upon himself to highlight passages he deemed important with a note at the beginning that read: my sister had to take o chem. I asked her what’s important. That was sweet, Y/N thought. 

It seemed as if Edmund knew what he was talking about, too. Each answer was answered completely with further background information to make it easy to understand. Why would you willingly take this? Seems like hell… was written in the margins next to one of the boxes of text. I could say the same about law, sweater boy. 

By the time Y/N had finished her final, the three hours had turned into 10 minutes. She was one of three students left in the classroom and the other two were looking beyond panicked. Most of the class seemed to have either blazed through it like it was an 8-year-old’s math homework or given up halfway through and accepted their loss. Y/N, however, had to pass this class so she triple-checked her answers, took a daydream break, then checked it again. She would be lying if she said her daydreams didn’t consist of Edmund. She wondered if he would ever text her again. 

The young girl hurriedly walked out of the classroom, happy to be done with the semester. She wrapped her jacket tightly around her and braced herself to brave the aggressive weather. 

“Hey,” A voice from her right called out. It was Edmund; he was leaning against the wall lazily. His nose was a bright pink, as were his cheeks, and his hands were pushed into his pockets for warmth.

“Edmund? What are you doing here? You must be freezing!” Y/N walked over to him and looked him once over. A simple long sleeve shirt, vest, and jeans. Y/N slung her wool scarf around his neck. 

“Oh, uh, thanks…” He pushed himself off of the wall with his shoulder. Damn, his shoulders were huge. 

“I’m sorry about the coffee shop, I didn’t mean to jump you like that,” Y/N apologized bashfully. He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. 

“No, I get it. I would have the same reaction. That’s, uh, why I’m here.” Edmund was awkward, looking anywhere but her eyes. Instead, he observed her freckles, eyebrows, and cheeks. “I was wondering if we could, uh, talk? Maybe somewhere private? Like my dorm?”

“Oh, so you want to take me, your newly discovered soulmate, back to your dorm?” Y/N had a hint of mischief in her eyes and a teasing smile on her lips. Edmund’s eyes grew wide and he started to sputter. 

“That’s not what I meant! I would never! I mean unless you wanted to, but no! I just meant to talk,” His cheeks are red again, but this time it wasn’t from the cold. 

“I’m just taking the piss, let’s go, vesty.”

~ 

Edmunds dorm was not what she was expecting. One side looked like it was hit by a tornado, but the other was very organized. Even on the floor, there was a distinct division between the two sides. The neat side, which appeared to be Edmund’s, was very plain. His bed was made with a red duvet and black pillows, his desk was blank besides a small pencil cup, and the cork board hanging above his desk had reminders and pictures. 

“Those are my siblings,” Edmund noticed Y/N’s wandering eyes. “They’re practically dying to meet you, Y/N.”

“How did you know my name? I never told you,” She crossed her arms and strained her neck to look back at him. 

“Ah, so I was right, you don’t remember me. We took a few classes together during first and second years. I always thought you were cute, so I guess it stuck.” Now it was Y/N’s turn to blush. 

“You think I’m cute?” Her arms uncrossed and turned so she was facing him head-on. 

“Well, yeah. You are my soulmate, after all, Y/N. Don’t be silly,” Edmund seemed to be growing more and more comfortable. He was enjoying watching her blush because of what he said; it made a sense of pride grow in his stomach. This was his person, and she was standing right in front of him. 

“Speaking of soulmates…” Y/N trailed off and looked towards the floor. Her hands grasp the zipper of her jacket and unzip it, before rolling up the bottom of her shirt. The jagged scar was on full display, a stark contrast against the skin of her abdomen. Edmund eyed it guiltily; he knew the exact pain she had to go through to get that scar. She had to go through that pain because of him. His own hands found the bottom seam of his own clothes and pulled it up to reveal a matching mark. 

“I can explain but you won’t believe me,” His honey-brown eyes met hers. 

“Try me, Pevensie.” 

He led her to sit on her bed and sat next to her. Y/N hastily kicked off her shoes so she could sit with her legs crossed on her bed. Her shoes tumbled to the ground with two thuds. Edmund, on the other hand, just bent one leg and let the other hang off the edge. He took her hands in his. 

“You have to promise me to listen to it all before you ask questions,” Edmund fidgeted nervously with a ring on Y/N’s fingers as they spoke. Y/N didn’t know if this was on purpose or a subconscious action, but it comforted her all the same.  

“Well, when I was young my parents sent my siblings and me to live away from home. When we were there, my little sister Lucy discovered a wardrobe in one of the spare rooms. Well, inside the wardrobe was this beautiful land called Narnia. It was gorgeous and huge! And when I say huge, I mean HUGE!” He caught himself rambling excitedly and reeled it back in. “Well, uh, anyway, there was this woman, we called her the White Witch and she manipulated me into basically selling my siblings out. The entire nation of Narnia got into a huge battle and the White Witch stabbed me.” 

“Did she lock you up somewhere cold?” Y/N asked, disregarding her promise to stay quiet. 

“Um, yeah. She locked me in this big ice cell. It wasn’t fun. I’m pretty sure I almost got frostbite but my body rejected it because I started warming up randomly.”

Y/N smiled. The paper towel. 

“But that scar on your stomach,” He took his hand away from yours and gently touched your stomach. “Is because she stabbed me. But again, my sister Lucy had this special liquid that could heal any injury.” 

Edmund seemed to smile at the memory. “Long story short, my siblings and I got crowned Kings and Queens of Narnia and ruled for a number of years. We then got sent back-”

“Wait, wait, wait, Kings, and Queens? Who are you? Alexander the Great?” Her tone was teasing and unbelieving. 

“Edmund the Just, actually. And I told you to listen!” His smile reached his eyes this time. “Well we came back to earth through the wardrobe and we were kids again! About a year later, we returned to Narnia and met our good friend Caspian. We had to fight Caspian’s home country. In the end, Aslan helped us and Caspian became a king as well.”

“Who’s Aslan?” Y/N was doing her best to keep up and believe the information, but it was quite hard. 

“He’s a big lion, he’s kind of like the ruler of Narnia. I guess you could say a God? I guess…”

“A big lion god? Edmund…”

“I know it sounds crazy, Y/N. I know but you have to believe me! I went one more time with Lucy and my cousin. We were on a big Naval ship with Caspian and we had to find a bunch of swords-”

“Edmund, love, just tell me the truth.” Y/N was sad that right off the bat her soulmate was lying to her. Edmund’s eyes seemed to lose their sparkle. 

“I would never lie to you, Y/N. Here, look.” He took off Y/N’s scarf and gently placed it on the bed before pulling his vest and shirt over his head. On his rips was a beautifully drawn tattoo of a lion that appeared to be roaring. And on his collarbone was a sword. Y/N delicately reached her hand out and ran her fingertips against the drawing of the weapon. It had insane detail and the way it was drawn made it look sharp. Y/N retracted her hand and sat back. 

“That’s one of the swords we found during my third trip. It was gifted to Caspian by the lord who owned it. And this is Aslan. His roar was the most powerful magic in all of Narnia.” Edmund searched Y/N’s face for any emotion she was feeling. Right now, she was staring at the sword with a pondering look on her face. 

“Okay, say you were a king-”

“I am a king.”

“Fine, you’re a king. What exactly did you do, ya know, as a ruler?”

“Well, me and my brother Peter ran the army and trained them for battle. Along with other things like managing trade and creating political policies.”

“So, fighting? You fight?”

“Yeah, I fought in many battles, big and small. I got stabbed, remember.” His smile was cheeky and he pulled his long sleeve back on. “Once I got good, I didn’t even use a shield. I fought with two swords.”

“TWO? Aren’t those things heavy?”

“Well, yes, but when you went through all of the training I did, it gets easier.” Edmund could tell he was starting to believe him. 

“Tell me more.”

~

The two spent the next few hours discussing the ins and outs of Narnia down to the floor plan of Cair Paravel. Y/N had decided that Edmund had way too much detail to be making it up, and even if he did, it was so magical that she wouldn’t even be mad. 

“Okay, vesty, I believe you.” Y/N says after Edmund gave a lengthy explanation about all the gifts his siblings received and what they do. He stopped mid-word and stared at her. 

“You believe me? Really?” 

Y/N smiled and nodded. “Yes, Edmund. I’m going to be spending my life with you, your highness, so I may as well get familiar with it.”

“Please don’t call me that,” Edmund scooted closer to her. “I hated it even when people in Narnia called me that. I don’t need people outside of Narnia calling me it. Especially not you.” 

She turned her head so she was staring right at him. “Why not me?” Y/N’s speech came out as a whisper. They were so close that she didn’t need to speak loudly. 

“Because if I really was your highness, it would be kind of weird for me to do this.”

Edmund placed a hand on Y/N’s jaw and leaned in. His lips barely brushed her lips before pressing firmly against them. Y/N’s eyes closed shut and she happily kissed back. 

When people described kissing their soulmate for the first time, they always explain it as an electric spark igniting throughout their entire body. They explain it as a firework show full of magnificent colors. Kissing Edmund didn’t feel like that. Kissing Edmund felt like home. She felt safe, secure, and loved as if kissing this boy was what she was meant to do for her entire life. The way he tasted, like peppermint and candy, was the best thing she had ever tasted. And they way he held her, one hand on her jaw and the other holding her close to him by her waist, felt like the warmth of a favorite blanket. The way he moved made her knees feel like jelly. 

As their lip lock continued, his fingertips danced across her back until it landed on the other side of her jaw. He pulled away from their kiss, pressing a quick peck against her nose and jaw before leaning against his headboard. 

“I’ve been wanting to do that for my entire life,” Y/N said, her voice gentle and soft. 

“Me too. The thought of kissing you, Y/N L/N, was the only thing that got me through some tough times. I had to make it to be able to feel what it was like.”

Y/N was silent for a long moment. 

“Edmund, love, do you think I will ever go to Narnia?”

Edmund looked at her for a long moment then smiled with half of his mouth. 

“I don’t know, darling, but anything is possible. Especially when it comes to Narnia.” 

[yukipri]

Marco’s Bauble Part 3 - a One Piece Mermaid AU Text Story

Here’s part 3 of the Marco’s Bauble story, posted last month on Patreon!

Finally, an appearance from Marco himself ^ ^

Contains mention of Marco x Luffy.

Continues off of, and should be read after:

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 1

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 2

~~

Namur takes great pride in being a fishman in the Whitebeard Pirates.

Fishmen and merfolk are usually usually reluctant to join human-dominated organizations, and with good reason, given their long and painful history of suffering prejudice. And for those few who do feel the call of pirating, joining Jinbe and the Sun Pirates to be among their own kind is a natural and comfortable choice.

Jinbe's a good friend, and Namur has nothing but the highest respect for him and Aladine, but he's already chosen who to follow.

Pops, who stood up and protected Fishman island with just one word. Pops, who lets them keep his flag on the island without any tribute, which not even the world government would allow. Pops, who personally brings the wrath of colossal waves and quaking earth every time humans try to bring trouble to the undersea oasis.

Namur knew that he'd be alone among humans, but he trusts Pops, and trusts those who follow him and protect his home alongside him. And given everything he's done for Fishman Island, Namur feels it only fitting that fishmen be represented on the crew.

And so Namur became the first Fishman to join the Whitebeard pirates, but he wasn't the last. By the time Namur had been raised to the rank of 8th Division Commander, a handful of others had joined, along with a number of other people from various tribes considered not quite fully human. Some minks, some longarms, even one guy from a sky island.

In a crew as massive as theirs, diversity isn't surprising, and Pops has ensured they've never been alienated. Even so, the 8th Division became a natural gathering spot for those seeking others who are also a little different, and Namur's damn proud of his versatile, unique division that can handle missions that no other group can.

Namur's happiest aboard the Moby, and it's his one true home now. But at the same time, after spending so much time away from Fishman island, he sometimes misses his birth homeland and culture.

Which is why it feels like reverse culture shock when something familiar appears in front of him with no warning.

Like right now. On Marco's desk.

"Uh," Namur says eloquently, reports in his hand forgotten, eyes glued to the Thing that Marco's now wrapping in what looks like a letter, written in Marco's unmistakable elegant cursive.

"Sorry, I'll be done in a second, yoi," Marco says, and Namur freezes, realizing he must have intruded on possibly a very private moment--except Marco doesn't seem particularly bothered.

Well, even if Marco doesn't mind, Namur still feels awkward, and forces himself to avoid looking at the now-wrapped Thing. He really feels like he just saw something he shouldn't have. Had he knocked before coming in? He thought he had. He thought Marco had told him to come in, but now he's not so sure, because dropping by Marco's office to hand in reports is so habitual. Namur begins to sweat.

"Alright, what is it?"

Marco turns around, and he's wearing those glasses he always wears when he has to pour over documents for hours, that somehow make the legendary Phoenix look less like a terrifying warrior and more like an exhausted secretary. He's wearing his usual open shirt, Pops's mark proudly emblazoned on his chest, and his head still looks like a tropical fruit, and his face still looks kinda stoned. So, the usual Marco. Nothing amiss.

But maybe he's just hiding it. Humans can be so hard to read at times, and Marco wears his poker face better than most. Even though Namur's been his crew mate for roughly twenty years now, he still can't really see through it. Namur fidgets, palms feeling slick.

"Reports from the Eighth's last mission?" Marco prompts, and Namur flinches because oh, he'd been staring.

"Uh, yeah," he forces out, and raises his arm mechanically to pass over the bundle of documents he'd spent the entire morning writing up.

He notices that Marco uses his right hand to take it. He's heard that sometimes, humans wear the equivalent of the Thing on their left hand, and Namur realizes he hasn't seen (or perhaps just hasn't noticed) Marco's left hand in a while. He wonders if Marco's actually hiding it, and sneakily tries to peek at Marco's left side.

Apparently not sneakily enough, because Marco's sharp eyes flick to his side to try to catch what he must have thought Namur was trying to see, and Namur hastily straightens.

They stare at each other and the silence stretches awkwardly, and oh, Namur can tell this one, Marco looks very Confused. It comes off as sorta constipated, but Namur knows Marco well enough recognize the emotion on his questionably human face, and immediately feels bad. He didn't mean to act suspiciously, or snoop in Marco's personal life, but...he's so unbearably curious.

Namur supposes honesty is better.

"Marco," he tries to choose his words carefully, "that, on your desk..." Namur makes a vague jerky motion at the Thing.

"Oh, this?" Marco plucks up the little bundle that's now tied off with twine. "I was just going to send it off to Thatch."

Namur chokes on his own spit.

"You're, Th-Thatch?" Namur wheezes. "You're giving...to him?!"

Namur feels like he's just been sucked into a whirlpool, his world's suddenly tilting in every direction all at once. He doesn't have a problem with them being, y'know! Of course not! He supports his friends! It's just, well, he's surprised, because he'd never even suspected these particular brothers were anything but close friends, because it's Marco and Thatch, and he's been living with them for twenty years and--oh no, did everyone other than Namur actually know all along, is this Human Stuff again--

"Oh, no," Marco says with a soft laugh. "This isn't for him, yoi. He's just delivering it for me. It's for Ace's little brother."

Namur heaves out a huge sigh of relief. It's not Thatch. Oh thank goodness. Not that he doesn't think that Marco and Thatch wouldn't be great together. But. He's glad it wasn't just Namur misunderstanding...

Namur chokes on his own spit, again.

"Ace's little brother?" he tries hard not to shriek, and it comes out even tinier than expected, barely a whisper of a strangled sardine.

Marco frowns a bit at Namur's weird voice and offers him a bottle of fresh water from his side desk, which Namur shakily accepts. This is a lot to process.

"She's...ah, Ace said it's alright if Division Commanders know, but try not to spread this around too much. But she's a mermaid. I thought it'd be fitting," Marco says, shrugging nonchalantly.

"Ah," Namur nods, feeling numb. That does make a lot of sense, far more sense than giving That to Thatch at least.

A mermaid. Ace referring to his mermaid sister as "brother" also makes plenty of sense, given how vulnerable mermaids are in the world of pirates. In fact, it makes so much sense, and Namur wants to applaud Ace's discretion, he didn't seem the type to have that kind of tact and Namur's genuinely impressed, but his mind's also kind of overloaded right now.

"Although, Namur, since you're here..." Marco looks down at the parcel, dwarfed in his palm. "Do you think she'll like it? Or is it too bold, from someone she's never even met?"

It might be a trick of the light but...does Marco look, demure?

Namur's eyes bug out.

Holy shit. This is the real deal.

Namur's never known Marco to have a personal life or interest in anyone, the man's the definition of dedicating his life to the crew. But perhaps he was just being discreet, because surely everyone has a some soft spot or another, and Namur has just found Marco's.

And they've never even met?! They have a long distance relationship too. She's all the way in East Blue, and they correspond via letters and packages. All those oceans between them...

And on top of that, a mermaid and phoenix. She, bound in water, reaching up for the unattainable, while he, bound to the sky, doomed to drown if he touches her domain...like epic lovers torn apart by fate, just like the fairy tale of the fish princess and the bird, beloved by all fishmen and merfolk...

Namur feels his eyes sting a bit from the tragic romance of it all. But now Ace and Thatch have gone to retrieve her, and she'll be coming home to the Moby Dick soon. They'll be united. They'll get their happy ending.

Namur reigns in his overflowing emotions, remembering that he has an important task.

Do you think she'll like it? Or is it too bold?

Marco has consulted in Namur, his closest friend, his fishman expert confidant. This is his time to shine, his chance to give back a little for all the kindness and support Marco's shown him all these years. And Namur will not disappoint.

Namur composes himself, and then takes his reports back from Marco's hand, letting them go because they're suddenly utterly unimportant in light of Marco's blossoming future. He then grasps the now-empty hand, so warm and human, with both of his webbed ones. Marco's eyes widen in alarm as the papers flutter all around them, but Namur ignores them.

"Marco, I promise you, she'll love it," Namur pours every ounce of sincerity he has into his words, and feels his eyes begin to water again from the weight of it all. "I just want to say, I'm super happy for you, brother, and you can come to me for anything."

Marco stares at Namur, and Namur wills him to understand the depth of Namur's dedication to helping his dreams come true.

"...Right. Thanks, yoi?"

Namur doesn't see Marco's eyebrows climb up into his little mop of hair, doesn't notice him try and fail to extract his hand, doesn't notice him looking completely and utterly lost.

Because Namur's so overwhelmed. They grow up so fast! His friend's taking his next big step in life! And Namur gets to see it through! Being alive is incredible!

~~

Namur leaves eventually, and Marco stares blankly after him, hand still cramped from being death-gripped by the fishman for who knows how long.

He has no idea what just happened.

He then looks at the reports that are now scattered across his entire office.

"...He could have at least picked them up, yoi..."

~~

~~

~~

Namur is this guy here.

While he's a canon chara, he's also bg, and like most of Whitebeard's crew other than a core handful, we know very little about him and his personality and backstory is entirely me making it up ^ ^;

Next up in Marco's Bauble #04:

Namur values his crew's privacy. And given that he doubts he was even supposed to see Marco's secret, he absolutely can't disclose it to anyone.

Which is why he's snuck into Izo's room at ass o'clock in the morning, when everyone but the morning shift is asleep, but Izo's awake because he takes a few hours doing his hair and makeup.

Anyway, if you got through to the end, thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed!

As always, comments/reblogs/tags always immensely appreciated!!! <3 People sharing their thoughts with me motivates me to write so much more, and update more frequently, so thank you so much for everyone who’s so kindly done so in the past!! ;A;

(and if anyone wants an early look, the next parts are already up on my Patreon ;D)

❀ ❀ Send YukiPri an Ask! ❀ ❀

Read the next part: Marco’s Bauble, Part 4

~This ask has been added to the Mermaid AU Text Headcanons Compilation post~

[sayonarasanity]

Reverberation

Summary: Levi’s grey eyes watched her seriously, and with caution. He was giving her all his attention, focused on the words that were about to leave her mouth. Hanji thought that was the actual reason why they were so close. Because when no one cared to hear a word from her Levi listened to her telling stories of gods and goddesses, heroes and villains, ancient people and ancient folks, tales of love and tales of hatred. When no one bothered seeing her colours, Levi sat down in front of her and let her paint everything she ever wanted.

Chapters: 2/?

link to AO3 

link to second chapter

In short a Levihan Childhood Friends AU in which I plan to enjoy using quotes from Shakespeare a lot if I make it that far that is. 

The boy sits on top of the rooftop.  

Hanji wonders why she is so fascinated by the view of a boy about her age. All he does is watching above and there is not even a token of emotion written on his face. He looks like he is reading a book in which he is not a bit interested, yet the mere fact that he is holding pages in his palms is enough for him.

She hasn’t seen anyone who has spared just a few minutes of their precious time to watch the sky, through her eleven years of a lifetime that is. Just like she hasn’t seen anyone going crazy when they find out that there was a frog in Indonesia which had no lungs, so it breathed entirely through its skin. Oh, it was so very exciting and bewitching and she had barely slept dreaming about it. Hanji would die to see that frog. She had begged her parents for about a week for them to take her to Indonesia. Mommy, mommy, please! I want to go there. I need to see that frog. It is breathing through its skin mom. How fascinating is that? Hanji, darling you know you can’t. You have school. I don’t have school in the summer! But Indonesia is so far away honey. It on the other side of the world. Oh, oh! That’s even better. I want to go to the other side of the world! Mommy please, please!

Too bad her efforts had given no fruit. She hasn’t given up on her dream yet, though. She just had to postpone it for a little while.

She approaches the boy cautiously. Because maybe this is his area and it is her first time here, so she doesn’t want to be seen as an invader. She had been walking around the town aimlessly when she came across this abandoned building. Its construction is uncompleted, there are no windows and doors, and the orange bricks on the walls are uncovered, free of paint. Hanji knew that sneaking into a hollow, and a relatively eery building was sort of perilous, but it was also thrilling. It had made her feel like she was a member of the Paul Street Boys. Although the setting was kind of distinct and she was alone. But it had never stopped her from discovering. And when she had climbed the concrete, grey stairs she had found the mystery boy here.

There is the not-quite-unfortunate fact that she cannot get along well with boys. They are rude, and filthy and egoistic. They walk around like they are the reincarnations of Achilles like no one is good enough for them. They are no sons of gods or goddesses. How pathetic. But she senses that there is something different with this one. Because he watches the sky, and the stars stare down at him. Hanji feels like she is observing a painting or reading Percy Jackson for the first time. It causes her nerves to stand, her insides to shake and she knows she cannot hold herself back. A step away from the rabbit hole, she imagines and feels like this is Wonderland and she is fool but also curious enough to fall down.

“Hi!” She twitters suddenly.

The boy doesn’t seem surprised or taken aback at hearing someone talking to him out of the blue. Maybe he had already known that Hanji was here. It only makes him more intriguing and Hanji hardly stops herself from bouncing on her feet. For a moment he observes her. His eyes are the colour of the moon, argent but they also have a touch of blue. Not too light but not too dark either. Closer to the sky when the night just begins to settle down. More like it is right now.

“Hey,” he says, dryly.

No rejection. That’s a good start.

“May I sit?”

The boy merely shrugs then turns his gaze back at the sky. Hanji takes it as a positive reaction and sits down next to him, carefully putting some distance away between herself and the boy. She opts to watch the view spread out before her first. This is a partially remote area of the town. The buildings are disorderly, and the streets do not seem fairly clean. Hanji wants to travel her hand on top of the buildings to feel the ups and downs of the rooftops on her palm. The image makes her giggle to herself. Ah, how nice it would be, wouldn’t it? Too bad it was impossible.

She feels the boy giving her a side glance, but he makes no remarks.

“Are you counting the stars?” She asks as she tilts her head back to watch them. There aren’t so many yet, but it would be hard to keep track of the numbers.

“No,” he replies. Curt and clear. He is not the one to talk, is he? Hanji muses inside.

“My grandmother used to say that it would make calluses to appear on your skin. Have you heard about it as well? I think it is a superstition though—”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” the boy interrupts. That is the first time he has used more than a word! Success. Good for you, Hanji. She pats her shoulder in her head proudly.

Hanji opens her mouth to respond but he beats her to it. “You can’t count infinity,” he says. “It is a waste of time.”

Hanji inhales.  

At this point, she is so near the edge to burst with her bubbling excitement that she is sure he feels it too. Her head spins as she stares at his side profile. He makes her feel like she is on a carousel. Everything about him makes her dizzy as if he is one of those books on her father’s library which she cannot reach and cannot understand even if she does. He doesn’t look at her. He has an undercut, she notices, dark hair moving in harmony with the wind. His attire is clean, neat and tidy. His face has the smooth lines of a child but there is a lining of maturity underneath them. And the way he holds himself, upright but also at ease. Nothing about him is fake, superficial or ordinary.

“What’s your name?” She asks as a grin spreads on her lips uncontrollably.

He moves his sharp eyes to her at last and he travels his gaze around her face. It is so hard to read anything from his features. Like looking at the blurry surface of a mirror and trying to figure out the lines of the face in it. And she fears that he won’t answer. Was he annoyed with her? But she hasn’t even reached the peak of her usual talkativeness, yet.

“It’s Levi.”

She nearly gasps for she had been very close to convincing herself that the boy had disliked her very much. Levi. It is a nice name, and it suits his personality somehow. Despite the fact that she had only known him for what? Five minutes? Maybe even less than that. But Hanji can tell.

“I’m Hanji,” she says her name back even though he hasn’t asked. Slowly put one Lego on top of it the other. Bring them all together and there, you have a castle. “Say, Levi, would you like to learn more about the sky?”

The boy doesn’t answer with words. He looks back above and shrugs.

But that’s more than enough for her.

now

Hanji’s phone rings in the middle of an important meeting.

Frankly, it is not that big of a problem. It happens to everyone every now and then. And her phone doesn’t even ring with a melody, it merely vibrates on the wooden table. Though it does make a hell of a lot of noise. Yet, the only way to overcome the situation is to simply reach out and silence it in a cold-blooded way, like nothing ever happened. That she does, without a nuisance.

The actual problem here is the name on the screen of her phone, and the fact that her hand was trembling as she pressed the button. Suddenly the air becomes too heavy, too hot and the room too narrow to fit inside. She distinctively feels Mr Jaeger’s piercing gaze from across the table. It is always hard to hide subtle changes of behaviour from a man as sharp as him. But Hanji is a professional and there is no way she can allow a slight disturbance to avoid her from focusing on her job. She imagines herself flicking her fingers aggressively as if to wake herself up from a deep slumber like she is buried deep in thick fog. Concentrate.

The blurry whiteness disappears gradually, her vision becomes clear and the deadlock in her ears leaves. But the name remains on her screen even after the ringing stops and she has to grip her pen tight enough to make the shivers go away.

-

The next time her phone rings there are several minutes to her lunch break. She shifts her attention from her computer screen to the phone and she just stares at the name, as if she looks long enough the letters will change or they will disappear, or she will wake up from this dreary sleep.

None of those happens, the machine keeps ringing on her desk, her heart slams against her ribcage, and her hands tremble yet again as she types numbers on her keyboard.

The vibrations cease after a while, but the cramps in her stomach don’t.

-

During her lunch break, Hanji goes out to the terrace for some fresh air. It is early spring; the weather is not quite cold but it’s somewhat chilly. The wind which blows occasionally disperses her hair as she leans her elbows on the railing. The terrace is high up on the building. She can easily watch the white, mushy clouds on the smooth, blue sky. Whether it is funny or tragic she cannot decide, that after all those years whenever she looks up at the sky, she still thinks about him.

“Yo, Hanji.” Zeke Jeager comes to stand next to her putting a cigarette on his mouth and using his Zippo to light it.

“Good afternoon, Mr Jeager,” Hanji greets, smiling in return as the man takes a deep breath from his smoke. His dark, yellow hair is untidy with the wind, and his glasses reflect the midday sun.

“Just call me Zeke when we are alone,” he says and shakes the ashes of the cigarette with his index finger causing them to fall from the railing. “I hate formalities.”

“But you are my very superior,” Hanji replies with amusement.

The corners of the man’s lips curl upwards when he takes another breath from his smoke. “I don’t care. You are almost as smart as me if not more.” He sends her a playful stare as he blows the smoke and Hanji laughs, but the act makes her stomach curl onto itself. Cheerfulness is the last thing she feels at the moment.

“You seem a little bit… different,” Zeke comments, just like Hanji predicted. Nothing escapes him. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Hanji lies easily. She doesn’t feel like talking about it. She doesn’t even feel like thinking about it. It makes her uneasy, and it fills her with apprehension and distress whenever the name on the phone screen comes before her eyes. She shakes her head. She needs to convince herself first. “It’s nothing.”

“Hmm,” Zeke mutters thoughtfully. He doesn’t believe her and it’s not like she expected him to. “I mean, I won’t say no if you ever need a drink,” he shrugs, and the gest reminds her of him so much that she feels a gulp shaping in her throat.

“Are you possibly flirting with me?” Hanji asks playfully, with a need to distract her mind from the wide field of dreary thoughts and memories.

“I don’t know. Is it working?” Zeke plays along and Hanji laughs again, this time more genuinely. “But I’m your very superior, so I guess not.”

“Yeah,” she says, her smile still evident on her lips. “Don’t take it personally.”

Zeke shakes his head as he puts the smoke between his lips again. He has a nice profile. A fine line of a bearded jaw, sharp cheekbones, soft-looking, bushy hair, pretty nose and a pair of nice lips. Eyes are a light blue mixed with green. A complete opposite, Hanji notices.

“Whatever it is,” Zeke continues after blowing out the white smoke. “It’s obvious that it affects you but don’t let it affect your work.”

“Of course,” Hanji nods.

“Hanji!” A female voice cuts in their conversation. Hanji turns around to see it’s Pieck. She waves at her from the door. “What are you doing here? Let’s go have lunch!”

“Yo, Pieck-chan,” Zeke waves at her cheerfully, grinning wide as they both walk up to where she is. “How are you?”

“Hungry,” Pieck replies, then turns to Hanji. “Come on. I’ve been looking for you.”

“Sorry,” Hanji apologizes. They always have lunch together with Pieck, but with her mind a muddle of emotions she had forgotten all about it.

“See you later then ladies,” Zeke, bids them goodbye and leaves then they both start to walk in the direction of the cafeteria.

“Is he bothering you?” Pieck asks as soon as Zeke is out of their hearing zone. “I can talk to him if he does. He is not as tough as he looks, and I have the material in my hand to sabotage him.”

Hanji laughs heartily for the first time that day. Pieck and Zeke are old friends, and she uses it every chance she gets. “There is no need for that. We were just talking but thank you.”

“Talking about what?” Hanji feels Pieck observing her face, looking for a hint. “Did he also realize that your mood is kind of sour today?”

Hanji’s smile freezes on her face. She hadn’t been as subtle as she thought she had as it seems. She opens her mouth to object, to array excuses like I’m just tired or couldn’t sleep well and change the subject.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it,” Pieck assures, bumping her shoulder lightly to hers. “It’s just unusual to see you like this.”

“Right,” Hanji adjusts her glasses and pushes herself for a slight movement on her lips. Upwards. “There is nothing to worry about.”

Her dark eyes travel around her face, searching Hanji’s gaze and she tries hard not to look away. Pieck is suspicious and Hanji knows she is not quite convinced when she says, “Okay.” But she doesn’t press upon the matter either. “I’ll be here if you want to talk about it.”

“I know,” Hanji smiles, genuinely this time. “Thank you, Pieck.”

-

Hanji watches her reflection in the mirror and sees the reason why everyone could tell that she had been in low spirits today.

“This shouldn’t have affected me that much,” she mutters and splashes cold, icy water on her face. Her glasses rest next to the sink, the hair on the side of her face and the tips of her forehead gets wet. Her soul feels heavy to carry, her heart uneasy and her stomach like it’s wrapped with thousands of sharp thorns.

Inside her head, there is an earthquake. It rumbles, rocks and causes the old shelves stuffed with dusty memories to be dishevelled all around. Yellow paged books lie open on the ground. It has been so long since she had let herself read a word from them. Now they force her to read the tale from the very beginning. And it doesn’t help that she already knows them all by heart.

“The temperature at the sun’s core is about 27 million degrees Fahrenheit,” she whispers, gripping the edge of the cold, white marble.

“The Moon’s distance from Earth is about 240.000 miles.

The globular cluster NGC 6397 is almost as old as the universe itself.

Mercury is the fastest planet,” she continues with quick whispers. “Daytime Temperatures can reach 439 degrees Celsius and drop to -180 degrees Celsius at night.

Ceres takes 1.682 Earth days, or 4.6 Earth years, to make one trip around the sun.

Mars is the fourth planet from the Sun at an average distance of about 228 million km or 1.52 AU.”

Hanji closes her eyes and imagines the space. Infinite, black and yet aglow with suns, stars and moons—galaxies, clusters and planets.

The worn pages of the books rustle in her head. A distraction, a nuisance that came out of nowhere. Why? She thinks for the nth time that day. Why is he calling me now? After all those years, why now?

“This cannot be ill, cannot be good” she murmurs.

Then laughs to herself. Quoting Shakespeare again? he belittles her in her mind.

She shakes her head as if to erase his ghost from her mind. “Cannot be good,” she repeats. But she has never run for no reason, she has never let life win over without girding herself with arms. She has never been coward enough to hide.

It might be nothing. Maybe a simple call for a quick hello. Five minutes of conversation would do her no harm. It might be nothing, but it might be something too. There is only one way to figure it out.

She straightens, puts on her glasses and adjusts her clothes. Blinks her eyes a few times until she makes sure they are not blank as an empty, grey wall. Until the fire inside that is close to dying out, flare up again. After that, she lifts her hands to either side of her face and slaps her cheeks, “Okay,” she says, nodding at herself in the mirror.

Then turns around on her heels and walks out of the door.

-

He calls again when she is out of work and waiting for a bus at the stop.

She is tranquil, somehow, as she looks at the screen. Maybe it’s because she has made her mind earlier today that if he is to call again, she would answer this time. And she does.

“Hey,” she greets.

“Hey, Hanji.” His voice is rough and coarse. It sounds older than she has last heard him. “What’s up?”

“I’m fine,” Hanji swings a leg absentmindedly. “How about you, Kenny?”

“’m fine too,” Kenny replies. She tries to imagine him with long, dark hair and a smug grin on his face. Although the years had rubbed out the picture of the man she has known it is easier than she had expected.

“Sorry, I couldn’t answer earlier,” Hanji says, half-lie, half-sincere. “I was busy at work.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it, kid,” Kenny slides over and Hanji smiles slightly at the way he calls her. “I thought you’d be busy. But, eh, you see… I had to… call you,” he sighs. “Didn’t know who else to call.”

“Why?” She starts to feel the thorns again. Her body tenses involuntarily. A car sweeps by scattering her hair and clothes. “What’s wrong? Is he—"

Kenny sighs again and she hears his breath tremble. Above, the stars are hidden behind the grey, mobile clouds. The moon is a thin crescent. Strangers pass by, a bus stops, takes a few passengers and carries on. A breeze blows and the leaves rustle.

And Hanji feels like she is eleven again, watching the stars with a boy she barely knows.

You can’t count infinity, he had said. It is a waste of time.

They are no longer there.

“Kuchel,” Kenny begins. Cannot be good, Hanji thinks again and closes her eyes as he goes on with the dreadful news she had so feared to hear. “She is dead.”

--

The girl has stardust in her eyes.

Her hair is messy, and her clothes are dirty with mud and dust. She wears round glasses and when she smiles, he sees one of her upper teeth is slightly twisted.

And she reminds him of the first time he had seen a shooting star.

Do you want to learn more about the sky? The girl asks. Does he? He had never thought about it. He merely likes the experience of watching it while sitting or lying on his back with his arms under his head and a leg over the other in this abandoned, derelict building. It eases his mind when he is overwhelmed with school or family or friends or humans in general. He had most liked the fact that he had been alone all this time which was the actual purpose of this place anyway.

But the girl has stardust in her eyes, and she is like that shooting star, and she holds the moon in her hands.

If she reminds him that much of the sky maybe she would make him feel like he is watching it too, he thinks as he looks back above and shrugs.

Cannot be ill.

[tumbledfreckles]

Closer

A Blackinnon Bridgerton AU

Read below or on AO3

"Stare into my eyes."

She looked up in apprehension. Caught on his eyes and held there, like a fly in a web. They were soft now, gentle. Like he was trying to prevent her from spooking. She did her best to block out the noise of the ballroom, the revel makers, the dancers around them.

As if she could forget that everyone was staring at them.

He squeezed the hand he held. A light pressure on her fingers she wouldn't have thought him capable of when they had first met. Only a short number of weeks ago, in the presence of her childhood friend, his now brother. A smile graced his lips, one of encouragement, meant only for her. She followed the motion of his eyes and curtsied as he bowed.

"Closer."

The hand on her waist made her breath catch in her throat. Her hand fell to the crook of his elbow, before sliding up to his shoulder. He pulled her toward him, until she was against him, so close the heat of his body scorched through her dress. She'd never been this close to a man before.

"If this is to work, they must believe that we are madly in love."

His words reminded her that this was a ruse. An act. A game of make believe with the highest of stakes, her future life.

As they started through the moves of the dance, her head was swarmed with the memories of less than an hour before. Memories of fear and revulsion, followed by anger and apprehension, and then, in the unlikeliest of forms, came hope.

He had happened upon her moments after she'd punched Lockhart, straight in the face, for trying to force himself on her. In the dark of the garden she'd only had time to thank her lucky stars her brothers had taught her how to hit someone properly, and that she hadn't broken her thumb.

She hadn't had a chance to even contemplate the precariousness of her situation when he emerged from the darkness.

"Bravo. He had that one coming to him."

Sirius Black. The Duke of Grimmauld.

The handsome rake who hadn't been seen for years. The untimely death and disappearance of his brother, rumoured to be linked to the rise of Lord Voldemort, had seen the Duke, then still a teenager, flee overseas some years ago. The passing of his father, the transfer of the title, had seen his reluctant return. He had begrudgingly taken over management of the estates and land attached to the Dukedom but had yet to be seen in the presence of his family.

Tonight Marlene had found out why.

"Are you alright?"

Marlene was staring down at the unconscious buffoon at her feet, still not processing the events of the last few minutes.

An argument with her childhood friend turned guardian, a misplaced agreement to marry said buffoon, the eyes of the party guests on her had sent Marlene out in the garden. She had wanted a few moments alone. To gather her thoughts, regain her countenance, come up with a plan to quietly extract herself from a less than desirable engagement.

Now she stood, mere moments from the darkest part of the garden, seconds from ruining her reputation with two men.

"I am fine. Just fine. Oh God, what am I going to do?"

"Marry me, Miss McKinnon," the perhaps not quite unconscious Lord Gilderoy Lockhart groaned from the ground.

"Romantic, I am sure," the Duke curled his lip in disgust. "I hope you have not said yes."

"Of course not," Marlene spat the answer, as she rubbed her knuckles.

"Oh good. Can I kick him then?"

"Do whatever you would like. I need to figure out what I am going to do," Marlene paced back and forth, wringing her hands.

"It can not be all that bad," the Duke may have given Lockhart a few nudges with his toe, based on the sounds that came from the ground.

"Says a man who does not need to find a husband."

"Thankfully no, I do not. But I can not imagine that you would have such trouble, a beautiful woman such as yourself."

"I was not having any trouble, at all," Marlene tried to ignore the flush creeping up her neck and into her cheeks at his words. He'd stated it more like a fact than a compliment. She shouldn't let it get to her head. "Until that damn Lady Bettledown started spreading her ridiculous gossip sheet around."

"Ah, yes. I have seen that devil of a woman all but pronouncing you a spinster, taking joy in knocking down the season prize diamond. Chased your suitors away, has she?"

"I beg that you would not jest, Your Grace. At least not about my life. Which is what she trifles with."

"You seem too sensible a woman to care for marriage so much."

"My family is gone, I am the last of the McKinnons. But a woman can not inherit property, nor wealth. Friends, the Potters, as you well know, have taken me in out of the goodness of their heart. But that can not last forever. I can not be a burden to my friends. And so I must marry."

"How practical."

"Indeed," she took a breath. In for a penny, she thought. "But if I must marry, I want the one thing that my parents had."

"A fancy wedding?"

"Love," her sharp reply pulled the laughter from his words, his face. "I want to marry for love. It is my life after all. So I beg that you do not jest with it."

"My apologies, Miss. I do tend to use humour as a reflex. But, regrettably, Bettledown's words have been a damn thorn in my side, as well."

"Surely a Duke such as yourself does not need to bother with what is written about him in the gossip sheets," Marlene's disbelief carried a strong note of sarcasm.

"My dear Miss McKinnon, I despise to tell you that the meddling Bettledown has all but issued a challenge to my family. By announcing my return to polite society, she has all but challenged them to find me a wife. One who is suitable for their needs."

"And what are their needs?"

"Someone who shares their beliefs. Beliefs that I do not adhere to. Beliefs that I am, in fact, disgusted by. They think that if I was wed to someone who follows their way of life, then they would convince me to change my ideals, to theirs."

"Are they right? Could that happen?"

The Duke laughed bitterly, "Definitely not. I have too strong a character to be changed by a woman."

"Of course," though he oozed charm, and was undoubtedly handsome, the cool dismissal of a woman as someone to listen to turned Marlene off him. Or it would have, had she ever even considered him a prospect.

"Well," she took several steps backwards, towards the ballroom and the party that had suffocated her. "I would appreciate it if you could mention this no one, and I will leave you to your… whatever it was that you were doing."

She turned to go, eager to escape, to forget that the man she might yet still have to marry lay prostrate on the floor, yet to rouse fully. It was only as she placed a foot onto the first step up to the manor that his voice stopped her.

"We could use each other, you know," the Dukes's voice was careful. Considered.

Marlene turned back, slow, hesitant. "What do you mean?"

"You need to find a husband. Someone much more agreeable and suited to you than this pathetic sod," he aimed another kick toward the lifeless Lockhart.

"How could you help with that?"

He was on her in three long strides. She stiffened as he stepped into her space. Closer than was proper. Close enough that anyone entering the garden would assume the worst and she would be compromised. Her virtue, her value, diminished.

And yet, she did not step back.

"I could make you seem desirable," the Duke reached out, softly tucking a lock that had come free from her coiffed hair back behind her ear. "If you were on my arm, it would bring you to the attention of other men. You could have your pick of the most eligible bachelors."

Marlene tried not exhale audibly as his hand dropped from where it had caressed her skin, his fingertips trailing across her neck. "And how could I help you?"

"You are from an old family, Miss McKinnon. While you may be the last left of them, and the man my family sees as their leader is most likely responsible for that, you are still from an old family that in many ways represents what they value."

"I would never - I could never," Marlene was stopped by his placating hand on her wrist.

"I know," he stroked gently. "And that is why I know I can trust you in this. Why you can trust me. If I knew nothing else about you, your disdain for the values that my family holds most dear would be enough."

She stared at him for long moments, trying to read his indecipherable gaze. Eventually, she nodded for him to continue.

"By courting you, my family will believe I am bending to their will. By beginning a relationship with you, I will get what I desperately crave."

"And what is that?" Marlene felt her teeth sink into her lip at the end of her words. His eyes followed the movement. She was nervous for his answer. What could a man like the Duke want so badly he would come up with a such a scheme?

"Freedom," the word fell from his lips like honey. He spoke it reverently. Honestly.

She believed him.

"So, your plan is that we will form an attachment? We will pretend to court, in order to give you the space and peace that you so desire, and in doing so, make me desirable enough that I could attract the attentions of a Prince, should one appear?"

"That is my plan. I only have one condition," the Duke's lips curved into a smile. It spoke of mischief, of humour that was kept well hidden under his usually dark, disdainful countenance.

"And what is that?"

"You must not fall in love with me."

He was goading her. Marlene could see it plainly across his face. It made his eyes dance. She fought to maintain her temper. To wipe the smug look off his face.

"I am more concerned that you will fall in love with me. You have already commented on how pretty you find me."

She succeeded in her mission, the smirk was gone, but the darker flare in his eyes left her feeling even less safe than she had before.

"I believe I said you were beautiful," his tone sent a shiver down her spine. "So we have an agreement?"

He held out his hand toward her. She looked at it and then looked back at him.

"Yes," she placed her hand in his. "We have an agreement."

That was how she'd come to re-enter the party on the Duke's arm. How they walked slowly, but purposefully through the throngs of finely dressed attendees to the dance floor, just as the band moved to strike up a new number. Whispers and nudges followed them across the room. Marlene was unused to such attention and would have stumbled if not for the Duke's reassuring presence at her side.

And so they danced. Stepping and skipping perfectly as if this wasn’t their first dance together. Eyes only on each other. Her hand gripped his shoulder, fingers pressing into the firm muscle she found there. His hands, one warm and solid on her waist, the other enclosing hers were her lifeline. Every time she felt overwhelmed and her gaze started to slip, he brought her back with a squeeze, his thumb rubbing back and forth.

The music swelled and then slowed, as did their movements. When they came to a stop, instead of moving back, as protocol dictated and society expected, he moved forward. His lips fell to her ear, so close she could feel his breath as he spoke.

"Well done, Miss McKinnon. Act one complete."

[manage-mischief]

Number 4, Privet Drive

Read on AO3 or FF.net

Summary: Today is Harry's 5th birthday, and his godfathers have a surprise in store. AU: In which Sirius Black and Remus Lupin raise Harry, and Number 4 Privet Drive is his happy place.

Notes: Enjoy a little bit of hastily-written wolfstar fluff in honor of Harry Potter's birthday. There’s also a little nod to my other series, Regulus Black and the Darkest Shadows, if you squint ;)

Disclaimer: I do not how Harry Potter.

It was a sweltering, sunny July day. Residents of Privet Drive peaked out of their open windows—on the pretense of getting a bit of fresh air—to try and catch a glimpse of the curious commotion emanating from the equally-curious inhabitants of house number 4. The exterior of Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, was unremarkable. It was a carbon copy of the other homes on the block, which was a carbon copy of the other blocks in the town. However, the residents of Privet Drive knew that the happenings inside of this particular house were by no means ordinary.

On this day, inside the quaint, unremarkable house, two young men were standing near the fireplace mantle, hanging a green and purple banner. The darker-haired man—whose long, unruly locks and rebellious style unnerved the neighbors—was standing precariously on a chair. The lighter-haired man, whose face was friendly, though covered with a multitude of nasty scars, was spotting his partner, ensuring that he didn’t fall.

“No, just a little higher…” Sirius, the darker-haired man, grunted, stretching and climbing higher to fix the banner.

“Ouch, Sirius, that was my head!” Remus, the lighter-haired man, cried indignantly as his partner stepped onto his skull.

“Whoops sorry, Moons…just a little bit higher…there! Perfect!” Sirius hopped down from his perch and stepped back to admire his work. Remus rubbed his head.

“Honestly, Sirius, Harry wouldn’t have cared if the banner was a bit crooked. He’s only 5!”

Sirius shook his head firmly. “No. Everything’s going to be perfect for my little Pronglet’s special day. Are you trying to ruin Harry’s birthday, Remus?”

Remus rolled his eyes. “Now, you know that’s not fair. I would never—”

“Great,” interrupted Sirius. “So, you’ll help me finish the decorations? Reg’ll be back with Harry from the zoo in about half an hour.”

Sirius wrapped his arms around his partner from behind and planted a kiss on his cheek. Remus chuckled.

“Of course, love.”

---

Before Remus Lupin and Sirius Black had moved in, Number 4 Privet Drive had belonged to a man named Dursley and his wife. The Dursleys were perfectly ordinary—if bit rude—and fit in very well with the monotonous existence of Privet Drive. However, on Halloween night of 1981, life on Privet Drive had been changed forever.

The Dursleys had received into their care their nephew, a little orphaned baby boy by the name of Harry Potter. The Dursleys had not wanted Harry Potter. Within days, it became clear to everyone living on the block that they were not properly caring for the boy. An eccentric old woman named Arabella Figg had blown up in their living room, berating the family for their mistreatment of the boy. The neighbors had watched the argument through the cracks in their curtains. When Mrs. Figg had gone, most of the neighbors had gone to bed, whispering back and forth to their families about the strange situation. Drama did not often occur on Privet Drive.

The next day, two young men appeared on the Dursleys’ doorstep. The men entered Number 4. Two hours later, the Dursleys left it. Sans Harry. It was clear to every resident of Little Whinging that these men did not belong. They were young, loud, and often spoke of unusual words and people and places. Remus Lupin and Sirius Black quickly became the talk of the town. Even after four years of peaceful living, most of the neighbors on Privet Drive still eavesdropped every chance they got, hoping from some tantalizing clue as to what made these two men so particularly peculiar.

Remus Lupin was quite aware of the talk surrounding himself and his little family. He didn’t much mind. When he and his partner, Sirius, had been informed of the mistreatment occurring at the hands of the Dursleys, they had no choice but to pack up everything and move into the Muggle neighborhood. That was their ultimatum, according to Dumbledore. Harry Potter must remain living in connection with his mother’s blood. The Dursleys still owned the deed to Number 4 Privet Drive. But, Sirius Black had offered them a large sum of money to leave their house, and their nephew, in his care. Thus, Remus and Sirius, the two adult wizards, settled into domestic living with their best friend’s orphaned son. Remus and Sirius loved Harry more than anything in their lives. Living a life separated from the majority of the magical world was a small price to pay for their godson’s safety.

Today was Harry Potter’s fifth birthday, and Remus and Sirius had planned a large surprise party for the occasion. They had invited all of Harry’s little friends, as well as their own adult friends, to celebrate.

“Rem, people are coming!” Sirius jumped up and down excitedly. Remus smiled. Sirius became more and more like his dog Animagus form with each passing day. Remus strolled down the narrow hallway to answer the door, Sirius on his heels.

“Minerva, how lovely to see you!” Remus embraced the older, severe-looking witch. Sirius followed suit.

“Minnie, always a pleasure!” The dark-haired man grinned, mischievously. He gave her a large, wet kiss on the cheek. Minerva McGonagall shook her head disdainfully.

“Sirius Black, I do hope you’re not exerting too much of a negative influence on Harry. It’s only six years now before he comes to Hogwarts and I don’t think my heart can take another you.”

“Ah, c’mon, Minnie, you loved teaching me!” Sirius laughed. “Besides, Remus here balances me out!” He wrapped his arm around his partner. Minerva tried to look disapproving, but couldn’t hide her growing smile.

“Well, come on in, Minerva. Sirius’s brother is bringing Harry along soon.” Remus gestured towards the hall, ushering the older witch inside their home. She stopped along the way to admire the many pictures adorning the walls. Every photograph contained images of Harry, occasionally accompanied by Remus, Sirius, or both. It was clear to every visitor in the home that Harry Potter was adored—that he was a happy little boy. This thought made Minerva smile. Her eyes teared up a bit as she looked back towards Sirius and Remus, who were wrapped around each other, inviting more of Harry’s guests into the house.

Half an hour later, the living room of Number 4 was packed to the brim with guests. Remus had drawn the curtains and flipped off the lights. He peaked through the shades, searching for any sign of Harry’s arrival.

“Are they here yet?” Sirius whispered anxiously, crouched down next to him.

“No, not since you asked five bloody seconds ago!” Remus hissed, turning for a moment to look at Sirius. He peaked his head back out.

“Are you sure you told them the right time? I mean—”

“Quiet!” exclaimed Remus. “They’re coming!”

Sirius shoved Remus out of the way to have a look for himself. Sure enough, strolling down the way toward the little house was his younger brother, Regulus Black, accompanied by his fiancée and Harry, the man of the hour.

“Hush, everyone, they’re coming!” Sirius whispered urgently. The room fell silent, apart from the sounds of the breaths of the gathered guests. One minute later, there was a knock on the door. Regulus’s signal.

Remus went to let them in. He shook his brother and future sister in laws’ hands before Harry seized him by the waist in a strong hug.

“Uncle Moony!” Harry exclaimed as he happily bounded into the house. “We had such a good time at the zoo! We got to see the big snakes!”

Remus grinned at his adoptive son, brimming with joy. “That’s wonderful, Harry! I know how much you love the snakes.’

“Yeah,” the boy agreed earnestly. “And look, Uncle Reg bought me this.” He held up a large, stuffed python proudly. Remus nodded appreciatively.

“Wow, lucky you! Did you thank your aunt and uncle for the birthday gift?”

“Yep!” Harry said happily. “Where’s Uncle Pads? Is it cake time?” Harry was almost vibrating with excitement.

“Why yes, I think it is. Why don’t you lead the way into the living room? I think Uncle Padfoot is waiting for you there.” Remus smiled slyly, exchanging a cunning look with Regulus before following Harry down the hall.

“SURPRISE!!!!” The lights flickered on and the guests jumped up as Harry entered the room. Harry grinned widely, revealing his missing front tooth. He laughed and jumped into Sirius’s arms.

“Wow! Look at all these people!” said Harry, wondrously.

“Yeah, Pronglet,” said Sirius. “They’re all here for you! Not every day a man turns five, now is it?”

But, Harry had stopped listening. He’d ran towards his best friends, the Weasley children, who all squealed excitedly at the sight of him. Remus wrapped an arm around Sirius’s waist and planted a quick kiss on his lips.

“Good job,” said Remus.

“We should go into the party planning business,” Sirius teased back.

“Merlin, just as long as you don’t rope me in every time.” Regulus had materialized behind the couple.

Sirius turned to his brother and shook his hand. “Good to see you, Reg. Thanks for coming.”

“Anything for my nephew. You know, he’s a lot more fun to be around than you were at that age.” Regulus smirked. Sirius pretended to be hurt.

“Now, now, no brotherly rivalries today!” Regulus’s fiancée scolded the boys playfully. “But really wonderful job, you two. Harry looks so happy.”

“He certainly does.” Minerva McGonagall had joined the conversation.

The adults gazed over at the young Potter boy, who was now playing an intense game of Gobstones with his friends. Sirius felt tears prickle in his eyes.

“I hope so. I know it’s not the same as if Lily and James were—”

“I know, Sirius,” said Remus softly, holding tight to his lover. “I miss them, too. Especially on days like today. But, I think, somewhere, they’re happy, knowing Harry is being taken care of in a loving home.”

Sirius sighed, resting a head on Remus’s shoulder. “You’re right, Moons. I just…I love him, and you, so much.”

“I love you, too Sirius.”

“We want cake!” Their child’s scream interrupted the tender moment. The two young men laughed.

“Okay, Harry,” said Sirius, racing up to him and lifting him off of the ground in a massive hug. “I guess it must be time for cake!”

[candlelight27]

Chapter 5: This Moment Lost in Time

Summary: Sylvain has been ignoring you since you met him. You had been in love with him since you met him. College is about to offer you a fresh start. New academic year, new life. You were ready to forget him. But fate seems to have other plans… (COLLEGE AU)

Series: Seeking Your Warmth If Only For A Day

Warnings: BLOOD, game spoilers and felony (don’t steal, kids)

Pairings: Sylvain Jose Gautier x Female Reader

Word Count: 5143

AO3: This Moment Lost in Time

A/N:  Thanks to @galamixx and their help!!! If you like this chapter, please consider commenting. My inbox is always open too, for suggestiong or just to chat! :)

You put a hesitant foot in Sylvain’s room, walking right behind him as he guided you. It was an ample space and it had a window that let the sunshine inside in the morning. The decoration was quite simple. The bed, placed under the window, was covered in white linen, and the walls were bare, without any pictures or posters. Its appearance broke your every expectation of what you had thought his room would be like.

You were surprised you couldn’t find anything that screamed ‘Sylvain lives here’, or any hint at all of his renowned affairs. You chastised yourself for thinking he’d have a box filled with panties he had stolen, or obscene magazines thrown around. He was now a close friend – perhaps something more, but your brain was trying to avoid that subject at the moment – so you’d have to stop assuming things about him. Especially regarding the high number of misconceptions you’ve had about him. Yet the truth was that you would have never suspected that he lived in such an austere manner. You began to understand how he got along with Dimitri so well.

Despite the absence of luxuries, there was something that caught your eye: the quantity of books he owned. His desk and shelves were crammed, and there were even a few piles over the floor. You identified in a glance some history titles, as well as fiction and philosophical essays. It was quite the collection for someone most people considered an airhead – a thought that made you slightly angry at those people.

“Sit wherever you want,” Sylvain commented. You sat on the bed, while he moved to take a seat on the chair in front of his desk. He carefully placed on the floor a board of chess, trying not to move any pieces. It was incomplete, with only a handful of blacks and whites. You wondered if Sylvain was trying to solve one of those problems that he used to do with Claude back in high school. Afterwards, Sylvain placed his hands behind his head and leant back. You looked around nervous, absentmindedly caressing the bed dressing with your fingertips, avoiding by all means ogling him.

“You have a nice room,” you said. This was awkward, and you didn’t know what to say. You felt once again you were invading his privacy by simply being there. And you were on his bed, where he slept. It felt very personal, and you were not sure if it was your place to be there.

“Not what you expected for someone like me, right?”, he hummed. You feared that he actually was able to read your mind after that line.

“How is Glenn?”, you changed the subject, hoping Sylvain wouldn’t notice.

“Oh, he’s fine! He’s conscious and recovering. Apparently, when he was going to work, a dog crossed the road and he crashed the car avoiding it.” Sylvain drew out a breath. “Honestly, I’m so relieved he’s alive.”

“That gives us time to proceed with our plan. But then again, Flayn is onto whatever is happening. It’s not just paranoia, there must be a clue somewhere,” you reflected.

You had a few days to come to terms with Sylvain’s crazy theories after that encounter with Flayn at the hospital. As if fate had been mocking you, you had even more visions of your classmates in times of war, which only reinforced Sylvain’s words. You started writing down the smallest details you could recall, hoping they’d be of help to clarify something. Anything. And you realised some names kept appearing time after time.

“I wanted to show you a few things,” Sylvain said. He turned around to look at the books opened on his desk. He moved a couple of volumes and used papers around until he chose one. The sound of papers being flipped frantically came from behind you. “Here it is!”

He stood up and gave it to you, waiting a minute for you to inspect it thoroughly.

“So?” He insisted. Sylvain was eager to know your opinion. “What do you think?”

“It’s…” you opened your mouth.

“Awfully familiar?”, he offered.

“Yes”, you nodded.

It was an ancient copy of Seiros’ precepts. There you could see a coloured engraving that displayed Saint Seiros, who had an eerie resemblance to Rhea, officially in charge of Garreg Mach High School and the cathedral annexed to it. Her light green hair, her bright and big eyes, her figure. Everything was exactly the same. She had a serene countenance, and she was surrounded by dragons. Once, you were taught that they represented the strength of Seiros and the four saints, but they had so many details, they looked real.

“And that’s not the only thing!” Sylvain added before you could finish examining it. He passed you another book. “This one is Linhardt’s, but he lent it to me indefinitely. He knows a lot about Saint Cethleann, he’s investigating her figure and plans to do a PhD.”

“What am I looking for?”, you asked, tracing the index with your finger.

“Look at the pictures first. There are a couple of engravings and drawings. Just look at any.”

You did as he told you. A chill ran down your spine. 

“This is Flayn,” you babbled, totally astonished. “But, like, it’s clearly Flayn.”

“Yes!” Sylvain was thrilled.

“They have the same face,” you repeated. You looked at the bottom of the page, where a footnote was written, and read it out loud. “‘Saint Cethleann was said to possess a kind heart and devoted her life to helping others in need. That’s why she developed an interest in medicine, and she is the patron saint of those who practice the art of healing. She healed countless wounded in her life, sparking the faith in those who met her.’ Is this real?” He nodded, an amused expression decorating his face. He seemed entertained by your reaction. “It looks like a set up.”

“It’s weird that all the pieces fit together as we go, right?”, Sylvain agreed.  

“If everything is so evident, why hasn’t anyone found out anything yet?”, you exclaimed exasperated.

“We’ve gone over that before,” he sat next to you on the bed. He crossed one of his legs and was careful not to touch you with any part of his body. After all, you were not the only one self-conscious about this meeting. He had been feeling vulnerable ever since he went all in with you – it was easy to recognise.

You wanted to tell him that it was okay to have physical contact and get close to you. And that you had similar feelings for him. But neither of you had said anything after his speech, and your conversations hadn’t got that way any other time. And now it seemed that you had lost your opportunity to give him an answer; it seemed forgotten and entombed.

“Yeah, yeah. Everyone has bigger problems. Except us, apparently”, you said ironically.

“I have plenty of problems”, he said with fake seriousness.

“Oh?”, you mocked him. “I’ve never noticed.”

“One of them is no one takes me seriously”, he smirked. You felt a pang of guilt on your stomach and averted your gaze towards the book. It was shameful to admit, but you had done it several times in the past. You didn’t know he resented it.

“I wanted to try something,” Sylvain said out loud, demanding your attention. He looked flushed, but you dismissed the thought.

That’s when you remembered his cryptic messages earlier.

Sylvain (13:25): I might have come up with a thing that can be useful 😊.

Sylvain (13:25): Come home whenever you want, I’ll be here.

He hadn’t texted you as regularly as he did during the previous days, thus when his icon popped up on the screen of your phone, your heart fluttered in your chest. Should you go right away? Should you wait? There were things unsaid between you, but you had been dying to spend time with your favourite redhead. You convinced yourself that curiosity was playing a big part in your decision, and not your own emotions, so immediately answered affirmatively to his proposition.

“Yes, you mentioned that before.” You looked at him in the eye. He was blushing, you had no doubts now. And it seemed that he was out of character, because who would have thought Sylvain would be ashamed at all flirting? “What’s wrong?”

“You might not like my methods,” he shrugged.

“Sylvain!” you sighed, annoyed. “We’re way past your mysterious phase! Just tell me!”

“No need to get mad, darling,” he laughed. Then, Sylvain coughed and recomposed himself. “I thought that maybe we could trigger memories so we can investigate them. Find a common pattern.”

“Okay.”

“What was the last thing you dreamt?” He inquired carefully. Sylvain knew that some dreams were… Unfavorable.

“That horrible nightmare where I bury an axe in your chest”, you said. It made you want to cry, just the mere mention of it. Such a brutal act, why would it have happened?

“Ah, yes. That one”, he made a disgusted gesture. “You could’ve picked a nicer one.”

“How are we going to trigger the memories?”, you questioned him.

“By touching,” Sylvain answered. You raised your eyebrows. “W-Wait, not in that way!”, he stuttered while waving his arms around, as if to clear the atmosphere. Hewas trying his best to correct his accidental innuendo. “We can hold our hands, or just bump our shoulders together? We don’t have to, of course, but–”

“Sylvain, relax. I don’t mind”, you took his hand in yours to downplay the issue. That warmth that had become familiar spread throughout your skin. “Besides, it’s a good idea. It’s worked before.”

“But it’s not working now,” Sylvain complained.

“What did you think that was going to happen? Fireworks and a narrated episode of the battle of Garreg Mach?” You mocked, while he simply smirked.

The situation made your heart fly. The light outside was fading, dying the room of orange and gold. Everything surrounding you belonged to Sylvain, and you were on his bed, holding his hand in yours. It was special. A great fluttery feeling was forming in your stomach, one that made you light in the head and giggly. You shifted your body around awkwardly, without changing your position, and his grip tightened.

You noticed the muscles in his arm flexing, and his palm becoming sweaty.

“It’s not working…”, Sylvain lamented again.

“Close your eyes. Let’s focus on that memory together,” you instructed, half hoping it would work, half hoping it would prevent him from releasing your hand.

You let your eyes close. Every sensation became sharper. His touch, his presence, his smell. Everything had a distinct scent, the detergent of his clothes, his cologne, his books. - ‘Put yourself together!’ you scolded yourself and tried to envision your memory instead of focusing on Sylvain.

The large field of Gronder; the confusion of bodies, some dead, some alive; the  fresh blood; Sylvain’s horrid expression.

And, as if it was magic, it worked. You could vividly see it. The world surrounding you disappeared, and you were immersed in that moment lost in time.

The heat was suffocating, and so was the odour of burnt bodies and death. The podium where the archers had been trying to knock down the wyverns and pegasi had suddenly burned when the infantry had reached it. Many had died from all three parties: Dimitri’s, Edelgard’s and Claude’s. The flames were consuming everything on your left. Your arms stung out of tiredness, for you couldn’t even remember how long you had been there, fighting enemies.

Suddenly, you saw Sylvain. His horse was nowhere to be seen, and it saddened you. It was probably dead, too. A bad omen. You thought of the times he had insisted you rode with him, and the few times you accepted. Or when he stayed overtime to take care of the mount. You shook your head: he was now your enemy, and you had to kill him. Tears filled your eyes, and you voiced all the curses you could think of. How had everything turned into this? Where did it go wrong?

Sylvain was not aware that you were there. You traced his direction with your eyes. Was he escaping the fire? You hoped he was fleeing, but you knew him like the back of your hand. He had sworn loyalty to Dimitri and he wouldn’t leave him behind. Never. You looked far beyond.

When the realisation hit you, you started running.

He was heading towards Claude, who wasn’t riding his wyvern. Instead, he was supporting the infantry on the right flank with a sword and his bow. It was being effective in providing a much needed morale boost, but it wasn’t his brightest move. Damn him for not knowing how to keep himself safe.

Your gaze fell upon Byleth, who in this world had long hair, cuter clothes and was Jeralt’s daughter instead of his son. She had advanced more, leading the knights fighting the Adrestian forces, so she wasn’t going to save Claude, as she always did. Not this time, when she was risking her neck. You panicked, thinking about what disaster would happen if the heir to the Alliance, the only nation fighting actively against the Adrestian invasion, fell in battle.

You were almost there, axe in hand.

“Claude!”, you shouted. The Golden Deer leader realised Sylvain was about to stab him in the back, but dodged the hit just in time. Claude rolled on his side, while Sylvain’s lance got stuck in the ground.

You took advantage of this chance, arriving just a few seconds later, and with a swing of your weapon you broke the handle of his weapon in two. Moving with the momentum, your propelled the edge of the axe to Sylvain’s body. You contained your breath, wishing he would move away, that he’d escape. That you’d see him alive in the next battle, even if it meant going through another hell. Maybe you’d both survive, overcome your differences. But he didn’t move away. He stayed in place.

A lost arrow pierced your thigh. Even if you didn’t feel it at all thanks to the adrenaline pumping through your blood, it made you face reality.

Sylvain, disarmed, was on the other side of your weapon. You let go of the handle. It had cracked his armour, and his hot blood was flowing down. Sylvain fell to his knees, his face completely white.

“I’m sorry, Sylvain...” you said, as you fell backwards, unable to use your right leg due to the deep wound. He smiled but stayed completely still. Life was slowly escaping his body. You threw up on your side.

“Ignatz! Cover me!”, you heard Claude shouting. It seemed distant, while in reality he was too close. He was shouting your name, too, but your gaze was fixed on Sylvain. You couldn’t speak or move. Claude lifted you and placed you in his arms, carrying you somewhere safe. Sylvain was still alive, yet immobile. You couldn’t help thinking about him. Why was no one helping him? Is he going to die alone on the battlefield? Claude’s voice, assuring you that you were going to be alright, started to fade and his face was getting blurry…

 “Are you okay!?” Sylvain was shaking your shoulder. You were laid down on his bed and he was above you.

“Yes”, you answered, eyes open wide. You got up, and you returned to the position you had been in before on Sylvain’s bed. “What happened?”

“You’ve been gone for 5 minutes. As in, eyes opened, not responding to anything. I was about to call an ambulance.” Sylvain inspected you closely, quite worried. You could sense his breath on your skin.

“I’m fine”, you whispered, still a bit disoriented and dizzy.

“Are you sure?”

You nodded.

“Sylvain,” you called his name, his hand still on your shoulder. “What happened after you killed me? Did you see that?” Why did you want to know?

“Ah, yes. Ferdinand killed me afterwards”, he groaned. “He was avenging your death…”

“Typical of him. I’ll make sure to thank him, though. It was very thoughtful,” you joked. “What about Claude? And Dimitri?”

“They were dead too. Fallen in combat,” he said with an unsure voice. “Edelgard was the one reigning after that, or so I’ve thought. It makes sense.”

“I recall professor Byleth there, behind me. He was fighting side by side with Edelgard. They must have won.” You agreed with a gesture. “What about when we married? Was Byleth there?”

“Yes. Next to Dimitri. I think they got married too. That time, the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus got the victory.” He crossed his arms, but his leg was touching yours. “What are you implying?”

“I killed you to protect Claude”, you started. The redhead knitted his brows.

“We already know that,” Sylvain commented, annoyed.

“Why are you so irritated?” You got confused why he was hasty upon mentioning Claude, until a certain thought crossed your mind. 

“No reason, just that the last thing I got to see was you in the arms of Claude.” He sighed. A smile found its way on your lips, an eyebrow raising.

“Are you jealous?” You teased him.

“Then, you got together with Claude after that. He commented something once about it,” Sylvain continued, ignoring your question. “Okay, keep going. What are you trying to say?”

“The war is between the three countries of the continent of Fódlan. And the respective leaders of each are, coincidentally, the leaders of each House at Garreg Mach – former monastery, currently a high school.” He nodded, prompting you to carry on. “When I killed you, Claude was the winner. The other countries fell and the Alliance took over. And Byleth was at his side. The same happened with Edelgard and Dimitri respectively, right? So that might indicate that Byleth is the deciding piece of the board. Depending on what side he-”, you remembered how Byleth had different appearances, “-He, she, or they pick, the events change and makes their side win the war and, ultimately, take control of Fódlan.”

“And how did that occur to you?”, he looked concerned. “It’s plausible. I’m not questioning you, but it’s quite twisted.”

“Because they are the only thing that actually changes in the war. Everything seems the same until Byleth arrives.”

“Well, you changed from Houses all the time,” Sylvain pointed out.

“Every time, to join Byleth’s class. Don’t you see it?” You tried to convince him.

“It seems logical to think that Byleth has something to do with it but we can’t be sure…”

“It’s a hunch, Sylvain,” you explained. “I’m sure we have to talk to Byleth. We will find something. This time, when I saw Byleth fighting, something clicked.”

Sylvain hugged you without a warning. He buried his head on the crook of your neck and enclosed you in his arms. Your hands rested against his chest, you trapped and unable to make a single move. The warmth surrounding you felt so warm, so comforting. Everything was going to be okay, Sylvain was there, and he won’t be gone this time.

“I’m scared that this will lead to a dead-end street. But… at last we’ve found a clue. I’ve been waiting for this forever…” He said with a strained tone. Sylvain’s voice was quiet. He didn’t want to let you go.

“It’s thanks to all your work, Sylvain. Everything you wrote was very useful…” You smiled, leaning into his embrace, almost melting. “You had noticed too Byleth was an important factor–”

“I’m just really happy you’re here with me. That you haven’t chosen Claude or Edelgard over me this time.” He chuckled, trying to shoo away the remainders of sadness. “Not gonna lie here, I’m extremely happy you didn’t choose Claude. That bastard.”

“Hey,” you reprimanded him. “Claude is nice. It’s not his fault we’re in this mess.”

“Well, he took you away from me once”, Sylvain said as he hugged you closer. “Have I told you that you married him?”

“What did you want me to do? You were dead!” You chuckled. It was weird to talk so lightly about it, but Sylvain became more comfortable the less relevant it felt. “This feels nice…”, you muttered, turning your face to kiss the top of his head. His red hair was soft, and it smelt of citrus. “So now we’re on hugging terms?”

“Yes”, Sylvain affirmed. “I might never let you go now that we crossed that line.”

“I wouldn’t mind…”

But a loud gasp resounded behind you. The tender moment that you wished would last forever was suddenly replaced with surprise.

“I’m so sorry Sylvain!” A voice shouted, someone that you identified as Dimitri. He closed the door with a slam.

Sylvain moved away, averting his eyes. His cheeks were blushing, and your own were warm too.

“I’m going to explain to Dimitri that we weren’t doing anything weird, okay?”, he scratched his head, again, and you recognised it as a gesture he made when he felt awkward. Little by little, you had been learning his non-verbal language. “I don’t want him traumatized for all his life.” You giggled.

“Does it make you nervous that Dimitri thinks we’re banging? He only saw us hugging,” You questioned daringly.

“Shut up”, he flashed his handsome smile. Flirting was an art he had mastered, and he felt confident with it. “And say that you’re staying for dinner, instead.”

“Not if you’re cooking instant noodles, Sylvain”, you narrowed your eyes. “That’s not a real dinner. You won’t trick me – I’ve seen all the packages in the cupboards.”

“First, we’re in college, and everything’s valid.” He stood up with a flourish. “Second, Dimitri had gone to the supermarket, so he’s the one cooking. It relaxes him.”

“Okay, he cooks real food. I’m staying then.”

“Perfect.” Sylvain winked, as he ran out of the room. His voice could be heard all over the apartment, and Dimitri was still stuttering. You smiled to yourself and took out your phone and opened the app to write an email.

[From: YOU - To: beisner@gmuniversity.fe]

Dear Professor Eisner,

I hope everything is fine.

Sylvain Jose Gautier and I are having a few questions regarding the bibliography of our project. We’d like to meet you next week to settle the matter and discuss some work.

Thank you very much.

“I’ve never skipped classes legally before”, commented Sylvain casually.

You two were navigating the corridors of the building where teachers had their offices. Everything was dull and generic, except for the occasional cabinets that displayed trophies and nameplates that students and professors had earned long ago.

“That’s why you were in detention all the time”, you reminded him.

“It was intentional. I wanted to strengthen my relationship with Seteth”, he said, laughing. You had to give in and laugh too, not only because he was actually funny, but because his humour was contagious. You couldn’t help but mirror it.

You eyed him from head to toe. Your companion was wearing a pair of black jeans and a white t-shirt. He had a dark-grey, almost black blazer with rolled up sleeves on due to the chilliness in the air. His attire rang a bell.

“Why are you dressing like we did in the Monastery?” You wondered out loud to him.

“Because I’m pretty hot in black and white”, Sylvain chuckled in delight with a deep and sexy tone. He was right. You could outline with a glance his body, which was pretty well built. Of course, you did everything you could to deny it, so you put on your best deadpan face. “Okay, okay. I think it might make Byleth nervous.”

“Now that’s a joke,” you remarked. “Byleth barely showed any emotion during a war. Do you think it takes so little to irk him?”

“You might be right,” he conceded.

“Here!” You grabbed Sylvain’s sleeve, bringing him back after he walked past the correct door.

“The nameplate says Dr. Gloucester. Do you need your eyes checked?” Sylvain emphasized.

“Dr. Gloucester retired, and they gave his office to Byleth. He told us the first day! What were you doing?”

“Okay, okay,” he rolled his light brown eyes. “You knock.”

“What are you? Five?” You said while hitting the door with your knuckles.

“Come in,” Byleth’s voice came from the interior of the office.

You opened the door to see your professor encircled by lots of papers. No one can escape bureaucracy.

You stopped in the middle of the room. Right then, you felt an extraordinary sense of existence. As if all the years that had passed before your adventures with Sylvain were but a mere dream and your consciousness had come back to you a few weeks ago. You were sure that Byleth’s presence was having its own influence on you, now that you had regained a good number of your forgotten memories. There was a strange energy in the atmosphere.

Now that you considered it, this was just like that sweet time you spent at Garreg Mach Monastery. Wandering around to avoid boredom with Sylvain and finding much more than just entertainment, following Byleth around to ask all kinds of questions, spending the big seasonal events with your friends… That was what happiness looked like to you.

“You can take a seat,” Byleth said.

“Ah, yes, thank you.” You muttered. Sylvain was next to you in those uncomfortable iron chairs your university loved buying.

“What can I help you with?” He asked, ever so willing to help, yet enigmatic.

“Ah, we have a basic bibliography for the Crescent Moon War, but we’re lacking a few good articles in Loog’s biography”, Sylvain started, replaying the topics you had agreed on. “We don’t know if the authors are reliable.”

“I can take a look at those names”, Byleth smiled. “And I have a few books you could use.”

“That’d be great!”, you cheered with a fake façade. You had to admit, it was quite fun to play spies.

“They’re on that bookcase”, your professor pointed at the one right on your side. You stood up and started looking around.

“I had a question on Klaus I, that king of Faerghus, as well. What was the role he played in…”, Sylvain asked, so serious and well versed in the matter.

You disconnected from the conversation, turning to read the titles on the wall. You took a thick, blue book filled with dust, pretending it caught your interest. Then another black volume, with leather covers and golden letters. You kept investigating, about the Almyran invasion; the formation of the Academy of Garreg Mach, the base of your own high school; history of the Adrestian Empire… Nothing past the year 1000. It was quite suspicious.

You turned around, and Byleth was drawing a diagram for a focused Sylvain, who was all nods and questions. They couldn’t see you anymore, or at least it seemed so. Out of the corner of your eye, on the closest end of the professor’s large mahogany desk, you saw a bunch of letters. Discreetly, you looked up the sender. Curly letters with the address of Rhea were written there, right from the Cathedral.

You made sure Byleth’s vision was blocked by a stack of folders. With decision and a steady hand, you took the most recent one and hid it under your clothes. Desperate situations call for desperate measures, right? Besides, it wasn’t exactly stealing, and you had already made an excuse. ‘It got misplaced when I took the books you lent me, professor,’ you heard yourself say in your head. 

“Is there anything else you need?” Byleth said, when his discussion with Sylvain was done. He clearly intended for you to leave, as it was getting late.

“No, we were going away now,” Sylvain confirmed, walking towards the door. You followed him. Yet you grew bold.

“Can I ask just one more thing?” You said to the professor right before exiting.

“Of course.” The man with the dark blue hair.

“I can’t seem to find how the Crescent Moon War influenced the later war of 1180,” you stated.

Byleth remained silent for a moment. His jaw tensed. Your heart pounded. Did you catch him?

“That’s because there wasn’t any war that year,” Byleth responded. His demeanour was calm and serious as ever. Had he been practicing?

“Oh, really?” You tried to sound candid, feigning surprise. “I’m really bad with dates! That must be it!”

“You might have confused a couple of battles with a war. The battle took place around that year, but there wasn’t any declaration of war made” Byleth declared with a tense smile.

“Sorry for the trouble!” You exclaimed at last, urging Sylvain to go out with your elbow.

You closed the door behind you, and walked fast to distance yourself from any of the offices.

“What was that?” Sylvain was shocked.

“Wait until we get out of here,” You begged.

 Once you were on the common grounds of the student buildings, you stopped Sylvain. There was nobody around, as they were still in class. The ginger plopped himself on a bench.

“That was a good shot, but you were right”, he shrugged. “Byleth’s cold blood won’t make it easy. You were right, he’s special, I could feel a kind of connection… But we got nothing out of this…”

“I might have something”, you looked at him intently.

“On the books he gave you?”, he tilted his head. “Because I have revised all the library and –”

You took the opened letter out of your blouse. The silver details shone under the light.

“What the hell!”, Sylvain shouted. You shushed him, making desperate gestures with your arms to keep him from attracting any attention. You were paranoid, even though you were alone. Instead of any logical reaction, he had a fit of laughter.

“What?” You asked, irked.

“I thought you were physically incapable of anything remotely wrong in a moral sense!” He kept laughing, despite your attempts to quiet him down. “Why did you take it? Another hunch?”

“If you don’t get caught, you don’t get punished”, you said in a sarcastic tone.

“I knew it! You’re just as bad as me!” Sylvain was delighted.

“I might be,” You admitted because, well, he was right. Stealing the mail was a serious crime. But you took a small comfort in the pride and surprise Sylvain made you feel. You were no longer your dull, old self, that went on with the flow of events. No, you had a goal – multiple goals, in fact – and you were going to be an active participant in your life.

In that moment you wanted to kiss Sylvain again. But you had other priorities.

 “Are we going to read this or not?” You dared him.

“Don’t ask me twice.”

[jinterlude]

More Than Enough

↳ Header is made by yours truly, and the photo used can be found here.

—Pairing: Namjoon x Reader (female OC) —Genre(s): Angst, Romance, Fluff, & Slight-Humor —AUs/Tropes: Haikyuu!!Verse, Shiratorizawa Volleyball Captain!Namjoon, Field and Track!Reader, Hyung line are all 3rd years, Taehyung and Jimin are 2nd years, and Jungkook is a 1st year (awe baby) —Warning(s)/Rating: None / G —Word Count: 1,374 —Summary: After blowing their last chance at Nationals before moving on to that University life, Namjoon decides to blow off some steam by running on the track, however, the last person he expected to see showed up and brought a group of friends—and a wheelbarrow?

—A/N: Good morning party people! I am back fulfilling two different drink requests because why not?! Anyway, the first request was made by @jintobean​ who wanted Namjoon + Whiskey & Wine + Wheelbarrow and the second request was made by @ihavetitanium (I can’t tag you uwu so I linked your blog instead) who wanted Namjoon + Hot Chocolate! Talk about a combination of an interesting drabble! I had fun writing this, to be honest! Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed this! As always, feedback (constructive and/or positive) is always welcome! 

Also, this is written for @bangtan-dreamland‘s Drinks + Drabbles game! Thank you Eris and BHQ for creating this fun net game!

“And that’s the match! Karasuno goes on to Nationals for the third consecutive year!” 

A faint growl emits from Namjoon’s lips as the bitterness from his team’s complete and utter defeat returns. 

His hands ball into a fist. His knuckles practically turn white from the intense pressure. 

Namjoon’s tears well up as he doesn’t want to end his volleyball career on such a sour note. Shiratorizawa’s defeat isn’t how he desires to hand over the team to Taehyung, Jimin, Jungkook, and the rest of the younger players. 

The intelligent captain has planned every detail of their victory until their match against those lowly crows. 

And now? 

No longer will Karasuno be known as the “Flightless Crows.” Now, Shiratorizawa will take that title. The title of being called the “Flightless Eagles.”

Namjoon can’t help but snort at the mere thought of a majestic bird like the eagle becoming flightless. 

“I know that goofy grin, Joonie,” A friendly voice penetrates his entertaining thoughts, “So, what smart joke got you smiling like that?” Asks the voice, who Namjoon registers as his close friend—yours. Well, you’re his non-male close friend. Yoongi will have a heart attack if he hears Namjoon even remotely think that you’ve taken his spot as his number bro. 

Bromances are strange, and a concept that he will never quite grasp. 

Stopping in the middle of his sixth lap around the field, Namjoon stands in the middle of the lane, panting heavily. You quickly jog up to the volleyball captain. 

“___, what brings you out on the field this fine evening?” Namjoon asks, dodging your earlier question. 

You hum in response, grabbing your ankle as you begin stretching your leg muscles. 

“Well,” You pause, gesturing around you, “This is technically my territory since I am a member of the track & field club.” You state proudly, smirking. “So, let me turn that question back to you and ask what brings you out on the field this fine evening?” You ask, smiling sweetly.

Namjoon slowly nods, completely lost for words as that freaking smile of yours causes his heart to skip a beat. Talk about a cliché.  However, the speechless boy swiftly composes himself, clearing his throat as he maintains his usual stoic expression. 

Your quick and witty remarks are one of the many reasons why he harbors romantic feelings for you. 

Well, your witty remarks and the fact that you actually manage to outrank him during exam season. 

For crying out loud, you’re basically his dream girl. Now, if only you’ve chosen to join the girls’ volleyball club. 

Oh, well. 

The track and field club is an excellent second place sports-related club.

Shaking away his inner thoughts, Namjoon rakes his hand through his hair, ignoring the fact that some parts of his hair contain sweat. 

You grimace, “Okay, remind me to ask you to wash your hands before you touch me.” 

Namjoon arches his brow and then looks down at his hand. A short, “ah,” escapes his lips as he quickly wipes his tainted hand against his sweatpants. 

You giggle softly as you playfully shake your head. 

“Well, since you seem kind of jumbled, I’m going to take a wild guess and go with that you sadly lost in the finals against Karasuno. Shiratorizawa will not advance to Nationals.” You say, quickly alarming Namjoon. 

He begins fumbling over his words—a rare sight for the school’s resident Brainiac. Well, one of them. 

Your eyes widen, unsure what to say or even do next. Though, you take a few moments to relish this adorable sight. Unknown to Namjoon, you’ve actually developed a little crush on the scheming captain of Shiratorizawa. You somehow develop this strange infatuation over your high school career. At first, you’ve tried to talk yourself out of this silly little crush. However, that’s proven futile after your track and field announced to the entire club that they’ll be attending one of the volleyball team’s games. 

God, you remember that afternoon so vividly as the game has taken place during yours and Namjoon’s second year. 

To this day, you still recall the intense amount of focus and passion on Namjoon’s face as he relentlessly went after each ball, making sure that it remained in the air. After that day, you finally understand why your classmates say that Namjoon treats each match like a rousing game of chess. 

He is calculating…

He is intelligent…

And he knows how to ensure that Shiratorizawa maintains victory after each match. 

Now, imagine your surprise when word of their defeat reaches your ears. Hence, why you are currently standing next to Namjoon, checking up on him and hopefully cheering him up in the process. 

You don’t need telepathic abilities to know that today’s loss completely crushed Namjoon and the rest of the third years on the volleyball team. 

Not wanting to worsen that mental wound, you suggest a fun race between you and him. 

Namjoon eyes you strangely, “A race? Why?” 

You simply shrug, “Well, I know how competitive you get, and I always wanted to see who was the fastest between us.” You explain with a warm smile. 

Namjoon slowly nods his head, and as he opens his mouth to accept your challenge with a smile so wide that reveals his dimples, you guys hear panic shouts. 

The two of you turn towards the direction of the shouts and see six volleyball club members running down the ramp. It also appears that two of the members are pushing something. 

Wanting to get a better look, you squint, but soon your eyes go wide. 

“Those guys…” Namjoon mutters, suddenly embarrassed to call them teammates. 

You chuckle, “Uh. Do you want to tell me why your friends stole the gardener’s wheelbarrow and are now running as if their lives depend on it?” You question the poor volleyball captain, releasing a few more chuckles that bubble within your chest. 

Namjoon points towards another figure chasing after his good friends, “I’m guessing it has something to do with the fact that said gardener is threatening him as he runs after them,” He slightly shakes his head, “Poor gardener though. He can’t keep up with those six, especially the youngest of our little group.” A long sigh leaves the exhausted captain’s mouth. 

You shift your focus away from the comedic scene, though, you want to keep watching. 

It’s not every day you see a bunch of fellas steal a wheelbarrow. 

“Are you gonna help them?” 

“I mean a good captain would, but since the season is officially over, I’m no longer captain since I passed the title over to Jimin and—” 

“RM! Look, we did what no other team has done and stole the gardener’s prized tool!” One of his friends interrupts Namjoon. You recognize the voice, knowing it belonged to the school’s resident sunshine boy. Jung Hoseok. 

“Oh, wait! Is this girl you like, RM?” questions another friend of his who is exceptionally handsome. Then, you recognize the pretty boy as Kim Seokjin. 

However, his handsomeness doesn’t faze you. What does disturb you is the sole fact that Namjoon may or may not return your feelings? 

Oh, dear lord. 

Crossing your arms, you give the bright-red faced captain a knowing look. 

The shy boy averts his gaze and then narrows his eyes on his close friends. 

“Don’t you guys have to run away from the gardener or something?” 

“We will, but we want to first witness you asking out ___!”

Namjoon growls, but just as he’s about to threaten his buddies, you come to his rescue. 

Lucky for them…

“Tell you what, how about you guys resume your comedy skit and I will tell you what your dear old captain says to me asking him out. Deal?” 

“Say no more! See you later, guys!” The youngest shouts before ordering Jimin and Taehyung to resume pushing the wheelbarrow. 

You and Namjoon stare at their retreating bodies, patiently waiting for the nosy group to be out of earshot. 

Once they are, Namjoon turns to you and asks, ruining your so-called plan, 

“So, how does this Friday night sound?” 

“Sounds perfect. Now, please go save your friends before the gardener hurts them, especially Jungkook. He looks too adorable, and I don’t want him injured.”

“As you wish.”

More Than Enough is copyright 2020 by jinterlude, all rights reserved.