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#eight years of songs. fucking wild.
freckleslikestars · 2 years
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One of my dad’s hidden talents is knowing all the words to Rapper’s Delight
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huramuna · 2 months
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downpour - oneshot.
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modern aegon ii targaryen x nanny reader minors dni, you will be smited.
this is for @targaryen-dynasty sleepover challenge 🤭 i got the babysitter au + the prompt 'why so shy?' i had so much fun with this, modern aegon is a menace and also a sopping wet cat.
word count: 4.5k
content: smutty smut smut (specifics under cut), aegon being a little shit (we love it), saltburn spoilers (lol), allusions to drug / alcohol abuse and rehabilitation, mullet aegon, jaehaera and jaehaerys are hel's kids but they have an unnamed / unrelated father, gratuitous use of song lyrics, probably a touch of power imbalance because of her job
murder on the dance floor - sophie ellis-bexter
warnings: oral (m receiving), face slapping w/ cock, degradation, dirty talk (this man never shuts up), face fucking / deepthroat, cum on face
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“Jaehaerys! Jaehaera! Please don’t run in the house with muddy boots!” you called fervently, trying to collapse the umbrella with one hand, two teddy bears slung in the other. 
“We won’t!” they both called in unison, followed by the unmistakable sound of muddy galoshes squeaking over the marble floor. You suppressed the urge to groan as you entered the exquisite home through the french doors that led to the backyard. 
“Boots off, little ones!” you called again, kicking off your own shoes in a haste to catch the gremlins before they tracked grime all over madam Alicent’s home. You had been working at the Targaryen estate for the better part of a year as a live-in nanny for Lady Alicent’s two grandchildren– twins, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. It was a wonderful job for the most part, as the twins were a delight and you had grown to have a strong friendship with their mother, Helaena. She was a bit dreamy-eyed and wistful, but was a wonderful mother nonetheless, even if she did have her melancholic days. 
The estate was huge and ancient, passed down from generations through Helaena’s father’s side, which was apparently a near royal bloodline from days long foregone. Viserys Targaryen, the father in question, was hardly ever home. He managed the family business (whatever it may be, you didn’t find it in you to ask– all you knew is that they were dirty rich) with his other daughter, Rhaenyra, from his first marriage. He had four children with Alicent, Helaena being the only one of the brood to still live at home.
 You’d met two of the others as well; Aemond, a lawyer in the family business who was, in short, all business and no play. He never regarded you, really, besides a quick glance or stiff nod. He had, however, slipped you a eight-thousand dollar bonus at Christmas time with a simple card that read;
Thank you for taking care of the twins and my sister. And keeping my mother sane.
- A.T
The other sibling, Daeron, was the youngest of the bunch, visited usually during holidays, as he constantly was studying abroad. ‘Sowing his wild oats’, as Helaena had put it. He was cordial to you and very much had a boyish charm, and Helaena loved to joke that he had a crush on you. When he had come home for New Year’s, he brought you a souvenir from Iceland, an authentic lopapeysa sweater, made from wool and sewn with a beautiful geometric design. 
“Awh, Daeron wants you to stay warm, lovey,” Helaena teased. 
“I-It’s just– her hands are always so cold, a-and the wool is supposed to help keep warm! The inner layer is insulating.” Daeron had stammered, the tips of his ears growing red. 
“Uncle Daeron has a brush!” Jaehaera squeaked, her words whistling through her tooth gap, she’d lost her first baby tooth just the week before.
“A crush, he’s got a crush!” Jaehaerys corrected softly. 
Alicent thought the whole thing very amusing.
That left one child you hadn’t met. You didn’t know much about him aside from small bits of conversation you’d picked up on between the rest of the family. Aegon. The eldest of all of them, and apparently the troublemaker of the bunch. You knew what he looked like from the portraits– blonde hair like the rest but with severely more bags under his eyes. Upon entering the home, one would see the chronological order of family portraits. 
It starts with Viserys, Alicent, and baby Aegon; the latter of whom is happy and chubby and bubbly. 
Then, it moves to the three of them, plus baby Helaena, with her wide blue-eyed stare at the camera. Aegon is still happy.
The next one adds the addition of baby Aemond– there is a glint of sentience in Aegon’s eyes, but he hasn’t experienced the crushing blows of reality yet.
You weren’t exactly sure, but as he got older, he became more morose– more bags, less light in his eyes. Then came the ear piercings, the tattoos, the head shaving, the bloodshot in the whites of his eyes. The portraits ended with this past year’s Christmas photo. Aegon was noticeably missing from it. You’d heard during one of Alicent’s phone conversations with her father that Aegon was in rehabilitation for a myriad of issues, and looking at his photos, you could only guess which one was the straw that broke the camel’s back. 
A particularly harsh clap of thunder broke you from your thoughts, coming back to yourself. You scooped up Jaehaera before she stepped on the carpet with the muddy shoes. “C’mon, let's get cleaned up for lunch, yeah? What do we want for lunch today, lovies?” 
“Grilled cheese n’ tomato soup.”
“No! I want mac n’ cheese.” 
The squabbling ensued, the twins arguing back and forth for a few moments before you butt in. “Alright, how about– whoever gets the floor the cleanest and puts their galoshes by the washroom the fastest gets to pick?” 
The twins squealed in delight as they absconded from your sight, effectively going to do your bidding for you. You would, however, just end up making both meals anyway. As you moved to the kitchen, the sound of the doorbell rang. You bustled to the door, not sure who to expect– there weren’t many roving visitors in and out of the estate unless Alicent was explicitly expecting company– which you had triple checked the calendar when you woke up that morning.
You opened the door, expecting to see a debutante or someone of Alicent’s social circle– ‘twas not the case. You recognized him immediately, seeing his mother’s face in his own. Aegon. He was muddy, dirt flecks splashed on his face as he stood under the stoop trying to get away from the pouring rain. His face was a bit healthier than you’d seen it, the dark circles were still there, but not as prominent. It was like a gloomy day, rather than a full blown storm under his eyes. He had the wisps of a beard starting on his jawline, and his hair was cut into a makeshift mullet, longer in the back.
“Who the fuck are you?” he asked, hands in his pockets. 
“Erm– the… the nanny. For the children.” you stammered, his tone catching you off guard. You glanced behind him, seeing a beat up dirt bike caked in mud– that was probably how he got here. 
“A nanny? You’re a bit young for that, yeah? My nanny’s were all wrinkly old prunes.” 
“Oh– uhm, come in, Mr. Targaryen.” 
He perked a brow at the name, but didn’t say anything. He beat the bottom of his boots on the doormat, which didn’t accomplish much. He immediately began to track mud on the floor. “Mum home? Hel?” 
“Lady Alicent is… upstairs,” you offered, following behind him at a quick pace. “Helaena is taking a nap– the storm–” 
“Yeah, I know ‘bout Hel’s issues with storms. Don’t need to tell me twice. So, you got a name, or are you just the nanny?” 
You gave him your name as you glanced at the clock– it was almost time for the children’s lunch and you hadn’t even put it on the stove yet! 
“Got any food around here? Fuckin’ famished.” he added then as he nosed around the kitchen, hands still in his pockets. 
“I’m just about to make lunch for the twins– uhm, I can make you something too if you’d like.” you walked past him, quickly putting some pots on the stove and starting the gas. You and the twins were on a strict schedule, and if they didn’t get their lunch on time, they would turn into hellions. 
“Sure. Whatever the kids are having. I’m not picky.” Aegon waved his hand behind his head as he disappeared from the kitchen and clomped up the stairs, likely to speak with his mother. You fretted for Alicent’s mental state once that was done, and you felt even guiltier for not giving her a heads up.
As the tomato soup heated on the stove and the water began to boil for the macaroni, you unlocked your phone– you were curious about Aegon and why he’d come back, exactly. Well, of course, besides the fact that he lived here (or did, at some point) he was still supposed to be in rehab for another three months. You went to instagram, rolling your eyes as you saw that his profile was on ‘suggested for you to follow!’ 
You clicked to his most recent photo, the first that he’d posted in over a year.
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“Jesus christ,” you muttered under your breath as you put down your phone on the counter to stir the soup. 
“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain,” Aegon teased behind you. When the fuck had he gotten there? “Soup n’ mac and cheese?”
“Tomato soup and grilled cheese for Jaehaera, mac and cheese for Jaehaerys.” you responded plainly, trying not to notice that he was practically breathing down your neck. You glanced over as he leaned on the counter, where you had left your phone. Unlocked. Like an idiot. On his instagram page.
“Curious about me, are you? I’m surprised you haven’t heard enough about me from my mum.” 
“I don’t like to pry into Lady Alicent’s affairs–” 
“I wouldn’t consider myself an affair, more like a one time fling, eh?” Aegon snorted, grabbing your phone. It took every fiber of your being to not break all sense of decorum you held to snatch it back from him. “You’re not following me– let’s change that,” he mused, beginning to scroll through your page now. “Lots of pictures of the kids here– ooh, a trip to the seaside. There’s no pictures of you on here, eh? Only of… my family n’ other stupid shit, like the ocean.” 
“I’m a live-in nanny, sir,” you grit out, stirring the soup with more force than necessary. You consider yourself a patient person, and have become accustomed to how people in the Targaryen’s circle made their jabs. High society and filthy rich people had their own language of insults– ones that you wouldn’t realize they were insulting you until much, much later. It was like a game with a slow burning poison. But Aegon, apparently, was different. There was nothing meticulous about his jabs, no filter, no slow burning poison. It was all punch and sting, like a bite from a rabid dog rather than a viper. “I usually attend family trips.”
“Live-in, huh?” he drawled, his arm leaning over the counter in such a laissez-faire manner that you could feel yourself scowling. “Don’t get much action then, I take it? Let’s see if there’s any nudie judies on here, then…” 
“N-no!” you broke then, all sense of manners flying out of your body as you struggled to take back your phone.
“Why so shy? Got something on here you don’t want me to see?” he staved you off, a hand planted firmly on your shoulder as he scrolled through your photos, making all sorts of gaudy faces. You didn’t really have anything overtly scandalous, maybe a few lingerie shots for an old boyfriend.
“Aegon, leave her alone. Give her back her phone.” Alicent’s voice cut through the room like a knife, stunning both of you.
He sheepishly gave you back your phone as she crooked a finger to her son, ushering him to a room on the farther side of the house. 
As you fed the twins their lunch, you overheard some yelling, arguing and heated voices. You only saw Aegon later when going to your room to get ready for bed. His eyes were teary and red. 
— 
The next few weeks went by with some normalcy— everything was as usual, except it was like you had a third child to care for; Aegon. Except this child didn’t listen at all and had terrible habits. He was constantly flirting with you, but also would weave in jabs at the same time— you couldn’t quite tell if he even liked you or not. Not that it mattered, anyway.
You were sneaking in your own lunch one afternoon, eating scraps from the twin’s lunch while they napped— basically just the crust you cut off of the grilled cheese and the small bit of soup left in the pot. 
“You eat like a mouse.” Aegon said, always managing to be there to annoy you. 
“Too much food makes me tired— I won’t be able to keep up with them if I’m sluggish.” 
“Could always drink a red bull or a monster, instead.” he offered, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it in the kitchen. 
“You shouldn’t do that inside. It’s bad for the children’s lungs. Lady Alicent says—,” 
“Well, it’s my fuckin’ house too, innit? I can smoke in here if I well and bloody like,” he growled, exhaling a puff of smoke into your face. “My mum must be paying you extra to be my nanny too, then? The way you’re up my ass all the time.” he flicked ash in your direction. 
You crossed your arms tightly over your chest. He was goading you, baiting you into a reaction. He was being insufferable on purpose. You could tell by his pearly white smile he currently had plastered to his face, like a smug little— 
“Never had a nanny so pretty, though,” he continued. “If I asked real nice, would you feed me soup? Dress me up? Give me a bath if I’m real dirty?” he got closer and you could smell him— the smell of marlboro reds and cheap aftershave that had become synonymous with Aegon blew out your senses until it was all consuming.
Your mouth parted as you tried to think of some witty response, some barb, some jab— but nothing came out. You just huffed and turned away from him in an attempt to hide your red cheeks. Why were you blushing? 
You could practically hear the cockiness ooze from him, his mouth perked into a cheeky smile as he stole one of the crusts. He knew he’d gotten to you. 
It’d now been over a month since Aegon moved back home and the building tension between you two hadn’t let up a bit— you constantly felt trapped and elated all at once. When you saw him, your chest fluttered slightly in anxiety and anticipation. What was wrong with you? 
It was a dark, gloomy day. The seasonal storms were in full swing, pelting the estate in rain and hail. Alicent, Helaena, and the twins were out on an escapade to Alicent’s father’s house— you guessed Aegon hadn’t gone. But, it was a huge house, so surely you could enjoy some of your time off without seeing him? 
A rumble of thunder shook the house, rattling its constitution— and then the lights flickered. Flickered… flickered… then… out. It was dark, then, even with your window shades open. You turned on your phone flashlight and tiptoed out of your room, going to see if perhaps you could smack the backup generator into working. 
You hadn’t expected to work today, nor see anyone, as Alicent had given you the day off. So, you were subsequently dressed in your pajamas— a hilariously oversized Bass Pro Shop shirt (a gift from your dad in America) and cat-patterned sleeping shorts. Your toes cracked and creeped on the floorboards with each movement, and to your chagrin, as you passed Aegon’s door, it opened. He was wearing a shirt that said “MILF: Man I love Fishing”, with just his boxer briefs on, which didn’t seem to bother him at all. 
“Oh. You’re still here.” 
“Yes?” 
“Sorry, thought you were gone with the rest. Sad, I can’t do the Saltburn thing now.” 
“The… what?” 
“The Saltburn thing? Dance around the empty mansion to myself with my cock out.” 
“What.” you responded with the most deadpan tone.
“Dance… with my cock out?” he repeated.
“No– I know what you said– but why?” 
“Why not?” 
You rolled your eyes, shifting the conversation. “So, the power is out– uhm, do you know where the backup generator is?” 
“In the wine cellar. Nifty, huh?” 
“... the… wine cellar. I can’t say I’ve been down there yet.”
“I know it like the back of my hand, c’mon then. I’m sure I can kick the old gen in the nads and get it to work.” Aegon said with surprising confidence, turning on his phone’s flashlight and half blinding you. 
You followed behind him, to which he hummed ‘Murder on the Dancefloor’ while doing a half-assed dance, apparently from some movie that was definitely something you hadn’t watched– you don’t remember the last time you watched a movie that wasn’t geared towards the twins. 
“So basically… he had the whole mansion to himself, and then he dances through it with his cock out, hanging massive brain, y’know? It's murder on the dance floor, you better not kill the groove,” he imitates the dance, sprawling his arms out in the doorway to the wine cellar and shaking his bottom a bit, which was, admittedly, nicely fit in his snug boxer briefs. You felt a strange heat flush to your cheeks.
“And this… is a… what? Comedy?” 
“Well, categorically no– I’m not a film aficionado. I guess it could be considered a psychological thriller, but I thought it was pretty funny,” he stopped before continuing into the cellar. “It gets pretty hairy in here, so stick close, okay? Ever seen The Conjuring?” 
“... yes, actually. Horror movies are kind of my favorite.” 
“Ah, a girl after my own heart,” he mused. “Well, think of the basement in that movie, but instead of a bunch of old useless shit, it’s a bunch of old wine.”
“And… instead of ghosts?” 
“Oh, there’s definitely ghosts.” 
“... what.” 
“Yeah, estate is haunted. You haven’t noticed?” 
“Shut up.” you murmured. You were a huge fan of horror movies while simultaneously being a huge chicken shit when it came to scary things– you were prone to hiding your face before the big jumpscare or running up the stairs from the kitchen when it was dark, just in case something was chasing you– and your feet had to be covered by the blanket at all times when sleeping.
“Aww, you scared?” Aegon teased, turning to you.
“I mean– ghosts are scary. Of course!” you offered sheepishly, pulling up the collar of your oversized shirt to cover your nose and mouth in an almost hiding manner– a nervous habit of yours. 
“I’ll keep you safe, love, no worries about that.” 
“... that’s what they always say, right? Then they totally leave behind their girlfriends to get stabbed by the killer or… eaten by the monster.”
“You my girlfriend now?” he asked, that stupidly annoying and somehow charming smug energy exuding off of him in waves. 
“Shut up.” you grumbled as you both approached the generator. It was covered in dust and hadn’t been touched or tended to in a long time, it looked like. “Do… you know what you’re doing?” you asked Aegon tentatively, watching as he inspected it.
“Me? Oh, fuck no. I never know what I’m doing, honestly,” he shrugged, giving the metal box a kick and haphazardly pressing some buttons. “No dice, sweetheart. ‘Spose you’ll have to dance in the dark with me for a bit longer, huh? But, if there's a ghost, you'll be... ghost food, or whatever.” 
You pinched your brow in annoyance. “I don’t understand you.” 
“What’s there to understand? I’m a pretty open book, you know.”
“No– you aren’t. You flirt with me but also… insult me? I don’t get it.”
“It’s called teasing– picking? Picking on? Getting the goat?” 
“What? So, like a little boy pulling a girl’s pigtails on the playground because he likes her? That makes absolutely no sense, Aegon.” 
“If you spend your time trying to find a reason for it, you’ll go insane. Why not just enjoy the point of it? I like you.” he breathed, suddenly very close to you. He set his phone aside on top of the generator, flashlight up. It illuminated the walls of wine and cast shadows of cobwebs and dust all around the both of you.
“What?” 
“Are you deaf– I. Like. You.” he repeated, his knees bumping yours as you were practically glued together, your back now against the ancient stone wall.
Your lips parted as you inhaled a breath– okay, you weren’t exactly expecting him to say that, or even like you at all– you figured the flirting was all hot air, a defense mechanism, something for fun, not… real. Your heart was pounding in your chest and you became all too aware of the fact that you hadn’t been touched since you got this job, maybe even before that– and your previous boyfriends never made you feel… flustered like this. You couldn’t form words as he, uncharacteristically cautiously, put his hand on your cheek. He was so close, so close– his body heat mingled with your inherent coldness and warmed you instantly. You weren’t sure what came over you, but you leaned forward, slotting your lips against his. What the actual fuck were you doing– you were kissing your boss’ son, her notoriously bad mannered, foul mouthed, sloven slob of a son, and you liked it. Your hand instantly went to the back of his head, fingers grazing through his choppy curls– even giving them an experimental tug, which he seemed to enjoy, by the indication of something poking you in your thigh. 
His lips moved against yours like a dance, and you couldn’t get the fucking song he was singing earlier out of your head– It’s murder on the dancefloor– you grasped at his hip, it was fleshy and pleasant, the tips of your finger slipping under the elastic of his briefs– But you better not kill the groove– his hands were exploring, too, under your stupid Bass Pro shop shirt, groping at your breasts with reckless abandon – If you think you're getting away, I will prove you wrong – the heat rose in your body until you couldn’t take it any longer, the two of you were practically eating each other alive in this dank, dusty cellar and it was undoubtedly the hottest experience of your life – I'll take you all the way, boy, just come along – your lips parted for a moment, still connected by a string of saliva, bridging the gap between the two of you – Hear me when I say, hey –
“On your knees for me, love?” he asked, his voice suddenly so deep and husky, his thumb skimming over your collarbone. 
You fell to your knees for him so quickly– how pathetic. He wriggled down his briefs, already leaking at the fat tip of his cock. He wasn’t overly long, but he was girthy, like a beer can. Your eyes widened, which he must’ve noticed, as his face was plastered with a shit-eating grin. Your mind immediately went to an image of a so-called ‘American delicacy’ (your father’s words, not yours) called Beer can chicken, in which a can of beer is shoved in the ass end of a chicken and grilled. It is apparently as delicious as it is horrifying. Your throat bobbed as you surveyed it, a tentative hand around the base. He shook his head, prying your hand from him.
“Nope, mouth only. Open up, be a good girl.” Aegon muttered, looking down at you, the light of his phone flashlight illuminating him from below– he looked like a God. Or maybe a devil. 
Your mouth parted as his hand guided you forward. You wholly expected him to nestle in your mouth, but he surprised you with a slap to your face with his cock. It didn’t hurt, just caused you to yelp in surprise. He smeared some of the pre-come across your cheek, then slapped the head of his length on your waiting tongue. It was somewhat degrading, what he was doing– but it lit a goddamn fire under your ass, the neurons of depravity in your body, wherever they may lie, were alight with each nasty little gesture Aegon gave you, before he finally slid home. It stretched out your mouth, prodding at the back of your throat. 
“What would everyone else think, hm? If they knew you were such a fuckin’ slut.” he growled, gathering your hair in his fist like it owed him money, beginning to fuck himself into your mouth, careful to pay attention to your body language to make sure he wasn’t working you over too much. He made sure to be extra careful with his toys, rather than break them.
Tears welled, spilling down your face as you let him use you, degrade you– and yet, he also praised you.
“–such a good girl for me–”
“–you can take a little more, there you go–”
“–prettiest throat I’ve ever fucked–”
You felt like you were on fire, set ablaze by arousal you’d never experienced before– was this what they sang songs about? Dirty, borderline pornographic songs but the point still stood.
You had to chalk it up to the barometric pressure of the storm, right? Aegon wasn’t your type— your type was… well-adjusted, non-addicts, non-bad boy, non-troublemakers. Aegon was the antithesis of what you were into. 
And yet— you were into him. You were into him in a pathetic, pitiful way. It made you cringe to think about but you couldn’t resist his puppy dog eyes, nor could you forget the way he was whimpering— fucking whimpering! You squeezed your thighs together slightly at the sound of it, at the blurry-eyed, teary sight of him looking down at you on your knees, eyes half lidded. 
He pulled out with a particularly throaty grunt, painting your face in his unnaturally warm seed, somehow careful enough not to get it in your eyes– small mercies. Your lungs inflated with oxygen once more as you caught your breath, trying to gather yourself. You felt the swathe of cloth over your face as Aegon cleaned you up with his ‘MILF: Man I Love Fishing’ shirt, which he had apparently taken off. 
“You good?”
You nodded slowly as he helped you to your feet, brushing off your knees with the clean part of his shirt. 
“Um– so,” he still held onto you, as if he was afraid you’d run away. “Do you want to watch a movie with me later, when the power is back on? Like, actually watch it– I won’t fuck your face, I promise.” 
“... are you asking me on a date?”
“Umm… yeah. I think.”
“Maybe we could watch Saltburn?” you offered with a shrug.
“Your mum texted me,” you whispered. “The bridge is temporarily washed out from the storm, they won’t be back ‘til tomorrow.”
“Do you know what that means?” Aegon said, suddenly giddy. You both had just finished watching Saltburn, and you finally understood what the ‘Saltburn thing’ was. 
“You know your mum has like ten security cameras set up around the house, right?” 
“Okay… and?”
“I’m not dancing naked in the hallway, Aegon.” 
“How about just in my room? Please?” 
You gave a sigh, beginning to take your clothes off.
“Siri, play ‘Murder on the Dancefloor’ by Sophie Ellis-Bextor.”
‘Okay. Now playing ‘Murder on the Dancefloor’ by Sophie Ellis-Bextor, as featured in Saltburn.’
It's murder on the dancefloor!
But you better not kill the groove, hey-hey, hey-hey!
It's murder on the dancefloor.
But you better not steal the moves.
DJ, gonna burn this goddamn house right down.
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mixtape-racha · 8 months
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YAYYYYYY 100 followersssss :) im so happy for youuuuu :)))))
okay, here is my request... hehe, im suchhh a sucker for hurt comfort and I loveeee fem 9th member au's. but like not smut or like fwb, just like a really juicy story y'know? I haven't been able to find any of those two categories combined tho, especially into like a longer fic, like it's always in the hundreds (I would love it if it was a little longer, no pressure tho :). literally, anything works, from some kinda mess up on stage to maybe you messing up a relationship w a member??? idk. I'm letting ur thoughts run wild here... THANK YOU AND CONGRATSSSS
(im sorry im really vague in requests lol)
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YAYYYY THO IM LIKE REALLYYYY PROUD OF YOU<<<3333 LOV U BB KEEP DOING WHAT YOU DOOOO
thank you so much my lovely bae!! ilysm and i hope i did this request justice!! i kind of went off on a tangent and got carried away with the plot waaa &lt;3
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sorry seems to be the hardest word
pairing: ot8 x fem!9th member!reader
warnings: angst, hurt comfort, reader snapping at the members, reader being physically unwell, fluff at the end
words: 2.29k
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everything was going wrong today, and you truly meant every. fucking. thing.
somehow, you had managed to turn your alarm off the night before (probably because you fell asleep while on your phone, accidentally calling your mom in you sleep in the process), and none of the guys took the initiative to wake you up when they got up.
okay, sure, you couldn’t blame them entirely. you were a grown woman, and you could look after yourself. but weren’t you supposed to be a team? eight other people surrounding you, and none of them thought to check on you? especially when you were usually up and alert before they were? no, instead they were all out the door without even knocking to see if you were feeling okay. so much for being your brothers and best friends.
so god forbid, you were late this morning. you managed to turn up at the company for your vocal lessons only ten minute late, but it felt awful as you’d never been late before. you were so incredibly lucky to get the opportunity to debut with skz, especially joining the group later in their career and being the only girl. you wanted to do everything perfectly to show that you deserved to be where you were, and with the way today was shaping out you were so disappointed with yourself.
but then - it got worse. you, in your rush to leave the dorms, had forgotten your sheet music, leaving your vocal teacher to be short and snappy with you. yeah, you brought it up on your phone instead, but she was strict, and a firm believer in “good old-fashioned pen and paper over your silly little radio devices nowadays”. her attitude towards you for the remainder of your lesson affected you more than you liked to admit - excusing yourself to the bathroom to have a little cry before you headed to the studio.
for some reason, none of your schedules were properly coordinated today, leaving jisung to be the one in the studio with you - rather than chan, like usual -  while you recorded your lines for the demos to be sent to the company later in the month, when you’d decide the songs for the new album you had upcoming later in the year.
jisung was always the nicest to you, especially when he could tell you were having a rough day - you were both very alike in that sense, very attentive towards each other as if you could tell what the other was feeling. 
however, it seemed today that something had crawled up his ass and died. he was almost as snappy as your vocal teacher, and you were quite frankly sick of it. you kept messing up your lines; whether from the stress or the ache building in your throat (god you hoped you weren’t getting sick), you weren’t sure. but clearly, jisung wouldn’t stand for it.
“honestly, (y/n), you might as well just call it a day and come back to this with chan-hyung another day. i need to get on with other stuff.” he sighed, dismissively, as you bit back the tears fighting to escape your eyes. he wouldn’t even look at you, and your stomach was doing somersaults. was he really that mad? surely he could see how hard you were trying.
but instead of confronting him, you just grabbed your belongings and left after silently agreeing. no one answered your message on the group chat when you asked if anyone was down to get lunch together, even though you could see basically everyone had read it, so you retreated to the canteen alone before you had to go to practice with the boys.
as the ache in your throat spread to your joints, fatigue plaguing you, you trudged up to the practice room for rehearsals with the boys. you were learning a new dance - in fact, the already chosen title track for the new album, and deep down you were dreading it. it was more difficult than you had imagined, and definitely aimed more towards moves the boys could do compared to you. you loved the boys, but sometimes you felt like they forgot that men and women’s bodies worked differently.
surprisingly, you weren’t the last to arrive, squashing your fear of another thing going wrong.
but just as soon as practice began, your fear was reawakened. the ache in your joints was making the dance more difficult for you to execute, and you could feel the annoyance radiating off of minho’s body even if he wouldn’t admit it. you stumbled a few times, almost knocking into felix, who looked at you more frustrated than concerned.
“seriously, (n/n), what’s going on? it’s really not that hard. get your head in the game.”
you huffed, shaking out your limbs and telling minho to start the track again. maybe if you ignored your surroundings, ignored how you were feeling, then things would be easier. you could block out minho’s harsh criticisms - he was probably just tired. you could block out everything, knowing the boys were suffering just as much as you lately. but when the music stopped again, and everyone was talking at you, voice after voice lapping over each other you just couldn’t take it anymore.
“shut the fuck up! shut up, shut up, shut up! give me a fucking break, i’m trying my hardest!”
you honestly didn’t mean to snap, you were just so overwhelmed and couldn’t take anymore. when chan tried to put a comforting hand on your shoulder, you flung it off, all your annoyance and stress from the day building up at once.
“don’t fucking touch me. i don’t need your pity, i don’t need you to tell me that i don’t know how to do my job well enough. this is the fucking worst day of my life and you all keep making it worse!”
every fiber of your being was telling you to stop, to be reasonable, but it was like your mouth was making its own decisions. you couldn’t tell which member it was, but you were interrupting the gentle call of your name before you could even control it.
“and no, before any of you try to be funny, i’m not on my period,” you sneered, anger bubbling under your skin as you saw jisung look away sheepishly. “i’m just sick of feeling like i have to fight to prove i’m good enough, like i’m not one of you guys yet. we’re supposed to be a team, but all day i’ve been pushed to the side and treated like i don’t matter. i’m sick of it!”
you breathed heavily, grabbing your duffle bag from the side of the room and storming towards the door.
“i’m staying with yeji tonight, leave me the fuck alone.”
was all you said before leaving the boys stood in shock, confused as to why you were acting like you hated them.
regrettably, the minute you found yourself in yeji’s dorm and explained your day to her, you knew you were in the wrong. how could you let yourself treat your best friends that way? they didn’t deserve that, and you would be most understanding if they never forgave you. it was only when the throb in your head and ache in your joints became too much that you finally allowed yourself to sleep.
chan’s apology
luckily, you and the boys were granted a week off a while ago, and today marked the first day of that week. however, knowing chris he was probably still hauled up in the studio from the night before. it was around 3am (yeji shouldn’t have let you crash so early, your sleep schedule was going to be manic), so you pulled yourself together before making the decision to go visit him.
he may not even want to see you after your little outburst, but you could still try.
you stopped by the convenience store on your way to the studio, grabbing some snacks and some drinks just to be on the safe side. carefully checking the group chat, you saw that changbin was still in the studio with chan and you hoped you could get there before he left - it might be easier to kill two birds with one stone. you were just glad you bought way too much food for just two people.
you smiled politely, bowing at the security guard as he let you into the building, heart thumping in your ears as you carefully traced the steps to chan’s studio.
when you finally approached the door, you had to take a minute to prepare yourself to knock. you heard chan’s voice mumbling behind the door once you did, nervously waiting until he came and opened it.
he looked surprised to see you, frozen for a moment before quickly ushering you in and sitting you on the couch next to changbin. almost in instinct, changbin’s arm was slung around your shoulder - something he always did when you were close by, relishing in the fact he wasn’t the shortest in the group anymore.
you sheepishly held out the bag containing all the goodies you got at the convenience store to chan, a small smile on your face when he took it.
“got you some snacks.. kind of guessed you might have forgotten to eat.” your voice was quiet, ashamed. you just hoped they wouldn’t hold your outburst against you.
but when chan grinned, you knew he could never be mad at you for long.
“we were worried about you, y’know? that’s why jisung let you go early today - something seemed off and we didn’t want you to get too overwhelmed.” changbin said from next to you, the hand on your shoulder rubbing it comfortingly. 
you couldn’t stop the tears from welling up behind your eyes again, but bit them back in fear they’d think you were looking for sympathy.
“i– i’m so sorry. i’ve just had an awful day, and i feel like shit, but that doesn’t excuse my actions, and i shouldn’t have snapped at you all - you couldn’t have known, and its not your fault.”
you explained why your day had been so bad to them (after some pushing from chan), and how you were feeling physically, causing changbin to look at you with great worry.
they indulged in a small cuddle session, feasting on the snacks you provided while they tried to help cheer you up. and honestly, it worked, just talking through how you were feeling, and gettin constructive feedback rather than just a shoulder to lean on was relieving.
you couldn’t apologize to them more, feeling so ashamed of your actions, but they were quick to reassure you it was okay - everyone had bad days, you were only human after all. you just needed to work on your communication a little bit.
when you finally got ready to head back to the dorm at 5am, you felt better than you had in a long time, actually.
apology numbers one and two: complete.
but when you arrived back at the dorm, head peacefully resting on changbin’s shoulder, what you weren’t expecting to walk into was what you all called a “cuddle pool” - the sofa bed pulled out, covered with pillows and blankets - and a spot waiting for you between felix and seungmin.
your eyes watered at the expectant faces of your soul-brothers, small sobs leaving your lips as your shoulders shook. god, the day had taken a toll on you - you couldn’t remember the last time you cried in front of the boys.
it was only then that minho - who you hadn’t seen standing by the door - scooped you into a hug.
“oh, angel,” he frowned, a hand pressed to your forehead. “you’re burning up. is that why you felt so bad earlier?”
words seemed to fail you, and all you could do was nod as your grip on his sweater tightened. it certainly wouldn’t be the first time you got sick from stress, but you hated being sick. you hated feeling out of control in your own body, and despised being doted on like you were unable. however, this time… you think you could let it slide. you just needed your boys close by right now.
they seemed to enjoy looking after you, and you felt you owed them that after the situation in the practice room.
minho was quick to place on you on the couch, felix and seungmin suffocating you in a bone-crushing hug. jisung handed you the tv remote, saying you could choose to watch whatever you wanted, and that everyone would be having a slumber party in the living room until you felt better.
minho and chan had gone to make you some chicken noodle soup - using felix’s mom’s recipe, which was known for being a lifesaver in your dorm. jeongin was quick to grab you your comfort plushie, taking his place on the floor by your feet - the two of you were 100% keen on physical affection, but having him close by helped.
within merely an hour, all nine of you were curled up, an animated disney movie playing, with soup and mugs of tea being passed around the room. it was nice, and it felt so good to have your boys so close and willing to help you.
you definitely took on changbin’s mention of needing to improve on communication, wanting nothing more than to improve yourself for the little family you had build around you. and yeah you were sick, and they would probably get sick too by being in such close proximity to you, but that was a problem for another day. you’d just return the favor of looking after them.
you just knew you were lucky to have them.
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eternal-kosmo-ghoul · 3 months
Text
*°:⋆ₓₒ day 25. fuck party
.。❅*⋆⍋*∞*。 “merry christmas”
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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ — ❤︎ the ministry is all decorated in festive decor and it truly feels like the holidays are in season! now… what do these ghouls want to do with you?
pairing: era iv nameless ghouls x gn!reader
a/n: first off i just want to apologize for the last few days being so late. i really did try my best to make sure that each day had a good fic. this is the only fic that doesn’t really follow the prompt, but i tried my best. consider this fic a nice little letter for the start of 2024. happy new year, and please enjoy !!!
cw: slight nsfw content. horny ghouls. poly ghouls. implied orgy near the end. there’s nothing nsfw that really happens, just mentioned.
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“we want to make this holiday special, dear. come on down to the nave of the ministry… you won’t be disappointed. merry christmas, sweetheart~” —❤︎
┅✦┅
the entire month has been a rollercoaster of emotions. each day you felt like something wild and absolutely ecstatic happens to you every day. it has only made your holiday season more and more interesting.
and now here you were, all cozied and nestled in your room, the scent of roasted chestnuts and currier ives lingering in the air. you sat atop your wooly quilt, with eight different letters in hand.
the slips were underneath your door when you came back from a long shift of working in the ministry. they were all decorated and colored differently, each envelope having its own unique flair and personality to it. you didn’t even have to read the names to know who’s was who.
smiling to yourself, you opened each letter one by one, excited to read what’s inside.
you had started off with the shiny white envelope. it was decorated in cute stationary stickers and the front was written in a glittery pink pen. at the bottom left corner of the envelope was a pink laced ribbon tied neatly with your name on it. if there was anyone that loved colors more than the entire human population, it was your favorite colorful ghoulette.
“aurora’s letter of thanks”
⋆ ˚。⋆୨୧˚ to my dear y/n,
hello my darling! i hope this letter reaches you well, because i know how the others can get at times~ happy holidays, my love. i know that this month has been busy for you because of the constant yule traditions, but i’m delighted that you were able to make some time for me and that we could make gingerbread houses together like usual! and i gotta say… your tongue skills never fail to impress me~ you made me come so hard i swore i was going to pass out!! but really though… thanks for being such a sweetie to me, the ministry really doesn’t deserve you. i hope to see you soon for our little surprise~
with lots of love,
aurora ghoulette
the next envelope was colored in a dreamy grey, with cute hearts inked in pen on the cover, it gave off a much more serene and calm vibe compared to the vibrant letter of aurora’s. at the back was a little pocket that contained a written song. after careful observing, you had determined it belonged to an infamous air ghoulette. oh what a songbird she was.
“cumulus’ dreamy songbird”
༄ؘ ۪۪۫۫ ▹▫◃ ۪۪۫۫༄ؘ hello darling ♡︎
what a beautiful winter night, is it not? i often like to be in touch with nature when i’m writing, helps me keep my mind at center. how have you been, darling? i hope you’ve been better after our little passionate night in bed. you were so cute with how you were eagerly trying to get my lingerie off… it was charming, really. though, putting the promiscuity aside, i just want to really want to send this love letter to you as a token of my thanks. you’re my little songbird, and you inspire me to do better, whether it’s songwriting or performing. so as a token of my gratitude.. i’ve prepared a … special song for you. i hope you like it. anyways… come see me later, i’ll sing it.. specially for you~ i love you, dove, and i wish you a happy new year ♡︎♡︎♡︎
your dearest,
cumulus ghoulette
the texture of the next letter was earthy and coarse, but it emitted the soft aroma of fresh pine leaves. it seems that this letter was specially crafted personally for you. just from the scent and touch alone, you smiled to yourself knowing it came from a certain earth ghoul. upon opening it, there was a little sunflower necklace attached to the sand paper letter.
“mountain’s delighted memories”
*:..。o○ to y/n,
hope you’re doing well, and that this year has been treating you well. i appreciate you approaching me that night… and throwing me into the passions of bed. i gotta say, those faces you made when i came deep inside of you, filling you up with me seed, it still gets me going. just being honest here. the reason i’m bringing this up is well… i want to make more memories like that with you. ones that we can share together, and make ourselves feel like we’re ascending to the heavens we can’t reach. you’re really someone that makes me want to just go all out, and in many ways. which is why my gift to you this year.. is going to be imprinted into your mind for eons to come. so, if you want to find more… stop by soon please, i’ll be waiting. ‘till then, have a good christmas.
from your love,
mountain ghoul
this paper was crumpled and slightly torn. it looked like it was made in a rush, but it held a certain charm to it. there were little trinkets and treats attached to the letter, all of which had a cute homemade vibe to it. the faded streaks of purple pen gave away who it belonged to, and you couldn’t be more happy when a certain bug came to mind.
“phantom’s sweet treats”
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ hi y/n!
i missed you :(( and i know that we live in the same ministry, but you’re so busy and i barely get to see you! which is why i dragged you out to ‘look for a christmas tree’ with me. i gotta say, i was nervous… but seeing how you reacted when i pounded you against that tree.. satanas, still sends shivers down my spine. after that night, i just can’t stop thinking about you. the way you reacted to my touch, oh it was so good. i put together some handmade goodies for you, hope you like them. think of it as my way of saying thanks for a good night :) on that note, i’m sure the other letters have talked about meeting in a special place. i’ll be there, and i’ll be sure to give you all of my attention <3
love,
phantom ghoul
closing the envelope shut, you grabbed the next one. lipstick marks stained the paper perfectly, imprinting kisses everywhere. looking at the particular shade of red of the lipstick, you instantly thought of a certain keyboardist. there was a soft pink rose attached underneath the slip, and you opened the envelope with ease.
“cirrus’ gratitude”
゚+*:ꔫ:*﹤ evening darling,
i take that christmas has been well for you, huh? it certainly seems like it has been, considering how you were with me during that night in the log cabin ;)) we have to do that more often, sweetheart. you were so cute, with how your face was squished up against the window while i went to town on you… oh, still gets me wet, i can’t lie. it’s one of my favorite memories this season, and for that, i thank you. thanks for being such a delightful and loving partner. you’re honestly a saving grace for me, and you always make me feel good, both in and out of the bedroom. honestly, i’ve never met someone as good in bed as you are. so, as a token of my gratitude, i want you to meet me with the other ghouls tonight. it’ll be fun sweetheart, i promise.
from your dearest,
cirrus ghoulette ❤︎
looking at the next letter with intrigue, you were greeted with a faint smell of cologne, the scent of it was soft and reminded you of the beach. laced over the envelope was a red ribbon with seashells and shark tooth carved trinkets at the end. what a gorgeous sight. you opened it, and smiled upon recognizing the stunning calligraphy ingrained on the paper.
“rain’s poem”
。・゚゚・ dear y/n,
having a good christmas? you better be, otherwise i’ll make sure you are. but for real though, i’m sure this year has been great for you. i would also like to thank you for.. ‘helping’ me with my own personal gift. you looked so goddamn good tied up in my bed like that. i’ll admit, i got carried away with my words, but i know damn well you were into me treating you like my bitch while i dicked you down on the mattress. though, that made me realize how much you love my honeyed words, so i’ll use this opportunity to praise instead to degrade. y/n, you’re an absolute starlight in my life, a treasure like no other. i’d move the heavens and pits for you. it’s cheesy, but it’s true, and i promise to show you how much i love you in any way i can. come by soon ❦
from your favorite water boy,
rain ghoul
the next letter had an ashy and brazened texture, but it shone with a brimstone-like layer to it. the paper was slightly calloused, and there was a fiery flair to it that could only be from one infamous firecracker you knew of. popping off the sloppily made wax seal, you opened it to find an equally burnt letter, but the sight made you smile.
“sodo’s confessions”
∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐒 to my y/n,
i’d ask you how you’re doing n’ shit, but i’m not good with words, or greetings nonetheless. so to get things out of the way, i’m going to be as straightforward as possible. y/n, i want to fuck you so badly this christmas right now. that night we shared, in my bedroom, fuck that was so hot. i loved the way you reacted every time i brought the candle wax down on your body. you looked so goddamn sexy covered in all of that… and the memory still makes my dick so hard. call me a pervert or whatever, but i’m proud to be one for you. i can’t help myself when i’m around you. your body, your scent, everything, it drives me fucking insane. don’t tell the other ghouls, but you’re my favorite, and i really can’t figure out why… guess i’m just so drawn to you. at midnight, when you meet the others, i’ll be sure to let them know who can make you feel the best in bed. and that’s not a threat, that’s a fucking promise. but ‘till then, i’ll be waiting for you, sweet thing
i love you,
sodo ghoul
the final letter had a reddish stain on it. bringing it closer to your nose, you got a faint whiff of red whine from the stain. the designs on the letter were intricate and creative, but there was a suave and sultry feel to this letter. if there was any infernal who knew how to be smooth, it was a certain multi ghoul with the voice of an angel.
“swiss’ invitation”
❤︎*♡∞:。.。 to my love,
welcome, darling~ i know how much you like the smell of wine, so i indulged you a bit in my envelope for you. merry christmas, and thank you for being such a passionate lover. gotta say, bunny, you looked so cute that one night when you were sitting on my cock. the way your rosy cheeks just got more pink every time you looked at me, desperate to stay warm… ooh, that’s what you call hot. good to know that i was able to keep you warm during that snowy night, and i got to get my dick wet too. so it was a win/win situation for the two of us, dear~ but all jokes aside, i had come up with the plan to treat my favorite sibling of sin to some… fun this season. i conspired with all of the other ghouls and ghoulettes to help me, and i’m sure they all mentioned in their letters that they want to meet up with you too. we want to make this holiday special, dear. come on down to the nave of the ministry… you won’t be disappointed. merry christmas, sweetheart~
forever yours,
swiss ghoul
folding all the letters neatly and piling them on your desk, you smirked to yourself, and got up from the bed to start walking over to the nave of the church. each step carried your eager body closer to a lustful, passionate and loving location.
whatever your lovers were planning… you knew it was going to be a good one.
eyeing up the tall, church doors, you pushed them open to be met with a glorious sight.
the moonlight streamed through the glass panes windows of the dimly lit nave. candles aligned everywhere with ribbons decorating every corner and crevice. but the best sight of all… were the infamous nameless ghouls themselves.
they were all dressed for the occasion, all dolled up to your liking. the ghoulettes were in matching lingerie, but in different colors. aurora in a rose gold, cumulus in white and cirrus in black. they all huddled together and perked up upon seeing you. you looked to the other side to see another group of ghouls. rain’s expression was neutral, but there was a promiscuous glint in his eyes as the red ribbon twirled between his fingers. sodo’s expression was as hungry as ever, eyeing like a piece of candy while holding onto a candle. phantom looked excited, but jittery, claws digging into his seat, and mountain looked as calm and collected as ever, albeit, not minding the little problem in his pants.
from the center, swiss emerged, and he looked down at you with a wicked, yet lustful grin. his tail flicked about to the side, and you looked up at him with curious eyes, chuckling, his long fingers traced around your jaw and gently clasped around it while craning your head up, making you look at him.
he smiled at you,
and in return you smiled.
“merry christmas, y/n.” he spoke suavely, his words still as honeyed as ever.
he then stepped behind you, gently massaging your shoulders and holding onto you. with a snap of his fingers, the ghouls and ghoulettes giggled and approached closer to you, lust on their minds.
oh
this would certainly be a christmas to remember~
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101 notes · View notes
miyseung · 5 months
Text
𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄
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summary: you’ve gone missing, and your best friend chan has no other method of communication other than sending you voice notes.
genre: angst
includes: university au, minho is a thirdwheel/another best friend of you both, overdosing, attempted suicide, coma-ish situation, chan is a S-I-M-P, mentions of you both being drunk, mentions of weightloss and getting paler, chan is a majoring in music here, NOT proofread, lmk if i missed anything else
pairing: non idol! uni student! chan x uni student! fem! reader
a/n: i did this low effort thing bc i haven’t had the energy for anything else pls don’t let it flop i made a comeback i’m out of my blackpink era (/j blinks don’t come after me) (should I make a sequel) song lyrics: lost by (g)i-dle (english translation)
word count: 1K including song lyrics
taglist: @kflixnet
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“Hey Y/N. You weren’t at university or your dorm today. Is everything okay? I know you’ve been stressing about…well, a lot, really-” sigh “yeah, so basically, I’m worried about you.” nervous laughter “Cause like, your roommate, Tzuyu told me you were in your room at night, but then you weren’t there when I came to pick you up. I hope you hear this. Take care.”
❝𝙄𝙛 𝙄 𝙝𝙞𝙙𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙙 𝙢𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨❞
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“Y/N, it’s been three days. Everyone’s worried, especially me. I know you’ve talked about running away before, but…well, I didn’t think you were serious.” silence ”I hope you’re coming back soon, you know. Uni feels different and more empty without you. Take care.”
❝𝙒𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙄 𝙗𝙚 𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪?❞
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“A week. I’ve been a bit busy, but I haven’t forgotten you at all. Where are you? I think the police are still searching. They better be, you’re too precious to me to lose.” deep breath “Come back, Y/N. Come back. Everyone’s asking me where you are, and I don’t know and they keep reminding me that you’re gone and everything is haunting me and-” sigh “I’m rambling again. Take care.”
❝𝘿𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙢𝙗𝙚𝙧 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙄 𝙙𝙤?❞
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“Two weeks. You haven’t even seen my messages, let alone these voice notes, but they’re still delivered. Please, Y/N, this isn’t funny anymore- ignore the voice crack. No, I’m not crying. Like- I do care- um- about you…but I’m not crying. I miss you the most. I don’t have a study buddy now ever since you well…disappeared. Kinda falling behind on classes, but it’s fine. I’ll catch up.” weak giggle “Take care.”
❝𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙢 𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙥𝙖𝙨𝙨 𝙗𝙮❞
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“One month. Since you’re never going to hear these voice recordings, I might as well just say gibberish or odd confessions, hm?” weak laugh “They’ve given up. Your parents, the police…everyone, really. But I haven’t. I know you’re there – somewhere. I’ve been producing more songs to cope. You know how much I love doing that, I mean- it’s why I chose music as my major. Take care.”
❝𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙡𝙚𝙛𝙩, 𝙖𝙣𝙙, 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙯𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙩❞
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“Two months. You know, today I passed by a wishing well. I threw a coin, and guess what I wished for? I wished you back, Y/N. Come back, please. I’m not requesting you at this point, I’m begging. Everything’s become worse without you, or at least that’s what Minho says. He’s a bit wild, so I’m not believing him. Where are you, mm? I’ll come there, and I’ll meet you – even rescue you if necessary!” faint hmph “I miss you. I miss you loads. Take care.”
❝𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙤𝙣 𝙦𝙪𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙡𝙡 𝙖𝙩 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙥𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙩❞
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“Five months. Since you don’t seem to have heard any of these, I guess I can really just say shit, huh? Well then, I love you. Like- you know- romantically.” nervous laugh “Yeah, cliche. Dumb move. Fuck, fuck, shouldn’t have done that- but it’s out and true- I guess. Ever since last year when we…ah, leave it. Take care.”
❝𝙄 𝙙𝙤𝙣’𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪❞
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“Eight months. I love you. I love you. I love you, Y/N. Please, I need you back. Everything’s so dark without you. You know that you’re my driving force, right? Right? I need you here desperately.” sniffle “Y/N. Y/N. Please. I don’t- I don’t know how I can do this anymore.” whimper “I can’t- can’t lose you. Take care.”
❝𝙒𝙞𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪❞
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“Ten months. Everything hurts. I don’t have the motivation to wake up in the morning, Y/N. Minho says that I’ve become thinner and paler. Other people are saying watered down versions of that. It all reminds me of you. I’m so tired, I don’t know why they suddenly care. Eh, whatever.” dull groan “Shit, I’m ranting again. Ignore it. Take care.”
❝𝙒𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙣'𝙩 𝙗𝙚 𝙩𝙤𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚❞
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shaky breath “ Y/N, Y/N, please at least see my messages.” pained whimper “I can’t. I can’t. I need- need you. Badly. Fuck- I can’t bre-breathe.” rattling of pills in a bottle “I don’t want to live anymore. There’s no po-point.” quiet sob “You-You are my muse fo-for whatever I man…manage to…get out of my studio. I love you, I’ve loved you ever-ever since the day we drun-drunk made out.” sad giggle “Yeah, sounds cra-crazy, no?” swallowing sound, gulp “You’re coming back, right? Promise? You are, you are. I’m sure of it.” cursing under breath “Fuck, Minho’s here. Take care.”
❝𝙄 𝙙𝙤𝙣’𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪❞
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“Can’t move on from you. I love you too much. I love you, Y/N, and I wish I had the guts to have said it to your face when you were with me. Will you miss me? Maybe you won’t. It’s been a year after all. You’ve probably forgotten about me, about what we had, and frankly speaking? I don’t blame you.” silence “You’re still alive there though, I’m sure of it. Eat well, sleep soundly, drink water, do whatever makes you happy, even if others discourage you, and even if it’s the police, and remember to love yourself as much as I do. I love you from the sun to Pluto and back, note that.” dry laugh “I’ll always have you engraved in my memory. You’ll forever be my first and last thought. Take care.”
❝𝙒𝙞𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪❞
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“Hi Y/N. It’s me, Minho. I know I didn’t talk to you as much as Chan did-” annoyed sigh “I mean, he’s your bestie westie pookie wookie and all that shit, but like- I miss you too. There’s rumors about you being spotted around and you know that I don’t believe in a lot of gossip that goes throught the university grapevine – although I do love listening to it –” slight chuckle “I really want this rumor to be proven true. Make it happen, perform a miracle or something. You always disproved me in arguments, do it again.” silence “Chan, he…he’s in the hospital.” slightly muffled sob “I caught him overdosing on pills, which is what he was doing when he…when he sent you the tenth voice note. A month after that, he tried to kill himself, hence the eleventh one. That was like- three days ago. He’s still…still unconscious, but he’ll wake up soon, I hope. Come back Y/N. We all miss you, and Chan needs you. In his words, take care.”
❝𝙀𝙫𝙚𝙣 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙄 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠, 𝙮𝙤𝙪’𝙧𝙚 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚❞
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minminyoonjii · 1 year
Text
Ultimate Masterlist
💜Rules and Guidelines
💚Announcement and Clarification
💛Scenarios/Fic Requests [x]
Stray Love Haven Series Genre: Fluff|Smut Pairing: MLM/MLF Short Summary: A Stray Kids Kink Book with 31 Days' worth of plot
Time Out Genre: Fluff|Smut Pairing: Bangchan/Fem! Reader Short Summary: Two idiots in love who couldn't tell the difference between platonic pet names and romantic pet names
Silent Cry Genre: Hurt/Comfort|Angst Pairing: Stray Kids Ot8/Gender Neutral! Reader Short Summary: You had a rough day, wanting nothing more than to sob your heart out alone but what if the eight men in your life felt it
Monster Under My Bed Genre: Fluff|Smut Pairing: Tentacle Monster/Bang Chan/Lee Felix Short Summary: Stress was catching up to Chan and he wanted to relieve himself, somehow tentacles joined the mix and so did Felix
Phobia Genre: Angst|Psychopath AU|Flash Fic Pairing: Stray Kids Ot8/Fem! Reader Short Summary: You had a crush on Chan but your best friend Minho seems to disprove your liking. A night out of clubbing, swirled into weeks of terror.
My Love Genre: Fluff|Romance Pairing: Lee Minho/Han Jisung Short Summary: Minho saw a goddess rush past him, taking his breath away. Only to see the same goddess sit on the swing next to him
Sticky Genre: Fluff|Smut Pairing: Tentacle Plant Monster! Park Jimin/Human! Jeon Jungkook Short Summary: Yoongi kept Jungkook in charge of his wild plant. He warned him about the consequences but Jungkook undermined the warning.
I'm A Charmer Genre: Fluff|Smut Pairing: Stray Kids Song: Venom/Stray Kids Song: Charmer/Fem! Reader Short Summary: Have you ever wondered what it's like to fuck a humanoid version of your favourite song? This is that unhinged fic.
Mini Log Series Genre: Fluff|Ddlg/Mdlg Pairing: Bang Chan/Lee Felix/Fem! Reader Short Summary: Domestic scenes of Chanlix and their little. There will be praise, there will be punishments and most importantly, there will be tooth-rotting sweetness.
Check Up Season Genre: Fluff|Smut Pairing: Doctor! Lee Minho/Fem! Reader Short Summary: Medical play with heavy tension. Lee Know wearing glasses and a doctor's coat is very attractive.
Limousine Genre: Fluff|Smut Pairing: 3Racha/Short Fem! Reader Short Summary: You pissed off Chan so they fucked you behind a moving vehicle and confessed their love.
Winter Flowers Genre: Hurt/Comfort|Fluff Pairing: Kim Seungmin/Lee Minho Short Summary: Getting stuck on a ski lift isn't ideal, especially if you have acrophobia. Enemies to friends to lovers, a 2Min classic.
Stray Kids Scenarios Series Genre: Undetermined Pairing: OT8/Reader Content: Tucking You In|First Time: Calling Them by Their Title|Pillow Fort|Nightmare|When They Notice You Crying During Sex|Lost My Way|Types Of Spankings|Sneak In
Mirror Genre: Fix-it Fic|Hurt/Comfort|Angst Pairing: Father! Seo Changbin & Son! Bang Chan Short Summary: Coming out is never easy but imagine coming out to your adult son. Changbin just wants to explain to his child why he divorced his mother and left for ten years.
Monster On My Ceiling Genre: Fluff/Smut Pairing: Tentacle Monster/Lee Minho/Hwang Hyunjin Short Summary: Hyunjin wanted nothing more than to get railed silly by Minho but before anything could've happened. Our tentacle friend from Chanlix's endeavours joins in.
Adore You Genre: Fluff/Slight Angst/Smut Paring: Fem Dom! Reader/Bang Chan/Lee Minho/Hwang Hyunjin/Lee Felix Short Summary: Hyunjin had a rough day, so you decided to make love until his brain turns fuzzy.
Champagne and Cigarettes Genre: Fluff/Smut/Abo Pairing: Virgin! Reader/Bang Chan Short Summary: Jisung has been courting you for months, you already knew everyone in the pack and tonight's the night you become a pack member. The only problem is that you didn't know what you signed up for.
Sweet Little Unforgettable Thing Genre: Fluff|Smut|Age Regression Short Summary: It's the few days before your actual period where you just want to get railed. You got overwhelmed and ended up slipping into little space. What are your responsible CG's going to do?
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Nightfall Genre: Fluff|Hurt/Comfort|Slight Angst|Age Regression Short Summary: Snow covered the backyard, and you wanted to play in it. Nightfall came, and the members promised you could play more the next day but why wait until that morning when you could play while they were asleep?
Sanrio Carnival Sanrio Carnival Visualizer Genre: Fluff|Domestic|Age Regression Short Summary: You were a big fan of Sanrio characters. Varying from the mainstream to the niche. One day, your caregiver bought tickets for the Sanrio Carnival. Tons of prizes were won, and many characters were seen. What did you do? Who did you see? 
Monster In My Closet Genre: Fluff|Smut Pairing: Tentacle Monster/Kim Seungmin/Yang Jeongin Short Summary: Seungmin wanted to tease Jeongin into a pile of mush when slick pooled up to his ankles, holding him down.
Threeway To Heaven Genre: Fluff|Smut Pairing: Bang Chan/Lee Felix/Fem! Reader Short Summary: Raves were something your best friends go to frequently and this time they wanted you to join them. Things don't go as planned when you get served a free shot.
Topline Genre: Fluff|Smut Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin/Fem Dom Leaning! Reader Short Summary: You drove home thinking it was just another day. Hyunjin wanted to try something new to spice things up, who else to ask except his beloved members to help him out?
Teacher's Pet Genre: Fluff|Smut Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin/Fem! Reader/Lee Minho Short Summary: Mr. Hwang's course has always been a pain in the ass for your GPA so he decides to confront you on it, but you couldn't hold back from snapping at him. Mr. Lee heard the commotion and wanted to lay some advice.
Moral Of The Story Series Genre: Hurt/Comfort|Angst Pairing: OT8! Straykids/Fem! Reader Short Summary: When a poly relationship starts turning cold, with regret, fear, and betrayal tying the strings of fate.
I Need You Genre: Fluff|Smut Pairing: Fem! Reader/Lee Felix Short Summary: Dance practice ended early and Felix had pent up energy. Carving is a strong emotion to deny when it comes to handsome men who can't stop holding you against them.
Chasing That Feeling Genre: Fluff/Smut Pairing: Lee Minho/Bang Chan/Fem! Reader Short Summary: Movie night snacks are always essential. Who knew bumping into a wall would lead to this?
Guilty Genre: Fluff/Smut Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin/Lee Felix/Fem! Reader Short Summary: What's a little bit of teasing, when you're dating two most sexually driven men with the sheer need to ruin you.
9th Little Member Series Genre: Undetermined Pairing: OT8/Reader Short Summary: You always felt that being a little was troublesome for the group. Hiding it was the only option you had. But you forgot one thing, your members can see through everything.
I'll Be Your Man Series Genre: Undetermined Pairing: OT8/Reader Short Summary: Chan always loved caring for his members' needs. When you came into his life, it was definite that he would prioritize yours as well. It didn't take long before he imagined you falling apart under their hands.
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605 notes · View notes
r0und3bitch · 2 years
Text
BFF’s - Worst Behavior
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Summary: You took something that belongs to Rafe but he doesn't want it back.
“Oh, I know where you got it— but I want to hear you say it…”
Warnings: 18+ ONLY!!!!! Best Friends Kink, Daddy Kink, Innocence Kink, possessiveness/jealousy, hair pulling/choking, cursing, dom/sub nature. Slutty 💘
Notes: My bratty baby!!!! Truly an absolute joy to write. She's a wild one and I love her to death! Let me know what you think, loves!!
Song Inspiration:
Drake - Worst Behavior
Jack Harlow & Lil Wayne - Poison
BFF's Masterlist
Rafe Cameron was dripping in sweat.
It was a sweltering hot afternoon on the Figure Eight as the unforgiving Carolina sun beat down on the Island Club Golf Course. 
He’d feigned annoyance when Kelce had mentioned playing a round today— until he pulled that beautiful little bag of white powder out of his pocket— Rafe’s kryptonite. 
His irritation quickly faded with each line Kelce bumped him, their swing significantly improving after each hole. That is, until his phone buzzed eagerly in his pocket, pulling him back from the shitty joke Topper was trying to make as he rolled his eyes and flipped the screen open, ready to tell whoever it was to fuck off—
That is…until he saw it. 
It took only once glance down at his phone, once clenched tightly in his large palm, now falling freely from his grasp as his brain short circuited. 
“Holy fuck—” 
He caught the phone in his other hand, his friends' heads whipping around at the outburst. 
“You good, bro?”
Good? Was he good? Or had his entire existence just faded away into nothing? 
You’d replied that you had plans for the day when he texted earlier that morning, pretending to not be annoyed by your short, standoffish answer. 
He didn’t realize your plans included this. 
His soul was breaking into a million pieces as he stared down at the mind bendingly, cataclysmically life altering picture of his best friend as another text quickly came through. 
FUCK! I did NOT mean to send that to you!
A simple misunderstanding melted to rage as Rafe took in your words, reading them only once more before the picture demanded his eyes attention again, making his dick twitch in his pants as he stared down at the girl he’d known his entire life— you. 
His best friend. His perfect, bratty, stubborn best friend— hair braided into attempted innocence, tongue curled up over those plump lips he’d more than once imagined shoving his cock down over the years, your absolutely perfect in literally every way, perky tits were hiked up to near impossible levels, somehow shoved and stuffed into the tiniest bikini Rafe had literally ever seen. 
And if all of that hadn’t already sent him to his near breaking point, it compared little to the complete downward spiral he went into when he registered the necklace dangling from that pretty little neck of yours. 
The necklace. 
What in the actual fuck it was doing dangling from your goddamn neck right now, Rafe hadn’t a clue as another text can’t through. 
I clicked the wrong chat!! 😰
If your first text didn’t sit well with him, the second one blanketed Rafe with that blood boiling, seeing red rage he was much too familiar with. He was seething. 
His jaw clenched down hard, tongue between his teeth so tight he could already taste the blood. 
Even though all he wanted to do was stare down at the picture all goddamn day, he swiped his phone closed, already jogging over to the golf cart, ready to tear down anyone and everything that stood in his way. 
“I’ve gotta go!”
“What the fuck!” He heard Topper yell over him. “We just started!”
Rafe wasn’t paying them any attention as he sped the cart away towards the club house. Once parked, he was out and near sprinting to his truck at this point, passing a group of guys on the way out of the Island Club who looked vaguely familiar, remembering them from somewhere in his long term memory, the mental image of you in that picture fully taking over his short term memory, demanding his full and undivided attention. 
It was a short drive to your house, the route memorized on auto pilot after all of these years. 
The second the truck was in park, he was throwing the door open, marching up to your front steps, his large fists slamming against the front door as loud as he possibly could— still seeing nothing but red. 
It was only seconds later the door was thrown open— revealing you before him. You’d had the decency to throw on a baggy, old Kildare Prep t-shirt but Rafe could still see the pink hues of the micro sized bikini you were sporting under the white fabric that hung loosely over all your curves— noticing with a nasty quirked eyebrow that you didn’t have any pants on. 
Your eyes bulged out of your head at the sight of him. 
“Rafe—what’re you doing—”
You let out a squeak when he pushed you both beyond the threshold, hand whipping back to slam the door closed as the other pushed against your abdomen— his one hand covering your entire front side— slamming you back against the wall as a near whimper fell from your lips. 
Growing up with Rafe, you were no stranger to his frequent, earth shattering anger and rage that could take hold of him. You were quite confident, as his eyes blazed down on you like he was ready to rip your head off, that although you’d spent nearly your whole life growing up with this boy— whatever or whoever was standing in front of you right now was unbeknownst to you— this was different. He was different. 
“What am I doing?” His tone was one of disbelief, as if he couldn’t fathom how you could even be asking him that right now. “What do you think you are doing, Y/N?”
“I think I should be the one asking you that, no?”
He was fully towering over you now, his head dipping down lower, inching closer to yours. The hand that wasn’t pressed tightly against your waist firmly planted on the wall behind you, allowing him to trap you in his arms. 
“Rafe, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to send—”
“I don’t want to fucking hear it, Y/N/N.”
His tone of voice was ice cold, the irritation with you so evident— you couldn’t help it when you felt the butterflies rise within you or the pool that gathered between your legs upon hearing your name. 
“I’m only going to ask you this once…” 
When you felt his chest press against you— so strong and firm you thought you could die— the breath came hollowing out of your lungs so deep Rafe could hear it, wondering what other kinds of sounds he could draw out of his best friend. 
“And don’t even fucking think about lying to me, because I’ll know…”
You involuntarily groan at his words. 
“Oh, I know where you got it— but I want to hear you say it…”
If Rafe wasn’t holding you up against the wall, you’d have surely fallen to the ground at his words, your knees all but threatening to give out as you guessed where this was going, heart racing at the thought. 
He slowly brought his hand up to the collar of your shirt, pulling it down to expose the necklace dangling off your pretty little neck— an image he thought he’d only see in his wildest dreams from the moment he’d bought it— the jeweled letters spelling out his name hitting a few specks of sunlight— casting rainbows across your glowing face. 
“Tell me where you got this fucking necklace, Y/N.”
An actual whimper left your lips this time. The sound spreading the most wicked, sinister grin across Rafe’s face. 
“Nuh uh, I need words. Now…”
Your heart was racing faster than ever before. You knew he knew the truth— and now he was going to make you say it. 
He couldn’t help himself when his hand came up to your neck, dying to touch and feel the necklace against your skin from the moment he saw it. His large hand grasped the entire side of your neck—you couldn’t help your mind from envisioning how it would feel to have them clench down and choke you— when you felt his thumb rub up the front of your throat, making your breath hike, as he sternly guided your chin upwards, demanding his eyes on yours— demanding an answer. 
“Y/N.”
The answer falls from your lips the second your name leaves his mouth. 
“I took it out of your backpack when I was over this weekend.”
And there it was. The truth that Rafe had known since the moment he saw that fucking photo pop up onto his phone screen. The necklace he’d bought (that he never thought would ever even see the light of day) surely wasn’t secured into his bag that he’d last left it in— it was dangling from his best friend's neck like a wet dream. His wet dream. The same one he’d always had for as long as he’d known you…
And although the truth was out, the harder question was yet to be answered, the one Rafe didn’t want to fucking hear but who’s brain demanded to know. 
You saw the muscles in his jaw twitch, only guessing what was coming next, his voice a growl in your ear, laced with accusation as he dipped his head down to your eye level. 
“And what stupid fucking asshole did you think you were going to send that photo to wearing my necklace, hmm?”
“Rafe, it doesn’t even matter—”
“No—” his voice was different this time, almost pleading in anger. “I want to hear you fucking say it.”
“Rafe…”
“Wrong name.” 
His voice sounded almost disgusted with you but his eyes still held the same pleading look. The same look you’d given into so many times throughout your friendship, why should this be any different. 
“Joey Hudson…”
Joey Hudson. Rafe’s mind flashed back to his hauling ass rush of leaving the Island Club only a short time ago, to the group of guys who seemed vaguely familiar as he passed, to Joey fucking Hudson sitting amongst them. 
Rafe walked right past the asshole. 
The lethal laugh that left his lips was anything but pleasant, the sound sending chills down your spine. 
“That fucking touron? You were sending that stupid fuck a picture in my necklace—”
Rafe should’ve known, well—he did know because he knew you. Yet he was too far drowning in his own fit of rage and jealousy to account for your inevitable bratty, resilient attitude. 
“Well I don’t know who your stupid fucking necklace was meant for but it looks better on me anyway.” 
There it was. That stupid, spoiled, infuriating, entitled attitude of yours that had been driving Rafe crazy (and haunting his dirtiest thoughts— often times while his hand was wrapped around his own cock) his entire life. 
He wanted to fucking scream. 
“That’s not possible.” 
His cool dismissal of your cockiness was a low blow you couldn’t ignore, your face twisting pathetically at his words, stubborn and unwilling to let him win as anger coursed through you, even if he did think the necklace would look better on some other bitch’s neck— that’s not the reason you took it. 
You’re spewing now, pulsating with hurt and anger at the thought of him giving this necklace to another girl, one of the many in his repertoire to choose from. 
“It looks better on me than any other stupid bitch you could’ve���”
You choke on your words as he removes his hand from the wall to clasp it down fully over your mouth. 
“That’s not possible because I bought it for you, you fucking brat.”
His hand only stays covering your mouth for a second as your eyes bulge from your head. The only reason you’d taken it from his bag had been due to the fit of jealous that literally consumed you the second you’d discovered it when snooping through his bag, expecting to find coke and instead finding that diamond studded five letter word sitting so pretty in that velvet box. 
Your mind blurs as you feel Rafe shove you into the small first floor bathroom right outside the foyer, hearing the door slam behind the two of you as the light flicks on. 
You’re both standing facing the large mirror, Rafe directly behind you as you catch his gaze in the glass. It’s haunting as he stares down at you, eyes full of something you haven't seen before— or maybe you had…
His hand tugs on the bottom of your t-shirt. 
“Take this off…”
Rafe Camerons tone always aired on the side of that dominating, arrogant, figure eight culture he’d grown up in—while this was no different, you could feel his words pool between your legs again, the hair on the back of your neck standing up. As sassy and infuriating as you absolutely loved to be with him, always pushing his buttons and driving him crazy. Right now… you wanted to obey him. 
You do as you’re told, taking the fabric in your grasp and slowly bringing it above your head, tossing it to the floor as you hear Rafe let out a shaky breath behind you. 
The picture you’d sent him quite literally paled in comparison to the real life image of you before him— complete and utter perfection. 
He was losing himself in the way parts of you fell out of the fabric at all the right places, at how your breasts were threatening to burst from the pathetic seams of the bikini and how your hardened nipples poked through, begging to be touched. 
His brain felt dizzy from seeing you like this, in ways he’d only dreamed of. 
Without thinking, your hand came up to touch the necklace, fingers gently grazing the letters Rafe was begging to hear you call him. 
His next words hit you straight to the gut, causing a wave of emotions you didn’t think remotely possible as his hand comes to push one of your braids over your shoulder to give him a better view. 
“Jesus Christ, I knew this necklace would look so beautiful on you the moment I bought it, baby.” 
Hearing him call you that feels like a dream come true, like a tidal wave crashing over you as you register his admittance of being physically attracted to you...not that you hadn’t already consciously been aware of that on some level. The whimper he hears come out of you only encourages him to go on, not like he could stop his own thoughts if he wanted to at this point. 
“I never dreamed you’d let Daddy see it on you though, Y/N/N…”
You’d heard that nickname of yours come out of his mouth hundreds if not thousands of times in your lifetime, yet hearing if paired with the name glittering from your neck— this time it sinks down deep in your soul, attaching itself to your deepest, darkest want: him. 
“Rafe…please”
Your plea for him was all he needed to hear. 
When Rafe’s lips press down into your shoulder, your eyes fluttered closed, head falling back lazily onto his chest, unable to stop the moan falling out of your mouth as his lips turn into your neck. 
“Look at me.”
Your eyes meet his in the mirror, only this time they hold a flame that sparks something deep within you, a switch that can be turned off. 
“Y/N…”
You feel his hands squeeze at your sides before feeling them travel up to the back of your neck, his two fingers easily untying the bow ties there as the straps immediately come falling to your sides, your breasts quite literally popping out of the strained fabric with such force you heard Rafe moan behind you, hearing that sound from him nearly orgasmic. 
It’s nothing compared to the look on his face right now though, eyes blown out beyond recognition, looking as if he might actually cry, as he devours every single inch of you. 
His voice is low in your ear once more, holding a dreamlike wonder before going back to his cool edge, refusing to break eye contact through the mirror. 
“Do you have any fucking clue how many times I’ve imagined this, imagined you like this?” 
He was so close to you now that when he grabs your waist and pulls you back, you feel him, how absolutely rock hard he is under his pants and you literally mewl over, the most helpless, whiny pout Rafe has ever seen in his entire fucking life taking over your face as you thrust your ass back at him, almost begging to feel more of him— as Rafe just repeats the same thought on loop—knowing what he’s always known.  
She’s going to be the fucking death of me. 
“God you’re so pretty it actually hurts, baby.”
“Rafe...”
He feels your hands reach back, frantically trying to grasp his t-shirt in your palms and he watches goosebumps rise over your breasts, making your nipples perk up to unbelievable heights as he hears you whine again, his words coyly meant to shush you. 
“Shhhhh… I know, Y/N. I feel it too.”
Your mind blows apart when he confirms it— confirms your sickest, most desperate dreams you’d never thought possible. He feels it too. 
He loves the feeling of you tugging at his shirt so much, confirming you want it just as bad as he does as he finally brings his hands up your side, hands feeling like heaven as he grabs at each of your breasts, watching as he rolls and pinches your nipples between his fingers, absolutely loving watching the way your face contorts wildly, shivers running up and down your body at the feeling.
Rafe feels you tremble slightly in his arms, grin threatening to take over his face as he watches your chest rise and fall rapidly. You were falling apart in his arms and god damn he loved every single second of it— every single moment of being the one to cause you to do so. 
“You like the way that feels, hmm?”
You couldn’t respond if you wanted to, words lodged down deep into your throat where his dick should be.  
But Rafe didn’t need a response, he knew. 
“I’ve known you your whole life, Y/N” as his hands grab at every part of you, blissed out from finally getting to touch you like this after all these years, scared he’s going to wake up and it all won’t be real. 
The thoughts tormenting him of Joey fucking Hudson’s hands touching you instead of his own come piercing through his mind, making his blood boil, venom dripping from his next words. 
“You really think some touron fucking idiot here for the summer knows you better than your best friend? Knows their way around your body better than me?”
You find your voice in that moment, coming out more of a pout than anything, lost in his words, not realizing his hands trailing down lower and lower. 
“You’ve never even touched me like this before…”
“Yeah, and look at how fucking wet you are for me, sweetheart.”
You almost screamed when you felt his fingers brush past the fabric of your bikini bottoms, sliding over your clit, gliding back and forth with such ease due to the actual pool of liquid gathered there like a prized trophy on display for him, wanting nothing more than to show him what he was doing to you. 
“Oh my god, Rafe.” Your voice coming out breathy and heavy. 
You feel empty when he removes his hand all too quick, needing, begging to feel him again as his cool voice hits your ear drums again, feeling like you’re drunk. 
“Turn around.”
When you do, you half expect him to demand you drop your knees, which is exactly why your jaw fully falls to the floor when he drops to his before you, looking up you in such a way you’re not sure how you’re still standing, gulping at the sight of him, lips slightly set in a pout but face determined as his hands come up to your hips. 
His tongue flicks out slowly between his teeth before licking both of his lips like he’s starved as he pulls your bikini down your legs, leaving you standing there before him in nothing but the necklace. Rafe couldve came at the sight alone, memorized by the glittered letters— memorized by you. 
You felt his breath fan your core as he tosses your bikini to the floor but not before seeing the giant wet mark you he made in them, filling him with such a sense of pride and newfound possessiveness over you. 
“Spread your legs open for me just a little bit…”
His middle finger only comes up to toy with your clit, his finger pad just barely hitting your bud as you throw your head back, not fully giving you what you want but the sensation alone involuntarily making your legs open wider as he chuckles to himself. 
“Good girl. If I don’t at least taste a little bit of you right now, I’m gonna fucking die—”
Rafe Cameron—your best friends tongue attaches itself to your core as you white knuckle grip down on the counter for dear life— you would’ve given absolutely anything to him in this moment— would’ve laid your life out on the line if it meant having him make you feel like this. 
He groans when he finally tastes you, confirming what he’s always known; you’re straight poison—a drug he’d willingly overdose on— eyes rolling into the back of his head at how unbelievably sweet he just fucking knew you’d be. 
Now that he’d had a taste— he needs more. He needs everything. 
His mouth slowly makes its way up, hovering over your stomach and then your chest…
His lips came up to your perfectly perked up nipples, literally begging to be played with as you felt it being sucked firmly between his lips, felt the tip of his tongue flick back and forth over the hardened nub before the back arching feeling of it grazing his teeth— his eyes looking up at you at that exact moment— the way he was looking at you should be illegal. 
Rafe Cameron’s mouth had been nearly everywhere on you. It had touched the most intimate parts of your body, parts you still couldn’t believe it was real. 
Yet as he towered back over you and his lips came closer to yours, you felt your lungs nearly collapse. 
You’d dreamed about this moment entirely too many times, had thought of him on far too many occasions— both in private and in public. What those beautiful lips could do to you. What they now had done to you…
With one final look down on you— reliving nearly every memory from the moment he’d met you till this exact moment in time— he leaned forward and made all of his wildest dreams come true. 
The moment you felt Rafe’s lips on yours, you knew. You knew this was it. 
This was why you had stolen the necklace without a second thought upon finding it. Hell, you knew this was why Rafe had bought the necklace. 
Rafe was your best friend. You knew & he knew. This was how it should feel, how it could feel, how it does feel. 
The taste of your lips on his is was so sweet, entirely too sweet for his bratty, know it all, had to always be right, best friend. He knows better. He knows you better. 
Yet his brain still almost goes into a fit of shock when he feels you pull his bottom lip between your teeth, your tongue rolling over it threatening to make Rafe’s whole body shake. When he feels you bite down, his hand reaches up to grab at one of your braids instinctively within seconds, yanking you back briefly— the feeling utterly delicious— before pulling the braid closer to him, pulling you closer to him, demanding to taste more of you. 
His face held no trace of a smile as he looked down on you, but the rushing effect it had when paired with his next words were all the same. 
“Bend over.”  
You don’t move a muscle, not fully being able to register his words as his gaze grows grim. 
“I—”
He doesn’t use his words, only his hands this time as he grabs your waist and spins you so quickly you feel like you have whiplash, now facing the mirror again as he grabs your braid and pulls you flush against him so he can growl in your ear. 
“Are you gonna bend the fuck over the counter for me baby or am I gonna have to ask you again?”
“Don’t be a brat, Y/N/N. I know you. I know you want to do as you’re told. I know you just want to be my good girl.”
Rafe had always been able to read straight through you, one of his more frustrating traits— his mind always crystal clear when it came to you. 
He’s foaming at the mouth as he watches you sink your hands to the back of the bathroom counter, allowing your body to fall slowly forward onto the hard surface as your legs are spread wide open, ass and pussy on full display for him as Rafe takes in the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. 
You’d expected him to take you right then and there— not bend down to his knees for the second time as he literally coos at you. 
He knew exactly what you needed at that moment. 
“Mmmmm, nice and slow sweetheart. I’ve only dreamed about how tight this pussy is, now I want proof.”
You let out an unholy whimper as his fingers slid across your clit, causing shockwaves down your spine before you felt his fingers at your entrance, slowly sliding between your lips, feeling the delicious feeling of them spreading you open, of him filling you up. 
You gasp as he slowly pushes two fingers deep into your pussy that’s so perfectly on display while you’re bent over, the sight alone making him almost drool. His fingers fill you in ways you didn’t think possible and when you feel his cool ring finger slide inside you, you clench down hard on him making both of you gasp out loud. 
“God damn, Y/N…”
Rafe is confident he’s never been more turned on his whole life, his dick so hard against his pants it almost hurts. He could honestly cry right now as he looks at his fingers, as he feels your soft insides clench tightly around him, pussy so wet and beautiful and needy for him. 
“I didn’t get a good enough taste last time, Y/N/N.”
Rafe feels and sees the pool of arousal gather around his fingers and soak out of you at his words, making his eyes roll to the back of his head at how perfect it all is— at how perfect you were— at how perfect you had always been. 
“You are you gonna let Daddy taste you again, baby?” 
“Pleaseeeeee, Rafe…please”
The helplessness in your voice tugs at something deep within him, a newfound sense of purpose. 
“I know baby girl, so good—”
Rafe wasn’t even making sense at this point; your pussy drawing nearer to his lips putting him under a spell as you felt his mouth dive deep into you, tongue tracing undecipherable love letters into your clit making you shriek out loudly, letting all your body weight fall heavy against the countertop, the cold feeling of the granite against your burning hot skin the most perfect, damning feeling as Rafe flicked your clit back and forth across his tongue at a relentless pace. 
You’d heard stories of Rafe’s history and experience through the grapevine on the island— the gossip and talk nearly inevitable given his track record. 
Yet you couldn’t ever believe it could feel like this. That it could literally feel like god himself was between your legs right now, sending you into the heavens above happily as he devoured you. 
“Oh my god, that feels so good…” your voice came out in breathy moans. “You feel so good…”
Rafe’s hands come up to your ass at your words, squeezing firmly as he hears more beautiful moans fall from your lips, before bringing his right hand down hard on your cheek— hearing the loud smack before you register the beautiful sting that follows— the most damning gasp falling from your lips. 
While he could happily taste you like this for the rest of his life— he’s also demanding, and selfish, and only then does he remember that he’s not the one who was originally supposed to make you cum today, he wasn’t the one you’d meant to send that picture to. 
The thought of your perfect pussy spread out like this for anyone else—the idea of you wearing his necklace, the one he bought for you, for anyone else but him revolts him, unaccepting of such a despicable idea. 
No one else in this entire world should get to have you like this, they don’t get to watch your face fall apart or hear those breathy little moans leave your lips while you’re spread apart like a little slut over your bathroom counter— they haven’t earned that right. 
But Rafe Cameron sure as fuck has. 
And he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get to physically see your face crumble the first time he makes you cum, as he makes you forget every other man in this world, as he shows you none of them can make you feel the way he can, like he’s been silently begging and craving to do for years. 
His mind momentarily drifts back to your cheerleader outfit from High School, the way that tiny little skirt of yours could ruin an entire evening for him. How you ruined him over and over again every time he’d catch a glimpse of you during a game from the field, feeling his dick harden against his cup every single time. 
His perfect, bratty best friend. 
You feel that empty, helpless feeling when he mouth stops moving, suckling at your clit so hard it makes you gasp before fully removing his lips from you. Rafe rises up from his position on the ground to tower behind you again. 
When he lifts his shirt over his head and tosses it amongst your forgotten bikini on the floor, leaving him standing there like something plucked straight from your wildest fantasy, admiring the way his own chain dangled from his neck before looking back to the one around yours, reminding you of the matching “bffs” broken heart necklaces the two of you shared as kids…
He never tore his eyes from you as he slowly undid his belt buckle; the sound of the heavy metal clanking making you nearly drool. 
You needed him so fucking bad, and he needed you just as much. 
You heard the zipper come down slowly, unable to handle waiting any longer. 
“Rafe, I need you.”
Whether he heard your words or chose to ignore them (oh he fucking heard you alright), you’re not sure, because when you do finally open your eyes again it to see Rafe finally pull his dangerously erect cock from his pants, moaning loudly at how it falls easily into his large hand as he begins to pump it. 
You could’ve actually murdered every single girl who came before you who’d gotten the chance to admire how beautiful it was— how beautiful he was. 
The stories you’d heard, all but driving your mind wild for your best friend over the years, leading you to do dangerously filthy things when alone— reliving all the gossip the girls on Figure Eight had tormented you with about the legend that was Rafe Cameron. 
His next words wash away any doubt, any hint of jealousy that was pulsating through you only a second ago. 
“I’m going to fucking destroy you, Y/N. Just like you’ve ruined me for anyone else. All I can fucking see is you…”
With the most purpose and conviction you’d had this entire time, your pleading look turns deadly serious as your hand reaches behind you to grab Rafe’s cock, unable to not know how it feels wrapped around your hands a second longer. 
“Fucking do it. Ruin me. I’ve only ever wanted to be yours, Daddy…”
Hearing that word makes Rafe’s whole brain explode into tiny fragments, his soul leaving his body as he revels in the feeling of you finally touching him where he’s craved after all of these years. 
He slowly takes your hands off his cock and helps you grip the edge of the counter once more, whispering down to you as he lines up to your entrance, committing every single detail to memory. 
“Hold on tight, baby. I’m about to blow your whole world apart.”
His hands were gripping tightly at your waist as you felt him slide deep into the tightest places your pussy hadn’t even dreamed of being touched before, fully bottoming out within you as his hands trembled now at your sides. 
“Fuck—!”
“That’s my fucking girl—”
His words hit you like a ton of bricks as you feel his hips buck up into you, making you gasp so loud at the feeling of your best friend's cock beginning to pump in and out of you. 
“It’s why I bought that fucking necklace, never even had any intention to give it to you. Paid a fortune for it too…”
As he takes you by your throat and pulls you against him, keeping his pace steady and hard as he fucks into you, watching your breasts bouce back and forth in the mirror, the light once again hitting the necklace and forcing all his attention to it— almost obsessively. 
“So fucking worth it”
He removed his hand from your throat to grab at each of your braids as he fucks you, watching your dripping center swallow him over and over again, the sight truly something to behold. 
Rafe wants to push you as far as you can go though, he still wants you to pay for earlier. 
Rafe Cameron has been driving you crazy your entire life and you him. 
Beneath him he watches as you stare intently in the mirror, jaw hanging open as loud moans fill the small bathroom. 
“My dirty girl likes watching herself get fucked dumb in the mirror, huh? You like watching my cock move in and out of you like that?”
The sound you make is more of a scream than anything else, pleading with him. 
“So much—”
“Mmm, Me too baby, so do I. Never dreamed you could take my cock so good. So tight for me, Y/N/N”
Him calling you by your nickname with his dick so far up inside you was doing lethal things to your already fucked out brain. 
“So good, Rafe.”
“Didn’t think you’d ever let me touch you like this, pretty girl.”
“You like getting fucked like a little slut?”
“Mhm, your slut, daddy.” 
“You’re taking me so well, Y/N. So. fuckin. tight—” his cock thrusting into through your walls hard as he breathed out each word, hearing the sound of skin slapping, the most vulgar noises being made between the two of you. 
“Who’s the only one who can make your pussy feel this good?” 
It was almost embarrassing how quick you were to answer, at how good you wanted to be for him. 
“You Rafe, it’s only you, I promise.” 
Rafe wasn’t surprised by how fast the confessions were falling from your lips, he felt it too— but he needed to hear it.
“You’re goddamn right—” as he grunts loudly, using the tone of voice on you that he usually only reserved for those who were on the receiving end of his fists. “Not some fucking touron who doesn’t even deserve to get to look at you!”
“Fuck, I’m sorry Rafe—”
“—You’re falling apart for me, baby look at yourself.”
At that he reaches around to grab your jaw roughly in his grasp, jolting your head upward in the mirror, forcing you to look at what he was doing to you. 
“Harder, Daddy—please…”
“Yeah, you want me to fuck you so hard you forget the rest of their names— fuck you so hard that you forget your name?”
If Rafe hadn’t kept repeating it, your own name would’ve already been lost to you, your mind only being able to focus on the one thing fully consuming it, likely forever: him. 
“Yes, please god. Do it. Make me forget—Please Rafe. Don’t stop—”
His fingers rose to the back of the chain on your neck, pulling it tight against your throat as he heard the choked moans. 
It was your turn for your eyes to roll to the back of his head, savoring the beautiful feeling as the pressure from the necklace ripped all the air out of lungs, your teeth biting down hard on your bottom  lip before spreading into a wicked grin almost as wide as your legs. 
The second he sees you smile, so blissed out and needy with how rough he was being with you—Rafe was so proud of himself, of course he knew exactly what you wanted. 
He lets go of the necklace as you gasp for air, his pace only quickening as he pulls you by your waist, bringing you as close to him as he possibly can, loving the hot, sticky feeling of your skin against his. 
The feeling of your skin burning against his ignites something in Rafe as he brings his hand down between your legs, making you scream his name out loud when his fingers find your clit, his nails scratching at his bicep and forearm wrapped around your waist. 
You have never in your entire fucking life felt this good and you know, you just fucking know in this moment that you’ve always been holding out, reserving yourself for him. 
He watches happily as you lose it in his arms— lose control, lose sense, lose any part of yourself that didn’t now belong to him. 
He heels your head lean back against his shoulder as your body begins to shake, this time not needing your words to confirm how close you were as your hands flail around, desperate to dig your nails into anything you can grasp. 
“Daddy…”
He sees your doe eyes lazily roll up to him in the mirror and watches the tears pool in them, threatening to spill over—knowing he’s done for well before he hears your words. 
“You’re so perfect, Rafe…fuck—I’m so close—” turning your head on his shoulder, faces only an inch apart as you look up into his crystal blue irises— never wanting to forget this.
“Best friends forever, right?”
His cock finds that sweet spot deep within you, penetrating as deep as he can go—making you see flashes of diamonds as Rafe swears he can faintly hear Drake lyrics as the poison consumes him, losing everything—losing himself in you. 
“FUCK,Y/N! You’re mine, you’ve always fucking been mine—”
You cum around him at that exact moment, walls breaking free as he spills out into you, each of you literally screaming—holding on for dear life. 
“It’s only ever going to be me, I promise.”
Vision still black—Rafe’s breath on your neck like silk when his lips attach to your skin there; the sweetest thing you’d ever felt. Your boy. 
Yours. 
Not that stupid bitch that sat next to you in Chemistry senior year who went on and on about how Rafe ate her out in the Island Club bathroom— 
Or that chick you’d met on the beach last summer who you’d walked in going down on him in the bathroom at one of Kelce’s party’s— not even that girl he’d brought to Midsummers, happily dangling her around him like arm candy all night. 
He was yours. 
He kisses your neck a few times. 
“I could fucking stay in you forever…”
He leans his forehead down on your neck to watch himself slowly pull out of you, a mix of you and him dripping down to the floor in the process, his mouth hanging wide open at the sight, a tiny little delicate gasp leaving your lips as the feeling. 
“Fucking ruined…” he whispers dazily. 
You’re lost in the thrill of it all— the feeling of his arms still around you, still holding you tightly to him— already dreaming and aching for him again. 
You both stay like that a moment, eyes closing as you feel Rafe take your chin in his fingers guiding your head back to him, back to his lips, moaning when they collide. 
He basks in it for a moment before the relentless determination returns— before the jealousy returns — this time with a fateful vengeance. 
He presses his lips tightly against yours before breaking away, leaving you dizzy from the loss of contact as he grabs your bikini and t-shirt, tossing them to you. 
You barely attempt to catch them as you sputter out words. 
“Rafe what’re you—”
“Get dressed, Y/N/N” 
“Whe—”
“We—” he points between you two, anger and rage so apparent, so easily riled up within him making you want to grin from ear to ear.
“—are going back to the club so I can tell your boy that if I catch him even so much as looking at you again I’ll break his fucking neck—”
Your hand flies up to your mouth but it doesn’t at all cover the shrill fit of giggles you break out into. 
When Rafe turns to see that trademark smirk appear on your lips, feigned innocence dripping off your naked body—he knows you’re up to no good. 
Guess it’s your turn to come clean before he full on whoops the boy's ass bloody for no damn reason. 
“I was never even texting Joey earlier…”
And the one last smug, bratty look up at Rafe confirms it all as he looks into the eyes of God himself: he’s in love with his best friend. 
“I meant to text you that picture earlier, Rafe…”
...
Taglist: @goldenjo @itsalexwin @lurkymurker @barbietiingz @drewbooooo @mackenzielovee @mor-bs @totallynotkaibiased @aaleksmorozova @onlygetaway @tsnelf7 @starkeybae @kotzmagotaz @maybanks-cupcake @valentinearc @valeriiecameron @lovedetlost
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yeen-meteor · 11 months
Text
thinking about how fucking cool i-no guilty gear is and how much i love her. narratively and design wise. like.
the first two things you pick up from her visual design are that she Fucks, and she plays guitar. That she’s a hedonist, and maybe an artist, or maybe just someone who would hang out at dive bars and play covers and get drunk and have a good time.
and neither of those things ever seem to be true at all, with how she’s portrayed in the stories. She sometimes puts on the whole sultry thing just to sling insults, but for the most part she’s just, serious, and vaguely miserable, and taking part in the Greater Scope Plot and fighting over the Fate Of The World. She never does anything for herself, never does anything for fun. She puts all this effort into using time travel to avert disasters, both in the drama cd and in the xrd sign arcade mode - and from what i’ve heard of the drama cd, she hates doing it, she hates feeling like the Author of the world and not just a participant in it - but eight years later she’s still doing it. She holds deep, deep grudges over who the chosen ones are, who gets to wield the flame of corruption. In Strive, she tries to become God, she schemes and fights hard for it, and she seems bored at best and miserable at worst the whole time.
She wears the visage of a free-spirited hedonist, but she can’t keep herself out of fate-of-the-world conflicts, she can’t seperate herself from what she is, what she was created to be, and what power she has. She spends her whole life toiling away at all these plots to alter the course of the whole world.
And when she’s defeated, at the end of Strive, she asks Sol why the fuck he has a weapon that strong, when he was practically unstoppable already,
and Sol just basically says, “It’s a hobby. A man’s gotta have hobbies.”
And like. I-no just. Doesn’t. She doesn’t have hobbies. She looks like she does, she looks like she wants to, but she doesn’t.
And Requiem is such a fucking cool song lyrically, talking about how her ascent to power is just destroying her, how she flew high so she could see everything but now there is no up or down above the clouds and she can’t breathe - just this self-destructive, obsessive involvement in The Big Picture, pursuing power because she’s Supposed to, and never once thinking about what She Wants.
And through her interactions with Axl, through the lyrics of Requiem, through Sol’s comment about hobbies, and through I-no’s visual design, even through Testament who almost seems to exist as a perfect foil to this concept as someone who has limitless power but just lives small and happy with all the hobbies in the world, we’re just left to wonder - 
what if she actually did the things it looks like she does? What if she just, went to a dive bar, got on stage, played Stone Cold Crazy (with the Metallica lyrics just to piss off Frederick somewhere), got wasted, Hecked, and had just a wild, inconsequential, hedonistic good time, and left all the Big Picture behind? But it’s too late for her, because she’s already flown too high.
She’s so fucking cool like,.
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leiawritesstories · 8 months
Note
Okay I saw “First time getting drunk” on one of the prompt lists and now I’m imagining aelin or rowan maybe having their 21st, having waited all that time without having alcohol and maybe the other one’s teasing them for being such a goody-two-shoes, and then they get drunk together and it’s either hilarious or there’s a love confession or literally anything at all, this is just where my brain headed but you can go anywhere you want to with this prompt, your ideas are always amazing
(And congrats again❤️)
HI ABBY THANK YOU SO SO MUCH ❤️❤️❤️this made me CACKLE and i hope it makes you laugh too ;)
Word count: ~1.4k
Warnings: swearing, alcohol, drunken antics, *someone* is a lightweight
enjoy!!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Staghorns Bar was packed by the time Aelin and Rowan walked through the old wooden doors, instantly bombarded with the barrage of blaring music, tattooed skin, and beer stench that was so familiar to Staghorns's regulars.
"Welcome to your new favorite place!" Aelin called into Rowan's ear, raising her voice over the thumping music.
He rolled his eyes and pulled her closer against him. "I already want to leave."
She laughed, pinched her best friend's cheek. "Where's the fun in that, birthday boy? You don't even have to pay for your drinks tonight."
"Fine, I'll stay," he relented, grinning at her. "If only for the free drinks."
"You've never known the pain of paying for your booze," she reminded him, snickering. Rowan's refusal to touch alcohol until he was 21 had been a longstanding joke among their friend group.
"And whose bank account has that benefitted, hmm?" He raised his split brow.
"Okay, you can stop now." She poked him in the ribs. "I got the full college experience, booze and all, and I'm still in one piece, despite your hovering, Mom." She delivered that last word with heavy sarcasm. She might be eight months older than her best friend, but he hovered like an overprotective mother hen.
He snorted. "You keep calling me that, Ae, but we all--urk!" His snarky comment was cut off by a trademark Fenrys Moonbeam Hug Attack, which he allowed for exactly two seconds before shoving the blonde off of him.
Ever enthusiastic, Fen turned his sights onto Aelin, hoisting her off her feet in a bear hug. "You brought the birthday boy!" he exclaimed.
She laughed. "It took some bribery, but yeah, he's here."
"And he's gonna get druuuuuunk!" Fen cheered in a sing-song tone of of voice that had Rowan rethinking his decisions.
"Uh-uh, nope, I know that face." Aelin linked her arm through Rowan's and tugged him towards the booth where their friends were waiting. "No running away now, birthday boy."
"I'm not getting drunk," Rowan griped.
She snorted under her breath. "Since when have you ever listened to Fen's wildness? You'll have a beer, maybe taste some liquor, take a shot and cough on it like all the new drinkers do, and go home finally knowing what alcohol tastes like."
"And I should be excited for that?" he asked, deadpan.
She smacked his broad shoulder, which did more damage to her hand than his rock-solid muscles. Damn athletes. "You'll at least be able to tell your big bad hockey boys that you've graduated from the kiddie table." They reached the booth, where far too many people were crammed into a space meant for eight people, maximum. "He's here!"
"Happy birthday!" cheers sounded from their friends, and Rowan found himself deluged by more hugs and handshakes and back slapping.
"Never thought I'd see your pansy ass in a bar," Lorcan smirked, clapping him on the back.
"Fuck off." Rowan clapped Lorcan's back harder. The two of them had been teammates since they were in middle school, and Lorcan had been trying--unsuccessfully--to get Rowan to come to hockey team parties for years.
The taller man smirked wickedly and turned around, holding out his hand. "El, baby, pass me a cup?" A plastic cup full of beer appeared in Lorcan's hand. courtesy of his girlfriend, Elide. "Here you go, Birthday Boy." He picked up how own drink and tapped it to Rowan's. "Cheers, bitch!"
Rowan caught scent of the beer and immediately wrinkled his nose. "Smells fucking awful."
Appearing at his side, Aelin laughed. "We're college students, Ro, we only buy piss-cheap beer." She raised her own glass to him and pressed her lips to his ear. "Drink up, and I just might buy you something better."
"God damn, you're a terrible influence," he muttered, teasingly. "Cheers to me, then!" Saluting the booth, he tipped the cup back and took a long drink.
And gagged. "Fucking hell!"
Aelin chugged her whole cup in one go and laughed. "Not a fan?"
"No!" He switched cups with her. "Where's my real drink?"
"Aww, look at our little boy, all grown up and wanting liquor the second he tastes his first alcohol," Lorcan crooned, dropping his arms around Aedion and Rowan's shoulders.
Rowan shook him off. "Jackass."
Aedion slid a shot glass full of clear liquid across the tabletop. "All yours, birthday boy!" His grin was just as maniacal as Aelin's when she was up to no good.
Aelin shot her cousin a sharp look. "Aedy, is that--"
"Let him drink it and we'll find out," Aedion interrupted before she could finish, making a dramatic shut up! gesture.
She rolled her eyes. "You're a terrible influence." Swiping the other shot from Aedion, she took a quick sniff--yep, tequila. "Okay Ro, ready?" He nodded and picked up his shot. "Happy birthday, bestie!" She clinked her shot with his and, in unison, they tapped their glasses on the table and threw back the shots.
Rowan coughed and wheezed as the tequila burned down his throat, his face flushing red. "What the fuck?"
The booth burst into raucous laughter as he dropped his shot glass, reached for the glass of water sitting in front of Elide, and gulped it down desperately.
Only to find that what looked like water was in fact vodka.
"Look at our little alcoholic go!" Elide cheered, taking her drink away from Rowan as he coughed and spluttered some more.
"Wuh-water," he managed to wheeze. Aelin passed him her water bottle, and he took a tentative sip to confirm it was actually water before guzzling three-fourths of the bottle in one go. It helped, but didn't do anything to clear the glassy sheen his eyes had already taken on after half a cheap beer, one shot of tequila, and a generous helping of Elide's vodka.
"Better?" Aelin took back her water bottle. "Ro? Is that better?"
He turned to face her, blinking at the way her outline was...fuzzy? He shook his head. That couldn't be right. "Huh?"
A wide, wicked grin slipped across her face. "Rowan Whitethorn, are you drunk already?"
"No, I'm not!" he protested. It came out more like "no-uhmmm-not."
She snickered. "Should've known you'd be a lightweight after all your years refusing to drink." Standing, she draped his arm around her shoulders and waved to the table. "I'll make sure the birthday boy doesn't pass out before he gets home."
Rowan swayed on his feet but let her lead him out of the bar and across the parking lot until they'd reached his beat-up old pickup. He went to step up into the passenger seat, missed the running board, and flopped forward, catching his upper body on the seat.
Aelin sighed and rubbed his back comfortingly. "C'mon, you big drunk oaf, you have to get into the truck. I can't lift you."
"I'n lif' you," he slurred, grinning a big silly grin.
"I--wha--Ro!" She gasped as he turned around and lifted her easily, setting her down in the passenger seat. "Um, you've got it backwards, Rowan. You're way too drunk to drive. Hell, you might be too drunk to think properly' I can't let you drive."
"Am not!" He stuck out his lower lip. It was adorable. "'M'thinkin' jus' fine, an' I think I love you."
Aelin froze.
Rowan blinked at her, his hazy eyes wide with concern. "Ae?"
"You...you love me?"
A soft pink blush crept up his cheeks. "Yeah."
Her lips curved into a tiny, hesitant smile. "And you had to get drunk to admit it?" He opened and closed his mouth a few times, at a loss for words. She laughed softly and caught his chin in her hands, her bringing his face close to hers. "I'm just teasing, Ro." Gently, she pressed her lips to his, tasting the lingering alcohol.
He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her harder, breaking away after a long, sweet moment. His bright grin settled into a dark, cold corner of Aelin's heart and warmed it right through. "Stay wi'me?" he asked, his words still slurred together.
Beaming, she hopped down from the truck, boosted him into the passenger seat, went around to climb into the driver's seat, and started up the engine. "Of course."
Despite falling asleep within the first two minutes, he held her hand the whole drive back to campus.
~~~
TAGS:
@live-the-fangirl-life
@superspiritfestival
@thegreyj
@wordsafterhours
@elentiyawhitethorn
@morganofthewildfire
@backtobl4ck
@rowanaelinn
@house-of-galathynius
@tomtenadia
@julemmaes
@swankii-art-teacher
@charlizeed
@booknerdproblems
@chronicchthonic14
@earthtolinds
@goddess-aelin
@sweet-but-stormy
@clea-nightingale
@autumnbabylon
@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell
@llyncooljones
@silentquartz
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joheunsaram · 2 years
Text
On With The Show (knj)
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summary: Eight years after announcing their retirement, Dark & Wild seems to have been left behind. For Namjoon, he could never forget the time his dreams became a reality, and he's determined to retake the charts by storm once again. Struggling with raising a teenage daughter, the loss of his wife and poor writing projects with terrible bands, he’s now had enough. So with a little help from the only remaining active fan site, he embarks on a mission to convince his bandmates that a comeback might not be the mid life crisis they think it is.
word count- 33.9k (🥴💀)
pairing- retired bassist!Namjoon x lawyer!Reader
rating- R
genre- rockstar!au, s2f2l, fluff, smut, angst, slight slow burn, single dad!au
warnings- retired!bangtan, dilf!joon, lowkey making fun of Mötley Crüe but not really, recreational drug use, drug overdose, hospitals, minor character death, depression, protected sex, oral (m and f receiving), too many song references (namjoons catalogue mainly), soft soft joon, joon is dad to a 16yo, jungkook is a shameless dedicated dad to twins, joon is 36, invasion of privacy, lots of talk about being famous
playlist- don’t//aeon ft rm, ny state of mind//nas, bicycle//rm, spring day//bts, always//rm, human behaviour//bjork, death with dignity//sufjan stevens, seoul//rm, outro//maanu, heavenly//cigarettes after dark, trivia love//bts, on with the show//motley crue, war of hormones//bts
a.n- this fic is part of the Can’t Be Tamed collab hosted by @jeonjcngkook. please check out the other fics in the collab, they are all amazing!
I’m very excited to share this fic with all of you! it’s been in the making for a very long time and is the longest one shot I’ve written yet. Hope you enjoy this story and that you remember never to let your inner fan girl down! Hehe💕💕
special s/o to @raplinesmoon and @playmetheclassics for beta reading this for me and to @mapleglasses27​ and @bluewhale52​ for hyping me up and brainstorming with me! i honestly don’t know what i would do without you all! ily 🥺
Banner by the ever talented @hobeemin 💕😍
As always feedback appreciated, a reblog and a like goes a far way. Send me an ask! 💌
-
The guitar riff crashed through the speakers, loud and chaotic, distorted to a growl that got the heart beating. Notes cascaded over each other as if chasing themselves in a circle like kids in a park. Soon after, the drums and bass joined them, high hat crashing in time with the snare, the strings of the bass slapping against fingers, pinging loud and clear. A destructive medley morphing into a foot-stomping melody that bounced off the  soundproof walls bringing a smile to Namjoon’s face.
A smile that dropped as soon as the vocalist started singing the verse.
“What are the colours of the skies really? They're bright black when falling apart Were our drifts back then okay?”
With a scowl, Namjoon straightened in his seat, turning off the recording,and hitting the button for the mic. The band seemed unbothered as they kept playing, bobbing their heads to the music. It would be commendable how absorbed they were in the music, if they weren’t completely fucking up Namjoon’s song. He cleared his throat into the mic, thankful for the abrupt silence.
“Vince, for the last fucking time. Those are not the lyrics,” Namjoon said, only to be met with an eye roll that boiled his blood. The audacity of these rookies was too high. They had barely debuted two years ago and somehow their egos seemed to have grown infinitely larger.
“And for the last fucking time, man. These work better,” Vince argued through the guitar pick secured between his teeth, using a tattooed hand to push his bright purple hair back. He looked to the three men next to him for support and all of them agreed, nodding enthusiastically. Well everyone except the lead guitarist, Mick, who as per usual was just staring into space, expression as vacant as Vince’s head.
“How do they make sense? What’s fucking bright black? And the colours of the sky?” Namjoon questioned, frustration making itself known from the tick of his jaw as he tried not to explode.
He hated this band. He hated this job. His name held a lot of weight in the industry, and he couldn’t fathom how he had even gotten to where he was right now; writing songs for an over entitled bunch of kids half his age.
Much like any other person in the music industry, Namjoon started with a dream. Well, a dream and a threat from his mom. When he was sixteen, his mother had looked him straight in the eye and given him one year to go out into the real world and make money from the music his friends kept playing in her garage, and if he was unsuccessful, he was to pick up his studies and continue on her dream of him becoming an engineer. And well, Namjoon was a stubborn, talented kid.
Within six months, his band had not only signed onto a label, but Dark and Wild had successfully started preparations for their debut album, one that charted number one worldwide and convinced his mother that the noise he was always playing was worth something.
That number one album turned into platinum, and then so did the next three albums. By the time Namjoon was twenty-two, he was the bassist of the hottest band in the world, his songs being chanted by people of all ages, all races.
World tours, whirlwind romances, and new hotel rooms every weekend became the norm. At the peak of his career, Namjoon was an ambassador for four luxury brands, three alcohol companies, and one electronics conglomerate, his face plastered over billboards from New York to Seoul to Paris. That was also when he became a husband and a proud father to the world’s most beautiful baby girl.
And then, merely a few years later, he lost the love of his life and his band in the span of four months. It wasn’t dramatic, it was life. Everything happens for a reason, and Namjoon believed that for him that reason was the beautiful girl his wife had gifted him.
If his band hadn’t called it quits, he would have never spent time raising her, learning how to be the best dad and learning the way his daughter’s brain worked, so intricate and creative that he sometimes got tears in his eyes just thinking about the fact that he was responsible for creating someone so extraordinary.
Which is why the fact that the bunch of kids in the studio were talking about her made his blood boil, his jaw tensing from all the expletives he wanted to throw at them.
“Dude I can’t believe you picked this boomer cause of his daughter!” Vince taunted his bandmate as he laughed, his nasal snort pumping through the vein now throbbing on Namjoon’s forehead.
“What can I say, man, that chick’s fucking hot, and the way she drums. God damn!” Tommy, the drummer, professed, his hands still holding the sticks now coming to rest on his chest as he leaned back on the stool, the bandana on his head falling backwards with the movement.
Raising a child alone in his mid-twenties had taught Namjoon a lot of things, most of all patience, but he was of the firm belief that not even Buddha would have kept his cool at Tommy’s next words.
“Yo Namjoon! You gotta bring her to the next session. I can really teach her how to bang those drums, if you know what I mean,” he answered with a smile as slimy as his greasy hair, and Namjoon couldn’t help exploding out of his chair, his notebook scattering to the ground as he swiftly made his way to the door of the recording room.
However, before he could pummel that disrespectful worm into the ground, the producer next to him was on his feet, holding him back, his small stature no match for Namjoon’s large build. Seeing red, Namjoon scrambled for the door, falling to the ground and in the process taking the innocent producer down with him. All while the band laughed at him. Generation Swine, what a fitting name for a bunch of pigs.
“Yo boss, you need this gig right?” the producer wheezed from under him, trying to calm down Namjoon with rationality but he didn’t know Namjoon. Thinking about the multiple zeros in his checking account and even more in his investments, his vision cleared, a calm surrounding him.
“I don’t actually,” Namjoon replied, getting back up and helping his coworker with an apology, before he turned back to the band with a condescending smile plastered on his face.
“I quit. And my contract says I can take back my songs. Enjoy an empty album, fuckers.”
With a middle finger in the air, he picked up his messenger bag resting on the couch and his notebook and strolled out. Why hadn’t he just done this before?
—-------
Even though he was notoriously a punk rock artist, nothing calmed Namjoon down more than old school hip-hop, and so as he drove to pick up his daughter, he blasted Nas, rapping along at the top of his lungs.
“Hand me a nine and I'll defeat foes Y'all know my steelo, with or without the airplay I keep some E&J, sitting bent up in the stairway.”
It was as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He had been spending hours everyday pouring himself into music that was insightful and poetic, only to be stonewalled by a bunch of unwashed children who thought what punk really was.
Did they really think watering down his lyrics would make them more relatable? He’d been going back and forth with the Swine for months, and yet they didn’t understand that music didn’t really mean anything unless it said something.
Anyone could string together a melody and talk about fucking and destroying property but the greats always had something to say, something to change. They didn’t chase empty avenues with mixed messages, they took a stand. That’s what punk was, not a distorted guitar with the goal to get laid. He knew that at sixteen and he knew that now at thirty-six.
Real music changed lives.
As the track changed to a more mellow beat, he let his fingers tap the steering wheel, cautiously turning into the cul-de-sac and waiting for the gate to Jungkook’s obscenely secure mansion to open before driving down the long driveway. Driving to his house always made him a little nostalgic, mostly because he was proud that his youngest bandmate had finally settled down from his much wilder days, but also because Jungkook’s home always felt like his home.
It was where he had spent much of his time after the band disbanded, his deep depression and the sudden sole responsibility of a six-year old turning him into a useless shell of a human. He would always be grateful to Jungkook for taking him in when he was at his worst and coaxing him out of the darkness. He shuddered to think of how much worse he would have gotten if he hadn’t had the courage to run to Jungkook eight years ago with his daughter in his arms and tears cascading down his face.
He smiled a little, eyes turning to the big box of gourmet donuts he had picked up for his friend’s family. Parking near the front door, he picked up the box, only to be interrupted by the ringing of his phone, the usually calming chimes grating his nerves when he saw his manager’s name light up the screen.
“What Sejin?”
“Don’t what Sejin me! You quit? Are you kidding me?” The usually cheery man yelled through the line, his exasperation easily conveyed through the static.
“Yup,” Namjoon replied stubbornly, popping the syllable at the end, still too happy to have left that band of wannabes behind to be bothered by the scolding he could see coming. “I realised, I’m literally a millionaire. I don’t need this job.”
“Literally a- Again, are you kidding me?!” Sejin sputtered, and Namjoon grimaced as he heard some of his spit land on the speaker. “You do realise you signed a contract right? A two-year contract, to write for them, exclusively?”
“And?” Namjoon egged him on. “There’s that clause right? That I can pay damages or whatever?”
“They are claiming that those ‘damages or whatever’ are over five million dollars! You either lawyer up, or you go apologise to the band.”
Namjoon snorted at the absurdity. The only way anyone could get him to apologize to that bunch of talentless fuckers was if they animated his dead body with Frankensteinian magic. Not wanting to spoil his good mood, he locked his car and made his way to the front door..
“Send me a list of lawyers,” he said curtly before hanging up on a seething Sejin. He should’ve been worried, or at the very least concerned, by a threat from a very large and influential record label, but Namjoon was finally free and nothing was going to get him down. Not when as soon as he rang the bell, he was greeted by his daughter, a large grin on her face, the dimples that matched his etching deeper into her cheeks.
“Dad! You know you don’t have to drive slow even on a driveway, right?” she teased, giving her father a side hug and greedily reaching for the box of doughnuts, which he raised above his head.
“Moonie, these are for the twins!” he chastised, returning her hug and ruffling her hair only to annoy her, chuckling as she whined at him.
“Joon! You gotta stop bringing sweets! I’m gonna lose my abs!” Jungkook shouted from the foyer, walking over with one of his boys in his arms, the other running behind him. Jun-seo copied his father as he pulled a wincing Jungkook’s hair, and Namjoon couldn’t stop cackling at how cute “I’m gonna lose my abs!” sounded coming from a three-year old’s mouth.
He greeted his friend before leaning down and swooping Hyeon from the ground in his arms, trying to make conversation with the shyer twin as his daughter took the box of doughnuts, opening to look for her favourite. It didn’t take long for Jungkook to coax him into having dinner with his family, laughing at the way Moon sighed in relief of not having to endure her father’s terrible cooking for the night.
Nothing could be more relaxing than having dinner with his closest friends and his daughter, Namjoon thought as he helped Jungkook’s wife wash the dishes, taking care not to let any of his clumsier tendencies shine through. There were only so many of her dishes he could break before she would ban him from the house completely. He smiled as she told him about her day and how the twins had somehow started a paint war with the neighbouring kindergarten class, resulting in her trying to talk the principal out of suspending them.
“They can suspend someone in kindergarten?” he asked, incredulous, wiping the last of the dishes and pouring himself a glass of water.
“You know how people are, Joon. Just cause we have our personal lives plastered all over they assume that we can’t parent,” she sighed, joining him at the breakfast nook, a sad smile on her face. “That’s why I’ve been so against nannies, you know… Because what if they’re right?”
“Hey they aren’t right. You and Jungkook are great parents,” he squeezed her shoulder as he consoled her, happy to see her smile more genuinely at his compliment.
“And we don’t need babysitters cause we have Moon,” she said, looking up at him with a mischievous smirk her sons had inherited from her before she softened. “You’re a great parent too, Joon.”
Namjoon’s heart warmed at her words. He had often thought that perhaps a lack of a mother would make Moon lonely, make her want a more stable female presence. He was happy that Jungkook’s wife had filled that role for her somewhat, acting like a mother even when she didn’t have to, from teaching her about periods to gossiping with her about boys. Things that Namjoon still found a bit awkward to connect with Moon about. It was not that he was bad at it, it was just that he had never experienced those things himself, so who was he to teach her about them?
The heartfelt moment was interrupted by Jungkook entering the kitchen, a scowl on his face as he looked at Namjoon.
“You quit?” Jungkook asked, voice strained as he poked the inside of his cheek. Namjoon could feel that his friend was angry but he was still too ecstatic from leaving that dreadful job behind, so he just smiled, nodding in response.
“They are gonna sue you! Are you serious?” Jungkook seethed, confusing Namjoon who couldn’t for the life of him figure out why he was so upset, especially when he already had an amazing back up plan. At least not until his next words left him, making Namjoon bow his head in shame.
“You have Moon to think about. Do you think she’d like the media circus?”
“I just couldn’t take it anymore,” he exhaled, his teeth worrying his bottom lip as he came clean about his outburst, the days of building frustration as the band took his hard work lightly and spent hours drinking and getting high instead of working.
Jungkook seemed to soften as he spoke, and Namjoon couldn’t help but take the melting of his anger as encouragement as he continued, letting him into his backup plan, “We were so much more serious than them. We had a work ethic. We still could… Would it be so bad if Dark and Wild got together again?”
“P-pardon?” Jungkook sputtered at Namjoon’s words, coughing as he tried to wrap his mind around a comeback. Turns out Namjoon’s plan wasn’t foolproof and his heart fell as his friend vehemently disagreed, not wanting to be away from the twins to be back on the rock and roll train. He missed that life too, but unlike Namjoon, he had made his peace with it, happy to let it go to be a full-time father.
“I was a dad when the band was together,” Namjoon argued, not willing to let go of his renewed dream.
“And look what happened to Seo!” Jungkook spat, instantly regretting his words as Namjoon’s face fell. However, no matter how quickly Jungkook apologised, Namjoon couldn’t listen, the grief he had buried away clawing at his chest again. With a curt goodbye amongst the apologies, he asked Moon to follow him and made his way to the car.
“Dad… you okay?” Moon asked, once they were on the way home, worried about the way her father sat in silence when usually she would have a hard time making him shut up.
She knew he got this way occasionally, too deep in his head, and she had a sneaking suspicion it was whenever he missed her mom, and so when she didn’t hear a response, she leaned over, placing a hand over his on the steering wheel to loosen his grip.
Namjoon smiled at her, a hand leaving the wheel to squeeze her fingers between his. Sometimes he forgot that she wasn’t a kid anymore, that she was mature, empathetic almost to a fault, able to read his mind with just a look.
Namjoon promised himself that he would always be honest with her, be it about his feelings or things happening in his life. He had kept his promise whenever she would ask about her mom as a lost six year old and he kept his promise now as he told his sixteen year old about the argument he had just had with Jungkook.
In a lot of ways it helped him process the conversation, coming to terms with Jungkook’s fear from Moon’s insight. She was right when she said that it had less to do with blaming Namjoon when he was away from her mother, but more to do with her uncle’s fears of the same happening to his wife, no matter how irrational the thought was.
Namjoon couldn’t help but stare at her, mouth falling open in shock.
“Tell me again how you’re only in tenth grade?” he teased. “When did you get your psychology degree?”
“Come on dad. No one really needs university nowadays. You can just learn everything from Re-”
“You’re going to university. I don’t care how much Reddit can teach you,” Namjoon interrupted, eyes narrowed as he pulled into his designated parking space in the lot under their apartment. “You can get a real degree and then you can be my therapist.”
“I can’t be your therapist,” she huffed, crossing her arms with a scowl that reminded him of her mother so much he couldn’t help but smile. “That's a conflict of interest!”
He burst out laughing at her words, getting out of the car and helping her carry the multiple boxes of food Jungkook had prepared for the two of them, insisting that they take them despite the cold exit. Moon melted at her father’s joy, punching the code for the top floor as she adjusted her backpack. When the doors closed, she looked at him grinning widely.
“You know, War of Hormones is going viral on TikTok,” she commented, laughing at the way Namjoon groaned at the mention of his slightly cringey debut single. “I think you guys still have fans. A lot of them. People are still making thirst traps of all of you.”
“What’s thirst traps?” Namjoon asked as the private elevator opened up to their apartment, the smell of cedar and sandalwood calming him after a stressful day.
“You know like this,” she said, following her father into the kitchen and placing the boxes on the counter before pulling out her phone and scrolling through the app. She handed Namjoon the phone and he had to stop his eyes from falling to the floor at the video in front of him.
Set to an extremely horny rap about wanting someone’s dumptruck in their little garage was a video of Hoseok thrusting into the air as he sang into the mic, following by a close up of Jungkook as he took his shirt off and threw it into the crowd, just as it moved to a video of Yoongi licking up the strings of his guitar, a smirk on his face as he made eye contact with the camera.
Then there was Seokjin, Jimin and Taehyung at one of their sold out shows, ripping the buttons of their shirts simultaneously while winking at the crowd, and Namjoon couldn’t help but laugh at the how stupid they looked. The last clip was of him holding Moon as he brought her two-year old self on stage, big yellow muffs protecting her ears from the noise as he let her strum on his bass.
“Wait, why am I the only one not being sexy?” he questioned, frowning.
“I don’t know. I guess people love you being a dad,” she shrugged, taking her phone back, laughing at how ridiculous all of her uncles looked during their glory days, before looking at her father and giving him a tight hug. “I love you too, dad. And I think you still have a lot of fans who’d love a comeback.”
Namjoon’s heart dissolved in his chest, filled with warmth as he kissed the top of his daughter’s head, returning her hug ten fold, squeezing her to his chest as she squirmed. That night after she had gone to bed, Namjoon researched his fans. If Moon thought that fans still existed, maybe he could convince the guys to give the comeback a shot. They always did love Shadows more than anything.
Scrolling through numerous web pages, he stumbled on to a fansite that was surprisingly still active, posting periodic updates about Dark and Wild’s current careers, as well as edits of their old selves, and pleading for a comeback. Perhaps the way to his band member’s hearts was a heartfelt plea from a Shadow, and how apt that the username was yummyjungkookie.
His scrolling through nostalgia was interrupted by a text from his manager, a list of lawyers that were fit to go over his case with him. Picking the first name, he sent an appointment request.
However, not before messaging yummyjungkookie and asking for a meeting.
—-------
With a heavy exhale, you entered your apartment, leaving your heels haphazardly by the front door and your bag littered on the floor. Today had been an exceptionally stressful day and you could feel every joint in your body creak as you laid on the couch. Stretching, you thought about the weird email you had received. Well, two very weird emails.
Somehow when you started working in corporate law, you wouldn’t have thought your trajectory would lead to working on celebrity contracts. Initially it was an easy choice; getting paid exorbitant amounts of money for advising clients and looking over contract disputes that usually never ended in court. However, now you were tired of behind the scene action. You wanted to see inside of a courtroom again, to argue, to research prior cases that would help you form the perfect closing statements. There was a thrill to fighting a case in the courts, and you envied your friends from university who were working on class action suits against greedy landlords and other corporate vultures.  
Today was supposed to be the day you gave in your two week notice, to pursue something less money-based. It was a privileged position, but you were a single woman in her early thirties, and with your last relationship burning to the ground, you often looked at your ever increasing savings account with disdain, as if your ambition was responsible for Ryan cheating. But when you walked into your firm’s partner’s office with your resignation letter in hand, he convinced you otherwise by handing you a new case.
It wasn’t a particularly exciting case, a pretty straightforward contract violation, but the moment you heard who you would be representing, you couldn’t go through with your plan. Your younger self would have murdered you if you did so.
You could see your nineteen year old self, decked out in the Dark and Wild merch that still lived in your closet, standing behind your boss as he talked about the case. Because you would be representing none other than Namjoon Kim, notorious bassist of Dark and Wild. Even though he was arguably your least favourite member, considering that he used to be a bit goofy and a little bit of fuckboy even with a kid, you would carry on your duty as a loyal fan and get him out of this bind.
After all, once a Shadow, always a Shadow.
You were somewhat a menace in undergrad, from almost missing exams because the band was doing an album signing, to following them on tour each summer, to even getting their lyrics tattooed on your ribcage.
You chronicled your interactions with them in your blog with high quality photos, which became almost notorious in the Shadow circle, your followers skyrocketing with their fame. In a way their disbandment was a blessing for you, you were not sure how you would have dealt with the workload of law school if you were still keeping up with them.
Groaning you rose from the couch, deciding a drink would help calm you down. Pouring yourself a glass of cabernet, you settled back on the couch, opening your blog on your laptop and staring at the other email you had received out of the blue.
Either Namjoon Kim was stalking you or this eerie coincidence was the fruit of years of obsessive manifestation. However, if it was, it would be Jungkook Jeon emailing you. You wondered if he still had those fantastic abs from back in the day. God, those things could cut glass.
Controlling your sudden thirst, you took another sip of your wine, thinking best to reply to the email you had received.
Hi yummyjungkookie. You’re probably wondering why I’m messaging you. Well, I have a proposition. I was wondering since you are the only active fan site we have left, if you’d be interested in helping us do an analysis of current fan culture, well Shadow culture. Let me know and we can set up a meeting! -Namjoon PS: In case you think this is a troll, here’s a photo proof
Below his email was a photo attached of the man himself, round glasses making him look younger than his age with a card on which the date and time was haphazardly written.
You laughed at how seriously he had taken the request, although you were sure you would not have believed him if he didn’t attach the proof. Your laughs only got louder as you read the next message he had sent.
Oh shit. I guess I should also say, please don’t tell people about this. You won't, right? -Namjoon
“What are you cackling at?” your roommate, Hera, questioned as she stepped out of her room, hair a mess as if she had just woken up. Well, knowing her, she probably had. She was notoriously nocturnal, being a freelance artist had that effect.
“Nothing. Just a meme,” you replied, somehow endeared enough by the email to keep it a secret. Hera walked over to the couch, yawning and reaching for your glass, taking a big swig and ignoring your scowl. You loved Hera. You had been friends since law school, but somehow as soon as she dropped out of law school she had become a little overbearing.
“Alright. What’s for dinner?” she asked, stretching her limbs out on the couch as she leaned back and turned on the television. You rolled her eyes at her, getting up to finally change.
“I already ate after work,” you pouted to get off the hook easier before apologising and going to your room.
“Ugh. I guess I’ll go on a date then. Enjoy your sad nostalgia blogging, you loner,” she called from the living room, grating your nerves as you locked yourself in your room, waiting for her to leave, so you could order food and not share. It may be petty but you were tired of paying for her meals, on top of paying for the rent.
—-------
“Wait so you called us all here to ask us to get the band back together?” Yoongi asked, eyes scrunched in disbelief. Or the early hour, Namjoon wasn’t sure. To be fair, Namjoon should’ve seen the reaction coming, considering how Jungkook had reacted, but he still had hope.
Namjoon had spent the past two days going over the fansite he had found and it encouraged him to set up the brunch meeting with his friends. If a stranger was working so hard to keep their fans engaged, shouldn’t they also do something. Didn’t they owe their fans something? Apparently the argument wasn’t as convincing as he thought it would be.
“Okay I’m not saying I’m fully against a comeback, but come on Joon. We’re has-beens… Shadows don’t even exist anymore,” Seokjin said, sipping a mimosa, freshly tanned from an impromptu trip to the Maldives.
“Speak for yourself. I will never be a has-been,” Jimin sneered, cutting into his eggs before spouting about how his singles were still reaching number one.
“That’s cause you went pop,” Taehyung argued with a grimace, pretending to throw up into his frittata, just as the waitress came by to ask if they needed anything else.
“That’d be all. Thank you,” Jungkook answered her with a huge smile just to watch her blush, and Namjoon couldn’t help rolling his eyes at the man. Perhaps bringing the chaotic group together was a bad idea. Perhaps bringing them to a high end restaurant where the average diner was a retired businessman was an even worse idea as he tried to make his friends lower their volume, especially Hoseok who was very loudly protesting that his very full schedule of production didn’t have any room for a comeback.
“Guys!” Namjoon snapped, rubbing his hands over his face in frustration. “Just please think it over–”
“It would take so long though. We don’t even have any songs… I haven’t even picked up the guitar in a while,” Seokjin interrupted, the mimosas taking their effect and turning his face a flushed red, as he looked sadly at the tablecloth, and Namjoon couldn’t help feeling a little guilty. He knew the disbandment was his fault. If he had handled things better at home, they wouldn’t have lost their friend to the chaos of the lifestyle, and Moon would still have her mom. Thinking about it lodged a lump in his throat as he tried to console the group with the only solution he could think of.
“I have three albums worth of songs written,” he declared quietly, biting his lip and looking for a reaction, only for Yoongi to speak up.
“I may or may not also have two albums worth.”
“Same,” Hoseok and Jimin spoke at the same time, and Namjoon couldn’t help smiling at how even though everyone had apparently put Dark and Wild behind them, they still couldn’t let go.
“So do you guys think we can do it?” Namjoon asked hopefully, trying not to be dejected by the way Jungkook stared at his hands, deep in thought, fingers tracing the tattoos on his knuckles. The response from the rest of the men was lukewarm as it was in the beginning but somehow now they were all reminiscing too, talking about their glory days. About the time Jimin stripped on a bartop as a dare. About the time Jungkook got so high he thought the television was recording him so he did the most rational thing he could think of and tossed it out of their 40th floor hotel room window. About the time Namjoon ran away so fast from a groupie that he had missed that the glass door wasn’t open and smashed right through it – he still had a scar on his right collarbone from it. Somehow through the road of nostalgia, a little glimmer of excitement started growing, like the embers of a campfire dying out, but needing just the right gust of wind to relight.
“But what if we don’t have the same appeal now… We’re definitely not young anymore,” Seokjin said quietly, as if he was scared to voice out his thoughts, and Namjoon couldn’t help reaching out to him, placing a hand on top of his in a form of encouragement. He had the same fears. A band in their twenties was the norm, in their thirties, on the other hand…
Perhaps they were all being silly. Thirty wasn’t old by any means but the music industry was especially vicious when it came to age. However, Namjoon tried to put the question of their sex appeal to rest as he pulled out the fansite he had stumbled on earlier, sharing the seemingly unlimited ‘thirst’ posts from the blogger, much to the men’s amusement.
“Well I trust this person,” Jungkook said after a thorough scroll, earlier mood seemingly lightened. “I am in fact yummy.”
“And I really am World Wide Handsome,” Seokjin gloated, much to everyone’s annoyance.
“I contacted her,” Namjoon said carefully, hoping he wasn’t about to get a scolding, and when he received only curious looks, he continued. “I’m thinking we can get her opinion. A real Shadow’s opinion. Perhaps she has friends. She could really let us know if the fans are for us or not. Under an NDA, of course!”
“How do you know she won’t just be wishing for us to be back together?” Yoongi sighed, remembering the almost obsessive tendencies his fans had.
“You know that one fan that wrote a whole essay defending our disbandment?” Namjoon asked a bunch of nodding heads. “This is the one.”
“I can’t believe they published someone called yummyjungkookie in the New York Times,” Hoseok laughed, his contagious cackles cracking everyone else up as well, before the laughter petered into silence.
“Let’s see what she says, and then we can decide,” Jungkook ended the conversation decidedly, before the bill came and all seven men started arguing about who was going to pay, no one willing to put their credit card away much to the waitress’s chagrin.
—-------
Off the high of the semi-successful brunch, Namjoon couldn’t sit still in the lawyer’s plush office. He looked around, tapping his feet. It was a nice office, personal yet professional, warm with deep oak furniture and shelves full of law books and fiction alike.
A giant desk took up the northern end, in front of the glass wall that overlooked the city, a big leather chair seemingly belonging to the lawyer in question facing the desk. There were a few posters on the walls, classic movies as well as music festivals. A couch sat in the corner with potted monsteras, magazines scattered on the glass coffee table.
Namjoon felt oddly comfortable, but that might be because he was certain the lawyer used the same candles that littered his home, the soft pinewood scent relaxing him. Eyes roaming to read the titles of the books on the shelf, he couldn’t stop smiling at the little windchime attached to the corner.
People wouldn’t know it at a glance, but if you knew it was unmistakably his band’s merch – limited edition merch at that. He wondered if the lawyer he was meant to meet was a fan, or if they were just so old that they had received it from their children and put it up. Namjoon was pretty proud that the windchime he had designed was given a place in a room where everything seemed to be carefully handpicked.
“Sorry for keeping you waiting, Mr. Kim.”
Namjoon heard the slightly raspy voice call out, and he stood up to greet the person. However, he was a little taken aback when his eyes met yours, his throat running a little dry and his nerves spiking for no reason. Well no reason other than his immediate attraction to you.
It should be illegal for someone to look that good in a simple red suit and a pair of black heels. His eyes traced your features of their own accord, lingering at the little necklace that nestled between your collarbones, and the wisps of your hair that lined your eyebrows.
“Mr. Kim?” you asked, and a furious flush rose up his cheeks as he realised he hadn’t answered. Stuttering a response, he sat down at your insistence, agreeing to a coffee that you rang your assistant for. If you were a fan, you didn’t seem to give it away, jumping right into business as you talked about loopholes in the contract that could get Namjoon off with minimal penance.
While Namjoon was nodding along, pretending not to pay attention to the way your fingers looked so delicate pointing out the different clauses in the document, you were internally screaming. It took everything you had to keep your cool.
You had imagined that it would be business as usual meeting one of the guys you had spent most of your youth following around but your heart had other plans, beating stupidly fast. Even if Namjoon wasn’t your favourite member, it was still Namjoon Kim of Dark and Wild.
You could tell he wasn’t paying attention to whatever you were saying, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were boring him. You tried to lighten up the dry vernacular with a few jokes that went unnoticed, so you tried to shock him into listening at the end of your meeting.
“Ah, now that we’re done. Let’s talk about your proposition,” you commented off handedly, watching as he looked at you with rapt attention, biting his lip. Was he nervous?
The thought made you laugh. Why would he be nervous? You already explained that the case was easy to settle. It was pretty run of the mill. Contrary to popular belief, a lot of songwriters worked to break their contracts after a few months of working with a band. Creative differences were inevitable sometimes.
“Proposition?” Namjoon asked, swallowing hard, scared that his thoughts had somehow been vocalised. Perhaps you could read his mind. That would be a very handy superpower for a lawyer. Wait what if you actually had mind-reading powers?
What if you knew how he had just spent thirty minutes trying to figure out how he could ask you out for dinner, or if he could simply just bend over your desk.
Fuck, he really needed to reel it in.
“Yeah you emailed me about doing an analysis on fan culture?” you answered with a grin, enjoying the reveal. Namjoon had been a rockstar for most of his life, jamming out confidently on stage, so it was extra funny seeing him so clueless. That was before he became flustered, turning a bright red.
“Oh shit? Did I fuck up my emails? I meant to send that to… someone else,” he stumbled, pulling out his phone and scrolling through his emails.
“Yummyjungkookie, right?” you asked, relishing the way his jaw dropped and his eyes widened in disbelief before reaching your hand out, “Nice to meet you.”
“What the fuck…” Namjoon mumbled, taking your hand in his and shaking gingerly, before recovering. “You’re… you’re yummyjungkookie?”
“The one and only,” you grinned.
“But you’re a lawyer…” he said in awe. Never in a million years he would’ve thought the beautiful, polished, somewhat cold woman standing in front of him was the same person who evidently followed him on tour and wrote sonnets about Jungkook’s left bicep. He thought all his fans were kids in inappropriate clothing, but then again the last time he had seen his fans was when he himself was a kid in inappropriate clothing. It made sense that as he grew up, so did his fans – apparently into super intelligent, professional women.
“Yes I am,” you said smugly, loving the way he seemed so shocked. You hadn’t thought to reveal yourself, but your embarrassment over the nickname was taking a backseat to his surprise. It made you somewhat giddy. “So do I need to sign an NDA?”
“Yes. I can mail it to you. One second,” he said, gathering his wits as you giggled at the way he dropped his phone while scrambling for it. Once he had sent the email, you quickly printed two copies, signing after reading over the straight forward terms as he did the same.
You had to control your squeal when he laid out his plans. A comeback? Dark and Wild were actually getting together and needed your help to analyse if they had any fans. You had no idea whether you could actually help him, but just the fact that he had asked you was every Shadow’s dream come true, and you could see your inner nineteen year old jumping up and down in excitement, the banner you had made out of your dorm’s bed sheet waving in the air.
Maybe it was a good thing you were a loser who still blogged about your favourite band.
—-------
Namjoon hummed to himself in the elevator, Moon’s favourite pizza in his hands warming him as he smiled at nothing. Excitement was brimming through his body, uncontained as all his plans seemed to be working out. Generation Swine was taken care of, well pretty much. He trusted you with the case, and he trusted you with convincing the band that they were definitely not has-beens. He couldn’t wait to share the news with his daughter as he entered his apartment, placing the box on the dining room table before making his way to her door.
“I’m fine,” Moon’s voice carried through the door, and Namjoon had to stop himself from barging in when he heard her sniffle. Why was his baby crying? “It’s just that I’m worried about dad… When mom died, he was so broken.”
Namjoon felt his heart drop to his stomach, a lump forming in his throat as he eavesdropped. He hated listening in. Moon was pretty much an adult, she deserved her privacy, but when another voice spoke, dampened by the line of the speakers, he stayed rooted on the spot, vying for some insight into her sudden sadness.
“He’s better now, Moonie,” the voice said.
“I know. I know. But sometimes he still gets sad. He thinks I don’t notice but I do. I joked about smoking some weed the other day and it was like his life flashed before his eyes. He looked like he was going to cry… I just… I get scared of letting him down sometimes,” she sighed.
“You know you’re never going to do drugs. He knows you’re never going to do drugs. You’re not gonna let him down.”
“I know that but… I look like her,” she sniffled, and Namjoon felt his heart break further. Had he really been putting so much pressure on his teenager that he didn’t notice the way she seemed to be feeling so guilty. He was scared of her trying drugs, given her mother’s death, but he never thought that he was making her feel like she couldn’t be like her mother, especially when she continued talking.
“I’m scared that I remind him of her everyday, and that looking at me makes him sad. I just wish he found someone or even if he didn’t, that he went out more. He quit his job and I don’t want him to be depressed again.”
“He’s not sad to look at you, idiot. He’s your dad. He knows you look like your mom. It’ll be dumb if he didn’t!” Moon’s friend exclaimed, and Namjoon relaxed a little at hearing his daughter chuckle in response.
His mental health hadn’t been the greatest since his wife passed away, years full of ups and downs that he tried to hide from his daughter as he worked through therapy. But evidently he hadn’t been too good at hiding that part of himself, and a tear escaped without his consent when he thought about the burden she had been carrying.
He opted not to listen to more, walking to the kitchen to dry his eyes as he set the table. Once he was sure that he had his emotions under control, he called out for dinner, smiling when his daughter walked in after a few minutes in her pterodactyl onesie. Sometimes he still couldn’t believe that she was almost an adult, that she had grown so much. Unable to help himself, he hugged her to his chest, kissing the top of her head repeatedly as she whined about being unable to breathe.
“Ew dad, why are you being so clingy?” she groaned, pushing him away.
“Just missed you today, is all,” Namjoon said, pulling the hood of the onesie over her head, just to annoy her as she sat on the table to eat.
“Gross,” she replied despite the smile on her face as she dug in, thanking him for the pizza. He laughed, telling her about his day as she shared about how she had finally mastered the drums for YYZ, a Rush song she had been learning for a week.
He beamed proudly when she played him the song after dinner, trying his best not to tell her that looking at her could never make him sad. That all he saw was how proud he was that despite his fuckups, she had turned out more than perfect.
—-------
Sitting on your dining table, you stared at the blank document on your screen, the blinking cursor mocking you for your lack of ideas. Sighing, you switched the tab to the google search you had done, littered with journal articles talking about fan culture. Although you had three case files to go over that your paralegal had been hounding you about, you really wanted to create a plan for Namjoon, regardless of your lack of knowledge.
“Working on your boring lawyer stuff?” Hera asked, placing an elaborate gold and ruby necklace around her neck before turning to you in a silent request to clasp it for her. You obliged, standing up from your chair, an idea forming.
“Hey. You have fans for your art,” you commented, grabbing a glass of water as she continued getting ready, lacing her ballerina stilettos. She hummed for you to continue. “How do you manage them? Like check their retention, interact with them, and all?”
“God, you’re such a nerd,” she laughed, opening her purse to pull out a lipstick, dabbing it on her lips with her front view camera as the mirror. “You just put stuff out there, fans will follow. They don’t need interaction or those fancy terms. You just do you, they come.”
You knew for a fact that she was incorrect. Even running your somewhat small anonymous blog you knew that the weeks you didn’t interact with your audience, when you didn’t answer their messages or reply to their comments, your popularity dipped. People liked being seen, especially from those they admire. It boggled your mind how she made money when she was always so blase about everything, coasting through life like nothing required effort.
“Where are you off to, anyways?” you asked, settling back into your chair to skim through the numerous articles you had found.
“Going out with my boyfriend,” she grinned, wiggling her eyebrows as you stared at her in disbelief.
“Wait, you’re dating? Who?” you returned her smile, excited for her to be in a relationship after she had been wanting one for so long. You couldn’t count the number of weekends you had to resort to headphones while she looked for the one between her bedsheets.
She was a hopeless romantic of sorts, thinking that a relationship was the cure to everything, yet she had notoriously high standards. You blamed her obsession with Disney movies for that, but you couldn’t help the way you warmed at the flustered look on her face, biting her lip as she tried to not smile.
“You know him actually,” she said much to your surprise. “But you can’t judge me if I tell you! Promise me!”
Laughing at her sudden pleading, you promised, waiting for her to continue. However, your laugh was short-lived when the name escaped her lips. She was right, you did know him. You knew him very well, had spent years with him, had almost moved in with him before he decided to stomp on your heart.
“Ryan? You’re dating Ryan?!” you couldn’t control your volume, the absurdity of the woman who had dreamt of prince charming settling for someone who didn’t even deserve coal at Christmas.
“You promised you wouldn’t judge,” she argued, standing up with a huff. “He’s changed. He became better for me!”
“Became better for you? What does that even mean? Hera, Ryan’s trash!” It was too hard to even say his name, your brain flooding with memories of how he had laughed at you when you asked him if he was cheating on you. How he had placated you with kisses, assuring you that you were being paranoid, only to be caught a few months later with a girl in your bed.
“Just because he couldn’t love you, doesn’t mean he’s trash!” she yelled back, unaware
how her words cut through you. Not knowing how to respond as she ranted about you being unlovable and how Ryan had told her he found you boring and uptight, you took your leave.
Grabbing your laptop you headed out, willing yourself to not break.
—-------
You didn’t know where you were driving to, running around the city in circles. Usually it calmed you down, to have your music playing so loud that your thoughts couldn’t infiltrate, but today it felt as if they were crashing about, the cacophony drowning the dulcet tunes of Hoseok’s singing.
Instead of clearing, your mind was full of the last memories of your relationship, of how the man you loved would manipulate you, make you feel small in moments where you should’ve felt out of this world. You had confided in Hera, had cried with your head on her lap as she stroked your hair and assured you that he was scum. You had believed her, used her words to slowly build yourself up, to learn to love yourself again.
But now it was Hera throwing the poisonous words that he had embedded in your self-image, ones that took too long to pry out, ones that left scars that you were too terrified to look at even after over a year. You couldn’t help the tears that flowed to the bass playing in the background, overwhelmed yet knowing that you shouldn’t be.
When your eyes got too blurry, you parked next to a random park, taking deep breaths and practising the techniques you had learnt. Hera’s words were just words, they didn’t define you, they didn’t control your emotions.
Only you were responsible for how you saw yourself, and even though you felt like shit right now, it would pass. You were allowed to feel the way you were feeling.
Your deep breathing was interrupted by the ringing of your phone, a name you never thought you’d see lighting up your screen. Clearing your throat, you schooled your voice to resemble normal before picking up.
“Hello?”
“Hey. Sorry this is random, but I had a few ideas. Do you mind meeting up?” Namjoon’s voice broke through your thoughts and you sighed a little, finding comfort in his dulcet baritone. It was a different tone than the one he used for meetings or the one you had heard in interviews, and somehow it felt familiar. Blaming the feeling on your rattled emotions, you agreed to his request, fixing your face to drive to his studio.
Walking into the large skyscraper you were surprised that the security at the front already had your information, providing you with a temporary employee card rather than a run of the mill visitor pass.
With your sour mood, you really hoped helping Namjoon with his project wasn’t about to turn into a part time job. As dedicated as you were to being a Shadow, your days were often long and exhausting, and carving time for another thing just seemed like too much at the moment. Perhaps he would notice how stupidly incapable you were for the task and request an actual marketing firm to do the research for him.
Visiting his studio, however, was a dream come true. You had always loved the music he created for Dark and Wild, and immensely enjoyed the livestreams he would do describing his process after each album. It was always interesting to hear how much actually went into creating a seemingly simple track, how much he thought through his lyrics, how different the finished product sounded from the acoustic demos he showcased.
Much like the personality you had come to learn about in your time as a fan, his studio was a utopia of calm, plants scattered about, thriving even in a seemingly dark room. A glass separated the recording booth from the main area, which housed multiple cream couches decorated with colourful cushions, some even with the band on them.
On the walls were their records, different colours signifying which had gone platinum – most of them. There was a large monitor attached to the glass wall of the recording booth, a large gaming chair facing it on which sat Namjoon, fiddling with the mouse. The large screen embarrassingly enough had your blog on it as the man in question scrolled, laughing at your somewhat unhinged comments.
“Please stop stalking my blog,” you deadpanned and he turned the chair to face you with a large smile on his face.
“Only fair. You stalked me all these years,” he teased, loving the way your face scrunched in disbelief. He liked how you looked today, probably more than how he found you at the meeting. Dressed in a matching pink sweat suit, you somehow looked a little softer, and definitely less intimidating than the woman spouting the Federal Reclamation Law off the top of her head. It made him glad he had gathered the courage to ask you for a meeting.
“And it got you more famous. Your point?” you replied, ignoring the heat that was creeping up your back. You really should’ve gone through your blog and parsed through all the very horny comments you had left on their photos, but then again they should take it as a compliment. You were only appreciating them!
“My point is,” Namjoon began, leaning on his elbows as he gestured for you to sit on the couch in front of him, “You’re talented at getting people hyped up. And I want to make all the other blogs I found get active again. I have a list!”
His proclamation was followed by an actual list he had compiled that he handed to you, and being in the fandom for so long, you knew almost all of the fifteen names, some of them even personally. It may have seemed that the Shadow fandom was massive, but when it came to bigger blogs, it was actually pretty small, all of you constantly running into each other at events at some point of your fan careers.
“Well, six of these are moms now and they don’t even have time to breathe, let alone continue following you guys. I don’t know about these four, but Sera is in prison,” you said.
“Prison?! For stalking?” he asked, genuinely taken aback, and you just chuckled.
“No… for embezzlement. Turns out, she liked taking money more than pictures of you,” you quipped, laughing at his response.
“But she was so into me,” he scowled.
“Sucks to suck,” you responded as he scoffed, turning his attention back to his computer as he started to strategize different marketing tactics, some of which went over your head, especially when he started to talk about TikTok.
Perhaps Hera’s news had really exhausted you or perhaps it was the fact that marketing was never your forte, but you found yourself zoning out of the conversation, hoping Namjoon didn’t notice that you looked like a mess when you entered his office. He hadn’t acted like he noticed, but you were sure that your eyes were still a little red-rimmed, and that your face was puffy from crying in your car. You hadn’t realised how quiet you had gotten till his voice cut through your thoughts.
“Hey, you okay?” he asked softly, pausing his rant.
“Yeah. Sorry, just a little out of it today,” you replied with a smile, trying not to be affected by how concerned he seemed. Even after spending such a short amount of time with him, you had started wondering why he was your least favourite member, maybe you really did view your Shadow life through a very distorted, horny lens.
“You know what always makes me feel better? Chocolate!” he suggested with a grin, opening a drawer to pull out a giant bar of some Swiss chocolate and presenting it to you with a flourish. The gesture made you laugh harder than you anticipated, the random move making you wheeze. He joined you, unwrapping the chocolate to break off a piece for you, the gesture endearing you to no end.
“Ah! So this is why you never had abs,” you joked, giggling as he groaned.
“I had a kid to take care of! And… okay you’re under NDA so I can tell you,” he whispered, leaning in, and your curiosity peaked as he came closer. “Those teething biscuits are fucking delicious! Dude, those are like crack!”
The absurdity of the statement had you cackling once again, and you couldn’t help appreciating the effort he was putting into cheering you up, even when he didn’t know what was wrong. And perhaps it was the recent rehashing of your past, but you felt your heart warm, your grin matching his.
Unknown to you, Namjoon’s heart warmed too, just by hearing your laugh.
—-------
Somehow after the night in the studio, texting and hanging out with Namjoon became the norm. At least twice a week, you’d visit the little sanctuary he had created, spouting wild plans for twenty minutes before falling into a tangent that took over the conversation, trailing it to random topics that always distracted you till both of you were enjoying take out. For someone who had spent his whole life in the limelight, Namjoon was oddly normal.
Sure he had his moments like when he accidentally broke his extremely expensive watch because he was flailing animatedly while describing how he had once found a boy in his daughter’s room. But for the most part, he was down to earth, his stories mundane, nothing like the rockstar you had imagined.
However, what was exactly the same as the rockstar of your blog, was how attractive he was, especially in the suit he was wearing for today’s meeting. Sitting next to you on the couch, his glasses were low on his nose as he scoured through the research you had collected about building fan culture. The scowl on his face complimented him, and it reminded you of how he looked when he was busy slapping the bass when he performed, lip stuck between his teeth as he bobbed his head to the beat of the music playing through the speakers.
After almost three weeks of strategizing, despite you promising yourself this project wouldn’t take all your time, Namjoon had indeed hired a marketing firm, taking the insights the two of you found during your hangouts to them while you were at work. They had done an analysis and found that Shadows had indeed not died down, and that Moon was correct in her assumption that because of their songs going viral on social media, there was a steady growth of new fans, their old videos getting more and more comments. The news made you giddy, and it was getting difficult to hide how excited you were about the potential comeback.
“Wow… this is actually really great,” Namjoon praised you and you couldn’t help beaming at his words as he continued, “Are you sure you’re not a marketer? This is so so good!”
“Shut up. I just googled stuff,” you countered, getting a little flustered at his smile. He always seemed to be complimenting you during these meetings and you were sure your head was going to explode with how big it was getting.
“Oh speaking of google, did you know that it saves everything you search?” he asked, eyes widening in the shocking revelation he had seemingly made and you giggled at him.
“Yes, Grandpa. That’s how they make their money,” you teased, your early conversation getting steamrolled once again as you explained to him how the conglomerate actually used that data to make personalised ads.
“Wait… so like they can use my porn preferences to sell me stuff?” he exasperated, before realising what he had blurted out, a blush taking over his features. He really didn’t know how to control his tongue around you, somehow you brought out his no-filter self, something that only happened around those he was closest to. Maybe it was that you seemed to know him from his younger days, and that he had read all your unfiltered thoughts that you unapologetically owned up to, but he felt close to you despite only knowing you for merely weeks. It was weird. It was terrifying. It was exciting.
“Why are you googling porn?” you grimaced, cringing at just how bad he was at technology. Did spending so much time on his passion really make him this clueless?
“It has a video option!” he defended, ignoring how stupid he sounded even to his own ears, but then again what he said was even stupider. “What do you use?”
“Your music,” you deadpanned, immensely enjoying the way he turned into a tomato, sputtering in disbelief till you reassured him that you used a porn site like a normal human. However, Namjoon couldn’t help being stuck on the thought that maybe there was some truth to your words, and that alone had his heart beating and his lip twisting into a smirk.
“Oh yeah? What song?” he teased, an elbow meeting your shoulder as he snickered.
“Bicycle,” you said, smiling at the way he cringed in response.
“I wrote that song for my daughter, you heathen!” he exclaimed, gagging in response and all you could do was cackle, dissolving into breathless laughs as you leaned back on the couch. You missed the way he smiled at you, mirroring your position next to you, waiting for you to calm down.
“You’re a great songwriter,” you complimented once you had caught your breath, wiping the tears from your eyes. You regretted the sudden compliment that had escaped your lips, but the feeling was short lived because you got to witness the elusive shy Namjoon, smiling widely and shaking his bowed head as he brought his hands to between his legs, shoulders rising and a soft blush adorning his face. It made your heart flutter a little, making you avert your gaze.
That night the two of you barely got anything done, only deciding to create a presentation to convince the band. Namjoon insisted on having a special section chronicling Dark and Wild’s journey through your eyes. It was wholly unnecessary but he strong armed you with endless compliments and an offer to never get pineapple on the pizzas the two of you inevitably ended up ordering.
You never thought you would end up becoming friends with someone you used to follow around on tour, but somehow with all your meetings, it seemed that it was not only a possibility but a reality.
—-------
You found it odd when Namjoon changed up the routine one day, inviting you to his apartment instead of the studio, but you supposed that’s what friends did. So you had showed up with a bottle of wine and his favourite gummy bears, a decidedly small gesture but the way he squealed excitedly like a little kid at the candy had you giddy.
However, you learnt that somehow, this meeting wasn’t one for your flimsy professional reasons, but for just hanging out. You didn’t know why you were so surprised that he wanted to just enjoy your company, the two of you had developed a friendship but with the only close friendship you had with Hera still hanging on by a thread, you were a little skeptical.
“So how’ve you been?” Namjoon asked after he had set up a movie on the screen and popped some popcorn. His easy comfort made you worried, making you build up walls, refusing to share anything personal, and instead opting to discuss work and how his case was going.
Apparently, Generation Swine hated him and wanted to do everything but settle, desperate to keep the six songs he had written for them with full creative control over them. It was a preposterous ask, and you told him as such. You were determined to ensure that all his copyright would be given to him with as little payment from him as possible.
“They can keep them,” he said, speaking after a long silence. “I’ve made my peace with it. Just get them to take my name off.” You argued but Namjoon had made his decision. He knew that having his name on that album would just taint his reputation. He didn’t want to be associated with such scumbags who clearly respected no one, often not even themselves. And if he was being completely honest, he had just grown tired of the months long back and forth. If they wanted his music so bad, they could have it. He would be lying if he said writing songs came easy to him, but it just wasn’t worth it. Not when he knew they would water down his works to something unrecognisable. He just wanted to focus on making new stuff with his band mates, and moving on. Something he wished he could do with you by his side, not that he would ever admit it out loud.
The movie was some Japanese flick about a band working to achieve their dreams and everything that came with the industry, and when it ended you were left in charge of the remote. To break the odd tension that had risen after the silent resignation about Namjoon giving up his case, you decided to put on a documentary about Dark and Wild.
It worked, getting Namjoon distracted with nostalgia as he told you the background of all the scenes. Like how the footage of him ripping the wallpaper off the wall in a hotel was wrongly portrayed.In reality he had somehow managed to get his hand stuck in an already existing tear and couldn’t get it out. A few months ago you would have rolled your eyes and called him a liar, but after knowing him, you knew he was telling the truth. You had never met anyone with a bigger propensity for disaster than Namjoon. It was a wonder he was still alive with how clumsy he was. You told him so with a slap on his thigh and he just laughed along.
You had started the evening at different ends of his large couch, but somehow as he regaled you with more stories, you had moved closer, sitting side by side, sharing the popcorn on your lap and the gummies on his. It scared you how comfortable you felt with him, how he made you forget about everything, how he made you laugh so hard your stomach hurt. When he left to go pick up the food you had ordered from the restaurant next door, you realised that perhaps you wanted more of that comfort. You wanted to spend evenings just watching movies and making fun of him. You wanted to hear his stories, learn more about his life, and for the first time in a long while maybe you wanted to share your stories too.
Smiling at the thought, you scrolled through Youtube on the television, watching his old music videos, in awe of how much he had changed from the scrawny kid trying hard to seem tough to the dorky heartthrob he was now. You had always felt close to the band, related to them. That’s what made you a fan but somehow knowing the real him, made you feel nervous. There was no screen to hide behind, no image in your brain to project your fantasies on, because Namjoon was no longer just an abstract figment of your imagination, he was real.
“Oh… umm… hello,” a voice broke you out of your thoughts and you looked up to see a teenage girl standing in the living room, dressed much like you used to as a kid. Wearing black ripped jeans and a loose yellow flannel shirt, she seemed like a typical emo kid, her image solidified by the multiple piercings on her ears and chunky silver jewellery on her neck and wrists. She had dark hair that was tied in a half ponytail behind her head, and her dimples matched those on Namjoon’s face. You had seen her millions of times as a toddler, often dressed in fluffy pink dresses with giant yellow noise-cancelling earphones as she watched her father perform, and you felt oddly proud to see her all grown up.
“Hi! I’m a friend of your dad’s,” you said, moving the empty bowl from beside you invitingly, feeling a little awkward. Somehow you felt nervous as if you should’ve asked him if it was okay to talk to her before you did, every fibre of you wishing to make a good first impression.
“Oh, friend, you say?” she asked, narrowing her eyes with a grin that deepened her dimples. Dropping her bag at the end of the couch, she sat next to you, folding her hands in her lap confidently as she looked at the screen. You felt yourself flush with embarrassment as you followed her gaze to the obscenely large television where the music video was paused with the image of Hoseok mid thrust. You really should’ve paid more attention to which frame you stopped at.
Watching your horrified expression, she laughed, clapping her hands. ���Don’t worry! That’s my favourite video too!”
Her laugh was a little weird, hiccuping between cackles, but it was extremely contagious, coaxing you to chuckle and breaking the ice. Most would think that the daughter of a renowned rock star would be spoiled, a little entitled, but Moon was anything but that, amicably finding topics to connect with you, cracking jokes at the expense of her uncles. Her humour reminded you of her father, goofy and light hearted. It was no wonder that soon the topic turned to him.
“Have you seen this video?” she asked excitedly, searching through her phone before casting her Youtube to the screen, playing a video of Namjoon from an old Dark and Wild vlog. The band had relegated him to cooking for them, the six of them sitting in chairs in front of him as he tried to cut vegetables. He had his lower lip between his teeth as he cut an onion in half and then proceeded to lay it on the round end, gingerly moving the knife and being unsuccessful almost every time while his friends laughed.
You had watched the video before. Of course, you had. It was a classic in the Shadow fandom, one that was memed again and again, but you couldn’t help wincing all the same, knowing full well that he wouldn’t hurt himself but worried all the same.
“Oh my god, dad! Flip the onion over!” Moon laughed at the screen before turning to you. “He hasn’t cooked for you, has he?”
“Oh god, no!” you replied automatically before biting your tongue, but Moon just chuckled along, fully aware of her father’s lack of culinary skills. Video Namjoon moved on to a carrot, struggling even more if that was possible and you couldn’t help joining along with Moon’s commentary.
“Watch your fingers,” you yelled at the screen just as he slightly nicked himself, hissing in pain, sheepishly pouting at the camera. When you had first watched the video, you were endeared by his antics, but now it felt as if your heart was bursting, making you almost coo at his younger self.
“I’m so glad I saved up my pocket money to buy him a food processor,” Moon commented, still giggling at the video. “Did you know he refused to buy me take out and then would accidentally cut himself like eight times a week?”
You could imagine Namjoon being stubborn as his daughter complained while he chopped vegetables in uneven slices, fingers covered in little bandaids. It wasn’t hard to notice how dedicated a father Namjoon was, but it warmed your heart to hear how much he cared for Moon from her directly.
You could tell by her tone that even though she masked it under humour and inconvenience, she truly admired her father for all the effort he put in, and somehow the picture in your head morphed till you were laughing at him alongside her, pushing him aside to take over the chopping as he leaned sheepishly by the counter complaining and insisting he had it handled.
In your imagination, he wrapped himself behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder, annoying you while you worked as Moon teased the two of you for being dorks. You startled at the image, not knowing why your brain had decided to drift that way, heart beating oddly, and eyes blinking to rid yourself of it.
As if on cue, Namjoon entered the room, precariously balancing boxes of pasta and dessert on two plates, a bottle of wine tucked under his elbow, and for the first time since you had met him, you felt starstruck. In awe of how tightly he was holding the cutlery in one hand but how lightly he was holding the plates, swaying from side to side to ensure none of the four unevenly stacked boxes tipped over. You felt frozen, a blush slowly creeping up your cheeks before leaping into action after a little “help!” escaped his lips.
Reaching for the bottle, you took it in your hands just as Moon grabbed the boxes, leaving Namjoon with just the plates and the cutlery. He still managed to drop a fork on the ground, cursing at himself before his daughter picked it up and went to replace it from the kitchen.
“Grab yourself a plate too, Moonie,” Namjoon offered, sitting next to you and oblivious to your sudden crush, casually plating a bit of everything for you. You realised he did that alot. Always making sure that you were served before him, that you were given the first piece of any snacks you both shared, and always asking if you were comfortable.
How did a passing comment from his daughter have such a profound impact on you? You felt like one of those girls who wrote fanfiction, your imagination going wild with scenarios when he had only just been kind. Perhaps you needed to follow Hera’s misguided advice and get laid after all.
“Nah, I have homework,” Moon replied, placing the fork on the table before smirking at the two of you. “Enjoy your date,” she snickered before prancing out of the room.
“It’s not a date!” Namjoon called out after her, bringing your overactive imagination to a screeching halt, forcing you to chuckle with him and dig into the food, missing how brightly his cheeks were shining at his daughter’s offhand comment.
You were still not speaking to Hera, but maybe you should strike a truce with her. If only so you could go with her to a club and no longer give yourself false allusions of being with a famous rockstar.
—-------
“Thanks for coming guys. I know you’re all busy but I just wanted to–”
“Oh my god. Stop giving a speech! Show us!” Seokjin interrupted Namjoon, bouncing on his seat on the couch, making Yoongi groan as he invaded his space. Although Namjoon’s studio was spacious, it was crammed for seven people, Hoseok and Taehyung sat squished next to Yoongi and Seokjin with Jimin perched on the armrest, wincing as Jungkook sat on his lap. Namjoon shook his head at his friend, appreciating the encouragement but still nervous.
He hadn’t showcased a song to the whole band for a long time and even though he knew that they were always supportive, he still felt a little uneasy. The new songs were different from the ones he used to write for Dark and Wild – while the former were debaucherous and often horny, his new stuff was something that held more of him, bared him with a vulnerability his younger self used to hide behind bravado. Not to mention that all he had was a guitar and his notebook, nothing like the demos he used to show them before, usually filled with samples of instruments manufactured from the mixer in his computer.
When Hoseok asked everyone to be quiet, Namjoon took a grounding breath, starting to pluck the strings slowly, building a melody that had haunted him for weeks. The acoustic version wasn’t how he heard it in his head, but he hoped it was enough to inspire his friends to imagine how easily they would fill in the gaps. He picked the strings individually, separating the chords so that they could speak to the emotions he was aiming for.
Soft strings echoed through the space, slow and resounding, and he cleared his throat before closing his eyes and singing. He always hated how he sounded but somehow in that moment he lost himself to the melancholy, letting it guide his vocals.
Maybe cherries are blossoming And winter is going to be over I miss you (I miss you) I miss you (I miss you) Wait a little bit, just a few more nights I’ll be there to see you (I'll go there to meet you) I’ll come for you (I'll come for you) Pass the end of winter's cold Until the spring day comes again Until the flowers bloom again Please stay, please stay there a little longer
The room was silent when he opened his eyes, six pairs of eyes staring at him. They had all leaned forward, Jungkook now sitting on the floor, legs crossed below him as his head rested on his hands. There were no words and Namjoon felt himself getting nervous as Yoongi spoke.
“Holy fuck…” he whispered, and Namjoon jumped straight into defense.
“I know my voice sounded terrible. You guys know i can’t sing, but I was just thinking, if we added some drums and then Seokjin you added some of the melody or maybe Jimin with a solo in the middle with Yoongi’s production… it could be… umm… something?” he rambled, scratching the back of his neck.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Taehyung asked, his voice deep and serious, and Namjoon felt himself deflate a little, shoulders slumping before the next words left Taehyung’s mouth, “This is fucking incredible.”
It seemed that his words broke everyone out of their trance, praise flowing through the room as they excitedly left the mixing part of the studio to join Namjoon on the recording side, picking up their designated instruments.
“This is 4/4 as usual right?” Jungkook asked, taking a seat at the drums, rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck before twirling the sticks between his fingers.
“And what’s the key again?” Seokjin questioned, plugging his guitar into the amp, taking a determined stance as he smiled warmly at Namjoon and Namjoon couldn’t help mirroring his expression, his cheeks splitting with how wide his lips stretched.
“E-flat,” he replied, discarding the acoustic guitar to the side to pick up his bass, setting the dials to the sound he prepared, the pitch a higher than usual for a bass.
Soon the song transformed from an empty plea to a celebration of friendship, the instruments gelling together in a sound that went from mournful to inspiring. It somehow changed the message of the song from longing and waiting to reuniting. It was as if the melody was meant to be tweaked, his friends adding in their flair that changed how Namjoon had always heard the song in his head into one he could never fathom.
By the time Hoseok and Jimin finished singing, with Seokjin and Taehyung harmonising at the chorus, Namjoon couldn’t help choking up a little. It was as if he was transported back in time, back before he knew what it was like to lose his dream – to the time when he didn’t even know what loss was. He felt irrevocably happy and his eyes glistened as the last chord echoed into silence.
“Fuck I missed this,” Hoseok gleed into the microphone, jumping a little in excitement and the band joined in on the sentiment, their voice a cacophony of chaos as they all complimented each other and Namjoon for writing what they perceived as a hit. Soon, everyone was pulling out unfinished works, some scribbled in notebooks, others in their phones, one even on a napkin – Taehyung had a moment of inspiration in a Jazz club three months ago.
It was as if the previous years had been erased, their usual teamwork gelling into place like muscle memory, ideas flying and morphing into melodies that were lighthearted and poetry that struck a chord. Namjoon knew they were still wary about a comeback, but just seeing the joy on their faces as they brainstormed song after song, convinced him it wouldn’t be too hard to put their worries to rest.
Something told him this wouldn’t be the last time they jammed together.
—-------
It had been a few weeks since you had talked to Hera properly. Conversations that used to last hours were subdued to passing remarks about groceries and chores. She stayed out most of the time, giving you space. Sitting on your living room couch with ramen on a Saturday night, things were dull, your mind wandering on your relationship with her.
They say absence makes the heart grow stronger, but it didn’t seem to be the case for you. The more she stayed away, the more you had time to dwell on how your friendship had faded over time, how she had gone from a confidant to someone you tolerated. It made you feel a little guilty, but everytime that guilt would be overshadowed by how it seemed that you were always putting in more effort, from housing her during her financial crisis to not thinking twice about  any favour she asked of you.
It wasn’t always bad, you remembered her getting you out of your introverted shell in law school, challenging you to strike a balance between coursework and hobbies. But in the past two years, you couldn’t recall a single time she had even mildly inconvenienced herself on your behalf. She was often passive-aggressive, seemingly exasperated at you. Perhaps it made sense if she was talking to Ryan during that time, his manipulative nature probably influenced her. But if she was so easily swayed was she truly your friend?
As if she was honed into you trying to let her go, she waltzed in through the front door, a huge grin on her face and smelling of alcohol. Squealing your name she startled you with a hug, her arms wrapping tight around you. It felt suffocating, unnerving.
“I miss you,” she sniffled, and usually her crying would be enough for you to forgive her, but you knew she was an emotional drunk. You sat in silence, letting her cry into your shoulder, not knowing how to react when the last words she said to you were accusations of how you had forced your ex to cheat. You didn’t know why you were being so harsh, but maybe it was because you had started to watch the Dark and Wild vlogs again, envying their friendships, comparing it to how the two of you interacted.
You patted her on the shoulder, waiting for her to sit up, and when she did you smiled, not knowing what else to do but tell her it was okay. As soon as the words left your mouth she was perking up, tears forgotten and drunken ramblings commencing. She talked to you about her night, about how Ryan was the perfect man, and you couldn’t get over the bitterness you felt. Was she trying to show off how much of a better boyfriend he was to her than you?
A ping from your phone saved you from the conversation, your face lighting up when you read Namjoon’s text.
So what do you say to a private concert? Wanna meet me at the studio in half an hour?
You couldn’t control the giddy smile as you responded, thanking him in your head for saving you from this awkward conversation. Hera didn’t like it when you excused yourself, complaining about how you didn’t like her anymore. She wasn’t wrong, but you were too excited to leave to fight her on it, apologising and rushing to your room to change, ignoring the pout she threw your way.
When you knocked on the studio door you were expecting only Namjoon to be there wanting to share some of the newer songs he had alluded to working on. However, when you entered you were met by the whole band, seven men sprawled on the couch, the coffee table cluttered with an array of snacks. They stood up at your arrival, greeting you excitedly in a mismatched unison, Jungkook’s voice the loudest among the crowd.
“Yummyjungkookie!” he exclaimed, the wink he tossed your way making you flush. You never imagined your teenage celebrity crush to ever greet you, let alone scream your embarrassing username at you. It made you wish that you had been a little more subtle when choosing it.
“Guys you are overwhelming her,” Jimin chided the men, moving away from the group to hold out his hand. “Hi Y/N. It’s nice to finally meet you!”
“Finally?” you questioned, grasping his hand in yours, a little dizzy at the sudden appearance of people you had only seen on stage or in magazines. You should’ve been used to it after spending time with Namjoon for so long but Jimin was right, it was overwhelming to see them all in one place once again.
“Yeah Joonie’s told us all about you,” Hoseok smirked, side-eyeing his friend who glared at him.
“He couldn’t shut up about you,” Seokjin added with a mischievous sing-song lilt to his voice, elbowing Namjoon who cleared his throat loudly before speaking.
“Okay!” he exclaimed loudly, clapping his hands together once. “Now that everyone is acquainted–”
“Oh I’m not acquainted,” Jungkook interrupted, moving towards you with a teasing smile, pushing his hair away from his face. It reminded you of his stage persona, his already sexy allure hammed up with fan service and it took every ounce of control you had to not swoon. The reaction had been engraved in you for years, after all. “So am I as yummy as you thought?” he asked, flexing his biceps.
Luckily you didn’t have to answer because as soon as the words left his mouth, Jimin scowled, smacking him atop his head. “You have a wife and kids!” he scolded.
“Aw hyung! I’m just trying to figure out if I’m rusty,” Jungkook whined, the earlier suavity melting instantly as he pouted, making you giggle at the sudden change. That was the Jungkook you were a fan of. Sure the sex appeal was appealing but you’d be lying if you said the real thing that gravitated you towards him was how dorky he was.
As all of them started arguing and teasing Jungkook for being a “rusty old man”, you started realising that they all were, in fact, dorks. It comforted you, helped you bring them off the pedestal you had placed them on and back to how they were just how you hoped they’d be – just a group of normal friends.
With everyone settled and introduced, and your pick of dinner ordered, Namjoon made you sit in the large comfy chair in front of the glass separating the recording studio and the mixing room. The band settled in the other room, picking up their instruments and making last minute tune ups.
“Okay. Someone told us a busy lawyer had been spending her precious free time to help us with our stupid hang ups, so we thought that we’d show our appreciation,” Hoseok announced, adjusting the mic stand. “For our favourite Shadow, after eight years, we are Dark and Wild!”
His introduction was immediately followed by Jungkook banging his sticks with each other, counting into the first song, and you were immediately transported to the time when you fought to be in the front row. They started with War of Hormones, Hoseok and Taehyung’s more mature voices and Seokjin’s new ad libs, changing the song into something fresher, something you thought you would never get to see live again. Before you knew it, you were standing from your chair, rocking along to the music as you grinned.
Namjoon watched you as he performed and he couldn’t help the giddiness he felt at seeing you so into something. You were often stoic, having a tight lid on your emotions. It made him want to work harder to get you to open up, often cracking jokes he knew were terrible to get you to laugh. If he knew he would get to see this expression on your face by just convincing the boys to put on a show for you, he would’ve begged them earlier.
He didn’t know when he had started seeing you as someone he wanted to pursue. The feeling was foreign. He never thought he would feel this way again, the bubbling anticipation for when he would see you next, the giddy joy when he saw your name light up his screen, the heart stuttering nervousness when you were near. He had assumed that those feelings had died in his youth, buried with Seo on that rainy day that tore his heart out.
He had tried to move on after her, had multiple one night stands, friends with benefits, even a girlfriend at some point. After a while he had figured that he would never feel that euphoria again, but somehow you had come in with your business formal skirts and secret thirsty blog and embedded yourself in his thoughts. And with it came the need to hold himself back, his once bulletproof confidence wavering to insecurities that he never felt before.
You never shared much of your personal life with him, never deviated from the strict line of friendship that had cemented itself between you, and Namjoon didn’t know how to break that. Every time he flirted, it seemed like a joke to you. Perhaps he was a joke too, a washed up musician with a grown child, who only met you because he was fighting with children and pathetically trying to convince people who had moved on to move backwards with him.
He didn’t realise that his gaze was unwavering as he stared at you through the glass, fingers moving over the strings automatically as Hoseok sang their old hits, but you noticed. Between your jumping, you saw how all of a sudden, his face had fallen, his jaw tightening as he zoned out like he did sometimes when you were hanging out. You didn’t know what he was thinking in those moments, but something told you it wasn’t pleasant.
His mood didn’t lift during the rest of the set, even when you tried to engage him with a smile and a wave. He returned your smile briefly before going back to the same forlorn expression that you couldn’t help being worried about.
“Thank you! You’ve been a great audience,” Yoongi said cheekily, winking at you after the last song before he was ushering everyone into the other room with you. He pulled up two stools, switching his pedals around and taking a seat while offering the other to Namjoon.
“For our last song, we wanted to show you a new one. One written by none other than Namjoon Kim,” Yoongi announced, plucking the strings as his foot toyed with the pedal, changing the tone to a fuzzier one that was overlaid with a delay, adding an ethereal ambience to the sound. Behind you the boys piled onto the couch, cheering loudly and you followed suit, clapping loudly as Namjoon adjusted the height of the mic and sat down.
He smiled at you sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “This isn’t one of the happy ones, sorry,” he said, clearing his throat as Yoongi looped a sound and started plucking the strings with a melancholic tune. “Also sorry my singing sucks,” he chuckled dryly.
“No, it doesn’t!” Seokjin argued loudly as everyone whooped.
“Go Joon!” Jungkook joined, and somehow the encouragement paired with the soft smile you sent his way made his nerves dissolve, letting him sing the song he had written years ago for the first time. It wasn’t just a surprise for you, it was for the rest of the band too. No one but Yoongi had heard it before. Initially, Yoongi had told him to showcase the song, but after trying to sidetrack him with other songs and getting the idea to invite you, Yoongi had had enough, instructing that he sing the song at the end for everyone.
It was silent while he sang, his friends behind the glass listening intently. He hadn’t sung this song properly in a long while. When he wrote it, he was in the deepest pit of his depression, often leaving Moon at his mother’s house to spend the night wasted writing rubbish on pages and then ripping them out when the words didn’t pass his harsh self-criticism.
Yoongi had found him on such a night, curled up on the floor, humming the melody as he banged his fist against the floor, fighting against his sore eyes. Of all the members, Yoongi wasn’t one he was closest to then, but it changed when instead of telling him it would be okay and coaxing him to bed, Yoongi had sternly told him to sit up and finish the song. He stayed with Namjoon the whole night and then for three nights after, subtly ensuring that he didn’t overdo his drinking, or turn to something stronger, as his self loathing crawled into the cathartic poetry dancing on top of Yoongi’s catchy rift.
Somehow writing that song had made him feel a little less sad, as if he had let go of the sorrow by transforming it into something productive. But singing the song he hadn’t even attempted to hear for so long, it was inevitable that he was transported back to that time where he was always in such a haze that the days seemed like an endless burden tied to his ankle as he sank, flailing to swim to the surface that kept moving more and more out of reach. It made him choke a little on his words.
One morning, I opened my eyes And wished I was dead I want someone to kill meIn this loud silence I live to understand the world But the world has never understood me, why No, that half is missing It's trying to hurt me I miss me, miss me baby I wish me, I wish me baby Wish I could choose me
You pursed your lips as his words reached you, feeling an undeniably need to soothe the pain that seemed to be dripping from his every pore. Namjoon had always been open, always made you laugh, unknowingly brightening your mood when work or problems with Hera refused to let you relax. He had talked about his daughter and wanting to get the band together. He had talked to you about his songwriting process, and he had told you his thoughts about the industry. But in that moment, you felt that Namjoon wasn’t always as open as he seemed to be, that beneath his usually cheerful demeanour, he seemed to be suffering, silently at that.
Why is it that I'm being so earnest Yet it's not working out Always Always (I lost my all ways)
He sang the last line abruptly, standing up as soon as he was done and excusing himself. You watched as he left the studio, yearning to run after him, but then again, all his best friends were in the room. Why would he need your comfort when he could have them?
“Go. He’s probably in the next room,” Yoongi said, walking back into the mixing room and placing a hand on your shoulder to break you out of your trance. When you looked at him with doubt, he just smiled, slightly nodding towards the door. Not wanting to overthink the reasons and too worried about Namjoon, you followed his advice, leaving and knocking on the next door.
“I’m fine, Yoons,” Namjoon called out, his voice eerily cheerful, making you suspicious. He opened the door, shock momentarily washing over him before he affixed a smile on his face. But you had learnt what his real smile looked like in the months you had gotten to know him. You didn’t miss how it didn’t reach his eyes, how his lighter right dimple never poked through his cheek, and how his lower lip quivered ever so slightly.
Before you knew what you were doing, you had your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him down into a hug. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it, instantaneously wrapping his arms around your waist, crushing you to him. Your scent overwhelmed him, an amalgam of lavender and honey that he had only ever gotten faint whiffs of now crowding his senses, coaxing him to lose the control he had tried so hard to keep over the last few minutes.
“Sorry,” he apologized, trying to clear the lump from his throat, loosening his grip, attempting to chuckle despite his heart beating erratic and his emotions threatening to overflow. “So embarrassing…”
“I’m not judging,” you whispered, holding on to him tightly. “You can cry if you want to. It’s okay.”
The moment the words left your lips, Namjoon couldn’t hold it in anymore, your permission somehow breaking his barriers and a tiny sob escaping him. He buried his face in your neck, his tears probably ruining your blouse. You could feel him shaking in your arms, and you stroked his scalp to comfort him, letting him cling onto you as he cried. You tried to control your own tears, but they followed anyways, silently tracking down your cheeks in empathetic trails. You didn’t know what to say to console him so you let him cry till he was straightening up, rubbing his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater.
He settled on the couch at the corner of the room, and you followed, looking around. The small room was some sort of a meeting area. Two large couches lined the walls in an L with a coffee table between them, the walls covered in a few paintings, and a single lamp in the corner lighting up the space. It was cosy.
“Sorry,” he laughed hollowly, and you reached out to hold his hand in an attempt to comfort him, hoping that he realised he had nothing to apologise for, nothing to explain. But he explained anyways, talking about how when he wrote the song he was in the deepest despair he had ever felt and somehow till today he had forgotten how he had felt, how broken he had been.
“We never showed it on the cameras, you know? How fucked up everything was,” he said, fingers gripping tightly onto yours, needing something to ground him as his memories flashed before his eyes.
Everything was always glamourized in front of the camera; their friendships, his relationship. All everyone knew was they were a little chaotic, a bunch of hyper dudes who would get drunk and joke around. They didn’t know that alcohol wasn’t the only vice they used to cope with the sudden plummet to fame, to cope with the stresses of releasing album after album of hits, of endless days of putting on personas that merged into a haze till they forgot who they really were.
It was okay when he took his first hit, it was meant to relax him, all the ones in the industry before him assured him that it wouldn’t turn into anything more. So the band would gather in their hotel rooms after some shows when the pressure felt like it would rip them to shreds and shoot up. It would let them slow down, float in a space where their brains weren’t capable of thinking, of overthinking everything.
That’s when Seo started joining him too, when they were just friends with benefits, before the birth control had failed, back when he was just a kid trying to emulate his heroes. He didn’t know how it would spiral, how his one off would become her everyday. He still blamed himself to this day for being too busy to notice the way her light faded, to notice how her mood swings were too drastic. He never saw her enough to put it together, not until he was getting a call from her mother blaming him angrily, screaming at him for ruining her life.
He broke down for the first time that night, apologising to Seo’s mother, and sobbing into his cellphone. That was also the last time he turned off his brain, before taking a week off to care for her. He sat in the hospital holding her hand while she slept with ventilators, just praying to a god he didn’t believe in for her to wake up.
When she finally opened her eyes, doctors warned her to go to rehab. “This will kill your baby if you’re not careful,” the stern physician warned her, and that was the first time Seo and Namjoon found out that she was pregnant, that amidst their fucked up rocky relationship they had somehow accidentally created something that was pure. They cried in each other’s arms that night under the fluorescence of the cold white room, promising to be better for their child. That was when he fell in love with her.
It was under the same fluorescence that he fell in love with her again, when she held his hand tight, her nails breaking his skin that still carried the crescent scars, as she gave birth to his daughter, the moon of his life. The nine months leading up to the day had Namjoon rediscovering Seo, had him realizing that he never noticed how kind she was, how she always put him first, shielded him from things she needed so as not to burden him. It made him realize how he had taken her devotion for granted for years and he promised himself to never do so again.
But promises are meant to be broken and it was only a few years later when he started falling back into the same patterns, using work as a cover to escape from his daughter’s shrill cries when she threw tantrums for no reason. He had promised to pick her up from school every Monday, Wednesday and Friday when he was in town. It was his responsibility as a parent but even when he was tired, he cherished those moments, listening to Moon ramble on about school and the friends she was making. He was proud of her, or so his memories liked to tell him, but he knew that inside he would always ignore her, too tired from endless practice to pay attention, placating the child with hums and nods.
It was a time when he was working on Dark and Wild’s last album, the label pressuring him to change every song he sent for approval, the guys relying on him for advice when his brain was sapped dry. He was in a haze, he didn’t know what time it was, what day and at the end of his rope, he had just stopped going home. Things with Seo weren’t bad, and they weren’t good, they just were, like a routine that had been embedded in him – one that he had no motivation to break. He would pick up Moon from school, drop her home and see Seo greeting him and he’d only wave before turning around and going back to his studio, biding his time before coming home late enough that Seo would be asleep. He’d sneak into bed and hold her till he fell asleep.
Those nights, he always knew she was awake but he didn’t have the energy to talk to her, so he would stay silent, and hope that his arm around her waist was enough. It still pained him to admit that somehow along the way, his own wife had become a stranger to him. Somehow the woman he had vowed to love in front of his friends and family as she held his daughter in her arms, had turned into something akin to a pillow he would hug at night. He would feel guilty those nights, tearing up as he held her but then his brain reminded him that the only reason he was working so hard was because of her and Moon, that it would be worth it, that once their contract expired next year he could take a break and rebuild the relationship he had. Little did he know that that would never happen. He still remembered the night he lost her, vivid in his mind like a haunting film on repeat.
He had come back from the studio like always, sneaking into his own home at 2 am. He checked on his daughter, smiling tiredly at how she had her entire body wrapped around the giant pink bunny Jungkook had given her, her long dark hair falling over her face. He tiptoed into the room, picking up the blanket from where she had kicked it onto the floor and covered her up, smiling ever wider when she nuzzled into the soft material further.
Quietly walking into his bedroom, he saw his wife buried under the covers and decided to take a shower, relishing the warm water on his sore muscles. He decided to use her body wash that night, a habit he had developed for when his days were long and he needed the comfort of her scent enveloping her. Perhaps he would wake her and kiss her this time, feeling too needy to care if he got scolded. He had argued with Yoongi that day and he needed her to relieve the stress.
Crawling under the covers he reached for her, cuddling her close till he was kissing her neck, the skin oddly cool below his lips. That was the first sign, one that made him panic as he sat up in bed and started shaking her. He could still remember how loud his heart was pounding in his ears, how his hands shook when he ran to turn on the lights, and saw how blue her lips looked. He was crying on the phone when he called the ambulance, and while he waited he held her hand, trying not to yell in despair as he begged her to wake up, ignoring the familiar paraphernalia on the bedside table.
He was still sobbing when the sirens rang out and rotating red lights invaded through the curtains of his bedroom. Still sobbing when he woke up Moon, gathered her in his arms and followed the ambulance to the hospital. Still sobbing when the doctor told him he was sorry. He didn’t know he had such a large reserve of tears, one that didn’t stop even when the cameras followed his family when he buried her, when he bowed in front of Seo’s mother, clasping onto her feet for forgiveness, when he had to explain to his daughter where mommy was.
And he sobbed again when he told you everything, baring his soul in a way he had never done before, not knowing what he was hoping to accomplish. But when you pulled him to you, wrapped your arms around his head and shushed him, he felt his chest fill with warmth. The memories that had assaulted him faded into the background, your small noises of comfort lulling him into content. He hadn’t meant to recount his life story to you in such a way, he only wanted to tell you why the song had such an effect on him, but something about you had him spilling out his truths without even thinking.
“You’re okay,” you assured him as he apologised, reaching out to the table to hand him the box of tissues that was placed there above the stack of random magazines. With the comfort of your words, he pressed the soft cotton to his eyes, steeling himself, his breaths becoming stable as you gently rubbed his back.
“Thank you,” he whispered, bringing a smile to your face as you shook your head. You didn’t know why he felt the need to thank you, all you had done was sit next to him and listened. You should’ve been the one to thank him for letting you in and for sharing his burden. You told him as such and he laughed, a light watery thing that made you join him. When he stood up, you wrapped him in a hug once again, hoping to heal him.
You had never thought that you would ever spend an evening at a private Dark and Wild concert, but more than that you had never imagined that Namjoon would somehow etch himself into your heart in such a short time.
Maybe that’s the thing about love, you never know when it will come and embrace you.
—-------
Birthdays were never your thing. You never knew why people were always so excited to celebrate another revolution around the sun. Your friends had always called you jaded, but you didn’t believe in celebrating the fact that you had just existed. A birthday wasn’t an accomplishment, everyone had a birthday from serial killers to misogynists – why should such a mundane fact be marked with a party. Yet despite your protests, your friends and family would always shower you with gifts and surprises. When you got older the parties toned down to gatherings at a bar or a restaurant, and slowly you became used to them, even expecting them.
Sitting in your room with the early evening sun pouring through your window and the latest Netflix show on your laptop, it didn’t feel like your birthday. Sure, you had received multiple messages reminding you of the fact, but with your family in another city and your friends scattered around the globe, this year it felt a bit empty, a little lonely. You didn’t know when you had started enjoying the celebrations, but the lack of one was jarring, even when you knew rationally that celebrating birthdays was stupid.
Sighing after yet another episode ended, you decided to pamper yourself, to celebrate not that you were a year older, but that despite missing your friends you were still mostly happy with your life. You gathered your favourite bath bomb and bubble bath from a little box under the bed and put on your fluffiest robe before venturing into the bathroom and lighting too many candles. The little speaker you had hooked on the door came to life with your favourite playlist as the tub filled with warm water, the bubbles increasing in volume and the colour of the water changing to a bright violet.
You decided to go all out, exfoliating and shaving your skin, and adding a clay mask to your skin. Dipping into the warm water felt luxurious, the heat relaxing your muscles. You hadn’t realised how long your days had gotten, how little time you had spent on self care, and you couldn’t help but enjoy the way your body sank into the tub, the water caressing you like a lover, the scents making your eyes droop in content.
You finished up your impromptu spa day with painting your nails a bright pink, a colour you rarely used, even going so far to spend extra time blow drying your hair into silky voluminous waves. It felt nice to forget about everything that had been bothering you lately, from Hera’s constant insistence to be friends to your sudden feelings for Namjoon. It was nice to disconnect.
However, you had barely dressed when you heard your roommate, her bed squeaking through the walls as she wailed your ex’s name, souring your pleasant mood. God, you needed a drink.
Not thinking twice, you swapped your comfiest sweats for a nice dress and grabbed your purse. Just because you didn’t have anyone to celebrate with didn’t mean that you couldn’t enjoy a birthday drink and indulge in some decadent cake. Walking to your favourite coffee shop, you decided to get a cake first, picking the extremely tall eight layered chocolate cake and settling on a seat.
Usually, you would pull up a book you were reading on your phone, or scroll through social media, mindlessly watching TikToks, but today you didn’t feel the need for distractions. Savouring the melting rich mousse on your tongue you looked around the little shop, making up stories about its patrons as your eyes trailed over them. There was an old couple sitting in the corner, sharing a quiche, and you imagined that they had just dropped off their grandchildren after spending a day with them. Then you saw a teenager, standing at the counter, biting his lip, torn on what to choose and you imagined that perhaps he was getting a drink for a crush, hoping to woo them with his choice. When he finally settled on a special strawberry milkshake with a swirl of whipped cream and two straws, you mirrored his smile as he sat next to a wide-eyed girl beaming at him.
Every new customer that entered, you would give them a back story, some more mundane than others. Like when a man with a scar over his eyebrow in a suit came to order an espresso you imagined that he was a stuntman, going into a night shoot. Or when a woman came with a bunch of kids, you imagined she was an au pair, paying her way through a social sciences degree. The stories weren’t crazy, but you liked imagining their lives to be simple, it was comforting.
You were in the middle of another daydream when your phone vibrated, a text lighting up your screen.
Hey. I think after last time, I owe you a drink. You free?
It was a simple message, but the moment you read Namjoon’s name your heart skipped a beat, stories forgotten as your daydream morphed from strangers and their lives to hanging out with Namjoon, his arm around you, his lips on yours. It didn’t help that he was somehow psychic, somehow knowing how much you hated drinking alone.
I’m actually on my way to 88… join me!
You smiled, anticipating hanging out with him for no reason other than his company. You knew it was far-fetched to think about anything happening between you, even if last week had seemed like a turning point in your relationship. He was a famous rockstar with a family, there was no way there was any room in his life for you. Even if you were friends now, once he would convince the guys of the comeback, the two of you would go to occasional hangouts and random text messages, the need for frequent brainstorming sessions over.
Finishing the last bit of cake on your plate, you grabbed your purse when your phone pinged again.
Oh if you’re with your friends, I don’t want to intrude… I was just going to offer this stupidly expensive bottle of champagne I found.
Chuckling at his oddly endearing response, you asked him if he was at home or the studio, and when he confirmed the latter, you hailed a cab and made your way to the familiar glass skyscraper that was beginning to feel a little too comfortable to go to. A knock on the wooden door later, you found yourself face to face with Namjoon, his smile making your own lips lift at the corners, your heart feeling as if it was home.
“Hi… umm… hey. Hello,” he greeted a little awkwardly, moving to the mini fridge under the mixing desk to pull out a large bottle of champagne, the gold label glittering in the low light of the room. You settled on the couch, noticing that he had already put out glasses and snacks, various packets of chips and candy littering the coffee table.
“So champagne, eh? What are we celebrating?” you asked, leaning back comfortably as he joined you, a concentrated frown on his face as he fiddled with the corkscrew, bottle between his legs, attempting to wrestle it open. It popped open with a fizzle, a little bit of the liquid spilling onto his sweats as he chuckled victoriously.
“That you don’t hate me,” he replied with a smile, pouring the drink into the flutes and handing one to you. He felt nervous, not knowing why he had said what he said. He knew you didn’t hate him, you didn’t strike him as the person who would scoff at vulnerability, but still, he felt a little guilty about unloading on you the other day. He didn’t want you to think of him as fragile or that you had to carry his emotional baggage with him.
“I don’t hate you,” you protested, clinking your glass against his before taking a sip, the smooth sweet liquid bubbling through you. It really was expensive champagne, the taste unlike any you had had before, crisp yet alluring. “You had a moment. We all have them.”
Your words made Namjoon relax, confirming that his view of you was correct. He felt light as if a weight had been lifted, making him more confident. Out of everyone he knew, somehow you had made it to the top of the list of people he felt most comfortable with. It scared him how easily you had crawled into that space, without him even realising, but Namjoon had been to too much therapy to discount you, to run away like he usually did.
He watched you as you rose, walking to the speakers you had made yourself familiar with, connecting your phone till a dance pop melody was filling the room. Sitting next to him, Namjoon couldn’t help but notice how you were closer this time, your body heat almost palpable on his knee closest to your thigh. You hummed along to the music as you finished your drink, refilling your glass and then his when he followed suit.
He sat sideways, an elbow at the back of the couch and his hand holding his head. The silence was comfortable, letting him just bask in your presence. You looked different than you usually did, your hair falling in nice waves over your shoulders instead of in a ponytail, your body covered in a dress that worshipped it, wrapping in all the right places that made Namjoon’s mouth run a little dry. He cleared his throat, starting a conversation to distract himself.
“You’re all dressed up,” he commented as casually as he could, wondering what you ditched to hang out with him in his lackluster studio. His head wanted him to feel guilty for pulling you away from something but his heart was giddy that you chose him instead. “Sorry if I interrupted something. I should’ve checked in.”
“You didn’t,” you assured him with a giggle. “I was just going for a drink by myself. You interrupted nothing.”
“What were you celebrating?” he recited your earlier question with a grin, leaning closer to you to refill his glass, the fruity scent of your moisturiser tickling his nostrils deliciously. He wanted to nuzzle into you, to deeply inhale the strawberries from your collarbones, but that would be creepy so he moved back to his earlier position, taking a heavy swig to calm himself, not that the alcohol that was starting to buzz through him helped much.
“My birthday, actually,” you replied offhandedly, laughing as his mouth fell open in surprise. You assured him that you didn’t think birthdays were a big deal, but it seemed that Namjoon didn’t care, scrambling to wish you before he was out the door. You chuckled at how adamant he was about doing something special, taking another sip, before he returned, much quicker than you thought he’d be. He held a plate in his hand, stacked with twinkies, a tiny candle poking out from the one on top.
“Here in the Kim house – well, studio – we go all out for birthdays!” he exclaimed, balancing the plate precariously on the arm of the couch before pulling a lighter from his pocket and setting the wick on fire.
“Yes, all out with twinkies,” you teased, placing your glass on the table and standing next to him.
“Well some people like to hide their birthdays. This is the best cake on short notice,” he joked before starting to sing happy birthday, swaying a little side to side, a wide grin on his face.
This morning when you woke up without any plans and knowing no surprises awaited you, you felt empty, but with Namjoon’s tenor wishing you repeatedly, your eyes glistened a little, the warmth in your chest overwhelming you.
Blowing out the candle, you wished that the warmth never went away, oddly ecstatic that somehow in thirty-three years of living you had been fortunate enough to always have at least one person who wanted to celebrate you despite your protests. Namjoon picked a twinkie from the plate and held it to your lips, and somehow the convenience store confection tasted sweeter than usual. Taking the piece from his hands, you returned the favour and he happily munched on the dessert before placing the plate on the coffee table.
The two of you settled on the couch, and between the sips of champagne, he told you about how much he cherished birthdays and never took them for granted. He always went all out on his own, renting large venues to treat his friends to absurd things like skiing trips and jumping castles.
He told you about how for Moon’s birthdays he always implemented the no “no” rule where he would do anything he asked, sharing stories about the time she had gotten him to take her to Disneyland when she was nine and puked from one too many churros, and how for her thirteenth the duo had embarked on a hike in Costa Rica finding hidden waterfalls and cataloguing bugs they found on the way.
“Birthdays with you sound magical,” you remarked, a little jealous that your dad never took you to a rainforest for your birthdays. You could just imagine the way Moon’s face probably lit up when going on her dream vacation.
“Birthdays are magical,” he replied, pouring the last of the alcohol into your two glasses, cheeks flushed from how tipsy he was. He handed you your glass, smiling at you wistfully. “It means you lived another year. It means that you’re here, alive, with me. And that’s worth celebrating.”
You felt the warmth from earlier invade you again, magnified by the bubbly wine in your veins and the way his hand was still holding the glass under yours, sending tingles up your arm. Before you could stop yourself, you leaned forward, your lips landing on his in a brief impulse that sparked till your toes. But it seemed that you weren’t the only one who wanted to do so. You had barely moved away when he was leaning forward, his free hand gently resting on your waist as his lips captured yours once again.
Never in a million years would you have imagined kissing Namjoon Kim on his couch after he forced you to celebrate your birthday, and yet with a flurried haste you were moving your joined hands to the table to deposit your glass, winding your arms around his neck. The glass fell on the table with a little tinkle, the champagne spilling over the surface, but Namjoon couldn’t care less, taking the opportunity to pull you closer, his tongue tasting your peachy lip gloss before delving in and enjoying the sweetness of the wine on your tongue, relishing the little moan you made, your tongue twisting with his.
It was hungry, the two of you wrestling with the feelings that were brewing for months, his hands roaming your sides, squeezing at the flesh, and your fingers tugging the hair at the nape of his neck, making him keen. It seemed that the moment would last forever, neither of you willing to part even to breathe. That is, until the song changed.
It's your birthday, so I know you want to ride out Even if we only go to my house Sip mo-eezy as we sit upon my couch Feels good, but I know you want to cry out
The moment the R&B vocals filled the room, you couldn’t help bursting out in a laugh, cackling at the oddly specific lyrics your phone had decided to throw at you. Namjoon didn’t notice at first, his lips continuing to move from your mouth to your jaw to your neck, nipping at the skin. However, as your laughs got more hysterical, he finally tuned into the song playing, cringing before he joined your cackles, breathless with his forehead against yours.
“So Google really does listen in,” he deadpanned, his humour adding to your joy as you clung on to him, half in his lap before standing up to grab your phone from the table. As funny as the song was, you really didn’t want a soundtrack describing what Namjoon would do to you. A little voice in your head told you to not get your hopes up, that no matter how much you liked him, it was still just a kiss.
However as soon as you turned around, Namjoon put your fears to rest. Unlike how hesitant he had seemed earlier, he was now sitting with a confidence you hadn’t seen before, legs spread and a smirk lighting his face as he stared at you. His eyes roamed your body as he bit his lip, making you feel a little overheated.
“So it’s your birthday,” he commented casually, head tilted slightly, eyes intensely boring into yours. “Wanna ride it out?”
You knew he was teasing you by quoting the silly song but your body didn’t know better, your stomach aching with lust at his deep baritone. The Namjoon you knew was a goofy, clumsy dad, but this Namjoon was the notorious bassist of your youth, cocky and fearless as he sat up straighter, hands landing on your waist to pull you between his legs.
“I’ve read the tags on your blogs, y’know?” he teased, his hands running up and down your waist, the few inches they travelled leaving fire on your skin. “I remember one,” he mused, pulling you down till you straddled him, a knee on either side of his hips. “‘God I’d pay all the money to sit on those dimples’ isn’t that what you said?”
Your mouth flew open at his words. You never thought your horny 3 am thoughts would ever be recited back to you by the subject himself and you had no words, every witty retort dying on your tongue to leave you with a lame, “You weren’t supposed to read that.”
“And you weren’t supposed to make me fall for you,” he replied, earlier bravado falling away in favour of sincerity. He cupped your jaw, thumb running softly over your cheekbone as he smiled at you. “Can I kiss you?”
As soon as you whispered your consent he brought your face to his, lips reuniting to a taste he realised he could never get enough of. It was addicting how your hands gingerly clasped onto his shoulders, how you shivered when he traced his tongue over yours, and how you moaned softly when he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you.
It didn’t take long for him to get needier, for his hands to grab onto your ass over your dress and mould to your flesh, to move your hips against his in a rhythm that made him heady. He wanted you so much that he felt breathless, running out of time even though he knew he wasn’t. His actions made you breathless too, like with every touch he was leading you to the edge of a cliff, hands shaking in anticipation of what was to come, but your brain refused to turn off, to forget whose hands were touching you till you were pushing him away, your forehead against his.
“I’m sorry… I’m a bit out of practice,” you apologised in a whisper, but he just grinned, dissolving your insecurities with his words.
“Me too,” he giggled, kissing your lips, once, twice, three times, his hands clasping onto yours, fingers lacing together. “We can practise together if you want… or we can wait. Whatever you like, birthday girl.”
Somehow his hands in yours and the cheeky smile on his face comforted you. You had been imagining the rockstar, the person you watched grow up through your screen and go wild on stage, but the more you looked at him, the more you saw who he really was.
His flushed cheeks, the little constellation of freckles on his face and the one hidden below his lip, the way his eyes searched yours so eagerly. He wasn’t a rockstar, he was just Namjoon, the one who made stupid jokes and stashed snacks in every drawer. The one who got bullied by his daughter and complained to you about it. The one who was brave enough to open up to you about his life. You knew him, he was real, and, like him, you were falling too.
With his hands still in yours, you leaned forward, kissing him again, confident and undeterred, and he followed suit, deepening the kiss before he was holding onto your waist and spinning around. You barely registered lying on your back before he was upon you, his weight cushioning you deliciously into the couch, the soft fabric of his sweatpants caressing your inner thighs.
“Hi,” he whispered, adoration dripping from his pupils as he smiled, fingers stroking your hair and you couldn’t help leaning forward to capture his lips once again, legs tightening around his waist. You could hear the blood rushing through you, an ambient backdrop to the sounds of his lips moving down to your neck as his teeth nipped at the skin of your collarbone. It had been so long since you had touched someone, been worshipped by someone like Namjoon was determined to do so that you couldn’t help canting your hips against his, relishing the way his pants left nothing to the imagination, his rapidly hardening cock providing the friction you sought.
With all the bravery you could muster, you detangled your hand from under his to the side of your dress pulling the zipper down with a loud purr Namjoon felt shooting through him. With the dress loosened, it gave him room to roam your skin further, his lips soothing the heated skin of your chest as he pulled the straps down to reveal your nipples. Namjoon had seen many bodies in his life; on the screen, in strip clubs, writhing under him; but something about yours made him pause to drink it up. He could see the way your lips fell open, swollen and red, the way your chest rose with your heavy breaths, nipples perked in anticipation, and the way your eyes looked up at him, wide and inviting. And right below your chest, sprawled on your right rib, were the words he wrote so long ago now.
And the swings that can't look at the sky on their own, and the kids all grown up, and me who’s a little late
His mouth fell open as he tried to wrap his head around how perfect you were. He felt a familiar rush through him. One he hadn’t felt in so long that he was almost afraid he had outgrown it – the pure endorphins of a crush fulfilled. With a muttered curse, he buried his face back in your neck, almost desperate to inhale your scent once more. His hands planted themselves on your chest, squeezing the flesh, making you moan his name in a desperation that only fuelled him further, lips moving to encase a nipple between them to add to your ecstasy.
You whimpered when his teeth came to play, the blunt edges hardening them further, making you grasp his hair and arch your back. Leaving goosebumps in their wake, his hands moved down your body, wrapping around each of your thighs, pushing your dress to your waist, denting the flesh. He had missed the feel of soft skin under him for so long, much more so since you started featuring in his life and his dreams, but touching you was better than any wet dream. The melody of your mewls intensified when he switched to your other breast, his fingers dipping to the apex of your thighs to indulge in the way your panties stuck to you, so wet all for him.
You felt your legs shake out of their own accord as Namjoon moved down your body, still relentlessly tracing you over your ruined panties. You had forgotten intimacy after Ryan, always talking yourself out of potential new relationships, one-night stands never something that satiated you, but somehow Namjoon had sneaked in and weakened your defences. When his lips sought out your clit over the thin lace, you couldn’t help but thank the heavens that he had appeared in your life, pleasure coursing through you. With every flick of his tongue, you felt yourself getting closer to coming undone, muscles tightened in suspense of his next actions.
Impatient and desperate, Namjoon couldn’t wait any longer, pushing aside the fabric that guarded you from him to dip his finger in, your walls welcoming him with a pulse as if emitting a secret in morse code just for him. With fervour, he wrapped his lips around your clit, another finger joining the first, pumping in time with your gasps. Your grip on his hair tightened and he went faster, eager to see you fall apart.
There didn’t seem to be enough oxygen in the room, enough syllables in any language to describe how he made you feel in that moment. It was as if you could feel every drop of blood inside you rush through your body, haphazard and chaotic, brewing like a storm deep in your core, getting wilder and wilder. Your senses were hyper focused, each touch making you quake, each moan that Namjoon made between your thighs vibrating through you. It bordered on too much, building until there was no way to escape.
Silence.
That’s what it sounded like. As if you were thrown underwater, your whimpers sounded like distant noises from a different universe, muffled and overwhelming. You didn’t know when you started holding your breath but when his tongue flicked under your clit, and his fingers hooked into that one spot, you finally remembered to breathe, your entire body relaxing to a point where you shook so violently that he had no choice but to look up at the euphoria painted on your features.
Eyes closed tight, all you saw were stars as his fingers rode you through your high, slowing to a pace you could relish. Soon, his lips were on yours, swallowing your soft moans, and your hands were around his shoulders holding him close.
“Okay?” he asked between kisses, heart skipping a beat at the way you beamed at him, hair matted to your sweaty forehead. Gathering your senses, you pushed him away, sitting up and pulling his shirt off, wanting his skin on yours.
He welcomed you with open arms, when you discarded your dress next to his shirt and climbed on his lap, once again uniting your lips. It was as if he couldn’t get enough, wanting his lips to be thoroughly chapped if it meant he could never stop kissing you.
“More,” you whispered, against his lips, hands roaming his strong chest and down to his abs, the muscle jumping under your fingertips.
“More?” he asked, dazed.
“More,” you replied once again, fingers trailing the little hairs under his belly button before slipping under the waistband into his underwear. His skin was soft, velvet under your touch, and he was so hard, tip messy as you played with him. He twitched in your hold, thighs flexing under you and his hands on your thighs gripping tighter, but you didn’t stop, stroking him slowly till he was keening, scrambling to push you off and get a condom.
“Condoms in the studio? How convenient,” you teased, enjoying the way Namjoon’s already flushed skin turned a deeper shade of red. However, his expression didn’t betray his flustered state as he confidently walked back to the couch, dropping his sweatpants and boxers on the way.
He stood like an adonis in front of you, sculpted and hard, his cock at eye level as he put on the condom, slowly teasing you before sitting next to you, arms sprawled on the cushions next to him.
Resisting him was futile, and your body moved on autopilot, underwear coming off without hesitance before you straddled him once again, resting your wet thighs against his. You traced his biceps, running your fingers up his shoulders to find him staring up at you. You lost yourself in his eyes, tracing the pattern of his irises, how the darkness melted into a warm chocolate.
Bringing his hands to your waist, he mirrored your movements, fingertips lightly grazing your sides. He knew you were joking, but something about your teasing made him feel guilty, made him want to dispel your worries, even if they didn’t exist. Capturing your lips, he wrapped his arms around you, resting his forehead against yours before speaking.
“Haven’t needed them for two years,” he murmured with a kiss, chuckling at the disbelief so easily painted on your face. “Told you I was out of practice.”
“You are definitely not out of practice.”
You could still feel the buzz in your body, the way he reduced you to nothing, just a mess blabbering his name. If this was him out of practice, you were almost afraid of knowing what he was like when he was more comfortable. You hoped you would find out. Cupping his face, you kissed him again before guiding his length into you, sinking down in one swoop, the stretch making you keen, thighs shivering.
“Fuck,” he moaned, his breath fanning your jaw as he tried to calm the urge to buck his hips into you. “You’re not either.”
You set a gentle pace, wanting to feel him for as long as possible, your breaths mingling together as you clung on to each other. But with one kiss, patience ran out. Tongues wrestling with each other, Namjoon lifted you up only to move you over his cock faster, jostling you into compliance as his hips thrust into you in time with his arms. Everytime he sunk into you, your nails dug into his shoulders, scratching the skin deliciously, making him go faster and faster.
It was too much.
It was not enough.
As he went faster and his pace threatened to chase your sanity away, you brought your fingers to your clit, rubbing the bundle of nerves faster and faster, matching the way he grunted into your mouth, untethered, unhinged. It felt like an eternity, dangling so close to the edge that you could feel your walls closing in on him, his cock struggling to keep up with the earlier smooth movements.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, bringing your mouth back to his to lap at your lips. He thought he was so desperate because he missed sex, but nothing he had experienced came close to the way he felt lost in your warmth, unbelievably hard, forgetting the way his calves were cramping. He was so close, he could feel his eye twitching, his lip quivering with each of his moans. And then you came.
Your pussy clenched around him, pulsing, massaging him to an orgasm that made him float into the air, made him lose all sense of time, made him lose all feeling except for the way your arousal gushed into his lap, covering him, marking him as yours. And he wanted to be yours so bad. With a strangled whimper of your name, he held you still, rubbing his hands over your back, partly to sooth you and partly to ground himself, to remind him that you were real and not just one of his daydreams.
He lifted your head from where it was buried in his shoulder, lips chasing yours, tongue gently caressing, head heady with a satiated glow he felt emanating from his chest to the tips of his toes.
“Wow,” you breathed, bodies still joined together, hands playing with his hair, eyes drinking in the endeared look on his face. He didn’t reply, only smiled brightly before meeting your lips once again, getting you lost in his bliss.
You sat there kissing for a while before Namjoon’s phone rang, eliciting a groan from the man who refused to let you go. When the jingle persisted, he held you at the waist leaning forward to pick up his phone to see his daughter’s face lighting up the screen. Namjoon felt bad about sending his child to voicemail, but he had just gotten a taste of you. He didn’t want it to end, not yet.
“Sorry, Moon,” he whispered before pressing the red button to silence the call and kissing you again. You giggled on his lips at his antics, but he silenced you with his tongue, deepening the kiss with a moan that signalled the beginning of a second round. However, before you could lose yourself in him again, you heard a loud voice.
“Daaaaaaaaaaad! Daaaaaaaaaad!” Moon’s whine was clear through the static of the line, Namjoon’s eyes widening in shock before he stared at the phone. He was so sure he silenced the call! With an apologetic glance at you, he picked up his phone, clearing his throat before speaking, while you tried to control the laughter bubbling in your chest.
“Hi Moonie,” he answered, pouting at you exaggeratedly as you moved off his lap to grab your underwear. You had barely put it on before he was pulling you back towards him, an arm locked around your waist, chin propped on your shoulder as he continued the conversation. “Yes I know… I’ll get it. No, I won't forget! When have I ever forgotten anything?” he exclaimed, rolling his eyes.
The whole exchange would be adorable if it wasn’t for the way his hands moved from your waist to your chest, fingers playing with your nipple almost absent-mindedly. When he hung up, he turned towards you, kissing you once again.
“Wanna come over for pizza night?” he asked, pecking your cheek, enjoying the way your lips rose into a smirk before blooming into a grin. He knew it was too early, but he wanted to make you smile like that every day, as long as you’d let him. When the two of you dressed, he pulled you into a hug, letting his arms encompass you before whispering what he wanted the most, “Stay over after?”
Your heart fluttered in its space, growing wings and vying to get out, effervescent and giddy. Going up on your tiptoes, you captured his lips once more, softly, hugging him tighter.
“I’d like that very much.”
—-------
The week after you spent the night with Namjoon didn’t turn out to be the blissful week you thought it would be. With his case with Generation Swine coming to an end, there were a lot of meetings and paperwork. With their lawyers adamant about copyrights, you spent the majority of your time pouring over historical cases with your paralegal. Exhausting every resource, there only seemed to be one solution that you could come up with, a compromise that left you frustrated because you wanted to win.
Your communication with Namjoon was mainly relegated to succinct text messages that made you feel a little insecure about the evening you had spent with him – not to mention that his case made you feel a little guilty about building that kind of relationship with a client. However, your solace was to find a solution and put the situation to bed. Namjoon was the first man after Ryan who had made you feel safe enough to even think about another relationship and you didn’t want your constant excuse of work to dwindle the flame like so many others in the past.
Wine glass in hand, you sat on your living room couch, trying to write the final agreement and even though you knew that Namjoon had fully agreed to whatever you would come up with, you couldn’t help wanting his opinion one last time. A frustrated sigh left your lips as you reread the terms Generation Swine’s lawyers had put forward and with a large gulp of the wine, you dialled Namjoon.
“Hi,” he answered, his deep drawl making you remember how he had whispered the same word before he ruined you. Gulping, you tried to clear your head with another sip of your drink.
“Okay I have a question,” you said, scrolling through the document, ready to dive into the proposed agreement before he interrupted you.
“Me too. What are you wearing?” His tone was cheeky, an audible smile making you giggle, trying not to get sidetracked by him like you always did. There was a reason your usual twenty minute client meetings went on for hours.
“What am I wearing? Really?”
“Mhm. Missed you this week,” he replied with a raspy voice that made you squeeze your thighs together, wanting to abandon your earlier plan, but you were too close to the finish line, too close to genuinely give him your time without the added weight of dating a client.
“Namjoon Kim! I’m trying to work here!” you chastised, despite the growing need in the pit of your stomach.
“Yeah, so work with me!” he exclaimed, chuckling. “Is it that cute lace thing you were wearing that day?”
“Stop,” you whined, covering your flushed face even though you knew he couldn’t see you as he cackled through the phone. However, you did note to wear similar lingerie the next time you saw him, smiling to yourself.
“Sorry, sorry! What do you need darling?” Deciding to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat at the nickname, you put him on speaker, leaning forward to read the screen and dictating the points to him.
Essentially, the label and their lawyers had decided not to sue Namjoon if he paid the minimal contract breaking fee and gave them the rights to the songs he had already sent them demos for, four in total. You had countered that with the demand that the song may never be used by Generation Swine and that they may be used by other artists of the label if they gave Namjoon full credits, including in the title and changed none of the original lyrics.
Initially, you had been surprised that they had easily agreed. You had thought they would fight you more on it, but they were happy to agree and sign, and despite your reservations, you were obligated to provide this information to Namjoon.
“That sounds… great actually,” he said after a pause. “My name in the title too? That’s kinda crazy they agreed to it.”
“Perhaps your name carries more weight than you thought,” you commented, eyes still glued to the screen, lip between your teeth.
“I mean especially if we do a comeback,” he replied, a little smug and you couldn’t help but knock him down a notch, just to tease him.
“Last I heard, no one wants a comeback,” you grinned.
“Mark my words, Dark and Wild will be back. I’m Namjoon Kim after all, don’t you trust the words of the leader?” he volleyed back, his laugh carrying through the static making you mirror it.
“I’m sure Hoseok would love to hear that you're the leader,” you teased, only to get a scoff in return.
“Hobi knows I’m the leader,” he gloated.
“All hail President Kim,” you acquiesced through a giggle.
“That’s right,” he said, pleased and you could just imagine him puffing up his chest. “Now that that’s out of the way… What are you wearing?”
“I am not sexting you, Namjoon!” you protested, laughing at his one track mind and crossing your legs.
“Okay fine. What about… a date? When are you free?” he asked and you couldn’t help the way a blush grew on your cheeks, a giddiness you hadn’t experienced in too long bubbling inside you.
“As soon as you sign this agreement,” you answered, emailing him a copy of the document as you took him off speaker and leaned back on your couch. “So after the final meeting with the label tomorrow?”
“Well lucky for you, I can’t wait to see you,” he said, his sincerity easily flowing through the line and melting your heart in your chest.
—-----
Namjoon was livid. Pacing around his living room, he scrolled through his twitter to find himself trending. Thousands of people were talking about a Dark and Wild comeback, every single person referring to one video in particular. A blank screen with his voice echoing through: ”Mark my words, Dark and Wild will be back. I’m Namjoon Kim after all, don’t you trust the words of the leader?”
There was only one explanation for why this was suddenly going viral. There was only one person who had access to this. His heart plummeted to his stomach at the thought. He had trusted you. Trusted you with his secrets, trusted you with his authentic self. But you were just like everyone else, weren’t you? Just a clout chaser that went to the press at the first opportunity. He had to commend you. You played a long con, most of the women he had been involved with leaked pictures of him the moment he let them into his house, but you had been cunning, waiting till he had handed you his heart on a platter to shatter it mercilessly.
He could feel his hair stand at the thought of what else you might share of his life. Would you be like the first woman he had dated after Seo? The one who went on television with an exclusive interview talking about his dick. The interview his daughter’s classmates had bullied her with. He felt panicked as he called you. Would you go for an interview too? Expose how he had introduced his wife to a drug that took her life? Expose how much a failure he was and destroy the carefully curated narrative his PR team presented to the world?
His feet moved faster as if they were trying to keep up with his heart, each ring distracting him further, making him bump into the coffee table, spilling his morning coffee on the spotless surface. He watched the brown liquid cover the glass expanse before trickling onto the marble one drop at a time, mimicking the sweat that gathered on his forehead.
When you picked up, his body responded like usual, warming at the sleepy rasp, the one he remembered from a few weeks ago when you had woken up with your limbs wrapped around him, the sunlight brightening your smile. Stupid. He was so stupid!
“Why would you do this? I trusted you! I trusted you with my plans! My life! How the fuck could you do this to me?” he yelled, his frustration manifesting in a lump in his throat, choking his words, making them spill out strained and distorted. He didn’t let you speak, interrupting your feigned confusion. He didn’t have time to be nice. He had to figure out how to fix this. He needed to check on the guys. He needed to check on Moon. This was too much.
So he spoke even faster, let his bitter betrayal flavour his words with the worst expletives he could muster and ending the call with a simple threat, “Fuck you! Fuck you for doing this to me. I never wanna fucking see you again. I hope that degree is good enough because I’m gonna sue you out of every fucking penny you have. Mark my words, Y/N.”
He was panting by the time he hung up, lungs aching as they expanded, tears flowing as he realised just how much it hurt. His grip on his phone tightened and before he knew it he was throwing it across the room, shattering it against the wall with a frustrated scream.
“Dad?”
His daughter’s surprised voice pulled him out of his head, freezing him where he was still pacing, the adrenaline from earlier vanishing into exhaustion. He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face and mustering a smile before turning around, trying immensely hard to put up a brave front. But he had forgotten how precocious his daughter was, how she saw through him as she held his hand and settled him on the couch.
She brought him a bottle of water, waiting for him to drink before sitting next to him, posture impeccable and jaw tightened in a scowl. He saw himself in her at that moment, the expression one he would give his band members when they strayed out of line. Now he knew why they listened, even on a sixteen year old the look was intimidating.
“Dad, was that you talking to Y/N?” she asked, arms crossed across her chest and for a moment Namjoon felt sheepish, guilty that she had heard the ugly words he had spoken. Yet that guilt did not extend to you. He knew that if he didn’t threaten you, the things you might say to the press would have a lasting impression on his daughter.
She knew the circumstances of her mother’s death, but she never knew how complicit he had been. She always looked up to him as a role model, and he didn’t think his heart could ever take it if that illusion shattered. But he got a glimpse of that when he quietly affirmed her suspicion and watched her face fall, the scowl replaced with a sadness he wished he could erase.
“I’m really disappointed in you, dad,” she sighed, shaking her head and her words felt like a sword piercing through Namjoon’s chest. He had worked so hard to make sure she never felt that way. He knew she deserved a much better father than him, and he had tried so hard to ensure that; he had worked jobs he hated, he had read hundreds of parenting books, and he had gone to therapy. Yet the words seemed to come so easily to her, permeating the air with a tension that stiffened Namjoon’s shoulders and put him on the defensive.
“Have you seen the internet? She betrayed us, Moonie,” he retorted, voice a little colder than he wanted, but he couldn’t help it, fire stoked once again.
“Did she tell you it was her?” she replied with an eye roll, so naive.
“There could have been no one else. It was a private conversation between us.”
“But did you hear her out? All I could hear was you yelling,” she protested and Namjoon couldn’t help but shake his head. Not only had you fucked with his head, but you had also somehow put his daughter under your spell as well, especially when she continued, “You were mean. You threatened her!”
“It was to protect us. We can’t have random people think they can get away with stuff like this,” he tried to explain, watching his daughter get agitated and looking like a kid once again with her pigtails bouncing. She kept telling him he was wrong despite his efforts to remain calm and expound on his stance.
“You like her! She’s a lawyer. Why would she do this?” she argued and Namjoon couldn’t stop himself from laughing at how innocent his daughter was. He hoped she remained this optimistic forever, that she didn’t have to go through the duplicity he had experienced in his life. The more he tried to explain to her that that’s what people were like sometimes, that it was hard to trust anyone other than family, the more agitated he got at her denial.
Any other time, he would be proud of her for sticking to her stance and arguing through her thoughts, but Namjoon was exhausted. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that the reason he had found out this audio was leaked was not because of the news, but because his PR firm had called him about it. They had traced the origin to a dummy Twitter account which had posted and tagged it multiple times. They had also traced the IP address to where he knew your apartment was. There was no room for doubt when everything was crystal clear.
And so for the first time, he snapped at his daughter.
“Enough! I don’t want to hear it. I’m the parent, not you. Go to your room.”
He always hated parents that dangled their authority over their children. His parents were like that and although he was past it now, he remembered resenting them for it when he was younger. He resented their inability to talk things through, to listen to his point of view. It had taken him years to get over that feeling, but he never felt true empathy for them until this moment, his heart breaking as he watched his daughter angrily stomp towards her room.
Taking a deep breath, he ran his hands over his face in defeat. With the anger fading, came the heartbreak. He really had thought you were special, someone who somehow understood him. A chance encounter that led to him shedding the walls he had reinforced in the past ten years. He was upset about the betrayal, but his fear was more pressing. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to trust anyone again and that thought chilled him to the core. Years of therapy had taught him out of his usual defence mechanisms, to replace the toxicity with healthy coping, yet his chest felt tight as he felt the intense need to wallow.
An arm over his eyes, he tried not to notice how his skin turned moist and instead focused on what he did when he felt this way. Standing up, he grabbed his keys and headed to his studio.
—-------
You were still in bed, hand clutching your phone as Namjoon’s words rang in your head. Scrolling through the news you could see why he was seething. If you were him, you would’ve jumped to the same conclusion, but you knew it wasn’t you that leaked the video. Being hacked was out of the question, you had obscenely long passwords and two factor authentication on everything – working with high powered clients tended to seep into paranoia. Additionally, it wasn’t like you were recording the conversation in the first place. It was as if someone was in the room with you, taking notes of your conversation. Namjoon had even mentioned something about being sure it came from your address.
And then it dawned on you.
Phone clutched in your hand, you headed to your spare room, knocking furiously till a yawning Hera appeared. Her long hair stuck out at weird angles, pajamas frumpled and the impression of a pillow still on her face. She seemed like she was sleeping so soundly and it only made the anger licking at your veins ignite further.
Holding up your phone, you played the video, seething. “Did you leak this?”
“Ugh, this is what you woke me up for? Yeah. Now, let me go to bed,” she yawned, moving to close the door before you stopped her.
You expected her to deny it, to make an excuse but her blatant admittance to invading your privacy had you spiralling. You had put up with a lot with her. You had excused her shitty decisions, you had excused her inability to ever pay for anything, but this was too much.
“This was a private conversation, Hera,” you gritted, getting angrier as she just shrugged and rolled her eyes.
“Celebrities aren’t private,” she replied nonchalantly. “Think of it like I was a paparazzi.”
“But that’s the thing. You’re not. This was a private conversation and you recorded it. Do you not understand how fucked up that is?”
“Oh my god! Give me a break! I didn’t even release the juicy stuff. I could’ve told the world you were dating that guy but I didn’t because I’m your friend.”
You couldn’t help but sputter at her rationalisation. It was absurd how she thought it was okay to do this. You knew her morals weren’t always aligned with yours, but you never realised how far they had truly skewed. How had you missed this in all these years? How had you not realised how one sided this relationship had become? Why did you keep putting up with her when she never showed you an ounce of respect?
“Get out,” you said, trying to hold back your vexation.
“What? You’re kicking me out now?” she laughed as if it was the most unbelievable thing in the world.
“I said get out. I want you out of here by tonight.”
“Come on! I’m sorry Y/N. Is that what you want to hear?” she pouted, turning her voice higher to be cuter. Perhaps it would have worked in the past. Maybe it had, for her to pull it out of her arsenal, but she had gone too far. Much too far. When you repeated your words once again, she seemed angry, spitting at you how she knew you were trying to get Ryan back and she needed to always record you to make sure she could trust you. It was absurd and you didn’t want to expend any more energy on her. You were done.
You left her screaming at you, grabbing your keys and sending her one last warning before slamming the door and going to your office.
“You take your stuff and you get out. If I find anything missing or if you’re still here when I get back, I’m calling the police.”
—-------
Despite the odd look security gave your outfit as you walked into your building on a Sunday morning, you were too wired up to care. It wasn’t unusual for you to be one track minded when it came to something. You often got borderline obsessed, and today you had only one thing on your mind – get that video off the internet. Settling in your office, you scanned your shelves for books on defamation and invasion of privacy. It would make a flimsy case, Namjoon said his name on the recording after all, but if you could find a precedent, you could perhaps develop a useful argument.
When your shelves did not give you the answers you were looking for, you made your way across the empty floor to the in-house library, picking up anything of use. Before long, you were sitting at your desk, piles of books and the internet calming your nerves. However, the more you read, the more the pit in your stomach grew. It felt fruitless, looking for a needle in a vast ocean.
You needed this win to clear your name, but more importantly, you needed it to help Namjoon. It had been so long since anyone made you feel safe, made you feel as if you were worthy of their vulnerability and your heart ached as you imagined how he must have felt seeing your private conversation in the headlines. Head pounding, you tugged at your hair in frustration, reading the same line over and over till the words held no meaning at all.
You opened your drawer, rummaging for some painkillers till your hand closed around the bottle. Pulling it out, your eyes landed on the chocolate bars Namjoon had insisted on you stashing in your office. “In case you ever have a bad day!” he had exclaimed when he handed you a bunch of his favourites. The memory seemed bitter now, but you still picked up a bar, ripping it open and letting the sweet taste distract you with its endorphins.
Maybe it was pathetic crying in your rapidly darkening office with chocolate smeared on your face but everything felt overwhelming all of a sudden. If you had only lost Namjoon perhaps you would have been able to hold it together. You had dealt with breakups, not sure if the short lived stint with the celebrity even counted as a breakup. But it was the loss of Hera that had you sniffling, curled up on your chair. She wasn’t the greatest of friends but she was your best friend, had been for years and you would do anything to protect her. It pained you that she didn’t even think of extending you the same courtesy, that for her you had somehow gone from a confidant to an untrustworthy roommate.
Despite your efforts, she seemed to always look for the worst in you. As you ruminated over the decade-long friendship, more instances became obvious. It was as if every toxic red flag had been ignored by you. Were you really that desperate for kinship that you let every time she put you down slide by?
They weren’t big things, you thought. A slight here, a ruthless comment there before she was telling you to chill out and hugging you. You always thought that her comments were innocent, that they were just a part of her love language. She liked to joke around, poke fun at your outfits, your hobbies, but the more you thought about it, the harder it was for you to remember moments when she had been kind, when she had stood up for you.
Perhaps it was your fault for forgiving her time and time again, for putting up with her behaviour. Maybe this whole leak debacle wouldn’t have happened in the first place if you had called her out on her bullshit earlier. Maybe you should’ve reconsidered your friendship when she never offered to pay rent, or when she started dating your cheating, hateful ex. Was she really at fault if you had never set the boundaries in the first place?
Sighing, you set your head on the table. Hoping to will away the headache, you closed your eyes.
It seemed merely minutes had passed when your phone chimed, startling you awake but the time on the screen alarmed you. It was just past 1am. Somehow you had spent the majority of your day sleeping at your desk. Your back ached from the angle, but the pain was forgotten when your phone chimed once again. Wiping your eyes you took a closer look at your screen.
Namjoon - Missed calls (5)
Namjoon: Is Moon with you? Namjoon: Please call me back Namjoon: Please Namjoon: I’m really sorry but please I can’t find Moon
Panic surged through you at his words, your fingers flying on the screen as you called him back. The phone rang twice before Namjoon’s ragged voice was bombarding you with questions, “Where are you? Is Moon with you? Has she contacted you?”
“No, but we can find her. Namjoon, listen, calm down. We’ll find her.” You tried to comfort him but it seemed that he was spiralling, muttering about being a bad father. It was a drastic contrast to his earlier fire, alarm dousing his tone in helplessness. He went on to tell you that her phone was at home, that he hadn’t seen her for hours, and the police had told him they’d make the case a priority.
“What if she was kidnapped? What if people think that I’m famous again and they can put her for ransom?” he rambled, clearly distressed. Trying to distract him from his dark thoughts, you asked him about all the places she could be and when he informed you that everyone was looking at her usual spots, you decided to search up other spots in the city where she could be, looking up parks and concert venues. With assurance that you will look for her, you hung up the phone, ran to your car and started your search of the city.
1 am on a Monday doesn’t lead to many crowds so it was easy to go through the top spots that you had listed. You even rented a bike and biked up and down the Han river park but other than a few drunks, you found no trace of her. Back in your car, you tried to run through every conversation with her, there had been so few, and she hadn’t mentioned anything. Giving up, you hoped that they had found her and forgotten to tell you. You were an insignificant part of their lives anyway.
Calling Namjoon didn’t work, his phone just rang through each time. You knew you should just go home and let him deal with it, he had his best friends and the police on his side, he didn’t need you, someone he didn’t even trust anymore, to tag along. But the unrest in your chest wouldn’t let you turn your car around. Instead, you drove to his apartment as if on instinct. If he wanted you out, he would tell you, he clearly had no problem making his opinions known when he wanted to.
When you knocked on his door, you were met by a Namjoon you hadn’t seen before. Eyes red, hair a mess, he let you in before starting his pacing again, rambling about how he was a terrible father, interrupting you angrily when you tried to tell him otherwise.
“I told her to go to her room! Do you know how fucked up that is?” he yelled, confusing you further.
“Namjoon… a lot of kids get sent to their room. That’s not a bad thing,” you cautioned, putting a hand on his shoulder.
“Not Moon. She was… so disappointed in me. I’m not supposed to be like those other parents! What if… what if that’s the last thing I say to her?” His lip quivered as he spoke, facade crumbling as he fell to his knees, taking you with him. For all the vitriol he had spewed that morning, it seemed that Namjoon just wanted you close, clinging on to you in his panic. You couldn’t help but hold him close, even if it was temporary, wishing to provide him with comfort as long as he allowed.
It was in that position that Moon found the two of you when she returned, immediately running to her father.
“Dad? What’s wrong?” she asked, kneeling next to you as Namjoon stared at her before pulling her into a bone-crushing bone crushing hug.
“Where were you? I was so worried!” he scolded, unable to stop the huge relieved grin on his face. He patted her hair as if to feel if she was real and you couldn’t help but be endeared by the pure display as they bickered, It was heartwarming to see Moon trying to explain to her worried father that she had merely forgotten her phone at home and gone to a concert with friends.
“You could’ve messaged from someone’s phone or left a note!” Namjoon argued, still hugging her.
“I left a note on the fridge!” she replied as Namjoon sheepishly made excuses as to how he had been too worried to even check the kitchen fridge.
The two were in their own bubble and it made you a little awkward to be watching such an intimate family moment when before the disaster it was made clear that you were no longer welcomed in Namjoon’s life. With a heavy heart, you stood up taking your leave despite Moon’s insistence for you to stay the rest of the night.
As you were leaving, Jungkook and Yoongi came by, both equally relieved to find their niece safe and sound. When the elevator doors closed in front of you, you decided that it was better to have gotten a glimpse into the lives of people you admired than to have never had that time with them at all. It still hurt to have Namjoon distrust you so easily, even if rationally it made sense as to why he did. You were only a fleeting moment and that was okay.
You were grateful for the time you spent with him.
—-------
It had been a week since he berated and then asked you for a favour, and Namjoon didn’t think he could ever feel so empty again. He stared at the glass of whiskey in front of him, trying to figure out if it was even a good idea to call you. Would you hear him out, let him apologise or would you just brush him off?
You hadn’t apologised for the leak and even if he did overreact in the moment, he knew that it was unfair of you to do that. But after how quick you had jumped in to help him search for Moon and how none of his other secrets came into the limelight, his gut told him that maybe he had been wrong. Maybe you had gotten hacked, or he had gotten hacked. Maybe there was an explanation that didn’t lead to him losing you from his life. But then again, did he even deserve to invite you back in when he had so ruthlessly shoved you out. Damn, he even threatened to sue you!
“Joon hyung! I’m trying to tell you all something!” Jungkook whined, the addition of the term of respect alluding to Namjoon that he had been calling his name for a while. The guys had dropped the honorifics once they had disbanded, an effort to see each other on equal footing as friends, but the habit was especially hard to drop for the youngest. Namjoon chuckled at his friend with a nod as the rest of the band grumped at Jungkook to continue.
“So… the leak was actually good huh?” he commented, large eyes scanning the faces of the six men around him eagerly. For someone who was dead set against a comeback, it seemed that the sudden downpour of support from old and new fans alike had swayed Jungkook.
Jungkook was barely even a teenager when Dark and Wild launched, so it was no surprise that Shadows held a very big spot in his heart, multiple tattoos alluding to the fact. Namjoon remembered when a doe-eyed Jungkook had excitedly shown him his first fan letter, one that was still framed in his living room.
It was endearing to see him this excited about returning, but for all his plans, Namjoon felt guilty that the thing that convinced the members to pursue a comeback was not his and your hard work but a mistake. He felt uneasy, a clawing feeling in his chest making him feel as if he had forgotten something behind.
He knew it was you.
Somehow in the months of planning, you had become intertwined with his vision of a comeback. When he imagined picking songs for the album, he thought of your input. He imagined your name in the end notes of the cover. He imagined you in the studio during practice and in the wings at the first concert.
It wasn’t a comeback if you weren’t there to enjoy it with him. Even if you never wanted to talk to him again, he wanted to experience everything because you had so easily given him access to your time and your intelligence. Perhaps he should’ve never crossed that line. Perhaps he should’ve remained professional and not let his lonely heart fiddle with his brain.
“So wait… we all want to actually do this?” Jimin asked, the men continuing their discussion, oblivious to how Namjoon had once again reverted into his head. Everyone nodded along, except Seokjin who sat with a frown on his face.
“I don’t know… Go back to the limelight? Do you think we’re ready for that again?” he asked tentatively, his lower lip between his teeth. “It was a lot of pressure on all of us, all of our partners too.”
“We’re older now. We know our limits better now. We know ourselves better now,” Hoseok consoled quietly, slurring a little and sipping his drink, his face already flaring red from the alcohol. Seokjin laughed at the juxtaposition of Hoseok’s serious tone and sleepy eyes.
“Okay. If you can beat me at rock, paper, scissors, I’m in,” he joked holding up a fist as Hoseok squared up, much to the annoyance of the rest of the band.
“Why do we always have to do rock, paper, scissors for everything?” Taehyung bemoaned, leaning back on the couch staring at the ceiling with a huff as Jungkook coached Hoseok through whispers.
“Because democracy,” Seokjin grinned, chanting 'rock, paper, scissors’ before leaving his fist as is to signal rock just a few seconds after Hoseok showed his hand, paper.
“I won!” Hoseok gleed excitedly before stopping short and staring at his friends. “I won… We’re doing a comeback?”
“We’re doing a comeback,” Seokjin laughed, trying not to hint that he had agreed before the game even started, even when Yoongi smiled knowingly at him. “Good job, Joonie.”
Namjoon couldn’t help getting a little flustered at the sudden praise from his bandmate, his heart beating faster. He had waited so long for this, that it seemed surreal that it was happening. Standing up, he raised his glass to the middle, proposing a toast.
“Dark and Wild,” he cheered, the men echoing him as seven glasses clinked together.
Fuck, they were really doing a comeback, weren’t they?
—-------
When you had left Namjoon’s apartment two weeks ago, you were sure that you would never return. There was no reason to climb the gilded elevator to the cosy home, especially with the radio silence that had continued between the two of you. You were sure he still thought you were responsible for the leak and you should’ve been mad that he never tried to hear you out, but your empathy wouldn’t let you. It made sense with how guarded he was to assume the worst, and you would be lying if you said you didn’t hope that he would call you and make things right.
Waiting for the elevator, it wasn’t Namjoon that invited you back, but Moon. She had messaged you requesting your presence at her birthday and after Namjoon had explained how he tried to make each of her birthdays magical, there was no way you could refuse. You knew it would be awkward, stilted as you tried to go through a group of Namjoon’s friends and family, but you would hate it if you were the one who took away the magic of birthdays from a girl that always believed in them.
You watched the buttons light up as the elevator ascended, a set of drumsticks gift wrapped in your hands. Your nerves flared the closer you got to the penthouse and you laughed at how ridiculous you were being. Namjoon wasn’t even an ex, he was just a beginning that never led anywhere. If anything you should’ve been grateful that it never led to more. It would have broken you if it had. But you were strong, ready to impart your birthday greeting with a brave face and leave after ten minutes.
It was only ten minutes. You could do it.
However, when the doors opened to the apartment, you didn’t see the crowd you had been anticipating. There were no balloons in the living room, no music, no lights. Only Namjoon, seated at a table in the middle of the living room.
The couches and coffee table that usually occupied the space were absent. Instead there was a table with a white cloth draped over it and two chairs. A large dish of pasta sat on the surface, along with a basket of bread, place settings for two, and a bottle of wine chilling in a bucket. Candles on the table gave the room a soft glow, your heart stuttering as Namjoon walked over, biting his lip sheepishly and fiddling with his fingers.
“Hi,” he said, flushing as you looked up at him. Before you could answer, he was apologising. “I’m really, really sorry for being an idiot. I should have never blown up at you like that. That was fucked up and I’m really sorry.”
“Where’s Moon?” you asked, ignoring his apology, just to see him squirm a little more.
“Um… her birthday wish was for us to make up… So she’s at a sleepover with her friends.”
“Well… I got her a present,” you stated awkwardly.
“Oh! I can take it. Thank you,” Namjoon said, taking the present and placing it on the table before clearing his throat. “I’m serious. I’m really sorry, Y/N. I don’t care if you leaked the clip, I’m sure you had a plan and I was an idiot for not lis–.”
“I didn’t leak anything,” you cut him off quietly, watching how his eyes widened in response, a soft “what” escaping his lips. “I didn’t leak it. My roommate recorded us without me knowing. Well, ex roommate.”
“Fuck,” Namjoon breathed before laughing bitterly in disbelief. “I really am an asshole. Wow.”
“I get why you did that though. You had to protect yourself and Moon,” you defended his actions, but he didn’t let you, apologising once more before offering you a seat. When the two of you were settled, he told you about his past, about how other partners had scarred him, how he had somehow been hardwired into accepting the worst in people, and for the first time, you let him in too, sharing your fight with Hera.
“I’m a lawyer, Namjoon. I signed an NDA,” you replied, a finger tracing the wine glass in front of you. Namjoon’s sudden laugh startled you, your eyes meeting his as you watched him cover his mouth.
“Sorry but that’s what Moon said too,” he replied, the tension in the air melting at the comment and a smile lifting your lips.
“Smart daughter you got there,” you complimented, raising your glass. He clinked his own against it before taking a sip.
“That I do,” he easily agreed.
“Tell her that her birthday wish came true.”
“Wait really?” he asked with a grin he couldn’t control. “We made up?”
“If you still want to be friends, I’m okay with that. I’d like to be your friend, Namjoon,” you replied, confused as his smile dropped suddenly, his eyes leaving yours to his fingers that traced meaningless patterns against the tablecloth.
“Yeah, friends. I’d love to be your friend. Pasta?” he asked, holding up the bowl overflowing with aglio ollio, a stiff smile plastered on his face. You helped yourself to the food, commenting on the bright flavour as he admitted that he had learnt how to perfect the dish as it was Moon’s favourite, and basically the only thing that he could cook well. The conversation flowed stonely, awkward and even with the conclusion that you were friends, it felt stifled, like the two of you were playing a part in a play, small talk seeming scripted and wooden.
When the dinner came to an end, he protested you clearing the table but you stubbornly carried the plates to the kitchen, starting to wash them as Namjoon tried to stop you. He gave up halfway, content to watch you clean, your earlier words echoing in his head. I’d like to be your friend, Namjoon.
He didn’t want to be your friend though. He thought he did. He thought that he would be happy just to have you in his life at a safe distance, but the moment those words had left your lips it was like his stomach fell to the floor. He didn’t want to give you up. He missed you, missed that he had just indulged in you once, woke up next to you once before he had fucked it all up. And before he knew it, those words were escaping him.
“I don’t want to be friends.”
His words rang through you, the last plate you were rinsing slipping slightly from your fingers. You knew it would come to that eventually, that he would realise that it was almost pointless to be your friend. You had hoped it wouldn’t have happened this soon though. With a practised smile, you placed the plate onto the drying rack, wiping your hands on the dish towel stowed next to the sink, ready to take your leave.
“Oh… okay. Thanks for dinner then.”
But before you could move he was coming closer, a hand raised tentatively as he stared at your face, eyes roaming your features and lip tucked beneath his teeth.
“Don’t leave. I… I just… I don’t want to be friends.”
Your eyes met his as the meaning of the words registered slowly, hope blooming in your chest. It lit beneath your skin, coating you like honey, warm and sweet. But you still needed the assurance, “Then what do you want?”
“More,” he whispered, impossibly close now, the air between you sparking, nothing like the insulated tension from earlier. It was as if you could see it in front of it, golden glitter permeating in your vision, softly dispersing as he moved his hand till it was resting on your cheek, his thumb stroking the sparks into a fire.
When he leaned in, he moved slowly, the dark brown of his irises melting into his pupils as they searched yours for any hesitation. And then his lips moved, stealing your attention with their murmurs, “So much more.”
You lashes flickered on their own, eyelids closing seamlessly as his mouth gently met yours with the care you had come to expect of him. In the past months, you had learned that Namjoon cared wholeheartedly for everyone he deemed worthy. He gave his all – his strength, his weaknesses, his whole heart. And with his lips on yours he reminded you once again that you were one of those people he had decided to let in. There was no doubt left anymore as you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss.
Chest to chest, you could feel his heart beating against yours as his hands caressed your back as if testing the silk of your blouse before landing on your ass. Fingers squeezing the flesh, he moaned into your mouth eliciting one of your own, a sweet harmony once again united to string together. His body pushed against yours, his arousal impossible to hide as he pushed you against the counter, grinding into you slowly before he was picking you up and depositing you on the surface.
Your legs opened on their own, making space for him as he solidified his place in your heart. His lips migrated to your jaw, your heavy breaths the soundtrack to his journey down your body, each kiss leaving you thrumming and weightless, his long fingers unravelling each button with delicate care. With your shirt wide open, he took a moment to leave your skin to stare at you, the lacy red bra catching his attention before he haphazardly unbuttoned his own shirt, dropping it on the floor and wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you in a kiss that was no longer gentle but a frenzy.
His tongue wrestled with yours, his mouth swallowing each of your whimpers as he pushed your shirt off, his fingers tracing the lace and pulling it down to release your nipples so he could trace them with his thumbs. You could feel your heart race, your thighs tightening around him as lust flowed through you. It was as if he had your body memorised, knew where each nerve ending sparked into pleasure.
His teeth bit into your neck, blunt and delicious, making you keen before his lips wrapped around a nipple, tongue flicking in a way that made you see stars and dig your fingers into his scalp. You could feel his smile painted on your skin, your eyes seeing how his dimples would pop out in his cheeks even when they were closed. But you wanted more, so much more.
With a shove against his chest, he unlatched from you, staring at you in confusion before you were slipping off the counter and getting on your knees. He could feel the way his dick twitched at the position. He had never imagined you like this before and his mind screamed at him for such a blunder, but then again even he wasn’t creative enough to conjure an image as perfect as your eyes glistening up at him through your lashes, lips swollen from his kisses and hands unbuckling his belt at lightning pace. Before he knew it, his pants were halfway to his thighs, his boxers pushed along with them to reveal his cock.
He forgot to breathe when you smiled up at him radiantly, such an innocent look before you were licking up his length, fingers wrapped around him. You kissed against the head, your tongue circling the skin devilishly before your lips wrapped around him, suckling him slowly. You went deeper with each suck as if wanting to swallow him whole and Namjoon couldn’t keep his wits. How did he get this lucky?
With a large laugh that peetered out into a moan, he braced himself with his hands on the counter behind you, relishing the way your tongue traced his skin each time your head bobbled, turning him into a slow mush. Before he could stop himself, he thrust in your mouth, your moan vibrating around him in such delicious torture that he pulled back abruptly, too afraid to cum before he even got started.
Pulling you up by your hand, he crashed his lips on yours again, hands too eager to rip your pants off you as he wiggled out of his own. It was a silly dance, one that left you giggling in his mouth and had him chuckling back, euphoria bubbling through him.
When both your clothes were discarded, lost in his kitchen, he picked you up, letting you wrap yourself around him like a koala as he walked to his bedroom. He had dreamed of you back here, lost in his sheets as he lost himself in you and if there was one thing Namjoon did, it was go after his dreams.
Depositing you on to the bed he crawled between your legs, forgetting all about teasing to devour your arousal right from the source. A quick squeak left your lips as his tongue met your folds, flicking at your clit as he licked up your slit, stealing your breath. His hands roamed your thighs, eliciting goosebumps and whimpers, squeezing the flesh as his lips latched onto your clit. You were on the brink of your sanity, your vision clouding as he kept up his pulsating suckles. Your fingers wrapped around the sheets, pulling them from the corners as your back arched, hips canting against his face before he was holding them down, lapping at you furiously. His hands, his lips, his fingers all played a part in unravelling you, but it was when you looked down at him and caught the hunger in his eyes as he watched you squirm that made you explode, a loud whimper floating into the air at his unrelenting efforts.
He let you ride out your high before his lips let go, instead moving to kiss at your thighs, leaving little nibbles as they climbed up your body, from your stomach to your breasts to your neck, paying special attention to your tattoo, before he was kissing your lips once again, letting your tongue burst with your flavour.
“More?” he asked, his forehead against yours, his breath cooling your heated cheeks and you couldn’t help wrapping your arms around his strong shoulders, meeting his lips once again.
“So much more,” you echoed his earlier words, earning his dimples as he pecked your lips, once, twice and then once more before sitting up and reaching in his bedside drawer for a condom. His fingers were nimble, shaking a little from his excitement as he ripped it open and quickly rolled it on. Meeting you in another kiss, his forearms rested next to your head, his hips grinding into you.
Fingers caressing his back, you reached lower till your hand wrapped around his cock, guiding it slowly inside you. He entered leisurely, carefully stretching your walls, eyes gazing into yours, making you lose yourself in them. The two of you exhaled when he was fully buried inside you, the stillness of the room echoing around you as his fingers slowly moved your hair from your face.
The silence was broken first by your lips meeting eagerly and then by his hips leaving you only to slap back against yours in an intense thrust that led to your moans punctuating the sound. With each one of his strokes, his lips moved further away from yours, your breaths mingling with each other as you lost yourselves. It was ecstatic, the way his body moulded against yours, his chest cushioning you to the mattress, while your legs wrapped around him.
In all your years and all your relationships no one had felt this perfect, this quickly. How every cant of his hips brought you closer to your high, pulled out noises from your lips you had never imagined. He grunted along with you before the tightening of your walls compelled him to reach for your clit to prolong his pleasure more, to make you writhe around him more, to make your lips seek for his more. He met your desperation with his own, tongue meeting your teeth in a flurry as his abs clenched tighter, your thighs trapping him against you, your fingernails digging crescents into his ass.
Like a wave ebbing higher and higher, you wrapped yourself tighter around him, limbs locked in ecstasy before you crashed with a high-pitched whine of his name, your legs jerking with the sudden pleasure coursing through you in a rush. He moved faster, harder, keeping you suspended as his lips found yours again. Chanting your name in a stuttered whine, his high followed quickly after yours, leaving him breathless on top of you, his face buried in your neck.
When your heart had steadied, he leaned up, kissing you decadently, luxuriating in your taste, a gentle aftermath of the flurry from earlier. His fingers stroked your scalp, leaving behind content tingles that soothed you, your fingers mirroring his actions through his hair.
You had never felt so at peace.
When he had his fill of your lips, he stood up, admiring your body before pulling you with him into the shower. Slowly kisses under warm water never felt better, your hands indulging in his body, roaming over his sculpted chest and toned stomach.
“I missed you,” he confessed, arms around you as water flowed from him to you, both of you revelling in the warmth of the water, of the moment.
“I missed you, too,” you replied, standing on the tip of your toes to kiss his nose, enjoying the way the action made him blush and shyly hide his face with a giggle.
Dressed in his oversized t-shirt, you climbed into bed, watching as he tidied up, folding your clothes. It was an endearing habit, one he picked up from cleaning Moon’s toys when she was younger, too many legos under his feet a painful motivator. He pulled his phone from his pants pocket before climbing in next to you, his chest moulded to your back, long arms around you as he told you about different songs he had been working on. He didn’t have the strongest of vocals, but his low gruff was comforting, it’s unpolished notes a serenade as he scrolled through his demos, playing snippets.
“I might’ve been inspired by the night of your birthday for this one,” Namjoon admitted quietly as he played the next song, his face buried behind your shoulders. It was a fast beat, the bass notes popping with a fun melody, electronic drums bouncing along. But what truly made your heart flutter were the words, his husky voice singing them softly.
Too many words circle around me But none of them feel how I feel I just feel it Like the moon rises after the sun rises Like how fingernails grow Like trees that shed their bark once a year That you are the one who will give meaning to my memories Who will make a 'person' into 'love'
You pouted as the song continued, a beautiful confession that had you turning in his arms to kiss him, too overwhelmed to do anything else. No one had ever written you a song, no one had ever expressed their feelings like this before, in a way that was almost bordering on magical. If your younger self knew that the lead of your fantasies would be singing you something he wrote solely for you, she would’ve passed out. The song ended with the chorus and a request.
You're my person, my person, my person You're my desire, my desire, my desire You're my pride, my pride, my pride You're my love One and only love You know... We were always meant to be... Destiny... I hope you feel the same with me..
“I do feel the same,” you murmured against his lips, kissing his smile as he pulled you closer, legs tangled with yours.
“Good because this is going in the album and it would suck if it didn’t make you smile every time I played it,” he teased, kissing your nose before you leaned away, looking at him confused.
“Album?”
“Comeback album. Dark and Wild’s back.” He grinned widely and even though usually you’d be distracted by his dimples, this time no matter how large your eyes got you couldn’t register them. Because in your head there was a childish giddiness you had thought you would never experience. Holding up a finger, you turned away from him to grab a pillow, screaming in excitement, limbs flailing as your adolescent dreams of a reunion came true. You knew it was going to happen but you never imagined how much the news would affect you.
Namjoon laughed, pulling the pillow from over your head and kissing you once more, your excitement making him even more eager for the comeback. He laid you on his chest as you asked him questions and he regaled the story of how the decision was made based on a game of chance and your roommate’s stupid actions.
“Thank you for helping me get my dream again,” Namjoon whispered, grateful that he had written to you and that you had responded.
He owed a lot to fate for whisking you into his arms.
—————
Epilogue
It was dark around you, but that was only because the lights on stage were so bright. Music boomed. Guitar riffs were clean even with their distortion. Drums were loud, cracking in the air. Hoseok’s growl echoed through your bones as you watched Dark and Wild perform, the sweet smell of manufactured smoke surrounding you. Yoongi did his signature move, licking up the fretboard of his guitar as Jimin grinned, lip between his teeth, and muted chords spilling from his amp. Right at the chorus, Seokjin kneeled on the ground, blowing a kiss to the audience as he played along, right when Taehyung started belting, licking his lips and letting the words float out of him. Jungkook played faster, increasing the tempo of the song just as his drum set was lifted into the air, spinning in circles, metres above the stage. You cheered loudly as the song ended, Namjoon looking for you in the wings and tossing a wink cheekily.
It was like being thrown back in time. It was surreal. Yet, it was so real.
Moon squealed next to you when Hoseok introduced her, a stark contrast to how she was tapping her drumsticks on her legs nervously a few minutes ago. “Good luck,” you whispered with a hug, and she squeezed you tight before running onto the stage in her ripped jeans and black tulle top, a grungy throwback to the outfits she used to wear as a kid.
Sitting on a second drum set, she waved to the crowd as Jungkook timed her in, the two setting off into a vicious solo together as Seokjin and Namjoon provided the background to the melodic dissonance. The crowd went wild, screaming at the top of their lungs, and you even saw someone throw their bra on stage, just like old times.
The show ended with the first song the band had ever released, War of Hormones. The lyrics were a little cringey with time, but the band laughed along as they played, bantering about how stupid their teenage selves were during the guitar solo. But you couldn’t help the tears in your eyes as you watched them perform, your face hurting from how hard you were smiling, your fingers wrapped around the pass on your neck.
Heart pounding in time with the bass, you watched the guys finish their last song to an earth shattering applause, the crowd going wild. It seemed that the floor was shaking with their stomps and claps.
Centre stage, the men took a bow, before Namjoon put Moon on his shoulders and the group recreated the photo they took on the last day of their tour before retiring. He made a stupid joke about his back hurting when he put her down, Moon returning her own quip about him being old as the audience laughed.
With their arms around each other, Hoseok spoke into the mic, beaming into the crowd.
“Thank you Shadows! We’ve been Dark and Wild and fuck it’s good to be back!”
-
taglist -  @awhnamjoon​ @alpacaseoks @raplinesmoon @codeinebelle @aislinnstanaka @miscelunaaa @moonchild1 @shydestinyyouth @itsjaneeet @piecesofapril11 @yoontaethings @jeonyreads
Thank you for reading this fic! If you liked it, please tell me your thoughts. I worked very hard on this and would appreciate your feedback! 🥰🥺
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veliseraptor · 11 months
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Remembering my first introduction to Xue Yang and thinking about how methodical he seemed to me vs fanon version that is basically evil Wei Wuxian on speed.
No really you're so right he's normally calm and methodical. Just sometimes the universe tells him he fucked up and he's like "would you say that if I did this? *makes an utterly insane choice*"
ohhh this is something I have Thoughts on for sure. don't get me wrong! I think xue yang does have manic periods and will get into a mode where he's not sleeping for three days because he has a project to work on and sleep is boring, a-yao, leave me alone. but I think the degree to which xue yang is - prior to xiao xingchen's death - actually as unhinged as he's sometimes painted is...it's not pretending but it is playing up an aspect of his personality to make people uncomfortable or nervous or scared, both because it's how he makes damn sure he's not going to be forgotten or ignored (have talked about that elsewhere) and because it's what people expect from him, so why not.
(it also means people underestimate him and while I think xue yang has a kind of complicated relationship with that it is useful sometimes.)
I do think a solid 30% of xue yang's behavior is looking at what people expect from him, going "oh you are like a little baby. watch this" and doing worse. i.e. if people are going to assume he's basically a wild animal then he's going to be the meanest wild animal they've ever seen. I think the fact that he settles relatively easily into playing a role where that's very much not the case, where nobody is looking at him like that (or at least nobody who is in a position to look down on him, qingqing is too short), is somewhat indicative.
he has more control over himself and his behavior than most people realize; I think the perception (both in universe and in fandom) is that he's sort of a creature of id, driven purely by impulse and almost instinctual reaction, and I don't think that's actually accurate to what we see of him most of the time. he's certainly very clever, and good enough at what he does to attract the attention of powerful people. jin guangshan finds him valuable enough to alienate and anger another sect leader about it. give Xue Yang a puzzle and if he's interested he'll sit down and pick at it until he figures it out, unless it's too easy, then it's just boring.
it's also notable to me that when xue yang is angry at someone, he doesn't actually act immediately. he's very willing to wait and plan to figure out how to really twist the knife in someone. the choice to go after song lan's temple, and song lan himself, rather than directly targeting xiao xingchen, might be a practical one, but it's also a very deliberate and targeted attack that's aimed right at xiao xingchen's stated purpose: "you say you're here to protect people? look, you can't even protect your friend and his temple, and now they've suffered because of you." that's not, like, an immediate and explosive reaction, it's a very purposeful act that has thought and planning behind it.
now, does xue yang make impulsive snap decisions, frequently involving violence? sure. but the most notable of those is, I would argue, at the two absolute nadir moments of xue yang's life. the first one being when xiao xingchen finds out who he is and vehemently rejects him - xue yang's reaction there feels like much more of an instinctive lashing out, and it's happening because for the first time in his life since he was very young, someone who actually has the ability to hurt his feelings has hurt his feelings and it feels real bad! doesn't like that! so he reacts to make it stop, and then keeps going and pushing until xiao xingchen breaks, and then after that it's pretty clear to me that he sort of shocks back to reality and spends the next eight years going "no, wait, I take it back." or, well, trying.
and then also when he dies. when wei wuxian goads him about what he did to chang ping and the implications thereof regarding xue yang's own feelings of (unnacknowledged, unrecognized) guilt, xue yang absolutely loses it, gets reckless and careless and ultimately it's that, with a-qing's help, which gets him killed.
oh, wait, one other place I think xue yang loses control of himself and acts without really thinking it through, and that's killing a-qing. I have less textual evidence for this (though I don't think it's completely absent), but it's definitely my headcanon.
outside of those moments, though - aka the ones that get really bad - I don't think xue yang is as off the chain as he sort of...gives off the air of being. I don't know that I'd call him calm, but I would say that he has the ability, most of the time, to exercise at least a modicum of self control.
at least, before xiao xingchen's death. frankly, after that I think he does very much lose his mind a little, but, you know. I think that's understandable, under the circumstances.
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jeffsatyr · 6 days
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Fandom lads to get to know better ✨
tagged by @xxhappy-chickenxx (tagged my main but i shall instead post this here hfdjskhfdjsk)
3 ships you like:
King/Uea - I have been in the absolute trenches lately wrt the kinguea feels - genuinely full on sobbed yesterday about how despite everything done to him and said to him by the people responsible for loving and protecting him, he still found a way out, he was still able to love and be loved by people who so genuinely care for him and want to help him and support him and love him and andand anandndnfsdngbsfnskgsj [bluescreens]
Sonic/North/Kim - my beloved peanut gallery! they're just vibing just bopping along in the background occasionally committing acts of violence to protect one another! i wrote 'a future in sync' over the course of one eight hour sitting and then posted it at like five am i am pretty chill about them (the insomnia was unrelated) but i do find them absolutely delightful and criminally slept on
Sand/Top - maybe a controversial opinion in some circles but they ABSOLUTELY should have fucked about it! the others i have, like, thought out reasons and particular opinions and headcanons but these guys? nahhh they should just fuck it out and maybe they'll calm down <333
First ship ever: fhsdkjfhsjk this is a hard one to call bc i truly cannot remember the first thing i shipped once i knew what shipping was (possibly jadekat idk) but i remember reading the inheritance cycle as a kid and wishing for natsuada and murtagh to end up together and happy
Last song you heard: actively listening to corsican mastiff stride by the mountain goats! i've been listening to the getting into knives album today, but for the last week i've had the beat the champ album on loop <3333
Favorite childhood book: brisingr! the third book in the inheritance cycle by christopher paolini!!! the way the inheritance cycle was literally like. foundational texts to my entire personality. like if you've ever wondered 'why is george the way he is' it's literally because i was obsessed w the inheritance cycle and the skulduggery pleasant books as a kid
Currently reading: alice isn't dead by joseph fink!! i'd heard about it for years on the credits to welcome to night vale, but i'd never gotten my hands on a copy until mam bought it for me for christmas and it'ssssssss holy shit it's so good i really do love american gothic so much it's such a cool book hhhhhhhhhh
Currently watching: i have yet to watch the finale of dead friends forever, but in the meantime i have been thoroughly distracted because i found a link to watch xmen evolution (another foundational text of my childhood hfdskjfhsdkj) and have just been turning my brain off and watching a couple of episodes at a time bc oh my god i love it so much (also i??? forgot??? toad??? is voiced by noel fisher??? wild anyways-)
Currently consuming: i'd be lying if i didn't mention the now-cold tea (which i am still drinking don't dump it im not done) and the mango loco monster that i am also drinking. dual-wielding let's gooo
Currently craving: a nap oml i'm so tired lately <333
tagging @mineonmain @baby-droll and @lu-sn <333 also @ivor-outlaw @toppingjeffsatur and @autisticbokutoenthusiast
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Kinktober Day 1
Tumblr media
Being Recorded with Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels 
Pairing: Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x F!Reader
Rating: NSFW 18+ (minors dni)
Warnings: bar setting, exhibitionism, Jack being a little shit in the best way, a mechanical bull, Jack’s filthy mouth, sex in a bathroom, p in v sex, unprotected sex (you know the drill), hair pulling, slightly rough sex, jack apparently doesn’t know how to work a cellphone 
Word Count: 1.4k
Author’s Notes: Happy Kinktober week!!! Always starting this week off with the cowboy and on a very strong note. If you want to be taken of the taglist or added please let me know!! Thank you to @clint-aww-no-barton​ for everything, always. Also big thanks to the original maker of this gif because it’s probably my favorite of all time.
Kinktober masterlist
ao3 link 
  The bar was more crowded than you liked, but there was only one person that mattered to you. You sat at a dimly lit booth drumming your fingers softly to the song on the wooden table as you watched the man you loved gets your drinks at the bar. You caught his eye as he turned and you gave him a smirk. He placed your drink in front of you before sliding in next to you.
  “Why don’t you sit across from me?” You asked over the noise around you.
  “Because then I can’t do this,” Jack smirked before his hand slid up your thigh and under your dress just slightly, only teasing.
  He lit a fire through you and you gave him a glaring warning to either continue or stop while he was ahead. He only gave you a wink before he turned his attention to the only other place your eyes had wondered all night. The mechanical bull.
  Jack had declared earlier this week that tonight would be date night but he wanted to do something different. You were never much for this scene but you knew Jack got a itch for it every once in awhile. The man was wild deep down and given he spent most of his younger years training for Statesman, he didn’t get to live this part out. You were more than willing to join him in a bar every once in awhile if it got him smiling. Plus it always ended well for you.
  “Why don’t you go give it a shot darlin’?” Jack turned to you, that spark dancing in his eyes.
  “I don’t think so,” you gave him a laugh and shook your head.
  “Come on! Why not? I know you could stay on longer than anyone.”
  “Oh and why is that?” You planted your chin in your hand an all to knowing look on your face.
  “Because darlin’ you stay on me just fine.”
  Jack’s face turned in such a smirk it sent your head flying back in a laugh. He had slung his arm over the back of the booth and it came down to you pulling you closer to him. His lips fell to yours once your head came back in the middle of a laugh. He stopped it short and you melted into him.
  “I’ll make you deal. You go out there and give it a whirl and I’ll take you in the bathroom and fuck that pretty pussy of yours,” Jack’s breath fanned over your face with the closeness and a shiver ran through you.
  You could already feel the puddle between your legs as you looked him in the eyes, wondering if he was dead series. He was. You held his stare for a few moments before swatting at his leg motioning for him to move.
  “That’s my girl,” he smirked which only made you clench, then roll your eyes.
  You walked up to the line of people waiting to get on turning to see Jack standing in the audience. After the four people in front of you were flung off before they could even hit the eight seconds, it was your turn. You cursed yourself for wearing a dress but you climbed on the fake bull back, all the same. You turned catching Jack’s eyes which now he peered at you from around his phone. You were going to kill him.
  There was a ding and then it started to move. It was slow at first as it jerked you around and you held tight with one hand leaving the other slightly up and off to the side like you had seen the others do. People started cheering you on, after you stayed on longer than the first four. You smirked to yourself but didn’t become too proud too quick, knowing that would be a sure way for this thing to sling you off.
  When you stayed on for the full time and it stopped the crowd around you cheered. Jack was on the inflatable area around you in seconds, helping you down and kissing you deeply in front of the entire bar. You didn’t even care. You kissed him back with your arms slung around his neck, fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.
  “Now it’s your turn,” you smirked up at him and his eyes came to life even more.
He pulled you quickly behind him and through the crowd. A few people gave you pats and offered drinks but could clearly see your man had some other plan. He pulled you to the back of the bar. A woman’s bathroom and a man’s on each side with a single one in the middle. Thankfully not many people were hanging out back here. Jack knocked quickly on the door and then pulled you inside. It was small but thankfully the sink sat in an actual counter. Jack had you on top of it in seconds.
  He discarded his phone on the counter and his hands flew up your dress. His hands wandered and you opened your legs to let him between them, before his lips collided back to yours. It was messy and perfect. Jack kissed every inch he could reach and his fingers went from your nipples back down to your panties, pulling them down and off in seconds. He pulled you to the edge of the sink, you yelping at the sudden movement, before he entered you. Your arms were still around his neck and your mouth dropped open, a moan escaping as you looked down at him.
  “Fuck always so perfect for me and you’re soaking wet darlin’. Does this turn you on? Being fucked by me in a public bathroom?”
  “Fuck yes Jack please,” you moaned, already a complete wreck.
  Your head went back against the mirror, your mouth agape and your eyes closed. Jack fucked into you, not too fast and hard, but just enough that it was driving you crazy and pushing you closer to your high quickly. Then he was gone and your eyes flew open, before he pulled you off the counter and turned you around. He bent you over and reentered you to the hilt. You let out a loud moan and Jack took a handful of hair and pulled.
  “Jack I’m so…close,” you moaned out looking up in the mirror at his reflection.
  “Keep your eyes up there darlin’ and watch me make you cum,” Jack released your hair and you did as you were told your hands flat on the counter in front of you.
  He took a bruising grip on your hips and his thrust became sloppy and harder. You tumbled off the edge quickly and let out a load moan, trying and failing to keep your eyes open as you clenched around, him cuming hard. Jack stilled inside of you seconds later and emptied himself inside of you. You collapsed on the counter keeping an arm under your head. You took a few moments to gather yourself, before your eyes fluttered opened.
  “Holy shit,” you breathed out and Jack let out a chuckle.
  He kissed your shoulder before pulling you up, still buried deep inside of you and turned your head kissing you deeply. You melted into him letting out a sigh against his lips, before he finally pulled away. You both let out noises at the loss of each other. Jack fixed himself and then helped you, before grabbing his discarded phone on the counter. Then a shit eating grin cracked over his face. His eyes went from his phone screen to you.
  “What?!” You asked with your eyebrows pulled together but a smile on your face.
  “Well darlin’ it seems I didn’t have my camera turned off.”
  Jack fumbled with his phone a moment before flipping it over for you to see the screen and there he was fucking you.
  “Jack Daniels you better delete that now!” Your face heated and then your hands flew over your mouth.
  “Come on now darlin’ I’ll have something while I’m away. Please let me keep it. I swear it’s just for me,” the puppy dog eyes and the delight in his eyes made it hard to say no to him.
  “Fine. For your eyes only. I don’t even want to see it,” you started for the door heat still on your cheeks.
  “Oh, why not darlin’ you look absolutely stunning.”
  Jack spoke with a smirk and pulled you back to him. One arm wrapped around you and the other in your hair as he kissed you again deeply.
  “I already want to take you again,” he breathed as he pulled away, still not going too far.
  “Then take me home cowboy and then you can have me on every surface of the house.”
  You had never seen the man move so fast. You were laughing loudly as your man pulled you out into the night all too eager to get you home.
Tagged: @jimmythegirl​ @arcadianempress​ @discogrrl​ @immundusspiritu​ @someplace-darker​ @thisis-theway​ @ohpedromypedro​ @scribbledghost​ @fioccodineveautunnale​ @princess-and-pedro​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @littlevodka​ @all-hallows-evie​ @mack4676​ @perropascal​ @audreyshepbvrn​ @mswarriorbabe80​ @kaqua​ @novemberrain221​
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karahalloway · 7 months
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Mission:Cordonia - Hard Drive
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Fandom: TRR x Mission: Impossible II
Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)
Series: Mission: Cordonia
Synopsis: Drake drives after Harper and things get wild, in more ways than one...
Word count: 3,700
Rating/Warnings: E (swearing, road rage, all kinds of dangerous driving do not try this at home)
Chapter theme song:
A/N: So, I apparently had too much fun writing Game of Thieves, so after I finished it, my mind decided that it would be great idea to create a follow-up exploring the car-chase scene from Drake's POV. So, here we are! There will probably be two more parts after this.
A/N2: The clip (for anyone who hasn't seen the movie, or doesn't remember) is below. Enjoy!
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Hard Drive
"Dammit..." I cuss under my breath as she drives off.
As asset recruitment went, that had crashed and burned like the Hindenburg.
Not that I strictly know why I need to recruit her in the first place.
Apart from the very clear directive I received in my mission brief.
...you may select any two team members, but it is essential that the third team member be Harper Gale. She is a civilian, and a highly capable professional thief. You have forty-eight hours to recruit Miss Gale and meet me in Stormholt to receive your assignment...
In and of itself, such an instruction — while rare — isn't that left field. Because even though IMF prefers to operate in the shadows, there are times when the mission parameters call for third-party assists. To gain access. To throw off suspicion. To provide specialist expertise.
So, over the years, I've found myself teaming up with all manner of civilians — from world-renowned scientists, through morally shady politicians, all the way down to your entry-level gang-banger in order  to get a mission over the line.
But Gale isn't any of those things. She's a common thief. Admittedly a drop-dead gorgeous and bitingly sassy thief who's quick on her feet... but a common thief nevertheless. And those are a dime a dozen. In both IMF, and the underworld.
So, that doesn't explain why The Secretary has gone to such pains to single her out as a mission-critical part of this assignment.
Which means that he obviously knows something I don't.
But I'm not gonna find out what by standing on the Beaumonts' drive like a moron.
"Hey, Pete," I call, turning back around. "One more for you."
The valet manager deftly catches the token that I toss to him. "Right away, Mr Dallas."
"Thanks," I acknowledge as I pull out my phone.
One of the upsides of having had to pretend to be the Beaumonts' external security consultant over the past couple of days is that I'm now on a first name basis with most of the staff.
Which definitely pays dividends when you need something done quick.
Like I do now.
Unlocking the encrypted device while Pete radios through for my ride, I tap on the tracking app and enter the number that I pulled off her phone while waiting for her to crack the safe.
Because somehow, I'd known I'll end up in this exact situation.
After a few moments' calibration, the software throws up a map with a flashing red dot in the centre.
I feel the corner of my mouth twitch. You can run, but you can't hide, girl...
"Your vehicle, Mr Dallas," advises the valet, pulling up in front of me.
"Perfect timing," I grin, pulling my wallet out to extract some notes to stuff into his breast pocket as he exits the car.
"Oh, th-thank you, sir," he stammers, clearly unaccustomed to receiving a healthy tip for his services.
"You're welcome," I nod, getting behind the wheel of the Porsche 918 Spyder.
Besides the fact that the average Joes manning these kinds of events made fuck all money while the guests drank champagne costing several grand a pop, it always paid to cultivate goodwill with the staff. Not just from a common decency point of view, but also because you never know when you’re gonna need their eyes and ears.
So, parting with a couple hundred Euros, or a favour, in exchange for potentially priceless intel down the line is always a fair trade in my book.
"Have a wonderful evening!" enthuses the still star-struck valet as he closes the driver's side door 'round.
"Yeah. We'll see about that," I mutter under my breath as I slot my phone into the cup holder at the top of the centre console.
The evening hasn't exactly gone to plan so far...
But, as The Secretary likes to say, this was Mission: Impossible, not Mission: Difficult.
Which means that even though Gale would probably like nothing more than to shoot me on sight, I have to go after her. And somehow convince her to change her mind.
Otherwise, I'm gonna be up shit creek with this mission...
...and with The Secretary.
And neither of those things is something I'm particularly keen on letting happen. Now, or ever.
So, pressing my foot down, I throw the car into drive and take off with a throaty roar as the naturally aspirated 4.6-liter V-8 kicks the 608 horses under the hood to life.
And, despite the height of the stakes, I feel a grin spread over my face.
Fuck, this car's something else!
Thanks to the less-than routine nature of my work, I frequently find myself behind a wheel. Planes, trains, automobiles — I've driven them all. But I can still count on one hand the machines that have simply taken my breath away.
And the 918 is one of them.
Because despite the fact that it doesn't come with the covetous price tag of a Koenigsegg, or the iconic lines of a Ferrari, the 918 is still a work of art. Not only does it go like shit off a shovel, but it also handles like a dream. Which means you're not crapping yourself every time a high-speed corner comes around.
And for these unlit, backcountry roads that I'm about to drive, that is critical.
Reaching the end of the gravel-lined drive, I spin the car out onto the main road and open up the throttle.
Gale is already a good few miles ahead of me, and — based on the way she hightailed it off the estate earlier — has no intention of slowing down. So, I'm gonna have to step on it if I want to keep pace with her.
As even though I have a lock on her carrier signal, her phone could be a burner — she could decide to turn it off, trash it, or leave it in a dumpster somewhere. And I'm up against the clock, so I don't have time to play hide-and-seek across the width of the continent with her.
Probably shouldn't've told her about the alarm...
But, hindsight's always 20-20.
Not that that necessarily would've changed my decision.
Because despite the fact that I need her professional skill set, I couldn't let her swindle the Duke out of his priceless heirloom. For one, it had merely been convenient bait. And for another, next week's auction is all that stood between the Beaumonts and bankruptcy.
And while I may operate in the shadows, I'm not a complete ass.
Plus, I'd wanted to be up front with her. From the very start.
Because nothing sinks a team like secrets and bad blood. And I'd much rather deal with any potential fallout now, before the start of the actual mission, than smack, bang in the middle of it when a lack of trust has the potential to claim actual lives.
And — if I'm being honest with myself — I kinda like the chase. It makes the eventual win taste that much sweeter.
Especially with a woman like Gale.
I swallow an inadvertent groan as my mind falls back to the feel of her pressed up against me in the tub, her eyes flashing with defiance, and a hint of—
I shake my head. Focus, Walker.
But the Beaumonts' unexpected interruption had been worth it. Because it'd convinced me that despite her civilian status, she has exactly the right combination of brains and balls needed to not only stay alive, but actually be an asset on this mission.
But, I don't have her yet. And if I'm gonna finish reeling her her, timing will be key.
So, as I spot a pair of Mercedes tail lights in the darkness, I ease off the gas.
Because her emotions are already running high and I don't want to spook her further by making her think that she's being tailed.
Especially not on these blind-spot riddled roads, in the middle of the night, where one moment of inattention could easily become your last.
And what I definitely don't need right now is my mark ending up in the ER — or worse, the morgue — because I let the heat of the moment get the better of me.
Best that I just hang back, let the dust settle, and re-engage upon arrival at our destination. When she's hopefully calmer.
Key word — hopefully.
Because let's face it. I'd be pretty pissed off too if some asshole'd fucked me out of a six-figure payday.
So, I can't exactly blame her for her explosive reaction.
But, unfortunately for her, there's a lot more at stake here than a jewellery heist gone wrong. Like stopping an IMF agent-turned-rogue operative from unleashing a virus so deadly that it makes Ebola look like a common cold.
Better pray she's got a conscience...
Rounding the bend, we come upon the lights of the town of Ramsford.
But, despite the fact that we're entering an urban environment, Gale blows past the 50 km/h speed limit sign like it doesn't exist.
"Christ, girl..." I grumble under my breath.
And even though I told myself mere minutes ago that I was gonna hang back and give her space, as I see her whip the roadster 'round a narrow corner at breakneck speed, I find myself throwing my original plan out the window as I press pedal to the metal to keep pace with her.
Because while I don't want to lose her, I also know that engaging in a midnight drag race through the streets Ramsford's only gonna result in one thing — the cops coming out of the woodworks to breathe down our neck, and Gale even more pissed off at me than she is already.
So, I need a Plan B.
Skimming my thumb over the controls on the steering wheel, I pull up her number and hit dial...
...and pray that I can talk some sense into her.
The ring of the pending call echoes out from the Spyder's infotainment system once... twice... thrice...
She finally picks up after the fifth ring. "Hello...?"
"Would it kill you to slow down?" I ask dryly.
I see her stiffen as her gaze flies up to the rear view mirror in disbelief.
I flash my headlights at her in response.
"How the hell did you get this number?" she demands as she manages to find her voice again.
"You got your tricks, I got mine," I tell her simply, easing up on the gas slightly as I pull up behind her.
"Yeah, you're a regular David Copperfield," she snarks down the line.
"I prefer Darren Brown, personally..."
"Hmm..." she purrs. "Then you're really gonna love this trick."
The call goes dead.
I shake my head with a scoff. 15-Love to Gale.
But the match ain't won yet. And I'm not backing off that easy.
So, hitting redial on her number, I wait for the call to reconnect...
...but all I get is radio silence.
"You wanna play it like that, huh?" I say under my breath as I swing the Spyder out into the oncoming lane.
Luckily, at this hour, the roads are deserted. But that doesn't means that they're gonna stay that way for long. Which means the time for games is up.
Opening up the throttle, I force my car up alongside hers. Raising my voice so that'll carry over the roar of the engines, I shout, "Pull over and listen to me, will ya? Just listen!"
"Yeah!" she scoffs in reply. "'Cause that worked out so well for me last time!"
"You walked away, remember?" I remind her. "Can't guarantee that'll be the case next time 'round."
Her gaze snaps defiantly to mine. "Is that a threat?"
"It's simple maths!" I tell her. "You can't evade the law forever! Especially not with a Red Notice hanging over you. But if you help me, I can make all that go away."
"Go aw—?" Her eyes suddenly widen. "Holy shit! You're a spy!"
I answer her with a self-deprecating shrug. It paid the bills.
She recollects herself to throw me a sly look. "Prove it!"
Without warning, she rams her Mercedes into me.
"Jesus fuck!" I cuss as the Sypder lurches to the side from the impact, it's rims scraping the curb.
Flipping me the bird, Gale punches the gas to dive back in front of me, whipping her car 'round a tight bend.
Spitting profanities under my breath, I yank the Spyder back onto the road.
She wants to play rough? I'll play rough.
Throwing the engine over to sport mode, I reach for the seatbelt over my shoulder and click it into place as I throw the car after her, the rev counter on the dash going mental as the engine doubles down.
And despite the adrenaline-fuelled chase, I can't help but grin.
This girl's definitely something else...
And she's sure as hell determined to make me work for it. Or — at the very least — give me hell for the way I screwed her over back at the Beaumonts.
Either way, she's got my blood pumping, and she knows it.
Which makes me even more determined to catch her.
We hit a round-about, and Gale looks like she's going straight over...
...but at the last second, she slams her car hard to the left to take the third exit instead, tires smoking as they battle for traction on the cobblestones.
"Shit," I cuss, twisting the wheel hard over to keep pace with her, the Porsche's Pirellis screeching in protest.
Exiting the roundabout, the road in front of us cuts suddenly to the left. Slamming on the breaks, Gale skids her Mercedes 'round the bend, the force of the manoeuvre kicking the roadster's tail out. Very narrowly missing a lamppost, she manages to right the car at the last second to barrel it down the start of a tight switch-back that led to the centuries-old bridge on the edge of the town.
"Sweet fucking Jesus, girl..." I gripe under my breath as I speed after her.
There's being cocky. And then there's being reckless. And the way she's driving, she's definitely tempting fate. Because there's only so many times you can luck out before your luck actually runs out.
Which means I have to figure out a way to stop her before she runs herself off the road.
Depressing the gas pedal again, I search for an opening that I can use to dive in front of her and force her to slow down. But she seems to anticipate my plan, and closes off the gap before I'm able to make use of it.
Grabbing the e-break, I rip it upwards, forcing the Spyder’s tail out as I skid the car 'round her, looking for a gap on the other side.
She rewards me for my efforts by ramming into me again, nearly sending me into the flimsy metal railing that lined the edge of the asphalt.
I feel my jaw tighten at her antics.
First time? Kinda funny. Second time, not so much.
Especially since there were only a grand total of 918 Spyders ever made, and I damn sure don’t want to be responsible for taking one out of commission.
So, I make the reluctant decision to back off again, biding my time until the road opened back up.
We hit the bottom of the switchback, engines blaring and tailpipes sweating, and she immediately punches it towards the old stone bridge that spans the Rams river.
"Better luck next time, Walker!" she calls over her shoulder.
But my attention isn't focused on her. "Watch the road, girl..."
She whips her head around at the last second to clock the rickety Fiat that had just pulled out from behind the blind corner, straight into her path.
Instinctively knowing that she isn’t gonna avoid a collision, she ditches the breaks to try and swerve the Mercedes 'round the hazard instead.
But her momentum is too great, she's forgotten to account for the oversteer...
...and she descends into a tailspin.
"Fuck..." I curse under my breath.
All rational thought evaporates as my adrenaline spikes and my faculties give over to raw instinct.
I gotta save her.
Barrelling the Spyder after her without any semblance of a plan, the only thing I'm focused on is stopping her before she hits the bridge... or worse, the river.
The nose of her car whips past me, and I wrench the wheel to the right, clipping her bumper.
The off-the-cuff interference is enough to change the course of her trajectory, helping prevent her getting wrapped around the stone pillar at the foot of the bridge.
But the Merc's still freewheeling out of control.
Jerking the Porsche 'round, I slam it into the side of her car, trying to use the weight of my vehicle as a ballast to counteract her momentum.
But we're still going too fast.
We go flying down the narrow concourse of the bridge, like a pair of buzzards locked together in a high-stakes dance, speeding towards our fate.
The force of the impact whips her head around. She catches my gaze, and despite the low light, I see the sheer terror in her hazel-green irises...
...and the world around me condenses down to a single point.
Her.
The bridge, the cars, the entirety of my being fades to inconsequence in the face of the nakedness of her vulnerability.
I'm barely even conscious of my actions as I battle against the inevitable, trying to keep a lock on the steering wheel that’s threatening to jump out of my hands, feathering the throttle with a mix of reflex and dogged defiance in an attempt to alter the course of our trajectory, to slow us down, to narrowly avert disaster.
Because even though I know in the furthest recesses of my mind that I'm engaged in a fool's errand, like Icarus, I'm too much of a stubborn ass to back down.
Especially when I know that I'm literally the only thing standing between her and death.
The Merc hits the curb and slams into the low stone wall lining the side of the bridge. The centuries-old mortar crumbles under the weight of the impact, falling away into the ravine below.
But — whether by the grace of God or blind, dumb luck — the red roadster somehow catches itself on the mess of granite and skids to a stop, suspended over the edge of the bridge.
Only... there's no Gale in the driver's seat.
Throwing the seatbelt off, I leap across the seats into the Merc, where I find the driver's side door flapping over the darkness with Gale hanging on for dear life.
"Ahhh...!" she squeaks, scrambling for non-existent purchase as she tries to maintain her hold on the elbow rest...
...but I can see she's slipping.
Knowing that we're fast running out of time, I throw myself forward, reaching for her.
"Harper!"
Her eyes snap to mine, and I can see the fear and desperation welling within.
Latching onto the top of the door with one hand to anchor myself into place, I snap a hold around her wrist with the other and heave her back up.
"I got you, girl..."
Clearing the side of the car, her free hand shoots out to tangle into the material of my shirt as I pull her toward me. She crashes against me with a sob of relief, knocking me backwards into the seat.
She lands on top of me, trembling, and I wrap my arm around her, holding her to me, heart hammering as I stare up into the night sky, trying to catch my breath.
Her quaking form sink against me as she buries her face in the crook of my neck, fingers still latched onto my shirt, our hands still entwined.
Sweet Jesus, that was close...
"You okay?" I ask, running my hand over the arch of her back questioningly.
"Yeah," she nods shakily, not quite meeting my eye as she quickly wipes the wetness from her cheeks.
"Hey," I say softly, reaching up to cup her face in my palm. "It's—"
"I feel like such an idiot..." she grumbles.
"Well, you're the one who decided to Mad Max it through Ramsford like a—"
"Shut up!" she reproaches, smacking me on the chest.
"Christ! I save your ass twice and this is the thanks I get?"
"I didn't need saving!" she counters, laying into me again.
"The evidence points to the cont— Ow!"
"The only reason I'm in this mess at all is because of you!" she cuts in heatedly. "If you hadn't shown up tonight I'd—"
"Probably got caught anyway..."
"Fuck you!" she shouts, giving me a shove. "And then instead of taking 'no' for an answer, you decide to chase after me like some—"
"For fuck’s sake..." I grit, grabbing her by the back of the neck to yank her towards me.
Her eyes widen, but before she has a chance to protest, our mouthes have crashed together like cars in a freeway pile-up — violently, hazardously — the unexpected brush with death and the heart-thumping chase beforehand having already kicked both our pulses into overdrive.
And as our lips meet, that pent-up tension explodes like a flash-bang.
Her teeth scrape against mine with an intensity that's almost feral, even as I feel her body press into mine, her nails raking over my shirt.
My tongue thrusts past hers forcefully to claim the coveted warmth of her mouth, coaxing a soft moan from her as my free hand glides down her body to clamp onto her backside, pulling her to me hungrily as I throw every rule I'd ever been taught out the window.
Never get involved.
Well, too late for that.
Because I'm sure as shit involved now.
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Picture credits:
Drake - Porsche - Harper
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thebroccolination · 4 months
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So, I have a theory about GawinKrist and Gawin's vampire show with Joss that seemed to come out of nowhere.
THE GOLDEN BLOOD THEORY
Gawin's been around since 2018, but he didn't get a main role in a BL until Be My Favorite. Back in (presumably) 2017, he worked as an usher at a movie theater after graduating from high school in the States in 2016. His two biggest roles before BMF were arguably Mork in the Kiss series (2018-2019), and Dan in Not Me (2021).
He was also the best part of Enchanté (2022), but tragically not one of the main cast.
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After Gawin stuck with GMMTV through the worst of the pandemic regulations that restricted filming and then thoroughly proved his range in Not Me, I have a feeling that GMMTV was finally planning to give him his first leading role in a BL series: a vampire series opposite Joss planned for 2023.
Then, unexpectedly, Mike left his leading role in Be My Favorite in maybe August or September, and this is presumably when GMMTV looked at their options for Krist's costar and decided Gawin was their best bet.
Here's my thinking: if Golden Blood was planned for 2023, then GMMTV would have announced it at their showcase for 2023 programming in November of 2022. But the Be My Favorite recasting of Mike for Gawin was announced in September of 2022, so GMMTV could have easily pulled Golden Blood from the lineup and pushed it back a year. Since Gawin has never had a partner and Joss has never been in BL before this, no one was expecting a series from them, so no one would have known to expect anything from Gawin at all. Based on conversations I've had with Gawin's fans, he'd been so inactive that they didn't think he'd have a series at all in 2023.
Meanwhile, GMMTV had already announced Be My Favorite at their 2021 showcase of 2022 programming, and the director Waa had requested more time to work on the script in 2022, so the air date was pushed to 2023. As of September of 2022, Be My Favorite was announced, anticipated, already pushed back a year, and most likely paid for, so it was probably considered a high-priority series. Not to mention it had one of the Holy Trinity and the director of The Gifted attached, and it was to be the first BL series produced by Parbdee Studios.
My mantra with GMMTV for the past several months has been this:
They're incompetent, not malicious.
The fact that Gawin Caskey, better known to most for singing rather than acting, had never performed onstage before this summer at MUSICON in Japan and had to go to Krist before the second show because he had no idea what to talk about between songs is bonkers to me. Like, I'm not at all a GMMTV anti. I praise them when they deserve it, but holy shit. You've had a talent like Gawin Caskey for five years and you only just put him onstage this year?
I think SOTUS being the shock hit that saved them from bankruptcy is a good summary of how GMMTV seems to operate, at least from what I've seen: they throw stuff at a wall and sometimes it works really well! They like money a lot, so if money happens immediately, they do more of that even if they have no idea how it happened or why it was appealing.
Speaking of which—
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GAWINKRIST & BE MY FAVORITE PROMOTION
Over the course of filming and promotion, Krist and Gawin became very close. They've both called each other their safe zone, Gawin moved his TV into Krist's house to be a second gaming screen for a while because he was over there constantly, and Krist got Gawin three (3) separate, custom birthday cakes in August (one at a small surprise party, one at the BMF final episode screening, and one at Gawin's birthday event). Krist even integrated Gawin into his university friend group, which is so absolutely fucking wild I can't even. Krist is twenty-eight years old and he adores Gawin so much he wanted Gawin to be part of a friend group he's had for ten years.
Gawin adores Krist's favorite child, they went to an art gallery, and once they even tried to bring a guitar to a beach at night to play music to the stars or some shit (the beach was closed they're both ridiculous). So when Krist calls Gawin "my precious buddy" he doesn't do it as some fanservice thing. They are basically family at this point, regardless of what happens in their professional lives, and it was a beautiful dynamic to watch over the summer.
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Part of what made their chemistry so natural in Be My Favorite probably had a lot to do with how much they opened up to each other. Back in May, Krist shared that because he and Gawin aren't especially fond of social media, they discussed how to do the necessary promotion for their series comfortably. Krist actually got Gawin Caskey on TikTok to do TikTok dances, so once again: very good friends.
They also shared videos of them just hanging out at Krist's house eating snacks and playing video games, or playing guitar and riffing, playing with harmonies so beautiful I mourn daily that they don't have an album together.
When the series started airing, Krist invited Gawin to his house to watch the episodes together and go over their acting choices. But GMMTV had also scheduled Krist for a slew of solo concerts throughout Asia, so he had to watch some of them alone on the road overseas. What would have been a fun weekly promotion opportunity was complicated by GMMTV's bizarrely timed scheduling. (Of course, Krist rarely has a day off in general, but you'd think they'd organize his schedule to prioritize his first BL series since 2017.)
Be My Favorite didn't get much promotion overall compared to other GMMTV series, and GawinKrist especially seemed to be treated sort of as an afterthought. They had a few podcast interviews, they went to see Elementals at the cinema (which ended up inspiring Krist's theme for his solo "Elements" concerts in Bangkok), they went to Japan together for MUSICON, Aye had them sing on her channel, and they had a live session for RISER. Those were all the major ones, I think. Not nothing, but there were a ton of missed opportunities for more.
And for a company whose CEO recently touted their actors as influencers and obsesses over Twitter hashtag trends and viewing numbers, the lack of opportunities they gave GK is a little unusual to me.
Unless GMMTV knew they had a vampire series starring Gawin and another actor that they'd postponed. And it'd be announced at their showcase for 2024 programming in October shortly after Be My Favorite ended in August.
It might also explain why, when pretty much every other series had a song performed at the showcase medley, Be My Favorite wasn't included. Even though Krist and Gawin are both known singers who had four songs in Be My Favorite between them.
In the immediate aftermath of the showcase, a lot of GawinKrist fans were unhappy with the news of Gawin's new series, myself included. I'm not a big vampire fan in general, and I'm not impressed with the teaser, the director, or the screenwriter, so I probably won't be watching it. (BounPrem's vampire series is starring BounPrem, so that's why that one's my exception.) I am, however, very happy for Gawin for getting more main character money and remaining in a lead role. He's an absolute sweetheart, and I hope he has more music in 2024 that I can support.
As days passed after the showcase, the more I thought about Golden Blood and where it came from. GMMTV is incompetent, sure, and GawinKrist didn't make the same waves as other pairs, but they definitely have a committed fanbase, and Be My Favorite got overwhelmingly positive reviews, particularly for GawinKrist's chemistry. They trended consistently whenever they did anything, and most intriguingly, Japanese fans really love them thanks to MUSICON and FanFest. Japanese magazines are still releasing interviews and photoshoots with GawinKrist to this day (with plans for more!).
The only thing that makes sense to me is that Golden Blood was meant to happen first, and GMMTV didn't want to waste resources pushing GawinKrist over the summer when they knew Gawin would have to start from scratch with Joss in October.
It's kind of wild to think about, but if Mike hadn't left Be My Favorite, it would have gone ahead as planned, and Golden Blood would have aired this year at some point. And that would mean there's a timeline out there where Gawin and Krist were never cast together, and this beautiful friendship they created never happened. They never got to experience that safe zone they found in each other, and they never would have known what they were missing.
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I'm still sad that their professional time together was so short, but this theory makes me feel better about it because rather than being something we were robbed of, they were a gift we never expected.
And just like KristSingto before them, GawinKrist are still close, still friends, and can enjoy their time together without the added pressure of selling and promoting their closeness. They can be friends without scrutiny. They can count their series as a point of pride. This unexpected masterpiece that brought them together.
And maybe someday, when their schedules line up again, they can make the beautiful fucking album that I deserve. [fire emoji]
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blurredcolour · 1 year
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The Hunter's Moon | Part Eight
The Hunter’s Moon Masterlist
Summary: Reunited at last, Austin cannot wait to show you how much he loves you.
Pairing: Werewolf!Austin Butler x Gender Neutral Reader
Warnings: Mention of Traumatic Events, Mention of Gun Violence, Mention of Paparazzi, Supernatural Themes, Language, Mature/Explicit Themes [oral – m/f receiving, manual stimulation – m/f receiving, penetration, unprotected sex] - 18 + Only
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Song suggestion:  Messed Up Masterpiece by NEONI
Song suggestion:  Messed Up Masterpiece by NEONI
Word Count: 2112
—☽•✧•◐•✧•◯•✧•◑•✧•☾—
Mid-December
It had all gone horribly wrong and yet still you had stayed. For someone like Austin, who had only known instability, only had the people he loved leave his life, it had been bewildering. A lot to process in addition to the shock of the events in his backyard in October.
Someone so small and fragile, so utterly human, had put themselves between his body and certain death at the hands of a wildly unstable werewolf hunter. Every medical professional he had spoken to about your gunshot wound had emphatically assured him it was best case scenario. But all he had seen was what it had cost you: the pain, the lethargy, the increased need for calories as you healed, the psychological trauma.
And yet again you had stayed, despite all of that. Not only had you stayed, but you had also supported him; essentially forced him back to work. He had called Ross, the man who turned him all those years ago in New Zealand, and offered him a considerable amount of money to watch over you. Yes, Toby was dead, but Chad and Lincoln would be prowling about leaderless, and he could not bear the thought of you being vulnerable to them.
In the end, there had been no threat to you. The Kiwi werewolf had reported back that the two lesser wolves had fled. The mechanic shop now stood empty, for sale by the estate of the late Toby Anderson. It was agony to be apart from you. The scarf had helped, your scent calming him. It had proven essential for the full moons in November and December. Having delayed production while caring for you, there was absolutely no way for him to return home to the protective room.
He had been forced to spend two nights wild in the woods, as far from civilization he could get in an hour’s drive. He had stripped off his clothes and curled up in the undergrowth, head resting on the scarf, anchoring himself in your lingering scent on the wool fibres. There had been mayhem, tiny forest creatures had been demolished, but no major fallout or injuries. This he also attributed to you.
He had been terribly restless during the short flight to Placerville from Los Angeles. The closer he got to you, the shorter his patience became. The confirmation email he received, informing him that your new bike to replace your ruined one had shipped, brought brief distraction but it was not enough. He practically leapt out of the plane once it landed, grabbing his vehicle from long term parking, and driving straight to you. He hardly noticed the softly falling snow, the first of the year, as the delicate white flakes blasted the windshield, driven into the glass by his barely legal speed.
He was pleased to see the media had lost interest for the most part as he turned onto your empty road. He parked beside your car in your driveway having paid no mind to his own home as he drove past it, thinking only of getting to you. As he turned to grab his bag from the back of the SUV, he heard your door open and close, your gasp at the scene the snow painted. With ten long strides he reached you, carefully pulling you close with an arm around your shoulders from the left side as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply.
“Welcome home…” You giggled warmly, looking up at him deliciously.
“So fucking glad to be here.” He groaned and cradled your jaw, leaning down to kiss you desperately. God, you tasted even better than the last time he had been able to kiss you. He pulled back, chest heaving, looking over your face hungrily.
“Come inside, it’s cold out here…” You stated breathlessly and grabbed his arm, pulling him inside. It smelled good, you had cooked him dinner, but all he could think about was taking you upstairs. And yet…you had been so fragile the last time he had been with you in person. He set down his things, kicking off his shoes, and reluctantly tugging your scarf from his neck as he followed you in. You stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked up at him.
“Are you wanting dinner or…” You looked towards the heaven he knew to be your bedroom.
“A… are you… can we…” He frowned at his own boyish, tongue-tied approach before sighing. “I am extremely desperate to make love to you but are you medically allowed and able?” He held his breath while awaiting your reply.
The way you bowed your head and looked up at him through your eyelashes, the way the rush of your desire bathed him in your pheromones, had his teeth sinking into his lower lip savagely.
“Yes, Austin…let’s go upstairs…” You managed to say and turned to put your foot onto the first step. He surged forward, scooping you into his arms delicately, one arm around your back under your shoulders and the other under your knees. Holding you to his chest, he bounded up the stairs two at a time, delighting in your noise of shock and ensuing laughter. The fact that you loved every part of him made his heart swell.
He sat you on the edge of the bed, kneeling at your feet, looking up at you reverently before his lips crashed into yours. Your arms wrapped around his neck, fingers pulling at the hair at the base of his skull. His chest rumbled in delight as the tiny tugs shivered down his spine, making his cock throb. The long fingers of his hands massaged into the tender flesh of your thighs as he tilted his head to press his lips tighter to yours, tongue licking along the seam of your lips seeking entrance.
The speed at which you parted your lips for him made his head swim, his heart skipping a beat as his tongue met yours. There was something intrinsically sweet about the way you tasted. It mingled with hints of the tea you had been drinking before he arrived, but overall, you tasted like you. It was enough to make a man drunk. He tugged at the clothing on your torso, pulling back from your lips to work at exposing your upper body, tossing the unwanted fabric onto the floor beside him.
His mouth eagerly sought your hard-won skin, savouring the taste of your flesh, saliva painting along the planes of your torso as he worked his way lower. The gasps and whimpers that rained down upon him from your lips were increasing the pressure in the crotch of his already tight jeans. He paused as he reached your right side, sobered by the hollow there, the raised flesh around the entry scar. His fingers slid up to your back, to the larger exit scar there.
“Does…it still hurt?” He looked up to you through his lashes, naked vulnerability shining in his blue irises.
“N... not really… can’t press too hard on it but…” Your voice was thick with arousal and emotion. “They say the scars will fade with time…” Your breath hitched in your throat as he gently pressed his lips to each of the scars in turn, an act of worship.
The tug of your fingers in his hair made him moan, driving him to make quick work of the clothing on the lower half of your body. The heady aroma of your arousal wrapped around him, pulling him in to lay his lips upon the source. He growled hungrily, too overcome with desire to take his time. You sank back into the mattress, arms no longer able to support your upper body under the onslaught. He took possession of your hips with his hands, pulling you forward, closer to his mouth.
“Oh god Austin, your scruff.” You whimpered and his lips curled into a wicked smirk against you. He would not be shaving any time soon.
Your hungry moans had his hips rutting forward, the ounce of friction the movement created in his jeans was not nearly enough, but it would suffice for a time.
He replaced his mouth with his fingers as he looked to your bedside table, tugging open the drawer, his long torse allowing him to lean over and peer in. His eyes quickly found the prize they sought, and he retrieved the bottle of lube you kept there. He quickly coated the fingers of his right hand, the slick tips circling your entrance as he placed his mouth back on the source of your pleasure. The heat of your body was there, at his fingertips, calling out to him. He eased one finger into you, shuddering at the feel of your silken walls snug around his long digit. It was always a miracle how well you took his cock when you started out this tight every time.
He stretched you out with three digits, teasingly rubbing the fingertips up and forward against the spot that always garnered the best reactions. Tonight, you hooked your calves over his shoulders and yanked him forward, driving your heels into his shoulder blades. The filth falling from your lips was making his cock weep and he reached his breaking point. His clothes joined yours on the floor before he climbed over you, pulling you along the coverlet, pivoting your body to guide your head to rest on the pillows.
Teeth clenching to the point of pain, jaw muscles bunching beneath the skin, he slid inside your lurid warmth agonizingly slow. You had been made for him, molded perfectly to the curve of his cock, encasing him so snugly it felt as though he did not have room to breathe inside you.
“Holy fucking Jesus…shit…” His thighs quivered as his pelvis met yours. He almost lost it right then, almost spilled himself inside you like some teenaged boy.
You were patient with him, taking deep shuddering breaths of your own as you adjusted to his intrusion into your body.
“Mmmm Austin…” You mewled and drew his gaze, and his focus.
He rocked his hips against yours, gently at first, drinking in the way you fought to keep your eyes open, your mouth slack in a silent moan. He did it again, applying more pressure and strength to the effort, before sliding his hips back to thrust into you.
The yelp that motion ripped from your lips made his heart stop, his body freeze.
“Fuck! I hurt you…” He did not dare to move a muscle. Not until you told him what was wrong.
“Mn, it’s my side…I can’t be on my back…but I want you so bad…” You pouted in such a delicious way.
He very carefully pulled himself from your warmth, making you both whimper in protest.
“Side or…hands and knees…or on top?” He forced his brain to function, the gears grinding awkwardly a little before they stalled altogether as you rolled onto your hands and knees, holding your ass out toward him. “Holy god…” He groaned raggedly.
Despite his deep-seated, evolutionary instinct to cover your back with his body, on some still-functioning level he recognized that pressure on your scar was the issue. He stayed kneeling behind you, fingers curling into your hips as he sunk into you from behind. Your moans mingled with his own at the new, mouth-watering angle.
He resumed building his rhythm, rocking and thrusting, relieved to hear nothing but eager moans, relieved to feel your hips pressing back against his own each time they met. His hand snaked down between your legs, finding himself precipitously close despite his best efforts, and caressed the source of your pleasure to encourage your release. Your wail, followed by the slick of your orgasm on his fingers, filled his chest with primitive pride and his own release was only a few thrusts behind. He rutted through it, pouring each drop of cum, and seemingly every one of his now liquified bones, into your body before he pulled back carefully and let his knees buckle, falling to the side of your body. He watched through hooded eyes as you stretched forward onto your stomach, head turning to look at him with soft eyes full of love.
His chest heaved as he tried to pull in enough oxygen to soothe the burning of his lungs. That look might very well be the death of him, but it was a death he would have happily accepted. Because you had saved him in so many ways. And he could not wait to spend the rest of his life repaying you for it.
—☽•✧•◐•✧•◯•✧•◑•✧•☾—
The Hunter’s Moon Masterlist
Tag List: @karamelcoveredolicity, @mymamalife, @thatonemoviefan, @bxxbxy, @lumosllwyni, @slowsweetlove, @namoreno, @2lekk
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