#this fic contains a lot of words for a nonverbal fic I’m such a fake fan huh

[flowercrowngods]

in which eddie is semi-nonverbal and steve notices despite eddie’s best efforts. cuddles ensue | 1.8k

They’re hanging out at Eddie’s, just the two of them, when Steve notices it for the first time. He’s not known as the most perceptive guy ever, but he’s actually rather good at these things. And he’s starting to get good at getting a feel for Eddie, too, even though it’s made harder by his dramatics and his flourishes and all those exaggerated gestures, mimics and mood swings. Eddie is fluent in all things sarcasm and drama, both of which Steve had issues reading in the beginning but is now pretty good with.

After fighting an interdimensional monster wizard creep, nearly dying a few times and spending time together almost every day because we stick together now, Steve knows Eddie.

He’s not sure if they’re friends, exactly, but that doesn’t really stop him from knowing all of his tones, his moods, and even most of his music these days. Steve just watches. Listens. Remembers. He’s shit at talking about himself much around anyone but Robin, but he always makes a point of knowing as much as he can about his friends. And Eddie.

Which is why the sudden strain in Eddie’s voice catches him off guard. It’s not the I didn’t get any sleep last night because all I can think of is how I almost died kinda strain. Nor is it the It’s 5pm and I haven’t eaten yet and I don’t want you to find out kind. Steve still makes sure to make them sandwiches as he listens to Eddie rambling off about something or other.

And that’s the thing. Steve listens. He always does, but Eddie is rambling. And he sounds almost miserable about it. The words don’t make sense, they lack their usual enthusiasm when Eddie talks DnD or music — which, he’s doing both? There’s no connection. And when Steve turns around, sandwiches secondary to that fucking strain in Eddie’s voice, he sees that his eyes are dull. The smile forced. And he keeps talking even though his tone indicates that he’s done.

Steve frowns slightly and watches Eddie, who’s walking mindlessly, aimlessly, pacing and stopping every few seconds, looking a little lost every time he does.

The thing is, there is no reason for Eddie to talk. No point to his words. No calculation in his movement, no burning off of excess energy, no kick in his step, no stomp for emphasis.

Steve notices. He sees. He listens. And thinking back, Eddie’s reaction time to just about anything Steve said today was either close to nothing, or very delayed.

It dawns on him then, as he looks Eddie up and down, noticing the fidgeting hands, the tense shoulders, the stiff grimace of a smile. It dawns on him because he knows this look, this behaviour. Not exactly like this, but close.

He has a hunch and hopes that whatever they have built over the past weeks is strong enough for Eddie not to freak out on him over this.

“Eddie,” Steve interrupts him, and it shouldn’t be this easy. It wouldn’t be, normally, but today Eddie just shuts up immediately, mouth closed, eyes on Steve.

“Yeah?” Four seconds. That’s how long that word took.

Steve hopes the expression on his face is kind, not patronising. “You know you don’t have to do this, right?”

Eddie blinks. Swallows. Two, three, four. “Do what, Steve?” And immediately he is defensive, taking on an act because maybe that’s makes this easier for him, but even his performance is strained.

“You don’t have to talk all the time,” he says, and only realises once the words have left his mouth that they sound wrong, like he’s annoyed with Eddie’s constant babbling and needs some silence. Which he doesn’t.

Eddie scoffs before he can take it back. He scoffs, spins in a circle and sighs deeply, expertly bridging the four seconds it takes him once again to open his mouth and speak.

“Oh, that’s new! That’s new, Harrington, I’ve never heard that one before. What’s next, you gonna call me a Freak? Maybe tell me the bands I listen to aren’t music? Really sorry, man, and I hate to break it to you, but if you wanna hang out with someone who doesn’t ‘have to talk all the time’, I’m not your man!”

Even the anger seems dull, the little speech far from what it could have been, like Eddie’s brain isn’t quite there, like it doesn’t work today, like the words just won’t come and decide to leave him hanging with his failed dramatics.

Still, Steve approaches him slowly, his hands raised in a placating motion. “That’s not what I meant, and I’m sorry it came out wrong, Eds. I don’t mind your talking, you gotta believe me. But…”

How does he say this next part, this next assumption, without accidentally insulting Eddie again? Without sounding like a complete and total jackass?

“You know El, right? The one with the superpowers?”

Eddie nods.

“Well, when she came to us, she could, like, barely talk. Her vocabulary wasn’t there yet, sure, but that’s not the only reason. And now she’s made wonderful progress and her vocabulary is pretty decent, but still she gets those days where she just… She can’t talk. Or won’t. Maybe both. Sometimes both, yeah. And on some days she will, like, force herself. But I can tell when she does because she’s miserable about it and it sounds like hard labour and she’s always on the verge of tears about it. And… I don’t know, Eds, but you kinda look a lot like her now, and even if you don’t, which is fine, sorry for bringing that up, but even if you don’t have days like that, just know that you don’t always have to talk, yeah? One way or another, there’s not a price you have to pay in stories or running commentary just to be part of the group. You could never talk ever again and we’d still stick together, yeah? That’s what I meant. Sorry if that’s a jackass kinda thing to say.”

Steve hates how he’s always out there fumbling for words and can never get them to sound right. Especially now, when he needs Eddie to understand. He always needs Eddie to understand. It’s a bit of an urge lately. He just wants him to feel safe.

It’s more than four seconds now, and Steve stops counting at ten, acutely aware of the silence this time. He lets Eddie have his silence, though, leaves him room inside it.

“That’s not a jackass kinda thing to say, Steve Harrington,” Eddie says, and Steve swears he has never heard his voice in such a quiet, vulnerable tone. The quiet always helps El, too. Make all those words she can’t say a little less loud and imposing, make it all a little more okay. Not so scary.

“Good,” Steve whispers, and maybe that’s one step too far, but Eddie sags a little bit and for a moment Steve fears that he’s about to sway forward. Not that he wouldn’t catch Eddie.

“What do… How. Do you help El through it?” Small, vulnerable, confused, and Steve heart breaks a little for him.

“I do,” he says, equally quiet, smile on his face. “We always lie down somewhere because you only have to talk when you sit or stand, right? Lying down, no one can make you talk. So we lie down, she’s usually resting on top of me, and either I talk to her about, well… Anything, really. Or I shut up. Sometimes there’s music. Really, there’s many ways to get through it, but the main two things are lying down and not talking on her part, y’know?”

And the way Eddie looks at him makes Steve think that maybe they are friends, because you don’t let just anyone see you this vulnerable. You don’t look at just anyone with your big brown doe eyes like they’re opening a whole new world for you.

“Sounds great,” he croaks and that tension is back in his shoulders, so obvious that Steve wants to reach out and massage it away.

He smiles and searches Eddie’s eyes, absolutely sure of the situation now, and maybe having a cure for it. “Eddie Munson, would you like to go lie down and not talk for a while?”

Eddie stares at him as though he’s calculating the risk, as though he’s weighing his options. He could still tell Steve to go and he’d be out of here in a heartbeat if being alone is what Eddie really needs. But then he nods.

“I think maybe I do, yeah.”

“With El, I only ask her yes or no questions. You can just nod or shake your head. Okay? Don’t know if that works for you but, well, we can find out I guess. Yeah?”

Eddie nods, and Steve smiles. He goes to the kitchen area to grab the sandwiches he made earlier and then lands back right before Eddie, smile still in place.

“Not to be weird or anything, but I think this might work best on your bed. Is that okay for you? If that’s not okay, we can just lie down on the couch.”

Eddie looks back to his room, then back at Steve. He nods.

“Your bed?” Steve asks again just to make sure, and Eddie nods again.

And this is how they find themselves lying on Eddie’s bed, Eddie’s head resting on Steve’s chest. His fingers find their way into the metalhead’s locks at some point and Eddie purrs, which makes Steve laugh for a moment. He doesn’t take his hand away, though.

Steve doesn’t talk like he does with El sometimes. With Eddie, he just basks in the silence and lets the other boy soak up as much of it as he needs. There’s a smile on his lips the whole time, and he didn’t think he could smile so much around Eddie Munson, especially on one of his bad days.

But he does.

They even fall asleep like that, Eddie lying on top of Steve, cuddling into him. Steve lets him. Even the next morning when they’re both awake but not willing to break the silence yet even though Eddie looks much better already, he doesn’t make any moves to get away from Steve. He stays there, head on his chest as they both just bask in the moment.

Bask in the company.

Bask on the threshold of something just to the right of friendship. Something more.

[ddaenghoney]

chapter two

masterlist link in blog description.

As a successful songwriter, you want nothing more than the acknowledgment that the chart-topping musical pieces are your own creations. But contracts, relationships, and the difficulty of facing the stakes involved head on, keep your mouth shut until pressure builds too much.

Pairing(s): Park Jimin x Y/N, Min Yoongi x Y/N

disclaimer: any characters depicted do not represent the actual personality of the respected idol in real life.

Series warning(s)/genre(s): Chapter-based written fic, Slow-burn relationship(s), Fake-dating, Unrequited love, Songwriter/producer!oc, idol!Jimin, idol/songwriter/producer!Yoongi, friends with benefits, drama, romance, smut, angst, fluff (updated as needed)

Chapter warning(s): minor intoxication, .

Word count: 5421

if you enjoy please, please let me know!

In the tiny meeting room, you scribble a few notes into a crummy notebook close to the end of untarnished pages. The four other girls are mostly talkative, casual as they look over the two songs found into their group’s use after Jimin’s crew decided against them and to pass on. You care little of the fact, honestly agreeing with the better suitability of the particular songs aligning to this group’s upcoming softer, warmer, early-spring concept.

Their manager exited already, leaving them to utilize the space for lunch while he handled other miscellaneous affairs.

“Ms. Y/N,” Your eyes met the youngest member as she leaned her head closer to the table so you would pay attention to her words. “Are you going to the club later too?” Your eyebrows furrow at the title, wondering why it would not leave no matter how many people you told to remove the formality.

“Doubt it.” You shrug, then tense as the leader of the group makes a shocked gasp, her long black hair whipping as she turns and faces you.

“What? But I wanted to buy you a drink for helping us so much.” She frowns. The expression is joined by the member sitting beside her equally upset. You glance between the two, then the youngest, and the one beside you.

“I,” You pause, thinking of an excuse other than not being interested in seeing Jimin interact with everyone as if he didn’t know you as more than a friend in the company.

“You,” The girl beside you grips on your shoulder, overtaking the sentence, “Could tag along with us.” She smiles meaningfully, and your lips tighten into a line. Frankly you assumed no one would question the absence, seeing as their had yet to be a question to you joining in the nightlife excursion beyond Jimin’s half-hearted inquisition. “Our makeup artist was going to help us get ready here at the company; I bet she’ll do your makeup too, if you want?”

An assistant enters after a knock, arms weighted from two large bags full of food. He sets it down and leaves, waving off the thanks from the members who immediately begin unpackaging.

“It’ll be fun; a lot of new people from the merger are going,” The youngest member explains to you as if creating reasoning for you to agree. She opens the top on a container of freshly cut fruit, and leans it in your direction. You gently shake your head smiling at the offer,

“I don’t know. I haven’t really had a weekend without doing things for work in a while.”

“Even more of a reason!” The leader nods at you with her cheek stuffed with a bite of a large wrap. “Perfect opportunity to let loose and have fun. Besides you’re a writer, I’m sure it’ll be a great way to get inspired, right?”

“I want to get into songwriting too.” The youngest member says across from you. Her other members make dramatic sounds before bumping into each other's' sentences to support her idea, a couple of mutterings here or there about wishing to do the same.

You wonder about it for a moment, trying to recall the amount of songs artists of the company wrote for themselves. You visualize a disparity in the actual self-sufficiency of them all. To the media, it is perceived that the idols contribute greatly, highlighted by the falsified credentials. Really though, most of the production isn’t up to them; across the board you can only think of a few artists or groups who did more of their own work than not. But they are the minor profiles of the company.

Stepping up from your seat, you collect your notebooks into your bag. “I’m going to head out; text me if you guys have any more comments on ideas you want to see in potential comebacks.”

“Wait, you’re not going to eat?” The member sitting beside you gestures her utensil to the food prepared. It wasn’t ordered for you in the first place, and considering how much these girls work on their performance aspect, you didn’t want to take the calories from them.

“No, I ate breakfast late, so it’s fine.” You wave to them as you walk to the door, trying to reply to their goodbyes with some of your own. Happy you avoided the topic of the club, but contemplative of the lingering thoughts building in your head about their desires to try and create songs independently.

They would undoubtedly need to okay from the company for any production to happen, but did the same need to be said of yourself?

“Oh, good timing,” The door shuts behind you as a voice to your left calls out. Turning to the person, you catch your sight instantly on light blonde locks arranged in slight waves on top of Min Yoongi’s head. They were black days before when you bumped into him last. “Can you give me a hand with this?”

You become aware of the box he’s balancing in one hand and the cylindrical container tucked under the other arm. Though the idea of help isn’t foreign, you can’t help but glance past yourself to see if he was talking to someone else. “Uh, yeah sure,” You agree, reaching as he gives you the light, lengthy container. “I’m sorry for bumping into you the other day, by the way.”

“Oh, was that you?” Yoongi asks you as you follow his pace down the hall, the box repositioned in front of his torso now. The words are calm, genuine in the lack of memory. Somehow the fact makes you nibble the side of your tongue while your gaze hardens in consideration towards the back of his head. A pair of headphones are useless around his neck, bumping into the subtle bounce of his hair with each step. “Don’t worry about it. It’s probably busy running around this place all day.”

You wonder if Yoongi remembers any other times you had interacted with one another. The very first time he seemed more reclusive than how he is in front of you now. During a tour of the building with his shoes following the CEO and her assistant around, you remember their group intersecting with you and Jimin moments before you left that day. He only said a greeting to you both then, despite the clear desire made by Yerin for more casual conversation to occur between Yoongi, his previous company’s golden face, and Jimin who ranks high in the charts since his debut as well.

“So,” Your mouth opens in the quiet that begins to feel uncomfortable when your memory paints the picture of his evasive hardened expression during that first interaction. An attempt to try and patch up any awkwardness that you got around him came out as you asked with an uncertain tone, “This place nicer than the last building?”

Yoongi doesn’t reply right away, not even with a nonverbal queue. You begin thinking he ignored you, especially because your walk behind him led you with no way to see an expression. With that in mind, you look down at the object he asked you to carry along, contemplating an apology for no reason.

“It’s hard to remember the layout.” Yoongi speaks thoughtfully, and you look back up at him. “I guess that’s just because I’m used to the old place.” His voice drifts with that line, softer and if you let yourself assume you would say he seems downcast. “My studio’s bigger here though.” In a way it sounds like he’s weighing his pros to the cons, only happenstance allowing his statement to be timed as an answer to your inquiry. “Ah, but this place isn’t bad.” A cover-up. Quicker spoken than before and Yoongi glances back towards you as his pace slows slightly. He speaks when you reach his side, “Have you worked here long?”

“I guess almost five years at this point.” You answer absently, curious about the change in his replies along the way. Yoongi nods, looking ahead as he comments,

“Long time. Assistants are treated pretty well here, huh?”

You stop in his tracks as the words flow in your ears. Yoongi continues one, two more steps then pauses as well, turning back to face you. Confusion growing in the furrow of his brows and slightly pouting lip. Your expression is certainly incredulous, and you almost want to laugh at the ridiculousness of his perspective. “I’m not an assistant.”

His lips part to speak, but he doesn’t, pondering what about the misunderstanding was causing your face to become visibly frustrated, and your tone to become entirely vexed. Nevertheless, Yoongi faces you properly, bowing his head a little as he speaks, “Ah, I’m sorry. I guess because I always see you with the artists, I thought you were.”

His explanation is fair and you know it. That irritates you the most. Your grip on his item grows more forceful from the frustration, but you sigh to release the senseless anger aiming at his innocent container.

“Then,” Yoongi begins again, though your gaze drifting towards the floor between you both makes him wish he stopped before the next innocent question drifts from his mouth, “Are you dating Jimin-”

“No.” You’re quick to deflate the claim. Yoongi pauses at the rather loud statement that cut into Jimin’s name matching the glare in your eyes when they flick back to him. Your head shakes and you continue walking, “Where’s your studio?”

“I didn’t mean to upset you; I’m sorry-”

“It’s fine, it’s nothing. You wouldn’t know, why would you?” You ramble, eyes searching from plaque to plaque as if you also forgot the layout of the company. “I work here, though. I’m not some random person.” You felt a strong desire to yell the fact, or throw the cylinder in your hand if only to release how annoying it is that he, or anyone, has no reason or way to know whom you are.

“Ah, so,” Yoongi’s stuttering slightly as he thinks of something to say that won’t further serve to irritate you, “What do you do here then?” He briefly considers the idea that you are someone incredibly important and perhaps even someone he should not be acting so casually with, but your abrupt groan pushes him against that. If only because you seem genuinely unable to answer him, but Yoongi couldn’t think of a reason why.

The companies merged, you know that, and Yoongi would be under every legal obligation to not blab to the public about your position as a prominent songwriter in the company that is to remain unnamed in every way. However, you don’t want to say it. In your mind every thought wishes he already knows about you, but that is completely unfair considering reality.

“This one’s your studio?” You come across the door with a scribbled paper taped to it reading SUGA. The design clearly short-term, but as long as you could get away from the embarrassment of having to explain your stupidity in how you are involved with the company, you don’t care. “I help in song production.”

Yoongi notices the spite in your statement, but doesn’t comment on the fact as you place his packaged artwork against the wall. The corner of his lip bunches back into his cheek in consideration, but you’re oblivious to his visible discomfort of how he has upset you. He watches you stare at the stage name presented on the door to signify it being his space and wonders why he believes he sees a longing in your eyes.

“Thanks for helping me.” Yoongi says instead of anything else. He doesn’t know you. It’s not his place, and frankly not something he feels the need to bother with. Considering the amount of unloading that remains to make this place feel anything remotely like the last, he would rather the situation end. In any case, he figures that you want him to stop talking about anything regarding you any further.

You only nod losing focus of the room he has earned with a title to prove it as you glimpse back towards Yoongi to offer a small polite smile. You wave your hand and say goodbye, feigning the energy of contentment and hoping none of the envy prickling in your chest pokes through your irises. If it does, Yoongi doesn’t mention it and begins entering into his studio after you walk back from where you came from.

The second time in the same week that you can’t speak properly for yourself and it has your throat teeming with frustration. Maybe Namjoon is right, maybe you should leave once the contract is over. But then what? You’re in the elevator staring at the number listing the floor become lower. If you leave you’re sure to start from the ground up with nothing able to go on your resume other than vague mentions of song production like you mentioned to Yoongi. Sure, you could dress the phrasing and use the five years to make it sound moderately impressive, but why should you?

The glistening tiles you step on in this building that everyone moved into a year and a half ago were purchased through your efforts. The songs that chart, the artists that are gaining acclaim with every passing day, even the mixing on a good number of songs were all thanks to you. SoundWave Entertainment’s drastic rise in success is due to a handful of people, but you’re one of them. The world just didn’t know that.

What would happen if they did?

“You’ll get sued.” Namjoon’s voice is flat through the speaker. You scoff at the fact, blending foundation while trying not to glare at your reflection. “Sorry,” Now sheepish, but unapologetic despite his words. Realistic. “Even if you tell the press afterwards, I don’t think another company would pick you up-”

“Why?” You interrupt actually shocked at him then. You wait for Namjoon to answer while he’s clearly drifted into telling one of his employees something about a reservation for the following week.

“Even if you’re in the right to have everyone know you wrote all of those songs-- produced some entirely too,” Namjoon begins again calmly, though he’s drawing scribbles on the margin of his calendar while he explains his perception. “If you’re the one who talks to the media about it, any other company is going to think you’re unloyal. Also, you’re going to lose your royalties from all the stuff you’ve made because that’s a part of the deal. You can’t say anything.”

There’s silence that follows. Namjoon allows you to have it, knowing his words didn’t set you at ease or uplift you in the slightest. But with you starting the call by telling him you intend to go to the club party this evening, he feels like you shouldn’t go in completely impulsive. Especially with how set against the event you had been up until that phone call.

“Start over completely then, huh?” Rhetorical tone. Sadder too. Namjoon frowns at his desk. “It’s what I get for signing the contract then. I just wanted something to help with college crap, and look where it got me.” He listens to you sigh, tapping the tip of his pen on the square in the calendar for the current day.

“Yerin took advantage of you.” His voice is icy; conviction unwavering for if you try to give yourself anymore blame. “It’s not like you won’t get work elsewhere.” A pause because he knows the idea implies practically starting over just as you said. “Or… You could try getting the contract adjusted when it’s time to renew.”

“What if,” You dip a small brush against a shade of eyeshadow. Your voice is deceptively calm given the severity of your sentence, “She won’t even want to renew?”

“Why?” Now Namjoon is thrown off from your words. He couldn’t remember a story about yourself in the company that could logically warrant dropping you.

“Min Yoongi works there now too.” You pause before beginning to apply the eyeshadow. His repertoire crosses through your mind. “Songwriter, producer,” You scoff, “Plus he’s actually an idol.”

“He’s not going to let them use any of his stuff without credit though.” Namjoon cancels the worry he hears seeping into your voice. “They’ll still want their idols to look self-sufficient and he’s not going to play along with no credit. You know what he’s like.”

Namjoon is referring to the stoic persona pictured in magazines, and the straight-forward answers in interviews. The captionless posts on Instagram, and passively-aggressive tweets. The newly bleached hair that you believe will look just as imposing in paparazzi shots as his previously black style.

You consider the instant apologies Yoongi gave you hours earlier and the thanks. You remember him trying, and failing, to change the topic of conversation into something that would even out your lowering disposition.

“Yeah, I doubt he’d let them walk all over him.” You murmur, recollecting your thoughts to finish your makeup. “It’s just me that didn’t consider the long-term problems in that contract.” You’re laughing cynically while Namjoon audibly huffs on the other side. Slapping the palette shut, you scoot the chair of your desk back and rise. “I’m no doubt going to end up at your place sometime tonight.”

“I’ll let you use the bed instead of Jin then.” Namjoon says already imagining the ear full to be received from Seokjin at the prospect. The bed in question is still in a couch-form across the room from Namjoon. “Call me if anything weird happens, okay?”

“I will.” You leave the phone on your desk, calling loudly as you step away to the closet.

“And,” Namjoon hesitates, biting his lip. The tension doesn’t lessen when you ask him what he wanted. “Don’t let anything about Jimin get you down tonight, if you can avoid it.”

You pull out the dress to wear as Namjoon’s request completes. His tone is utterly soft and you know it comes from the best intentions, but it scrapes your ears to hear it. Namjoon likes Jimin, knows you like Jimin too much, and doesn’t like the relationship you and Jimin have. Believes it won’t work for either of you with how it is. You waver in agreement, but you always tell him it’s nothing to worry about.

“Doubt I’ll even run into him. People to impress and all.” You don’t specify, but Namjoon rightfully assumes you’re referring to Jimin.

Like other parties organized by SoundWave, there’s some chaos going on outside of the club. Under the cold December air, eager partygoers arrange themselves in the queue, groups of friends huddled closer to shield from any brisk air. You imagine by midnight the majority of those unable to get in will have left to other venues, but you unfortunately don’t think the same for the few cameramen set up around the street. They’re hoping for something scandalous as if they forgot the whole event is sponsored by an idol company; it’s ridiculous to assume anything surprising will happen where all the celebrities are aware of their presence.

You pass the queue on the sidewalk, clutch in hand while you hurry from the taxi to indoors where it’ll undoubtedly be warmer than outside. Your name is on the list and you roll your eyes at the fact that this is the extent of where your reputation gets broadcasted. Disregarding any of the questioning voices from those around you, you simply walk inside and let them assume whatever about your identity in relationship to the celebrity world. The coat counter is a small mess of people trying to sign in their items, and you’re grateful that you opted against the outerwear.

“Y/N!” Your eyes don’t have time to survey the colorful, loud room before a familiar voice catches your focus. Seokjin waves at you while exiting from behind the main bar, keeping his clear drink level as he meets you. “You did show up after all, huh?” He halfway hugs you, then begins in the walk back towards the bar, sipping gingerly at his martini.

“You know, I get impulsive when I’m spiteful.” You say jovially, smiling when the words cause him to laugh.

“Like when you dyed your hair because I joked-- very jokingly said I couldn’t imagine you doing it.” He shakes his head when you nod proudly at the memory, though the blue lasted about a month before you needed to go to a hairdresser to fix that mess you made. “What’ll you have? Remember you don’t have to pay for anything while you’re here-- well, don’t get the giant bottles of champagne though, those things are kind of pricey.”

“I’m not trying to dry out your supply, don’t worry.” He gives you a thumbs up and goes to mix you a drink you didn’t specify but as he reaches for the bourbon, you know he remembers your usual anyways. You thank him for the icy drink then very gently clink yours to his and take a long sip. A small burn in the throat that’s mostly warm. “You see anyone interesting so far?”

“I don’t know.” Seokjin shrugs, setting his empty glass down and you watch it quickly be whisked away by a dishwashing employee. “I feel like celebrities start to all look the same when I’m here all the time.” He leans his elbows onto the counter, smirking softly as he speaks, “By the way, I’ve seen quite a few looks in your direction since you walked in. Winning outfit tonight.”

Seokjin’s coy expression grows into amusement when your eyes widen from his words. Your hands shift a bit tighter around your glass as the single piece of ice floats to the top. You glance over your shoulder in wonder, biting back any satisfaction from your expression, but Seokjin knows better. “Hey, quit playing it off; you know you look hot, I saw your instagram story post-”

“Can you not?” You laugh at him and he joins in. Fitting a thanks to a bartender that gave him a new martini, he continues in his laughter while you go on. “So you liked the picture, huh?”

“I sent you the heart emoji face.” He grins, content with your relaxation as you take another drink. You shrug off his words.

“Excuse me,” The familiarly light voice drifts in your senses, as the seat next to yours becomes occupied. Your eyes find Jimin’s as he makes himself comfortable. Dusty rose colored hair styled up out of his face, and his lips are as springlike when he smiles gently at you, then turns his attention to Seokjin. “Can I order a drink?”

“He’s the owner.”

“I’m the owner.” You and Seokjin speak over each other, making him scoff, then continue as Jimin’s obscured hand finds the top of your thigh where your dress ends. A beat in your heart feels heavier. “But yeah, I can get you something. Jimin, right?”

“Yeah, and thanks. Gin and tonic, please.” Jimin speaks respectfully, turning his hand upwards as yours searches for his. Seokjin casts you a glance, noticing your very small shrug, he walks down the bar refraining from laughter. “You came?” He turns on the stool to face you, letting his boot settle on the footrest of your seat beside your heel.

“You can see me can’t you?” Your teasing earns his hand to squeeze your own. The action creates a ripple in your chest, growing larger as Jimin smiles wider.

“Lovely, don’t tease me. I’m just happy you’re here; I didn’t think you’d come.” You nod, but think against telling him about the reasoning behind your change of mind.

“Just thought why not.” You say simply, biting your lip as Seokjin places a drink beside Jimin. Seokjin then points his middle and index fingers to his eyes then towards you as he steps off once more.

“Did I interrupt something potential?” Jimin asks you catching the final bit of the actions. His tone is slightly lower than before, clearly curious above all.

“Friend of mine.” You settle any of his worries, even though there isn’t a defined obligation to do so. Jimin raises an eyebrow, surprised for a moment before eventually nodding,

“Ah, that’s right. Jin is this Seokjin.” He continues to nod, rubbing his neck with his hand sheepishly. You smirk softly and he sees it. “What?”

“Jealous?” Your tone drips with a joking sound, to ensure him that he didn’t need to take you seriously, but a piece of you hopes he would.

“Not jealous,” He says easily, eyes drifting to his untouched drink and you nod. As expected. “Maybe if he made you laugh longer.” You look at him. His expression is contemplative towards his drink. Calm, but something about it feels feigned. Jimin finds your eyes, losing himself for a second in the focus of your own. He scoots towards you, knee grazing yours as his face leans to speak tiny vibrations to your ear, “Why don’t we go to the VIP booths, baby?”

---

The majority of the crowds and dancing occurs on the ground level, while offset by half a story exists the VIP area that privately overlooks the club. Nothing particularly luxurious about it, other than its own set of employees to take orders for drinks. The nights you and Namjoon came with friends, Seokjin allows your group to use one, and you’re used to the tinted glass wall that filters away some of the pulsating music. Jimin mentions some other idols from the company being a part of the group with him that use the table he sits with you at, but also them all being far more interested in partying to be there for any longer than makeup touch-ups or a glass of water.

The knowledge makes the five drinks ingested throughout the next couple of hours hit differently. You know he’s had a similar amount of alcohol, but like you you don’t get affected as vigorously as other people. Nevertheless the lull in your head makes the slow kisses more frequent than other times when you and him were out in public together.

“I like this dress.” Jimin says as his hand runs along your side, feeling the smooth material against his skin and the small fidget of your waist when your grip settles along your hip. A smirk plays along his lips that end up against your neck, languidly pressing ministrations to the skin. “I’m glad you came.”

“I was thinking you didn’t really care if I did.” You admit though you gasp softly, gripping the silk of his top when his mouth travels over a sensitive spot. Jimin hums in thought, feeling your grip tighten from the sensation, then more so when he nibbles at the skin, sucking with the intent to leave it a reminding blotch,

“Of course I want to see you whenever I can.” Jimin says simply, almost a stung timbre in the words, as he pulls away finding your gaze for a passing moment then kissing your lips softly like words aren’t enough for him. You arms stray to wrap around his neck, letting him tug you closer to lengthen the kiss until you’re short of breath. “Did you say that because we haven’t been able to go on a date lately?”

Your chest rises and falls as it takes in air, arms remaining positioned around Jimin while he keeps his grip protective on your waist. Eyes searching through yours with worry cracking through. “No,” You shake your head, pecking his lips gently. “I was just saying something dumb. It’s been a weird week and all.”

“With,” Jimin’s voice stutters while he recalls everything that’s gone on the past week. “It was just the meeting, wasn’t it, baby?” He frowns when your eyes avoid his face to favor a stare towards the table. “Hey,” A hand cups your cheek, coaxing you to look back towards him as concern presents itself, “Lovely, you don’t have to hide things from me. Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t.” Flatly said. Jabbing at Jimin’s composure as he feels you metaphorically pulling away from him. “It’s nothing important.”

Nothing you think he’ll want to talk about. Jimin doesn’t like talking about your contract, he’s never let that topic stick around for more than a couple of back and forth sentences. If your growing dissatisfaction with your treatment is something he truly cares about, he would’ve spoken in your favor. You swallow air at the swordlike thought.

“If something’s bothering you-” You both startle as boots clack directly behind you. Shifting from Jimin he lets his hands fall from you when you move away. Turning to look over your shoulder you watch blonde hair walk away from you two, down the stairs towards the main floor. You smile bitterly, finding this whole thing ridiculous as you mumble,

“I have to hide making my songs, and I have to hide being with you.”

“Y/N-”

“We should call it quits for tonight, right?” You look back at Jimin wondering if the stinging in your eyes is visible to him. His expression appears to be at a loss, lips a line, and his hands clenching.

“Why are you bringing all that up?” Your heart drops at the question, and the disconnect from him continues as Jimin appears to grow stoic.

“You asked me if something was wrong, and then you say that?” Your voice feels hot and you sigh hoping it’ll help alleviate pressure in your throat. You remove yourself from the booth thinking he may stop you, but Jimin stays still watching you grab your clutch. “I don’t like how things are right now.”

Despite the vague pronoun, Jimin registers the firmness in your voice, and how you’re visibly upset with more than just his insensitive question. He bites his inner cheek, watching you take the first step away before he’s bolting from the booth to grab your hand.

“Baby,” His pleading tone makes the stinging in your eyes more unbearable. “Please don’t go. Let’s talk-”

“If I tell you I hate my contract what are you going to say?” You don’t look at him when the questions trembles from your lips in frustration that fizzes painfully in your head. “That,” You feel his grip loosen before you’re able to continue, “You’re going to help me change it?”

You hear the lively voices, and a fast-paced song dominating the air, but Jimin behind you remains quiet. Tugging your arm from his grasp takes little effort, like he was ready to let go. Let you leave. Unwilling to answer and put truth in the air.

You want to know why when you turn to face him but Jimin’s expression stops your open mouth from speaking. Like he’s resigned to himself, eyes matching with yours to show hardened seriousness. You step towards him while he follows your movement, looking down at you. He’s successful at hiding from you how much his heart hurts at the sight of your building tears.

“Jimin,” The tremble in your voice stabs into his mind more, a pensive barely there frown the only thing that lets you into his thoughts at all. “Don’t you think I deserve to have my name in the credits?”

His shoulders shrug uncertainly and still not a word. You’re unable to understand why he closes away every time this discussion comes up. Why is he on the side of Yerin to keep things as they are? A bud in your brain feels pulsing at the thorn of implications that question could lead to and it makes you feel desperate for something out of him.

Jimin’s palm finds your waist to stable himself when your hands reach for his top to pull him towards you, lips attaching themselves to one another if only to get him to remember that he cares about you despite whatever ridiculous persona he’s trying to play at. Kissing him makes him responsive and it’s as though he’s letting the hidden emotions out; you feel the longing as he tugs you closer to him so that your body is pressed to his and he’s hugging you.

When your tear connects with his cheek Jimin pulls away, a surprised expression mixing into his longer breaths for air. You let the next few droplets leave your eyes, because he didn’t break the wall gaping between you two. You release your hands from his shirt and walk away.

Jimin lets you.

if you enjoy please, please let me know! i hope you enjoy the series, i’m working really hard on it! : )

tag list (send an ask to be added): @jaiuneamesolitaiire​

[owlaholic68]

Fic Writing

Since I’ve just (almost) finished writing chapter 9 of Au-Dela/Beyond the Stars, I thought I’d do a lovely little retrospective of my writing and translating experience!

The most obvious thing is that my writing speed in French has improved dramatically. I just busted out over 1000 words today, which is not bad compared to my English writing speed, and is way better than it was when I started. 

My random thoughts on chapters I’ve written:

Chapter 1: there’s apparently an “entertainment officer” on Lucky and I have no idea why their job is important enough to be mentioned. 

Chapter 2: I literally forgot that Lily was in this fic for some reason, don’t worry, she’ll be back. Also, I imagine Arcade’s lab to be like a Studio Ghibli greenhouse/science room. 

Chapter 3: I literally don’t remember coming up with the plot for this chapter, it just happened. Also, Julie is very good friends with both Christine and Veronica, I hope that was clear. 

Chapter 4: This was like the Bachelor, but less dumb and also less romantic? Also, Arcade was supposed to be in this somewhere, I don’t know where he went. 

Chapter 5: This is where Arcade went. Sorry, man, your job sucks. Also the king does...literally nothing ever... Oh right, my big reveal! I’m not sure why I tacked it on to this chapter, but I hope it was a nice cliffhanger!

Chapter 6: This is like the Boy who Cried Wolf with all these darn fake medical emergency messages. Also, almost kissing, ugh my weakness. 

Chapter 7: This chapter was supposed to almost 4000 words long, I don’t have any idea how that happened, so I split it two bc i’m back in school next week. 

Chapter 7 part two (Chapter 8): Oooh this isn’t up yet, but it’s a lot of fun! Veronica’s in there, Christine’s in there, Dmitri gets some time in. I also wrote this to the angstiest songs for some reason?? Also, not to spoil anything, but some scenes go better when I just knock Arcade unconscious. I just like giving the man head wounds. It happened in She Packed No Star (in the last chapter he got a concussion), Silver Stars (knocked himself out while teleporting to Julie’s temple), and this chapter too! Sometimes I get stuck writing, then I knock him out and everything goes great!!!!! Sorry!!!!!

Chapter 9 (just mostly written): I learned a lot about old Moroccan (Marrakech specifically) ruins and architectural elements. It was a lot of fun. That’s all I’ll say. 

Sometimes I forget what words I’ve used, and I always have my previous chapters open. Recent example: the word “stretcher” has two different words in French, and I just jumped back to Chapter 1 to find exactly which one I’d used. I have a weirdly good memory for exact times that I’ve used certain words or phrases.

Oh, the agony of decisions concerning formality of language...Christine just started using “tu” with Lynn and I’ve just been screaming internally the whole time I’ve been writing.

WHY do I use the present participle so much?????

THANK GOODNESS I made a stylistic decision a long time ago to write in present tense, because this would have been a lot harder if I would have had to write in passé simple or in another past tense. 

Forgot the spelling of the word “emperor” in french, jotted it down in English on my document, went to go look up the word and forgot how to spell it in English, had to go back to what I’d written. I should’ve just looked at my other chapters. It was in chapter One. It would have taken half as much time.

*word* *looks up French/English equivalent* *while page is loading, I think of the right word in French/English, now I just have the dictionary page open for no reason*

“La main” or “le main”? I’ve used the word for “hand” about 30 times a chapter, still second-guess myself on the gender of the noun. 

*writes romance interlude* *interlude is longer than my normal chapters* *interlude also contains important plot elements, so it’s basically just another chapter*

I actually have to set aside specific time for romantic interactions, bc sometimes I just forget...that that’s one of my main plot elements...Also (for example) bc of plot restraints, Veronica often can’t be a big part of the other chapters (yet), so she needs a little bit of designated Lynn Interaction Time. And since this is my first time writing a poly thing, that little bit of extra relaxed time will come in handy later.

While translating into English, I go to look up a phrase. After reading the dictionary definition, I don’t like it. Then I somehow remember the exact phrase that I had wanted to say while writing it originally in French. 

Translation is great bc I know EXACTLY what the author was trying to convey, because I AM the author. 

Finds errors in my French version while translating it into English.

WHY aren’t there as many descriptive words for saying things different ways in French? Ughhhhhh there’s basically no difference between scream/yell/shout/say loudly/squeal/squeak, they’re all just “crier/hurler”

WHY do I have all these weird sentences that are just “she stood up.” Why did I feel like I needed to write these in French? 

stuff that sounds better in French

stuff that sounds better in English

stuff that doesn’t sound good in either

I have to translate right at the end, bc otherwise I’ll change/add things in my French draft that I then have to go change/add in my English one and it’s a huge pain

PRONOUNS. Example: Technically Dmitri should use the feminine “elle” because the word for plant is feminine, but he of course uses “il” which I’m not sure exactly conveys that Arcade is saying “he” not “it”???? Also Arcade uses “tu” with Dmitri, fyi.

Also PRONOUNS between all these women are killing me.

Speaking of Dmitri, I have no idea why I picked that name. I think I looked up French nature-related names, and something similar to that came up? I just really like the name. 

I either write a whole paragraph without looking up a single word, or I have to look up every word in a single sentence. The former results in fast writing of quick-action scenes that I go back and edit, the latter makes for some lovely poetic descriptions. 

Lynn is always hesitating for some reason. She’s also making lots of eye contact too. Julie is always smiling. Christine is always showing lots of nonverbal affection. Arcade always has something in his hands. 

Speaking of Christine, I did toy with the idea of making her unable to speak, but ultimately forgot about it and dropped the idea within 0.5 seconds of writing Christine dialogue. I don’t regret it one bit. 

The king was supposed to be House?? And now he’s not, but he still kind of is?? Oh well I don’t care about him anymore...

I had the first story arc mapped out pretty detailed, this second one is going to be about 95% done on the fly, I pretty much just know what’s going to happen at the end. It’s going to be very character driven. There’s going to be an overarching plot with Star-Trek-style episodes thrown in.

I can’t decide what the ship’s hierarchy is?? Definitely (in order): the king, Lynn, Julie, and then I think Christine and Boone, then Fantastic and Reyes, then other minor officers? 

Somehow tropes from Silver Stars (Greek Mythology AU) are trying to creep into this story. One Big One is coming in Chapter 9 that I kept bc it still feels right, but I realized halfway through that this particular story element is kind of familiar. There’s also a lot of mentions of stars and the night sky that I don’t know why I’m still using in this fic, but it does still paint a very lovely picture. 

I’m definitely describing a lot more in french, but also describing things less in some ways. Sometimes I go to translate certain parts, and I’m shocked by how little time I spent describing scenery. But other times, I realize that I’ve gone into detail about the diplomatic structure of peace treaties in my AU. 

Uhhhhh a lot of times I write fic on my phone, and I just can’t do that with this, because I always need at least one dictionary tab open, and usually another couple tabs with music or research. However, it’s easier for me to edit my French drafts on my phone because I have a french keyboard option, which I can’t get a handle on on my desktop. 

I try to listen to French music when I write in French, but anything’s fair game when I’m translating. I always come up with ideas when I’m in my car listening to either Bob Dylan songs or Woodie Guthrie protest/pro-union anthems. 

I can’t believe I’ve written so much, and I’m still probably just under halfway through (if even). Also, I can’t believe that I’ve actually have consistent updates of decent lengths, every single week! This fic has been so much fun to write and translate, and has definitely been the slowest burn romance I’ve ever written!

I hope that everyone reading has enjoyed reading as much as I’ve enjoyed writing!