#after 3! masters semi finals in a row
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Stars Above! | Cad Bane
Chapter 15
Explicit: Semi-slow burn, gratuitous smut /pwp, canon-typical violence, mildly dubious consent, angst, Tatooine Slave Culture.
This chapter: No warnings but for a disgruntled Duros.
Word count: 2.7k+
Notes: This is kind of a short chapter, but it feels right to set it apart on its own from what comes next. In fact, writing shorter chapters may make it so that I update more often, as it's easier to manage, and I still have a LOT of story to tell. <3
[ Ao3 ] - [ Masterpost ]
《 Previous chapter ||
Zulara tried her best to not let fear overtake her, for her spiraling thoughts to get the best of her, even as she sat there all alone. Not truly, but it felt as if she had been abandoned, Todo having powered down with Bane still sleeping soundly in the bacta.
Everything was happening much too quickly, though it had been hours since she’d come here; her head was spinning. She hadn’t eaten, having let her meal fall to the ground at Cad Bane’s entrance to her tiny home back on Slave Quarter’s Row the night before.
Zulara realized she didn’t even know the time, not having a chrono of her own. She supposed it did not matter, although Kayson might come looking for her. She wondered if Hondo was able to curb his anger, or to make up some excuse for her, but in her heart she knew nothing would deter her master once he had a mind to do something—find her secret hiding spot.
It was only secret because she was sure he did not know where Bane was docked, or even what his ship looked like. It was the only thing that gave her hope as she gazed longingly at the Duros, wishing he’d wake up.
She regretted leaving Todo just standing there, his form bent forward in a supine slope, but she had been too concerned, too riddled with worry for the hunter, not to go directly back to his side.
She had lost track of how long she had been there, seated on the floor with her legs folded beneath her; her fingers and forehead flat against the glass, Zulara engrossed by Cad Bane’s every breath—she could not help it.
She had almost panicked, having thought to call the youth named Boba Fett, but after the story she had heard, she steeled herself, refusing to bring him back aboard the ship if she could manage it.
Now, it was not Bane who settled into dreams, but the girl beside him. She dreamt of silly things. Things that were nary possible in this life, things that might have made her smile, but she was not so dotty as to put any stock into them.
Imagine her, flying amongst the stars, free from Kayson and from his business, only having to answer to herself. But maybe Bane would be there, maybe he would take care of her, and she would him. Maybe she could join him in his quest across the galaxy, providing him with some relief once he had finished a hard day’s work—how asinine she was to think that. It would never happen.
In reality, space was dark, cold, and unforgiving, she often floundered when she was made to practice piloting. Never before had Zulara felt so claustrophobic, not until she had experienced breaking atmo on Kayson’s orders the first time she left Lothal, no matter that the stars were beautiful.
When she was positive that nothing could go wrong; when she was absolutely sure that Bane was resting comfortably, the girl would climb unsteadily onto her tingling legs and her own two feet—they had nearly been asleep—finally ambling down the corridor to where the little droid resided.
Zulara did her best to move him to his rightful place: the recharge station. No arguments were given, no sassy backtalk had to be endured, yet she found she missed him. The silence of the ship was more than deafening, besides the warbled sound the pod made as it recycled and replenished bacta, as was its purpose, just like he had one—she presumed something, though she had no proof: It was possible in deep space Bane felt too alone, therefore Todo kept his mind sharp, kept him on his game, in addition to keeping the Duros company.
What friends did he have otherwise? Did he have partners that stood by his side? From what Pampy had said to her, he seemed to work all by his lonesome, with a reputation that preceded him.
Perhaps he liked it that way; perhaps she was intruding, yet he had seemed intrigued by her. She worried every second of every minute of every hour what Bane might do should he find her here once he awoke; she prayed to the Goddess of the Twi’lek people that he might find solace with her and not try to kick her out, or worse.
She felt the click, heard the sound that denoted Todo was plugged in. It echoed loudly in the quiet, bouncing from wall to wall. She glanced about her. There were so many things for her eyes to see and study.
There was a lengthy worktable. It was littered with motors, servos, gears, and wires of all sizes. Some parts looked salvaged, while others might be newly purchased, not to mention microchips of unknown origin and lenses, sensors, other various tools and instruments.
She saw a pair of RW-80 welding goggles, along with a protective visor. There were advanced repair kits of all kinds, including those for blasters. Most curious of all was what she thought were trinkets, things that he might collect. There were different kinds of helmets, and what appeared to be weapons of some sort that were unfamiliar. Cabinets lined the walls; she wondered what they might hold. She dare not snoop too much for fear of repercussion.
Still, that would not stop her. She gathered all the bits and pieces of Bane’s wrist gauntlet from off the ground, double-checking to make sure the hunter was still dozing.
Once seated, Zulara would pick up a nearby broken-screw remover, also known as an extractor. This one had a spiral flute structure, which she used to carefully unwind one that was being difficult. Her hands were delicate, though exacting. They had to be for one thing, yet without a measured touch it was possible to add too much torque to the brittle metal, thus making your job that much harder for you.
She removed its outer shell; it was cracked and badly damaged. There was extra paneling meant for droids nearby that could be welded and reshaped, but first thing’s first—she would need to replace the ruined circuits and find a pair of hypersheers for precision cutting and resizing.
---
Lavender eyelids batted open; Zulara found herself in slight repose, her own palm cupping her soft cheek as she had tried to keep her focus. It was at that moment she remembered—she had been cooking rycrit stew! With no sense of time inside Bane’s ship, she hoped it had not become inedible.
She spared a glance, Todo had still not activated. She could not have been asleep for too long, as it only took droids an hour to recharge, or so she’d heard—much less time than her.
Zulara suddenly felt like she could sleep forever, or at least for several hours, but she would not let herself succumb to such a notion. At least not until poor Todo could take over, then maybe she might get some rest before finishing the final touches on Bane’s vambrace.
It had been complicated, finding what wires led to what. She had a scare or two, and nearly burnt her fingers. It was fascinating just how it all operated—she wondered if Bane had built it all himself.
The girl was tempted to check on Bane again, but she did not want to accidentally cause a mess in his little galley, sparsely stocked though nearly spotless, and housed somewhere near the ion engines or another source of power; there was a low humming sound that seemed to burr the whole time she was in there.
Her feet found the rungs to the ladder she would use to climb down into the belly of his ship. His living area, the medbay, his workspace, and the cockpit—they all resided at the top, though separated by double-doors and one almost star-shaped hallway. It led off into four other separate, shallow paths—dead-ending at different doorways, whereas the kitchen and dining area, what looked like holding cells, and ample storage space were down below—so was the boarding ramp and holoterminal with access to the HoloNet.
She was sure that medbay used to be someone else’s living sleeping place, the way furniture was covered and piled up in the corner as if those items had been an afterthought. There was a spare refresher there, besides the one she was sure existed in Bane’s bedroom.
In addition to all the other nooks and crannies, there was the lift they’d use to carry him. It was industrial, flat, and open on all sides, like the ship’s sole was simply rising. It had been designed to act as both roof and floor between two levels; if you were on the lower deck, you had to wait for it to join you.
Zulara imagined it was useful for heavy items, like the pod Bane was currently occupying. She set her thoughts aside, focusing now on the smell that was emanating from down the hall—it was good, thank goodness, and did not smell like anything but vegetables and rycrit stew, like it was supposed to.
The girl would take a breath as she ran her fingers along the counter—it was made from stainless durasteel. She gathered the lid from off her home-cooked meal, inhaling deeply of the aroma that had been building up within. She ladled a bit of broth in the convex shape of the spoon she’d used to cook, then took a taste to make sure it was perfect.
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Two wide, yellow eyes—like sparkling jaspers—whirred and vibrated with a light buzzing sound. Servos and joints were manipulated, little arms stretched out for a brief inspection, Todo 360 making sure that his intermotors were all functional and accounted for.
He shook his head, as if clearing unwanted thoughts or a fog that lingered, the faithful droid not quite able to remember what had happened to him. He blinked, his metal body tensing—Mister Bane—he was still inside the tank!
Todo would swivel his large cranium to the left and right; that girl Zulara was nowhere to be found. He wondered if she had gone. Had he made it to his recharge station? Perhaps she had it in her heart to help him, as the last thing he could recall was himself stalling, and only a few meters away from his destination—he was sure he had heard her call his name—if his memory still served him, she had sounded beside herself.
The service-droid stepped away from the mechanism holding him upright—he was now fully operational and at full power. He actuated his rocket thrusters and propelled himself into the center of the hall; he took to its right side, branching off, then opened up the steel-plated door to peek inside.
“Mister Bane!” the droid cried happily.
Todo realized he had nearly scared the Duros, his sharp eyes widening in breadth. He had halted with one leg in and one leg out, leaving his imprisonment, whether he should or shouldn’t. Todo knew Bane detested bacta—its texture, temperature, and consistency were all things that displeased him. He had argued with him more than once, the droid sometimes wondering just what he would do without him should he not be there to convince him otherwise.
“Your health is not a game!” is what the droid had told him, sounding as if he truly cared, though he was composed of nothing more than ones and zeros. In reality, Bane was thankful for him; he was like the nagging mother he never had, sure that without that droid, he would already be dead.
Still, that did not mean he was ready to entertain his fraught concern. His tone was lacquered with it, and the hunter would not have it.
“Bane! You are awake! I was—”
The Duros shot his droid companion with a look that dared him to keep yapping, Todo at once halting his chipper dialogue. What Bane was truly feeling was easy to decipher, as it was always written on his face, and rarely pleasant.
“Sir, I can tell your mood is poor, however there is—”
“Quiet!” was the only thing his master demanded of him, Bane’s voice gruff and raspy as he was thirsty on top of feeling completely useless. It felt as if he had been hit with an errant hovercar, or an entire starship, his body aching in places he did not know could ache.
Todo made a sound equivalent to indignation, yet he held his tongue, even though he did not have one. Bane’s other foot joined its partner on the ground, the Duros idling, lingering, just standing there for what felt like minutes, trying to regain his equilibrium.
Once capable of movement, Bane would begin his lethargic trudge toward his refresher in his private quarters, thinking the only thing he cared about was a warm, inviting shower; the feeling of the sticky bacta on his microscales was anathema and suffocating.
The hunter would hardly notice the wet, viscid trail he left behind in his ship’s short corridor, or that the droid had followed him, desperate to talk to him about something he imagined would be unimportant. His head ached, and his mind was numb, no thoughts present except those about the pain he was experiencing. He would take something—drink something—deadening those things he felt both from without and from within, not knowing that the girl being aboard his ship was anything but another dream.
---
“Oh, what am I going to do with him? He never listens! And now I suppose I am going to have to be the one to clean up this mess. I am a techno-service droid, not a maid-droid! Not even a thank you for—”
Todo paused in his lonely rant, tilting his head off to one side. His focus remained trained on the little sound he thought he heard—the clank of boots, or footsteps on the nearby ladder’s metal rungs. It was positioned just left of the cockpit’s doors, Todo surprised when he saw a head emerge, covered in dark locks.
“Zulara!” he called to her, coming forward as she pulled herself up, and out, “I thought you had wisely decided to go home,” he started in. “You will be happy to know that Mister Bane is alive and well, and is currently taking a much-needed shower.”
Zulara’s eyes widened with every word; she tiptoed forward, deciding to check on things herself as Todo kept the conversation going, though she nearly slipped in a residue that happened to be foot-shaped. “I am not sure that I can explain your presence here, therefore it may be in your best interest to leave—now—before either one of us gets into serious trouble.”
It was not that she didn’t trust poor Todo, but she had to see with her own two dichromatic eyes; she peered toward the bacta pod. It was open, and Bane was not inside.
The girl would turn, gazing at the floor and at the tacky substance that had left a path to the door across from her; it was obvious that Bane had made his way just as the droid had said. She began to follow it, Todo placing his hands upon his hips as his spheroid eyes broadened and expanded.
“—And just where do you think you are going?” he asked, perplexed.
“To check on Bane,” the girl would offer as a whisper, her footsteps timid; she moved closer to what was sure to be his bedroom. Her heart was pounding, and her internal temperature was rising, all from simply knowing he was somewhere, awake, on the other side.
“That is the worst idea I have ever heard! Do not be foolish!” Zulara would ignore Todo and his warnings, only pausing to hearten her small amount of courage. She could feel him tug her, his little hands having found the backside of her pants, “he will surely kill you!”
“I’ll be all right,” Zulara stated, shooing him away. Like a moth to a flame, she bade herself to go inside.
Todo would balk and scoff, pace back and forth, and wring his hands, but to no avail; none of this would help him. He tried again, “I do not know who you think you are, or what you are doing, but rest assured Bane will—”
The door closed in his face.
“Organics!” Todo would lament, exasperated.
#Cad Bane#Cad Bane x OC#Cad Bane x Original Character#Fanfiction#Star Wars#Original female characters#Twi'lek species#clone wars#bad batch#book of boba fett#Stars Above#Todo 360#Bounty Hunters#Star Wars smut#multichapter fic
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Alcaraz To Face Sinner In Indian Wells Semis; Rudd To Meet Medvedev
Indian Wells Tennis Garden: Carlos Alcaraz moved into the Indian Wells semifinal after beating Alexander Zverev 6-3, 6-1 in a quarterfinal match like no other.Swarmed by bees, Carlos Alcaraz swung his racquet in defense, halting play for nearly two hours. Despite the interruption, Alcaraz showcased incredible resilience and skill, overpowering Zverev with his monstrous ball-striking to secure a victory and a spot in the semifinals.
Reflecting on the surreal moment, Alcaraz described the chaos of thousands of bees surrounding him, illustrating the intensity of the situation. With the help of a beekeeper, play resumed, and Alcaraz emerged from the delay in top form, demonstrating his prowess on the court with blistering forehand winners and impeccable court coverage.
“It was strange, I’ve never seen something like that on a tennis court,” Alcaraz said. “When we ran out of the court, we were watching the bee invasion on the TV and we laughed a lot about it. It was funny for me. It’s going to be remembered for that, not for tennis.”
The bizarre incident occurred in the 20-year-old’s second service game of the match when bees surrounded him and completely covered the spidercam on Stadium 1. "I saw the sky and there were thousands (of bees) flying, stuck in my hair, going to me. It was crazy," Alcaraz said.
A beekeeper was called to the Indian Wells Tennis Garden, and later Alcaraz kept Zverev from defeating him for the third time in six months.
Alcaraz's victory marked his tenth consecutive win at Indian Wells and propelled him into his eighth Masters 1000 semi-final, where he is set to face off against Jannik Sinner.
Jannik Sinner extended his unbeaten streak in 2024 to 16 matches with a comfortable victory over Jiri Lehecka 6-3 6-3 in the other quarter-finals. The world No. 3 won his 19th match in a row since losing to Novak Djokovic at the ATP Finals in November.
At 22 years old, Sinner has become the youngest male player in the Open era to start a season with 16 successive victories.
In another quarter-final match, Tommy Paul battled past Casper Ruud 6-2 1-6 6-3, reaching the semi-finals of an ATP Masters tournament for the second time in his career.
Paul will face Daniil Medvedev in the semis who came from down a break in the second set against Holger Rune to get back on serve and then went on to secure a victory by e 7-5, 6-4 win in the quarter-finals of the Indian Wells for the second consecutive year.
Read the full article
#AlexanderZverev#ATPFinals#ATPMasters#CarlosAlcaraz#CasperRuud#DaniilMedvedev#HolgerRune#IndianWells#IndianWellsTennisGarden#JannikSinner#JiriLehecka#NovakDjokovic#TommyPaul
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Official Match Card for "Best of Super Jr 30" Final 4 and predictions
Now that we have our final 4, we have the official match card for Yoyogi set to take place this Friday May 26. Here is the official match card with my predictions.
Opening Match: Clark Connors/Gedo vs. Robbie Eagles/Kosei Fujita Prediction: Based on all I've seen throughout this tournament I would be predicted a BC win but got to somehow control Connors' rage. To me, it's because of that rage he wasn't able to win the block or finish in the top two. As for Robbie Eagles, boy did he finally arrive. His future seems bright and I'm sensing that by this time next year, he could make history. But...again BC with the win. Just hoping Connors can stay calm.
Match #2: Great O-Khan/Aaron Henare vs. Toru Yano/Tomoaki Honma Prediction: Considering how Yano has so many enemies and is apparently scared of most of them, my prediction on this is Yano somehow sneaking a win by pinning Aaron Henare. Yano will do stopping that'll irritate Henare to a point no one wants to be at.
Match #3: TJP/Francesco Akira/Dan Moloney vs. KUSHIDA/Kevin Knight/Ryusuke Taguchi Prediction: Based on the fact that KUSHIDA and Kevin Knight are the reigning champions, I see one of them (most likely KUSHDA) getting pinned by Dan Moloney. However, it is more likely that Taguchi will get pinned due to his poor performance in this year's BOSJ. Got the feeling Taguchi is almost ready to walk into the sunset.
Match #4: EVIL/Yujiro Takahashi/SHO/Dick Togo vs. Hirooki Goto/YOSHI-HASHI/YOH/Lio Rush Prediction: Throughout the tour I asked where were Dick Togo and Yujiro Takahashi when SHO only had EVIL to help him win matches. In Osaka, Yujiro finally showed up but Togo never did. So going into this match, I see Bishamon's team emerging victorious because clearly HOT has some inner problems that we don't know about and somehow they could involve the Spoiler himself.
Match #5: Shota Umino/Oskar Leube/Boltin Oleg vs. Kazuchika Okada/Hiroshi Tanahashi/Tomohiro Ishii Prediction: Based on all I saw, heard, and read; sensing Okada getting his revenge as he'll pin one of Shota's partners but it may seem that Shota Umino will have the final word. The reason...he did what both Kaito Kiyomiya and Ren Narita failed to do. That is laid out Okada and it was all thanks to Jon Moxley. Anyway, see the 6-man champs winning but sensing Umino has something up his sleeve.
Match #6: Tetsuya Naito/Shingo Takagi/Hiromu Takahashi/BUSHI vs. SANADA/Taichi/Yoshinobu Kanemaru/DOUKI
Prediction: Considering SANADA's challenger is not on this card or in this match, it's almost clear that Yota Tsuji may not be LIJ after all. But can sense that this 8-man tag could serve as a key to him officially joining in. Will that happen here or will it happen Sunday in Ota? Anyway, this match above serves as the key to all that'll happen between now and Osaka. Will Tsuji show up to officially join LIJ or will Just 5 Guys prove their dominance over LIJ once again? Tune in Friday to find out the answer to this. That's my prediction on this match.
Semi-main Event Match: Best of the Super Jr 30 Semi-Final #1: Mike Bailey (A Block #1 Seed) vs. Master Wato (B Block #2 Seed)
Prediction: Mike Bailey has been nothing but impressive since this tournament began. Heard a lot about him in the past year and boy did he not disappoint. Wish I can say I sense an upset win in Master Wato but I don't. I'm sensing a hard-fought victory for Mike Bailey who's seeking to become only the second Canadian wrestler to win the Best of the Super Jr. and the first person to do it in his first try since Will Ospreay did it back in 2016.
Main Event: Best of the Super Jr 30 Semi-Final #2: Titan (A Block #2 Seed) vs. El Desperado (B Block #1 Seed)
Prediction: Considering how many were predicting Desperado to win last year only for Hiromu to win his third a row, the last thing anyone wants is another heartbreaking ending for Desperado. Titan surprised many even myself. Making it this far and making a big gamble by joining Los Ingobernables de Japon back in October 2022. This match for him is make or break. So with that said, I see Desperado advancing to the finals to face Mike Bailey and...I can see Desperado finally winning the trophy that eluded him in 2020 and in 2022.
Those are my predictions for "Best of the Super Jr 30" in Yoyogi. To see if these predictions come true or not, watch the event LIVE on NJPW World this Friday at 6:30 PM Local Time/5:30 AM Eastern/4:30 AM Central/2:30 AM Pacific. Go to timeanddate.com and type in the city that you are living in to find the start time of the event in your area.
#NJPW#New Japan Pro Wrestling#Best of the Super Jr 30#Semi-Finals#SANADA#Yota Tsuji#Master Wato#Mike Bailey#El Desperado#Titan
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Novak Djokovic won a record-extending 10th Australian Open and a record-equalling 22nd Grand Slam men's title by using all of his talent and nous to see off Stefanos Tsitsipas.Serbia's Djokovic started strongly and dug deep in the second set on his way to a 6-3 7-6 (7-4) 7-6 (7-5) victory.The 35-year-old, who draws level with Rafael Nadal in major wins, will return to the world number one ranking.Greece's Tsitsipas, 24, continues his wait for a first Grand Slam triumph."It's been a long journey, but a very special one," said Djokovic, who only dropped one set during the tournament."I played some of my best tennis honestly in Australian Open. The fourth round, quarter-final, semi-finals, just really comfortable on the court, hitting the ball great."Tsitsipas lost to Djokovic in his first major final at the 2021 French Open after relinquishing a two-set lead but, this time in Melbourne, he was always chasing the match.In the few precious opportunities he had to threaten Djokovic - notably a set point to level the match at one set all - the third seed was unable to take them.Djokovic has not lost at Melbourne Park since 2018 - a streak spanning a record 28 matches in the men's singles.He has regained the crown which he was unable to defend last year after being deported from Australia following a row over his Covid-19 vaccination status.Tsitsipas showed resilience to save two championship points but Djokovic took his third chance - this time on his own serve - when his opponent sliced a forehand long after a short rally.Djokovic turned to his team and family members - including mother Dijana, although father Srdjan did not appear to be present - standing motionless before pointing to his head and his heart.Djokovic became very emotional in the immediate aftermath of winning again in MelbourneAfter climbing into the box to celebrate with them, he broke into tears as the magnitude of his achievement hit him and continued sobbing under his towel when he returned to his chair."I think I emotionally collapsed there and teared up with my mother and my brother when I gave them a hug," Djokovic said."Up to that moment I was not allowing myself to be distracted with things off the court or whatever was happening in dealing with an injury."Masterful Djokovic shows why he's one of the greatestIn the build-up to Sunday's final, Djokovic said he did not feel any different "in terms of stress" as he aimed to create more history and move closer to cementing his place as the greatest player of all time.While such a title remains subjective and a topic for debate, the defining factor remains the number of major titles.Djokovic moved level with 36-year-old Nadal - and now only trails 24-time champion Margaret Court and Serena Williams, who has 23, on the women's side - and has showed in the past two weeks he has the capacity to win many more.Mentally and physically, his ability is showing few signs of diminishing.He had been hampered by a hamstring injury at Melbourne Park and also had to deal with controversy surrounding his father Srdjan, who was pictured at the tournament with supporters of Russian president Vladimir Putin. before Friday's semi-final against American Tommy Paul.But time and time again he shows the stoicism to overcome difficult circumstances and produce in the biggest moments. This was the latest example.The only player to win a set against Djokovic this year in Melbourne was French qualifier Enzo Couacaud in the second roundA confident and collected start against Tsitsipas - targeting the Greek's one-handed backhand, which can be beautifully effective but also liable to break down - set the platform for Djokovic to comfortably claim the opening set.However, like in his semi-final win against Paul, his mood turned and a spell of tetchiness almost allowed his opponent back into the contest.After becoming animated and regularly chuntering to his team, Djokovic dug in to stave off the set point with a stunning inside-out forehand winner.
Locking in again saw him dominate the tie-break for a two-set lead and from that point it looked unlikely he would lose his grip on the match.While Tsitsipas broke in the first game of the third set, he could not consolidate the advantage and Djokovic again showed his mentality in the tie-break to complete another masterful win.Raucous atmosphere as Djokovic regains top spotMore than 45,000 fans were in attendance at Melbourne Park for the men's singles final - with only 15,000 of those being inside Rod Laver ArenaThe match was played out in a colourful and raucous atmosphere - inside and outside of Rod Laver Arena - as thousands of Serbian and Greek fans descended on Melbourne Park.The two European nations have large communities in the Australian city, adding further emotion to an occasion which meant so much to both players.Not only was a Grand Slam title on the line at Melbourne Park, but so too was the world number one ranking.Djokovic's victory ensured he extended his own record of being the top-ranked player and he will be there for a 374th week when the latest rankings are released on Monday.Tsitsipas was looking to fulfil his childhood dream by lifting the trophy and become the 29th player to be the number one since the ATP rankings were introduced in 1973.Instead he will rise to number three with Djokovic overtaking Spanish 19-year-old Carlos Alcaraz, who drops to number two after missing the tournament through injury.In his on-court speech, Tsitsipas said: "I have had the privilege to play a lot of difficult and high-intensity matches but I would like to say one more time Novak brings out the best in me. He's one of the greatest in our sport and he's the greatest that has ever held a tennis racquet for sure."Tsitsipas has lost two Grand Slam finals to Djokovic'Djokovic prevails again in extraordinary era'BBC tennis correspondent Russell Fuller at Melbourne ParkUnbeaten at Melbourne Park since 2018 and driven by tennis history as well as the unsavoury history of 12 months ago, was Novak Djokovic ever likely to fall short?The reinstalled world number one can make winning the Australian Open look easy. But it's a trick of the eye.Take the first set, in which the 35-year-old artfully moved the ball around the court without seemingly exerting himself. He landed first serves, penetratingly deep returns - and a few psychological blows.Djokovic has won five of the past seven Grand Slams he has contested. His coach Goran Ivanisevic thinks he can keep playing at this level for another two or three years.Ken Rosewall was 37 years and 72 days old when he won the last of his Grand Slams titles at Roland Garros in 1972.The Australian remains the oldest man to win a Grand Slam in the Open era.But Djokovic will be older come the 2024 US Open, while Rafael Nadal will be older come this year's US Open. This really is an extraordinary era.Morph.toInit.bundles.push(function() !function(e)function t(r)if(n[r])return n[r].exports;var o=n[r]=i:r,l:!1,exports:;return e[r].call(o.exports,o,o.exports,t),o.l=!0,o.exportsvar n=;t.m=e,t.c=n,t.d=function(e,n,r)t.o(e,n),t.n=function(e)var n=e&&e.__esModule?function()return e.default:function()return e;return t.d(n,"a",n),n,t.o=function(e,t)return Object.prototype.hasOwnProperty.call(e,t),t.p="",t(t.s=3)([function(e,t)e.exports=React,function(e,t,n)e.exports=n(5)(),function(e,t,n)"use strict";function r(e)return e&&e.__esModule?e:default:efunction o()return this.urlfunction u(e,t)return e.url.replace("identifier",t[1])var i=r(n(9)),a=r(n(10)),c=r(n(11));e.exports=youtube:regex:/http(?:s)?:\/\/(?:www\.)?youtu(?:be.com,twitter:regex:/^http.+twitter\.com\/.*\/status\/(.*)/i,transform:o,component:i.default,cssClasses:"twitter-tweet",componentMount:function()c.default.twitter(),instagram:regex:/^http.+instagr(?:\.am,function(e,t,n)"use strict";var r=function(e)return e&&e.__esModule?e:default:e(n(4));Morph.modules["[email protected]"]=r.default,function(e,t,n)"use strict";function r(e)return e&&e.
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Why Is Caroline Andrew Suit Making Prominent?
London has always been living in the classic tone. If you’re visiting London for the first time, then you will cross people who dress up classically. The boots, blazers, suits, coats, etc. are the garments that get fashion-focused in London. There are several boutiques in London to give you the best vintage or classic suit look. Among all the different boutiques and quality suits, you might find the Caroline Andrew boutique. Caroline Andrew is a bespoke tailor, proficient in the hand-made craft of traditional British suiting. Her designs are demanded by different people across the world. She graduated from the London College Of Fashion, which means she is a professional in designing suits.
Her showroom includes a master tailor and professional cutters to crave different designs and flairs on suits and to create her signature house style. Caroline Andrew has gained much praise from ‘Vanity Fair’ and was named ‘The One To Watch.’ She was also awarded ‘The Bright Young Thing’ by Mayfair Times London in 2020. Caroline has mastered flair-cutting London traditional suits. She can make you the perfect suit you want with every detail noticed.
What Is The Process Of Making Suits?
After an interview with Rachel Angell, Caroline Andrew told about her designs, stores, craftsmen, masters, tailors, cutters, textiles that she prefers, her house design, and the process of making suits.
Caroline says, First, she meets her client to get every detail possible, the designs, the fabric, and the colour the client wants to be used. She says her client can visit or call on her store as well for giving some further details. After collecting all the details, Caroline orders the fabric, buttons, collar, shoulder pads, canvas, collar Melton, and trims. She orders all these things from her fabric merchant or some fabric factory. Then she proceeds with cutting a paper design pattern based on her client’s measurement and then she places the patterned-cut paper on the fabric and starts cutting it. But she does it all when all the essentials arrive at her store.
After marking the paper pattern, she separates the fabric of the trouser and jacket (traditionally known as a coat in London). Then she gives the fabric and pattern to her trouser and coat designer. They collect this and start working on the design. But firstly, she makes the suits semi-stitched, which takes 2-3 weeks, and then she tries them on her client to give the final fitting after remarking. All these stitching and cutting works on fabrics are done by her designers. She does not do it by herself, she gives them total guidance.
What Are The Best Attributes Of Caroline’s Designs?
The Caroline tailored suits London is popular all over the UK. She gives her clients the best attires they want according to their demanded measurements. They also take ideas from Caroline to give suggestions for their suits.
Caroline says, there are many tailors and designers who have their house designs. And they have stayed on the same house designs for generations. They don’t involve evolution in their designs. But Caroline says, “I fuse my design background with traditional design and craftsmanship”. She adds that she makes her suits on Savile Row (a place in London, better known for bespoke tailors for men’s traditional suits) but they are not structured as formal British cuts. They are more modern. She claims that it is important to evolve the designs according to the times and measurements. She says that she designs for today. This is because of the nature of bespoke, her female clients tend to ask for a double-breasted style.
She gives the exact fit unlike the other tailors available on high street. With Caroline Andrew, what a customer sees is what a customer gets. She gives the best fitting with 17 key measurements, such as waist, seat, biceps, shoulder, halfback, full length, and the trouser measurements by inside legs, outside leg, waist, bottom width, etc. These are later cut by laser and machine made. An outfit should express the personality of a human and no matter how expensive fabric you prefer, if it is not fitted and designed appropriately, it stays just a piece of cloth.
She just takes 6-8 weeks for fully prepared bespoke suits. And there is one more benefit if you visit any suit boutique or store, there are only limited options for fabrics, buttons, and colours available but here, if you want something specific, you can mention it to Caroline, she orders the items from the makers. Hence, there is an unlimited option with Caroline suit makers London.
Lastly, Caroline says, ‘On Savile Row, everyone has a job.’ By this, she means that her store involves cutters, makers, designers, pressers, trimmers, and finishers. This is because of teamwork only, she can do professional suit-making. There are people in her store who are experienced over 10 years and still working. So, what else can a client ask for? You get everything in here with Caroline Andrew.
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🇧🇻 #16 i verden 💪
#world number 16#wow what an amazing run#i'm bursting with pride!#sad he pulled out of rome but he deserves some rest#after 3! masters semi finals in a row#👏👏👏#we attack again at rg 🤞💪#casper ruud#tennis#new career high may 2021
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honest work
wrote a little sasha in wartwood fic! not sure what i'm going to do with it yet, but it was fun writing it! no warnings that i can think of, other than a canon-typical mention of like, bugs.
oh, and i'm considering making a tag list for more exposure, so let me know if you want me to tag you when i write amphibia stuff in the comments or tags or whatever <3
link to fic in ao3
Sasha sighs a low, deep sigh. Maybe it’s dramatic, but she doesn’t really give a shit. Running a farm is more work than anticipated. She’s used to training hard and pushing herself past her limits. But working under the blaring sun for hours on end is an unfamiliar animal. It’s the middle of spring, and the weeds are a little trigger happy. Even though Plantar house itself is pretty small, Hopadiah Plantar’s farm is much bigger than Sasha ever would have guessed.
Despite her constant bitching, though, Sasha finds that there is something meditative about focusing on the task of weeding. It has the potential of being therapeutic. And it would be, too, if Sasha had nicer things to think about. At the moment, though, letting her mind wander is dangerous. If she’s not thinking about how to best arm the villagers for an impending attack, her mind wanders to Anne. And if she thinks enough about Anne, she starts thinking about M–
Whatever. Sasha can’t change the past. All she can do, right now, is figure out a way to keep the Wartwoodians safe and find out whether Marcy is…whether she can be saved. That’s where the problem lies. There are too many things in her head, and most of them are too upsetting for her to think about without wanting to punch a wall. She needs to focus on the task at hand.
The midday sun beats down on her armored back, suffocatingly hot. She’s nearly done for the day– just a few more rows to go. Grime is in the house, most likely figuring out what to make for lunch. He isn’t the best cook, but his sandwiches are semi-decent if you don’t think about the type of protein being used. Sliced and cured beetle tastes a weird amount like ham.
Sasha grabs the water flask from her holster, taking a moment to savor the cool feeling of it going down her throat. It tastes a little swamp-y, a little bit like the lake water from camping trips with the Boonchuys, but it gets the job done.Just a few more rows to go, and then she can go inside for a bit to take a short rest.
Sasha lets her mind wander to battle strategy while she finishes her task. Ms. Sadie Croaker, despite being old and dealing with age related pains, can be surprisingly agile when she wants to be. Ivy Sundew is a little stealth master and has even managed to sneak up on Sasha a couple of times. The first time nearly ended with a dagger through Ivy’s belly (Sasha’s been a little keyed up lately and she’ll admit it). Felicia Sundew, Ivy’s mother, is well versed in natural remedies. Maddie knows a lot about Amphibian magic, and her father, being a baker, is strong and muscular from constantly lugging flour sacks around. One-eyed Wally has some fencing knowledge, which could easily translate to sword fighting
They all have their weaknesses, but it’s been surprising to see how competent a town full of country bumpkin frogs can be. And they’re all strangely kind and trusting, especially considering how badly Sasha fucked up their first encounter.
Sasha isn’t sure whether she feels grateful or guilty at this point. Maybe both? Yeah, probably both.
“Sasha,” Grime bellows from inside the house, “Food is ready!”
“Yeah, yeah, one second!” Sasha yells back. Just one more row to go. It takes about five minutes for her to finish up – Amphibian plants as a whole are notoriously stubborn. But when she’s finally finished, she feels a small sense of… pride? Accomplishment? Either way, it feels good. Sasha gathers up her gardening shears and takes off her thick gloves, shuddering at her sweaty hands. Gross.
After she puts Anne’s her supplies away, she heads into the house for lunch, closing the door behind her with a gentleness she didn’t know she had until now.
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Six Weeks at the Blofis’s pt.3
a brand new chapter since i promised @skaterannabeth. read on AO3 where I’m posting the full story.
pt 3: spread across the pillowcase
There’s something digging into his thigh.
It’s fine. He can just… move away...
He flips drowsily from his stomach to his back.
Perfect.
...
Nope.
It's back. And it’s brought company; something burrowing into his armpit, another thing tickling his side.
It's been a futile bob between conscious and unconscious, ongoing for the past hour, he’s tried to ignore the restless activity invading his sleep space but it’s, like, physiologically impossible. His body says “disregard it, go to sleep,” his mind says “wake up bitch, who ya tryna fool?”
He inhales sharply, bringing his arm down from behind his head to find Estelle’s body pressed to his side. The little monster. The little space hungry, touchy, adult-activity-inhibiting monster.
“Stelle…” he grumbles. He rubs his hand down her arm, trying to get her to ease up so maybe they can all get a little more rest. There isn’t even any morning light bleeding through the blinds, just the dull yellow of streetlamps and other city constants.
Then his sister makes a quiet, whimpering noise that almost sounds like a sob.
“Estelle?” He’s less sleepy now, voice clearing as a niggling sense of alarm creeps in. He repeats her name. “Estelle?”
She shakes her face into the side of his chest and weakly whispers, “I don’t feel good.”
He’s already sitting up, having put that much together through his own half-awake observations. His hand had slid from her arm to feel her face and neck, clammy to touch, and her hair, sticking to her skin with sweat. Worry makes his heart thump, and he pulls her up with him.
“Oh no, com’mere,” he helps her crawl into his lap and hugs her close.
He doesn’t know how long she’d been laying there, uneasy and quietly uncomfortable, but it was enough for her to crumble at the first sign of brotherly concern. She holds him tight, and he can feel the slight shake of her slight frame as she begins to cry.
“My tummy is hurting,” her voice hitches.
“Right here?” He presses his palm to her abdomen.
She nods mournfully.
He gives her belly a comforting rub, sliding his hand under the too small pajama top to lightly palpate.
“Do you feel like throwing up?”
She shakes her head stubbornly. “I don’t like throwing up.”
Annabeth begins to stir.
“Shit,” he glances over Estelle’s head to check if his blonde, not-at-all-a-morning-person wife is awake.
“That’s a bad word.”
“I know,” Percy shifts up the bed then swings his legs over the side so he can stand to his feet, baby sister light cargo in his arms. “Don’t tell mom, okay? We’re gonna go to the bathroom.” She nods into his shoulder.
Out the bedroom they go, Percy treading lightly, slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible.
Down the short hall, through the door on the left-
“Ow,” Estelle complains half-heartedly. Percy had bumped her against the bathroom door frame. He apologizes.
In the next thirty minutes, it becomes quite clear to Percy that Estelle was not lying when she said she didn’t like throwing up. He sits on the tub while she kneels by the toilet, spitting unconvincingly.
He tries to assure her she’ll feel better if she just lets it happen. She shakes her head, stone-faced, refusing to swallow or, like, breathe, when the nausea hits her.
He leaves her in the bathroom for a moment to tell Paul what’s going on. It’s a little before 6 a.m. at that point, and Paul is getting ready for work. His step-dad is immediately concerned and a little stressed; Sally is away at a creative writing conference in Jersey, they’re one parent down, and calling for a sub this late is always a nightmare.
“It’s a bug that’s been going around her class.” They’re back in the master bathroom, after checking on Estelle. “I really hoped she wouldn’t catch it,” Paul says, impatiently dragging the razor from cheekbone to jaw.
“Don’t stress about it.” Percy tiredly rubs his hand into the back of his neck, watching their reflections in the bathroom mirror without really processing. “I’m off, I got her.”
He returns to the bathroom to find Estelle curled into a fetal position on the bath mat. He’s picked her up and is sitting on the tubs edge holding her while she dozes when Annabeth peers in.
“She’s not feeling well,” he explains.
“You gonna stay with her?”
He nods.
She leans against the door frame and he asks, “What do you have going on today?
“Same as the last few weeks.” She shrugs. “I checked my phone-” he shakes his head because she should have known better, “I know. Thirty-plus emails from the legal team.”
“Why’d you check your email first thing?”
“Because I’m a masochist.”
He winces in empathy.
Then he stands and inclines his head towards the shower behind him. “Go ahead, I’m just gonna take her back to bed.”
They negotiate the small space, Percy, with a half-asleep Estelle like dead weight in his arms, drops a kiss on Annabeth’s forehead and a quiet “good morning.” She makes a noise in agreement, touching his arm and Estelle’s head briefly as he passes before hitting the lights and grabbing her toothbrush.
Good morning indeed.
----
9:15 a.m.
“Paul told me Estelle woke up with a stomach bug.”
“Yeah.” Percy leans on his elbow against the counter, cradling his phone in his hand.
“How is she doing?”
“She’s sleeping right now- Listen, Ma.”
“What is it hun?”
“She refuses to throw up.”
Sally sighs, and he watches her face twist into a frown. “I know. She had a bad experience a couple years ago,” she looks at Percy through the screen, shaking her head, “and ever since then she’s had this thing about not vomiting.”
“So she’s gonna wait for it to come out the other end?”
“No.” Sally sighs again. “She’ll throw up. She’s just going to fight it until it’s right upon her.”
Percy’s face twists in horror. “So you’re telling me, I’ve got a seven-year-old in my bed who’s basically a high pressure cooker full of vomit, liable to go off at any moment?”
“Yes-”
“Oh gods, this is just not ideal-”
“I don’t know what to say. Stay on your toes. Prepare to wash your sheets.”
“Thanks. For the advice. Much appreciated.”
She cracks a wan smile. “Take the phone to her?”
“She’s asleep.”
“I know. I just wanna see her.”
“Alright. Come with me.”
-----
11:07 a.m.
Percy pushes her hair from her face.
“You have to throw up, Stelle.”
She shakes her head slightly, curled in a ball on the bed, holding herself tightly.
“You’ll feel so much better, I promise.”
“I just want to sleep.”
He looks at her for a moment and then stands.
“I’m gonna go to the grocery store really quick Stelle Belle. I’ll be back before you notice.”
She doesn’t have much to offer beyond a weak nod.
“You’ll be okay? For like fifteen minutes? Not gonna burn anything down?”
She doesn’t respond, she’s half-asleep again, she hardly slept the night before and she hasn’t been much better during the day. He just adjusts her slightly, making sure she’s on her side so she doesn’t like, asphyxiate on her vomit in her sleep.
“Annabeth’s iPad is right here. You call or text if you need something, alright?”
Nothing.
----
11:31 a.m.
He hustles back in from the grocery store, depositing the paper bags on the kitchen counter before going upstairs to check on her. She’s still knocked out. He leaves her sleeping, going back down to unpack the Gatorade bottles and saltines he’d picked up, then he returns to the bedroom, a pack of saltines in one hand and a cup of water in the other.
She looks so small and pale. For all the bickering and teasing the two of them get up to, he loves her dearly, for the person she is and for the blood that runs through them both.
But he’s tired, too, and when he climbs into the bed to watch over her, he falls asleep in minutes.
-----
12:47 p.m.
Estelle sits up groggily, waking Percy from his light nap. Then in a blink she lurches to the side and vomits on the bedspread, on the pillows, everywhere.
“Fuckfuckfuckfuck.” He’s on his feet as fast as a cartoon character.
He picks her up immediately, hands under her armpits, she’s crying, and carries her to the bathroom. They step inside, he sets her down and she vomits again before they even reach the toilet, her brother being her unintentional target. She’s crying harder, he’s swearing, panicking, trying to ignore the puke soaking his sweat pants and guide her the couple steps to the toilet, she vomits again, and on a stupid impulse, he cups his hands to catch it. He screeches in horror. And shoves her bodily towards the toilet.
She’s finally vomiting into the only place vomit should ever go, and Percy, in a semi-mindless haze, his only thought, I have puke in my hands, I have puke in my hands, thoughtlessly dumps her grotesque gift into the sink. He regrets it as soon as he attempts to wash the chunky greenish brownish orangish sludge from his hands and the sink refuses to drain.
“Fuckfuckfucking shit.” It’s his non-stop mantra at this point.
“Those are bad words,” Estelle moans.
“Fuck, Estelle I know that, I’m sorry.”
He forcibly shuts his mouth, the corners turning down in a grimace as he takes in the wreckage. The sink, the floor, his pants- Zeus’ beard, the fucking sheets. He yanks free five or six sheets of paper towels and dries off his hands, then attempts a rough wipe down of the counter.
“How are you doing down there?”
“Fine.” She coughs and spits a little. “I feel a lot better.”
----
3:45 p.m.
“So what’s your favorite flavor Gatorade?”
She points at the orange bottle. “This one.”
“The orange? Oh come on. How boring.”
“I’m not boring. That’s the best one, in my opinion.” She lifts her legs onto the chair so she can sit crisscross applesauce. “What’s your favorite?”
“What do you think?”
“The blue one.”
“Bingo.”
“I already knew that because you’re very predictable.”
“Me?”
“Mhm.”
They hear the front door open and then Paul announces his arrival.
“In here Daddy!”
Paul, who came home as soon as his last class ended, finds them in the kitchen sitting at the table before a row of partially empty Gatorade bottles. There’s a rainbow of colors represented, from red, orange, yellow, all the way to blues and pinks.
He asks, “How’d things go today?” despite having received an update from Percy less than an hour ago.
“It was okay. I throwed up a lot,” she leans against her dad’s leg when he comes up to her side, “but Percy cleaned it all up and we ate toast and crackers and did a Gatorade tasting contest and I went to sleep on the couch because Percy had to wash the sheets.”
“The sheets?” Paul’s eyes dart over to Percy, who’s standing as he picks up the bottle of blue Gatorade.
“Yeah. I throwed up on the sheets and Percy too.”
Percy is shaking his head and sending Paul a look that says please stop. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”
----
6:17 p.m.
“How’d things go with the sick one?”
“It was alright.”
Annabeth points her chin over to their bed. “New sheets on the bed."
He nods, affirming her observation without really answering the unasked question.
"What happened to the old ones?”
“In the dryer.”
She looks at him for a second, processing this new piece of information.
“Ew.”
Percy laughs slightly out of his nose. “Ew is the word for it. Ew on the bed. Ew on my pants. Ew in my hands.”
Annabeth stiffens in his arms. “She ew’ed into your hands?”
He holds his hands in a bowl shape in front of them. “It was a reflex.”
Annabeth is shifting out of his lap before he even finishes his statement. “I wish you hadn’t told me that.”
He laughs harder now, “Don’t make this weird. My hands are clean now.”
“But the images- ew Percy let me go, I can’t handle this.”
“So I take care of a kid with the stomach flu all day, and now I can’t touch you?”
She relents, relaxing back into his lap. She leans her head against his collar bone. They’re in the desk chair in their temporary bedroom, parked in front of the desk Annabeth had brought in so she could have a workstation in the house. Estelle is sleeping again in the bed, now made up in a new, clean set of sheets.
“You’re a good brother.”
“I’m the best brother.”
She snorts. “See, now that’s your last compliment from me, for at least a week.”
He squeezes her hip and asks, “How was your day?”
“It was good,” she says, like it surprises her.
“You sound surprised.”
“Well yeah.” She pats his chest to make sure she has his full attention. “I had all the emails and the legal nonsense to deal with in the morning.” He nods. “Then,” she pushes his chest for emphasis, “I spent the afternoon looking ahead to new projects and reminding myself why I love my job.”
“Tell me. Why do you love your job?”
“Oh gods,” she signs dreamily. “Where do I begin?”
Percy chuckles at the obvious delight infusing her whole form.
“I love the planning part. The ideas and the inspiration and the draft paper…” She trails off, Percy’s got a look on his face that she recognizes. “Are you listening to me?”
”Absolutely.” He lightly squeezes her waist. “Tell me more. Use your architectural lingo.”
”Like curvilinear forms…?”
“Mmm…” Percy grumbles in approval.
“And spatial composition…”
“Go on…” he’s working the top button of her shirt free.
“Charettes... and…” she’s distracted by his mouth on her exposed chest and his hand on her thigh.
“And what?”
“And building topology-”
He growls, “so sexy,” and shakes his face into her cleavage.
She tries to bite back her laugh, “Stop it you fiend.”
“I played with vomit all day. Just give me this,” he kisses up her neck, “one thing. And maybe I’ll forget about the way puke looks, spread across the pillowcase.”
“Oooo, tryna get me in the mood huh?”
“A little, yeah. Is it working?”
“Oh yeah. You know puke gets me going.”
“I thought so.” He brings her face to his and they kiss lazily. He pulls back, just barely, they’re still sharing breath.
“Chunky, pesto pasta puke.”
She shakes her head playfully and deadpans, “I want you, I need you, oh baby oh baby.”
He pulls her closer and growls again and she shifts so she’s straddling him on the chair.
“Sorry. Didn’t know I was interrupting. Just checking on the sick kid.”
They pull apart. Annabeth holds a hand to the unbuttoned portion of her top and stands from Percy’s lap. “It’s alright,” she says. A knock would be nice, she thinks, leaning against the desk behind her.
“I’m fine Daddy.” Estelle surprises the couple by pushing the comforter down and sliding down from the bed.
“I think it’s time for more toast and Gatorade,” she states, making her way to her dad.
“Sounds good to me.” He rubs a hand over her bedhead.
“Besides, they were starting to kiss too much. And I already throwed up enough today.”
“You should be nicer to me.” Percy calls.
She trots over, feet quick on the hardwood floor, and hugs him around the neck.
“Thank you.” She kisses his cheek, properly humbled and clearly pretty grateful.
“Am I the best?”
“No.”
She whines when he kisses her forehead and shimmies away.
“Don’t kiss me- see! They’re gonna do it again. Let’s go.”
Percy is on his feet dropping dramatic kisses on a laughing Annabeth’s face.
“They’re newlyweds, Stelle. Newlyweds kiss a lot.”
“No, Daddy, they're just weirdos.”
#mypjofic#six weeks at the blofis's#something new#percy jackon and the olympians#percy and annabeth#pjo#percabeth#lot's of estelle#and percy being a lovely brother
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The Lord of the Manor (4)
Summary: Barok refuses to let anything get in his way this time: today he will go to visit his brother and pay his respects...
Content Warnings: suicide references (specifically suicidal thoughts), angst + me taking artistic liberties re: the van Zieks family
Other parts: (1) | (2) | (3) |
At some point he'd fallen asleep in Klint's room, though he couldn't remember the precise moment. He was propped up against the footboard with his legs tucked up close to his stomach. The first thing he noticed when he moved was a stiffness in his shoulders and neck. Hardly the most sensible way of sleeping...
Suddenly a loud rumble of thunder echoed overhead, causing the windows of the ancestral home to rattle. Clearly a storm had rolled in overnight.
After stretching until his bones cracked pleasingly, Barok drew back the curtains that covered the large bow windows of the master bedroom and looked out at the landscape. Rain pelted the earth in torrential sheets and lightning lanced across the sky as if momentarily tearing it. This was a most severe storm.
If he were the superstitious or god-fearing sort, then he might have considered that some form of divine force was trying to keep him away from his brother’s grave. Thankfully he was not so limited in his thoughts. Instead, Barok was incredibly stubborn and he had resolved to visit Klint’s grave that day – so that was what he would do.
Of course, taking Black Gale out in such hideous conditions was out of the question. He’d have to go for a ride on a more pleasant summer’s day, perhaps to the orchard or along the coast...
For now, he went to his room to dress in simple clothes and sturdy knee-high leather boots. The path to Klint’s grave would be muddy, so practical footwear was essential. He knew full well his clothes would become drenched quickly, so he donned a shirt and jacket of reasonable hardy material and breeches of similar quality. Once he was dressed, he made his way downstairs to the Grand Vestibule.
“M-My lord!” Harvey hurried over looking deeply concerned, “Surely you do not intend to go out in middle of this storm?”
“I’m going to visit Klint,” Barok replied as he took his cloak from the row of hangers by the door.
“Begging your pardon, my lord, but, surely it could wait until tomorrow? I’ve heard tell that this storm is merely passing on its way to Spain...”
“I appreciate your concern, Harvey, but you need not worry about me. I have to do this... I postponed my visit yesterday on account of factors outside of my control, I’ll be damned if I do that a second time...” an odious noble was one thing, a torrential storm was another. He had no qualms about leaving himself at the mercy of the elements.
“... If you’re sure, my lord...” the old butler had handled enough van Zieks’ lords during his tenure as a servant of the house to know that they were all of a similar stubbornness and driven by their sense of principles. If the young Lord had decided he must visit Klint’s grave then that is what he would do by hell or high water, “... Just do be careful out there and take shelter if the storm worsens....”
“Yes, I will promise you that much,” Barok said as he donned his cloak and opened the door. A sharp gust of wind violently tousled his hair as it howled through the air like a frenzied ghost. He lowered his head and stepped out into the squall, pulling the door shut despite the insistent push of the wind against him. Rain pelted down, taking but a few moments to soak his hair until it was clinging to his face. He ignored the hostile elements and pressed on in the direction of Klint’s grave.
By horse the journey was some 10 minutes away, on foot it was closer to 20 and his progress was slowed by the wind in his face and the unsteady earth beneath his feet. Despite that, he was able to navigate the familiar banks and pathways of the forest that had been a favoured haunt of his since he was a boy. Even with the gloom of the storm clouds over head, he knew the way like the back of his hand.
“Blast! Of all the times for a storm to hit!” he could hear Klint’s voice as his mind reflected on a time they’d been hunting and a similarly fierce squall had rolled in, “Come little wolf, we’ll need to find shelter!”
He nodded and followed behind as Klint led the way to a large bank that over hung like a roof, they crouched down and looked out from their semi-sheltered vantage point at the chaos, “It doesn’t look as though it���ll pass any time soon,” Barok observed.
“Mmmm, I think you’re right, so we might as well amuse ourselves in the meantime.”
“Oh? How so?”
“Well, I heard that someone came home late last night in quite an intoxicated state,” Klint was grinning impishly, “Care to tell me about your debauched night of revelry?”
“. . . .” Barok coughed, “I discovered that I’m not much for mixing drinks...”
“Ah... and what did my little brother mix?”
“.... Well, I might have tried to see what all the fuss with beer is about, before switching back to wine,” Barok massaged his temples as he recalled just how rotten he’d felt first thing that morning, “...I’m firmly of the view that beers, ales and stouts are not for me.”
“That was a fatal error of judgement on your part, have you never heard ‘grape or grain, but never the twain‘?”
“Apparently I missed that particular sermon on the subject of drinking...” Barok replied dryly, which only seemed to amuse Klint further as he laughed harder, “I doubt I’ll forget it in a hurry, however...”
“Sometimes the best lessons are the practical ones, Barok.”
“... Yes, perhaps they are...”
A bright flash of lightning and sharp crack of thunder roused him from his daydreams and reminded him that his focus ought to be on the journey ahead rather than a trip down memory lane. It wasn’t far to the family burial grounds; a small mercy at least. He covered the rest of the distance briskly, passing through the cast iron gates and along the path of cobblestones and dirt to the mausoleum where his brother slept. He opened the door and stepped inside, dripping water all over the stone floor as he went; his first act was to light the candles that were dotted around the room, which he did by taking the box of matches that were stored in an alcove by the door and striking one.
Soft candlelight twinkled around him, casting shadows across the walls that danced and swayed deliriously; their movements slowed once he closed the door to the tomb over enough to block out the wind.
Finally he was here, with Klint once more.
“... I’m sorry for my tardiness brother,” he said softly as he knelt down before the stone where his brother’s name was engraved, “... I found myself in the talons of Lady Darlington yesterday, and you nowhere in sight to distract her...” he snorted to himself at the thought, “I dare say you’d have found my performance quite amusing.”
His gaze lifted to the ceiling of the crypt, “... No doubt you’d scold me for coming here in such a bedraggled state, well, not so much that as willingly walking out into a storm. You’ll have to forgive me for that...”
For a while, he knelt in silence; his voice stilled in his throat as he wondered what had compelled him to come out in such hostile conditions. Eventually he found his voice, “I... no doubt I sound quite mad to you, but, I wonder if you’re still here with me... You know, there are rumours abound in the Capital that your ghost follows me wherever I go and exacts revenge upon those who escape my prosecuting them through some dint in the law.“
“It’s nonsense, isn’t it?” he looked down at the gravestone once more, as if holding out for some sort of sign, “... It has to be, surely, because I’d like to think if you truly were still here then you might show me by some means other than violence... And yet, I’m desperate enough that I’ll take it. I just can’t bear the thought that you’re gone.”
Klint had always been a symbol of what was right and just in his mind, so it did not sit well with him to picture his brother as a vengeful apparition whose sole purpose was to dispatch of the criminals who managed to worm their way out of the noose. Yet, when he first heard those wild tales whispered on the lips of the common folk and the nobility alike, how he wanted to believe it. No matter how much it cut against the grain of what his brother had embodied for him; it was better than accepting that he was dead.
Anything was better than that, surely.
“... Of course, the world goes on and the sun and the moon wheel through the sky as they always have, and those who once held you in such high regard slowly begin to forget you... but for me it’s as if time stopped five years ago. I... still cannot come to terms with the thought that you’re no longer here. So, if you are the Reaper, I hope you will stay by my side until my time comes...”
He’d contemplated joining his brother. Sometimes it felt like the only logical thing to do. The world seemed so cold and devoid of vibrancy without Klint in it. Like someone had stolen the sun. Of course, he couldn’t go through with it – at first he had to bring his brother’s killer to justice, it had consumed his every waking moment. He’d read the case file until he could recite it with his eyes closed; until he dreamt of the autopsy report.
Then, once he’d gotten some semblance of justice for Klint, his thoughts had started to wander to the notion that his purpose was now fulfilled and there was nothing left to keep him here; but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It wasn’t what Klint would have wanted. If there were an afterlife, what kind of expression would his older brother wear when he arrived there prematurely? He could practically hear the disappointed words whenever he thought about it.
“Oh little wolf.... how could you?”
And it was that which stayed his hand.
Instead, he’d thrown himself into being a prosecutor; to following in Klint’s footsteps and maintaining his legacy. His brother had believed so deeply in justice and integrity, and he would honour that memory by doing his damnedest to hold the corrupt and evil to account for their crimes. It was all he could do.
And yet, he’d even failed at that. He ran away from the Old Bailey, too overwhelmed by the Reaper mythos and the gravity it put upon his shoulders...
“I hope you will forgive me, brother,” Barok murmured, voice strained as he tried to swallow back the desperate sadness in his core, “I’ve been a poor substitute for you... I was unable to save you from the Professor... and now I’m not even capable of continuing your legacy as a Prosecutor... Truth be told, I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m at such a loss.”
“I’m so tired, Klint...”
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Mic Drop | myg
pairing: yoongi x reader
genre: smut, angst, fluff
au: rapper!yoongi, photographer!oc
summary: when underground rapper min yoongi uncovers the dirty secret behind his biggest rival, your brother and hip hop champion kim namjoon’s success, he is determined to take home this year’s mic drop contest trophy no matter who he hurts along the way. you’re behind the camera, content with capturing namjoon’s picture perfect persona from the sidelines but when his hard-faced enemy Gloss, makes you realise you could be more than just the point and shoot, you start to feel your loyalties shifting.
warnings: multiple smut scenes, dirty talk, dry humping, penetrative sex, fingering, oral sex (both m and f receiving), lots of orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, cum play, cum eating, but also tender fucking lol, very brief mention of death.
word count: 29k (rip)
rating: definitely explicit
playlist: visit my playlist page and select “mic drop.” (all links to be added later)
a/n: ahhh you don’t understand how happy i am to finally put this out into the world!!! i started writing this fic back in july and after a few rewrites (more on this at the end of the post if anyone sticks around until then) she’s finally finished eee <3 also!!! this fic is brought to you courtesy of the love yourself collab! this project has been super fun to be a part of n i wanna say thank you to everyone involved who made it such a welcoming experience! you can check out the masterlist here (link will be added later f u tumblr) to read all the other amazing fics from the incredibly talented authors in this project (literally so talented??? it’s sickening???) (im so excited to finally read them all now im done w this monster lol). all the love as always <3
Introducing Runch Randa!
The host is barely audible over the chants of your brother's name as the lights dim and the arena is sent into a haze of strobe lights.
The air is already heady with body heat and fragrant with sweat from the thousands of bodies smushed together in the pit and beyond that thousands more seated in the stands, phone lights twinkling in the darkened arena like stars. A girl in your peripheral clutches a sign with MARRY ME RUNCH RANDA scrawled in sharpie, torso clad in one of the cheap merch hoodies with your brother's face printed on the front, just like hundreds of others around her.
It's a full house. No one's surprised. The Mic Drop semi-final always creates a buzz of anticipation within the hip hop scene. But this year, with your brother Namjoon returning to compete for the trophy again, there isn't an empty seat in sight.
A buzz pulses through the crowd when the bass kicks in. It makes hearts beat faster, blood run hotter, a crescendo of screams crashing violently through room, the sheer volume enough to make the walls shake in time with the stamp of impatient feet.
It's infectious. Almost. If you hadn't been here a hundred times before, countless nights the same as this one that all started to blur into one somewhere along the line. Different crowds but the same energy, the same hum of anticipation that used to get your bones rattling, your skin hot with suspense. Now it's just routine. Now you feel nothing.
Besides, you're just here to do your job. The photographer. To take pictures, not to enjoy the show. Just like always.
Five seconds. You know Namjoon's set list like the back of your hand by now. Five seconds until he takes the stage and the crowd goes wild.
One, two, three, four...
Like clockwork, the stage lights up and there he is, face blown up in painful detail across every screen. Runch Randa. His stage name pulses through the room, a mantra, chanted until throats turn sore and mouths run dry.
Dark framed glasses cover his eyes but his stance is enough to tell you that he came here to win, his presence immediately filling the empty stage with an energy that makes it impossible to look anywhere else, even for a moment.
He is already damp with sweat, neck glistening beneath the white lights. Like routine you snap a few shots when he taunts the camera with a smirk, brushing a hand through his immaculately gelled hair teasingly, mouth turning up into a grin when the audience roars.
Runch Randa walks across the stage with the ease of someone who lives and breathes for moments like these. Grabs the microphone with two hands, shiny silver rings glinting on his fingers beneath the harsh strobe lights.
You can see his opponents in the front row, nothing but rookies, the intimidation etched into their features visible even from where you stand side stage as they swallow the bitter pill that they stand no chance against him.
Once upon a time you were the same as the wide eyed fans in the pit, filled with an admiration for your brother. He was everything you wanted to be; a whirlwind of fearless, brazen passion when he got up on stage. But things changed once Namjoon won Mic Drop, claiming the trophy at the tender age of seventeen. After that he started filling arenas. Then stadiums. And you were left behind in the ruins of his whirlwind, feeling the Namjoon you once knew slip further away as Runch Randa took center stage, viewing his perfect persona through the lens of your camera with the same sour resentment as the rookies.
Because when a familiar beat permeates the arena, you can't help but close your eyes and imagine the name the crowd screams is yours. That it's you out there instead of him. It's you pouring your heart into the lyrics that you find yourself whispering unconsciously in time with your brother.
Your lyrics.
The lyrics you wrote especially for this performance. The same lyrics that would be streamed by millions, top charts and win Namjoon another stupid trophy to add to his already elaborate collection.
The only reason Namjoon still kept you around was because he couldn't write them himself.
The track ends and the Mic Drop host crosses the stage with a grin. Namjoon's arm is thrust into the air triumphantly.
"And our first finalist is...Runch Randa!"
You snap a picture of your brother smiling victoriously.
"He's gonna win. I know it."
Namjoon's manager Jimin sidles up beside you, grin plastered to his face. It's nauseating.
"Does he ever lose?" You murmur
Runch Randa! Runch Randa! Runch Randa!
--
Mic Drop. The most highly anticipated event in the music industry for its ability to make hip hop artists stars; as well as its tendency to break them just as easily.
Fame. Money. Glory. Just a few of the reasons why rap rookies from across the globe are desperate to compete in the ruthless battle of blood, sweat and rap that is Mic Drop.
They all think they have what it takes. That they have that special something the judges are looking for. Unfortunately, most don't even make it past the auditions phase.
When your brother, Mic Drop legend Runch Randa, announced he would be ditching his celebrity status and stadium concerts to return to his underground roots and compete for the trophy again, it raised a series of questions
Why now? What did he have to prove?
Once the press got wind of the fact that your parent's, CEO'S of the most prestigious record label in the industry Big Hit Entertainment, had run into a spot of financial trouble, everyone assumed your brother's re-entry was a master plan to win the lavish cash prize afforded to competition winners. Sure, you couldn't deny that it was partly true --- Big Hit's stocks were plummeting and a lot was at stake.
Truthfully, though, you knew your brother well enough to see that Namjoon's motives were far more selfish; to put it simply, he was greedy. Fame was his drug. Once he got a taste he could never get enough.
Of course, a cheque signed and delivered by your father's hand shut any rumors down very quickly. Your parent's were good at silencing people if it meant protecting Namjoon's reputation.
Even you, their own daughter.
The name tag labelled OFFICIAL PHOTOGRAPHER was nothing but a cover up for the true reason you spent so much time at Big Hit -- writing each and every one of Namjoon's hit songs. A secret you were forced to keep as you watched your brother through a camera lens.
Which is how you find yourself as his strictly-invitation-only after party, an attempt at building momentum for the big final in just a few weeks time, with a camera in hand.
You're sat in the corner of the A-list club Jimin rented out for the event, swirling the deep red liquid in your glass with a bored disinterest as you watch your brother shake hands with company investors and big buck producers, most of which you'd never even heard of.
These things always seem to drag on, the clock ticking slower with each agonising second spent smiling courteously to uphold the supportive sister persona. Your feet are starting to hurt in your heels and all you want to do is hide away in the Big Hit studio and scribble down the lyrics floating aimlessly in your mind. That's the only good thing about these events -- they give you time to think, a rare relief in between your brother's busy schedules.
"Well, well. If it isn't my favorite lyricist."
A cheerful voice jolts you from your thoughts and when you blink up through the flashing lights you're met with a lazy grin belonging to Hoseok, one of the producers at Big Hit. He's an ex Mic Drop contestant himself, coming fourth and just missing out on the semi-finals three years ago. He never had the stomach for it anyway, he always says, but you never miss the rejection in his eyes.
Hoseok is also one of the only people who knows about your secret. He was hired to help you work on tracks for your brother once he made it big after all, and although he would never admit it you knew he probably had to sign a hefty NDA. Still, you were grateful to have him around — you couldn't deny you made something of a dream team together.
"Mind if I sit?" He gestures with his glass towards the empty space beside you, and you move your purse so he can squash in on the leather couch. "At least some of us are having fun, huh?" You follow his gaze to Namjoon on the dance floor, hands all over some vaguely recognizable celebrity's hips.
You grimace and swig back the remaining alcohol in your glass. "Too much fun, apparently."
Hoseok snorts, wringing his hands. "Y'know, we could get out of here if you're as bored as I am..." His words slur just slightly and you figure his confidence is a result of the amber liquor in his glass. The shy Hoseok you know well returns quickly though as he averts his eyes when you raise a brow. "Not like that! I just thought maybe we could get a drink or something...if you want to?"
You shift awkwardly, having to shout over the booming club music for him to hear you. "I should really stay here. People might ask questions if the sister of the host just...disappears."
"Right!" Hoseok smiles sheepishly then slaps his own forehead. "Right. Forget I ever asked."
You shake your head fondly and turn back towards the dance floor just in time to see Namjoon whisper in the ear of the DJ, music cutting as he takes the mic and hops up onto the small stage to address the party.
Finally! A sign he was going to wrap up the evening for good!
He clears his throat and the huddle of mingling bodies below him fall into an expectant hush.
"Uh, so I'm not usually very good at these speech things --" He pauses and the crowd laughs. You tap your knee impatiently. "But I just wanted to say thank you. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for your support. So, the next round of drinks are on me! I haven't won — yet — but its never too early to start celebrating, right?"
Namjoon raises his flute of champagne and the party-goers cheer just as a flurry of confetti drops from the ceiling. The music starts again and you're too busy picking the brightly colored paper out of your hair disgruntledly to notice the way the room suddenly quietens and the guests part down the middle like prey from a predator.
"Y/N. Look." Hoseok elbows you sharply and flies forward in his seat, whisky sloshing over the edge of his glass. "Shit! Is that--"
Is that really him? What is he doing here? He's back!
You look up just in time to see the commotion as a figure in a black hoodie weaves effortlessly to the front of the room. You don't recognise him but something about his presence gives you chills.
Namjoon is too busy throwing back his drink to notice as the man climbs the stage, his skinny jeans and high tops sticking out like a sore thumb against the sea of dress shoes and cocktail dresses. He clearly wasn't invited.
By the time your brother senses the change in the air, it's too late.
You feel your face pale, choking when the figure finally turns and lets down his hood, revealing a head of blue hair and a venomous smirk.
"Gloss?"
Namjoon turns and his smile dissolves. He just stares stiffly at the person in front of him like he's seen a ghost. In a way you suppose he has -- the ghost of his past. After all, the last time anyone saw this face was five years ago at the Mic Drop final.
It is him! It's Gloss! Why is he back?
The night that changed all of your lives. When Namjoon claimed the Mic Drop trophy and Gloss, his opponent, lost everything.
It's been years since the last time you saw Gloss but you still recognize the distinctive confidence in his gait, the way his eyes flash with something dark as he looks your brother up and down with a breathy laugh.
Namjoon is frozen, breathing heavily.
Gloss' voice is husky when he finally speaks. It makes you shiver.
"Runch Randa. Long time no see, huh?"
A beat of unbearable silence.
"What are you doing here?"
Gloss's chuckle makes Namjoon snarl. You see the way his jaw tenses and his fists clench. He's too wound up; he'll snap if you don't do something and fast.
You get to your feet but Hoseok pulls you back down sternly by the elbow. "Don't." You protest but his grip is too tight so you just fidget helplessly instead.
Something settles in the atmosphere; a nervousness that makes you itch, makes your heart pump into overdrive as you watch them draw closer, eyes narrowed like boxers in a ring, waiting for the other to make a move. Hoseok covers his eyes.
"I wouldn't start celebrating just yet, Runch. The competition has only just begun."
The crowd gasps when your brother's clenched fist swings at his smug opponent. The rapper ducks but not quite in time and you can't remember which comes first — the crunch that crackles through the speakers when Namjoon's ring-clad knuckles collide with Gloss' face or the ear splitting thump of his mic dropping to the ground.
--
The party ends abruptly. Your head spins with confusion as you watch the guests leave in shock. Seeing Namjoon up on that stage opposite his biggest opponent again makes your stomach sick, like you were reliving the events of five years ago all over again.
Deep down you had always expected this moment to come. For Gloss to return looking for revenge or something. After all, Gloss didn't just loose Mic Drop to anyone -- he lost to Namjoon, his former best friend and music partner. Namjoon and Yoongi. They were supposed to win together. But for reasons still unknown, even to you, Yoongi was disqualified moments before the final commenced, plummeting your brother into the world of fame alone.
After that, Gloss all but disappeared, his pitiful downfall nothing but a hip hop legend to those who heard it. No record deals or sponsorships or stadium tours like your brother. A legend in his own right, but for all the wrong reasons. Mic Drop banned duos from competing thereafter.
Eventually you gather the courage to head into one of the back rooms where the rappers had been hauled by security guards in hi-vis jackets after their scuffle. You can hear Jimin babbling before you even reach the door.
"What were you thinking? Punching him? You better hope the press don't get ahold of this or else you're in big trouble—"
"Let me go!" Namjoon grunts to Jimin whose face is almost as red as his own. "I'm gonna end this once and for all."
"You'll do no such thing," Jimin tuts, pushing him firmly by the shoulder so he slumps into his seat with a roll of the eyes, other hand pressing his phone to his ear. "Do you even understand the amount of damage control I'm going to have to do to? — hold on, yes, this is Park Jimin speaking..."
The room smells of disinfectant and medical gauze and you spot Namjoon instantly, surrounded by an abundance of medics. His breathing is still ragged, the vein on his neck standing to prominence, knee bouncing as he impatiently waits for his ruby knuckles to be bandaged, too engaged to notice your arrival.
To your left you're surprised to find Yoongi. He's the epitome of composure despite the heavy tension in the air. He grabs a roll of bandage and begins to patch up his own fist, eyes lighting up with something you can't put your finger on when you slide into the room.
"Well, look who decided to turn up. If it isn't Namjoon's little sister. Long time no see, Y/N."
You freeze. It's been years since you heard him say your name. It makes you feel funny.
"Yoongi." You swallow. "What are you doing here?"
His shit eating grin makes your blood boil. "I take it you haven't heard yet, then."
You roll your eyes. You should be checking on Namjoon not humoring whatever stupid motives his opponent has. "Heard what, Yoongi?"
"I'm re-entering the competition, too."
You stagger backwards. Yoongi? Re-entering the competition? Mic Drop?
"But--you were disqualified--I don't understand?"
"I was disqualified. Disqualifications are only valid for five years, according to the rule book. Who knew?" He smirks when your eyes widen. "And I think you'll find that my sentence is up. I'm gonna win this time, once and for all."
"I don't think you know what you're doing, Yoongi—"
"There's more." He licks his lips. "I know your secret."
Your heart stops, mouth running dry. You throw a glance over your shoulder. Namjoon is still engaged, swatting away a medic's ice pack with a scowl, thankfully too busy to notice when you draw closer, voice a harsh whisper. "W-what secret?"
Yoongi lets out a dark chuckle, wincing just barely when he touches a damp cloth to the cut in his lip, a red splotch forming on the fabric. "You know exactly what secret I'm talking about, Y/N. Wouldn't it be ironic if someone slipped a tip off to the judges panel about Namjoon's ghost writer—"
"Shut the fuck up Min Yoongi or I'll break your nose for real this time!" Namjoon's voice bellows behind you, making you jolt. He charges at Yoongi, lip quivering like he might make his threat a reality. "Leave her out of this!"
Yoongi's nostrils flare. "Everyone knows she's a part of this, Namjoon, whether she likes it or not!"
All eyes look your way, as if expecting you to say something, but Yoongi's words fall cluelessly on you. You hadn't so much as thought about him in years. What did you have to do with this stupid ongoing feud with your brother that he refused to let go?
You glance between them, settling for sending a blank look at Yoongi and shuffling over to Namjoon instead. Your brother seems prideful at your show of allegiance. Yoongi scoffs.
"Namjoon?" Your mouth is dry with the shock of the situation and it comes out sounding funny, like you're wary of him. A gash above his eyebrow starts to dribble crimson. "Shit, you're hurt..."
"Get off me." Namjoon shakes his shoulder violently and you gingerly remove your hand, brows furrowed at his rejection. He directs his attention to Yoongi. "And you. You want a fight? It's on."
"Joon!—" He waves you off. It's pointless anyway. When he gets this rash there's no changing his mind.
"You want to end this thing once and for all? Then let's do this. You and me. At the final."
Yoongi raises a brow. "Deal. I'd shake your hand but you might try and knock me into next week again."
Namjoon doesn't laugh.
A hoard of security guards bust into the room and head straight for Yoongi. "Finally. What the fuck do I even pay these people for?"
"Get off me!"
You place a hand on Namjoon's shoulder and find that he's trembling. Rage? Nerves? Adrenaline? All three, probably, if the vacant blackness behind his eyes is anything to go by.
You're already trailing behind your brother when you hear Yoongi's voice carry down the hall. "I'll see you at the final! When I win. Secrets always find a way to come back and bite you in the ass, Runch. You should know that better than anyone!"
--
Namjoon begs you to come as his plus one to some scummy gig Gloss is rumored to be performing at tonight. To check out the competition, he says, but you recognise the way he nibbles his lip as he does.
Fear. He'll never admit it but Namjoon is scared he’s going to lose.
You agree to join him because you think it may put his mind at rest.
As Namjoon's manager, Jimin has all sorts of connections, mumbling thank you's into the head set sitting around his ears like a permanent accessory and scribbling down the address of some club down town.
The driver your parent's hired to escort Namjoon around as a paparazzi safety precaution drops the three of you a block away; the car's black tinted windows and shiny number plate would be out of place in such a scummy part of town. The plan would only work if you went unnoticed. Namjoon couldn't risk running into a Runch Randa fangirl tonight. It was technically against the Mic Drop rules to have any intel on your opponents, after all.
You don't like to tell Namjoon that his disguise won't do much for blending in. He dons a designer cap pulled down low over his face, long black coat drowning his figure and expensive leather boots crunching against broken glass and cigarette stumps as you near the club. It's too put together to seem natural, a dead give away that he doesn't belong here among the sea of ripped jeans and septum rings and tattoo sleeves around you. Even with a patterned bandana covering half of his face, the sculpted cheekbones and piercing eyes smudged effortlessly with black eyeliner poking over the top scream celebrity.
Luckily for you, the plain dress and knit cardigan hugging your body doesn't alert the suspicions of the bouncers cross armed at the entrance.
Namjoon wrinkles his nose and prods a half empty solo cup discarded outside with his toe, Jimin practically jittering with nerves and barely avoiding a stumbling drunk as you approach the men who stand at nearly double your size. Namjoon said it was best that you acted as spokesperson tonight — the only reason he even brought you along was because nobody would know your face and your position at Big Hit allowed you to pull some strings.
Your fingers shake as you produce a photography license from your bag, heart pounding as one of the menacing bouncers raises his eyebrow beneath the deep red hue emanating from a tacky neon sign posted above the door.
Luckily the breath you're holding is leaving you in a relieved thank you as he nods, moves to the side and gestures for your entourage to dip inside with the rest of the crowd. Namjoon charges ahead into the darkness and you follow him with an awkward smile to make up for his rude demeanour.
No turning back now...
Music hits like a deafening wave, blasting from the speakers at a volume that makes the walls shiver and your head throb. The club is alive with reckless anticipation, a sea of sweaty bodies gyrating on the dance floor in time with the pulsing beat. The energy swallows you whole, knuckles turning white as you cling to Jimin's sleeve, letting him elbow through the throng of indistinguishable faces that glitter beneath the tacky disco ball dangling haphazardly from the ceiling.
The crowd eventually spits you back out in a quieter corner of the club, Namjoon already making a beeline for the seedy bar. "There's a whiskey sour with my name on it and it's the only thing that'll get me through this shit." He murmurs as he crosses the room and occupies a bar stool beside a couple mid heavy make out session, pulling the hat closer around his face.
With a sigh, you turn back to Jimin who is eyeing up the strip pole and the exotic dancers nearby with wide eyes. "I still don't think this is a good idea."
The italian leather couch you slump into is suspiciously sticky beneath your bare thighs. "He needs to get the apprehension out of his system," you counter. "Once he sees that there's no competition he'll be able to take him down."
"I hope you're right." Jimin is wringing his hands, not knowing what to do with them now his headset is sat on the backseat of the car a block away. "I'd hate for this to knock his confidence."
"What?" You snort. "You think Gloss might actually beat him?"
Namjoon is the best rapper around, there's no debate. Nobody could beat him. Not even Gloss.
"No." His pursed lips say otherwise. You raise a brow. Jimin lowers his voice. "Maybe. Namjoon's rash. Gets ahead of himself. If he doesn't pull it together he'll play straight into Yoongi's hands..."
"Shows starting." Your open mouth snaps shut when the cushions dip beside you and Namjoon throws his arms over the back of the couch, swirling his half empty glass with an overconfident smirk.
Jimin averts his gaze. He knows he probably said too much. Sure, you're technically his colleague but you're also Namjoon's sister, the daughter of his boss. If Namjoon had overheard his position at Big Hit could have been called into question.
You would have to grill him more about Yoongi's motives later. Namjoon was right; the show really was starting.
Lights send the club into a dizzying purple haze, a new beat rumbling through the club that makes your skin prickle. It's almost drowned out by the electricity in the air, the frantic stamping of feet, the brazen chants of a single name over and over that fills you with a funny tingly feeling.
Gloss! Gloss! Gloss!
Something about it feels dirty.
The crowd is packed tightly together in the pit now. Even from where you sit, avoiding club goers eyes on the opposite side of the room, you find your attention glued to the stage. The set up is nothing like the one your brother occupies every night; just a wooden structure, painted black at one point but scuffed and scratched by the soles of shoes that boast the history of the place. The speakers are propped on broken crates, no big LED screens or back up dancers like your parents hire out for Namjoon.
Though none of that seems to matter when your gaze falls on the sole microphone stand placed centre stage beneath a blinding spotlight. It's the only familiar parallel between the two performers. It's a symbol of an artist, of the passion that comes with being up on that stage — any stage. It belongs to a performer.
You have to peer through a sea of frantic waving hands on your tiptoes to catch a glimpse of the combat boots taking the stage in time with the music rushing in your ears, mouth dry at the silver rings glinting under the harsh lights as fingers curl around the microphone.
"Yoongi." Namjoon grunts beside you, back stick straight and alert now. The traces of his previous smirk have been erased, a line appearing at the bridge of his nose. "There he is."
Yoongi throws his head back, breathes in the stuffy air that carries the shouts and whistles of the crowd like it's the sweetest oxygen money can buy.
The stench of beer burns your eyes but you're scared you'll miss a glimpse of his messy blue hair, or the eyes drunk on the fierce energy pulsing through the club to stop watching even if you tried.
When his voice permeates the room it's husky, burning through you like a shot of dry whisky. Namjoon stiffens, loosens the bandana around his face so he can see better.
Is that Runch Randa?
"Namjoon..." You hiss. "People are looking."
"Shut up." He grits, jaw tightening as Yoongi's lyrics cut through the tension like a serrated knife.
The way he moves across the stage like he owns it is exhilarating, makes the blood in your veins pump hot, limbs turning to lead as the crowd hangs off his every word.
He's good. Great, even. His lyrics give you goosebumps and you realise you haven't felt like this about a performance in a long time. Passionate. Yoongi is exhilarating to watch and it shakes you to the core.
It's then that it dawns on you. The reason Namjoon feels threatened is because there is a real chance that he might loose everything.
Gloss might take the trophy once and for all.
You only rip your eyes away from the stage when you feel Namjoon stand up beside you, his body disappearing into the crowd.
You get up too. "Leave him." You watch Jimin mouth. "He's just angry, he'll calm down—"
You don't care about Namjoon, not when the air is suddenly too thick, too heavy to breathe. Not when your hands sweat and you heave with a desire to run from reality and the suffocating smell of stale cigarette smoke that made your throat burn, like you can't get your body to breathe.
"Y/N? Where are you going?"
You swear you're floating, feet never seeming to quite touch the ground as you battle against the hazy dizziness that makes the room spin, ignoring Jimin's exasperated shouts of your name as you push through the gaps between bodies and pray your sense of direction is still intact enough to pull your outstretched arms towards the exit.
--
It's dark outside when you spill out of the exit, spluttering and heaving for air.
The brick is cool against your back when you slide down a nearby wall, hugging your knees.
A deep breath. In then out. Your chest loosens, lungs begin to feel full enough again.
Until a gravelly voice rings out into the night, clearer than the thump of unintelligible music from inside the club that makes your head pound.
"So it was you I saw back there. Good to know I'm not seeing things."
Even before you lift your face from between your knees you know who it belongs to. The single person you want to see least in the world at this very moment.
"Go away." You grumble but all that follows is a low chuckle as Yoongi slumps down next to you, ensuring to leave a safe distance between your crouched bodies.
It's funny. You had been preparing yourself to see him all night but now he's actually here in front of you, your mouth is dry.
He looks the same as he always did; dark eyes that burn hot as they scan your face, cocky smirk turning up the corners of his mouth. His brow looks wearier than you remember though, too weary for a man of twenty three. The only indication that time has passed since him and your brother were best friends.
"I assume Namjoon sent you here, then?"
The mention of your brother's name offers you the courage you need to look at him directly. His forehead still gleams with sweat in the dim moonlight, hair slicked back with a red bandana. There's a ring around his eye now, black and bruised. He must have taken off the black hoodie he donned on stage, left now in only a white vest which exposes his arms and to your dismay makes your blood run a little hotter.
"He's inside. I just came along because I had to." You mumble. "I'm not his spy, you know."
"Sure as shit seems like it." Yoongi spits with an amused chuckle, head lolling on his shoulders to face you. "He worried I might tell everyone about his little secret? Or was he trying to find his own leverage?"
A hot anger boils beneath your skin, rising all the way to your cheeks. Namjoon wouldn't do that would he? He didn't play that way. He didn't need to get an upper hand on Yoongi. He just wanted to see what he was up against.
"What's your problem, Yoongi?" The smirk on his mouth never falters, something glinting behind his eyes that tells you he wants to get a rise out of you.
Even so, you can't help the way your voice raises, staggering to your feet. He chuckles darkly in response. "You get off on being an asshole or something?"
"You're too naive. What's so bad about telling the truth?" He closed the space between you until he's hovering above you, breath warm against your cheek. Your heart starts to race."What's so bad about taking back what is mine?"
Your breath hitches when his hand presses into the wall beside your head, effectively cornering you beneath his chest. "You could ruin his career."
Yoongi snorts. "What? Like he ruined mine?"
A few beats of silence. His eyes scan your face and it makes your stomach feel funny. You push at his chest, sucking in a shaky breath when he backs off a little and you realise part of you is weirdly disappointed that he did.
"Yoongi I don't know what happened between you and Namjoon—"
"No. You wouldn't know." He scorns, slinging his hands in his pockets, face darker now at the mention of his feud with your brother. "Because Namjoon loves secrets right? Namjoon likes to use people, Y/N. Just like he's using you now, to get to the top. And then he'll throw you away just like he did with me, sweetheart."
"Namjoon wouldn't do that." You bite your lip, the words leaving your tongue sounding a little less sure than you intend.
"Why? What makes you think you're any different?"
"He's my brother."
"I was his brother once too, remember?" He swallows, shaking his head in disbelief at your denial. "The only blood that matters to Namjoon is the blood shed to get him to the top."
You wrap your arms around your torso instinctively. Yoongi's words cut too deep. Maybe something inside of you thought Yoongi was right?
No. You came here to protect Namjoon yet here you were allowing his enemy to get inside your head.
"Fuck you, Min Yoongi." You spit, enjoying the way his eyes widen at the venom lacing your tone. "I made a mistake coming here."
Before you could brush past him and escape the heat running through your blood stream which feels fuzzier than hatred should, a hand curls around your wrist.
"Shit. Looks like someone's on your trail."
A quick glance over your shoulder reveals none other than Jimin, face hidden by the visor of his black cap but recognisable none the less. He speaks a few words to the bouncer, probably asking if they saw you come out.
"Oh no."
The bouncer gestures in your direction. Jimin's eyes pause for a second as they skim across your form stood rigid with shock and your heart falls out of your ass when he starts in the direction of where you stand way too close to Yoongi unable to move a single muscle as you brace for discovery. To pay for your betrayal of your brother.
"You coming or what?" Yoongi snaps you back to reality with a tug on your arm, feet stumbling over each other as he drags you behind him further down the alley and around a nearly pitch black corner, too far away from the street lights to be basked in their orange glow.
"What the fuck, Yoongi?" You try to shrug out of his grasp, heart beating faster when you see the flat look on his face. "Let go of me!"
Yoongi comes to an abrupt halt. "Listen, I'm trying to save your ass here. You want to get caught? Go on then! Not my problem."
You nibble your lip, glancing one way at the dark alley and the other at Jimin pacing up and down the street with furrowed brows.
"Just trust me, Y/N."
Jimin's footsteps get closer and closer. It's now or never.
Tightening your jaw, you turn back to Yoongi and nod. The words feel foreign as they pass your lips. "I...trust you."
With that, Yoongi grabs your hand and breaks into a sprint
Turning the corner, the alley meets a dead end. The back of the club is just as run down as the front, littered with cracked beer bottles and cigarette stumps. The sign above the door labelled NO ENTRY doesn't offer any light and apparently Yoongi doesn't listen to directions because he fishes in his back pocket for a key, sliding the bolt and pushing on the bar to hold the door open with a small nod for you to go inside first.
With a deep breath, you do.
The door closes behind you with a jingle of chains, cutting off the slither of moonlight it provided and sending you into complete darkness. You hear Yoongi slide the bolt back across and then he fumbles for you in the darkness, your body pulled down next to his with a yelp so that you're out of direct view of the window which looks inside the room.
"I think they followed us." His voice is silk but there's an underlying insinuation. Be quiet.
Yoongi's eye level now, knees squeezed up against yours in the cramped space beneath the window ledge. Your eyes slowly adjust to the darkness, able to see the way he scans your face when he thinks you aren't looking. The way he grumbles and looks away when you catch him.
There's not time to dwell as you hear footsteps turn the corner, tracking all the way to the door where the bolt rattles, a sleeve wiping the window and pressing a cupped face to the glass.
"She's not here, man. You must have seen someone else."
It was Hoseok. You'd recognise his voice anywhere. Countless all nighters in the studio together does that to a person. Had Jimin called him all the way down here to look for you?
Jimin chimes in quickly. "I could have sworn it was her..."
The voices trail off as they retreat back down the alley, around to the front of the club.
A sigh escapes you, head falling against the wall in relief. When you open your eyes Yoongi is looking at you again. There's something pained in his expression, unspoken words visible in the way he bites his cheek to stop them from spilling out into the darkness.
His fingers are still wrapped around your arm, an electricity buzzing through your veins when you feel him lean in closer, pulling you towards him just barely.
His lips. Chapped and so close to yours. God. You think you want to kiss them. Just to know how it feels. You've never seen them up this close before. Not close enough to feel his hot breaths puffing against your forehead. Not close enough that if you just lifted your chin a little bit...
Yoongi lets out an embarrassed cough, jolting you out of your thoughts. "That was a close one, huh?" The spot where his hand resided feels cold when he rips it away.
Yoongi's face is wiped of any emotion again. He's not completely slick though as when he finally speaks again he sounds husky, the betrayal in his voice surprising even him.
"Are you okay?"
What were you supposed to say to that? I almost got caught with my brother's enemy and then thought about kissing said enemy. No, I don't think I am okay.
"Fine. Thanks."
Yoongi offers you a hand, getting to his feet and pulling you up after him before he leans across your body to flick on the lights.
The yellowish stream burns your eyes but allows you to take in the room around you. There's a keyboard in the corner, piles of sheet music strewn across the wooden desk beside it. A pair of speakers hooked up to a worn looking sound machine. A mic and a pair of headphones slung over the back of the mismatch wheely chair tucked beneath a desk.
A studio.
He must notice the way you look around with wide eyes, redness creeping up his neck as he busies himself by kicking some of the clutter on the floor behind the desk. "Wasn't expecting guests."
It definitely wasn't the high tech producing set up you were provided with back at Big Hit, no hifi system or fancy computer programmes. The furniture was mismatch, like someone had collected a bunch of spare puzzle pieces and shook them up in the box until they made a picture.
Somehow of the pieces still manage to seem somehow inherently Yoongi; the basketball tee with GLOSS on the back draped over his chair, even the empty water bottles overflowing in the trash can. The tiny framed picture of a younger looking Yoongi next to a woman you think you recognise but can't quite put your finger on.
"Genius lab?" You snort, nodding towards the sign hanging haphazardly above the monitor.
Yoongi shrugs. "What can I say? It's true."
"Confident." You muse.
You share a smile. It's strange. Familiar. The way his eyes crinkle and even the husk of the chuckle that follows reminding you of when things were good, back when you considered Yoongi to be a sort of friend. Before things got fucked up.
"You'll take it back when I win."
Old habits might not die hard but the rational part of your brain registers the implication of his words, even beneath his playful facade. The studio suddenly feels cold. Nostalgia dissipates. You remember why you're here.
"Why didn't you just let them find me?"
"You know as well as I do that Namjoon risks getting disqualified if Jimin causes a scene and gets himself caught snooping around here."
You huff an exasperated breath. For all Yoongi's talk of having the upper hand he sure did seem reluctant to use it. "Isn't that what you want? What's stopping you? Want to drag it out or something?"
Yoongi lets out a breathy laugh, crossing the room and ducking into a drawer in the far corner. He returns with two glasses and a murky bottle of something strong, already a quarter empty as he pours some out. He offers the second glass towards you but you wave it away.
"Suit yourself." He takes a swig of the dark liquid, squeezes his eyes shut. "Because I want to win fair and square."
You shake your head. "All of this. Just for a stupid trophy?"
He eyes you over the rim of his glass, swirling the liquid with an overconfidence that makes you grit your teeth in annoyance. "So Namjoon knows how it feels to lose something he loves." He looks you up and down then, coughing and turning his head when you notice it. "Yeah. I guess it's for the trophy."
Yoongi is despicable, you think. Is he really so fame hungry that he will destroy anyone standing in his way to get it? Even Namjoon? Sure, your brother has his faults but if there is one thing you know it's that he loves being on that stage. What happened between them that makes Yoongi think he deserves it more?
"So its a revenge thing, then. And what if you lose, huh?" The way your voice raises makes you wince. Yoongi slams his glass down and flashes you an are you serious face.
"Y/N don't you see? I have nothing to lose. Namjoon already took everything. My life, my family, my fame. Everything. You know how it feels to have it all dangled in front of your face? And then get it ripped away like it was never yours to begin with?"
Yes. You'd never tell him that, of course. But you did know. You had to watch Namjoon perform your songs every night through a camera lens. Snapping shots of him in his element and wishing those picture perfect moments were yours. What did Yoongi know?
"I see him on the big screen, on stages I dreamed of. Crowds screaming his name. It was supposed to be me, Y/N. Meanwhile I'm sat here," Yoongi gestures to the shabby studio you find yourself in, liquid sloshing over the edge of his glass. "In clothes I printed myself, making music in a shitty club for free because nobody will even listen to my shit."
He's panting by the end of his spiel, knuckles pressed to his eyes as he tries to regain his composure before he lets too many of his weaknesses show. Something resonates inside you, softening the anger towards him with what you recognize as sympathy.
"Then why do you still do it? Make music?"
"Because it's the only thing that never left me alone."
You sigh. While you're collecting your thoughts something catches your eye — a Polaroid picture, tacked onto the plasterboard behind his computer. It's of a smiling Yoongi and much to your surprise, a smiling Namjoon, arms wrapped around each other like nothing could ever break them apart. You briefly wonder why he kept it, if he hated Namjoon so much.
You turn to him again.
"Don't make me regret saying this but you're good, Yoongi. Like really good. Your performance earlier it was...amazing. I mean that."
Yoongi's stern eyes soften with surprise. He almost seems pained, like the simple compliment means more to him than you expected.
"So, you don't have to do this. Big Hit has connections, I could get in touch with a couple record labels--"
He stiffens again. "What? Are you my manager now? As if any record label would take a chance on the biggest Mic Drop loser in history, Y/N, don't talk shit."
You trail off. It's true and you know it.
He swallows hard. "You know what I think? I think you're here because you know that I might actually win this thing. As much as Namjoon knows how to play dirty he doesn't have the talent. He never did! That's why he's using you to write his material." His laugh makes you shiver. "How can he even call himself an artist? It's pathetic."
That's all it takes for your patience to snap. Is the way your blood boils with a sudden and insatiable rage because of the way he bad mouthed your brother? Surely you didn't actually believe him? No, everything he said was a lie -- it had to be.
Your hand curls into a fist, anger spilling over as you charge at him full force. Yoongi barley flinches, his fingers deftly curling around your wrist before it can meet his jaw and pulling you into him at the waist so he can slot his bottom lip between yours.
"Fuck yo— hmf?"
Your eyes widen as you register his slightly chapped lips moving against your own, remnants of the amber liquid he poured down his throat earlier sour on your tongue, a surprised gasp leaving you when Yoongi flips your bodies and slams your back roughly against the wall, settling himself between your legs.
"Gonna finish what Namjoon started, sweetheart?" When he pulls back you're panting, eyes trained to his parted lips with wonder.
He kissed you. Yoongi kissed you. For real.
His warm breath still mingles with yours as you try to choke a response, anything. Yoongi's eyes have a dark glint to them and god you should hate him for winding you up like this but being this close to him just feels too good.
Then, before you can think better of it, you grab his collar with your free hand and smash your lips together in a tangle of teeth and tongue that makes your entire body burn with relief.
The groan he lets out against your mouth tells you he wants this too. "Fuck, couldn't help myself." He pants. "You're driving me crazy."
You feel a dampness throb between your legs when his hands tangle in your hair, lips never leaving yours as he pulls you across the room and drops into his chair.
A whimper is pulled from your lips when his palms cup the flesh of your ass beneath your dress, though it's not in protest, dizzy with desire when he pulls you into his lap and bucks his hips so that his half hard cock brushes against your clothed heat.
"See what you do to me?" He pulls back to smirk at your swollen lips, a much needed breath entering your lungs, filling you with another bout of restless desire as Yoongi's eyes scan your face hungrily. It feels too good even though it should be so wrong.
"W-we shouldn't." Your mouth is dry, words coming out a little unsure which gives away just how much you want to keep going. "What if--"
A particularly harsh thrust of his hips makes you moan softly, head falling into the crook of Yoongi's neck. He growls when he catches sight of the growing wet patch on the front of his jeans, testament of his effect on you as much as you hated to admit it.
"What if Namjoon finds out?" His hand shoots between your legs, pads of his fingers tracing your clothed core, the coarse lace of your panties adding a delicious layer of friction against your folds. The delicate touch sets your body alight, skin burning to let go and submit to the feeling despite the voice in the back of your mind screaming no!
"What if Namjoon finds out that I make you this wet?" Your panties are sticking to your heat by now so it would have been futile to deny it. He smiles smugly when your legs shake and you throw an arm around his neck to keep your balance.
"S-shut up." It's meek and it only makes him laugh darkly, the husky sound sending shivers down your spine as he leans in closer to nibble on the lobe of your ear.
If you didn't know any better you would think he was unaffected by this. Your chest heaves with desire and your hands itch with a yearning to touch him but Yoongi appears the epitome of composure, maintaining sinful eye contact as he pulls your panties to the side. The only give away is the way his cock twitches against your leg with each jerk of his hips, a funny sense of pride erupting in your chest knowing that he wants you too.
Open mouthed kisses drag down your jaw, lingering at your neck. His teeth nibble at the sensitive skin, tongue laving out to soothe the sting and it feels too good to worry about the bruises his sinful lips leave behind as a reminder of your weakness Namjoon could never know of.
"Look so pretty marked up, sweetheart." The pet name makes your clit throb, head throwing back as his mouth attacks the sensitive spot on your neck like he knew it was there all along. It's almost concerning how quickly he has you falling apart in his lap. How easily he turned you into a shuddering mess, barely able to form coherent sentences in between breathy gasps at the sensation of him making you his for all to see. "Show everyone that you're mine, hm?"
When Yoongi removes his hand from your core you slap a hand over your mouth to stop a whine of protest from escaping. Yoongi's eyes narrow, palming his bulge through his trousers as he watches you writhe in his lap with amusement, every twist of your hips falling short and providing no relief for your pulsing clit, already missing the feeling of his hand cupping your mound and considering how it would feel skin on skin—
Oh god. What am I doing?
You let out a groan, but not the good kind.
"What?" Yoongi seems to read your mind, snapping you back to reality when he pulls your panties to the side. He circles your entrance teasingly and you can't help the way you whimper. "Don't act like you don't want to sink down on my cock, Y/N. You could ride me right here and nobody would ever know."
"H-how can I trust you?" It would ruin Namjoon if he found out. He was already stressed, already growing distant from you. This had to stop before it went too far. Before there was no going back.
"Because I can make you feel like this." A lithe finger slides into your heat, easy because of how you drip over his hand. "Think about how much better my cock would stretch you out, hm?"
Each drag of his finger against your velvety walls has you squeezing your eyes shut. The sensation is overwhelming, and when he adds a second digit you feel your repose crumble. Lust seems to crash over you like a wave, clouding your thought with a hazy desire to just give in and let Yoongi take you, uncaring about the repercussions now as you push down to meet his thrusts so he hits deeper than before.
"Fine." Your words are slurred, too busy chasing the feeling between your legs to see the way it makes Yoongi's eyes light up. "J-just hurry up and fuck me Yoongi."
"Well well," Yoongi settles back against the wall, looking between your bodies to watch the way his fingers disappear into your soaking cunt with an expression almost primal, his own breathing ragged now as he tries to resist turning you over and fucking you into tomorrow then and there. "Never thought I'd actually get to hear my name on your lips like this. Say it again."
A sharp flick of his wrist has you falling against his chest, pulsing around him. "Yoongi!"
"That's right," He licks his lips, free hand unzipping his jeans to relieve the pressure on his length. "Me. Yoongi." The way he mimicks your breathless tone makes a hot blush rise in your cheeks, aware of just how fucked out you must seem right now but too horny to care. "Been waiting for this. Ah shit!"
You take it upon yourself to hurry along the process by reaching into the waistband of his boxers to wrap a hand around the shaft of his cock. It pulses at your touch, the pace of Yoongi's fingers in your cunt stuttering as he flies forward, knuckles on the hand gripping your thigh turning white as he tries to regain some control while you stroke him firmly.
"Fuck your hands. Sinful. Knew they would be. God you're going to kill me if you keep this up, I swear." The worlds tumble from his mouth in one heaving breath as you twist your palm around his sticky head, enjoying the way his thighs twitch with a want to buck into your fist and his nose flares with the effort it takes to resist.
His cock feels girthy in your palm, hot and heavy as you help him shimmy his jeans around his thighs. When his cock slaps back against his stomach, impossibly hard and leaking with anticipation you feel your mouth water.
"Like what you see?" He almost taunts.
You bite your lip. "I don't think you're gonna fit."
It must have brushed his ego because the tip seemed to flush an even deeper shade of red. "Wanna sit on it and find out?"
A nod is all it takes for Yoongi to slide your panties to the side, slapping your hands away to grip the base of his cock and line it up with your entrance.
You both groan in unison when he pushes into your heat, the stretch burning with every inch, fingers clutching the fabric of his tank top at the sensation of finally being full.
"Fuuuck." You see his tongue snake out to wet his bottom lip when his hips finally join flush to yours, hair sticking to his already damp forehead as he allowed you to adjust. "So fucking tight for me, princess."
His cock throbs impossibly deep inside you when you unconsciously clench around it, feeling your face flush as you whimper for him to get on with it and fuck you already.
"Shh, patience." His thumb pulls at your bottom lip, setting it free with a pop. "Move."
At his command you do, bracing yourself on his shoulders. You raise up, feeling every ridge of his length until just the tip remains inside your heat. Then you are slamming back down and flushing at the groan which tumbles from his chest.
"Such a slut, taking my cock so well." His palms feel hot on your hips, dragging you up and down through the motion that has you panting.
Yoongi looks utterly amazed at the visual of you sinking down onto his length, unable to stop the satisfied grin settling into his features when you cry out after a particularly deep thrust. "Imagine if Namjoon could see you now. Falling apart on my cock?"
"Can we — hnng — not talk about my brother when you're in my fucking guts?"
"Why?" A whine leaves you when he slips out of your cunt, grabs you by the ass, and hoists you to your feet, roughly bending you over the desk until your cheek presses against the cold surface. Yoongi tugs your hands behind your back, cock already sinking back into your heat before you can protest at the emptiness. "Worried he'll think you're a slut for taking my cock when I'm the one whose going to fucking end him?"
"Yes!" You cry, unable to hold back now as you feel his cock hit deeper than before with every ram inside you that fills the room with the slapping sound of his pistoning hips, brushing your sweet spot each time and making the coil in your stomach tighten.
God, this is so wrong and you know it. You know it shouldn't feel so good when Yoongi's hands tangle in your hair, pulling you so that your back arches flush against his sweaty chest. Know how many people would be hurt if they knew how much you love it, how you push back into his thrusts, eager for more.
"Shit, you're squeezing so tight." His voice sounds strained now, thrusts turning sloppy as you feel him shudder. "Close, shit. Where can I—"
"Inside me. Want you to f-fill me."
"Holy sh— always wanted to hear you say that. Okay, fuck."
A few more pumps of his cock and he's spilling inside you, the feeling of his release coating your walls enough to have you falling over the edge unexpectedly too, vision turning black as you cum with a cry.
The only sound that fills the silence is your heavy breaths mingling with his as your arms give out. You're silently grateful, as much as you hated to admit it, for the strong arm around your torso that holds you to him when your legs turn to jelly.
Yoongi slips out of you, admiring the way his cum leaks down your trembling thighs. The emptiness makes you keen, clenching around nothing.
"Made such a mess of you, kitten."
The sound of his zipper makes your heart sink, stiffening as he tucks his spent cock back into his pants. For a second you think he's going to leave you like this, shame caressing your cheeks as you envision how fucked out you must look.
But then, Yoongi's palms are back on your thighs as he kicks the chair from under his desk and pushes you roughly onto the cushion. "Think you can go again for me, princess?"
"Wha--?" His swollen lips make you loose your words, the way his tongue tantalizingly caresses your bottom lip drawing a choked whine from your throat instead.
"Fuck, always thought you'd make such pretty noises." It's mumbled gruffly under his breath, like he's confirming it with himself rather than addressing you. He pulls back to stare at you spread out for him, lidded eyes widening at the visual of your skirt pooled around your waist, legs kept open by the rough grip around your thigh that exposes your swollen slit. The way your arousal drips down your inner thighs along with his own release has him swallowing thickly. "Like being filled with my cum, huh? Such a slut."
Yoongi traces his fingers up your inner thighs, thumb applying a gentle pressure to your clit, legs struggling to fall shut around his hand to escape the over stimulation. "P-please Yoongi, I can't."
"You will." It's growled against your neck, hot breath making you shudder. "I know you can take it."
A knee slips between your thighs, holding them open so his fingers can deftly continue their brutal attack on your sensitive folds. Each drag of his knuckle up your slit makes you whimper, the way the pads of his fingers rub firm circles into your clit making it pulse. The feeling is more intense than before, borderline agonizing as a warmth builds in the pit of your stomach again.
Eventually the pain starts to dissipate, turns into something closer to pleasure when you feel a single digit slip into your heat, the slide made easy by the fact that his cock had already stretched you out and his release lubed you up nicely. Each pump makes a lewd squelching noise that has you biting your lip to stop from groaning unabashedly, Yoongi's gaze fixed to the sight of his knuckles disappearing inside you.
When you buck up into his touch again, desperately circling your hips to try and grind your clit against the heel of his hand, Yoongi lets out a dark chuckle. The muscles in your cunt tighten, skin damp with sweat as you fuck yourself on his hand in search of a second high that burns ever closer.
"Look at you, all needy again from just one finger. All fucked out again even after I stretched you out."
With that Yoongi removes his hand from your heat all together, leaving you gasping and clenching around nothing as your release falls farther away, unable to resist the groan of frustration that passes your lips.
"Don't stop!" Your head lolls back against the chair, thighs trembling with desperation to feel his touch again. "I was so close--"
"Suck." Yoongi raises his fingers to your lips. You notice the way they gleam, sticky and white in the studio lighting. The pads of his fingers smear the wetness across your swollen lips as he pushes for entry which you gave to him eagerly, humming around the digits. "Be a good girl, hm?"
He all but groans when your eyes flutter open and lock with his, tongue swirling around his fingers teasingly, enjoying the taste of your own arousal mixed with the saltiness of his cum, almost in sensory overload at the thought of how much better his cock would feel in your throat.
"That's it." A knuckle drags down your cheek possessively, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "Good girl."
A sticky trail of spit follows Yoongi's fingers when they leave your mouth with a lewd pop, your breaths coming out shaky and desperate as you watch his eyes zone in on your aching core.
The sight of him dropping to his knees is enough to have you squeezing your eyes shut in anticipation, whimpering when his hot breath grazes over your throbbing clit. "Wanna taste you for myself."
And with that his tongue runs a rough stripe up your slit, eyes falling shut as he hums against your folds contentedly.
"Fuck Yoongi!" Your eyes roll back as he laps a few teasing licks across your bud, body turning to putty when his hands roughly pull you down the chair so that he can attach his mouth to your mound fully.
A guttural moan rises from his chest when you grind your core against his face, knuckles turning white as you clutch he chair like it's the only thing keeping you grounded, stopping you from floating away and losing yourself to the feeling of Yoongi's tongue teasing your already wrecked hole. An impatience rises in your stomach every time his nose grazes your clit, pushing your hips more forcefully to chase the relief it brings.
"So eager." You knew he'd have a smirk on his face if his lips weren't already occupied, wrapping around your clit and sucking with just the right amount of pressure to have your fingers tangling in the blue locks that spill loose from his bandanna now, holding him to your core so that you can rock against his tongue easier.
"Close sweetheart?" The way your chest heaves and little gasps spill past your lips as you chase your high must give away the effect he is having on you. You nod breathlessly and to your surprise Yoongi places a chaste kiss to your folds before pulling back all together, leaving you writhing and desperate for him to make cum for the second time. "Did I give you permission?"
Your heart beats furiously as your release slips away once again. Yoongi only stares at you intently. His lips glisten with a mixture of both of your releases and the thought alone makes your core ache. A loose shake of your head makes his eyes darken, licking some of the dampness from around his lips. "Gotta use your words, baby. Did I say you could cum?"
Dizzy with arousal, your words sound slurred and alien to your own ears. "N-no."
"Good. Now ask nicely."
"Please." It comes out whinier than you anticipate but Yoongi's hands twitch against the flesh of your thighs, giving away the fact that he likes it despite the way his mouth presses into a tight and unforgiving line. "Can I cum? Please?"
A deep laugh leaves his bitten lips. "I don't think you deserve it." His head dips back down between your legs, sloppy kisses pressed to each of your thighs as he edges ever closer to your dripping core. "I want you to count, okay?"
"O-oh, okay." He attacks your clit again, tongue swirling where his teeth graze across the pulsing bud. You're so sensitive that you're sure just the light brushes of his lips will send you over the edge if he keeps going.
"G-gonna cum if you--"
"Don't." The authority in his voice makes you gasp. "Didn't I say to count? One."
"Fuck!" Hot tears streak your cheeks when he pulls back so just his hot breath ghosts across your glistening folds. "I..I was so close!"
"Hey, hey." His hand reaches up to stroke your cheek, a strangely gentle action in comparison to the bruising grip on your thigh. "You're doing so good. Trust me, okay? Wanna make you feel good."
For the second time that night you nod, putting all your trust into him for reasons you are too fucked out to dwell on there and then.
When his tongue snakes out to tease your clenching hole again it draws an agonizing cry from you, the coil already tightening in your belly. You shut your eyes.
"Don't" The hand on your chin tightens, forces you to look down at where his face is buried between your legs, authority lacing his words again. "Keep your eyes on me."
As soon as you lock eyes he gets to work again, humming out a "good girl" before you're losing yourself again to his tongue and he has to plant your feet down roughly to stop your hips from bucking too much.
Before you know it your clit's throbbing again and you're about to fall over the edge but before you can even let Yoongi know he's pulling back with a pant, practically gasping for air but still flashing you a shit eating grin. "Didn't think I was going to let you, did you sweetheart?"
"Two." You manage to breathe. "Two!"
By now you're sick of the teasing, a hand coming between your own legs to finish yourself off, ready to come undone whether Yoongi likes it or not. Before you can get your way, Yoongi's swatting your hand away. "Desperate slut. Wanna cum that bad huh?"
"Please!" You practically whimper.
That seems to do it for him, his eyes glazing over with what you recognise as lust. As if the last of his self control just snapped. Anticipation makes your blood run hot.
"Then make it to three and we'll see if I'm feeling nice."
"Shit!" Yoongi's tongue plunges into your heat with a new found eagerness, thrusting in and out like a man deprived. You manage to maintain eye contact this time, falling apart at the way he groans in appreciation when he tastes himself, fucking your hole with his tongue mercilessly like he wants to get every last drop of his cum.
His thumb finds your clit and the coil in your lower belly tightens too rapidly for you to comprehend, tugging on his hair as you cry out. "Yoongi!"
"Cum for me."
His permission is all it takes to have you falling over the edge into a shattering orgasm that makes your vision turn black, mind wiped of any hesitation and guilt and replaced with a single word, over and over again: Yoongi.
When you finally take a gasping breath, he's there, rubbing encouraging circles into your hips and leaving kisses across your stomach that makes something in your chest warm, heart beating a little faster and not just from your orgasm.
"So fuckin' pretty when you cum." You're sure that's what he murmurs against your damp skin. "Can't believe I had to wait this long."
You furrow your brow. Yoongi sits back against his heels, wiping your arousal from his mouth with the back of his hand and flashing you a lazy but satisfied smile, looking awfully pleased with himself. Like this was his biggest dream come true.
It dawned on you that it probably was in someways -- what better way to get back at an old friend than by fucking his sister?
You suddenly feel like an idiot for letting him charm you, guilt washing through you, flying forward when your chest aches with regret.
Yoongi notices how you pale. "Are you okay? If that was too much then I'm really sorry--"
"Too much?" You suddenly feel exposed beneath his gaze, shuffling around to pull your skirt around your thighs, eyes roaming the room hurriedly for your panties so you can get out of here and quick. "This is all too much, Yoongi."
"What?" He puts a hand on your shoulder to stop you as you brush past him but the way you jolt at the touch makes him rip it away like he touched a live wire.
"I...shouldn't have come here. This was a mistake."
Namjoon's face was embedded in your mind. The way his eyes would crumple with betrayal if he found out you came here at all -- let alone let Yoongi take you so intimately. And you hadn't even tried to stop yourself from falling into him, gave in to your emotions too easily and allowed Yoongi to use you as a swipe at your own brother.
"Why? Didn't seem so upset when you were coming on my tongue." The scoff in Yoongi's voice makes you freeze.
"I can't stop you from hurting Namjoon," Your lip quivers and you have to press your nails into your palms to stop the tears spilling over. "But do you really have to hurt me, too?"
"Y/N, wait--"
Your hands shake as you grab your bag and head for the door. "Shit happened between you and my brother, I get it. But we were friends once, Yoongi. Doesn't that mean anything to you? We can't see each other again."
Your tears are warm in contrast to the cold evening air as you take off into a run, needing to get as far away from Yoongi and the evidence of your own betrayal as possible.
By the time you stumble back into the Big Hit company building, the studio is empty. To your surprise, words seem to flow out of you easier than they ever had before, a heart shaped stain appearing on the formerly empty page of your notebook.
--
Sleepless nights were becoming your norm. You had barely slept a wink since that night, not when every thought was plagued with guilt, the same name running circles around your mind, the same dark eyes and swollen lips and messy hair tauntingly appearing in your mind whenever your head hit the pillow.
Yoongi.
That night with Yoongi felt something like a dream, a hazy memory, the only evidence of it being real the fact that every time you closed your eyes you could feel the way Yoongi's hands burned your skin, how his lips moved perfectly in sync with your own.
As much as you knew it was a mistake, something that should have never happened, you couldn't help the way your heart throbbed every time you replayed it over and over in your mind, repeatedly, until you felt like you were going insane with guilt. It was eating you alive. But sometimes you would remember the way you felt when he was pressed up against you and every ounce of regret felt worth it.
You hated yourself for it, and you knew your brother would hate you to, if he ever found out.
He could never find out.
So, you take to avoiding Namjoon altogether. It wasn't that hard really, you knew his schedule well enough to be a step ahead of him at all times, and it wasn't as if he was enthusiastic about your company to begin with.
Of course sometimes your paths have to cross, but you still can't look Namjoon in the eyes when you slip into one of the Big Hit practice rooms where you know you'll inevitably find him.
The music hits before you even open the door. Namjoon is dressed in casual clothes, cap pulled down low over his face as he raps into a mic, the way his voice husks a tell tale sign that this was not the first time he'd gone over the same verse.
He seems stiffer than usual, all elbows and knees as he scrutinises his own form in the wall to floor mirror. You've seen him perform this choreography flawlessly hundreds of times so your brow furrows with confusion each time his feet miss a beat or his knees literally buckle under the pressure.
On the far side of the room sits a row of men and women in formal suits. Investors, brought in to bet on the contestant most likely to win. They watch Namjoon with intent eyes, some shaking their heads in disapproval, others whispering insults below their breaths.
Is that really Runch Randa? Pfft, he'll never win with footwork like that.
Jimin stands close by, hopping from one foot to the other and wincing with every mistake Namjoon makes. He's been making desperate phone calls for the last week, pleading with any investor he could get ahold of to take a chance on Namjoon which was hard to come by after the royal media fuck up the other day at the after party.
This was Namjoon's only chance at a do over — he needed their money if he wanted to win this thing. The judges were expecting a show from him. Smoke machines and good lighting are expensive, after all.
Namjoon, however, only seems interested in the reactions of your parents sat in the back row, expressions grave. He's chastising himself, self loathing evident in his eyes every time he stutters over a lyric. He knows how hard they worked to establish Big Hit and the disappointment in their eyes as it slowly slips through Namjoon's fingers like sand makes even you feel jittery with nerves.
For a brief moment you're grateful that you are practically invisible in this room, no eyes even glancing your way as you join them. You're glad that Namjoon takes the brunt of the pressure. You never were the strong sibling after all.
The music cuts, Namjoon coming to a stand still. He crumples at the knees, forehead pressed against the polished linoleum floor as he tries to catch his breath.
Jimin slumps into a chair, head in hands. That tells you all you need to know.
Investors leave the room, some sending apologetic looks towards Jimin with a shrug. Others deposit their cheque books back into their briefcases, taking pity on the pleading smiles and firm handshakes from your parents when they apologise for Namjoon's lacking performance. One even pats Namjoon on the back, following the small crowd as they leave the room. "Take a break, buddy."
Nearly everyone has filtered out before Namjoon gets to his feet shakily, slumping down into a seat beside you. You don't acknowledge him, afraid of what you might let slip if you do, fiddling with your camera as a distraction.
It's him who breaks the silence.
"How's the song coming along?" He seems disinterested, clicking his knuckles with no real intention of listening to your response.
"Fine." Another lie. It wasn't coming along at all, really, but now is probably not the best time to tell him when his nerves are already heightened by his failure to gain any crucial investments.
His eye is still slightly swollen from the fist fight a few days ago, a permanent line forming at the bridge of his nose that wasn't there before. You almost didn't recognise him. He stares at his own broken reflection in the steamed practice room mirrors vacantly, like he doesn't even recognise himself.
A few moments of uncomfortable silence pass. Namjoon's heavy breathing slows to a regular pace.
"I know you went to see him."
It echos menacingly through the room and you stiffen, clutching the floor beneath you for support. Namjoon's hard eyes still don't look your way but you see him analysing your reaction in the mirror. The way your mouth gapes speechlessly tells him everything he needs to know.
"Not even gonna try and deny it?" His head shakes in disbelief.
You throb with guilt. "H-how did you find out?"
"I have people everywhere keeping an eye on him, Y/N. You're lucky the paparazzi didn't catch you, because it sure as shit looked shady. My own sister," He scoffs around the word, as if it tastes bad in his mouth. "Siding with him?"
You place a hand on his forearm, surprised to find him shaking beneath your touch. "I'm not siding with him, Namjoon."
"Then what are you doing?" He roars, ripping his arm away.
What was I doing? You don't even know yourself.
It takes everything inside you to keep the expression on your face neutral, to wipe away the regret and the sadness and the fear that makes your voice wobble.
"We just talked." You had to avert your gaze, scared that somehow your disingenuous eyes would give away what really happened with Yoongi — a little more than talking to say the least.
"About what?"
"The secret, okay? I wanted to protect you—"
"Protect me?" Namjoon pinched the bridge of his nose. "How is meddling in business that doesn't even concern you protecting me, Y/N?"
"Have you forgotten that what you're — we're — doing is against Mic Drop rules? That you could be disqualified or...worse! Get your trophy revoked?"
"Pfft. Yoongi won't say anything.."
"What makes you so sure?"
"It's me he wants to hurt. I know him, Y/N. He'd never forgive himself if you—" He eyes you carefully. "If anyone else got dragged into this. It's between me and him, that's it."
Your head is spinning. You remember a time when things weren't this way, back when Yoongi and Namjoon were friends. Partners. What happened between them that made them so hell bent on destroying one another?
"There are things about Yoongi that you will never understand, Y/N. Things he did that can never be forgiven."
It briefly crosses your mind that if Namjoon could cut Yoongi, his best friend, out of his life, just how easy it would be for him to do the same to you if he found out just how unforgivable your betrayal was. A funny feeling pools in your stomach, a distance settling between you and Namjoon as, to your dismay, you realise just how much you have in common with your brother's enemy.
"But what about you, huh? Why should he forgive you? You took everything from him! I'm not surprised he's back to kick your ass. If you ask me it's him who should be holding a grudge—"
Namjoon's hands clamp onto your shoulders and you recoil from the contact. You're breathing hard, the tears welling in your eyes threatening to spill over any second.
"Listen to me. He's trying to get in your head. You need to stay away from him Y/N. He's bad news."
"Tell me why! Help me understand!"
Namjoon's face is grave. "Some secrets are best kept that way. It'll only make it worse if I tell you."
Before you can protest he's striding across the room and hitting the play button on the boom box in the corner, music blasting from the speakers again.
"Joon—"
"Just stick to taking pictures and stop getting involved in business that doesn't concern you."
Then his body is twisting across the room in time to the music with an intensity he didn't possess before. Like a machine on autopilot.
You shove your camera into your bag and let the door slam shut behind you.
--
"We were a mistake."
The cursor flashing on the empty document on your computer screen feels like it's taunting you.
"Please don't tell my brother what we did."
You've been like this for the last week. Holed up in one of the tiny studios at the Big Hit company building, head swimming with beats and melodies and lyrics that just won't seem to fit together. Not when your mind is preoccupied with a more pressing issue.
"Are you thinking about me as much as I'm thinking about you?"
Yoongi.
God, how are you supposed to write this song for Namjoon when all you can think about is his enemy?
You don't know why you're still so hung up on Yoongi. It's not as if what happened between you meant anything. It was just a spur of the moment mistake. You were both tense and needed someone to help blow off some steam. That's it. Nothing more, nothing less.
Right?
You'll never admit that deep down, a part of you wants to see him again. To check that he's real and that you didn't imagine the whole thing. To see if he is going as crazy as you feel.
That's when the answer hits you. The only way to make this right is to end things once and for all. Tie up all your loose ends and tell Yoongi that you and him were a one time thing. Make sure you were on the same page.
Then maybe you'll be able to concentrate on helping Namjoon beat his ass.
A sudden confidence grips you, standing up abruptly from your desk, alerting the attention of Hoseok who up until now has been quietly engrossed in the track he's producing.
"Where are you going?" He asks.
There's an address burning at the forefront of your mind. You have the route committed to memory. How long it'll take to get there. How long it'll take to get back before anyone else at Big Hit notices your absence.
The only place you knew where you might find Yoongi.
"I won't be gone long. Cover for me if anyone sees I'm gone, 'kay?"
Hoseok eyes you curiously and pulls his headphones to sit around his neck. "O-okay but don't you think you should take an umbrella? It's raining and you might catch a cold — oh."
You don't hear him, the door already slamming behind you.
--
In hindsight, Hoseok was probably right. You're soaked before you even get half way to Yoongi's studio.
Not that you care. Not when there are so many things you want to say to Yoongi. So many questions only he knows the answer to.
Not when you're about to see him again and you're giddy and nervous and scared of the way your heart feels like it's about to bust out of your chest.
You don't really know why you're doing this. For Namjoon's sake? To ease your own guilty conscience? Both?
You shake your head before your confidence can deflate and focus on putting two feet in front of the other instead, trying to take your mind of your destination by focusing on your surroundings. You always liked this part of town, with it's bustling roads and street vendors and buskers. Here it's easy to forget, to just close your eyes and let the buzz of cars and the melody from a nearby street guitarist and the torrent of ice cold rain whisk you away, like life is operating at double the speed but you're too caught up in your own thoughts to care.
So caught up in your own thoughts that you don't spot the guy handing out flyers on the side of the street until your face is colliding with his shoulder.
"Shit, I'm so sorry!"
The guy lets out a groan as you helplessly watch his flyers flutter to the ground like autumn leaves, disintegrating on the rain dampened street.
"Does nobody look where they're going any more? My boss is going to kill me..."
The guy gets to his knees and starts grabbing as many flyers as he can by the handful.
"I'm so sorry, at least let me help?"
You hear him sigh deeply but he doesn't stop you when you drop down beside him.
You stamp on a flyer before it can be whisked away by the breeze. It's ruined. The rain makes the ink bleed into a black blotch in the center of the sodden paper, but if you squint you can just make out the barely legible print.
Live Classical Piano - 7:30 - 9:30 Every Wednesday At The Coffee House!
A throat clears, shaking you back to reality, and a nimble hand thrusts towards you, palm up, waiting for you to deposit the pile of flyers you collected.
"Just gonna stand there all day, sweetheart? Some of us have a job to do."
Shame heats your cheeks. "I wasn't looking where I was going, I'll pay for these —"
Its then, as you let your hood fall down, that the boy stiffens. You look up slowly, meeting a widened pair of piercing grey eyes for the first time. The very same eyes you haven't been able to get out of your head all week.
"Wait...Yoongi?"
It's him. He's here? A coincidence surely but it sure as shit doesn't feel like one.
Just seeing him knocks the breath out of your lungs.
Yoongi blinks a few times, eyes wide with disbelief. Then he's ripping the flyers from your slackened grip and grabbing you by the wrist, dragging you behind him to the side of the street where you're just out of view from passerby's.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" He deadpans.
You take in the way his mint hair clings damply to his forehead, shirt darker in places where droplets of rain soak into the fabric. He's wearing one of those traditional pianist outfits with the funny tuxedo jacket and a little black bow tie strung around his neck that looks like it came from a bad Beethoven Halloween costume. It catches you off guard. No wonder you didn't recognise him before. Not exactly hip hop.
"What are you doing here?"
Yoongi glances over his shoulder warily. "Look, you can't tell anyone you saw me here okay? Did Namjoon send you?"
"What? No--?"
"Just leave, Y/N. Before someone sees you here and tells your precious brother that you've been hanging around with scum like me." He spits, drops your arm and starts in the direction he came from.
"Yoongi, wait!" You blurt, throwing your hands up in frustration. He freezes."Can we...can we just talk?"
Yoongi nearly does a double take. He's usually full of jibes but this catches him off guard. "Talk?"
He backtracks, though you notice the way he keeps a safe distance between you. It feels silly considering how much...closer you were just a few days ago. You wonder, as his eyes look you up and down, if he's thinking about it too. If you crossed his mind as much as he crossed yours.
"Listen, I don't have time for this, I need to go get some more of these flyers..."
Your heart drops, embarrassed for even entertaining the idea that he would want to see you again.
"Please?"
He hesitates. You're sure he's going to blow you off again but then his eyes fill with something scarily close to concern. "Shit, you're shivering."
Your hair hangs in heavy tendrils around your face, droplets of cold rain caressing your cheeks. Your knees knock, arms wrapped around the damp hoodie clinging to your torso to retain some warmth.
Yoongi shrugs off his jacket, despite the way his own teeth chatter. "You're going to catch your death dressed like that."
You stand there dumbly as he holds it out to you. He kicks a stone with the toe of his sneaker awkwardly when you finally wrap it around your shoulders.
"I thought you didn't want to see me again." It's almost accusing but you're sure you hear a trace of a pout in his voice.
"I...I didn't want to." Yoongi looks up. "But I think we should talk about you know...us."
Yoongi bites his lip, like he's having an inner debate. Like he's about to do something he knows he shouldn't.
"Fine. Let's talk. I, uh, guess I have some things I need to say to you too." He scratches the back of his neck. "But not here. Could I—would it be weird if we got coffee or something?"
Definitely weird. That's what you should say. But you don't.
"Okay."
You don't miss the way Yoongi's cheeks turn a little red.
--
The coffee shop Yoongi takes you to is a quaint little place, definitely not the sort of establishment you expected rough-around-the-edges Min Yoongi to frequent with its exposed brick walls and mint green espresso mugs with smiley faces on the side that give it a somewhat cosy appeal.
"I work here," He explains when he sees your eyes roaming. "Needed some extra cash."
You nod. Makes sense. The smell of pumpkin bread and coffee beans is still a welcome relief from the bitter chill outside.
The guy at the counter nods in greeting when Yoongi approaches, already grinding up coffee like he knows his regular order. Yoongi flashes him a tight smile. You figure they know each other, not that Yoongi seems the type to mingle within barista social circles but then again he is full of surprises today.
They share a few hushed whispers, staring not so subtly in the direction of where you sit hunched in one of the corner booths, but you just ignore it by watching a rain drop crawl down the window with rapt attention.
Words barely pass between you and Yoongi until you're both seated, him with a coffee you learn he takes black and you with a much too sugary frappe which you take to stirring with your straw nervously, chin in palm.
It's Yoongi who finally breaks the silence.
"What are you thinking?" He looks at you expectantly over the rim of his mug. For some reason it makes you nervous.
Guilt niggles at your repose. The cafe is alive with indistinguishable chatter, a coffee machine whirring loudly nearby. In reality, you merely blend in to the hubbub. But as you watch Yoongi fiddle with the rings on his fingers in anticipation of your response it's like a hush has fallen and all eyes are on you. Judging, like they know how wrong it is for you to be here.
He's been the only thing on your mind all week but now you're here in front of him it's like your mind is blank.
"Did you tell anyone?"
Yoongi blinks. "Namjoon's secret? I said I wasn't going to say anything—"
"No. Our secret. Us..." It feels foreign, referring to Yoongi and yourself as a unit. You hate to admit it makes your heart beat a little faster. "Namjoon knows."
Yoongi's coffee cup clatters to the table and words rise like bile in your throat, everything you've been bottling up inside tumbling out before you can stop it.
"Namjoon knows! He found out about us somehow and now everything has gone to shit and...I shouldn't even be telling you this! God I'm an idiot! I just don't know what to do—"
Your wailing is interrupted suddenly by a warm hand covering your own. Yoongi's hand. The touch is gentle, comforting, something about the squeeze of reassurance it provides calming your hyperventilating. It feels right.
Why does it feel right?
Yoongi must misinterpret the puzzled look you flash him as a warning he's crossing a boundary because he retracts his arm jerkily, a flush creeping up his neck.
He glosses over the weird moment hastily.
"Slow down, go back. He knows?" There's a lilt of surprise to his voice. Either he's a really good actor or he is just as panicked as you by this news. "And you think I told him?"
"Well, not exactly. He knows some of it — not everything! — he thinks that I just spoke to you after the show...I assumed you would have filled in the blanks by now."
Yoongi laughs breathily. Relieved. It flummoxes you. Shouldn't he be satisfied that his plan to get under Namjoon's skin was a success?
"Y/N, there were hundreds of people at the gig, anyone could have seen us. Jimin and Hoseok probably told him. You act like I tried to seduce you just to get revenge, or something." He gulps back the last of his coffee and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before his expression suddenly turns serious. "You don't think that right?"
"Isn't that exactly what you did?"
Say no.
Yoongi opens his mouth and then shuts it again. He doesn't deny it.
Something in your chest twists with disappointment. It scares you shitless and you know you have to end this — whatever this is — before there's no turning back.
"Look, it — we — were a stupid mistake okay? I need to know that you're not going to use this against him. It would kill him."
"Mistake?" Yoongi's face drops. "Didn't I say you could trust me?"
It sounds somewhat pained, like he wasn't expecting you to think so lowly of him. His eyes soften with a certain gentleness now and you almost feel bad for thinking they could ever look at you with sinister intentions.
"Do you regret it? What we did?"
You hesitate. You want to say no so badly. But that's not why you came here.
Pull yourself together!
"Yes."
He raises an eyebrow. "You really believe that?"
"Do you regret it?"
"No." His eyes glint. You can't breathe. "Which is exactly why I'll never say a word. I don't play that way. Fair and square remember?"
You're speechless. All you can get out is a measly oh as you stare at the coffee in your cup and process.
"What did Namjoon say anyway?"
Your fingers find the patterns carved into the surface of the wooden table top, feeling the grooves as a distraction from the embarrassment flushing your cheeks. "He told me not to come back and find you."
A wry smile creeps across his face. "But you did?"
Even Yoongi is accusing you now? God, you played right into his hands. He's probably enjoying this. That you broke Namjoon's trust again, all for him.
The worst part is that you can hardly bring yourself to care. Sitting with Yoongi still feels deliciously indulgent — seeing his face again, feeling the heat of his body where your knees brush under the table finally satisfying a craving that had been growing inside you since that night in his studio.
"He doesn't control me."
He just nods. "I get that." His fingers tap in time with the sickeningly happy radio tune that plays overhead, eager to change the subject, like he's aware that he already said too much. "How is Namjoon anyway? You written him a song yet?"
Not allowed. If any information gets leaked about Namjoon's Mic Drop stage the first person he'd blame was you. You had to keep your lips tightly sealed.
You shrink back into your seat. "You know I can't tell you that."
"Okay, then." Yoongi throws his arms over the back of his chair, a cheekiness in his voice, like he's testing the waters to see how you'll react. "Ask me something instead. I'll tell you whatever you want to know. Shoot."
That's allowed, right? Where's the harm. If it doesn't involve Namjoon then it can't hurt him...
"Okay..." You purse your lips, eyes travelling around the dimly lit coffee shop. "Why do you work...here?"
Yoongi nods to the stack of damp flyers beside him. Live classical piano. "I play piano here sometimes." He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. It's kinda cute. "Needed some spare cash and this was the only place that could take me at such short notice."
"You play piano?"
He nods and you follow his gaze to the grand piano stood unoccupied in the corner. You imagine how Yoongi would look bent over the keys. How his fingers would move across the instrument with concentrated precision. How the tune would mingle with the warmth of the coffee shop on a cold evening.
"I didn't know you like classical music?"
"I don't. Not really." He cocks his head, finding the right words. "Namjoon has investors right? People who just throw money at him?" You nod, somehow ashamed. "Teaching me to play piano was my mom's investment in me. She always said it might come in handy some day."
You nod. "And do you have to wear that stupid costume every time?"
"This?" A snort leaves you when he shoots you a look, a shy smile finding the curve of his lips. "Don't mean to brag but it's a huge hit with the older ladies."
You can't help but laugh when he smugly tugs at the bow tie around his neck, unable to miss how his eyes light up. You share a smile that makes you feel light headed.
"I'd have to see it to believe it."
"Well, you know where to find me if you're ever bored and need a good laugh on a Tuesday, Wednesday or Friday evening." He shifts in his seat. "Or you could just come back to my place, y'know if you wanted to —" You frown, the easiness that had settled between you dissipating as you both sense the inappropriateness of his suggestion. "I know I shouldn't ask, it's just I have a piano and—"
For some reason the rational part of your brain taps out and your heart says fuck it.
"I'd love to."
--
"So, where do you live?" You ask when you finish your drink and nervously copy Yoongi who is already getting to his feet.
"Oh about that...I live in the apartment upstairs actually." He chuckles sheepishly."Cheap rent, you know?"
It takes you by surprise but you don't press.
"Oh. Right."
Yoongi extends a hand towards you. The thud in your chest gets faster when you slide your palm into his and he pulls you behind him to the foot the stairway you had disregarded upon entry, the distressed baby blue door at the top labelled RESIDENTS ONLY seeming strangely inviting.
Yoongi gestures for you to go first and you've barely ascended three steps before a voice rings out behind you, making you freeze like a child caught in a mischievous act.
"Use protection you two! And close the door so that Odengie's innocence isn't compromised this time!"
The barista from before rounds the corner, a tray of empty mugs in his left hand and a cloth for wiping down tables in the other.
You suppress a laugh. "Odengie?"
"His goddamn sugar glider—" He says it more to himself rather than in response to your query, flashing the tousled haired boy an exasperated look. "Really, bro?"
The other man either doesn't notice or doesn't care. "What? He's too young to learn how baby sugar gliders are made." His eyes suddenly flit to you and, as if remembering his manners, he deposits the cloth onto a nearby table and reaches a damp hand through the staircase to shake yours with a friendly smile. "I'm Jin, by the way."
You take it cautiously, wiping your now wet hand on the back of your jeans. "Nice to meet you?"
"Come on," Yoongi is flushed red as he pushes you up the rest of the stairs with a pressure at the small of your back. "We'll be back down in a minute, chill okay?"
Yoongi shoulders his way into the apartment, pulling you across the threshold alongside him, but not before you catch a glimpse of Jin's teasing grin poking around the staircase, words reaching your ears before Yoongi could slam the door shut in time.
"Oh, so it's a quickie? Have fun!"
A laugh escapes your lips, Yoongi pressing his back to the door with a sigh of relief. "Sorry about him. He's my roommate. Kind of came with the apartment, you know?"
You glance around at the small maisonette that unfolds before you curiously. It feels more like a dorm room, a mismatch pile of shoes piled at the entry way, a pair of beanbags substituting a couch surrounding a small gaming set up littered with empty pizza boxes you presume belong to Seokjin.
"Ah. He's part of the furniture then."
The other corner of the room is littered with an assortment of vinyls strewn out beside a pair of speakers and a record player, the needle still hovering over the grooves of an album by an artist you don't recognise. Yoongi's touch to the decor, you suppose.
"Guess you could say that. He's not so bad once you get over the uh...small rodents."
You trail behind Yoongi into what you assume is his bedroom, if the frameless mattress which lay on the floor in the corner beneath the window with sheets unmade and strewn across the floor messily was anything to go by.
He flicks on the set of fairy lights tacked to the wall, a surprisingly homely touch that makes you think Yoongi isn't as cold as you believe him to be.
Yoongi approaches a clothes rack stuffed with a variety of stage outfits. "Here." He pulls an oversized hoodie from one of the hangers, throwing it at you from across the room. "You're clothes are still wet. Wouldn't want to catch a cold. You can wear this until they dry."
"O-Okay." You stand there dumbly. He isn't expecting you to strip right in front of him, is he?
He seems to sense your hesitance, turning around so his back is to you with wide eyes. He plays it off by grabbing a selection of clothing for himself, shuffling past you with eyes trained to the ground. "I'll use the bathroom. Tell me when you're done."
You are soaked through to your underwear but you leave them on since Yoongi probably didn't have a spare pair of panties laying around you could borrow. The fabric of his hoodie is soft and warm when it slips over your otherwise bare skin and you breath in the woody scent that seems to embrace your entire body, ignoring the way it makes your head dizzy, and roll up the large sleeves to free your hands before calling to him that you are done.
When he re-enters the room, pulling a grey beanie over his head haphazardly to match the much more Yoongi appropriate outfit of a simple white tee and sweats, his breath hitches at your bare legs peeking out from the bottom of the garment. His lingering stare makes you hug your torso self consciously, eyes never leaving you even as he grabs the pile of sodden clothing you discarded earlier and lays them neatly over the radiator to dry.
You practically hear the way he swallows awkwardly when his eyes lock with yours, caught in the act. He's quick to lighten the mood.
"Well...here she is."
You turn as he moves across the room to the piano occupying the opposite wall, wood stained dark but bleached slightly in places by the stream of sunlight which washes its surface from the opposite window. The stool beneath it scrapes against the scuffed floor boards when Yoongi makes enough space to seat himself on top of the blue velour cushion.
"I know it's not much — nothing like you're used to I mean, but it makes music just the same."
He must take the way you hang back near the door frame as a sign of your distaste which couldn't have been further from reality; it's simply to allow you to study the way Yoongi sits with his back perfectly straight, fingers lingering over the keys like he knows the piano as well as an old friend. And, though you'll never admit it, the way your heart thumps at the thought of being in Yoongi's most private space.
"Where did you get it?"
"It was my mother's." The breath you suck in is slightly too harsh. "Like I said earlier, she liked to play, before she..."
Died. The word never passes between his lips but it sits heavy in the air like a weight.
Yoongi's eyes avert yours so you don't press any further, instead focusing your attention to the pattern of scratches embedded into the piano's lid, unable to help the way your fingers trace the coffee cup rings littering the surface like rugged halos. "It's beautiful."
The side panel is littered with lines, carved deeply into the wood with a penknife; a makeshift height chart like the one you had on the back of your bedroom door as a kid. Your drop to your knees to squint at the nearly illegible words scrawled next to the markings that ascend almsot to the top of the instrument.
Yoongi aged 3...Yoongi aged 4...Yoongi aged 5...
All the way until Yoongi aged 7 where they stop completely.
You frown but he lets out a soft laugh, somewhat pained. "That's when she got sick. I grew up quickly after that."
Straightening up, you swallow thickly, unsure what to say, so you just settle for changing the subject instead.
"So, what can you play?"
Yoongi fiddles with the open sheet music book on the piano stand. His fingers tremble slightly as he turns the worn pages before finally settling on a sheet that is lightly crumpled and ripped around the edges and coffee stained and ferociously dog eared at the corners. Tell tale signs that he had played this piece before, over and over again.
His favourite, you perceive.
Sure, he had literally fucked you into next week already but your hands get clammy at the knowledge that Yoongi feels comfortable enough to share such an intimate tidbit about himself with you. Music means a lot to him after all. Anyone can see that.
You catch a glimpse of the piece over his shoulder.
Romeo and Juliet - Love Theme.
Yoongi notices how you raise a brow at his choice.
"I know I said I don't like classical music but this arrangement is different. You know the story right?"
High school had given you enough general knowledge about Romeo and Juliet for you to nod in confirmation.
"It's like you can feel the passion they have for each other in every note, you know? Like nothing could ever come between them."
His words are so earnest they make your heart ache. You hadn't put him down as the hopeless romantic type.
"I mean not really. They still die in the end." You counter. He frowns.
"But only because of their fucked up families. It's their feud that comes between them in the end. This piece comes before all the shitty parts. If you play it over and over again it's like they never stop loving one another."
His hands fold in his lap and he sucks in a bashful breath, nose scrunching with embarrassment at his dramatic outburst. "It's stupid. I know. Forget I said it."
"No, no I understand completely. Maybe if they weren't so busy fighting they could have listened to their hearts. Right?"
"Right." He scoots across the piano stool, patting the empty space beside him with an encouraging look. "Sit."
Like a magnet you find yourself drawn to his side, shivering when his shoulder brushes yours. His arms hover over the piano, poised and relaxed, concentration etched into the hard lines of his face.
"Ready?"
You can only nod. And then he starts to play.
Yoongi's fingertips eagerly caress the keys of his piano, eyes lifting from the sheet music to gauge your reaction while his hands carry the melody on autopilot, the pretty silver rings he dons glinting with every movement. His neck is bent slightly, allowing his head to bob and sway along with the rise and fall of the rhythm, eyes screwing shut as the composition reaches its most pivotal sequence.
He's practically raking the keys now, pure passion and violent emotion splashing every inch of the room. You shut your own eyes, hands clutching the bottom of the stool until your knuckles whiten, like you might float away with the beautiful tune if you don't ground yourself.
When he said you could feel passion with every note he wasn't wrong. You could feel his passion clear as day.
Slowly, he comes back down from his high, wrists coming to a standstill. All he can do is take in heaving, ragged breaths, body slumped down, spent with the sheer effort expelled in his performance. Oxygen is lodged in your own lungs as you take in how how his bangs stick to the beads of sweat prevalent on his forehead
You recover before he does, unconsciously fumbling around in your tote bag, hands curling around the Polaroid camera you bring everywhere just in case a photo opportunity arises.
They never usually do. Until now.
"Stay like that." The viewfinder raises to your eye and you snap a shot of him with precision, the soft click that emanates through the room making Yoongi's eyes snap open.
The picture dispenses from the camera, black square fading out to reveal a hazy image as you shake it back and forth. Yoongi, face relaxed, lashes pressed softly to the tops of his cheeks with a lazy smile.
It's the Yoongi you remember. Your Yoongi.
He smirks when you slide it into the back pocket of your jeans, cheeks glowing with a contentedness you hadn't seen for a long time. "You always did like taking pictures of me."
"Shut up."
When your hand tentatively closes over his where it still rests on the piano, it's his turn to shoot you a curious look. With a shaky breath you flip his palm, slotting your fingers together perfectly, and lean across the piano to press your lips against his.
His mouth is softer than you remember, not attacking with the rich taste of lust but rather caressing your lips gently, sweetly. Taking your time to commit each tickle of breath against your nose, each slide of his bottom lip between yours, to memory. Everything other than the dizzying sensation of his tongue tracing your bottom lip disappears. All your worries, reluctances, regrets, just dissolving like the setting sun.
Everything feels safe here with him. Everything feels right.
It barely lasts a minute, not much more than a delicate brush really, but when he pulls back you are already breathless, immediately starved of the satisfaction that came from finally feeling him against you again, tasting the spearmint mixed with something so inherently Yoongi you didn't quite realise how much you were craving.
Yoongi sighs blissfully. You need more.
Your hands tangle in the front of his T-shirt but before you can pepper his mouth with a series of further eager kisses, his free hand plants on your shoulder and pushes you back carefully.
"About what you said the other night." His eyes are wide with concern, trained to your lips, resisting the urge to capture them again with all his self control. It made your heart flip. "I don't want to hurt you Y/N. We don't have to do this—"
"I want to. So bad." His thumb caresses your knuckles. "I trust you."
In that moment, it's true. You trust him more than you've ever trusted anything in the world.
"But Namjoon..."
His words fade out when you lean in for another reassuring peck. Namjoon's name falling from Yoongi's lips doesn't make your skin crawl like it usually did. In fact you feel nothing at the mention of your brother.
"To hell with Namjoon. I'm a big girl. I know what I want."
Yoongi grins, hand coming to cup your cheek tentatively, eyes crinkling with what you could only describe as liberation. "And what's that?"
Your eyes narrow in on his parted mouth again.
"You."
His eyes darken and then his hands are tangling in your hair and pulling your chest flush to his in a kiss that is far rougher than before. No more beating around the bush. Just passion as you crawl into his lap and kiss him like it's the first time — or perhaps, more accurately, the last time. Like the world will end if you part for a single breath.
Fingers find the hem of his shirt and you're pulling it up his torso greedily, heart beating a little faster when you feel his warm skin beneath your fingertips. His chest is softer than you expect, a perfect contrast to the strong arms wrapping around your waist to pull you back to his lips.
It's not long before you feel his pants fill out underneath you. The feeling is all too familiar, reminding you of how it felt to be above him like this in his studio. That night feels like a life time away as his hands grab your hips and press you roughly down onto his crotch.
You both groan out at the feeling, something intense, something primal, heating up between your legs as you circle his clothed length, want and need blending into one as your core dampens with every twist of your hips.
Yoongi breaks away from your lips with a gasp when your fingers reach between your body and find the sensitive head of his cock, a wet patch forming on his sweats. His eyes are shut, head thrown back against the piano top as he bites into his thumb to stop little moans tumbling from his swollen lips.
He shoots upright when you slide down his torso, hardwood cold against your bare knees, fingers fumbling with the strings of his pants. When you finally get them open and slip your hand beneath the waistband, Yoongi all but groans at the feel of your cool palm grabbing his hot cock skin on skin.
You shimmy his sweats around his thighs, mouth practically watering as you eye up his pulsing length, unable to resist stroking it firmly with your fist. A hand covers yours.
"Wait!" A strangled noise of agony rips from his chest when your grip loosens, desperate to buck up into your touch but managing to stay firmly planted to the stool in favour of gaining your consent. "Are you sure?"
You scoff teasingly. "Would I be on my knees if I wasn't?"
His laugh is breathy, half a moan as you pick up your pace again. "Just nervous — ah!" A soft kitten lick to the reddened tip of his cock has him flying forward, knuckles white as they grip your shoulder.
"Min Yoongi gets nervous?" The precum that coats your tongue is salty, makes you itch to take him into your mouth fully.
"Shut up." His breathing is ragged, hands hovering over your hair. "Didn't think this would happen again. Needs to be perfect — holy fuck Y/N."
You give no warning before you sink down on his length, his hands finally tangling in your hair and tugging lightly when your nose presses to his pubic bone, groaning around him when you feel the head of his cock pulsing in the back of your throat.
"So warm, shit."
You come up for air, lips wrapping around his head and enjoying the way his thighs trembled when your tongue runs teasingly along the underside of his cock. His hand pushes at the back of your head, forcing his length further down your throat than you're expecting until you gag around his girth.
"Shit, sorry."
The groan that follows doesn't sound very apologetic though. The visual of your drool coating his painfully hard length mixed with the sensation of your warm mouth engulfing him whole nearly has him blowing his load then and there, utterly fucked out and oblivious to the string of groans leaving his lips when you finally come up for air. Tears streak your cheeks and Yoongi wipes them away with his knuckle tenderly.
"God, look at you." He's breathless, amazed. "C'mere."
A hand cups your elbow, pulling you to your feet so he can connect your lips again, humming when he tastes himself on your tongue. His hands are all over you now as he wraps you in his arms and stumbles backwards your back is pressed to the mattress in the corner. It dips in the middle when he crawls over you, tucking away strands of hair that fan around your face like a halo before his mouth is on you again like he can't quite help himself.
A series of open mouthed kisses caress your jaw, then your neck, all the way down your chest. Yoongi's eyes flick up to watch your face, lips parted with want as his hands fiddled with the hem of his own much too big hoodie swaddling your body.
"Can I?"
Your hand threads into his hair encouragingly. "Please."
A gasp passes his lips when he finally pulls the fabric over your head, eyes following his curious calloused hands as they explore the expanse of skin exposed to him now you're left in just your bra and panties.
"So beautiful." He traces his fingers down your shoulders, down the valley of your breasts, across your stomach. The light and delicate touches have you shivering, writhing for more. Almost as desperate to feel him everywhere as he is to worship every inch of you.
His touch stops at the hem of your panties. You're already working on the clasp of your bra, a violent nod the only permission he needs to drag the fabric agonisingly slow down your legs, unhooking them from your ankles carefully.
When he looks back up you are completely bare, laid out beneath the stream of half-sun-half-moon bathing the room.
Yoongi pounces, lips wrapping around one of your nipples greedily, tongue swirling around the hardened bud until you're gasping his name over and over.
"Can't believe you're letting me see you like this."
Hands wrap around your thighs, legs falling open, the way he licks his lips as he takes in your glistening heat not going unnoticed.
Yoongi's head shakes in disbelief, mumbling words which sound an awful lot like so pretty and fucking gorgeous as his head dips and he continues his trail of earlier kisses, tongue laving over your inner thighs and edging ever closer to your aching core.
"W-wait." Yoongi freezes and comes up to meet your face. His breath is hot against your cheek, eyes scanning your face for hesitation.
"What is it? Are you okay?" He's frantic, swallowing nervously as his palms cup your face. "Want to take care of you this time. What is it? Tell me."
"I'm fine. More than fine." You brush your noses together. It makes him smile. "Just want to feel you, that's all. Now."
Yoongi lets out a dramatic sigh, voice high and whiny. "But I've been dreaming about how you taste for days, Y/N. Literally. Dreaming about it."
You don't mention how you've been replaying the visual of his lips wrapped around your clit and edging you over and over again since it happened, just stroke his cheek in mutual understanding.
"Too bad. You'll just have to wait until next time." His features light up at the promise of a next time. Another moment like this, just you and him.
His face falls into the crook of your neck, nibbling the sensitive skin teasingly as a hand trails between your legs. When the pads of his fingers circle your entrance you whimper, clit throbbing with want when his hand pulls away nearly as quick as it came.
The want only intensifies when he brings two of his arousal coated digits to his mouth with closed eyes, guttural moan vibrating your flush chests when he savours the taste of your arousal coating his fingers.
"Next time." He hums and you are sure you nearly came untouched.
"Need you. Now."
He wastes no time taking his achingly hard cock into his fist, placing a supportive hand on your hip as he lines himself up with your entrance. You whine when he drags the tip up and down your slit, giving some brief but much needed stimulation to your clit.
Before he can push inside though you place a hand on his chest to stop him. He doesn't have time to dote on you again though because without further ado you're whipping off the beanie that still sits snugly around his head, throwing it across the room with a smirk.
His eyes glint fondly. "Whoops."
The room has grown darker by now, only lit by the gentle sparkle of the fairy lights and Yoongi has to feel around in the sheets to find your hand. In the same moment he tangles your fingers together beside your face, he pushes inside with a gasp.
Unlike the first time in his studio, Yoongi is in no rush. He wants to savour it. He fills you slowly, so that you can feel every ridge of his length dragging against your velvety walls. When he finally bottoms out and your hips press flush together, you squeeze his hand. Tight. It's this small action that tells him everything he needs to know. Explains the funny feeling in your chest without ever saying the words.
Your legs wrap around his back automatically when his hips begin to rock, angling your body so that he hits so deep with every thrust it steals the breath straight from your lips. Arousal drips from your heat down onto the bed sheets, making each slide deliciously smooth.
"Yoongi I.." It almost slips from your lips. The deepest, darkest secret that you haven't quite admitted to yourself yet.
Yoongi just ups his pace, exchanging words for actions to show you he feels the same. Fucking you a little harder, a little deeper. More sincerely. It compensates for the words neither of you know how to say.
"I know." You feel so full, so warm when he places his forearms at either side of your head to press you into the mattress. "I know."
All the yearning inside you disappears. All that matters is you and Yoongi now, nails scratching up his back, his forehead pressing to yours so that your moans mingle together until you can't tell whose was whose any more.
With a fucked out moan against your lips he's spilling inside you, sending you over the edge with him, hissing as you clench tightly around his cock.
All thoughts are wiped from your mind. Apart from the sensation of his cheek pressed to your chest, hot breath against your collar bone. How you can't believe you lived in a world without Yoongi in it. How you never want to go without him again. How you don't think you can deny how Yoongi makes you feel anymore even if you tried.
The stars behind your eyes fade, and when you come back down, Yoongi is hovering over your body, lips parted and eyes blown out, mesmerised. He's sweaty and smiling and you can feel the way his heart beats in time with yours.
"You okay?"
"Never better." His smile stretches into a grin when your words slur together. "—'m so happy."
A soft, chaste kiss is pressed to your forehead and before you know it Yoongi is tangling your legs together and wrapping the sheets around your bodies, entwined as one.
Me too. You knew that's what he meant. You'd dwell on it another time. For now your eyes are falling shut, satisfied as you inhale Yoongi's scent on the sheets...
Before a blissful slumber could take you away, you're interrupted by a series of knocks against the bedroom door. Both you and Yoongi shoot upright, exchanging a puzzled glance.
"I thought you said it was gonna be a quickie. Come on man, I need to use the bathroom!"
Yoongi groans into the pillow.
"That's it. I'm getting a new roommate."
--
As the weeks go by you start spending less and less time at the Big Hit office, turning up late to your shifts or clocking out before they were up. The perks of being employed by your parents is that they can't fire you in good conscience, you suppose.
Instead you increasingly find yourself at Yoongi's apartment, writing lyrics at the piano when he was around (sometimes even when he wasn't) or down in the coffee shop, helping yourself to hot chocolate refills on your work breaks. Jin joked that you'd need to start paying rent soon.
Just like how you were able to pick apart each of the boys' influence on the apartment the first time you went there, your own presence was becoming ever apparent.
In the way you spilled sugar on the counter when making tea and always forgot to clean it up, much to Jin's dismay. How some of your own hoodies and pyjama pants had begun to smell like Yoongi's washing powder, ending up folded neatly in his laundry basket and stowed away on his clothing rack like they belonged there. The way his piano top was littered with open notebooks filled with your messy scrawl and pens with the caps lost and half empty mugs stained around the rim with your chapstick.
Yoongi seemed wary at first, cautious to let you get too comfortable around him, dropping you home late at night once the lights in your house switched out and you knew it was safe to go inside.
But eventually he started to crave the little things that reminded him of you, unable to stop the smiles which crept onto his face as he loaded the dishwasher with the mugs and carried you to bed when you fell asleep at the piano stool.
Your bed. That's what you'd taken to calling it now.
Yoongi hated to admit that he was weak. When he got up on stage he was Gloss, hard faced and brazen and ruthless. But here with you, the facade he tried to uphold seemed to crumble into nothing. And the worst part was that he loved it.
Even when he was performing at the club or practicing for the competition, his thoughts always ended up wandering back to you. There were times when your schedules clashed or it was too risky to see each other or times you were simply too exhausted once you got home, falling into bed as soon as you crossed the threshold. But the knowledge that you were always there waiting for each other became the only safe place he knew and that was enough.
Of course you still had to oversee Namjoon's Mic Drop stage, it was your job after all, but that never seemed to come up when you were together. Just watching movies on his laptop or laughing at ungodly hours while you filled each other in on anecdotes that happened in the time you were apart, retreating beneath the sheets when Jin banged on the wall because it was four in the morning so would you please shut the fuck up.
For the first time in a long time you felt happy. Like you belonged somewhere that was all your own. No more answering to Namjoon or your parents. Just your own heart. And it always seemed to lead you back here to Yoongi, straight into his arms.
And as much as you hated yourself for it, you could feel your resentment for Namjoon growing. You'd be damned if you let him take this away from you, like he'd taken everything else.
Eventually, you stopped crawling through your bedroom window like a goddamn teenager and your parents stopped questioning why you never came home anymore. The cracks between you became a chasm. And right now, Yoongi was the band aid holding you together.
--
When Yoongi returns home later than usual, he's not even surprised when he ascends the stairs and find you and Jin laid out on the bean bags, already tipsy on red wine and giggling at his disgruntled expression.
That is until you take in the weary lines that had etched their way into his forehead, how his eyes look sunken and puffy. How his hands tremble against your waist when you pull him into your arms, body swaying back and forth lightly in your grasp like he could topple over any second.
You know what overworked looks like — after all, you had tended to Namjoon plenty of times when he refused to stop at his limits, barraging through them instead, a habit Yoongi also seemed to possess.
Ordered to stay on bed rest, Yoongi slumps face down into his pillow, letting out a long groan of relief when the mattress cushions his aching limbs.
You're already tucking him in, half way to the door to prepare him a hot cup of honey and lemon to soothe the husk in his throat from rapping too aggressively when his arms loop around your waist and pull you down to snuggle into the crook of your neck contentedly.
"Yoongi, let me go." It's futile, his grip is firm and he is already kicking the sheets over your body and pressing his cheek to the left side of your chest where you're sure he can hear how your heart races, a pout evident in your voice. "I want to take care of you."
"Mmf you are.." Words already slurring with the beginnings of sleep, he smiles groggily when you fall slack in his grasp and press your cheek to the top of his head in defeat. "Stroke my hair please?"
As soon as your fingers tangle in his blue locks he lets out a sigh of relief, like he'd been waiting to feel the touch all day.
Watching his face relax as he drifts off, you bask in the warmth of fulfilment singing your very nerve ending and silently wish that you can stay like this forever.
Just you and Yoongi against the world.
At some point your own eyes fall shut.
--
You're awoken by the sounds of muffled sobs.
The dark room momentarily disorientates you, heart quickening as you realise you're not in your own bed. Eventually your eyes adjust to the blackness, taking in the piano stood sturdily in the corner, breathing in the scent lingering on the pillow beneath your cheek and you're washed with a wave of comfort.
"Yoongi?" You croak.
The sheets are ripped from your body as Yoongi's form shoots upright. His bare back is damp with sweat, visible in the moonlight creeping through the slanted blinds, mattress rocking slightly with every sob that wracks his frame.
"Go back to sleep." His voice is gruff , but forcibly so and you hear the tremor lurking below the surface.
You sit up beside him. His face is buried in his palms. The sight makes your heart ache.
"Are you okay?" You're still new to this. Sure you're tangled up in his sheets most nights but you're still learning the ropes, unsure how best to comfort him. You settle for gently patting his shoulder, wincing at how cold and distant the action feels.
"I said go back to sleep." When his face emerges from between his hands you see the tell tale tracks of tears streaking his cheeks. Even when he wipes his face with the back of his palm there's a steady stream of them dripping down his chin.
"Is that what you really want?"
Yoongi presses his mouth together in a tight line, eyes black and empty as he tilts his head back and takes a shaky breath. That's when he crumbles. "Please stay."
"Oh, Yoongi." It's barely a whisper, afraid that if you speak too loud he'll shatter into a million pieces. He's like a scared kid, knees hugged to his chest as he wipes the hot tears from his eyes with a hard rub of his knuckles.
Yoongi stiffens when you fumble under the sheets to find his hand. You think he might pull away as you link your fingers with his but to your surprise he pulls your interlocked palms into his lap and squeezes so hard you feel the circulation in your fingers cutting off. The way he chokes back another sob stops you from complaining though, already cupping his cheek and tilting his face towards yours with your free hand.
"Why are you doing this?" His eyes squeeze shut, fresh tears sliding down his face and doing nothing to hide the slight tinge of red beneath them that tell you he's embarrassed to be seen like this. Vulnerable, so unlike the hard faced Yoongi you had come to know.
"Because I want to." You squeeze his hand and feel him squeeze back weakly. "You can tell me anything, you know."
Pressing his forehead to yours, Yoongi leans down and captures your lips between his own. I know, it says.
This is different to the way he usually kisses you. There's no hunger, no hands on your neck and your thighs that set you alight with desire. Just a sense of yearning, like he wants to be closer to you, the plump flesh of his lips slotting between yours like a perfect puzzle piece, slightly salty from his tears. It makes you ache all over, like you're somehow connected and sharing his pain.
He pulls away, sharp exhales tickling your face as he scans your eyes for any sign of hesitation, any sign that you're going to leave him here alone. This is side of Yoongi that you have never seen before. He always said he isn't good with words and you know better than anyone that he hated admitting that he needed someone. This was is his way saying he needs you.
And in that moment you feel a piece of your heart flutter into his hands.
"Nightmares." He mumbles, swallowing thickly and tipping his head back against the headboard, expression pained "Just nightmares."
"Want to talk about it?" You sit back next to him, and when he rolls his neck to face you. He looks unreadable again. Eyes void. You half think he's going to push you away, turn over and fall back asleep and leave you to stare at the ceiling alone with the silence.
But he doesn't. Instead he lets out a deep sigh, shaking his head at himself as he pulls you into his arms, stroking your cheek fondly when your head comes to rest on his chest, burying his nose in your hair.
"Why can't I say no to you?"
"Guess I have that affect on people."
He snorts lightly, the first proper reaction he'd given you and you're pleased at his amusement. Pleased you were able to comfort him somewhat.
Unspoken words cloak a heavy silence for what feels like hours, just tracing mindless patterns on his arm and listening to the way his heart slows to a normal pace beneath your cheek, grip around your torso never faltering. When his breaths dwindle to soft puffs against your temple you think he's already drifted off.
Until, "Do you remember when I convinced Namjoon to sign up for Mic Drop the first time. The day after my mom died?" His voice is gravelly, both with sleep and a sign of his withheld tears.
"Of course I do." You swivel in his arms to blink up at him curiously. Sure you remembered. After the funeral, your parents had taken Yoongi in — a repayment they called it. For helping Namjoon achieve his dreams. Of course, that was before you realised just how much Yoongi would help.
Yoongi became a part of the family for a short while. An extra seat at family dinners. Another pair of shoes by the front door. Another bed in Namjoon's room.
"Back then, I was too trusting. I thought that they wanted to help me...I thought that they saw me as their son." He spits the word with the bitterness of a man who was stripped of the title of 'son' before he knew what it really meant.
You think back to how Namjoon and Yoongi used to be. Joined at the hip, everyone used to say. Brothers.
"I think they did—"
"No." He stiffens. You bite your lip. "Namjoon never cared about me. He just saw me as a way to get to the top. And it worked."
You feel a pang in your chest.
"I'm sorry, he's your brother. I shouldn't be talking about this with you."
Yoongi almost turns away but you stop him by pressing your lips to his briefly. Telling him its okay. You understand.
"The nightmares." You say with an eagerness to change to subject before you could dwell on it too hard. Before you could admit to yourself that Yoongi was right. "You didn't say what they were about?"
"I'm getting there." He lets out a strained chuckle and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. The action makes you shiver.
"The last time I saw my mother she said that she wasn't scared to die. She was just scared that she'd miss seeing me on the stage. She was the only one who believed in me." The next words come out choked. "She said that if she couldn't be there to see it then I needed to make as many goddamn people watch me lift that trophy as I could."
Mic Drop was never about the fame for Yoongi after all. It always ran deeper than that; a need not a want. A vulnerable promise left unfulfilled.
The realisation makes you blanch. All this time, all these years, you hadn't been able to see the real greed right in front of your eyes; your own brother.
The image of Yoongi, crumpled and broken on that fateful day all those years ago makes its way to the forefront of your mind.
The same anger flashes across his face now. "Namjoon took that from me. I don't care about the fans or the money or the trophy — none of that shit! He took my dream Y/N. Do you understand how that feels?"
You find yourself nodding, slowly at first and then with vigour as the dam inside you breaks and your own tears flood. "I do. I understand."
And you do. You understand why Yoongi is so determined to win Mic Drop. You understand why he hates Namjoon as much as he does. You understand how it feels to always fall second best to Namjoon, to be outcasted.
"I keep forgetting her face. I can't hear her voice in my head anymore." Yoongi's crying again now, heavy sobs no longer able to be contained. "But in the dreams she's so clear. The disappointment in her eyes, its so clear, Y/N." His words are interrupted by hiccups that leave him gasping.
"I'm sorry." You whisper once he calms. It's all you know how to say.
"Not your fault." He flashes you a watery smile, wiping away the tear on your cheek with his knuckle. It makes your heart flutter, even despite the guilt weighing on your shoulders.
You feel useless. It wasn't your fault directly but you couldn't help but feel like you wronged Yoongi. All of this happened right in front of your eyes but you were too blinded by Namjoon's broken promises to see it.
All this time you had let Namjoon make you think Yoongi was the enemy.
"I'm here now." Hands plant on either side of his face, eyes meeting his. "I believe in you."
He doesn't need to say anything. The way he kisses you speaks louder than words.
All you can do now is hold him, tangling your legs with his and pulling the covers over your intertwined bodies, stroke his cheek with your thumb and pepper kisses to his strained forehead which relaxes beneath your affections.
"I'll make this right." You whisper into his hair after his eyes flutter closed and the sun starts peeking through the window, watching dust particles floating in a stream of light in the room's golden glow through lidded eyes. "I promise."
--
"I like this." Jimin nods enthusiastically along to the track playing through the headphones Namjoon placed over his ears. "Sounds like a hit to me."
Namjoon's face contorts into a scowl. He disagrees, obviously, if the disgusted shake of his head is any indication.
Mic Drop is just a few days away and Namjoon had decided to scrap his entire stage after Jimin scored a couple big last minute investors who suggested he do something new, something exciting. Something that pushed Runch Randa's limits.
It was a bold move, this close to the big day. But Namjoon was cocky, said that he had enough experience in the industry to win in his sleep. Practice was a waste of time anyway.
"Next one." He waves his hand, barely even glancing in your direction as you press a button that cuts off the track and makes another one start playing.
The bass is louder in this one and it makes Jimin startle backwards, the headphone jack slipping loose so the music plays through the speakers instead.
"Hoseok and I still need to put the finishing touches on this one but it's pretty catchy—"
Namjoon cuts you off with a sharp no, it was too upbeat for his Mic Drop performance. Said he needed something with grit, something that would make the judges feel something.
"Let me see that." He gestures for you to get up, slumping down into the chair you occupied and slotting himself beneath the studio desk to scroll through the open folder on the computer screen.
He skims through countless tracks, demoed and ready to be recorded at Namjoon's disposal — you were something of a writing machine, always scribbling down lyrics on receipts from the store or on the back of your hand and paired with Hoseok you were a dream team; he always seemed to find a beat that fit perfectly. Unfortunately Namjoon's straight face gives away his disinterest in any of them.
"None of these will work." Namjoon throws the keyboard down with a force that makes you wince, jaw tightening as he presses his knuckles to his eyes in frustration. "I'm going to fucking lose."
You are about to tell him to write the fucking track himself like everyone else if none of yours were good enough for him but Jimin flashes you a glance. Don't make things worse.
You settle instead for a hand on his shoulder. He tenses at your touch. It had been a while since you'd been in the same room for longer than ten minutes and when you take in the gauntness of his cheekbones you briefly wonder if he's been eating properly. He always did forget when you weren't around to remind him.
You suck in a breath to give you strength. "There must be one that you like."
His lips purse and he disgruntledly goes back to scrolling again, clicking on a couple titles that draw his interest. You and Jimin let out simultaneous sighs of relief.
"What's this?" Namjoon's eyes narrow as he presses play on a track that sends you flying forward, heart in your mouth and colour leaving your face as a song plays that you swore to never show to anyone.
Yoongi's song. The one you wrote after that night in his studio. Probably the best song you had ever written.
"That's not — I was supposed to delete that one." The heat in your cheeks as you push him aside roughly to wrestle with the pause button has you hiding behind your hair, as if he would somehow know this wasn't just an ordinary song. That it was a song about his enemy, for god's sake.
Namjoon's slaps you away from the computer, head bobbing to the beat and you fall back into your seat in defeat, fingers crossed behind your back that he would hate it as much as the others.
"I love it."
Oh no.
"This is the one!"
Shit shit shit!
"A-are you sure?" You're rambling now, words slipping out way too fast and Jimin seems puzzled at your lack of elation at Namjoon's decisiveness. "I'm sure I could write something much better if you just give me some more time—"
Namjoon's arms pull you into a tight embrace before you can finish, your nose ending up smushed against his chest as he practically vibrates with excitement. Your body goes stiff, hands dangling at your sides awkwardly. Considering Namjoon's coldness towards you as of late his sudden display of affection takes you by surprise. Mostly because despite your physical closeness it only makes you feel even more distant from your brother.
A sigh of relief escapes when he finally sets you free, only to be replaced with pure horror as you watch him stick a USB drive into the computer and load up the song before sliding it in his back pocket with a grin while you have no choice but to stand there helplessly.
"I'm totally gonna win!" His change in attitude is abrupt but seems to soothe Jimin who nods enthusiastically. You feel sick. "I can't wait to see the look on Yoongi's face when he hears this shit."
The smirk on his face washes you with dread. If only he knew.
Yoongi was right. Secrets always find a way to come and bite you in the ass.
--
Every rap of your knuckles against the run down studio door seems to echo ominously through the alley like an omen.
"Y/N?"
As soon as the bolt wrangles across and the wooden panel flies open to reveal a disgruntled Yoongi, a warmth seems to thaw through the icy evening chill that, along with your nerves, is making your knees knock together.
His chest is warm against your cheek when he pulls you into his arms, the smell of cologne and black coffee consuming your senses. It's enough to make your tense limbs fall slack, curling into his firm frame instinctively. Finally. You can breathe again.
"Hey." He mumbles sweetly against your temple, a trace of a smile in his voice like he was happy to see you. You silently wonder if he'll still be so happy once he hears what you have to say.
The studio is basked in darkness, the contours of his face barely visible in the blue glow emanating from his desktop monitor. There's a dent in the cushion of the adjacent chair, Yoongi's hair sticking up at the back where the pair of headphones slung around his neck had sat moments ago.
"I can go if you were working, wouldn't want to interrupt." As the words are leaving your lips you cross your fingers, selfishly hopeful that he would send you away and you could avoid the conversation that was about to follow. Blame it all on circumstance, leave saying that you at least tried.
But that would be keeping a secret. It would make you just as bad as the rest. And the thought of him finding out from someone else was enough to make your palms sweat and enough to keep your feet planted against the carpet determinedly.
Yoongi's hands find you like he can't bare to keep them away, dragging you across the threshold without hesitation. "S'fine. Work better with you here anyway." He smiles and you try to return it but your lips are pressed into a permanent line, like they're scared the daunting words you have to say will come spilling out before you were ready -- if you ever would be ready. As you slump into a chair and watch him wheel another one around to face you with his arms slung lazily over the back, you realise there is no going back.
Considering the countdown to Mic Drop was nearing its end, less than twenty four hours to go before Yoongi would be stood opposite Namjoon on stage in front of thousands, he looked the epitome of relaxation, unlike the nerves in your chest making you jitter.
"Jin's on his way with takeout, I would've asked him to get more if I knew you were coming but I'm sure we can share— babe, are you alright?"
Babe. The endearment had started slipping from his lips frequently recently. At first he tried to cover it up with nervous laughter but now he was brazen, enjoying the way the word tasted on his tongue. It would be so easy to force a smile, to push "the right thing" to the back of your mind and let the selfish part of your heart accept his affections, even knowing you're about to hurt him.
But the clock ticking away on the wall sounds deafening with every beat of silence that follows, twisting the rings on your fingers until you could no longer distinguish the sound from the sinister thrum of your heart.
You can't hold it in any more.
"I need to tell you something." It comes out a hoarse whisper, nearly unintelligible beneath the stream of hip hop from the hifi system in the corner.
"What is it?" Yoongi's concerned eyes never leave you as he reaches over to switch it off, the room now draped in a shroud of quiet. The reality of the situation seeps into every dark corner and right into your bones.
"It's about us. Kind of."
Yoongi rolls closer, stopping your teeth from nibbling your cuticles by slotting his fingers between yours like a perfect puzzle piece. It seems to ground you, like you're filled with helium and he's the weight stopping your feet from floating off the ground. For a second you think everything will be okay. Nothing, not even this betrayal, could come between what you had.
"Did Namjoon find out?" Even in the dim light you see the panic stricken raise of his brows. When your head shakes in a violent negative they smooth back down, relieved, as if nothing you could say next would be worse than that. No matter how hard you try to meet his eyes you can't.
His hand squeezes gently then. You muster up the courage to squeeze back. Perhaps it would soften the blow that was about to follow.
"His song. The one I wrote for Mic Drop...it's about you. I thought you should know. Before you hear it for yourself."
Nothing but an immeasurable silence followed. "Oh."
Yoongi is unreadable, almost as if he didn't hear the words hanging like heavy storm clouds over your heads. You expected him to be angry, to shout -- even cry, maybe. Not knowing how he was feeling was even worse than any scenario you had imagined. Made you feel like you were back to square one and he was shutting you out of the window into his soul you'd worked so hard to wriggle through.
For a second you think the sudden cold against your palm is a result of the numbness coursing through your veins like you were dunked in ice water, but then you see his hand retreat to his lap, eyes wide and staring at it in disbelief like he'd been scalded.
"I...I don't understand." He sounds choked, face contorting with pain. Like it does when he wakes thrashing in the night with a bad dream. Unlike those times though, he doesn't levitate towards you for comfort, just stares at you vacantly like he's far, far away despite being physically close enough for your knees to brush.
"It was written after the first time we...y'know...here--" You glance around, convinced your mind is playing tricks when you see a vision of you in Yoongi's lap across the room, lips attached like nothing else in the world mattered. It feels far away and out of reach when the real Yoongi gets to his feet, creating a distance between you that is foreign, his form staggering across the room so that you could see the way his back tensed beneath his t-shirt when he grips the edge of his desk for support, processing.
"I don't understand."
"I was emotional. It just happened--"
"No. What I don't understand is why you're letting him perform it?" Fists send a stack of sheet music flying to the ground. His lip trembles, face red, with anger or affliction, you can't tell which.
"Yoongi--" You reach for him, fingertips barely grazing his arm before he's smacking you away with a violent shake of his head. He'd never resisted you before. Not even in the beginning.
"You expect me to just sit back and listen to Namjoon of all people rapping the lyrics my girlfr-- that you wrote dissing me? This has to be a fucking joke."
"It's not that kind of track!" You hug your body pitifully. It's the only thing you can do to stop yourself from falling apart as his mouth spits a venom that makes your heart shatter. His eyes fill with one thing. Betrayal. "I'm sorry. I just...I can't keep choosing between you anymore, Yoongi. He's my brother."
"And what am I, huh?"
Every second that passes, every stutter or attempt at explanation that leaves your mouth makes Yoongi crumple. You see it in the way his adam's apple bobs, how his shoulders slacken.
For some reason you can't open up. Tell him he means more to you than anyone ever had. That you thought your heart might really break and bleed out on the carpet if he didn't feel the same way.
Instead you settle for, "Why are you so mad? It's my job! I had no choice."
Without warning he's rushing at you, trembling palms capturing your face and pressing his forehead to yours. His breaths shake, chest heaving as he battles internally with the words flying from his lips like a ghostly breath across yours.
"Because I fucking love you, Y/N! Can't you see it? I fucking love you and your bastard of a brother always finds a way to ruin things between us!"
His admission stuns you, the tears welling in your eyes spilling over in a silent stream down your cheeks.
He loves you. He loves you.
"Yoongi--" Words just won't come. Nothing feels right.
Because you love him too. It had taken you this long to admit it to yourself but it was clear now. Every breath, every beat of your heart, every fucking song you would ever write was for him. It scared you before but now, stood here in front of him, you know it's true.
Something hopeless niggles at the back of your head, stops you from spilling everything to him. If he loves you, how can he expect you to choose?
If words couldn't make him see the truth then you'd just have to show him the only way you knew how. Straight from your heart.
You're crying as you dig around in the bottom of your bag to retrieve a USB, pressing it into his curled fist firmly and begging him with your eyes to understand. "Just listen to the song. Please. It'll explain everything. I promise."
You begin to back up and his hand shoots out to stop you, pulling you roughly into his chest which only makes you cry harder, tears creating a wet patch on his T-shirt.
"Please don't leave me. Not again." It's a fragile whisper.
It's all too much.
"I can't choose any longer, Yoongi. This has to end."
With one last look at his crumpled face you flee from his studio with eyes just as watery as the first time you'd walked down this very alley. Except this time it takes all of your strength to resist running back into his arms.
Yoongi can only stand there and watch you go, the USB hot against his hand.
This has to end. The words make his chest burn and he hates it. Hates feeling weak. You always make him feel so fucking weak.
If he can't have you then he had no choice but to do everything in his power to make sure he got the next best thing.
Suddenly it all seemed clear. Yoongi knew what he had to do.
--
The arena is almost desolate when you creep inside.
Just a sea of empty seats stretching out from both sides of you where you sit in one of the stands, nibbling the skin around your thumb and watching Namjoon pace the stage below.
It's gone midnight by now. Most of the crew went home hours ago. Not Namjoon though. He stayed to practice some more. Said he couldn't get the choreography quite right.
You tried going home but you couldn't get the fight out of your head. Everything reminded you of Yoongi and your thoughts started to wander. Did he hate you? Was he listening to the song right now? Why hasn't he called? Why is your own bed not as comfy as the one you shared with Yoongi?
It all got too much eventually. Something told you that you weren't welcome at the apartment so you ended up heading towards the only other place you knew, surprised to find your brother had the same idea.
A single spotlight illuminates the stage as Namjoon twists his body in time with the one, two, three, four he unconsciously mumbles under his breath, face contorted with a stark concentration that flits to impatience when his foot slips and he misses the beat. Again. It just about sends him over the edge.
"I can't do this anymore!" A microphone squeals and hits the ground with a thump. It reverberates through the arena, your hands flying to your ears as you watch Namjoon let loose all his anger on an innocent amp stand before collapsing into a heap at the edge of the stage. "Fuck this shit!"
You're flying down the stairs to his aid before he can do any serious damage to the stage equipment — or worse, to himself.
Namjoon scoffs when he hears the stage creak under your feet. "Nice of you to show up."
It stings. You snap.
"What happened to you, Namjoon?" You look at his sunken cheekbones, his curled fists, the blackness behind his eyes. "I don't even recognise you anymore."
He just sniffs and says nothing. The distance between you feels bigger than ever.
"Can I tell you a secret?"
A secret? Since when did Namjoon abide by a policy of honesty?
He takes your shocked silence as a yes.
"I'm calling first thing and dropping out of the competition."
Your world stutters to a standstill, breath knocked out of your lungs.
Dropping out?
"Shit Joon...if this is about Yoongi—"
He waves you off. "No. This is about me."
You can't breathe. This can't be real. "I don't understand..."
"I've made up my mind. I can't do this any more. I used to love being up here you know?"
You follow his gaze, out over the empty arena. The last time you were here every seat was filled. You were down there, part of the crowd, packed into the cramped space with barely enough room to breathe.
Imagining how it must feel to be up here comes easy. If you close your eyes you can hear the screams, feel the body heat. Smell the sweat and the anticipation. See thousand faces looking up in awe. At you. It makes your blood run hot.
You much prefer being up here, you decide.
Namjoon brings you back down. "Now it just feels like a chore. I look out and all I see is disappointed faces. I can't pretend for them anymore."
"People travel miles to see you Joon! No one is disappointed."
"Not the fans. They love me. Well, Runch Randa, at least." He cracks a half smile. "It's me whose disappointed. In Kim Namjoon."
You always thought your brother was sure of himself. He's cocky, confident and above all fearless. It's his biggest strength (and his most irritating quality sometimes) but it's what you always admired most about him.
Clearly you didn't know your brother as well as you thought you did.
You bite your lip. "Why?"
He turns to face you, leaning back into his arms while he searches for the right words and, little to your knowledge, gathers the courage to confide in you.
"Because I re-entered Mic Drop for all the wrong reasons. I just wanted to prove myself, you know? Win for real this time, not just by default." He swallows. "But then I saw Yoongi perform. And to be honest? I saw you. I saw how much you care about the music. How you come alive when you're writing lyrics or when you're in the studio." His smile is woeful. "Im supposed to feel like that. But I don't. I never did. It's like I'm always asleep, y'know?"
You did know. Every time you lifted a camera. Every time you pressed the shutter and snapped another shot of Namjoon on stage you felt your soul grow exhausted.
It makes the distance between you and Namjoon close a little. For once you understand each other and you don't have to hide how you feel any more.
"I can't stop thinking that it's your name the fans should be screaming. Not mine. They deserve better than me."
"But you're the best performer I know!" You rush. It always seemed like he wanted to keep you out of the spotlight at all costs. "Why now?"
He lets out a deep sigh. "I'm a selfish person, Y/N. I thought I was protecting you from... all this." He gestures around him. "The late nights and the paparazzi and the criticism and a fucking manager on your back all the time." His eye roll makes you snort, sharing a brief smile at the image of hardworking Jimin mumbling into his headset like a man posessed.
He's quickly serious again though. "Fame comes with a price. But I realize now that the price is worth it if your hearts in the right place and...what I'm trying to say, Y/N, is that mine never was."
You let your chin fall into your palm. Huh. "So that's the big secret?"
"Actually...there's something else." He shifts nervously. "I know about you and Yoongi."
You freeze, scrambling to your knees with wide eyes. "Wait, Joon, let me explain—"
"Let me finish!" Namjoon brushes you off with a breathless laugh, nodding to himself, as if finally coming to a solid conclusion about coming clean when his eyes meet yours. "He's in love with you."
This time it feels like the whole world goes into overdrive. You forget how to breathe.
"What...how...huh?"
It's Namjoon's palm squeezing your knee reassuringly that brings you back down.
"He always was. Even back before things got messed up." A deep breath. Something was coming, you could tell by the way his eye twitched nervously. "That's why me and Yoongi fought. That's why I...I lied and said that I wrote the song the night of the Mic Drop final...accused him of plagiarism—" Your mouth gapes. "I know! I know. Don't look at me like that. I can see the irony."
It all makes sense now. She's a part of this, Namjoon, whether you like it or not.
The reason Namjoon sacrificed his best friend wasn't for fame but for your sake?
You want to fly at your brother, scream at him for keeping this from you for so long. For turning you against Yoongi. For keeping you from the only person to make you feel safe. Feel Happy.
But his eyes are void of anything other than regret and you can tell his betrayal had been playing on his mind all these years.
"Point is, I didn't want you to get hurt." He shuffles awkwardly, not knowing what to do with your silence. "That's not an excuse, I know. Do you hate me?"
"No." Your voice sounds small. His chest heaves with relief. "I just wish you had been honest with me before. Saved us a ton of trouble."
"I thought I was doing the right thing. But I was a shitty brother in the end anyway."
It's strange. Even after all the fights and the resentment and the goddamn secrets, you don't think Namjoon is a shitty brother. Sure, his actions and intentions were shitty there was no denying it. But now it's like the puzzle pieces finally click into place and the full photograph comes into view, crystal clear.
All this time, he just wanted to protect you, when you should have been protecting him. He was hurting too, you just never knew it.
"It's not too late, Joon. Just be happy for me okay? I think..." If Namjoon plucked up the courage to tell you his secrets then it was only fair that you did too. "I love him too."
A pinkish tinge caresses your face when you finally admit it, both out loud and to yourself.
You love Yoongi. And now all the cards are on the table there's nothing holding you back from it.
Now you just need to tell Yoongi.
"I know. You think I don't know who that song is about?" The grin that spreads across Namjoon's features is sincere."And I am. Happy for you, I mean."
Now the truth is out in the open it feels like your wounds are already beginning to heal. You place your hand over his and squeeze it tight. It was time to forgive.
A thought suddenly strikes you. "So what are you gonna do now?
Namjoon fumbles in the back pocket of his jeans, thrusting something towards you. A polaroid picture. The same photo you'd seen at Yoongi's studio.
He kept it, too?
"This kid." His finger jabs at the innocent face of a younger Namjoon, arm wrapped around the shoulders of his best friend. "I didn't get enough time to live as him before I became Runch Randa. I think it's time to just live as Namjoon for a while."
"But what about Big Hit? It'll fall apart and mom and dad will kill you—"
"No it won't. They have you. I already talked to them, in fact. There's a stage with your name on it right here." He pats the ground. "If you want it, that is."
You blink, stunned. You? "I...I don't know if I can."
"I believe in you." Namjoon says. "And I'll be cheering you on from the front row."
You'd have to think about it long and hard but you can't help the grin that appears on your face. Things were going to be okay.
An urge rises in your chest to tell Yoongi this news. To see the way his face would light up as you started the journey to following your own dreams, like he always said you should.
You and Yoongi were going to be okay.
"Hey! Maybe I should try photography now I have some free time." Namjoon tugs at the camera strap around your neck, lifting his eye to the viewfinder and laughing when you cover the lens with your hands. "Damn I'm kinda good!"
You bump his shoulder teasingly, the belly laughter that spills into the arena feeling like the most natural thing in the world.
You're only interrupted by approaching footsteps. Jimin bursts into the arena.
"Namjoon," he pants. "I have some bad news."
--
It's compulsory for all competitors to attend the crowning ceremony. Even those who get disqualified.
RUNCH RANDA BLACKLISTED FROM COMPETING IN FUTURE HIP HOP COMPETITIONS AFTER PLAGIARISM SCANDAL SURFACES.
Just one of the devastating headlines that hit the media after the judges panel received an anonymous tip in the form of a USB stick that exposed Namjoon once and for all. The same USB that you pressed into Yoongi's hands just hours before Namjoon's disqualification.
RAPPER GLOSS TO SNATCH MIC DROP TROPHY IN SHOCKING REVENGE FOR HIS BRUTAL DEFEAT.
Namjoon reads it aloud in the back of the car. He laughs at the end but it does nothing to lighten the mood.
The windows are tinted but you can still see the hoards of fans lining the streets, eyes steeped in betrayal.
You should hear the way they boo as your brother drives past. You should hear the way they chant his name instead.
Yoongi! Yoongi! Yoongi!
But you don't. You don't hear anything. You don't feel anything. All you can think of is the same three words, throbbing in your chest over and over again.
I love you.
Did he mean them at all?
"Y/N? Did you hear me?"
"Hm?" You look up. Namjoon's staring at you with concern.
"Your phone's ringing again."
It's no surprise when you pull out your phone and see a contact picture of yourself and Yoongi gracing the screen. He's been calling all morning. It takes every strength inside you to tap the red decline button.
"Aren't you gonna talk to him?"
Another call lights up the screen.
"Not like this."
With trembling fingers you shut your phone off all together.
--
Paparazzi cameras flash brazenly as you step out of the black company car, following Namjoon with your hood pulled tightly round your face. A hoard of body guards usher you through a back door to the arena. The main entrance is reserved for notable guests only, you learn.
While Namjoon's presence usually makes the room buzz with an electric energy, there's no excitement when he enters now. An awkward hush falls like a shroud as he elbows his way past pitiful stares. It's like someone died. In a way it's true; there's no trace of Runch Randa in Namjoon's hunched stance. Here, the dead still walks for everyone to see.
Jimin's waiting by the stage door. No words are exchanged as he slips passes into your hands. Namjoon's has a big red strike through the word TALENT, "guest" scribbled all too generously below it to match your own.
It's nearing show time. They're just waiting for you to take your seats, Jimin says, though you barely hear him. You're too busy imagining what you would do if you bumped into him right now, heart pounding whenever you catch a glimpse of blue or hear a laugh you're convinced you recognise.
Deep down you know exactly where you have to go to find him. To find Yoongi.
"I'll join you in a second, okay?"
Namjoon looks nervous, the first time you've ever seen him with such a severe case of the jitters. His smile is empty when you rub his forearm reassuringly. "Don't be too long. If I'm gonna do this I want you by my side."
You manage a smile. "Always."
With that, Namjoon takes a deep breath and pushes out into the life of the arena and you find your feet numbly carrying you down back corridors you know by heart until you reach his dressing room.
Your heart is blind, you think. Even now the shattered fragments ache for him, beat a little faster knowing he's just behind this door.
Why can't you go back to hating him, just like you did before? Deep down you know it's because you never really hated Yoongi. You don't think you ever could.
Forgiving him, though? Some wounds never heal, no matter how badly you want them to.
You pause outside the door. The stupid gold star that used to be there has been scraped off, replaced with a new name tag. Gloss. You put your ear to the wood. Nothing.
A deep breath and you find the handle. Should you burst in and give him a piece of your mind? Knock and enter politely? You can't help but scoff. Shouldn't he be the one coming to find you?
He calls your name before you can do either.
"Y/N?"
Fuck. Is hearing his voice supposed to hurt this bad?
You don't know what you're expecting when you turn around. Something different about him perhaps. A sign that he isn't the person you had grown to know. Grown to love.
But there he is. All messy blue hair and bitten lips and eyes a little red around the edges. Your Yoongi.
Your arms curl around your body like a band aid, holding you together. You can't crumble. Not now.
He looks stony but his eyes flicker with tender remorse when he sees the tears staining your cheeks.
His hands reach for you instinctively. The same hands that make love to his piano in the shitty apartment above the coffee shop. The same hands that could make you fall apart with even a delicate touch. You want to run into them so bad it hurts. But now they're stained red with betrayal and he chokes when you recoil.
Seconds feel like hours as you just stand there taking each other in like it's been years. It's only been a day or two. Maybe three? You can't remember. They all rolled into one meaningless blur of angry tears and insomnia.
You had a whole speech prepared for the moment you finally faced him again. But there are no words that feel right. You just need to know. If he meant every touch and every inside joke and those three words that make your heart soar despite how badly you want to hate him. And there's only one way to find out.
"Why did you do it?"
Your voice sounds timid and scared, like you feel. He winces.
"Y/N, let me explain—"
"Explain what?" Your voice raises shakily."How you lied to me? How you used me?"
He rushes towards you and it takes all of your strength to draw back, especially when his eyes look so frantic, so desperate. Like he's having one of his nightmares. It tugs at your heart because this time the nightmare is real and you're living in it.
"It's not like that—"
"Did you ever even want me? What about all that fair and square bullshit you told me huh?"
"Of course I wanted you Y/N...want you." His eyes fill with pain. "This wasn't meant to happen. I know how this looks but I just panicked!"
You rush at him, fists curled like that day in his studio except this time he doesn't stop you when you start hitting his chest, vision blurry.
"He was going to pull out! Namjoon was going to let you win! So that I could -- we could be happy!"
"What I...I don't understand?" His mouth gapes, processing. "But you didn't..." He swallows, like remembering is painful. "When I confessed, you didn't say it back. I thought we were over! I thought I had nothing to lose, Y/N. He had already won..."
You remember your words. I can't do this anymore. A misunderstanding that would never have happened if he just—
"Did you even listen to the song?"
His face drops at the mention of the song. "No." He looks like he might cry. "I was angry! I...I acted impulsively. I never got the chance..."
You bared your soul in that song in ways you never thought you could. He wasn't supposed to find out how you felt about him this way. Not here, when you're falling apart and there's nothing you can do to stop it. But it all comes tumbling out before you can change your mind.
"I wrote that song because I love you, Yoongi!"
Silence. He has to grip the wall to steady himself.
"Y-you love me?"
"I love you." The words feel indulgent on your tongue and even now as they hang heavy in the air and you're overcome with an indescribable combination of grief and longing, you mean them with every bone in your body.
You rush at him. You can't help it. Can't resist how your head falls into his chest and how you cry harder when you breathe in his scent one last time, sobs muffled by his hoodie. But he hears them, you know he does, because his hands are trembling when they pull you closer like you're fragile enough to break.
"I love you. So fucking much it hurts, Yoongi."
You're weak. You're so so weak.
You don't know why you do it but you grab his face with both hands and then you're kissing him. Showing him how much you need him, how much you mean your words. His hand cups your jaw like always and his lips press back with a tender desperation and you believe him. You believe that he loves you. Whole and true. Because in that moment, with his lips on yours, everything is okay. He's your Yoongi and you're his Y/N and he loves you.
But then you pull back and he's crying too and everything's broken and your heart goes numb.
"I'm sorry. God, Y/N I'm so sorry. If I could take it back I promise I would."
You muster up all the strength you can. You know what you have to do.
"I'm giving you a choice, Yoongi. You go out on that stage and pick up that trophy and we're over. For real."
He tries to kiss you again, grabbing at you frantically when you turn your cheek.
"Y/N, don't do this. We love each other. That's all that matters right?" He musters up the closest thing to a smile he can manage, like he's convincing himself more than he is you. "You don't have to—"
"No." You pull away from grip. It feels cold and wrong. "I have to do this. If you love me like you say you'll...you'll understand."
You turn but he grabs your wrist, pins you in place.
"I can't lose you to him again, Y/N. I...I already lost you once and I don't think I..."
The hard faced Min Yoongi you once knew is gone. All that's left is the vulnerable man in front of you who holds your heart in your hands with a grip so tight it scares you.
"He can't win...please."
You suck in a final breath.
"Please what? Don't make you choose between me and that stupid fucking trophy? You did this to yourself, Yoongi." You turn and this time he lets you. "The only person pushing me away is you."
"Y/N please, wait!"
You don't dare turn to look at him as you walk away. Not even when he pleads or you hear him fall to his knees, a strangled sob echoing down the hall. You're scared you might run back to him if you do.
You don't let yourself break down until you turn the corner. Yoongi doesn't follow.
--
"I'm okay." You assure Namjoon as you take a seat beside him inside the arena. It's a lie, of course. No amount of cold water splashed on your face in the bathroom could prepare you for this moment.
You're just in time. The ceremony is already starting. The host is taking the stage and the lights are dimming but you're too numb to care.
You go out on that stage and pick up that trophy and we're over.
Your decision is final. There's no going back. You've cried all your tears. You've said all that needed to be said. All you're left with now is a sickly feeling in your stomach as you look down at the trophy sat in a display case center stage.
We love each other. A slither of hope tugs at your heart strings. You barely manage to suppress it.
"Sorry! Excuse me!" The empty seat to your left sinks under the weight of Hoseok as he clumsily stumbles into the arena, late as always.
He offers you a smile which turns to a frown when you only stare past him vacantly, straining your neck to keep an eye on the stage.
A hand covers yours. You freeze at the contact, only relaxing when you peer through the darkness to find Hoseok staring at you gently. His voice is a whisper. "Whatever happens I'm here for you, okay?"
A wave of emotion crashes through you and you think you might cry again. You can't make your lips sound out a response but Hoseok understands and you feel a little stronger when you turn your attention back to the ceremony knowing you have someone by your side.
"As you all know there have been some...complications with this year's finalists." The host coughs and fiddles with his tie awkwardly. "But we are glad to announce that we do in fact have a winner here with us today!"
The crowd chants Yoongi's name again. Namjoon stiffens. Your free hand grabs his and he squeezes it tight.
"So without further ado, I would like to welcome this year's winner, Gloss!"
The crowd goes wild but the sound is drowned out by a ringing in your ears. It's like you're underwater, holding your breath as you wait and wait for him to take the stage and all the oxygen to slip away.
One...two...three...
You get to ten seconds, then twenty seconds and then thirty and by the time you get to forty you feel yourself break the surface, take a heaving breath.
You're floating. He chose you.
He loves you! Yoongi loves you! He—
No.
You're seeing things. You must be. That can't be Yoongi's face lighting up every screen in the room. That can't be him crossing the stage and taking the trophy from the hands of the host with a smug grin.
That can't be Yoongi holding it up in the air like a martyr.
That can't be your Yoongi. This is a stranger.
You crash back to reality when Namjoon wraps his arms around your waist and you realise your sobbing. Sobbing so hard it hurts your chest and your lungs burn with misuse and you're sure the tears will never stop.
"It's okay! Shh."
Nothing is okay. Nothing.
Yoongi's face is still blown up on the big screens in painful detail. The smile on his face falters when he looks out into the crowd and spots you instantly. Sees you crumple.
There are two things Min Yoongi ever loved in this world.
His music and you.
The trophy feels cold in his hands. The crowd gasps as he rushes to the edge of the stage and calls out to you.
"Y/N wait! I'm sorry—"
You hear his voice through the speakers but it's too late. You're already running.
Yoongi's mic drops to the ground.
--
Yoongi's nightmares are back. Except this time they're different.
When he closes his eyes you're there. Smiling and laughing like you used to. His heart warms and he reaches for you...
And then he realises it's not you. Just a picture, blown up on the big screen as you cross the stage at the front of the room he's suddenly aware he's in.
He glances around at the indistinguishable people around him, all smiling and clapping ferociously. Why isn't he happy?
The bottle in his hand is half empty. He's realises he's screaming. So hard his throat burns and his lungs beg for air but you don't even look his way. He screams your name, over and over again. Nobody seems to hear him.
Namjoon's there too. Bouncing a baby on his knee, maybe one or two years old if he has to guess.
"That'll be you one day," He whispers, but its deafening to Yoongi. "Only the very best for my niece." The baby giggles up at him, stubby fingers wrapped around his thumb.
She has your eyes. The very same eyes Yoongi would look into like they held everything in the world. The very same eyes Yoongi saw fill with pain on the last day he saw you before things got messed up.
She has Hoseok's nose. And his mouth, too, small and heart shaped. The resemblance is uncanny as Hoseok appears beside Namjoon, takes the baby girl into his arms and places a sweet kiss on her forehead.
Then there you are. The same old Y/N. The same smile that makes your eyes crinkle and the same laughter than makes his heart melt. The same girl who used to love him.
Though it's clear that that much is no longer true. Not when you lean up to kiss Hoseok on the cheek, Namjoon drawing you into a hug when you present the trophy in your hands to them with an elated laugh.
A family.
It feels like he's been punched in the stomach.
Yoongi always thought winning Mic Drop would mean he had everything. Fame. Money. Glory.
He didn't need family. He always got by on his own.
It took holding the whole world in the palm of his hand to realise none of it meant anything if he didn't have you by his side.
You were his everything. But he was too stupid to see it and he let you slip away.
It's too late now.
A hand appears on his shoulder. It's cold, grip bruising. The voice that comes next gives him chills every single time.
"So was it worth it?" Namjoon asks.
Yoongi tries to answer but his vision is blurred with hot tears now and he's on his hands and knees and he's screaming.
And when he wakes up at ass o clock, sweaty and gasping for air, he still finds himself reaching for your warmth beside him.
But all his fingers find are cold sheets and bitterness.
extended a/n: okay so if you have reached this far then you are a TROOPER. a trooper who i love and appreciate endlessly for reading 30k of my waffle lmao im so sorry <3 ksksksk so this fic has been in my head for the longest time and in my drafts for almost five months so im super attached to it and putting this out is like the scariest ever?? i really put my heart into this piece, like y’all don’t understand how many times it’s cropped up in my dreams and I’ve woken up like MUST WRITE. it’s far from perfect but i tried my best!! i can’t tell you how many scenes had to be rewritten until i was happy enough with them bc this fic is literally my baby in every sense of the word and i wanted to get it right :( although that just made the ending even more SOUL DESTROYING to write for me ugh i had the ending set in my mind before i even started writing but there were moments where i jus wanted yoongi and oc to be happy ever after :( but alas, I feel like this ending was far more realistic for them and i couldn’t go against my gut sigh. there may be a few drabbles planned in the future tho to make up for the angst :) Anyway!!! I’ll stop rambling. Thank you for reading this far, if anyone has. TROOPER. love you <3
updated 12/01/19: drabble #1 | drabble #2 | drabble #3
#ksmutclub#bts#bts smut#yoongi smut#yoongi fanfiction#yoongi imagine#btswriterscollective#btsguild#kwordsmiths#thebtstown#yoonkooknetwork#yoongi scenario#my writing#fic: mic drop#love yourself collab
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Making Do (With What Life Gave Us): Part 3
I really hope you are enjoying this semi-short series. There’s one part left, leave asks. I enjoy writing what you guys want.
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Seven hours later she landed and was met by Bruce. When she saw him, she ran over and hugged him. "Dad! I missed you so much!"
"Princess I missed you too! The boys are at the house, they were told to be on their best behaviors. All they know is that someone important is coming to dinner," Bruce said, picking up Marinette's suitcase.
"Thank you, Dad! I'm so happy I get to surprise them," she said, climbing into the front seat with Bruce. After a quick car ride, they pull up to the Wayne Manor, no doubt Alfred was lining up the boys in the foyer. When she enters the house, the boys have their eyes to the ground as a sign of respect.
"Welcome home Master Bruce, Miss Marinette," Alfred said with a smirk.
"Marinette!" Dick said, charging the poor girl. He picks up the girl and spins her in a hug.
"Move Grayson," Damian says as Dick puts her down.
"But it's my turn," Dick answers.
"My turn," Damian says, pushing Dick out of the way. He brought her into a hug. "I missed you so much, but I knew you were coming."
"Seriously?! I missed you though. I didn't want to leave," Marinette said, crying into his shoulder. It had only been a couple of months but he had grown so much.
"Oh come stop hogging her," Jason says, attempting to push Damian out of the way.
"Dami, let me hug Jay-Jay and Tim," Marinette said, wiping her eyes. Damian lets her go and wipes her tears away. She hugs Jason and Tim. She then unpacks and eats dinner. She sits next to Damian and holds his hand under the table because he was eating left-handed.
"I learned a lot of vegetarian dishes while in Paris and since Sabine and Tom live above a bakery I've become better at baking," Marinette smiled, looking at Damian.
"Can we try it as well, I've missed your cooking," Tim asked.
"Yes! The more the merrier! I'm excited I may only be here for a couple of days, but we'll make the most of it," Marinette said. "Jason, you want to spare after dinner?"
"Sure, can't wait to kick your butt," Jason snickers.
"Wait... I wanted to go on the bars with you..." Dick says then smiles. "Can we do it tomorrow?"
"Sure that would be so much fun! Tim, do you think I can go to work with you on Tuesday? I would love to learn more about business. Chloe and I are planning a winter social and I want to start my own boutique after I graduate," Marinette explained.
"You still have four years till you're eighteen. But I'm sure Tim and definitely Damian would love for you to come to work," Bruce stated with a smile.
"I know Dad, but I think I might start a commission website once I get more free time," Marinette said smiling.
"That's fantastic let me know when you do," Bruce said.
"Jason you ready to fight," Marinette asks, taking her plate to the kitchen.
"Cool, let's go," Jason said, following her with his plate. They then walked to the gym the rest of the boys following. "You ready?"
"Sí, ¿estás listo?" Marinette said, taking off her shoes and getting into positions.
"Of course I'm ready, that's why I asked you, ya know what. Tres... Dos... Unos," Jason said before launching into his attack. The fight lasts a bit before Jason gets the upper hand and pins her down with her arm behind her back.
"I guess I'm a little rusty," Marinette says, taking the hand Damian was offering. She got up and brushed off the dust. Damian put an arm around her waist, she snuggled into his grasp and yawns. "I'm a bit tired, I'm going to head to bed. Night love you all."
A collective 'Night' comes as she closes the door. As her footsteps fade, Jason turns and smirks. "So what was that about?"
"What was what about?" Damian asked, sliding down against the wall to sit on the ground.
"Do you really think I didn't notice you guys holding hands under the table?" Tim asked, shaking his head.
"And that you helped her up and pulled her into a hug," Dick said.
"And you didn't flinch when she snuggled into your embrace," Jason finished.
"Do you have a crush on her, Demon?" Tim asked.
"I will end you," he says adding a dramatic pause. "She is just a friend."
"Sure...." Dick said. leaving the gym with Tim and Jason following. Damian grumbles while standing then proceeds to punch and beat up the punching bag. 'He didn't like her like that., right? No.... she's his best friend, she would never see him like that.' With that thought and one final punch, the punching bag fell. 'Then why am I acting like this.'
All too soon, Marinette headed back to Paris. Bruce accompanied her back home on his private jet. "Bye, you guys! I hope I see you soon," Marinette said, hugging her family.
"Princess, it's time to go," Bruce said, climbing the stairs to the plane.
"Ok, Dad, love you all!" Marinette said, waving as the door closed.
Alfred leads the boys back to the car, as Jason grumbles, "how come Bruce gets to go with Pixie-Pop."
"Master Bruce is doing business in Paris," Alfred said, closing the door to the front seat.
"What business?" Tim asks, looking up from his phone.
"He's opening a Wayne Enterprises building in Paris," Alfred said, starting the car.
"Seriously?" Damian asked, sitting up straighter.
"Wow... calm down lover boy," Dick laughs.
"We know you wanna see your girlfriend, but opening a building takes time," Tim teased.
"She's not my girlfriend," Damian grumbles.
"But.... you wish she was," Jason says, elbowing Damian.
"She is my best friend... I will snap your knee caps if you say differently," Damian says, putting in earphones.
Back on the plane with Marinette, she sat quietly sketching in her new notebook. After the seven-hour flight, Marinette jumped off the plane with Bruce following to greet Sabine, Tom, and Chloe. "Hey Sabine, Tom," she said, hugging her adopted parents.
"Hi, sweetie," Sabine greets.
"Hi, Chloe! I have so much to tell you about, but first, Sabine, Tom, Chloe, this is my unofficial Dad, Bruce," Marinette said.
"Nice to meet you all, Marinette speaks highly of all of you," Bruce greets.
"Wait, I thought Sabine and Tom are your parents?" Chloe asked.
"Well, Dad how long are you going to be around for because that depends when I explain it," Marinette asked.
"I'm going to be here until building plans are final," Bruce answers.
"Building plans?" Marinette asks.
"I'll explain it when you explain everything else," Bruce responds.
"Mama, Papa, can they come to dinner?" Marinette asked, grabbing Sabine's hand.
"Of course," Tom responded.
"Everything is vegetarian. We love supporting our daughter," Sabine added.
"Of course, I'm the same way with Damian," Bruce said. “Of course, it would be rude as an unannounced guest to make you change your plans."
"Daddy has been supporting my decisions to eat less meat," Chloe smiles.
"And I don't expect you to change because we're friends. As friends, we take each other as we are," Marinette smiles while jumping in the car. As they sat at the dinner table Marinette decided to explain everything. "I grew up without my father, my mother was a junkie and a 'dancer'. Needless to say my life wasn't the best, one day, I guess Mum didn't pay for her drugs and made some high up people angry. She passed on. Later the next day, Bruce showed up with Alfred, the man who is like my grandfather, at the police station. He decided, with the help of Jason, Tim, and Dick, to be my foster home. Two years later, Damian, who is now my best friend and Bruce's only biological son, moved in. Another two years later, Tom and Sabine adopted me. I guess that caught everyone up?" Marinette explained. "So, Dad, what's this about a building."
"After you got adopted, I decided to open a Wayne Enterprises in Paris," Bruce said.
"Wait seriously? You guys will be spending more time in Paris?" Marinette asked, standing up quickly, her chair squeaking. "Thank you, Dad!"
"Yes but as you know we will still have to spend most of our time in Gotham," Bruce said.
"I know Dad, the Rogues like to attack the building a lot so you have to stay there to keep it running," Marinette sighed.
"Exactly, well goodnight Princess, I'm going to check into the hotel. I'll stop by here on the way to the airport to say goodbye," Bruce said, standing while he moved to grab his bag.
"My driver is here," Chloe said, taking her plate to the kitchen. "Bye Tom, Sabine. See you at school on Monday, Marinette."
The year ended, and her family came and visited over the summer. At the beginning of the new year, and as she was running late, she saved an elder man, who was attempting to cross the streets. She saved him and didn't drop the macaroons her papa made for her and the class. She bowed to the man, out of respect, and ran into class to see Chloe not sitting in her normal seat in the second row. Marinette shrugs and moves to sit next to her friend, before Ms. Bustier stopped her with a smile.
"This year there will be assigned seats, someone felt left out last year so we're trying to make it a bit fairer," Ms. Bustier explained.
"It's because... Sabrine complained that I got more than one friend," Chloe grumbled, crossing her arms.
"The person wished to remain anonymous," Ms. Bustier scolded. "Now that this is sorted, please take your seat beside Alya, the new girl in glasses."
"Ridiculous, utterly ridiculous," Chloe complained, glaring at the teacher.
"No it's only fair, we want to set a good example of how," Ms. Bustier paused, being interrupted by Ivan screaming. "Ivan! to the Office now!' Marinette shook her head, frowned, and took a seat next to the glasses-wearing girl.
The new girl leaned over and asked shocked. "You're actually friends with her? She seems like a brat, I think you need new friends."
"New friends are always welcome. Don't worry I thought the same when I first met her, but now I know that she is pretty awesome," Marinette said, taking out a notebook from her backpack along with her sketchbook.
"She seems to be mean though," the girl, Alya, said, skeptically.
"Well... give her a chance to change your mind. I'm Marinette by the way. It's nice to meet you," Marinette said, smiling. "I'm the previous co-class-representative." Alya was about to say something before being cut off by something, a rock being, burst through the door and wall. The monster took Mylene and Chloe before bashing through the window and wall. Alya stood up abruptly and rushed through the classroom wall towards the rock man.
"Where are you going?" Marinette shouted after the crazy girl.
"Where monsters are, heroes follow," She called over her shoulder. Marinette ran and jumped out the hole in the wall and chased to where she had seen Chloe.
Something was off-balance in her bag, she stopped and opened it to see a black oxygon box. She was suspicious of the box she skirted to the nearest alleyway. Not feeling anything too suspicious, she opened it. A glow formed and a sprite, fairy thing appeared in front of her. "Woah... that's so cool," Marinette cooed, holding out her hand for the thing to land on it.
"Hi! I'm Tikki, the goddess of creation and your kwami. Paris needs your help, you need to defeat the akumatizaed person," the thing, Tikki, said.
"So you're a kwami, but what's an akuma? How can I help?" Marinette asked.
"You're going to be the owner of the ladybug miraculous. You're going to be a hero!" Tikki exclaimed.
"Again you mean... I used to be a hero. Oh, man! I can't wait to rub this in Jason's face. He's salty that he doesn't have his own city to protect," Marinette said excitedly jumping. After a moment she paused and looked at the floating kwami. "I am by myself, right?"
"You'll have a partner, the owner of the black cat miraculous," Tikki explained while grabbing the earring to hand to Marinette. "You have to find the akumatized item, usually something that looks out of place, then you break the item and catch the butterfly. To help you defeat the akuma you need to use your power, lucky charm. After the butterfly is caught, you need to use Miraculous Ladybug to repair any damages. When you're ready to transform, you'll have to say, Tikki, Spots on."
"Ok... ok cool. I can do this, just like being Ladybird, but with enhancements?" Marinette asked, putting the earrings in. Tikki nods before Marinette shouts. "Tikki! Spots on!" She looks down at herself to see a similar design to her Ladybird costume. Her costume had a black armored torso, the collar was black, and gloves up to her elbow were dark red along with knee-high boots. The rest was a regular ladybug's pattern. She threw her yo-yo onto a nearby roof and pulled the string she flew across the sky and landed on a roof. She stood, smiling. while looking over Paris, that was until she got knocked over by, who she suspects, is her partner. He stands up and holds out his hand to help her stand.
"Sorry, I'm not used to- poling?- traveling across Paris on rooftops," her partner says, brushing himself before dropping into a bow.
"I'm Ladybug, I'm guessing you're my partner," Ladybug says, looking towards the tower. She starts spinning her yo-yo looking to throw it.
"I'm Chat Noir. Wait... how are you good at doing this, umm yo-yoing?" Chat asks, looking in disbelief.
"It's like a grappling hook, which I'm used to, and that's not too important right now. I'll explain later, we have an akuma to defeat," she says, throwing her yo-yo towards the tower, Chat following close after. They both land down on the street across from the tower. (A/N: So..... since Marinette used to be a hero she didn't mess up, Ivan also has the power to turn people into the rock beings. Enjoy my dudes)
"Give me back my daughter!" the mayor screamed into the megaphone.
"You want the brat back? Fine take her," Stone Heart shouted before tossing her.
"No! No! No! I'm too young to die..." She shrieked, flailing her arms. Ladybug breathed before sliding to catch her. "Marinette...?"
"I'll explain later," she said, quietly before putting her down.
Ivan threw up purple butterflies and a face appears as Ivans falls. "Citizens of Paris, I am Hawkmoth. I will stop this after the owners of the black cat and ladybug miraculous give up and give me their miraculous. Nothing further will happen," the butterfly miraculous owner, Hawkmoth, monologued.
Ladybug smirks before jumping up on to the platform, she grabs all the butterflies in her yo-yo. "I will whip your sorry--- I mean... I, personally, promise to destroy your hopes and dreams, you creepy old man," Ladybug threatened, putting her hands on her hips. "You will regret the day your parents made the mistake of having you."
"OOOOF! Kill em!" Chat said, clapping. Ladybird smirks, before catching all the butterflies. Stone Heart and his minions get up and attempt to take the miraculous by force. After their failed attempt, Ladybug caught the last butterfly. She then released all the butterflies, including the ones that made up Hawkmoth's face. she used miraculous ladybug as the white butterflies flutter away.
They went their separate ways and Marinette landed back at her house in her room and waited for Chloe to stop by so Marinette can explain everything so far.
"Marinette... I need to eat so I can be ready for the next Akuma attack," Tikki said, landing on Marinette's head.
"Ummmm... ok what do you need to eat?" Marinette asked.
"Cookies! Have you ever heard of them," Tikki asks?
"Of course I have... I live above a bakery," Marinette said, walking down the stairs. She collects some cookies from the cookie jar and looks for Tikki to give her the cookie. as her mom walks in.
"Hi honey, I'm so glad that you're ok... that was crazy," Sabine said.
"Ya! I can't believe it! I get to live in a city with heroes again, I can't wait to see what happens," Marinette exclaims kissing her mother's cheek before running upstairs. Not too long after a blonde head popped up through her hatch. "Hey Chloe, how y doing?"
"How. How am I doing!? Seriously! I get thrown off the Eiffel Tower and you're a superhero and that's all you can say?!” Chloe yells, falling on her chaise.
"Seriously keep it down... they don't know," Marinette says.
"But you look exactly the same," Chloe said, sitting up.
"Magic protect her," Tikki explained, flying out of her hiding place.
"Wha-- THe aCtuaL hEcK!" She screamed climbing on top of the chaise.
A muffled "Are you girls ok up there?" came from Sabine downstairs.
"We're fine Mama, we are watching a Youtuber who wants to be a chair, don't worry about," Marinette screamed back. "This is my kwami Tikki. She helps me become Ladybug."
"So you have a flying bug that makes you become a superhero. How long have you been a hero?" Chloe said.
"Since I was ten but as Ladybug only one day, I started today," Marinette explained. Chloe raised an eyebrow as she continued. "I haven't been able to tell you because of my dad's rules. But since you figured it out I don't think he will care too much."
"Wait, who were you?" Chloe asks.
"I was Ladybird with my family. We are the best and I can't wait to rub it in my brothers' faces," Marinette snickers, picking up her phone. "Do you mind if I make a call real quick."
"Of course not I have to be getting home soon," Chloe said, standing up. They hug before Chloe leaves. She picks up her phone and dials her brothers."Hey guys!"
"Seriously! There are villains there!" Jason screams.
"Yes there is a villain, there are also too new heroes," Marinette said. "Wait, how'd you know?"
"We keep tabs on Paris and get notified as soon as something big happens," Tim explains coming into frame.
"One of them looks suspiciously like you," Damina's voice came from out of frame.
"She had some similar moves to what I taught you," Dick says, pushing Jason out of frame.
"I'm also pretty sure that shares the same grappling skills as you," Damian said, stepping into frame.
"Well if you had let me talk, I would have told you I am Ladybug the hero of Paris," Marinette said, crossing her arms, pouting. "And you guys ruined it by figuring it out."
"You were quite obvious though," Damian said.
"You get to take care of your own city, HOW is that even fair," Jason complains, pushing Damian so he could be seen.
"Actually I have a partner, as you would have seen in the articles, Chat Noir," Marinette smiles.
"If he fails to protect you or hurts you in any way, I will make his death slow and very painful," Damian said.
"Don't worry about it from our short interaction and fight he could use some training but he's nice," Marinette explained.
"I gotta go," Damian said. He said before rushing off.
"Um... bye Dami, so how have you guys been," Marinette asked and the conversation flowed until she was called for dinner. The boys waved goodbye as she hung up only after she promised to keep them updated. Jason smirks and goes to find Damian.
"So... why'd you storm off?" Jason asks leaning on the gym wall the sound of Damian hitting the punching bag filling the gym.
"What do you mean?" he asks between punches.
"You stormed off after Marinette brought up her nice, blonde, skintight leather suit wearing partner," Jason smirks, the punching comes faster the sounds getting louder.
"It has nothing to do with that.... that wretch," Damian said.
"So when are you gonna admit that you like her," Jadon asks, crossing his arms across his chest.
"I won't," He pauses, standing up straight and grabs a towel. "because she's just a friend."
"Be careful," Jason says, pushing off the wall. He walks towards the door, opens it, and looks over his shoulder while saying. "or you will lose, it may not be today or tomorrow but you will lose her." As the door closes Jason hears the punching bag being hit again. Jason snickers and heads to the Bat Cave to look up Chat Noir.
The next day at school Marinette rushed into the courtyard to see Chloe. She hugged Chloe after they finished Marinette turned around as she heard a scream. A blonde bow holding a steaming cup of coffee tripped and fell, the coffee spilled all over the front of her. "Marinette, are you ok?" Chloe exclaimed.
"I'm so sorry!" the blonde screamed.
"Adrien! You're already causing trouble, just come home," a voice screamed after the blonde.
"Adrien! You made it! Come on let's go," Chloe said, grabbing Adrien and Marinette's hand. "I'm going to take her to the bathroom. go to the locker room find my locker, its number 286, and grab the spare clothes,"
"Ummm... ok, I'm sorry again. I'll be right back," he says before rushing off.
"That's your blonde friend you're always talking about," Marinette said as they entered the bathroom.
"Ya, you guys will be great friends," Chloe said, looking in the mirror as Marinette entered the stall.
"First great impression, being burned and all. It's going to be great because it looks like he's clumsier than me," Marinette said, throwing the soiled shirt on top of the stall door. A knock echoed throughout the bathroom. "Umm Chloe, I got the clothes."
"Hold on," She says opening the door and instructs while taking the clothes. "Stay there we'll be out before class." Chloe handed Marinette the clothes. It was I white tank halter top, paired with a high waisted light blue that matched Chloe's icy blue eyes, along with black heels.
"You ready to go?" Marinette asks exiting the stall.
"Nope, not yet. You can't wear that outfit with your hair in pigtails, I'm sorry it just can be done," Chloe said, stealing her hair ties.
"Chloe!" Marinette said, looking into the mirror then smirked. "I look good. Ok, let's go. We don't want to be late."
Another knock came from as they were about to leave. "Guys the bell is going to ring soon." He finishes as they push the door open. "Uhhhhh... hi... hi I'm Adrien," he stutters out as they enter the locker room.
"HI I'm Marin--" Marinette started as the bell rung interrupted her. She grabbed both the blonde's hands and ran to close pulling them both close behind. "Sorry, Ms. Bustier that we're late... um.... we were showing the new student around."
"Yes?" Chloe agreed sitting down beside Sabrina in the front.
"Adrien, sit in front of Marinette," Ms. Bustier says, pointing to the empty seat next to Nino. As he sat down the Nino introduced himself. "Hey, I'm Nino your new seat partner." Then held out a fist.
"Cool, I'm Adrien, I'm super psyched to start school, ya know being homeschooled all my life," Adrien said, bumping Nino's out held fist.
"Everyone is pretty chill here, you'll make friends fast," Nino said.
"I know, I'm already friends with Chloe and Mar-Marinette," he stutters out.
"Marinette is a great person," Nino smiles. "Chloe, she is a lot better than she use to be."
"She has, I'm pretty sure that it's because of Ma-Marinette," Adrien said with a smile. The class continued without a hitch and soon came lunch. "Hey Chloe, what are you doing for lunch?"
"Well I usually go over to Marinette's house for lunch," Chloe explained, looking back at the class, waiting for Marinette to emerge from the classroom. She had been asked to stay after class for a minute.
"Hey, guys," Marinette greets. "I'm Marinette, it's nice to finally meet you,"
"Ma-Marinette, hi," Adrien said.
"So you want to come to lunch with us?" Marinette asks, walking towards the stairs.
"That would be awesome!" Adrien said, following behind.
"So that woman this morning, is she your mother?" Marinette asks.
"No... um, my mother is gone," Adrien faltered.
"Oh... I'm sorry I didn't realize," Marinette sympathizes. "So this is my house. Mama! Papa! I'm home! I brought Chloe and Adrien."
"Hi honey, how was your day? What happened to your clothes?" Sabine asks, coming from the back.
"Adrien tripped and spilled his coffee onto me," Marinette explained, hugging Sabine.
"Lunch is upstairs," Sabine says. "Tom is upstairs as well and needs opinions on a new recipe."
"Your parents are bakers, can they adopt me?" Adrien asks his mouth agape.
"You're not allowed to eat sweets?" Marinette asks, opening the door and dropping her bag.
"Wait... you don't know who I/he am/is?" Chloe and Adrien exclaim at the same time.
"Am I suppose? All I know is that you're Chloe's childhood friend," Marinette explains, grabbing plates from the cabinet.
"So much for a future fashion designer," Chloe sighs, grabbing utensils.
"What do you mean?" Marinette asks, placing a place on the table. "Papa! Lunch!"
"Coming Mari," he shouts back.
"I'm a model," Adrien explains, taking a seat.
"Your point is, I don't pay too much attention to the models, just the clothes," Marinette explains, pulling the cheddar broccoli crepes out of the fridge.
"But I'm Adrien Agreste, son of Gabriel Agreste. Surely you've heard of me," Adrien asks, fidgeting.
"Of course I've heard the name, I'm just not too good at putting names to faces," Marinette says serving the food.
"Hi sweetie, Chloe. Who's your friend?" Tom asks, grabbing cups from the cabinet and the pitcher of water from the fridge.
"This is Adrien, he's new to the school," Marinette explains, pouring the water.
"Marinette, Bruce called a bit earlier, he's asking about you coming back for Thanksgiving again," Tom said, slicing his food.
"Already? It's only September? But I can't wait to go home again, I miss them," Marinette says, smiling.
"You saw last month," Chloe deadpans.
"And am I not allowed to miss them?" Marinette asks, raising an eyebrow.
"Miss who?" Adrien asks, taking a bite.
"Not important at the moment," Marinette answers, quickly as her phone begins to ring and she smiles. "Speak of the Demon. Sorry guys gotta take this back in a minute." She then walks across the living room before switching to English. "Hi, Dami."
"Father told me that he talked to Tom about you coming home for Thanksgiving," Damian states.
"Yes, and as I just told Tom, I would love to come home for the holidays. I miss you guys, ya know?" Marinette says, placing her free hand on her elbow.
"We miss you too, why do you think Father opened the Wayne Enterprises there?" Damian asks.
"You guys love me as much as I love you," Marinette smiles.
"Ummm Marinette! We're going to be getting back to school," Adrien shouts before Damian could respond.
"Who's that?" Damian asks his voice sounding tenser than normal.
"Oh that's my new friend Adrien," Marinette responds before looking at the clock. "Well, can you call me after your school ends?"
"I would love to talk more," Damian said.
"Damian! Time to leave, you can call Pixie-Pop later," Jason's voice came.
"Tell them I said hi and that I miss them," Marinette said. "Love you Dami, Bye." She finishes and heads back to the table. Her father was handing out mint and dark chocolate macaroons. "Papa, Sab-- Mama said you were making a new recipe, haven't you made these before?"
"Yes and no, they're the same flavors, but the cookies are mint this time instead of dark chocolate," Tom explains as Marinette takes one.
"The flavors are a lot more even. Bye Papa, see you after school," she waves with Adrien and Chloe following her.
"Sooooo, how was Demon?" Chloe snickers.
"He's happy, well as happy as he can be, that I'm coming home next month," Marinette explains.
"Who is 'Demon'?" Adrien asks as the walk up the stairs.
"Her boyfriend," Chloe teases, elbowing Marinette in the ribs.
"He's not my boyfriend, he's just a friend," Marinette denies. "Well he is my best friend, yes Chloe is on the same level though, and he's my food friend."
"Where does he live?" Adrien asks. They're now back in the classroom and he's turned to face her. (In this world Chloe sits on the inside/left seat/ the one on the aisle.)
"He lives in Gotham, shhh class is starting," Marinette says, quickly. She's thankful that conversation is over. She just met Adrien and she doesn't need him to know everything.
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Tag list:
@northernbluetongue @chocolatecatstheron @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @gwennex @abrx2002 @sonif50 @silvergold-swirl @sturchling @rosep16 @toodaloo-kangaroo @captainmac6 @crazylittlemunchkin @tired-butterfly @emo-elaine13 @book-lover-2006
#maribat#batfam#damian x marinette#lila salt#marinette x damian#alya salt#damian wayne#marinette x batfam#ml salt fic#wifiwrites
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Czech Republic brings their language back to Rotterdam 2021
youtube
Reviews coming in a little too into rehearsal period? Honestly don’t care, I’m happy I have caught on with quite the speed right now (only to lose it soon after I guess), because the last two actually came out on two days in a row, hah! Up next is Czech Republic to be talked about, let’s go.
ARTIST & ENTRY INFO
Joining the trend of Czech-Men-Surprisingly-Looking-Like-How-They-Are-In-Their-30s, here comes one Ben da Silva Cristóvão (aka Ben Cristovao, aka Benny Cristo), and his Angolan father explains why is his original surname so funkily Portuguese. Mans went to the finals of the Czechoslovakian version of Pop Idol in the same year Czech Republic finished with 0 in the semifinal and ended their Eurovision career for a brief moment in time (thanks for the fact linkage, Euromovidas). Since then he has quite significantly exploded in their music scene, releasing material after material, performing as a supporting act to Mr. Worldwide himself, and doing all kinds of concerts back in the day. Most of his material is in Czech, so like for TIX, Eurovision is an opportunity for him to present himself better in English, somehow.
As his Eurovision entry, “Omaga”, is MOSTLY in English. Until the miracle strikes and you hear two lines in Czech - that is right, Czech Republic having lines in Czech on their entry is a miracle in the regard that we last heard Czech Republic sing in Czech on their very debut in 2007, when the entire song was in that language. It did not give them fruitful results, but that’s not language’s fault. Now say what you will about 2021 having had that potential to kill languages that we have heard in 2020 (Slovenian, Amharic...), but 2021 is quite the greater kind of thing in that regard that we have, because of Czech Republic and the entry I’ll write a writeup for next, Denmark.
"Omaga” is a clubby-ish pop song with guitar influences, something that Benny himself has never really done before stylistically, because from his repertoir, he does kinda have something somewhat laidback and toned down more than those upbeat energetic kinda stuffs, but if that is not usually his style, then he has got to be a master of many styles, lol. Lyrics are about a man wanting to woo some girl who is tired of his stupid things but she really makes him happy and he is stunned by her beauty so much he can’t help but go “omaga” “oh my God” at her constantly. Benny did that one thing about “Kemama” to “Omaga”, which is simplifying an otherwise already easy-ish phrase into a somewhat made up but catchy word (in “Kemama”’s case it was something along the lines of “OK mama”), but does that matter in the end? It’s the music that does, in this case.
REVIEW
And in this case the music is reeeeeaaaaally THAT good.
It’s an instant turn on, if not from the lowkey minuscule-tropical beginning, then it gets going from the verses on, which features some insane catchy bass chops(?) and engaging fast singing from Benny.
I also love how differently does he sing the second and third choruses from the first one, like, he goes higher on some words (“happy you’re here” and “beautiful”), and the post-chorus chorus?? The repetition of “oooooh-my-GOOOOD, oh my Gooood” is just working me the right way?????
And the Czech lines are pure magic. Whenever I hear them, my mood is made, the time feels like it freezes, I just feel smitten by the fact that it exists. Now will it be the first entry with Czech lyrics to make it? I dunno, you decide, and I trust you, even if foolishly.
I don’t know what is it with these lyrics and what was it with “Kemama”, but it’s one of those songs dying to be turned into a dance sensation, like, a song viral on TikTok thanks to a dance challenge. You can make so many simplistic moves to whatever he’s singing.
Also the music video is pretty fantastic. Full of movie references I both recognize on spot, and don’t! For instance, this is also a movie reference, and also I’ve seen this piece of music video clip material as a ČT exclusive backstage preview of whatever they were filming for Benny.
this is very relatable. whole world IS crazy
Literally quite a lot of things in the song are perfect, and so are about the rest of my top 5, maybe even top 6. Switzerland has a great second pre-chorus among many moments, Malta has a perfect combination of the chaos within itself, San Marino is a fantastic pop song with a cool little feature verse, Italy has THAT bridge, Lithuania has the unexpected good vibes. Czech Republic is just perfect for me for the most part, without a specific moment, because there are a lot of specific moments. Good vibes all around.
Though at first I thought he was singing “you’ve been hung too long, I’ve been hung too long” (it’s “home” instead in these words). *-* doesn’t help that the “why don’t you let me have it” line sounds like Benny’s asking for sexual favours that are constantly rejected against his favour. Go simp somewhere else :P
Approval factor: SAY YES SAY YES SAY YES (- Ben & Tan)
Follow-up factor: Stellar! ČT had to give up their future televised NF project due to drop outs of their previous HoD for 2020, but even then, his good pals are making sure that Czech still retain a really good maintained interest in Eurovision with their songs and all. And they gave up the NF itself to have Benny Cristo to participate for the second year in a row, with an internal song, and all is fine and dandy. “Kemama” and “Omaga” are two kickass songs in a row.
Qualification factor: I really want to be optimistic about the chances of this guy. I really do. I just really want to shrug off the deadpan reactions from the press center that he was constantly getting. But what if there is no hope, and his rather lackluster looking performances are what we getting live. The visuals don’t please me a lot, with the wide shots towards the arena and not much more focus on Benny, and I would absolutely hope he’s gonna do well vocally... but... I was at first really sure he would, because he’s energetic and electrifying. Now? Might be swallowed over the competition + hopeless-ish acts performing way better than him on the night + he’s on 3rd, and while Manizha will escape that, Benny could get sadly torpedoed. Hope it’s not the case :(
INTERNAL CORNER
There were some nice moments to talk about, but they’re mostly few and far in between, BUT there was this one livestream that stood out to me in a weird way - ESCZ, the thing that is in charge of Czech Republic’s Eurovision ordeals ever since like 2018, had an Instagram livestream with Benny to talk about his Eurovision related details, that among 3 songs shortlisted they’ve chosen one, that some sort of a preview will allow a singles only early peek into the entry, and so on.
There’s also this, which made me think that Omaga’s certainly qualifying.
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Just... wow. And the last higher notes he’ll certainly attempt to pull off in Rotterdam as seen in rehearsals, so I cross my fingers nothing goes awry with that.
ANY LAST WORDS?
Please Eurovision Gods, for the love of Verka and Conchita and whoever else, GIVE THIS SONG A QUALIFICATION. During the season the Czech Republic managed to slide into my top 3 and take that 3rd place spot from San Marino (yeah San Marino in my top 3 who’d’ve thought??), and that alone tells me that it is such a good song, and one of those that would seriously break me if I lost it in the semis. Please. Don’t let Benny flop. He doesn’t deserve that. Not even an ounce of that.
Or else he’ll come to haunt your nightmares after the night of the semi like this
#eurovision#eurovision 2021#rotterdam 2021 reviews#czech republic#Ben da Silva Cristóvão#benny cristo#omaga
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Wicked Game {Part 2}
~Professor Hiddleston AU~
*Tom Hiddleston x reader*
Part: 2/30
Words: 4k
Warnings: Professor x student (college AU), little language
Summary: After transferring to a new university for the last year of your master's, you meet Professor Hiddleston and soon find yourself unable to stay away from him.
A.N.: I really suck at summaries, I'm so sorry 😅 this is a slow burn romance with lots of pining 💗 this chapter is sweet but a little painful, sorry not sorry 😁 but you're gonna love the next chapter so stay tuned!!!
[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]
All Parts can be found on my Masterlist!
______________________________
Your alarm blared loudly, making you groan and hit the snooze button. It was too early and too cold outside of your bed, especially after the long night you'd had… So you just lay under the warm covers and thought about the day ahead. Today, you'd see Hiddleston again and you were determined to not be caught off guard by him once more. After all, you didn't even know if he was worth swooning over and all you could tell was that he looked like a god and was nicer than an angel. Wow, that thought didn't help at all.
After another fifteen minutes filled with scrolling through various apps, you finally felt ready to tackle the day and got out of bed with a long sigh. You were in dire need of coffee and made a mental note to stop by the small coffee shop you had noticed yesterday on your way to class. For now, your first problem was that you didn't really know what to wear to class today. Usually questions like that didn't bother you much and you just wore whatever was decent enough, but today you felt like making an effort. You were trying to convince yourself that it wasn't because of Hiddleston, though.
After you had finally settled for black skinny jeans, a dark green wool pullover and boots with semi-high block heels, you added some dainty golden jewelry and already felt like you looked a lot nicer than ninety percent of the rest of the year.
As you went to pack your bag, you realized that you still hadn't found your keys. Sighing you put on some music and dug through your whole room, without any results. The damn keychain was gone and you sat down on your squeaking bed in despair. You'd had such high hopes for your last year and for the new college… but at the moment, everything was going pear shaped. It was getting quite late and you still wanted to get some coffee, so you packed your books and supplies into a leather backpack (mindful to not repeat yesterday's mistake of bringing a broken satchel that wouldn't close), then wrapped a big scarf around yourself and made your way to the metro.
The ride wasn't too long, just enough time for you to get out your headphones and listen to a few songs. In no time you reached your station and made your way towards the coffee shop you'd seen yesterday. It was on a quiet corner a little off campus and to your surprise not all that many students were inside. Must be because of the Starbucks that was right on campus… You didn't mind Starbucks, but preferred good coffee over status symbols.
You ordered your favorite beverage in as large as possible (yes, it was necessary) and waited patiently for your order while quietly singing along to the song you were listening to. When the customer before you received his order, the minimalist logo on the cup caught your attention. Wasn't that the same kind of cup Hiddleston had kept in his office yesterday? That's when an idea struck you, an idea both stupid and very much necessary after making such a fool of yourself. You'd bring him coffee as a thank you for being so nice.
"Excuse me…" You turned to the girl behind the counter. "Uhm… is there any chance you'd remember the tall man with the incredible blue eyes who was here yesterday morning?"
"Kinda curly hair, glasses, handsome as fuck?" She chuckled.
"That's him." You smiled back. "Do you still remember what he ordered?"
"Uhm, yeah, I think so." She thought for a moment. "Must've been a large filter coffee with a tiny dash of milk, no sweetener but a teaspoon of cocoa. He was very precise about that."
"Then please add that to my order." You said and let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. It was set, you'd bring the man in question coffee. Maybe that was inappropriate, but if you could build a good (and professional) relationship with him, maybe he would be willing to supervise your thesis at the end of the year. You'd worked so long for those degrees and he seemed like a good fit since he was an expert in both fields of your study. For now, that was a good enough justification for your behavior.
A moment later you picked up your order and slowly made your way to class. This time around you knew how to read the weird room number on your schedule: first the tower, then the floor, then the corridor and finally the actual room number. That truly was one disadvantage of a bigger university… too many rooms! Making your way towards your room, you continued to silently sing along to your music in an attempt to ignore the people around you until you reached your destination.
The room was open but yet empty, so you made your way to the second row (first would've been too… weird, after yesterday), set down the coffees and your bag and finally sat down yourself. There were still ten minutes to go until your class would start, so you closed your eyes and enjoyed the music for a while.
"You can sing really well." His voice made your eyes snap open in an instant and you had the immediate feeling of a dejavu. You hadn't even realized that you had been singing along loudly, but obviously you had, and just embarrassed yourself in front of your professor once again.
"Mr. Hiddleston!" You shrieked, stopping the music and putting away your phone and headphones. "I didn't notice you coming… Sorry."
"It's alright." He smiled as he set his bag down at the front. "Have you considered joining the university's choir? I mean it's none of my business, but I'm sure they would welcome a great voice such as yours."
You blushed furiously, and he also seemed to be taken aback a little by his words. For a moment, the whole room was silent.
"Uhm…" You remembered the coffee and rose to your feet, taking the cup and slowly walking towards the front. "I… I brought you coffee. As a thank you for yesterday. You really saved my ass with those room numbers…"
His eyes widened slightly as he slowly reached out to take the cup from you. Then, for a short moment, he just stared at you in disbelief and you felt your heart sink to the floor and even lower. It had been a bad idea after all, stupid even, how could you have thought…
"That's very thoughtful of you, but not at all necessary." He finally said in a kind voice, breaking your downward spiral of thoughts. "I'm just glad I could help." Then he smiled once more as if nothing had happened.
"I just thought you'd appreciate it." You smiled slightly and went to sit back down.
"I do." He muttered quietly as he took a sip, frowning once more once he tasted his signature mix. The irritation and surprise in his face made you smile a little too widely and you would've paid quite a bit to see it again.
"How…?" He laughed, pointing at the cup and then at you.
"I'm good at guessing." You shrugged and couldn't help but smirk at him. However as he rose an eyebrow at you in amusement and pushed his glasses up, you laughed out loud.
"I asked the barista in the coffee shop. I noticed how you had their cup on your desk yesterday, and that gave me the idea in the first place." You admitted, shaking your head to yourself.
"Very clever, Miss L/n…" He mused, taking another sip with an expression of pure bliss and you followed the example.
"I hope you'll say the same after class." You chuckled, getting your books out of your backpack and hoping that your heart rate would slow down soon. But his voice was like honey: once you'd enjoyed its sweet sound, you were bound to be drawn in and kept within it's comfort again and again.
Mr. Hiddleston walked back to his table at the front and also grabbed his materials from his bag, preparing for the class ahead. Meanwhile a bunch of other students filed into the room, taking their seats around you. A girl with green hair and quite a few piercings sat down next to you, throwing a judging look at you.
"I'm Sky." She said simply, waiting for a response.
"Y/n." You smiled at her without any judgement, which she obviously didn't expect.
"You… you're new here, right?" She asked, now a lot friendlier.
"Do I look that lost?" You chuckled, thankful for the distraction from staring at Hiddleston.
"No, but I've never seen you around. What's your major?"
"I'm doing a double degree in cultural studies and literature." You sighed. "It's my last year."
"Wow…" Sky said, clicking her pen a few times. "Because of him?" She pointed to the front where Mr. Hiddleston stood, flipping through a fancy green journal that instantly caught your interest. However you remembered the conversation you were having and shook your head a little too eagerly.
"No!" Your voice sounded an octave too high. "I… I don't even know him. I…. I've been in this degree for two years already, and this is only my second day at this school and…"
"Woah, calm down!" Sky laughed. "I was just kidding!"
You let out a shaky breath and tried to smile. "Not funny…"
"Well, but funny is that everyone is crushing on him." She mentioned around the room. "That's why his classes are always completely crowded. He's a darn good teacher, but pretty demanding."
"Good to know." You sighed. "What's your degree?"
"Literature." She shrugged. "Only one degree, two more years to go. I'm not that much of an overachiever."
You snorted, shaking your head at her comment. "I'm aiming for a career in academics. One gotta stand out to get there, you know…"
"Oh geez, Hiddleston will love you then…" She chuckled.
"So, you've taken his classes before?" You assumed, looking at your new acquaintance with sincere interest.
Sky opened her mouth to answer, but Mr. Hiddleston interrupted your conversation to start the class.
"Hello everyone. I'm Professor Thomas Hiddleston and this is my lecture about advanced literature analysis in context of hermeneutic theory. Today, we're going to handle things a bit differently than you'd expect. We start straight with the first topic, formalities will be covered at the end of class." He announced, glancing at you for just a short moment. You looked down at your notebook with a small smile, happy at the prospect of actually learning something. Sky on the other hand looked at Mr. Hiddleston, then at you with an amused smirk, before focusing on her own notes.
The rest of the lecture went by without any further interruptions and you focused solemnly on your studies. Most of the things that were covered today you had already read the night before and thus you could focus on learning the small details he was giving. When the lecture was over and everyone had asked their questions and collected their syllabi, you tried to resist the temptation of staying behind to talk to your professor. You wanted to tell him how much you enjoyed the class and how interesting the topic had been, but you also knew that it would leave the wrong impression. The last thing you wanted was to annoy him and he probably didn't want to talk to you anyway. You'd already had your daily dose of awkwardness when you had bought him coffee.
So you quickly packed up and walked towards the door where Sky was waiting to grab lunch with you.
"Miss L/n!" Mr. Hiddleston called after you, pushing his way through a crowd of female student who wanted to talk to him very desperately.
You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, pulling yourself together to not become a blushing mess once again.
"Miss L/n…" He said as he stepped closer to you, so close in fact that you could faintly smell his cologne. "I found your keys. In, uhm… in my office… last night." He fished them out of his pocket as unsuspiciously as possible and placed them in your hand. When his fingers brushed against yours, as lightly as a feather, you could practically see him jump and shudder, but he quickly regained his composure and put on a fake smile. The small action made your heart drop a little, but you chose to ignore it. If he was so uncomfortable with you, even at this minimal and accidental touch, you would do him the favor and stay away from him outside of class.
"Wow, thank you! I was so worried I'd lost them." You said and then smiled at him encouragingly. "This class was amazing. Thank you, professor." With a small nod you closed your hand around your keys and took a few steps backwards, before turning around and heading for the door.
"What was THAT about?" Sky smirked as you walked down the hallway together.
"He just gave me my keys back." You rolled your eyes. "I forgot them at his office yesterday."
Now Sky straight-out stared at you with utter amusement until you realized how what you had just said must sound.
"Gosh, that came out so wrong." You sighed and hid your face in your hands. Sky laughed and led you to the cafeteria for lunch, while you told her about your encounter with Hiddleston from the previous day.
"He really brought you all the way to your room? In the E tower?" She asked while chewing on a bunch of fries. "That's kinda cute."
"It's not!" You complained, stealing one of her fries. "He had to teach a class in the same tower anyway."
Sky laughed, shaking her head. "Did he tell you that?"
"Yeah, I told him he didn't have to and he said it's fine, he'd have to go there anyway." You shrugged, sipping on your water.
"Such a liar!" She grinned. "The E tower is for foreign languages, he's got nothing to do there."
You felt your skin heat up for a short moment, but even when it faded, the tingles remained. "Well, maybe he was just trying to be friendly. Or his class was moved to a different room. Who knows. Isn't he always nice to his students?"
Sky shrugged. "He's one of the nicest people on campus, that's true. Except for… well, that won't happen to you anyway."
"Tell me!" You inquired. "Except for what?"
"Well, he gets really into his studies and the topics and stuff… and when students disrespect him or act like asses he can lash out pretty badly."
"And… does that happen often?"
"Nah, don't worry about it. It usually only hits people who really deserve it." She waved it off and you nodded.
"So… you're not crushing on him then?" You asked after a few minutes.
"Hell no!" She laughed out loud. "I'm not into… well, anything actually. I'm very happy on my own. Are you? Crushing on him, I mean?"
You breathed deeply and frowned. "I don't think so… I mean he's nice and stuff, but he's being nice to everyone and it didn't mean anything that he showed me to my room. And most importantly: I don't even know him really!"
"Very true…" She nodded. "And he's a professor after all… if he's interested in anyone, it'll probably be someone who's on the same level as him, like, cognitively and academically and stuff…"
You nodded and finished your sandwich, not even hungry anymore. The feeling of being absolutely ridiculous had taken over your body and you were in desperate need for some alone time to get your messed up emotions sorted out. And you were granted just that, as Sky excused herself for she had a class in five minutes. With a tired sigh you took another look at your schedule and then headed to the library to do some more reading on today's topics.
The rest of the day you spent studying, passing time up to your evening class. For some reason it was way more difficult to focus in this class, let alone to enjoy the topic, as you had already taken pretty much the same class at your old college. But the class was a requirement here and you were determined to do well in it despite the inevitable boredom. So when you got some homework at the end, you headed straight back to the library. It was already eight in the evening and campus was pretty deserted, except for the poor souls such as yourself who happened to have night classes. The assignment was easy, horribly easy even, and you had double- and triple-checked your work by nine thirty and handed it in per email at shortly before ten. Finally done for the day, you raced to the metro to head home (the last train left shortly after ten and you weren't going to walk that damn long way home at night), where the inevitable noises of your roommate's friends made you want to cry. Oh, how desperately you wanted to move out… but yet, you hadn't found a better place to live and honestly, you couldn't really afford any of the fancy apartments around.
When you were in the safety of your room, the day finally caught up with you and you felt dead tired, ready to sleep for a very long time.
Three weeks went by like this: you worked your ass off, every day and every night, in an attempt to distract yourself from your thoughts about your professor. In class, you had gotten so far ahead that you could answer every single one of his questions, sometimes before he even asked them. Sky remained your only friend at uni, but she knew better than to try talking to you about Mr. Hiddleston. She noticed however that after the day he had given you your keys back, he avoided talking to you, or even looking at you if it wasn't for the sole purpose of having his questions answered in class. And you had to admit, it broke you. The more you tried to be good enough, to prove your worth in class, the more he pulled back. It wasn't like he was straight out ignoring you, but after the day you had brought him coffee (which, in your eyes, had gone really well and he had seemed genuinely happy) he had still been very friendly to you, but in a forced, fake way and he was distant if possible. In one of the rare moments when you had caught him off guard in the hallway, his eyes had been a blazing storm, deeply torn and full of questions. When he had looked away, you'd known that whatever you had done wrong, it wasn't easy to be made up, if it was to be made up at all. At least he was still giving you (well deserved) top grades in all your assignments, and as long as that stayed this way you would stay away from him and try to study as hard as possible. However at the beginning of the fourth week, when you were unable to fall asleep on Monday night, you had to admit that you had been lying to yourself. Every time you had gotten the chance, you had heavily insisted that you had absolutely no feelings for and no interest in Thomas Hiddleston. But lying was getting too difficult, it was too exhausting to pretend anymore. So on Monday night, you decided that you would be honest about it, if only to yourself: you were desperately falling for him. Of course you knew that it was wrong and stupid and utterly hopeless, but you'd let yourself dream that in some other world, he could maybe be yours.
_______________
Tom had always thought that the biggest problem in his career would be a student unhappy with their grade, or maybe one of those horrible plays the faculty made their professors do every few years.
But as it turned out, his biggest problem liked to drink coffee in class and to stay at the uni's library until closing time.
The day he had found you sitting all alone in the classroom, singing along to Zombie, he had been more than determined to treat you like everyone else. But when he had heard your lovely voice, singing a song he adored, he just couldn't help but comment on it. And that's when things had started to get really difficult for him. You had brought him coffee, his favorite kind from his favorite coffee shop… of course you didn't have any ulterior motives behind that, but he had been momentarily stunned by the kind gesture. It was really uncommon, sure, but he'd appreciated it so very much… more than he should have. For that day's lecture he had noticed how his eyes had darted back to you whenever possible, and he had felt horrible about it. If it hadn't been for your keys, he would gladly have gotten some distance between you and him. And then your hands touched… and he was gone, lost in the desire to be closer to you. You had complimented his teaching, then left quickly. Oh, he had felt so stupid after that, especially when the usual bunch of female students had tackled him and followed him all the way back to his office.
During the three next weeks he had tried once again to force you out of his brain, but you made things very difficult for him. The things you knew, your brilliant opinions and ideas… he didn't even have to ask, you could always tell what he would be saying next. And if he would've let himself, he would've spent the entirety of class only talking to you. However he feared that the two of you had slipped into rather the contrary of what he wanted so badly: you stayed away from him as much as possible if not to answer a question, hardly even looking at him. And he had known it was for the better if he stayed away from you as well. He had felt creepy and wrong for wanting to be near you, and surely it would only get him in a lot of trouble if he acted on this… whatever it was.
The worst thing was that he didn't even know anything about you and he had absolutely no reason to even feel the way he did… but that's just what it was about, he WANTED to get to know you, as more than just another student. And the fact that almost every girl was practically chasing him while you did everything to stay out of his way was probably a good thing too. He didn't know if he could deal with another direct encounter with you, outside of class… he didn't know if he could keep himself from doing something stupid. Like asking you out, to grab a coffee with him. Or to help him grade the first-year assignments. Though the first idea would be more fun.
For now, on a stormy Monday night, he sat in his apartment, drinking a double Jameson on ice and asking himself if he would lose his interest in you if only he didn't act on it. After his fourth whisky he came to the lasting conclusion that he wouldn't do either: he won't allow himself to act on it, but he would allow himself to dream.
_______________
Tags:
@just-the-hiddles
@its-remy-not-ratatouille
@inmyworstlies
@lotus-eyedindiangoddess
@foodthatsgoodforyoursoul
@jessalynjones1989
@dark-night-sky-99
@hiddles-lobotomy
@shockwavee
@laudylovesyou
@maze-lt101
@cupcakeangelness
@fairlightswiftly
@lys-syl
@ordinarygirlfromasmalltown
@pinkzz123
@spookycatqueen
@wegingerangelica
@exygon
@izzy10718
@jenna-sakura
@kinghiddlestonanddixon
Everyone who's crosses out, Tumblr wouldn't let me tag! I'm very sorry about that...
If you'd like to be added to the tag list comment down below 💗✨💚
#tom hiddleston x reader#professor tom#professor hiddleston#professor loki#tom hiddleston imagine#tom hiddleston fanfiction#tom hiddleston#tom hiddleston x you#tom hiddleston x y/n#loki of asgard#loki fanfic#loki odinson#loki#loki (marvel)#loki imagine#loki series#loki fluff#wicked game
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In All Things 6/?
Mr. Gold/BelleFrench, Explicit (eventually)
Summary: A Rumbelle arranged marriage AU.
Chapter Summary: Astrid arrives, Belle gets a tour of the house, and spends some more time with Bae.
Notes: Ugh this chapter sucks, I'm sorry. It didn't go where I wanted it to. For the 31 Days prompt #4: dress. t.
[AO3]
Previous: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]
Astrid arrived the next day, just before afternoon tea.
Belle momentarily forgot what had been troubling her in the midst of her delight at seeing her maid and friend again. It felt as if part of the world had righted itself for a while, and she busied herself helping Astrid get settled in a room on the east wing. Ms. Potts seemed equally pleased by the new arrival, and wasted no time in showing Astrid around the house, including the kitchen and back stairs the servants used to slip in and out of where they were needed.
Astrid, for her part, was a nervous wreck, nearly knocking over a vase on the way passed the music room, and slipping on the steps down to the root cellar. Belle couldn’t stop smiling as she finally got a full tour of Thornhill, though she doubted she’d be able to remember her way from the gallery to the formal dining room any time soon. The library, however, was already permanently etched in her mind.
The sound she made when Ms. Potts opened the double doors made Astrid giggle, and Ms. Potts looked over her shoulder knowingly.
“This is the main library,” she explained to Astrid, marching across the room to open a row of curtains and let in some light.
The walls of the library were floor to ceiling shelves with ladders set on rails as was the custom in most estates and manors, but these were larger and wider than Belle had seen before. They seemed more like a full set of stairs than a ladder, and she caught herself imagining how easy it would be to climb all the way up and fetch the books on the highest levels. The windows Ms. Potts revealed looked out onto the side yard where a large willow tree loomed over a pond. The windows themselves were wide and set in a semi-circle which created large ledge that was covered with cushions.
Belle’s eyes went wide and she immediately went over to it and brushed her hands over the plush, soft pillows. It was the perfect place to sit and read when it was too cold or wet to be outside in the garden.
“You said this was the main library?” Astrid asked. “Are there...others?”
“There’s a small book room upstairs near Lady Belle’s chambers,” Ms. Potts replied, fussing with the candles on the fireplace mantle because they weren’t lined up properly. “It used to be a bedroom, but m’Lord had the shelves added shortly before m’Lady arrived.”
Belle startled a bit at that and felt her face flush. Somehow knowing that Gold had put the shelves in so close to their wedding made her think that he had done it specifically for her, and she wondered how he knew she liked to read so much. Had he spoken with her father or one of her acquaintances? He had seemed curious about her reading habits when they’d run into each other in the library at Avonlea, but not entirely surprised. The thought that he’d done it because she might like it, because it would make her feel more at home, only made his behavior yesterday more confusing. Someone who would be that thoughtful towards a woman he had never met before the moment they married, couldn’t possibly be the same person who would yell at a friend so harshly.
Astrid grinned at Belle. “Your own book room?”
She shook of her thoughts and nodded to Astrid. “I haven’t begun to fill it yet. All the books I brought with me are in my bedroom.”
“I doubt that’ll ever change,” Astrid said playfully. “But one of the trunks I brought with me is full of even more books.”
Belle squealed in pleasure and pulled Astrid into a hug, twirling her around on the rug in the middle of the room. Ms. Potts rolled her eyes, but she was smiling all the same as she lead them out of the room.
Belle left Astrid to unpack her things, and retreated to her bedroom.
Two trunks had been delivered while she was traipsing around Thornhill, following Ms. Potts. The smaller of the two was the one Astrid spoke of, and was filled with four stacks of books from the library at Avonlea. She sorted through them briefly, and saw that Astrid had brought most of her favorites as well as a few mythology and history books. Though the library here seemed more than well stocked, she wondered if Bae might like to use them in his lessons or perhaps read through them with her. She liked the stories about the old gods, about the magic that they say used to bind the world together and the creatures that time had forgotten.
The second trunk was more of her clothes, but as she laid her things out on her bed, she began to frown. She hadn’t purchased new things in a while, not since she learned of the financial troubles her father was in, and as a result a lot of her dresses and skirts had started to tatter and fade. The colors weren’t as bold as they once were and the hems were tinged from dragging through the dirt and grass as she walked the gardens. She was a bit afraid to ask, but she thought perhaps Gold would allow her to buy a few new things soon. The solstice was coming and if they were going to attend any celebrations or have one of their own, a new gown would be in order. She remembered his letter mentioning that Bae’s birthday was just before that as well.
Perhaps there would be other occasions as well, there was a ballroom downstairs after all, and a large formal dining room. It had been ages since she’d been at an event or a ball. The last was Ariel’s wedding, and that was nearly two years ago now. She couldn’t picture Gold as the type to want to socialize, but then again he was often at the king’s court, or so she had heard. It would be something to broach with him later, after she’d settled her mind a bit more.
It was at least an hour until supper, so Belle decided to try out the desk in the lounge across the hall from her bedroom and write her father a letter. He would want to know that she was alright, that she was safe and settled, and that Astrid had arrived as well. The light from the southwest facing windows was wonderful at this time of day, and she found herself feeling a bit more content as she pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and uncapped the inkwell.
The light scrape of the pen was soothing as was the familiar motions of her hand as she wrote out Papa in large, scrolling letters are the top. She paused and smiled, pleased to recall that Bae had called Gold the same thing when he’d come into the drawing room during breakfast. It was a small thing, but still something they had in common, that made her feel just a little bit of a connection to the boy.
She wrote that she was well, that Astrid was well, and that they were both getting settled. She told him of the lovely gardens and urged him not to worry, that she would write more soon. Her hand paused on its way to dip the pen again, and she worried her bottom lip. Instinct told her to add that she would come to visit, but she didn’t know for sure that she would.
Leaving Avonlea had seemed so final that the thought of going back left her uncertain. If she did would she ever want to leave again? Would it be harder the second time? What about the third or fourth? Would Gold want to come with her? Sighing, she quickly added her name at the bottom with the perfunctory ‘your loving daughter’ closing. There would be time to discuss visiting Avonlea later.
Just as Belle was folding the letter to seal, there was a knock against the open door. She turned and saw Bae standing there, a book in his hand, and smiled.
“Hello there.”
He stepped into the room cautiously, as if he wasn’t sure he was invited.
“It’s okay, you can come in,” she said, slipping the letter into the drawer of the desk. “If I wanted to keep people out, I would shut the door.”
He gave her a small smile and came closer. “I thought maybe you’d want to read another chapter with me? Jefferson says I should try to finish it by the end of the week because Grace is already done.”
He huffed a little at the end, and Belle thought he seemed a little sad. “Grace?”
“Jefferson’s daughter,” Bae explained, shuffling over to the small sofa. “He gives us both lessons, but she’s smarter than I am and always getting ahead of me.”
“I’d be happy to read some more with you,” Belle said, moving to join him on the lounge. “And don’t worry about being slower than someone else. Everyone goes at their own pace. What matters is that you take your time and learn.”
Bae seemed to think on that for a moment, and then nodded as he opened the book.
Gold limped down the corridor, leaning more heavily on his cane than usual.
His leg was killing him today, as it often did after too much travel. Though his carriage was fairly large, sitting in one place for too long and not moving made the muscles tight, and it would take another day or so of hot baths and Jefferson’s special tea to get back to normal. The sound of laughter made him smile in spite of his aches, and he moved towards it.
The door to Belle’s drawing room was open, and he knocked on the door frame as he stepped into the space. Bae was sitting at the writing desk and Belle was bent over him, watching whatever it was that he was doing. She looked up, smiling, and he couldn’t help but smile back. Her eyes seemed to sparkle, and with the glow of the setting sun beaming in through the windows at her back, it looked like she was light itself, pushing into all the dark corners.
“You didn’t tell me you were the father of a master artist,” she said. Bae glanced up at her, his smile soft and crooked.
Gold came over to the desk and looked down from the other side. Bae had drawn the head of a horse in the middle of the page in black ink, presumably from Belle’s pen. It was quite good for a ten year old, with the mane flowing out behind it as if the beast was in a full gallop.
“It’s supposed to be my horse, Cassidy,” the boy explained. “But the nose isn’t right.”
He frowned, and Belle tsked. “It looks just fine to me.”
“Indeed,” agreed Gold, exchanging a small look with Belle over his son’s head. “I think it looks just like him.”
Bae didn’t seem convinced and shrugged. “It’s not, but thanks.” He moved to crumple up the paper, but Belle stopped him.
“Oh, please don’t do that, it’s lovely!” She slid the paper off the desk and held it in her fingertips. “Would you allow me to keep it? There’s a couple of empty books in my little library, we could start a portfolio.”
Bae scrunched up his face. “What’s a port - portfolio?”
“It’s what all good artists keep their work in so they can show other people.”
He seemed very pleased with that and smiled. “Sure! Can I help you put it in?”
She put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a small squeeze. “Of course. Come it’s just across the hall.”
Gold felt the same feeling as he had the night before as he watched them walk together to Belle’s book room. Seeing them getting along and even bonding was more than he could have hoped for so soon. Bae hadn’t been very accepting of his plans to marry, and he’d been afraid that the inevitable strife of the early days might harm their future relationship. Of course, he shouldn’t have worried. Belle was a dear, sweet woman that one couldn’t help but find charming. And it certainly didn’t hurt that she was alarmingly pretty, especially when she was so close that he could see the little flecks of gold in the center of her eyes.
He swallowed and straightened, rather abruptly, and tightened his fingers around the handle of his cane as the sudden shifting of his weight made his calf cramp.
Belle turned, frowning. “Are you alright?”
Gold forced a tight smile and nodded. “Yes, I was just, uh, just going to get something in my room.”
He made to leave, but stopped just outside in the hallway. “Would you, um, would you want to join us for dinner this evening?”
“Oh, I think I -”
“Yes, please, Belle?” Bae interrupted. “We could read more of my book after.”
She smiled at Bae, and then looked up to meet Gold’s eyes. Her expression was strange, and Gold got the sense that she wanted to decline, but didn’t want to hurt his son’s feelings. He mentally kicked himself, and was about to come up with an excuse to help her out of it, when she turned to Bae and smiled.
“Of course I would.”
Gold blinked and then nodded. “Yes, um, yes good. We usually eat at six.”
Belle met his gaze again, and he could see her shoulders shifting, tensing, and the bob of her throat as she swallowed. “Good.”
#rumbelle#rumbelle fic#belle x mr. gold#in all things#fic#my rumbelle fic#31 days of fandomas#fandomas 2019
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NSFW Alphabet - Infelix
These are all personal opinions of mine. Of course, others might see it differently, but I hope you all enjoy the read no matter what!
(Re-post! The original got removed because I had an actual sex gif in here, so now there’s just a link!) @foxgivenblank originally collaborated with me on this and was the biggest help in getting this together! <3
A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)
Infelix is incredibly responsible for his partner. He instills amazing aftercare, ensuring they’re cleaned up, hydrated, and calmed. He doesn’t necessarily cuddle or get sickly sweet; He leaves it with some kisses once he’s sure they are not lost down the rabbit hole of subspace.
B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
He’s not vain in any sense, so he prefers a practical part of his body; hands. Infelix is extremely crafty and loves to work with his hands, as well as enjoys the things his hands can do to his lover.
His favorite body part of his partner correlates perfectly with his love for his hands. He’ll never get over just how utterly well his capable fingers fit around your throat, how he can feel your life force under his palm- how human you are compared to him. The blank canvas of skin is the absolutely perfect place for him to mark you with love bites, as well as place the collar that leaves no question in mind; you belong to him.
C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)
Since you are his, he claims you in the most intimate way possible. He wants you filled with his cum, where it can’t be wiped away or cleaned off.
D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
Infelix is nearly obsessed with giving oral to his partner. He gets the deepest satisfaction from controlling your pleasure and being the one to make you squirm and scream. It also gives you the perfect leverage to pull his hair, which only serves to drive him more insane.
E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)
He is the oldest of all the egos, by both invading his host first and also being the oldest demon. He’s been around for centuries. He’s had many, many experiences under his belt to hone his craft. He is skilled and proud of it.
F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)
InfelixFavoritePositionGif
G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)
Infelix is an intense lover. He might tease, but it's done in such a way that it just adds to the controlling airs about him, with a low rumbling growl right in your ear.
H = Hair (How well-groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)
When Infelix inhabited Felix’s form, it naturally stressed out his body, and in reaction, the hair on his head turned a white blonde. The roots stay a natural light brown, as does all the rest of his hair. He is just as in control of his appearance as every other aspect of his life, and thus keeps his beard and pubic hair trimmed.
I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)
Infelix is dedicated and passionate. You’re made acutely aware of his emotions for you and the depth of his feelings during sex by just how ardently he pleases you. He’s not emotive or extremely affectionate, but he shows his care in other ways.
J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)
He refuses to jack off since he has you, and will always use his partner to obtain his pleasure.
K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)
Domination/Submission, quite obviously, is his biggest. He needs absolute control of his lover, even if that means coercing it out of them.
Marking up his lover is another big kink for him, especially placing love bites on their throat and leaving behind abrasions from his beard on the most sensitive places.
Choking and breath play. He’s very careful and controlled when your life is in his hands, with all his years of practice, and he knows just how to push you to the edge without going too far.
He has a collar for his lover as well. It causes emotions similar to pride to bubble up when he sees his claim laid so boldly on your throat.
To him, you are his pet, just as he is your master to you. “Sir” or “master” is met in return with ‘good pet’. He’s also been known to dabble in positive degradation; terms such as good slut are common when he’s keeping you on the edge or when he’s acknowledging how well you take him.
With his incredible stamina, he’s able to go many rounds in a row, which leads to much more cum than normal. Over time, he’s developed a liking to seeing how much cum his lover can hold, stuffing them full until it’s dripping from their holes as another claim.
He has an obsession with oral sex, controlling your pleasure, and even edging you so you’re begging for him to finally end it. Having you shaking at his mercy flames his fires something fierce.
Toys are an occasional treat for you both. He’s got handcuffs, a remote-controlled vibrator, and even a crop for when he wants to treat or punish you.
L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)
He’s quite open to most places, as long as there’s a semi-comfortable place whether it be a bed or table, but you should always be aware. He’s fond of catching you off guard in places you wouldn’t expect, both to give the element of surprise and as a reminder of just how much hold he has over you whenever he wishes.
M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)
Infelix just loves when you call him sir or master, and being good for him and proving your submission sets him off in the best ways. Just showing off your recent bite marks or collar has him ready to claim you again. There are also times he enjoys battling you into submission; when you’re being flippant or just not thinking of the repercussions of your actions, he’s more than happy to remind you just why he is your master.
When already in the middle of sex, pulling his hair and biting or scratching him are sure ways to amp up his intensity. Sure, he would never allow you to use as much force as he does, but the light sting is as alluring to him as the pain of his bite is to you.
N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)
Slow sex, or lovemaking. He reserves the only bit of sweetness for important moments such as aftercare, and even then it’s doled out only as needed.
O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)
Infelix has the tongue of a devil. He’s incredibly skilled in giving oral and absolutely loves it. He loves getting it as well because then he can use you, choke you with his cock, and feed you his cum.
P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? Etc.)
He is always fast and rough. Slow and sensual makes simply turns him off. He’d rather show his passion through fucking your brains into mush.
Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)
He prefers proper sex, but quickies are fun for him because he uses them to tease you. Get you all riled up, fuck you so hard it hurts, and leave you with his cum leaking out as soon as he finishes; the only explanation you get, if he gives one, is that he wants you aching for him, needing him.
R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)
Risk is the name of Infelix’s game. He doesn’t necessarily experiment because he’s fully in control of everything he does, but there’s always the slight risk that something could go wrong.
S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)
Infelix pretty much has endless stamina. He can go for as many rounds as he would like. He can fill your mouth first, then turn right around and fill your other holes in the same session. This ends in cum stuffing to an extreme when he’s in the mood.
T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)
He owns quite a few toys to use on his partner, including a crop and handcuffs when the occasion calls for them. He’s also keen to tease you with a remote-controlled vibrator, often sneaking it off and on when you’re in public together and enjoying the reactions that you can’t control.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
Infelix is an incredible tease. From edging you and keeping you just on the brink of orgasm, to fucking you only for his pleasure, he’s always got the upper hand.
V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)
He’s not shy to let you know just how good you make him feel. Your noises and screams turn him on, and he knows he does the same to you. His growls, grunts, moans, and groans go unchecked and unfiltered.
W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)
Although he is completely possessive of you, he’s thrilled with the idea of sharing you on his terms; Quite possibly with Anti since he’s no doubt willing to bend to Infelix’s demands. He directs everything from right beside you, how to touch you, how long to fuck you, but the ultimate rule remains no matter what: they may not cum in or on you, and you may not cum from them. You’re to save that for when Infelix takes over. No one is allowed that pleasure other than himself.
X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)
Whether it’s from his demonic energy or just natural growth, Infelix is on the large side of the spectrum. Topping about eight inches when fully excited and thicker around than average, he fills his lover almost more than they can handle. He curves up just enough to hit every sweet spot you could beg for.
Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)
He has an incredibly high sex drive, but it doesn’t control him. He can ignore it even when he has the urge.
Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterward)
Infelix doesn’t need sleep. He will, however, stay on the bed with you, with some space, until you fall asleep. He knows his presence is comforting, as he exudes protection and safety.
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