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briamichellewrites · 1 year

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During a phone conversation, Brad asked Mike if he knew anything about Angelina Jolie. He didn’t. Did you see anything about her in your dreams? No. Maybe Bria saw something that he didn’t know about. Ok, he would ask her. What Mike did know was that she didn’t seem like she had good intentions and was a man-eater. He didn’t like to judge people before he met them, that was just the vibe he got from her. Brad thanked him for his honesty.

Bria didn’t see anything, either. However, she agreed with Mike’s assessment of her. If he got too close to her, he would lose Mike. She seemed very manipulative, especially towards men. He would remember that. Thank you. He would consider both assessments when shooting his next movie with her. It was too late to back out since he was contractually obligated.

He would tell her he had a boyfriend he was loyal to. That was the truth. Even though they had just started dating, he felt comfortable with Mike. Enough to call him his boyfriend. He had until January of the following year to come up with something to keep her away from him.

Maybe Mike could visit him on the set. He was busy working on his band’s new album. They didn’t have a date that it needed to be finished, so they were working on writing songs and recording demos. The previous evening, he had fun shopping with Bria at Saks Fifth Avenue. They both went into the men’s department and tried on clothes.

They discovered they were the same size, so they shared clothes. He helped her with pricing and figuring out how much she could spend. She spent more than he did, which was okay. He paid for her dinner, while she paid the tip. They talked about their dreams and compared her net income. Between the two dreams, she would be a billionaire. One of the youngest at that. Maybe she could get a bank statement to show how much money was in her account.

Did she deposit the money Chester gave her? Yes, she did. Then, she should be close to being a billionaire! If not a billionaire already. That excited her! He laughed. Even though they weren’t on a date, it felt great doing something with his best friend. He would have to wear one of his new outfits the next day. His closet was almost full of flannels. That was not intentional.

They were just so comfortable, that he collected them. Phoenix teased him about that one time. He thought Brad would be interested in borrowing something from his closet. They did go over to the women’s department, but she wasn’t satisfied with cut-off shirts or pants that went too far down. Men’s clothing covered what she wanted covered. The next day, Chester asked how their shopping date was. It was awesome!

She spent more money than he did. What did she buy? She bought close to what he did. They discovered they were around the same size. Misty was disappointed that nothing was for her. They laughed. Poor girl. Yeah, it was a fun evening.

Bria was the youngest self-made billionaire at the age of only twenty years old! Her net income was estimated to be around one billion, five million dollars. She made her money from her inheritance, as well as from escorting. The money she earned from selling drugs from Chester was accounted for as money she earned from escorting. She wasn’t a gold digger and her bank account proved that. Despite her wealth, she was frugal with her money.

She didn’t have a private plane or multiple properties around the world. Instead of having an assistant, a personal chef, or a personal driver, she did everything herself. Forbes published an article about her and how she earned her money. They also wrote about her growing up in the foster care system, becoming emancipated at sixteen, and her frugality.

The person who interviewed her found her to be down to earth and humble, with a self-deprecating sense of humor. She could make jokes about herself and didn’t take herself too seriously. Bria could be anyone’s little sister or friend, who just happened to be extremely wealthy. That was how she came across in her interview. Her friends found that to be true. She had a magnetic personality and wasn’t afraid to keep them in line. They loved, feared, and respected her.

“The interviewer asked me what I was going to do with my wealth. My first instinct was to say hookers and cocaine, but then I decided that wouldn’t be appropriate.”

Brad, Mike, and Joe laughed. Brad jokingly asked her what it was like to be the youngest self-made billionaire. She didn’t even know she was a billionaire until Forbes contacted her for an interview! How did she feel about it? She thought it was insane! At first, she thought they had the wrong person. No, they didn’t. Rob was going to help her find a place for her money, instead of having it in one bank account. He thought that was dangerous because she could lose everything in the worst-case scenario.

He was thinking of having her invest some of her money into a company like Apple. Because she had a learning disability, he was going to explain everything in a way she could understand. Mike and Joe agreed he was the best person to talk to about that. He went to college to study accounting, so he would know what he was talking about.

“Apple would be a safe investment because they are constantly growing. Maybe even Disney or Starbucks or Target”, Joe said.

“I live at Target”, she joked.

“There you go. You’re investing in them without even knowing it.”

Mike and Brad laughed.

“I’ll tell Rob that when I see him next.”

The cats came in to see what the humans were up to. They had been taking an afternoon nap when they woke up to hear laughter. Slash was the first to investigate while Mama followed. Slash was a weird cat. That’s what she thought, anyway. He was always curious and getting himself into trouble. She was more sophisticated and careful. But, he was her little brother and she loved him. When she saw Brad, she meowed and pawed at his leg. He bent over, picked her up, and set her on his lap. Mike joked about him spoiling her. She was his girl. They laughed.

Joe asked what her trauma was. She took a moment to think. Besides being in foster care, she was sexually assaulted twice. She was also an alcoholic and a drug addict. That was all she could remember. Who assaulted her? She was only going to name one person. That was Richie Sambora. They were hanging out together at his place.

She slept with him because she felt like she didn’t have a choice. After, she tried overdosing on pills, but she was caught before she could take them. She was hospitalized for seventy-two hours. At the time, she had completed rehab for alcoholism and was in sober living. He invited her over under the guise of wanting to be her mentor. She considered it assault because he never asked for consent. Her suicide attempt was impulsive and not planned out.

Did she want to die? At the time, yes. But then, she decided she wanted to live. Mike remembered that because he remembered being so upset and disgusted by Richie for doing that to her. Her alcoholism started because she wasn’t happy. She was an alternative country music artist, who had everything she wanted but she still wasn’t happy.

How long was she an alcoholic? Five years. She finally got help because she found out that she was at risk of her organs failing. The band and Bradley Cooper, who was fucking awesome had an intervention for her at the studio.

“Bradley said something like ‘You’re better than this. You have so much potential that you can’t even imagine.’ It was at that point that I decided I needed help. So, if I ever meet him in this lifetime, it’s going to be awkward because I already know him but he doesn’t know me. I’m going to have to stop myself from going all fan girl on him.”

They laughed.

“How many cats have you had?”

“Oh my god. Eight. Bon Jovi, Cookies, Cream, Mama, Bert, Ernie, Mama and Slash.”

“You have two cats named Mama”, Brad asked.

“Yeah. The first one was a mother of two kittens, Bert and Ernie. I adopted the three of them because I didn’t want to separate them. Bon Jovi was my first kitten. She died from leukemia.”

It was after her death that she started drinking again. She had been sober for a few months. That was before she went into rehab. She had a lot of guilt as a part of her grief because she was her first kitten. It was in rehab she learned that her death wasn’t her fault. Were Cookies and Cream related? No, she adopted them separately. She got Cream for Cookies after she got sober because she wanted her to have a play mate. Mike asked what her trauma was called.

The name for it was Past Life Trauma. She also had generational trauma from her mother. That was why she was so anxious about being a mother because she didn’t want to continue that cycle. Her mother didn’t have a family support system and neither did she. She looked into the correlation between postpartum depression and drug relapse.

She thought that her mother had postpartum depression, which caused her to relapse back into her addiction. But, she didn’t have any evidence of that. Her previous life, she had been in the hospital for alcohol poisoning. She ended up going into a coma.

During her coma, she got to talk with her mother. At the time, she was dating Brad Delson. She told her how proud she was of her and how much she loved Brad for her. Then, she told her that it wasn’t her time. She remembered going back into her body and waking up at Mike’s house. Why was she there? He invited her and her cats to live with him because she was having trouble with her mental health. How many cats? Just two. They laughed.

@zoeykaytesmom @feelingsofaithless @alina-dixon @fiickle-nia

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itsallyscorner · 4 years

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Can you write a little mix member x avengers cast?? Maybe?

Hello love! Thank you for the request, I apologize for taking so long to work on it! I’ve written this as a headcanon, since I haven’t done any of those in a while. I hope you like it❤️

💌.

The Marvel Cast Finds Out You’re In Little Mix

Why is this lowkey a crack fic/headcanon😭💀

Alrighty so, I feel like they probably wouldn’t know you’re part of a band or who Little Mix is.

Since SADLY, the girls aren’t as big in the States as we’d like them to be:(

The people who definitely might know you are ✨The Brits✨ and Scarlett because she has a young daughter who probably listened to Wings or something—kids find everything on the internet these days.

Working with Marvel was your first acting gig; so none of them knew anything about you or if you’ve been in other films, etc.

Except for Tom Holland, who was lowkey fangirling at the fact he gets to work with one of the Little Mix members.

Side note: he’ll be deeply offended when he figures out the others don’t know about Little Mix or that you can sing.

The rest of the cast (RDJ, Chris Evans, Anthony Mackie, Seb, Lizzie, etc.) had a hunch that you were some kind of writer.

You were always humming to yourself and writing in your notebook or typing down notes in your phone when something came to mind.

Though they didn’t pry at your business because—well, it wasn’t their business.

They could find out about your other job through many ways. Maybe you guys are doing promo and some interviewers mention the band and things about a new album, to which most of them were confused about.

“So (Y/n), I know this is your first time acting. How different was it from performing on stage and acting on camera?”

Everyone’s attention would be on you (this is a panel btw) Mackie’s looking at the back of your head in confusion, Robert fully turns in his seat to look at you, Lizzie is also curious, Evans is looking between you and the reporter—everyone is just confused.

“Performing on stage? Did you do Broadway (y/n/n)?” Evans asked. Tom (Holland) scoffed shaking his head, disgusted to be part of this group of uncultured swines.

You chuckled and shook your head, “No, I’m a singer. I’m part of a girlband.”

The whole cast gasped in shock. Mackie let out a loud “WHAT?!”. Robert leaned even closer to you trying to see if you were lying. Others whispered amongst themselves asking each other if they knew.

Tom (Holland) just sat back watching everyone’s reactions along with you. Amused at the amount of questions that were suddenly being thrown your way.

He’d also be quick to add, “NOT just ANY girlband, but the biggest girlband on the planet.”

For clarification, Tom’s a very proud Mixer.

Scarlett finally recognized you, knowing that she’s seen you somewhere before, but could never put her finger onto it. “Wait you’re from Little Mix!”

“THANK YOU! FINALLY SOMEONE WITH SOME TASTE!” Tom yelled, dramatically turning to Scarlett.

After the initial shock, everyone was very curious. They wanted to hear your music, wanted to know the other members, when your next tour was—they were very ecstatic.

When you guys finally reached London for the press tour, there was a lot of hype for Little Mix because you guys were going to finally reunite after months of being apart.

The girls were allowed to visit set, but since you guys were working on your new album, they were stuck in London. You were relocated to Atlanta, filming an Avengers movie and working on the album via FaceTime/Zoom.

You and the girls reunite the same night you land in London! As tired as you were, the five of you hung out in your hotel room.

You were all excited for the days to come. Not only were you doing promo for the movie but you and the girls were going to be performing again on night time talk shows and were having a Live Lounge session with BBC Radio 1.

The panel of the cast discovering you were part of a band went viral. Many of the fans couldn’t believe they didn’t know about your other job.

There were even edits going around social media of the cast looking clueless and or reacting to your ‘secret’.

Then there were ones like “Tom Holland being a Mixer for 10 minutes and 57 seconds straight”.

Your favorite one was where they zoomed in on everyone’s confused expression while that one Nicki Minaj song played in the background.

It was mentioned in almost every interview after it went viral.

“So none of you had a clue that (y/n) was also a singer? Like at all?”

“I didn’t even know homegirl could sing, matter of fact I never imagined her to be in a girlband.” — Anthony Mackie

“I had a hunch that she was a musician or artist, but no one ever listens to me.” — Chris Evans

“(Y/n)’s in a girlband? Since when?” — Paul Rudd

“After we found out, I listened to all six of their albums on the flight here.” — Elizabeth Olsen

“Of course I knew, my music taste is immaculate compared to the others.” — Tom Holland

“Shut the fuck up, Tom.” — Anthony Mackie

“I really enjoy Black Magic, it reminds me of Wanda.” — Paul Bettany

The cast was so eager to hear you sing and watch you perform with the girls.

They finally got to do that when you invited them to the Live Lounge session. They also got to meet the girls.

You were very happy at that moment; seeing the two groups of people you love meeting each other and getting along meant a lot to you. It gave you a lil warm tingle in your heart.

Since there were no fans in the studio, it was only you and the girls, the band, and a bunch of the Avengers.

While the cameras rolled and you guys were performing, they were crowded together behind the scenes. Some of them were sitting on the carpeted floors or standing against the walls.

They were absolutely stunned when they heard you sing. You had a powerful voice that ranged from high to low, something they never expected of you.

When they heard you and the girls sing or harmonize with each other, it was like they were all in heaven.

“They sound like angels.”

“My ears are tingling, but like in a good way.”

“Seriously, how did we not know she can sing like this?”

“Hear me out—this is a perfect reason as to why we should have an Avengers musical.”

“Chris if we hear you bring up a damn musical one more time I swear.”

“Their voices go so well together, how do they even do that?”

Scarlett would secretly film videos to show her daughter. I have a feeling that Evans, Tom, RDJ, Sebby, and Mark would record some parts as well and would post it onto their Insta stories.

When fans found out they were at the Live Lounge they freaked out.

Ever since they found out you were in a band, they’ve been the biggest fans and supporters of the group.

They’re always promoting your albums on their social media accounts without you even asking.

Privately and publicly praising you guys for performances or achievements.

Your two main groups clashed and now everyone was friends. It was definitely the most weirdest collision— Little Mix and the cast of the Avengers. But it worked out perfectly.

Everyone got along with each other and the girls would always visit you on set.

They’re always playing the band’s song in the background on set.

Most of them won’t admit, but they definitely memorized the lyrics to almost every song.

*cough cough* Mackie and Hemsworth

I feel like Samuel L. Jackson would join in on the action too, one way or another. Somehow he got looped in.

ANOTHER THING OMG, they would definitely stand up for you and the girls whenever Piers Morgan or some asshole hates on you guys or pulls a jab on you all.

Best beileve Evans will be calling him out publicly on Twitter.

“Why are you so worried about a bunch of talented women who are doing their job and bringing happiness to others? They’ve done nothing to you, you’re always the one making jabs at them. Leave them alone you fucking British meatball.”

I feel like Robert helped you and the girls find a better management company after learning about the unfair treatment you all faced under Simon’s care.

In conclusion: The Marvel cast would be ecstatic to learn about you being a singer and they’d become your biggest fans. They truly adore you and the girls for your amazing talent :’)

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 4 years

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love letter, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Jeon Jungkook gets love letters shoved in his mailbox and under his apartment door all the damn time. You, too, get love letters shoved in your mailbox and under your door. All the time. It could be a sweet gesture, but this is the twenty-first century. Love letters aren't all they're cracked up to be.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; short graphic descriptions of sex acts; smut (fem reader, a very intense make-out session including some wild tongue and too much saliva, nipple play, a bit of m-receiving oral, cowgirl, handjob); non-idol!BTS – technically university, blond, softsub!Jungkook x working, softdom!reader; slightly desperate and needy JK

yes, yes, it’s MTV Unplugged ‘Telepathy’JK

"I'm so tired of people thinking they have a chance with me."

Was the exasperated declaration as you backed up into your apartment, only to turn around and witness Jeon Jungkook dumping a waterfall of colorful envelopes from his giant black backpack onto your hardwood floor.

"At least remove your shoes before you start flaunting how hot you are," you replied dryly.

Jungkook rolled his eyes as he kicked off his large white sneakers. "Look at this shit! It's relentless! It's annoying! I just want to live my life!"

You vaguely recalled Jungkook being excited about his first love letter upon reaching university, and then the second, the third... and now you were staring at pile number five hundred on your doormat. "I don't know, put a sign on your door? 'Please stop, the answer is no?'"

Jungkook winced. "I can't do that. How many hearts am I going to break?"

"Uh, I dunno, you already broke half the campus by existing in general."

He bonked you on the head lightly with his denim jacket sleeve. "I have not. I've only slept with a couple people and that was supposed to be no strings attached."

You shrugged. "People can't understand that. Especially women."

He puffed his cheeks and stepped over the pile. You noticed the small stickers and nice handwriting on the colorful pastel paper. You almost felt bad, seeing all the effort put into them.

"At least they're cute. I only get torn notebook pages with scribbles."

"Stop lying. You get girls' letters too," Jungkook grumbled. "Can I borrow your computer? One of my professors assigned an online quiz and the internet at my place is down, again."

"You gotta move," you commented, kneeling down to collect the mess Jungkook made. You noticed Jungkook flit his eyes about before throwing up his hands and bending down to help you.

"I'm trying to get out of the lease, but I have a couple more months left," he complained childishly.

"What about your other friends? Can't you go bother them?"

Jungkook frowned, sticking out his lower lip. The tiny mole underneath winked at you. "You hate me now or something?"

You laughed, standing up with a stacked pile of confessions to Jeon Jungkook. "No, I'm just curious as to why you always come here."

He shoved the rest in your arms, his pile slightly messier than yours. "You live the closest and you're usually home. Plus, you have two computers."

"A laptop and a desktop," you corrected. "Don't you have a laptop?"

"It's easier to borrow yours."

"Lazy."

Jungkook ignored your remark and ticked his silvery-blond head further into the apartment. "Can I borrow it or not?"

You laughed. "Of course. Laptop's on the bed."

He turned and followed the hallway to your bedroom. "Same password?" he yelled, not looking back.

"Obviously."

"Why is it my birth date?" he shouted.

"Because, one, no one will guess it, and, two, you're a dumbass and always forget it."

"I do not!"

"How many times did you ask when the password was Klingon?"

"I don't know your nerdy shit!"

"Do your fucking assignment," you belted down the hall.

Jungkook stuck his head out of your bedroom door and scrunched his nose to make a hideous face at you, holding your gunmetal-colored laptop. You rolled your eyes as he disappeared again. This crackhead. You let out a sigh, walking past the acrylic painting of a blue sky with pink-purple clouds hanging in your living room, flicking through at all the letters addressed to Jungkook.

Surprisingly, you knew what he felt like. With you, it started with inviting one guy over to your place, sucking his dick, and then suddenly a letter appeared. Well, letter was putting it nicely. Dirty napkin with words scrawled with smeared ballpoint pen shoved under your door, explicitly asking for more. Then another, wanting it. Then another, begging for it. You ignored them. At some point, you invited a girl over, ate her out, and then the colorful envelopes started appearing, with cute stickers and neat handwriting.

Mmmhmm.

Why did Jungkook bring them here anyway? To brag? For you to peruse? You spread them out them on your coffee table and tore one open. Read it. Simple confession of love, no name. You were kind of jealous. Jungkook always got nicer ones than you did. Something about being a sexually uninhibited woman seemed to translate to others that you were down to fuck anyone, anytime, anything. You tossed the letter aside, ripped open a folded card closed with lilac tape. Another, 'I love you, please go out with me', no name. Toss. And you opened another one, reading out loud.

"I want to cram all one hundred and seventy-nine centimeters of you into me?”

Uh.

Huh.

Still no name.

Cute peach stationery though.

Was it a euphemism? Symbolic? Thinly veiled code? Hm. In any case, this was more along the lines of shamelessness you encountered yourself.

By all conventions, Jeon Jungkook was attractive as fuck. Pretty pink lips, big brown eyes, manly sharp jawline. He kept his hair on the longer side, around ear length, now silvery-blond compared to the usual black. You heard he dyed it a couple times, but now it had since faded to the original blond.

Oh, yeah, also he had nice hands and a body to die for.

You could see why Jungkook got all these love letters. You? Well, similar reasons, except less muscles. Also, yours weren't really love letters. More like vulgar remarks on the backs of grubby receipts.

Probably just as heartfelt.

The only reason you knew of Jungkook was because you were friends with one of his close friends. Alright, maybe you sucked his friend's dick. More than once. But anyway, not the point. The point was that the topic of love letters came up one night when everyone was hanging out and you voiced your predicament. It was the summer before Jungkook entered university. He had burst out laughing, thinking it was a hilarious situation.

"Haha, that would never happen to me!"

Jokes on you, Jungkook, karma's a bitch.

You thought about moving, but the location was close to your work and the internet service was great here. At least you always recycled the paper. What were you supposed to do? Keep an album of Starbucks napkins of people asking if your tongue was good or not?

You opened another envelope addressed to 'sweet, adorable Jungkookie'.

Their words, not yours.

"Shove your dick down my throat and make me gag? Smiley face?"

Well, that's a contrast.

Jungkook didn't start contacting you on his own until the letters started coming and then they didn’t stop coming, flooding his mailbox and underneath his door, overwhelming and confusing him. He didn't think he would get much attention, although perhaps it might be your fault, since you seemed to have set the precedence for this type of thing at this particular university. There was at least one person in every year that got this treatment, and it all started with one dirty napkin with smeared ink. Rumor caught on and then bam! It became a thing.

So, yeah.

Maybe kind of your fault.

You shouldn't have told so many people about that napkin.

You fished out a pizza receipt from the pile, inspecting it. You couldn't find anything out of the ordinary. Then you noticed it had Jungkook's phone number and an order of three pizzas. Not a confession, just trash from Jungkook's backpack. Did he really eat three pizzas? Hopefully not by himself and in one sitting. You noticed the timestamp. Mmm, three in the morning. Okay. Maybe he did eat three pizzas by himself in one sitting.

You filed through the rest, removing trash from the recyclable paper. Paused when you found a scrap of paper that said, "Put your dick in my ass." You recognized this curvy, narrow handwriting, slightly heavy-handed. Same person wrote you the same note this week.

This was why you didn't take the messages too seriously.

You saw a particularly thick purple envelope and picked it up, tearing it open. It was several pages, with tiny, crammed handwriting on paper with cute bunnies on it. Several pages detailing straight up porn with Jungkook as the leading role.

You almost burst out laughing.

Who the fuck would write this?

And send it to him?

Not you, that's for fucking sure.

Still, it wasn't the worst thing you've ever read. Had some spelling mistakes and poor grammar. Instant turn-off. Needed a good proofread. You settled onto your brown leather couch, highly entertained as you read it. Then you actually burst out laughing, because said person wanted Jungkook to lift them and fuck them at the same time and that kinda shit just wasn't possible. You would know, because you’ve tried. It sounded good, but in practice, the dick ended up falling out pretty quickly if the pussy was any sort of wet.

If you weren’t wet, then, eh, not sure why you're fucking.

"What is so fucking funny?" Jungkook grumbled, poking his head around the corner, still holding your laptop.

You held up the sheets of bunny-printed paper, still laughing. "Someone sent you their written erotica and you're the star!"

Jungkook grimaced. "Oh yeah, that person. They write something new every week. It's weird." He frowned. "I try to take it out so you don't have to read that shit. I must have missed it."

"It's hilarious," you chuckled. "You should publish them into a book."

"You know I can't do that," Jungkook sighed, putting your laptop on the coffee table and snatching the pages from you. "I throw them away like everything else."

"Did you finish your assignment?" you chortled, leaning over to look at the laptop screen. Submission successful. "80%?! When you could easily cheat?"

"I read a question wrong," Jungkook whined, balling up the paper and throwing it down. "Ack."

You looked up at him and he was looking upset at the pile on the table.

"What's wrong?"

"What if one of them is real?"

"Huh?"

"I mean... I just throw them away now. But what if one of them is real?" Jungkook wondered out loud.

You shrugged. "Does it matter? They'll tell you in person if it's that important."

Jungkook tilted his head at you doubtfully. "Will they?"

You sat back into your couch, with your legs wide open. You were wearing sleek black leggings and a cropped pink sweatshirt. Not the most ladylike pose, but you didn't really care. You gestured to the stack of letters on your wooden coffee table.

"They should. If they actually like you and it's not a joke, then they should tell you in person and accept that they might be rejected."

Jungkook frowned and slumped down next to you. His light-wash denim jacket made a loud floof as his ass hit the brown leather cushions. The wash of his jeans matched his jacket. He wore a white graphic t-shirt under. It looked vintage, but it probably wasn’t.

"What if they're nervous?" he questioned, twisting his pink lips around.

"So what? Everyone's nervous. We all live in a perpetual state of terror."

Jungkook rolled his eyes.

You leaned forward and plucked a sky-blue memo note from the table, reading it out loud. "I love you. Marry me." You held it out to him. "See? You get nice ones. I get, ‘choke me like you hate me’ and 'shove your tongue into my asshole, please'. Rarely do I get is that please at the end," you finished with a dry laugh. You looked up to see Jungkook staring back at you. Your laugh died a little seeing his serious expression.

"Yes."

You blinked at him. "What?"

Jungkook ticked his chin to the note, then shifted his eyes to you.

You pointed to the memo sheet and raised an eyebrow. "I didn't write this."

"I did."

He was so serious that you couldn't laugh. You just blinked at him rapidly and turned your head to look at the sky-blue memo sheet, finally recognizing the clean, block-like handwriting and spotting the bottom right corner. English letters. A J and a K fused together, the way Jungkook usually signed his paintings.

You dropped the note like it was on fire.

Jerked your head up, not to him, but to the painting across from you in the living room, the one with the blue sky and pink-purple clouds, with a tiny JK signature in black at the bottom right corner. The painting you asked Jungkook to make you a while back.

"You paint, right? I want something calm for my living room. I bought a canvas, so about this size. It's that cool?"

Jungkook had squinted his eyes, nodding. "Yeah, I could draw a pretty big dick on it."

"This is for my living room, dumbass. And I said I wanted something calm."

"A flaccid dick then."

You turned your head back to Jungkook of now, who was wringing his hands on his thighs, wiping off his palms. He noticed you watching him and puffed one cheek before letting out a big sigh.

"I was... gonna leave it on your laptop," Jungkook mumbled, flapping a hand to the sky-blue note. "But I couldn't find it in my backpack, and then I realized one of the pockets was open, the one where I keep receipts... anyway I had put the note there, so I came out to see if it was in the pile... yup, there it is."

He sucked in his cheek and fell back against the leather sofa.

"Was a joke."

Jungkook's voice sounded hollow. Empty.

"... Ah." You tucked the tip of your tongue in your cheek.

"Not the greatest joke," he added flatly.

“No, it’s not,” you agreed. "Jokes that are insincere are bad jokes."

The black words glared back up at you, contrasting the pale azure paper. You picked up the memo sheet again. Turned to face him, holding it up next to Jungkook's head of silvery-blond hair. He pursed his lips and looked away from you, jaw clenched in nervousness.

"Just say it."

He puffed one cheek again. "It was a joke."

"Then why are you saying it in past tense?"

His brown orbs shifted from side to side before Jungkook tried to bolt out of his seat, only for you to slam a hand down on his shoulder and throw a leg over him, straddling his lap before pinning the note to his chest. He yelped sharply and looked up at you with huge, shaking irises.

In all your time knowing him, you never tried to sleep with Jungkook.

Never.

You jabbed the note into his white shirt and he gave you a terrified squeak in response.

You scrutinized his face, jaw slack, eyes wide, blond curls framing his chiseled cheekbones. One of your eyebrows raised, your voice calm and unfazed.

"Say it."

"You say it," Jungkook finally shot back, furrowing his brows, biting on his lip and mustering up the most indignant look he could produce at this very second. You didn’t react. He seemed to have forgotten you did, in fact, say it, although perhaps that wasn’t exactly what he meant.

You never tried to fuck Jungkook because he didn’t treat you as anything more than his primary source of internet when his own was down. Ah, and also his outlet for complaining about his love letter problem. And then there was that other little wrinkle, the unwritten societal rule one of sucking a guy's dick you're still friends with - don't suck his friends' dicks. Surefire way to fuck up a friendship, especially if the dude’s ego was fragile.

Jungkook’s friend was dating someone else now though. His ego couldn’t be that fragile.

You leaned forward and Jungkook's annoyed gaze faltered. He gulped and tried to shrink into your brown leather couch, as if he could somehow disappear under you.

"I love you," you stated clearly and firmly. You glanced at the slightly crumpled piece of blue paper before your eyes flickered back to his face. "Marry me."

Hah, the thing about rules with you was...

Fuck 'em.

Not actually.

Eh, not the point.

"Really?" Jungkook squeaked, voice cracking slightly.

Ah, right, the other reason you never tried to sex up Jungkook because he was a little bit of an idiot around you. But maybe this sky-blue note detailed the reason for it.

"Say it," you repeated crossly, poking him in the pecs. "Stop avoiding it."

You observed Jungkook swallow hard again, Adam’s apple bobbing. You furrowed your brows, tipping your head down so that your forehead was hovering over his, eyebrow cocked, gazing into trembling brown orbs. Why was he taking so long? He wrote the damn words. Were they really just a joke? Hmph, why were you even trying then?

That’s how everyone was.

Not putting any stock or thought into their fucking words.

You lifted your finger but Jungkook’s right hand, the one with tiny tattoos, suddenly darted in your view, grabbing your hand back and jamming your finger onto his chest again. His heartbeat raced under your fingertip, thud-thud-thud, rapid bass accenting the moment. Electrifying it.

“Don’t.”

Whisper so faint you frowned and closed even more distance between you two, picking up the scent of vanilla fabric softener and lush cotton. A little different than you, who used a blackberry and spiced vanilla perfume.

“I like this,” Jungkook breathed under you, chewing his lip anxiously. You could feel his warm breath tickling your lips and chin with how close you were. You could count his individual eyebrow hairs, even though the eyebrow product he used.

“I… really like this.”

He let go of your hand.

Now you raised both eyebrows.

You slowly uncurled your middle finger, landing it on his chest next to the index. You felt him shiver a little, lips parting. Straightened your ring finger, planting it down. His lashes lowered a little, brown orbs on your face, watching your reaction to him. You could count the moles on his face. The one on his nose. The one on his cheek. The one under his lower lip. The one on his neck. Your pinky slid onto his chest. A wispy moan left his lips, eyelids fluttering, blond strands floating around his head with the little rise and fall of his heavy, tense exhale.

Why is it your birth date?

Take a wild guess, dumbass.

Your fingers abruptly dug into his white t-shirt, crumpling the note and scrunching the graphic up in your fist. He inhaled sharply, head tipping back and lips nearing yours, a whine escaping his throat. You quirked an eyebrow, drawing back slightly, taking in the rich depth of his tan skin, the sensual line of his neck, up to his angular chin and his dangling silver earrings. All of it. His hands immediately came up to grab your wrist and forearm, ensuring you and himself that you wouldn’t let go, the tendons in your flexed wrist right against his large palm.

“Say it, Jungkook,” you demanded. “Say those words with your pretty pink tongue hanging out your mouth for me.”

You watched him obey immediately, tongue sliding out and touching his lower lip, brown eyes framed by his long lashes and hazy with lust.

“I love you,” Jungkook breathed, a little gargled with his tongue out. “Fucking marry me, please.”

Ah, you couldn't help it.

You smirked.

"What about all your admirers?" you murmured, twisting your fingers in his shirt, digging your nails into his chest. "You'll break all those poor hearts you’re worried about."

Those dark brown eyes told you they didn't give a single fuck.

"What about you?" he countered, closing his mouth a little to speak more clearly.

"Me?"

The definition of trouble?

Well, if you looked that up in a dictionary, there would definitely be a picture of you.

Jungkook’s lips parted once more, keen to submit to your wickedness, pink tongue slipping out again, shiny and glistening with saliva. Breathing shallowly, rubbing your wrist with his thumb, encouraging you to keep going.

Your lips curved into a treacherous smile.

"I'll break all the hearts to get to yours, Jungkook."

And then you licked his tongue.

A low moan bubbled from Jungkook's chest, his eyes rolling back and his hips bucking up, desperate for friction as the tip of your wet muscle glided over his warm softness, your spit dripping down his throat, listening to his moans turn into messy garbles of your name, begging you, pleading you, more, more, kiss me, please, and you hooked your tongue around his, gently nudging his jaw with your other hand. Knuckle to chin, tilting your head as your lips closed onto Jungkook's.

It was not a neat kiss.

There was spit running down his chin, dripping onto his neck and your skin, your lips roughly working his, tongues intertwined and making even more of a mess, you sucking forcefully to earn pained, delicious whines. Jungkook was far too turned on to attempt to glamorize it, cries a jumbled mess under your greedy mouth, but none of that mattered. The moment was sensual and dark, bodies speaking to each other through dopamine and adrenaline. Your hand released his shirt, breaking his grip, switching to burrowing your fingers into his soft blond hair and running your nails over his scalp, leaving lines of prickling pain to enhance your kiss.

"F-Fuck, oh fuck, yes..."

Your teeth caught his tongue, pulling back and forcing his head to follow. Jungkook made a pained noise, trapped in your embrace, whining as you took him to the brink. You released him swiftly and he snapped backward, blinking hard, trying to reorient himself, but it was impossible, your lips crashing down again, thrusting your tongue into his mouth aggressively, one eye open to witness his fucked-out state, pupils unfocused, long lashes quivering, moaning into your mouth and you inhaling it all, literally taking his breath away.

It started out with a kiss.

How did it end up like this?

It was only a kiss.

You dropped your lower half onto his crotch and Jungkook gasped, breaking the kiss, strings of spit breaking between you two. You smirked wickedly as you felt his hardness trying to escape its clothing jail, his large hands already on your thighs and hips, sinking his fingers into the soft fabric of your leggings, rocking you into him, desperately trying to get some stimulation.

"Please," he croaked, panting for breath, pulling himself up to sitting position, so easy and smooth, fuck, so sexy, and now Jungkook was in your face, pleas on the tip of his tongue pouring out, tempting you, wanting it.

"Please, wanna be yours so fucking bad, seeing all those fucking letters and notes you get, and it pisses me off, it's me, I want it to be me, I want to be yours and I'm telling you to your face."

Whisper achingly hot, deep voice soaked with longing, staring into your eyes with those shaking brown orbs, spinning with emotion like an unstable top, barely enough torque holding it in place and all it took was another spin to encourage it or a gust of rejection to topple it over.

"And you don't even care about mine, you think they're fucking funny, fuck, I can't stand it, let it be me, please..."

His hands running up your sides, grazing against your breasts, and now his hands were in your hair and yours were in his, bringing your face close, the crumpled sky-blue note right between your joined crotches, forgotten, witnessing the agonizing lust wound tightly in this embrace.

"Let it be me," Jungkook begged.

You licked your lips slowly, scarcely swiping against his. He shuddered, leaning into it, taking whatever crumbs you gave. His long fingers tensed in your hair, yours buried in the dark roots of his.

"You'll have to skip the marriage bit for now," you teased lightly. "I don't think my parents will appreciate you slapping down papers before you finish school."

Jungkook snickered, tucking his tongue in his cheek roguishly. "Can't they understand I have to snatch this ass as soon as possible to make people back off?"

Your hands slipped down to his jaw, fitting it in your palms, his silvery-blond stands wrapped around your fingertips. "They'll back off my door once they hear you screaming my name."

You leaned in, but Jungkook stopped you, brown orbs glittering with mischief to get in one more quip.

"I doubt it," he purred.

Yeah.

Jungkook was right.

Ah, well.

You seized his face and kissed him again, fuck, such malleable lips just pleading to be bitten by you, gazing up his nose and to his beautiful eyes, his soft skin in your hands, clenching his jaw under your power, letting you have it, letting you control it and him. You felt him scramble and throw his denim jacket off, dumping it onto your couch to cup your cheeks with his hands, sighing in satisfaction as you inhaled him. Your tongue lazily traced the outskirts of his lips, hearing the rattle of his beaded bracelets by your ears, amused, knowing they were his good luck charms.

"They bring good luck," he had answered when you saw them for the first time.

You remembered tilting your head at the wooden beads on his slim wrists. "You trying to get your dick sucked or something?"

He had broken out in a loud guffaw. Nudged you with his elbow, cheeky smile on his lips.

"Never gonna say no to getting my dick sucked."

"Mhm, cool, where's my painting of the flaccid dick?"

From then on, you noticed he wore the same wooden, beaded bracelets every time he came to your apartment.

Hmm.

Now, your hands falling from his face, yanking his shirt from his pants, annoyed it was getting caught, and then Jungkook fitted his hands around your ass and lifted you easily, breaking the kiss, a moment for you to bear witness to his arms flexing – holy fuck, that’s sexy – right one covered in tattoos. Images and script, with one catching your eye, a string of words running up the inside of his upper arm. One you recognized because you had those words written on your bedroom wall, on a canvas hanging above your bed. A canvas you made, background a chaotic mess of varying dark red brushstrokes, the black script in the center, written by your hand.

The exact black script with your flourishes and ticks, now tattooed on the inside of his right arm.

Your eyes drifted to Jungkook's face and his naughty smirk, pleased to be found out. Your lips formed the sentence slowly, in awe of his audacity.

"The devil knows my name."

the devil knows my name.

Hung above your bed, where all manner of marvelous sinful acts were performed.

Jungkook grinned deviously. "I saw it. I wanted it on me."

Wanted it on him.

Oh, fuck.

Did he know? Could he guess?

"Who's the devil?" you whispered, smile widening, matching his.

Jungkook reached down, yanking his t-shirt out of his jeans and pulling it up and over his head, revealing the body he sculpted himself, tan skin taut over hard muscle, toned and...

"You're the devil, of course," he snickered.

Yours.

"Ding dong daeng," you sing-songed.

How many people have been on your bed, head pulled back by your hand, blinking hard, trying to read the words on your wall through waves of forced ecstasy? Gasping them out, ending with a question, inquiring for an answer.

The devil knows my name?

And you, leaning forward, haunting whisper in their ears, yes, she does, before pushing their face down into the sheets.

"All those love letters not good enough for you, Jungkook?" you breathed, running your hands over his bare chest, spreading your fingers, letting your exhale out through your teeth. His eyes on you, torso trembling, hairs raising, feeling your nails dance up, up, raking over his collarbones and neck, leaving little pink lines of intensity.

"They're not you," he whispered. His hands brushing over yours, outlining your fingers, eyes darkening as you pushed him back into your sofa, lowering your head. "You, the one they talk about..." Your lips on his hot skin, kissing softly, tongue so slight that it made him whimper. "You, the one they look for..." His voice, deep and rumbling, vibrating your lips, pitching as you bit and sucked, leaving small hickeys. "You, the one whose bed I sit on, wondering who else has been there, wondering why it's not me, when I make myself available to you, so easy to prey on, but you let me be..." Your lips closing around his dark brown nipple, scraping your teeth against it, making him squirm and look down at you, you and your self-satisfied, ravenous smirk.

"I let you read them," Jungkook whimpered, blond strands curled around his cheeks, chest shuddering at your nail flicking his other nipple while your mouth worked the other. "Let you see everything they want to do to me and you still didn't know."

You chuckled darkly. "What's there to know?" you mused, sticking your tongue out and pressing it against the now hard pink-tinged nub, receiving small whines of pleasure as your reward. "It's obvious what you wanted. I was right in front of you. All you had to do was say something."

Jungkook frowned as you sat up, tongue in cheek, half-grinning.

"Look at you."

You crossed your arms and pulled your pink cropped sweatshirt up and over your head, dropping it to the floor. Casually running a hand through the top of your hair to pull it away from your face, gazing down at shirtless Jungkook covered in your red bites, cocking your head with a smirk. He raised an eyebrow, eyes roaming over your figure and the curve of your breasts molded to smooth black satin.

"You look like you eat hearts for breakfast," he murmured, admiration in his tone.

The side of your lips quirked further upwards.

"And yet you wanna love me."

Jungkook grinned. "I don't want to. I already do."

And then he was the one to pull you to him, kissing you hungrily, you immediately turning it into your favor, your pace, his tongue commanded by yours as he unhooked your bra, moaning into your mouth, rubbing your exposed nipples with his palms, unable to do much as you pushed him into the couch again, guiding his tongue down with your teeth and running the tip of yours over his wet muscle once more, trickling saliva into his throat and onto his chin and neck, messy and lewd.

"The devil knows your name," you sighed into his mouth, feeling him knead your breasts, thumbs brushing over your hard nipples, tendrils of pleasure making your skin tingle. "And now the devil takes what she wants."

You saw the sides of his lips curve upwards as you backed up to strip the rest of your clothes, amused at Jungkook eagerly following suit and unbuttoning his jeans.

"Can't wait to flaunt how hot you are?" you laughed, reaching down to the shelf under the side table where a ceramic R2-D2 cookie jar sat.

"Do you think I'm hot?" Jungkook haughtily accused before gawking at your waist to ass ratio, his hands slowing, pants stopped to his knees in his distraction.

You gently took off the head of R2-D2 and plucked a condom from it. Some guy told you once that you couldn't like Star Trek and Star Wars at the same time and you told him to shut the fuck up as you slapped his nuts. He begged you to do it again. You fondly patted R2-D2's head after you fitted it back.

You straightened to see Jungkook on your couch with his hard dick on display.

You looked him dead in the eye. "You think I'd let you borrow my laptop if I thought you were ugly?"

Jungkook broke out of his trance and shrugged, finally yanking his calves – holy shit, his calves and thighs were muscular as fuck – out of his jeans, underwear and socks gone with them.

"Maybe you pitied my grades."

"I'd just pay for you to go to the library and fuck off, dumbass," you muttered, pushing his hands aside and ripping the condom open, drinking in the delicious sight of his throbbing red cock dripping pre-cum, his balls just waiting for – fuck it, you got down on your knees and wrapped your tongue around his length, Jungkook sputtering and gasping at your suddenness. Fuck, he smelled and tasted fucking good, clean and velvety to your lips enclosing around the head and sliding down, using one hand to scoop up his balls. Made eye contact with him again.

Jungkook breathed your name hesitantly.

Your tongue slid out of your lips and you jammed his cock all the way down your throat, slathering his balls wetly with your whisking tongue, circling around one and then the other, long expansive strokes that went past the girth of his cock, your pink tongue visible to him. Jungkook's pupils blew wide with shock, moans catching in his throat, whole body shivering, trying desperately not to look away even through you could tell he wanted to throw himself into your sofa and fucking lose it.

"Oooooooh, fuck, that's amazing.... Holy shit, your tongue is everything...."

You chuckled and pulled your head back, satisfied with his reaction. He seemed slightly disappointed until you rolled down the condom, cracking your neck.

"I think I've given enough." You stood up, getting back on top of him and his glorious thighs. "Time for you to be taken."

Jungkook smirked.

You smirked wider and more wickedly.

The sky-blue memo was crumpled into a ball, fallen to your hardwood floor.

Held him with two fingers, ugh, the weight of his cock, fuck yes, and those beautiful dark chocolate eyes, Jungkook, you dumbass, cursing that he didn't tell you sooner so that you could watch him groan and throw his head back like he was right now, gasping at your tightness, your name torn from his throat as you took in every centimeter of him, every pulsing vein and contour of his wonderful cock, stupid Jungkook and his attractive self not using his damn words so you could ride him like you were right now, setting up a fast, bruising pace. Your fingers dug into the back of the couch as you bucked your hips into his violently, keeping yourself tight because you were so fucking wet, fuck, so wet for Jeon Jungkook and his idiotic self, asking for internet to do his school assignments and not asking for his dick to be used as your fucking joystick.

Dumbass.

"Oh fuck," Jungkook gasped. "Oh, fuck, you're so wet and tight, shit, shit, shit..."

"Tell me something I haven't heard before," you chuckled, only half-meaning it, waving your entire body to deliver a particularly hard smack to his crotch, Jungkook whimpering under you, his hands flying to your upper arms and clutching them, trying to hold on to your wildness.

"Holy fuck, you have some hard biceps," he blurted out, startled at the prominent muscle.

Well, you haven't heard that one before.

"Guess that's what happens when you jack off a lot of dick," you mused nonchalantly.

You ticked your head to Jungkook's arms – delicious – and he frowned at you, opening his mouth to protest and you cut him off by shoving two fingers into his lips, pressing them down into the wet warmth, grinning maniacally as you watched him struggle with your fingers rubbing his tongue and his cock getting assaulted by you aggressively slamming your hips down and clamping around his stiffness, tighter, faster, whines of your name in his throat, head falling back onto the couch with a flump. You were careful not to push your fingers too far.

Getting vomited on wasn't really on your sexual activities bingo card.

Jungkook was, however, drooling down his chin and neck, and you pulled back to grab his shoulder with your wet hand – oh, fuck, his shoulder, what a lovely shape – and Jungkook wheezed for breath, you ignoring it as you focused all your energy on fucking the life out of him, dirty squelches and smacks of hips on hips, staring down at his abs and v-line, all his hard work at the gym on display, his hands still on your upper arms as he raised his hips to meet yours, needily moaning for you to destroy him with your pace.

Damn, maybe you would have sent him a love letter if you had seen him naked at least once.

"A-Ask me to cum for you," Jungkook finally got out, voice hoarse from breathing so hard for so long.

"You're going to anyway," you taunted.

"Want you to ask," he whined, almost pouting. "Tell me to do it."

You gazed into his eyes, into those brown irises overtaken by black pupils, him a top spinning by your hand, your plaything commanded by your body, pussy clenching around his twitching cock, spurred on from his pleading tone, giving him a devious and wicked grin, speaking to his swollen lips, the devil knows your name, Jungkook, and him moaning back, fuck yes she does, so close, so fucking close, unashamedly barreling towards your release, power in your veins and under you, his muscles rippling as he fucked you back, amplifying every thrust.

"Jungkook."

"Y-Yes?"

"Say it."

Brown eyes locked with yours.

"I love you. Marry me."

You smirked.

"Cum for me."

A half-second and then you let go, letting the feeling rush in and envelop you, the moment held back to torture him, and now you felt it all, already at the tipping point, strained moan as your orgasm crashed into you, shudders all over and falling, sitting all the way down in his lap to experience the throbbing ache of your core giving out and spilling onto his cock and balls in rapid bursts, viscous and sweet. The scent of sex mixing with blackberry and spiced vanilla, his length jerking inside you, and only then did you hear Jungkook crying out your name over and over, the roar in your ears fading out to his shivering moans, hands sliding up and down your arms, eyes closing and lost in the pleasure of your pussy squeezing out his cum. His touch travelling down to your waist, pulling you to him.

Messy, soft kisses, your name and curses mixed together.

"It's me, right?"

You smiled into his mouth that was still asking questions.

"Please let it be me. You'll let me love you for real, right?"

Pushing your hair back, his sweaty blond locks sticking to your face.

"Because I already do, can't stop, won't stop–"

"Yeah, Jungkook, funnily enough I figured that from the first kiss already," you chuckled, running your fingers through his ash blond hair and pulling his head back lightly, seeing him pout, the mole underneath his lower lip peeking out.

"But..."

"Hm?"

His voice suddenly small, vulnerable, his semi-hard dick still inside you.

"Do you love me?"

You lifted a brow. "What kind of dumbass question is that?" You grabbed his arm and pressed your nail into his tattoo of your words, drawing a pink scratch under them, making him gasp. "How can I not love you? Fuck, that's the sexiest thing I've ever seen, my handwriting tattooed onto you. Yes, I love you, Jungkook."

Jungkook's jaw dropped.

This fool is still shocked after all this?

You reached down and held the condom down as you lifted yourself off, yanking him to his feet, pushing Jungkook to your coffee table, right in front of the pile of letters with his name all over them. You picked up your laptop and pushed it onto his chest, forcing him to hold it, him still confused, mildly stunned, not knowing what the fuck was happening.

Then you made him half-straddle your coffee table and yanked off the condom.

"Um–"

Grabbed his cock and started furiously jacking him off.

"Oh, f-fuck!"'

And then he realized what you were doing, the sheer wrongness of it, getting harder and harder with every second, throbbing in your hand.

"You're just like them," you chuckled through exerted breath.

Faster, rougher, tighter, Jungkook clutching your laptop, his larger frame leaning against yours, head thrown back so far that his blond hair was brushing your shoulder, moaning lustfully as he thrusted his hips into your grip. White pooled onto the purple-red tip of his abused cock, far too sensitive to be jacked off this hard right after orgasm, but Jungkook begged you not to stop, streams of residual cum running down your slicked fingers.

"Always looking for your fix from the addiction that's me," you whispered into his ear, laced with an authoritative growl.

You saw Jungkook's head lower out of your periphery, eyes opening, staring at the colorful envelopes with his name printed on them, the cute stickers and neat handwriting, panting your name, tendons and veins standing out on his neck, sweat beading on his tan skin.

A low, dangerous chuckle rising in his throat.

"There's a difference between them and me."

You felt his cock twitch in your hand, ridiculously hard at what you two were about to do.

"They're not going to get their fix."

Jungkook shuddered against you, jerking his hips forward, thick white strings splattering all over the pastel paper as you watched, fascinated, the scent of his cum saturating the air and the envelopes, drops soaking and smearing the carefully written ink, time wasted and defiled.

"I am," he moaned, twisting his body on your arms, leaning down to kiss you hungrily as you squeezed his cock, draining it all out, all over your coffee table and coating your hand, stained with Jeon Jungkook's love letter to you.

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#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook smut

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so-idialed-9 · 2 years

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An analysis of Harry's revealing BHG article released today:

Firstly, it's far more revealing than we're used to. The fact he went to Better Homes and Gardens when it's usually Rolling Stone and all about on the musical inspiration, the album process, industry details - is significant. Choosing BHG - not usually his target demographic - tells his story to a much larger slice of the public. Gets the narrative to focus on him as a person, not just an artist. Smart!

Information on what had been in his 1D contract - a topic that had been highly secretive under threat of lawsuit until now. Others signed with Syco or MM, like Jedward, have disclosed that they were prohibited from revealing contract details and discussing them.

So we can assume that at least some ties of the 1D contract are over for Harry, allowing him to now discuss it without legal repercussions.

Also, here is yet another piece of evidence that young Harry as a sex-crazed lothario sleeping with hundreds of women was a narrative entirely manufactured by 1D management. Bwcause being one in reality would have violated any "cleanliness clause" in his contract (what a repugnant and rage-inducing phrase).

Harry signed a contract with Columbia before he discovered they didn't have this clause. He was shocked there wasn't.

He was CONDITIONED to be always afraid in his career no matter where he went or who he signed with. Even after seeking a new label and management - he assumed he would still be mistreated and abused. The FREEDOM cry rings even more true knowing this.

Harry's fear was specifically not around drugs use, or cussing, or drinking - his fear was around not only being known to have sex at all, but who he was having sex with - and how it would mess up public perception of him.

Publicly he was said to be having sex with a lot of women. So the part of "who he was having it with" cannot be a woman. Because having sex with women was already "approved" - even pushed - by management.

The article writes:

"Harry spoke on why he doesn't like putting labels on his sexuality while discussing it in public: I’ve been really open with it with my friends, but that’s my personal experience; it’s mine," he said, while referring to the concept of labeling one's sexuality as "outdated."

So PRIVATELY Harry is open about his labels, while still considering it outdated to label. PUBLICLY he doesn't discuss his labels. That is different than having no label. It's saying he has labels, but we're not entitled to them.

As a queer person, this definitely is queer coded language. Especially when combined with the terror he describes that people would know who he ACTUALLY was having sex with, which was different than they knew him to be doing (women).

Harry says in the article he was single at 26, which would have been 2020-2021, during COVID. Yet his supposed relationship with 🐙 began in 2020, with a public event together Jan 2021.

So just wondering how he said he was afraid of revealing who he was having sex with while also publicly dating someone and being papped on a yacht uncomfortably making out. I think we can infer from this again, he wasn't actually afraid of being seen as dating that person, but...someone else. Which means there is/was someone that he dated privately, and not a woman, as that would have just been the public relationship if so.

I have never been of the opinion that H and L had a perfectly smooth relationship. Have you heard their lyrics about alienation and miscommunication and loving someone and it's not enough? I do think they had times of distance, strife, and separation. I think they did break up or have breaks in their relationship - even if it was temporary - H even told us Two Ghosts is about "the first time he broke up with me" - but that they continued to orbit each other or be the person that no one else compared to and come back to each other better.

But bluegreening and Sunflower and all the Larry stuff from 2021 - 22 leads me to hope they were connected or connecting at least.

I'm seeing a lot of Twitter people saying how they would never want a 1D reunion because of the lack of freedom H felt.

Any collaboration or reunion would not be governed by the same contracts, as the circumstances are completely different. So that's a weird conclusion.

Exclusive: Harry Styles Reveals the Meaning Behind His New Album, 'Harry's House'

On his new album, Harry Styles explores themes of belonging, peace, and discovering domestic bliss wherever you can find it.

By Lou Stoppard April 26, 2022

Looking back, it was undoubtedly risky suggesting to meet Harry Styles, the global music megastar, the apple of so many millions of eyes, at a public open-air swimming pool in London on an unusually sunny March morning—right when people were bouncing around the city with a vaguely manic, newly liberated energy, catalyzed by the total lift on COVID restrictions. But swimmers, particularly all-weather swimmers (the lido I chose is unheated and open year-round), take the meditative pleasure of swimming seriously, as Styles himself, who swims outdoors daily, knows well. "I feel like people who have discovered cold water swimming are just so happy for you that you've also found it," Styles said. In other words, no one is hassling you for water-side photos. Indeed, around us, most swimmers were doing an admirable job of feigning indifference to the fact that an instantly recognizable pinup (the hair, the face, the tattoos) was stripped off, poolside.

Styles has spent the last few years on a quest to enjoy things for what they are, to "be in the moment," as he put it. Swimming is good for this; it's hard to think about anything else when you are struggling to keep breathing. Just before the pandemic, in December 2019, Styles released his second solo album, Fine Line, to acclaim. The corresponding live shows, Love On Tour, were due to start in April 2020. But by then, the pandemic was raging; disaster declarations had been made across the U.S., and Europe was on lockdown. Styles had envisaged himself busy, playing packed shows each night, the music bellowing from his lungs, his pearls and sequins glittering in the light. Instead, nothing. "Suddenly, the screaming stopped," he said. Everything was canceled, an end to the relentless merry-go-round of attention Styles has been on since 2010—then a smiling 16-year-old in a skinny scarf that would hint at the kind of fey hip-wiggling rocker he would go on to become a decade later—when he appeared on the British talent show The X Factor and was set on a conveyer belt to stardom.

Now Styles was stuck in L.A. for months with nothing to do. "It was the first time I'd stopped since I left my mum's," he said. For a while, at the beginning of lockdown, productivity drilled into him, Styles felt like he should work, create. The ethos with One Direction (the boy band he was packaged into on The X Factor) was always more, next, bigger, better. It was "all about how do you keep it going and how do you get it to grow," he said. "There were so many years where, for me, especially in the band and the first few years coming out of it, I'd just been terrified of it ending, because I didn't necessarily know who I was if I didn't do music."

Styles came to see that COVID was out of his control, that he just had to ride it out. He bubbled with a group of friends and for about six weeks did "practically nothing." Didn't write any music. Didn't record. He was suddenly just another young guy in a house-share trying not to bug his roommates. Styles came to realize that his past schedule had facilitated avoidance. "Whether it was with friends or people I was dating, I was always gone before it got to the point of having to have any difficult conversations," he said. So he used lockdown to commit to being a better friend, son, brother. He pushed himself to confront things he hadn't brought up, had many long, honest chats. And like most people who found themselves suddenly very, very inside, he thought a lot about the idea of home—about belonging, peace, sanctuary. "I realized that that home feeling isn't something that you get from a house; it's more of an internal thing. You realize that when you stop for a minute," he said.

A few months later when he started recording in L.A., and later in Oxfordshire and London, he thought about what he was doing not as the creation of a new record but as an extension of that time kicking back with friends (he has a close-knit circle and was living with some of the same people he writes and plays with). "I've always made my worst, most generic work when I'm just desperate to get a single," he explained. So he tried to see what he was doing as open, speculative. That is, he has realized, his great skill as a musician; he's not naturally gifted at guitar or piano, not the most confident singer, can't read music, but he excels when it comes to bringing people together. He is at his best, he said, when he pulls away from what is formal or expected and does something playful, collaborative, instinctive, fun. While Fine Line is full of references to Styles' musical heroes (Joni Mitchell, David Bowie, Van Morrison), this time, when he started recording, he deliberately didn't listen to anything—except classical, music that cleansed him of sonic references—so he could start again with "a blank canvas."

He knew he had to commit to the reset, to the sense of a fresh start that was happening across his life. He is aware that this all sounds a bit pretentious, a bit airy-fairy, but then, who didn't get caught up in a rush of pandemic life-improvement epiphanies?

"I think everyone went through a big moment of self-reflection, a lot of navel-gazing, and I don't know if there's anything more navel-gazing than making an album. It's so self-absorbed," he said.

Two years on, Styles and I are meeting because that album, titled Harry's House, is about to be announced to the world. The day before we meet, I listened to the album in a room at Sony's London headquarters under the watchful eye of a company executive. Only a handful of people knew then about its existence, and, overwhelmed by the pressure of secrecy, I briefly freaked out when I found myself audibly humming one of the songs on the train home. Harry's House is, as you can probably guess, about home. Not just home in the sense of a physical space—though there are plenty of references to kitchens and "sitting in the garden" and "maple syrup, coffee, pancakes for two"—but also to home "in terms of a headspace or mental well-being," as Styles put it. "It sounds like the biggest, and the most fun, but it's by far the most intimate," he said of the album.

At this point, Styles and I were sitting with a coffee on a patch of grass outside the pool, and I had begun to realize that I had kept him in the cold water way, way too long. He was visibly shaking. "Two lengths was too much," he agreed. I think we were both trying to show off—me, nonchalance to a popular heartthrob, and him, hardiness to another committed cold water swimmer. I became worried I had incapacitated him, something that would get me into great trouble, as a member of his team reminded me by text later, as he was due to perform at Coachella in a few weeks.

"If you killed me, it would make for a good story," Styles said, eager to see the sunny side. We set off in search of heat.

Almost anyone who meets Styles will tell you how polite, breezy he is. Few interviews go by without mentioning his charm. Indeed, it is hard not to describe his boyish enthusiasm in the same campy, knowing cheesiness that enlivens his songs ("strawberries on a summer evenin'" or the exquisitely saccharine, "If I was a bluebird, I would fly to you; you be the spoon, dip you in honey so I can be sticking to you," from "Daylight" on Harry's House). Styles is teddy bears on your teenage bed, perfect handwriting on thank you cards, picked flowers on Sunday morning, puppies running on fresh-cut grass, Grandma's favorite homemade cake. At points, he is almost daffily nice, too attentive, as if held in the throes of a decade-long bout of imposter syndrome (he confirmed that he does, sometimes, expect that someone will tap him on the shoulder and say, "The jig is up. You're done now"). Surely a mask, you are thinking. No one that fancied can be that sweet.

I asked Styles this myself: Is he actually pleasant, normal, sane? "My producer keeps asking me when I'm going to have my big breakdown," he said, laughing. "The most honest version I can think of is, I didn't grow up in poverty by any means, but we didn't have much money, and I had an expectation of what I could achieve in life. I feel like everything else has been a bonus, and I am so lucky."

That said, both Styles and his therapist have questioned why he cares quite so much about being likable. This is one of the things he thought about a lot in his big pandemic reflection. In part, it's a choice, he explained. He recalled moving to London after The X Factor and hearing tales of petulant celebrities screaming because someone got their coffee order wrong and deciding to never be that guy, to never give someone a petty reason to bad-mouth him. But more recently he's come to worry that the drive for approval came from a more complex place, a place of caution, fear, control. "In lockdown, I started processing a lot of stuff that happened when I was in the band," he said. He thought about the way he was encouraged to give so much of himself away, "to get people to engage with you, to like you." He thought about the fact that no baby photos exist of him that aren't on the internet (you give a bunch to an X Factor producer doing a piece on your backstory without much thought, and suddenly your childhood is online). He thought about the journalists asking questions, when he was still a teenager, about how many people he'd slept with and how, rather than telling them to go away, he would worry about how he could be coy without them leaving the room annoyed. "Why do I feel like I'm the one who has done something wrong?" he said to me, after we got up to shift spots in the park when a teenager started filming us for a prank video.

Styles said he often spent interviews terrified about saying the wrong thing until he stopped to question what abhorrent belief or bizarre opinion he was scared he'd accidentally reveal and realized he couldn't think of anything. He thought about how, when good things happened—say, a No. 1 album—he wouldn't feel happy, just relieved. And he thought about the cleanliness clauses in the contracts he used to sign, which would dictate that they would be null and void if he did anything supposedly unsavory, and about how terrified that used to make him. And about when he signed his solo contract and learned that the ability to make music would not be affected by personal transgressions, he burst into tears, a reaction he still seemed shocked by, retelling it to me now, years later. "I felt free," he explained.

Recently Styles began to work through issues related to intimacy, dating, love. "For a long time, it felt like the only thing that was mine was my sex life. I felt so ashamed about it, ashamed at the idea of people even knowing that I was having sex, let alone who with," he said.

The life of a boy band member is something of a Ken Doll existence—a smooth nothingness where sex should be. One must be flirtatious (swoon!) without ever being seen to have sex, let alone casual sex. One must project the intrigue of a bad boy without ever doing anything bad; you are an object, an image, onto which people project fantasies, not a person who actually does things, who gets messy. "At the time, there were still the kiss-and-tell things. Working out who I could trust was stressful," Styles said. "But I think I got to a place where I was like, why do I feel ashamed? I'm a 26-year-old man who's single; it's like, yes, I have sex."

Styles has come to fame at a complex time for the idolized. When he emerged, the UK was at the height of its tabloid culture, when celebrities were being hounded, exposed. That gave way to social media, where everyone expected to see everything, where anyone could publish snapshots, footage, gossip. "I think we're in a moment of reflection," Styles said. "You look back, especially now there's all the documentaries, like the Britney documentary, and you watch how people were abused in that way, by that system, especially women. You recall articles from not even five years ago, and you're like, I can't even believe that was written." He has been thinking a lot recently about autonomy, ownership, privacy. About what he should be able to keep to himself, what he should be able to simply communicate through his music without follow-up questions or prying. Around the time of Fine Line, he faced scrutiny around his sexuality. People became incredulous that he wore dresses, waved Pride flags, and yet hadn't clarified with precision, publicly to a journalist or on social media, the specifics of who he'd slept with, how he defined. This expectation is, to him, bizarre, "outdated." "I've been really open with it with my friends, but that's my personal experience; it's mine," he said. "The whole point of where we should be heading, which is toward accepting everybody and being more open, is that it doesn't matter, and it's about not having to label everything, not having to clarify what boxes you're checking."

But Styles does not want to appear ungrateful or defensive, or even angry. All of this contemplation, this honesty, is not to say that he didn't love it, hasn't loved it all—because he has, he reminded me several times, "absolutely loved it." Despite the acceptance that some things could, should, have been different, he still feels lucky every day, he said, lucky to make music, lucky to do what he loves.

By now, we were snug in a local café; all the other attendees appeared to be in their late seventies, and no one gave us a second glance. In about an hour from now, just after we've parted, Styles' album's existence will be announced to the world on Twitter. The cover, on which he stands alone in an upside-down room, will go on within mere hours to receive over a million likes. The first single on the album, "As It Was," begins with a clip of a voice note from one of his goddaughters asking him to say good night to her. It is, he said, about "metamorphosis." About when you look back on life, and on your past selves, and barely recognize them. About when you realize everything has transformed, irrevocably. About when you grow up, change, begin to move on.

"Finally, it doesn't feel like my life is over if this album isn't a commercial success," he said. "You've never felt that way before?" I asked. He said, "Honestly, I don't think I have." With his first album, he explained, he was terrified to make fun music, "because I'd come out of the band, and it was like, if I want to be taken seriously as a musician, then I can't make fun music." He called it "bowling with the bumpers up, playing it safe." While the second album was "freer," he became concerned with making "really big songs," an objective he now questions. Now his goals are, on the surface, smaller but, to him, far greater: "I just want to make stuff that is right, that is fun, in terms of the process, that I can be proud of for a long time, that my friends can be proud of, that my family can be proud of, that my kids will be proud of one day," he said. We hugged goodbye, and he set off through North London on foot—a sex symbol, a fashion darling, a very modern rock star, weaving his way back home.

Rollling Stone article excerpts - ‘Suddenly, the Screaming Stopped’: Harry Styles on Shedding the Weight of the Past and Finding Home

When Harry Styles first began his post-One Direction solo career, he lived in fear of the other shoe dropping. In a new interview with Better Homes and Garden, he discussed the cleanliness clauses baked into his early contracts, parameters of perception he had to operate within that threatened to directly impact his budding career if he slipped up.

He says that when he signed his first contract after going solo, and those clauses disappeared, he burst into tears of relief: “I felt free,” he said.

But even during the making of his 2017 self-titled debut album, the singer felt pressure to make music that would be taken seriously after years of One Direction being seen as a manufactured boy band and nothing more. Then there was the added interrogation of his personal life as a teenager and young adult that saddled him with a shameful feeling of needing to hide his sex life — the one thing he felt was his own.

“For a long time, it felt like the only thing that was mine was my sex life,” Styles said. “I felt so ashamed about it, ashamed at the idea of people even knowing that I was having sex, let alone who with. But I think I got to a place where I was like, why do I feel ashamed? I’m a 26-year-old man who’s single; it’s like, yes, I have sex.”

#cleanliness clause #closeting #stunts #harry coming out #media #4.26.22 #2022 #freedom #queer harry styles #queer coding #hs3 #Harry's house #holivia stunt #rolling stone #better homes and gardens #fuck simon cowell #fuck the system

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lettheladylead · 2 years

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running in circles

chapter thirty-six: i can’t stand the sound of another heartbeat in the room summary: Goldie meets Donald and Della Duck. warnings: references to sex, nothing explicit wordcount: 5694 playlist (will be updated as chapters are posted): shorturl.at/bfBCQ ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33776632/chapters/97715214 site link: https://sites.google.com/view/running-in-circles/chapters/chapter36

here’s chapter thirty-six!! text will also be included in this post for those of you that don’t use ao3:

1995; Duckburg -> Egypt:

At eleven years old, Donald Duck thought he knew everything about his uncle.

So far he and his sister had spent two full summers staying in the old (very very very old) man’s lavish mansion, going on crazy adventures and finding treasure and fighting bad guys and definitely having a unique summer vacation compared to his friends at school.

Over those summers (and the occasional winter break…and spring break…and occasional weekend), Donald and Della had grown more and more curious about their uncle. Their mom had told them the basic necessary information - he’s her older brother, he’s the richest duck in the world, he founded and owns the city of Duckburg - but not much more than that. So whenever he went to work and left them alone, they’d dig around his files and his photo albums and his whatever-they-could-find to learn more about him.

In July of 1993, they found his autobiography. It was long and boring, and they skipped most of it because they didn’t really care about anything that happened a million years ago. Uncle Scrooge didn’t seem bothered that they’d read it, he just said he hoped it would inspire them to greatness of their own. Donald did not feel inspired. He just felt bad for his uncle - the man didn’t write about any relationships outside of business or family. How sad was that?

In August of 1994, they found a bunch of women’s clothes in one of his dresser drawers. Naturally they wanted to ask him about it, but Duckworth told them to leave it alone. Fine. There were probably a lot of explanations for that and Donald thought some of them would make Uncle Scrooge seem a little cooler. But he’d just have to let it go.

That was, of course, until March of 1995. Donald and Della finally learned that their uncle did have at least one relationship outside of family and work. They also learned, presumably, the source of the women’s clothing. Though that was super gross to think about.

That was the day they met Glittering Goldie O’Gilt, Uncle’s Scrooge’s rival and…ex-girlfriend?

—

Goldie never had an opportunity to confront Scrooge about his little book. She’d thought about it for days and days after binge reading it, let her anger and confusion stew and fester, but then…nothing. The next time she ran into him after that day was more than two months later, and he surprised her with a nice dinner at home.

She never figured out what the occasion was, but it was nice and romantic and she didn’t feel like being mad at him anymore.

And after that, things were…normal. Well, normal for them.

Every once in a while they’d talk on the phone, occasionally they’d go on an adventure together or she’d crash some event he was at to get on his nerves. It was fun, actually. There were some rough situations, but for the most part it was really good.

Then, suddenly, around 1993, Scrooge stopped answering the phone. He stopped acknowledging her threats. He stopped going to business events that were easy for her to crash. He just stopped.

And it was frustrating. Goldie didn’t think he’d found someone new - he wasn’t with any new women in paparazzi photos - but she also didn’t think his company was doing something so crazy that he needed to be busy 24/7. She’d thought they were in a good place for a little while there, so she was left wondering what happened. Did she do something wrong? She always did things wrong. That shouldn’t have been news to him.

But they’d had several-years-long breaks before, so Goldie decided to give him a bit of time. She had things to keep her busy, too. Like…more treasure hunting. And traveling. So much traveling. She still visited her many Blackjacks, even if she wasn’t in charge of them anymore. And they’d just opened up a new one! In Reykjavik, Iceland. She wasn’t involved in that decision so Goldie was curious to see how it would play out.

1995 was different, though. She didn’t really have anywhere to be or any people to talk to and she missed him and he still hadn’t reached out to her at all. Not even for her birthday. And he definitely knew her birthday after her little tantrum back in ‘68, so he had no excuse! So a week after her birthday, Goldie finally decided she was heading to Duckburg again. She wanted to see him and nothing was going to get in the way of that.

—

She reached Scrooge’s bedroom window with the same ease as always. He had his anti-magic traps set up for De Spell, but nothing that Goldie couldn’t slip around. Using one of her grappling hooks to climb up the side of his mansion came so easily to her it was like breathing, and with a quick flick of the window latch - Goldie was inside.

Of course, Scrooge was not. Well, what did she expect at three in the afternoon on a Wednesday? Scrooge was probably at work. But she could say hi to Duckworth and play around in the Other Bin until he came home.

She thought about going to visit him at work, but he’d be home soon enough. She could take her time and get comfortable.

Goldie exited the bedroom quietly and took two steps into the hallway when she heard something strange and unfamiliar.

“COME ON, DUMBELLA! GIVE IT BACK!”

She blinked twice and walked to the railing so she could look down at the first floor of the house. She was greeted with the sight of two young ducklings running around - first a girl, holding a guitar above her head, and then a boy, chasing her angrily.

What the hell?

One thing she never expected to find in Scrooge’s home was…children. Were they his? Was that why he’d disappeared for the past few years?

(She stared at them while they ran around and realized she didn’t know anything about duckling ages. They didn’t look two. Maybe ten?)

If they were ten, then they probably weren’t his. Or, well, maybe he didn’t know about them until recently. With all his dating around, he could’ve gotten some young thing pregnant and not known about it until she finally came to collect some checks.

And then he…adopted them? Let them into his home? None of that sounded right. Why would she assume these kids were Scrooge’s? Just because they looked a bit like him?

They certainly didn’t look like Bentina. Wasn’t she a bit old to be a mother, anyway?

Goldie wasn’t sure what to think. Her thoughts were reeling. She was being absolutely ridiculous. She didn’t have any idea how to react to the rugrats.

“Hello, Miss O’Gilt.”

She turned her head towards the familiar voice and frowned at the expression on Duckworth’s face. How long had he been watching her? He could probably sense her confusion about the kids and she’d bet good money that he wouldn’t tell her a goddamn thing.

“Duckworth.”

“Would you like me to let Mr. McDuck know you’re here?”

Goldie glared at him, feeling a bit judged. “Isn’t he at work?”

“Not today. The children are on Spring Break, so he wanted to be home to spend time with them,” he said casually as he walked away.

She knew he’d said that just to get under her skin. Goldie knew so much about Scrooge that not knowing something, especially something so significant, bothered her a lot. And Duckworth absolutely knew that about her and he probably thought it was hilarious. He was probably whatever-the-butler-version-of-laughing-is all the way down the stairs.

Goldie eventually started to follow him and ended up at the top of the main stairs in Scrooge’s foyer. She looked down at the first floor and watched two pairs of eyes turn to look right back at her.

“Who’re you?!”

“Did Uncle Scrooge hire a nanny?!”

She sighed and settled into a deep-set frown. Children.

“No, Dumbella, she’s probably some kind of cursed villain!”

“You don’t know that! What if she’s a villainous curse?!”

“I am neither of those things,” Goldie said finally, though she was struggling to understand what the young boy was saying. Still, her response worked surprisingly well as she watched the two kids go quiet and stare at her suspiciously.

The kids looked at each other for a moment, nodded, then looked back up at her. The little girl was the one who decided to speak next. “So then…who are you and how’d you get in the house?”

Goldie opened her mouth to speak when she was interrupted.

“Goldie O’Gilt!”

The three of them turned their heads to look at Scrooge who’d just walked in through the doorway to the living room. He was glaring up at her, though there was a fondness in his expression that only Goldie could understand.

“Hey there, Scroogey.”

“Scroogey?”

Duckworth stood behind Scrooge for a few moments, then turned around and went back to work. He usually seemed entertained by their chaotic little relationship, but Goldie supposed he couldn’t stick around for every fight.

“Duckworth said I had a visitor ‘n then I heard the kids yellin’ about villains...I almost thought Magica was back.”

Goldie took a few steps down the stairs. “Has she been visiting a lot lately?”

Scrooge rolled his eyes and leaned on his cane. “Even once is a lot when it comes to her.”

The two kids looked frustrated as they watched the casual conversation, clearly hoping for more context instead of listening to idle chatter.

Goldie finished coming down the stairs and got closer to Scrooge, putting one hand on her hip. “So what’s with the rugrats, sourdough?” she asked, the tiniest bit of jealous anger in her voice. She hoped he didn’t notice.

He glanced down at the two of them and then back up at Goldie. “This is Donald and Della,” he said, walking behind them for emphasis. “My kids.”

Unable to stop herself, Goldie frowned deeply and couldn’t contain her expression of anger and confusion and embarrassment. That was, until Donald and Della looked up at Scrooge and responded to him with a combination of laughter and disgusted sounds.

“You’re not our dad!” Della said, nudging her elbow into Scrooge’s side.

“Yeah! Our dad’s in Jamaica!” Donald agreed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Don’t be weird, Uncle Scrooge!”

Uncle.

Goldie slowly closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to fight the urge to punch Scrooge in the face. He absolutely knew she was jealous and wanted to see how she’d react to that sort of news and she played right into his hands like some kind of sucker. He was the one who was supposed to play into her hands! She needed to start conning people again or she’d completely lose her touch.

“You’re hilarious,” she said pointedly.

Scrooge chuckled and patted both of the kid’s heads. “They’re Hortense’s twins. I told ye about her tryin’ to get pregnant, right?”

“Hmmm…” Goldie tried to think back to the last time they talked about either of his sisters. “...maybe? Good for her, I guess.”

As the billionaire was about to respond again, Della suddenly climbed up on his back and picked up his top hat, placing her head on top of Scrooge’s and the hat on top of her head. “OKAY BUT LIKE WHO ARE YOU AND WHY ARE YOU HERE?”

Scrooge reached up and grabbed Della, placing her back down on the floor. “This is my…um, this is Goldie.”

Goldie raised a curious eyebrow at his little slip-up. What exactly was he thinking of saying just then?

“Yeah you said that already. But who is Goldie?” Della asked impatiently.

“You’ve never mentioned me?” Goldie asked faux-sadly (though she was a little sad about it, if she was being honest).

He side-eyed her and glanced down at the kids. “Goldie is…an old friend.”

“Old ‘cause her hair is gray or old like you’ve known her forever?”

“C’mon, Della, obviously it’s both!”

Goldie had to stop her eyes from rolling into the back of her head. This was exactly the commentary she expected when she decided to let her hair go gray. Well, she preferred to think of it as silver. But most people saw them as the same.

Scrooge looked up at her and smiled that stupid handsome smile that made her want to kiss him. “Ye look nice in silver, dear.”

Donald and Della looked at each other suddenly, realizing something simultaneously.

“Wait a sec…oh, no!”

“I think she’s Uncle Scrooge’s…”

“...girlfriend!” they shouted together.

Scrooge turned positively red and put an agitated hand to his temple as the two kids started gagging and rolling around saying things about ‘gross old people romance’ and whatnot. He sighed deeply and Goldie watched knowingly as his temper flared. Oh, those kids were about to have a bad time.

“DUCKWORTH!”

The butler appeared next to Goldie in an instant and she was embarrassed that he managed to startle her.

“Yes, Mr. McDuck?”

“Take them to their room,” he said grumpily, ignoring their apologies as Duckworth dragged them upstairs.

Goldie simply watched, not really sure how to react to everything. She was a bit agitated. Not just because the kids called her old and gross, but…seeing Scrooge with kids was weird for her. For a lot of reasons. Even though they weren’t his kids, they were still spending time with him. He had apparently taken off work to hang out with them? What was up with that?

“They’re so much like Hortense.”

She shrugged. “So, what, you’re babysitting?”

“Ah, well…” Scrooge awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. “At first Hortense just dropped them off here once in a while. Then it turned into every other weekend. And now…they stay here over school breaks.”

Goldie stared at him. “That’s…a lot.”

“Aye.”

“And you’re enjoying it?”

“Ye know, Goldie,” Scrooge said dreamily, looking up the stairs. “Even though they’re a handful and often a nuisance, they’re also…they make me feel young again. I never expected myself to enjoy spendin’ time with bairns, but here I am.”

She crossed her arms loosely - it looked more like she was hugging herself than being stern. Goldie was surprised. And annoyed. She didn’t want to talk about kids, especially not with Scrooge. It was a weird sore subject for her and he didn’t know and he wouldn’t get it. “So I wanted to ask if you know about Antony and Cleobatra.”

“Oh.” Scrooge turned to her, realizing the conversation about children was over. He didn’t mind - he was pretty sure that Goldie didn’t like kids since she never showed any interest in them. “I have.”

“I thought we could go look for their tomb,” she said casually, picking at some fibers on her shirt. “But I guess you can’t, since you’ve got kids now.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t be daft, O’Gilt! Duckworth can watch the two of ‘em while you and I hunt down the Lost Tomb of Cleobatra!”

Goldie smiled at him, excited and trying not to be too obvious about it. “Sounds perfect.”

—

“Do you know Goldie?” Della asked Duckworth, wiggling around. “Is she our aunt?!”

Duckworth huffed - making a noise that some people might’ve even called a laugh. “Not quite.”

“So you do know her, then,” Donald pointed out. “Why’s she here? What’s she like?”

The butler placed the two kids on the floor and glanced back down the hallway, listening to see if Scrooge and Goldie were still downstairs. After confirming, he leaned over towards the kids. “Miss O’Gilt and your uncle have been seeing each other for a long, long time. Longer than I’ve been alive.”

“Wait, what?” Donald said.

Della stuck out her tongue. “So then…they’re, like, married, right?”

Duckworth didn’t want to get into the gritty details, so he shrugged. “She’s not your aunt. Their relationship is…complicated. Mr. McDuck doesn’t like to talk about it so much.”

“That’s dumb. If they’ve been dating forever, then they’re gonna get married eventually!” Della said, jumping onto her bed. “We should get to know our future aunt!”

Donald leaned against his bed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t get it. Why wouldn’t he want to talk about her? She’s…pretty, I guess. For an old lady, anyway.”

“As I said before, it’s complicated.” Duckworth stepped outside and grabbed their doorknob. “I’m sure you’ll learn more when you’re older, but for now…stay in your room.” He shut the door behind him and left.

The twins looked at each other knowingly.

“There must be something weird about her.”

“Maybe she’s an alien in disguise!” Donald said.

“Or a succubus!”

“What’s a succubus?”

“Some kind of soul-sucking demon lady. There was one on last week’s episode of Darkwing Duck!”

“That show’s so dumb.”

“You’re dumb!”

“No, you!”

They glared at each other for a minute before their anger fizzled and transformed into more confusion.

“Uncle Scrooge definitely knows about whatever’s wrong with her, so she’s probably not a soul-sucking demon.”

“I guess. Maybe she’s like…a vampire, but retired?”

“A retired vampire? Where would she get her blood?”

Della gasped. “What if Uncle Scrooge provides her with blood bags from the hospital!?”

“I don’t know…I can imagine him selling them to her, but giving them away?”

“But he’s in love with her or whatever, so that’s probably messing with his head!”

Donald thought about that for a few seconds, rubbing the bottom of his beak in thought. “You make a good point.”

“I know!”

“I think we both know what we have to do to figure this out,” Donald said, walking towards the door.

Della followed him, fists clenched in front of her and feeling pumped and excited. “We’re totally following them, right?”

“We have to!”

“YES!” Della let out a quiet whoop as Donald opened the door and they listened carefully to find out where the old couple was going next.

—

“So what made you want to go after the tomb? Just lookin’ for a reason to ride in my new plane?” Scrooge asked, sitting comfortably in the back. It was large and impressive and his current pilot was a careful, straight-forward man who had decades of piloting experience and served in the United States Air Force during World War II. A little part of him wanted Goldie to be impressed and comforted by all of that.

Goldie rolled her eyes. “I came across a map during a little excavation and realized it had to do with Cleobatra,” she answered. “And I thought you might be able to help me out.”

Scrooge watched as she scooted closer to him on the bench, his fingers twitching. He wanted to put his arm around her. “I suppose you werenae wrong.”

“I rarely am,” she said with a smirk, leaning closer to his face. “It’s been a while since we spent any time together, you know.”

“I know,” he said quietly, leaning towards her to match. “I’ve been…busy.”

“Mhmm,” Goldie hummed, allowing the tip of her beak to brush against his. “Too busy to reach out?”

Scrooge lifted up a hand and placed it against her cheek. “You didnae reach out, either,” he whispered.

Their conversation ended abruptly with their beaks smushing together in an extended, passionate kiss. Scrooge kept his hands on her face, while one of Goldie’s hands found itself resting on his thigh. Two years wasn’t such a long time, but it felt like forever.

They continued to make out for a bit, but when Goldie adjusted her position to straddle Scrooge’s lap, they were interrupted by a loud screech.

Scrooge stood up suddenly and knocked Goldie onto the floor, barely registering the loud THUD! of her ass smacking into the metal. The both of them were too distracted by the source of the screech to pay much attention.

Della and Donald were staring at them - their heads poking out of a box that they’d clearly been hiding in. And the two of them looked absolutely horrified and disgusted by what they’d just witnessed. In fact, Scrooge had never seen a more scandalized expression on a duckling’s face in his entire life.

“Oh, my God, were you two gonna…like…have…?!”

“Ew, but you’re so old!”

“That’s so gross!”

“And why would you do it on a plane?! What is wrong with you?!”

Scrooge, face red and hands shaking the slightest bit, glared at the kids angrily. “What’re you two doin’ here?” He glanced down and caught Goldie’s expression - she was very, very unhappy - but decided to focus on the rapscallions that snuck onto his plane (not for the first time, and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last).

“We just wanted to join in on the adventure…but not if it’s gonna be all gross like that!”

Donald was making gagging noises behind his sister while she spoke.

Scrooge didn’t find them very funny. “Argh, ye wee numpties! I didnae bring your passports!”

“We brought them.”

He blinked, not expecting that. “Oh. Um…well, I didnae bring enough supplies!”

Donald pulled two backpacks out from the box. “We brought our own.”

The trillionaire grimaced, trying to figure out his next excuse. “Well, I-...I didnae-”

“Scrooge,” Goldie interrupted, having finally picked herself up off the floor. “Just get over it. They’re here, we’re already halfway to Egypt. No point in turning around.”

“Oh yeah, I like her! She’s smart!” Della shouted.

Scrooge rolled his eyes. “They’re good on adventures, I swear, but I…I did miss spendin’ time with ye one-on-one,” he said quietly.

“It’s fine.” Goldie shrugged, having accepted defeat. “So we hunt for treasure without having sex. Not like we’ve never done that before.”

“Do we really need to be hearing this conversation?”

“I’m gonna tell mom you’re trying to traumatize us!”

Scrooge waved a dismissive hand at the twins. “We could leave them on the plane, if ye’d like.”

“Oh, please, sourdough.” Goldie motioned towards the kids with one hand. “They’ll just follow us recklessly and end up in serious trouble, then we’ll have to save them and we’ll never get our hands on the treasure. Easier to just bring them with so we know where they are.”

“That’s…sensible,” Scrooge said with genuine shock in his voice. “I’m just surprised you’re willin’ to spend so much time with…children.”

Della and Donald ran over to the adults and leaned against Goldie on either side of her legs. “She’s got the right idea, Uncle Scrooge!”

Goldie frowned and stared down at the little matted feathers on either side of her. “Don’t make it weird, Scrooge. It’s not like I haven’t spent time with children before.”

Scrooge didn’t respond to that, instead he watched as Donald and Della turned around and started to ask Goldie questions about herself and her life and where she came from. Goldie deflected their questions with nonsense, but Scrooge couldn’t stop the warmth spread throughout his chest at the sight of Goldie chatting casually with his family.

Seeing her with kids - kids of McDuck blood? It made his heart race. He’d wanted that so many times before. Though she obviously had no interest in bairns of her own…he could still fantasize if he wanted to.

—

Goldie was annoyed. Of course she was annoyed! She’d wanted to spend time with Scrooge and not think about kids or see him with kids or be bothered by kids or be called old and ugly and gross by kids. Her anger was perfectly reasonable.

But for whatever reason, she felt bad about being mad. She felt like she shouldn’t be mad, because Scrooge was spending time with his family and what did that have to do with her? She didn’t have any right to tell him he couldn’t. But she didn’t want to hang out with his family more than she already had. His sisters were one thing, they got along just fine in the few times they’d interacted. His sisters were old enough to understand that Goldie wasn’t marrying him or sticking around or anything like that and she didn’t have to explain herself to them.

Kids, however? Kids didn’t understand those kinds of things. Nor should they. But Goldie didn’t want to have to sit them down and explain that she liked their uncle very much but didn’t feel comfortable completely letting down her guard with him and so she always kept him at an emotional arms’ length. They’d probably respond with stupid shit like “but don’t you love each other?” or “why can’t you just talk about your feelings?”

So, yeah. She wasn’t all that surprised when the twins popped up out of nowhere on the plane, ready to get in the way and probably make this adventure ten times longer than it would’ve been otherwise. They had McDuck blood running through their veins, obviously they’d have big personalities and love to be involved in everything.

She decided to be nice to them. Well. Some version of nice. Well…alright, she wouldn’t be mean to them. Hopefully they wouldn’t get attached to her nor hate her. Ideally, they’d see her as a completely neutral entity that appeared every once in a while to annoy their uncle. Then there wouldn’t be any drama when she inevitably left them behind and took the treasure with her.

She could feel Scrooge’s eyes on her as she talked to his niece and nephew, and Goldie wanted to smack him. He was definitely enjoying her awkward misery. He probably thought it was hilarious to watch her embarrass herself in front of children.

“So…your uncle says you two have experience with this sort of thing?” Goldie asked suddenly, interrupting Della’s question about something to do with Ireland.

“Oh, yeah!” the young girl said excitedly. “I landed a plane when I was ten!”

“What.”

“And I’m a great lookout,” Donald said proudly. “I prefer music to adventuring, but…sometimes it can be fun. I like figuring out the puzzles!”

“...right.” Goldie looked up at Scrooge, who gave her a guilty smile. “I’m sure you all make a great little team.”

–-

Goldie did her best to avoid alone time with either of the twins while they traveled through Ibexandria. The girl was so talkative and the boy kept trying to grab onto her whenever he saw a scary bug. It was…obnoxious.

Scrooge didn’t seem to care. Or maybe he was just so used to their antics that he didn’t notice. Goldie was surprised by how comfortable he seemed around them. Scrooge around kids. She’d never thought it possible that he’d willingly spend time with them and even relish the opportunity. He seemed…softer.

Was that going to be a problem for them? She didn’t want it to be.

But it certainly made her feel out of place.

The Scrooge who she fell for (and who fell for her) was rough and hard-hearted and dangerous. And those traits would always be a part of him, deep down - far enough that his public image made him seem friendly, but close enough that she could bring it out of him when she pushed the right buttons.

It was harder to push those buttons with children around. She wasn’t interested in traumatizing anyone for life. But what would that mean for her and Scrooge?

Goldie watched uncomfortably as the twins danced around and pointed out every item on the street that they wanted to own, making Scrooge laugh. He was laughing at the idea of buying them unnecessary trinkets.

He was changing, thanks to his family. And she didn’t know if she could keep up.

–-

“So are you and Uncle Scrooge gonna get married?” Donald asked, rubbing the bruise on his arm.

Goldie sighed and continued to move rocks around, trying to get them back to where Scrooge and Della were. This kid was very difficult to understand. She wondered if his parents thought about getting him a speech therapist. “No.”

Donald watched her work, deciding if he should try to help. But his arm got hurt when the rocks fell, so she couldn’t be mad if he sat this one out. “Why not?”

“Because we just aren’t.” Goldie supposed this could’ve happened even if the kids weren’t there. She kind of wanted to blame them for the cave-in, though. With all their loud talking.

(She and Scrooge never talked loudly or yelled enough to cause a cave-in. Noooo. Of course not. Never.)

“Don’t you like him?”

Goldie paused for a brief moment in her work - caught off guard by the simplicity of the kid’s question. Did she like Scrooge? She loved him. She liked certain things he did and said. She liked being with him. But sometimes she hated him and sometimes she hated everything he did and said. So did that all culminate into liking him?

“It’s complicated.”

Donald groaned and tried to sit down on a rock, only to screech when he realized the rock was sharper than it looked. He rubbed his butt and frowned. “Why do adults always say that?”

She was finally getting somewhere with the rock-moving, thanks to what sounded like Scrooge and his niece moving rocks on the other side. Of course, Scrooge got the helpful one. “Adults just like to be annoying.”

“You can say that again.”

—

“I think this is getting to be too much for ten-year-olds,” Goldie said cautiously. “Maybe we should have them stand guard.”

“How exactly is that safer?” Scrooge said with a twist of his hand. “They’re just bairns!”

“We’re eleven, actually!” Della shouted from across the room.

Goldie ignored her and motioned to the path in front of her, which was filled with obvious booby traps and at least one pit of spikes. “How is that not safer? And it’d be safer for us to not have to watch out for them!”

Scrooge scoffed. “We dinnae have to watch them, they’re very capable!”

“You’re kidding. You can’t put kids in danger like this, it’s irresponsible!”

Goldie watched the switch flick - Scrooge’s temperament changed and she realized immediately that she’d hit a nerve.

“What would you know, O’Gilt?!” Scrooge said suddenly, poking a finger into her chest. “You arenae a part of this family! Ye cannae just appear out of nowhere and tell me how to take care of my own kin!”

She whapped his hand away from her and scowled. “Don’t talk to me like that again.”

“Bah!” He rolled his eyes and turned away. “Donald, Della? C’mon! We’re almost to the treasure!”

The twins cheered, clearly having not paid attention to the uncomfortable conversation their uncle just had. Della charged forward, ready to throw herself headfirst into danger, but Donald stayed back a bit and walked next to Goldie.

She was glaring at the back of Scrooge’s head, and Donald glanced up at her shyly. He could feel a lot of tension in the air. He started to get the feeling that this adventure wasn’t going to end the way they all wanted it to.

—

“Goldie!” Scrooge screamed out, hurt and anger and frustration etched all over his face. “Where did she-?!”

“I think she’s gone, Uncle Scrooge,” Della said curiously, looking all around them. “And…so’s the treasure.”

Scrooge sighed deeply, closed his eyes, and moved to the side of the plane so he could sit down on the bench. He didn’t want to have to explain any of what happened to the kids, especially not when it made him sound like such a sucker.

Della watched her uncle and turned to lock eyes with Donald, who’d just stepped up next to her. “I don’t get it,” she said quietly. “She just left with the treasure?”

Donald stared at Scrooge, tilting his head to the side curiously. “Yeah. I guess.”

“So then…she’s a villain! Isn’t she?”

“But she’s still Uncle Scrooge’s girlfriend, right?”

Della shook her head in confusion. “I don’t get it! Is this what Duckworth meant when he said it’s complicated?!” Her whispering got a little loud and she shrunk down when Donald lifted a finger to his beak and shushed her. “I guess we’re not getting a new aunt.”

“Maybe it’s like…” Donald closed his eyes and tried to remember a name. “In Darkwing Duck! He’s dating that witch lady. She’s not evil, right? Just misunderstood.”

“I don’t think Goldie’s like Morgana, Donnie,” Della corrected. “Goldie’s playing with Uncle Scrooge’s heart! It’s mean!”

“I…I don’t know about that.” Donald stuck his hands into his jacket pockets. “Maybe she just didn’t like us.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“I don’t know, Dumbella! I’m just thinking out loud, okay?!”

“Alright, alright, sure!” Della shrugged. “I’m just saying…Uncle Scrooge looks totally depressed. So Goldie’s a bad guy. That’s how it goes.”

Donald shook his head. “It’s not like I think she’s a good guy, I just…some people are in the middle, y’know?”

“I guess.”

“We should try to find out more about her when we get home.”

“Ooh, yes!” Della squeezed her hands tight in excitement. “Maybe in some old photo albums or something!”

“If they’ve been dating for like three hundred years, there’s gotta be something.”

They laughed together, not paying attention to their uncle to see if he was listening in. Della suddenly stopped laughing after a second, and then held up a finger to make Donald listen to her.

“What?”

“I thought you said you didn’t like Darkwing Duck!”

“Wh-! Well, I…I don’t! It’s dumb!”

“But you remembered Morgana? She’s barely in any episodes!”

“I just thought she was cool! Shut up!”

“Hahahaaa, you’re so in denial!”

Della started chasing Donald around, talking about Darkwing Duck and the different villains from the show. Scrooge, meanwhile, wasn’t paying any attention to them. Instead, he was staring out one of the plane windows and feeling sorry for himself. Being humiliated and heartbroken by Goldie was such a normal, regular occurrence…but happening in front of his family made the sting hurt worse than usual.

He wanted her to be a part of his family, but more than that…he wanted her to want to be a part of his family. But he knew that was asking too much. She was always going to be Goldie O’Gilt, after all.

---

REAL HISTORY FACTS: - The Lost Tomb of Antony and Cleopatra is in Alexandria, Egypt. We think. I mean, it's lost, so... - It's 1995 which means I have been born in the duck universe now. Lil baby Carro. This is a real history fact obviously what are you talking about

DUCK FRANCHISE REFERENCES: - Hortense and Quackmore find themselves going on vacations a lot because they're very angry people who get easily stressed out. So they leave Donald and Della with Scrooge. This is my justification to them being alive but Donald and Della have personalized rooms in Scrooge's house lol

#ducktales #scroldie #scrooge mcduck #goldie o'gilt #della duck #donald duck #duckworth #running in circles #fic #fics

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abetterscarletletter · 3 years

Note

Damon didn’t pit them against each other the interviewer literally asked him those questions. Thinking an artist is better than another isn’t pitting them against each other.

The interviewer didn't bring up Billie. Damon is the one who brought her up in order to compare Taylor unfavourably to her. He criticised Taylor for writing songs with other writers, but praised Billie for doing the exact same thing. That is blatantly hypocritical and I frankly find it hard to believe that he's unaware that he's contradicting himself, which is why I believe he said it to get attention. It's especially infuriating because he clearly doesn't know what he's talking about - everybody knows that Taylor writes her own songs. She wrote an entire album by herself when she was 20, for Christ's sake.

Sure, having a preference isn't sexist in and of itself. The problem is that he felt the need to dismiss one woman's artistry and talent in order to praise another woman. It's not enough to just praise Billie; no, he had to attack and tear down Taylor to make Billie look better. It implies that two female artists can't be equally as talented and interesting in their own different ways. It's the same sentiment we saw when people were comparing Nicki and Cardi, trying to decide who is the "Queen of Rap", as if there is only room for one woman at the top. Funny how that is never the case with men, isn't it? Nobody would try to claim that Kanye West is untalented just because they prefer Jay-Z. Nobody feels the need to dismiss John Lennon's talent and artistry just because they like Paul McCartney better.

TLDR: Damon is being a hypocrite, his criticism of Taylor is blatantly untrue, and he's judging and comparing women to each other in a way that is never done to men. I assume you are a sensible and rational person, nonny, so surely I don't need to explain why that ruffled some feathers.

#taylor swift #billie eilish

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kissme-hs · 4 years

Text

Tainted love: 3

Here it is!! I’m so sorry it took me so long to update it but let me know what you think! Hope you enjoy it.

~Ria

Pairing: Fem! Reader x Chris Evans

Warnings: None.

*_*_*_*_*_*

Hatred is far from the feeling you felt. You were disgusted. Utterly disgusted with the man you put your trust and faith and your heart into who did nothing but took it for granted and it all into little crumbs of pain. All this time you blamed yourself for HIS actions that he not only did while being in his complete sense but knowing how wrong it is-continued doing it. The image you had of Chris in your mind now vanished, the man you once thought deserved to be prayed now made your stomach churn because of how shameful he turned out to be.

After sending him the text you thought, oh you thought that he would realize what he lost, that he would feel a little bit at least of regret in the back of his head but you were so wrong. It not only made you feel worthless but made you realize instead how your love meant nothing to him, how all those years you spent in each other’s arm vowing to each other to be in love until the end of time was nothing but a lie to him. Where to you it meant your entire life.

One doesn’t stay with a person for three years not to just fuck and say I love you’s for fun. With the years the feelings grow strong and at some point, you start fantasizing marrying that person, having kids with the person, grow old with the person. But when one decides to go and cheat, putting all the years of love in ignorance and throwing it all in the pit of darkness not only everything changes but the dreams once knitted by the eyes of the one who remained faithful in love, who was the true lover gets struck by the lightening of reality. And once the dreams crashes, it becomes nearly impossible to dream again because the dreamer starts seeing the real world.

Fuck dreams.

Became your to go motto ever since you knocked on his door.

The heavy teal door opened after a few knocks as you held your breath getting yourself ready to face the man who ripped your heart apart. But instead you were met by a pair of green eyes, gorgeous eyes. She stood there in his hoodie and a pair of short showing her perfect toned legs. Her dirty blonde hair and fuller plumps would made any man lose his girl and go crawling to her. She was an absolute piece of art.

“Chris we have someone here for you” She yelled leaning back a bit so the man could hear her. She gave you a side smile as a gesture of kindness. She was aware she was a homewrecker, she knew how much Chris loved you and she also knew being a good friend she should’ve stopped him when things became a routine between them two but she couldn’t say no to him. Chris would make any women go crawling to him too. She was equally shameful for what she has done not as close to how Chris was feeling but still. So when Chris asked her to come over explaining her what happen which she knew would some day she didn’t hesitate coming over comforting him.

“i-im Samantha” she replied stepping aside letting you step inside of your his house. The smell of familiar cologne and candles hit your nostrils making you tear up from the past good memories. Gi ving her a tiniest sad smile and a nod, you stepped inside of the house. Turning your gaze up to the sound of approaching footsteps you saw the man, and oh sweet jesus you thought you’d hate him but how could you when the feeling of love was always greater than hatred. But the pain crept up when you saw Samantha walking to him and rubbing his side comforting him, though she was guilty, she still at some point enjoyed the attention Chris gave her.

Though she might have a portion of kindness in her heart she was known for breaking homes. She was used to getting in pants of men who were committed. It made her feel special; it made her feel like gold that everyone loved chasing. Especially in this case, knowing what a prize Chris’s girlfriend, you were she was over the moon. She loved how Chris was willing to give up a beautiful woman with a proper job and who had her life sorted for someone who was nothing compared to you.

“Y/n” he breathed out ignoring the woman rubbing his arm. His eyes getting wet seeing your face after days. Jeez only if he could kiss you and tell you how much he missed you and loved you.

“I-im sorry, I’m so sorry” He said walking to you as you raised your hand telling him to stop, which he understood nodding his head and taking a step back. He felt the ache in his heart.

“He really is sorry, he told me everything after you texted him so I came running” Samantha uttered rubbing Chris’s back. It did nothing to you but made your blood boil as you closed your eyes and took a deep breath not wanting to say something which could hurt her feelings. Opening your mouth telling her to leave you heard Chris say that instead.

“Can I ask you to leave please?” He asked her taking a deep breath trying not to yell either.

“I-“

“Get out, get off my property” you spat. You and Chris jointly brought this house so you wouldn’t feel a burden on him being the independent woman you were. Feeling like she was shamed in front of two successful people, Samantha gathered her stuff and left within the next coming minute. Though you were a softie, there was no doubt you has a powerful side too.

“I’m sorry baby, I am so sorry. Please give me a second chance.”

“Why Chris? Why did you cheat on me? Was my love was not enough for you to sleeping with her. Tell me Chris did you not feel a little bit of shame fucking on OUR bed? Tell me why did you have to go and do that making me look like a fool? Why did you waste my time? WHY DID YOU FAKED THE LOVE if you wanted to cheat?” You finally let it out. You were crying at this not giving a fuck. He deserved to see how broken he left you. You were not going to act like everything was fine, like you didn’t care when you felt dead inside.

“No. No baby. Never for once I ever faked my love for you.” He cried cupping your cheeks-you finally let him touch you because you wanted to feel his warmth on your cold skin. His own eyes crying as you sobbed yourself.

“I-I don’t know why I did that. I don’t know why I decided to chase a rock when I had the most precious diamond. She is nothing compared to you. Nothing. I love you so much” He whispered resting his forehead against yours. You knew deep down he meant what he said. You felt the words hitting your body making your knees go week but it was for the best. The separation. So pushing him back slightly you gathered your broken pieces up.

“I just came to tell you that I am moving to California. I will always cherish the good memories you gave me” you gave him a broken smile wiping your tears with the back of your hand.

“No please give me one more chance” Chris pleaded grabbing your hands. His defeated eyes begged yours to give in, to see that he wasn’t lying anymore. That he was truly sorry for what he has done but being the strong headed woman you are, you shook your head and wiped his tears with your hand before cupping his cheek.

“It’s for the best. I still love you, but it’s not the same Chris. Let me let you go”

That was an year ago. An year ago you left the man standing on his porch as you turned your back on his forever, making your way to the new life that waited ahead of you in Los Angeles. The city of angels. The city that gave you a chance to put your words into songs, let your shattered voice sing it in a melody helping you reach out to him without reaching out to him.

And today you stood in front of over 100 amazing successful celebrities who warmly welcomed you in the family of Hollywood and decided to join you for your album launch party. You didn’t hesitate writing down your deepest condolences you had for yourself and singing it out. Every word people heard in the songs came from the bottom of your heart. Came within the true feeling of getting lost and found again.

Getting into the industry wasn’t hard for you. You were already a known person working for Hollywood and it not only being the reason how you met Chris it also gave you an opportunity to let your talent out. All those months you spent working hard to get acceptance by one of the music producers was the time when Chris was fucking Samantha. Only if he stayed the night you begged him to, he would’ve known it all.

Your album was dedicated to Chris. No one knew expect you. No one could know anyways.

Stepping down the mini platform where you expressed you gratitude to the audience you made your way to where the bar was set up to drink in the emotions that were bubbling up your throat from all the love you received to the pain that still ached in every nerve in your body. It was impossible to erase the memory of him fucking Samantha from your head. You were proud to you say you tried. Tried every way of escaping his face haunting your dreams every night. The feelings choking you down. The pain eating you alive. But you couldn’t.

“What you said there was beautiful.” You heard the deep voice of the man who you left standing on the door of Boston an year ago. Turning your body around, mentally preparing yourself for the wave of mixed emotions to hit you like a truck you faced his adorningly beautiful face. His beard looked fuller and his hair fluffier. He looked the same but his eyes looked dead, just like they were when you left.

“Thank you.” You gave him a broken smile.

“Can we talk? Please?” He asked you with eyes full of hope and you nodded letting him guide you out to the balcony that had the perfect view of the city. He deserved some time with you after an year of you completely blocking him out. He deserved to know that the words coming out of your mouth in the song were written about him.

“It about you, you know. The album” You said walking over to the railing looking at the illuminous city.

“I figured, I never knew you were working on something so big.” He stood beside you.

“You would have if you stayed”

“Listen, I’m not going to waste any more time. Im here to beg you back in life, I am sorry for what I have done but please give me a chance. That one year spent without you was my living hell. Everyday I prayed for you to come back but you never did and there’s no question why. I am a horrible man but I promise if you let me prove it that I am so much better than I was I wont let you down. I will love you even more than I ever have” he said with a soft voice guilt dripping with every word he spoke making you turn around to face him. His eyes glistening with tears and his hands holding each other in front of his chest.

Man was literally begging you.

“Hey you are not a horrible man.” You whispered walking to him as you put his hands down and held his one cheek in your hand. He instantly nuzzled his nose feeling your skin after days of being away from you. His knees were giving away and so was his heart.

“We all make mistakes but learning from them and moving on is important. I forgave you the minute I stepped away from our relationship. You’re nothing but still the most precious man I ever had” you said. Your own eyes picking the tears.

“then give me a chance” he spoke kissing your palm staring down In your eyes making your belly turn in knots.

“I cant. I have moved on Chris” You said breaking his heart. He breathed out biting his lower lip as he looked on. He never felt so defeated and helpless. But this is what he deserved for throwing away the best he ever had. For not respecting the beautiful relationship and woman he was meant to guard. He opened his mouth but the lump in his throat got in the way. He could just break down.

“Then let me be your friend. I just want to be in your life. Make up for what I’ve missed. Please don’t say no.” He trembled in fear you would reject him but instead you nod your head and pull him in a hug knowing he would break if you didn’t. Still knowing him like the back of your head you gave in his request hoping you could contain the emotions.

It is said, two who once fell in love can never be friends. Once in love, always in love.

So you stood there holding him, closed your eyes letting the man calm his cries. Falling back in the chakra of tainted love.

Tags

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@evansphnx12

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tae-cup · 4 years

Text

Old Money and Brooklyn Babies

Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader

Summary: “Those summer nights seem long ago. And so is the girl you used to call The queen of New York City. But if you send for me, you know I'll come. And if you call for me, you know I'll run” - Lana Del Rey (Old Money)

Genre: Modern/Realistic Au, Angst, like Fluff if you squint, rich people au??

Warnings: Yandere-ish themes, LANGUAGE, drinking, sexual tension (but no smut!), unhealthy relationships, heavy topics, maybe at the end if you think about it maybe depression?, Pathological liar (s?) are involved, your brain has been warned #trust no one.

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 7.3k Words

A/N: Ahhh this was such a challenge for me to write but I hope you guys enjoy it! PS I’m sorry. And I’m really nervous to post this because I don’t know how it will turn out askldfhsalkdfh

Other: Masterlist

Loving him was intense, a whirlwind of emotions that could only be compared to a hurricane, a tornado. There was a time when loving him was explosive, a train on its way to be wrecked. The feeling hadn’t disappeared.

You knew it when you saw him standing on the staircase, a new love around his arm. You felt the room buzz when he saw you. Now, standing in this bar of sweat and alcohol where you could barely pay for your next drink, you wondered how things went so wrong.

Just a few weeks ago, you were the queen of New York City, the heiress everyone was talking about, and now you were a nothing, just another nobody in a sea of other nobodies.

Did he see it in your eyes? Did he see the desperation? The same look you had given him a few months ago, the kind of look that he had described as beautiful and exhilarating. Now he turned away in disgust. You tightened your grasp on your glass.

It was your fault.

You had ruined it all. Like you always did.

Six Months Ago

1 A.M. wake up.

Obsess over what you were going to do for the day and plan it meticulously in your mind.

3 A.M.

Get out of bed.

make yourself a cup of coffee and stare in the mirror for a while.

You stood tall, you knew you were a beautiful woman. After all, everyone had been telling you this since you were little. You could easily pass for royalty, that’s what you always thought and you wore it well.

You jutted your chin out, running a hand along your jawline. Then you made sure to put every hair in place, perfectly positioned. The mirror had a small crack in the corner, you made a mental note to buy a new one.

You put on your dark shades sunglasses so that you could barely even see inside. Nonetheless, you stumbled around your apartment like a model, refusing to look unfashionable even in the cold abyss of your living room. Who knew if someone was peering through the windows? That’s why you kept it as dark as possible.

You tripped over the couch. Since when was that there? You asked yourself angrily, as if you hadn’t been living here for the past year, a pretty bubble world built up carefully over a year of work and dedication.

Reality couldn’t catch you here. You stumbled around blindly for a while and then found the door handle.

5 A.M.

With a decisive click, your day had begun.

Astteria Jewelry, a company your father had invested in dearly when he visited the states. You hadn’t been there, but you’d heard a lot about the visit from the newspapers.

“Hello?” You cleared your throat, tapping on the top of the glass counter until someone came over, looking a bit annoyed. The woman’s face was twisted uncomfortably before she plastered a kind smile on her face.

“How may I help you?”

“Yes, yes, I need to try those on.” You pointed to the chunkiest rings in the case. They were encrusted with large and small diamonds, all glittering beautifully.

The woman shot you a skeptical look. You just peered down at her through your dark shaded glasses. She was really straining for that pleasant smile now.

“Of course.” She said tightly and reached under, unlocking the case, and bringing the rings out.

“Ah, I quite like this one.” You gasped happily. The rock on your finger was hard to even hold up, but you liked it well enough. “I’ll take it, as you probably know, my father will be quite happy with this gift.”

“That will be $247,000.” The woman pursed her lips as she removed the ring and placed it back in a box.

“Perfect.” You declared.

“I need your card.”

“Nonsense! Do you even know who I am?”

The woman shook her head, her irritation visibly growing.

“That’s quite alright. You know, my father is a great friend and investor in this company. He has often bought for my mother from this very fine store. I think he even gave us a discount at some point?” You said casually. “My father is the chairman of Sinopec, I think you know it?”

The woman stilled then she looked suspiciously at the door and back at you. “I’ll give Mr. Betta a call.”

“You better.” You snapped back, your patience wearing thin. You were the daughter of Sinopec’s chairman. Everyone knew you, obviously.

The dial tone was especially loud in the quiet store. A few rings and he picked up.

“Yes?” You heard the muffled voice.

“Sir, there’s someone here claiming you gave her family a discount?”

“Who?”

“From Sinopec.” The woman turned away, whispering furiously. “I’m not sure that’s a great idea. Okay okay, I will.”

“Well?” You turned to her, looking every part the agitated socialite,

“Mr. Betta seems to be under the impression...that you should be allowed this ring and we’ll charge your father.”

“Of course.” You said quickly, taking the box out of her hands and striding out of the store.

Your heart was racing. You felt a weight on your chest and it wasn’t the ring.

Heather was rich. You knew her to be Old Money, everyone did. You always expertly placed yourself next to her in class. She didn’t seem to mind. She was beautiful, maybe even more beautiful than you, but you would never allow that thought to come to fruition.

Heather held herself like a commoner, to put it lightly. She got her morning starbucks, waited in line, ordered and waited patiently, got on a bus, commuted to school and got to class early. You realized a big part of being a ‘normal’ person was waiting around.

“Heather, I was also at that party the other night.” You said to her as she scrolled through her photo album.

“Oh? Really?” She chewed on gum, the sound smacking across her lips. You felt an itch of irritation, but pushed it away.

“Yeah, really.” You drawled.

You carefully placed your ringed finger close to her line of sight. She glanced down for a second then back at her phone, then back at the ring. She put down her phone.

“Where did you get that ring?” She inquired, suddenly very interested in you. She picked up your hand and surveyed the ring from several angles.

“Astteria.” You said nonchalantly. “My father is a good friend of Simon Betta.”

“Who’s your father?” She glanced upwards with a confused look.

“Zhao Dong.” You said easily.

“The chairman of Sinopec?” Heather looked up, confused. “I’m surprised I didn’t recognize you! You’ve changed since I last saw you.”

You smiled and nodded at her words.

“I know. I spent some time away.” You looked nonchalantly at your nails.

“Well you look great, Y/N.” She continued with a small smile.

“Thank you, I know.” You tossed your hair. “Tell me, Heather, are we close? Would you consider me a close friend?”

“I…” She stuttered awkwardly. “N-not close close, but I know your father and...your mother?” She interlaced her fingers and looked away, embarrassed. “Truth be told, I haven’t been keeping up with Sinopec as of late.”

“That’s perfectly alright.” You assured her. “Now, I’ve been looking for a charity to donate to. My dad has been bugging me about the yearly donations.” You said the words so easily, like water out of a waterfall.

“Oh really?”

“Yes, I was wondering if you know any because...well, I know you’re into those charities and non-profits.”

The sound of pages being turned filled the room and you turned back to your work. You didn’t even bother reading the page or taking notes, you had another mission at hand. Heather turned back to her work and after a while, she cleared her throat slightly.

“There’s actually...a gala for an organization that helps fight for LGBTQ+ rights. Would you like to come? I could get you an invite if you just send me your address.” She lowered her voice.

You glanced around. Everyone was focused on their work so you nodded.

“I’m really into helping out when I can, you know? Here I’ll give you my number-” you stopped, thinking it over. “Actually, give me your number.” You prompted.

“Oh? Alright?” She recited her number and you typed it into your phone. You felt her heated stare on the old phone in your hand.

“It’s a friend of mine’s old phone.” You said. “My father has yet to send me the latest one.”

“I see.” Heather narrowed her eyes and went back to taking notes.

You sent her a quick hello and smirked, going back to write down notes. Columbia College had been quite pleased to hear about all the non profit work and extracurriculars, not to mention your straight As in school. It was what you deserved.

“Y/N!” Heather waved you over and you descended the stairs with a smile.

There stood Heather in the middle of this grand ballroom. You tried not to look impressed.

“Heather.” You greeted her with a smile.

She pulled you into a quick hug and then grabbed two champagne glasses. Gold rimmed and bubbling with clear yellow liquid, she handed you a glass. The room was decorated lavishly with red drapes covering dark alcoves and chaise lounges positioned in the corners. These lounges were occupied by men and women all dressed to the nines. This type of luxury was what you deserved.

“You look gorgeous!” She complimented as she took in your appearance.

You had borrowed a dress from your much richer friend, though you personally believed that you pulled off the look better than her. You were the most beautiful after all.

“Ah, thank you. You look exquisite as well.” You brushed a stray hair from your face.

“Ah, Ms. Y/L/N.”

You turned to the voice and were met with a familiar face. You were shocked to even see him at a place like this. He hadn’t struck you as this kind of person.

You had first met Park Jimin in a club. The lights were dim and you could barely make out his face, but you knew he was beautiful, just like you. The club was a world of beautiful people, all pressed against each other and sweating.

“How old are you?” He asked, looking you up and down as you sat at the bar. You smiled slyly, swirling your drink to the pounding music.

“Probably too young for you.” You shouted over the music.

His hands went to his hair. “Listen! My hair looks gray but I can assure you I am a 25 year old man in good standing!”

You laughed. He seemed nice, genuine. It was a breath of fresh air. His entire aura screamed that he was important, yet his personality quite opposed this notion. You looked him up and down.

He was a man of stature, standing tall and proud amongst the crowd, his hair was a silver gray, his eyes of a similar shade. Jimin was either high society or had no idea how to have fun. You were a perfect match.

“I believe you.” You replied happily, setting down your drink. “Want to get some fresh air?”

He smoothed down his coat and you wondered why he was dressed so formally to go to a nightclub.

“I’d like that very much.”

“Jimin.” You greeted him happily. He gently took your hand in his and kissed the back.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again.” He said cordially, a hint of mischief in his eyes.

“And you.” You bowed your head gracefully.

The music of the gala swelled and Heather cleared her throat. Her eyebrows were raised as high as the bronze arches that hung above you.

“You two...know each other?” She asked, eyeing Jimin.

Jimin nodded. “Yes, we met, achem, a little while ago.” You were grateful he didn’t mention the club.

“Well, Jimin is actually performing tonight, aren’t you?” Heather turned to him expectantly.

“Oh? Performing?”

The man seemed embarrassed by the sudden attention on him. He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck.

“Ah, yeah, well, I’m just singing-”

“Jimin is an excellent singer.” Heather nodded and you followed suit.

“I’m not that great. My mom just had enough money to bribe the manager.” He joked and you chuckled along.

“Yeah, I get that.” You agreed. “But I’m sure you’re an amazing singer, Jimin.” You looked him up and down, a smile growing.

“He is!” The other girl chimed in before Jimin could protest. The clock chimed 8:00 P.M. and you glanced upwards.

“I think that’s my cue to go.” Jimin announced, waving off a waiter who offered him a glass.

“Alright! Best of luck, Jimin.” You bowed your head politely and he did the same.

Heather watched the interaction intently. Once he was gone, she started laughing which caused you to look over at her sharply.

“You guys really just eye fucked each other for a whole five minutes. I didn’t think it was possible after seeing Anna’s reaction to him. At least it was mutual this time.”

“Anna?”

“Yeah, the daughter of the guy who made Adobe or whatever.”

“Oh, of course, I remember her.” You said easily, grabbing another glass of champagne.

You were going to need a lot of alcohol to make it through this night, but these luxuries were what you had always wanted.

“I would be careful, though, Y/N.” She glanced around. “He doesn’t have the best track record with women, though he attracts them like bees to flowers.”

“Oh I see.” You followed her eyes. “But from the way you look at him, I can assume you’ve been one of those women?”

She narrowed her eyes and then chuckled, though the sound was a bit strained.

“Me And Jimin? No, no. I can admit he is handsome, but we would never make a good pair.” Heather was quiet for a moment and then she crossed her arms, her gaze growing distant. “He’s too caught up in himself. You remind me of him.”

“I beg your pardon?

“Forget I said anything.”

The music began to swell and you looked up from your conversation as the curtain on the stage began to lift. The din of the room died down. A man with a rainbow pin and black tuxedo stood center stage. He held himself with confidence.

“Thank you, everyone, for attending this charity event for the Audre Lorde Project. Today, we are so grateful to be able to present Mr. Park Jimin as our entertainment for the night. If you donate, he will sing a song of your choosing!” The MC leaned in. “Just don’t be inappropriate, folks.” He winked.

“Now presenting….Park Jimin!”

You watched as the familiar man walked on stage. He looked quite dashing, sporting a rainbow tuxedo and white shoes. You were sure they must have cost a fortune. His rings alone must have cost at least $21,000. Then his shoes, oh, his shoes. They were perfectly clean, so white they could reflect the dim lighting.

People were quick to go up and pay for a song. The songs started at $1,000 and you pursed your lips, checking your wallet. Did you have enough? Yes, of course you have enough, you’re the daughter of Sinopec.

You set your mind on deciding a song. Heather began chatting to you about school, but you were hardly paying attention. You started drifting towards the box that held the donations. Heather moved along with you, unknowing to your next move. You straightened, holding up a hand, which quickly silenced Heather, and zeroed in on the box.

Withdrawing your money, you wrote a quick check for $1,000. Then you haphazardly tossed it into the box. Then you wrote your song on the sign up sheet and went back to the center of the room. You waited, tapping your foot impatiently. You wanted everything now, but you could try to be patient for once.

Heather continued talking about...whatever she was talking about. Halfway through her rambling, a familiar tune began to play. Your eyes shot up from where they were resting on your drink to the stage. You could feel Jimin’s heated stare.

“I think I'm too cool to know ya. You say I'm like the ice, I freeze. I'm churnin' out novels like Beat poetry on Amphetamines.” He sang and his voice was a perfect tune.

You felt your toes curl pleasantly as his sweet voice tingled your eardrums. Brooklyn Baby by Lana Del Rey. You eyed him up and down, taking note of a particularly expensive looking Rolex watch.

As you made eye contact with him through the crowd, your heart thumped an untimely beat. Mine.

Jimin left hand in hand with you. What a sight to see. A couple that no one had expected, one out of the blue. You giggled, shifting over in the back of the cab to Jimin’s place.

His hand slowly inched its way over to your thigh and gave it a light squeeze. Your eyes stayed trained on his face. The dark city streets casted eerie shadows over your figures, but you felt calm nonetheless.

Your hand reached out and touched his cheek. A wordless communication. May I? To be answered with you may. And he leaned in, diving into your arms, melding his lips against yours like you were meant to be. You both gasped for air, but it was a battle for dominance and neither of you were about to back down.

You bit playfully at his lips, devouring his strawberry lip balm like it was your last meal. He pushed against you so your back thumped against the door. His hands found your hips and he pressed into you tightly.

Your hands gripped his hair and you refused to part from his lips, the cold metal of his Rolex dug into the fabric of your dress. You wanted that watch.

The taxi slowly pulled up to the apartment complex and you both hurried out. Jimin haphazardly overpaid the driver and you both took a break to get your bearings before walking into his high end apartment building.

“Hey, let’s try to look like we didn’t just make out like animals, okay?” Jimin patted your arm.

So you went about smoothing down your hair, pulling down your skirt a little lower, and patting your cheeks gently to try and, in vain, dispel the light flush.

You both stumbled your way inside, laughing drunkenly. He helped stand you upright, a strong arm wrapped around your waist. There was a jingle of something falling to the ground, but you paid it no mind. He helped you all the way up to his apartment where you leaned against the wall while he searched for his keys.

“Shit!” He cursed, sinking down beside you, his back thumping against the wall. “I lost my keys.” He grumbled.

“Ah, that’s fine.” You laughed, “Just my luck.”

“You seem pretty lucky, Y/N.”

“Yeah, I’m lucky, I guess, but I want a lot more than luck, you know?”

“And what do you want?”

“You.” You answered quickly.

And that was the first time a lie had registered in your addled brain. Because that wasn’t true, no, not at all. Jimin was wonderful, handsome, smart, but you wanted something more material than these flimsy emotions.

You wanted money. As you watched his expression melt into a lustful haze, you flexed your fingers and clenched them over and over. You could play his game of emotions, you could do it. You thought as he went in for another kiss.

It was a cold morning. Jimin had black out curtains. You could hide from the world very nicely here. You were awake at 1 A.M.

After a long night of searching and making out, the searching part of which you found far more enjoyable, you found his keys. He had dropped them in the lobby on the way in and the desk attendant had grabbed them. You went through your routine, replacing yourself with a pillow in his arms.

“Huh. I always thought that only worked in movies?” You tilted your head and went back to your routine. After a while of getting ready, you sat beside the bed, watching him.

He breathed steadily. You glanced around, finally deciding to explore. You stood, picking up discarded clothes and observing his apartment. It was big, bigger than yours.

There were expensive things everywhere. You could guess he was old money. A glint of gold in the morning light caught your eye. You walked over, carefully not to disturb the floorboards. On his bedside table was the Rolex watch.

“You can keep it.” His gruff voice said. “It’s not important to me, but you’ve been eyeing it all night.”

“Why would you give this to me?” You asked, lifting the watch to look at it in the slim sliver of light that cracked through the curtain. You wanted to applaud his awareness and observation skills.

“There’s something about the desperation in your eyes, Y/N. It’s exhilarating, beautiful, new. People are so...complacent, so okay with their situations nowadays, especially when you’re in positions like you and I. I’m giving it to you as a promise that this wasn’t just a one night thing. I’m serious about this.” Jimin rolled over in bed. “I like people like you, Y/N. I fall in love with people like you.” His words were soft, his expression was stone cold.

And you knew what game he was playing at with extravagant promises and carefully chosen words, you were playing the same game. So you simply let him win.

You could do that, for him, because as much as you were using him to help yourself gain a boost, your heart was beginning to lead you astray. And you could not let that happen. Still, that scent of cinnamon and the taste of strawberries would likely always remind you of him.

Perhaps it was obsession that took you back to his place over and over again. It wasn’t so much him, but the idea of him. Maybe it was the idea that he was rich, that he had money, that he was handsome, but all that aside, you were perfectly incompatible.

Jimin was old money, old money that was long gone. For as long as Jimin remembered, his father had worked very very hard to run his company into the ground. Whether it be with the drinking or the extravagant parties, his money was gone.

He had an unquenchable thirst for money. Some could call it an unhealthy obsession. So when he met you...oh boy. You exuded this confidence, the kind only old money could have. He wanted it.

Call him cruel, but he didn’t mind stepping on a few toes to get where he needed to be. He didn’t mind crushing some woman’s poor dreams. He really didn’t mind. You were another stepping stone. You were supposed to be just another tool for success.

In his alcohol induced state, probably drug induced state as well, he came to the conclusion that you two would make quite a pair indeed, a power couple. But he needed you to become more powerful. It would be a mutually beneficial relationship.

“I don’t know, Jimin, I can get pretty nervous at interviews.” You had told him in response, but there was a gleam of excitement in your eyes, he didn’t read too much into it.

“I think you’ll be fine.” He patted your back with a smile.

Looking back, he never should have gotten you that interview with the New York Times. It was a poor decision on his part. Maybe if things had gone better, if he still remained ignorant of his situation and drank himself into debt like his father, he would be able to continue living his fantasy world. However, this would not be the case. He was not someone who was afraid of getting his hands dirty. And oh how dirty they were to become.

“Thank you, Miss Y/N, for joining us.” The reporter settled down across from you.

“Ah, it’s a pleasure.” You smiled. The woman smiled back and prepared her notepad.

She was a hardworking woman. She wore flats and a nice outfit for this interview, but as you analyzed her posture and position, you knew she would most likely prefer something more comfortable. She slumped ever so slightly, her lipstick was well applied but her nail polish was cracking and half peeled.

“I’m Anna and I’ll be interviewing you.”

“Anna? As in Anna, Adobe Inc’s daughter?”

“Yes!” She nodded happily. “I’m glad you remember me! You know, I only met you once really and we were children so I’m not surprised to see you’ve grown into a beautiful woman. Let’s see here…”

The interview began.

“What was it like, growing up with Zhao Dong as a father?”

“Well, Anna, he was absent a lot.” You said without a second thought, thinking back to your childhood sadly. “But he tried his best. I think I get a lot of my outgoing nature from him. He’s really a role model for me.”

“And do you have the same goals and aspirations that he has for the company?”

You chuckled lightly at the question.

“Oh dear, oh no.” You said, like it was some preposterous question. “Honey, he is all about the money. I am nothing like that. I’m all about human connection.”

Anna seemed pleased by this. Her eyes lit up and she hurriedly went to write down notes.

“You seem like such a nice, down to Earth, person, Y/N, how do you get this mindset after being raised so...well, rich.”

“I’ve gotten used to a lot of luxury, yes, but this does not take away from the fact that my father was always strict on discipline. He put a huge emphasis on respecting others and respecting situations we cannot comprehend. It is a valuable lesson I take to heart.” You nodded seriously, your hands gently folded in your lap.

Anna was, once again, pleased by your answer. You seemed to be telling her the right things.

Soon enough, your face was on the cover of every newspaper. The rich heiress to Sinopec is here in New York City! Or Y/N Dong, the future of the wealthy and elite.

You could bathe in the attention all day. In fact, you bought about 15 copies of the story and spread them around your apartment. You meticulously cut out each and every sentence that called you beautiful, complimented you, or even mentioned you and pasted them to the blank walls of your home. Even bad press was still press. After you were done with your hard work, you collapsed on the sofa.

“Knock knock!”

You jolted upright. You looked around your apartment. The curtains were drawn over the windows, just like they always were. You looked around. Your apartment was a mess.

The floor was littered with pieces of paper, the fridge stood open and there were expertly placed scissors just lying on the ground waiting to be stepped on. You blinked wearily. It was a disorientation akin to being hungover but not quite.

“Knock knock?”

Your neck almost snapped with how hard you looked at the door. Shit. You immediately stood up, groaning in pain as you ripped your hand from the couch. You had somehow managed to glue your fingers to the fabric and it wasn’t a pleasant experience.

You started madly sweeping the paper, quite literally, under the rug. Then you threw open your windows and were reminded of why you kept them closed. They faced a brick wall. A lovely sight to see.

You frowned, but rubbed your eyes and carried on in your cleaning frenzy nonetheless. The knocks sounded once more and you finally answered.

“One sec-” You cleared your gruff voice. “One second!”

You tripped over the coffee table and you withheld a scream of frustration. Instead you threw your hands up in anger and let out a silent shout.

“Everything alright in there?”

“Yup! Just- give me- a moment-” You held your stubbed toe and every curse you knew flew through your head.

You then ran to the mirror and quickly brushed through your hair. Finally, you made it to the front door, looking as presentable as possible.

When you opened the door, two familiar people shoved their way in.

“Ah, this place is smaller than I expected.” Heather announced, setting down a gift bag, Jimin entered after her with a shy smile. His face conveyed Heather’s words.

“Yeah, sorry, it’s only temporary. I used to live down at Wall Street but then there was a pipe problem with my neighbor and you know...water damage is a real problem.” You clicked your tongue unhappily and they nodded sympathetically.

“That’s completely understandable.” Heather said, moving to get a closer look at your walls. “Interesting decorations.”

“I like words of affirmation to hang around my apartment. It helps build self confidence.”

“Looks like you already have enough of that from the article I read.” Jimin chuckled, fingers brushing over a sentence plastered on the wall.

“Oh, you read that?” Your cheeks heated up. “It was nothing, really.”

“You’re practically everywhere, Y/N.” Heather pointed out. “It’s like knowing a celebrity.”

“But I’m no celebrity.” You said humbly. “I’m just a normal person.”

“My normal person.”

Possession. It was a common theme in your growing relationship with Jimin. You quite liked it. Your heart would always thump. A smile grew on your face and you gave him a quick kiss, one he returned gladly.

“You guys are disgusting. Get a room.” Heather huffed. “Anyway,” She turned and grabbed a gift bag as you and Jimin parted. “I’ve got this gift for you. Call it a congratulations for being on your first ever cover. I was only 15 when I was on mine, but whatever.”

“You didn’t have to.” You exclaimed, but happily took the gift. You threw out the tissue paper like an animal. “Oh! Earrings! I love them!” You exclaimed, surveying the expensive earrings. You assumed they must be at least $30,000.

“Well, it’s just a little thing. Also, I forgot to mention it, my birthday party is next week and I’d love for you to come! I’ll send you the invites!” Heather interlaced your fingers with hers and you shot her a wry smile.

“Of course, we’ll be there.” Jimin answered for you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“Oh! I forgot to ask, has your father seen your article?” Heather inquired, it was a simple ask, one that had you twisting your hands nervously.

“Oh yeah, I’m sure he has.” You said softly. “But he’s very busy as you know, so he just hasn't gotten in touch yet!” You assured her and when she nodded, you breathed a sigh of relief.

You didn’t want to know much about Jimin besides his family, his money, and how he looked. You just wanted him to be yours.

Jealousy. Yeah, that was definitely the green monster, as green as a freshly mowed lawn at bucking-fucking-ham palace. This feeling in your stomach was definitely jealousy. You told yourself you couldn’t feel jealous of Heather.

Heather even explicitly said she’d never fall in love with Park Jimin, but that was a real trick, a trap, because everyone fell for Park Jimin. There was something about the way she held onto his arm that had you transfixed, how she casually brushed his side when reaching for something.

You were seeing green and red. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of her fucking hand for one second, even when other people were trying to get your attention. The party was high caliber, celebrating the birthday of said woman. But you could care less that it was her birthday, that man was yours.

You were like a predator, stalking the perimeter before swooping in for the kill. You puffed out your chest and walked straight into their little conversation.

“Jimin, Heather.” You greeted them with a warm smile, but inside you were screaming. It was a primal urge.

“Y/N! I’m so glad you could make it!” Heather pulled you in for a hug and you both balanced your champagne in one hand while doing the awkward one armed move. “Jimin and I were just discussing the latest actions of the Audre Lorde Project.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful.” You smiled slyly, all teeth and no glimmer of joy in your eyes to be found. “I just wanted to personally deliver my gift to you.” You thrust out the package.

“Oh no no, you don’t have to! Besides, if you do, then suddenly everyone will want to come over and I just want to talk to you guys for now.” She lowered her voice and smirked.

You nodded, though your fingers clenched around the handles tightly. You trudged over to the gift table and haphazardly threw the bag among the other gifts.

It wasn’t anything special, just the ring you had gotten from Astteria. You had wanted to get rid of that old thing anyway. You glanced at the two, still talking. You gritted your teeth and stormed away to the bathroom.

You and Jimin did many things together. You learned his favorite color, his mother’s name and her favorite song, you learned about his life, his backstory. However, your favorite thing to do with Jimin was to make out.

Now, this might seem shallow, but making out with Jimin was like heaven on Earth. He knew how to move his lips, touch just the right spots, to get you melting.

He was the sun in a New York City heatwave and you were a popsicle melting below. It was truly a sight to behold, although Heather would disagree. As your hands would play a game of untying ties with his suit, your mind played a different game, a far more deadly one.

“I love you.” You reeled him in. He followed you like a moth to a light. “I love you a lot.” You declared and he simply fell away under your grasp.

You had always enjoyed the sight of people falling beneath you as you stripped away their exteriors to find what made them tick.

“You’re mine, Jimin, all mine.” You breathed heavily, gasping for breath as he moved to your neck.

He made quick work of the clean skin, littering it with purple marks, delicately crafted by his skilled lips. His teeth grazed your ear, making you suck in a breath. Your, his, rolex watch pressed into his warm skin.

“Tell me, Jimin, tell me you’re mine.” You said desperately and he groaned in delight.

“I love it when you talk to me like that.” He peppered kisses along your jawline. “I love that sound, begging for me like a dog.” He gripped your jaw, pulling you closer, but you didn’t mind. “I’m yours, baby, but only if you’re mine.”

“I’m all yours.” And he dove back to your lips like an animal.

“I’m madly in love with you, Y/N.” He murmured. “And you’re all mine.”

It was a perfect fairytale, but all fairytales need a villain.

I have no idea who this woman is, posing as my daughter. She is an imposter for sure, or delusional. The subtitles on the T.V. read as you flipped through the article that just landed outside your door.

You seethed, feeling your heart sink as one by one, the article undid your many lies. You almost wanted this destruction, because with it came release.

The release of pressure on your chest, from the weight of all these lies. They were carefully built, framing you in the perfect light, but you didn’t want everything to be undone.

“What’s going on?” He picked up the phone. Your hands were shaking. “Y/N? Are you alright?”

“I-I...don’t read the news, meet me outside my apartment door.” You said quickly, your voice quivering. You heard him roll out of bed.

“Okay. I’ll be right there.”

You sent the same sentiments to Heather. You needed to explain this before they found out. You needed Jimin to understand your side of the story. Jimin was yours. No one else should have him. Ever since you’d set your eyes on him, you had known he was to be your newest obsession.

“Y/N?!” Heather’s screeching voice echoed up the stairs and you knew it was too late for her.

“I know what you think about me, Y/N, but I don’t feel the need to flaunt my riches. I may seem like a real stupid bitch, but I’m not.” Heather snapped, slapping the newspaper down in front of you while you waited with Jimin. He picked up the paper before you could stop him.

“Y/N? Is this true?” He asked cautiously, his eyes scanning the page.

“Y/N? How could you?”

“Y/N?” Y/N Y/N Y/N. The chant was dizzying. Everyone wanted a piece of you, damn it.

“Shut up! Shut up!” You cried, breathless.

They both stopped. Heather’s eyes were pure anger, but Jimin looked confused, lost. He abruptly stood and you went along with him. Heather turned on her heel, storming out.

“Don’t talk to me again, freak.” Heather said, her words bitter as she exited into the cold morning air. Mornings were always cold it seemed.

“How many things have you lied about? Are you even Y/N? Is that even your name?!” He questioned, the buzz of anger growing.

“I can’t...I can’t tell you that.” And you couldn’t. You’d lost track a long time ago.

“Jimin! Jimin please! Wait!” You grasped his hand desperately. He turned around furiously, sharply.

“What do you want? You wore your little disguise so well and I, like a fool, fell for it.” His voice cracked.

“I know I’ve lied about-about a lot of t-things, but I know one thing that’s the truth,” You pleaded. “I love you.”

His gaze hardened. “How do I know that’s not a lie?”

And you couldn’t tell him that either.

A pathological liar. Your mother would have been heartbroken by the label placed upon her precious daughter. You would have been offended as well if it weren’t for the objective truth.

Even when Columbia University expelled you for not only lying about grades and extracurriculars, but also just for being an awful person as they tried to lightly put it, everything still hadn’t hit home.

You were beautiful, fit for a queen. It was such a shame, then, when people also found out that you had no money. It made you hungry for the stuff. Now, the trick was to make sure they didn’t find that out.

Your mother had always been a good woman, but your father had easily gambled away all the money saved. Perhaps you got this carefree, flamboyant personality from him?

A narcissist. Not what you had expected as a new label either, but if it was in the papers, it must be true. In the end, all your little escapades had gotten you in a lot of debt, but the banks had just kept loaning you money. You had no idea why. Maybe it was like Jimin said, you had worn your disguise so well.

“Wow, a narcissist, huh?” You studied yourself in the mirror.

Your apartment was always dark, but you felt a particular chill today. You spoke to yourself, everyone else having had abandoned you.

“I don’t think that’s right.” You argued back to no one. “I’m...Y/N...the daughter of Zhao Dong. that’s me.” You said over and over, but you were no longer convinced and deep down you knew it was all a sham, a lie.

One thing had built on another and another until all the lies piled up and you could no longer dig yourself out. Your head was often spinning trying to remember everything everyone had ever told you.

But the thing was, at a certain point, it had no longer been a fib, a disguise. You had become Y/N, the daughter of Sinopec’s chairman Zhao Dong. At a certain point, you had become someone else, and that was all you had ever wanted.

Then you started laughing uncontrollably before sweeping your arm across the counter, sending various beauty products tumbling to the floor. Your body shook.

“No, no, no. It was all a lie.” You giggled. “It was just a lie, you’re just Y/N Y/L/N from a goddamn backwater town.” You slapped your cheeks, hard, as if that could erase all that was done.

It seemed that you were the villain of this fairytale, but you couldn’t quite believe it. As you looked in the mirror, the darkness of the bathroom slowly closing in around you, you could see yourself clearly.

There was no doubt in your mind that you were the evil queen and there was no snow white, just you and your shitty castle. And you were alone. Not even Jimin wanted a thing to do with you, having called your reckless actions disgusting. You had assured him you weren’t a psychopath.

You remembered the conversation on the phone after calling him several times.

“I’m sorry, how can I make it up to you?” You had asked. He had simply laughed bitterly and shifted his phone .

“You’ve already stolen everything from me, Y/N, and I fully intend to take back most of it, but you can keep the watch.” and then he hung up.

1 A.M. wake up.

Obsess over what you were going to do for the day. Fall back asleep.

3 A.M.

Get out of bed.

make yourself a cup of coffee and stare in the mirror for a while.

5 A.M.

Take a deep breath.

Start your day.

You didn’t have a home to return to. You didn’t have anyone who loved you and you most certainly didn’t have a reputation. With your face staining every front page of a newspaper, you had nowhere to hide, but you were just one person. You needed some fresh air, and where to best do that except at the top of the Empire State Building?

You were surprised to brush past Jimin on the way up to the top floor, but you should have guessed. You supposed his mother worked there. Either way, he followed you, asking if anything was wrong. Like a fucking psychopath.

“STOP!” You cried, turning to him as you reached the top floor. There had to be roof access somewhere up here.

“I want to know if you’re okay?” His eyes were kind and you were reminded of how everything had been before.

But you had already hurt each other, the past was past, there was only forward in this meaningless space of nothing.

“Haven’t I hurt you enough?!” You shouted, tears finally making their way down your face.

He pulled you back as you started to search the top floor, which was deserted save for two workers filing out for the night.

“Why are you doing this?” You whispered.

His eyes were furious, a volcano, a matchstick ready to ignite. It caught you off guard.

“Because, even though I hate you right now with every bone in my goddamn body, I would stop you from doing something stupid, like what I think you’re about to do, over and over again. No matter what.” He stopped, words stuttering, jawline clenching as he searched for the words.

“And maybe that’s what makes me the fool.”

He stepped back into the elevator and the doors slowly closed. You couldn’t bring yourself to join him, simply standing in shock at his declaration. And then he was gone. You saw him once more at a club with Heather on his arm, and after that, you never saw him again.

You would sometimes think you saw him; the flash of his silver hair, his figure ducking into a shop, the smell of him when you woke up, the taste of strawberry on your lips but he was never there. You didn’t need the money anymore. You realized...you had just wanted him.

Loving him was electrifying, like a hurricane at times and calm waters at others. You were a train on its way to be wrecked, and you had finally...run off the rails.

Fin

Blue hydrangea, cold cash divine Cashmere, cologne and hot sunshine Red racing cars, sunset and vine And we were young and pretty

Taglist: @thereaderstea , @sadboibts, @ditttiii

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swiftgronmasterpost · 4 years

Text

Winter 2013 - The Beginning of the End and Dianna’s Private Tumblr

January 4, 2013 - Haylor Breakup

Taylor and Harry publicly split and leave us with this iconic picture:

January 10, 2013 - People’s Choice Awards

Haylor is done, Harry is back in the UK, but Taylor shows up with a hickey anyway. (Dianna is in LA at this time.)

Some time this month Taylor writes How You Get The Girl which is about obviously someone who comes back to get the girl. She references “standing in the rain” and “a long six months.” It’s hard to know if these details are more “fanfic” or actual autobiographical details.

This six months may actually refer to the end of bearding for a while (because it seems like Swiftgron did reunite in Paris in early October.) Exactly six months after Taylor started dating Conor Kennedy would be January 25th, 2013.

As for the rain...

It rained twice in LA this month according to weather reports on the 21st and on the 23rd:

Dianna is in LA at this point and has started a private Tumblr blog under the name whosirmesir (we verified it was hers over on @swiftgron-get-married - and you can click here for more on that if you’re curious and actually I did an entire podcast episode walking people through it if you’re like like to listen to an in depth breakdown of it click here for apple OR click here for spotify OR click here for google.

I also recommend searching the whosirmesir tag on @swiftgron-get-married because we’ve logged a lot of interesting moments and connections to Taylor (quotes, art, and other items that tie DIanna and Taylor together.)

On the private tumblr on January 25th Dianna reblogs this:

It reads “i think we’re just gonna have to be secretly in love with each other and leave it at that...”

This is also the time period it is rumored that Dianna proposed to Taylor. I’m not sure what to make of these rumors. I have not been able to get anywhere near confirming them. It’s entirely unsubstantiated - but I explored the rumor further in this blog post (click for link.) And also on the podcast (will link just a bit down in this post because it relates to something else we’re about to discuss.)

February 4, 2013 - Dianna recommends “Far Nearer” by Jaime on twitter:

The lyrics are essentially:

“I feel better when I, you feel better when I I feel better when I have you near me

You Me You I do, I do, I do“

repeated over and over again

February 9, 2013 - Neruda quote on Tumblr from Dianna

Dianna posts a quote to Tumblr. The translation is, “I love you as certain dark things are loved, secretly, between the shadow and the soul.”

It’s worth noting that Taylor namechecked Neruda in the Red album booklet.

February 10, 2013 - The Grammys

Dianna wants to make sure everyone is watching:

And Taylor posts:

“Look what happened! :)”

She won for Safe and Sound:

And she performs her circus themed rendition of WANEGBT (where she mocks Harry Styles on stage making fun of his accent when she sings the “so he calls me up on the phone” part of the song even though this song was written before she was even with him.)

The only other time Dianna tweeted about the Grammys was when Glee was involved the year before.

February 14, 2013 - Achele breakfast and The Inside Source at Glee Tweet

According to a Facebook user Cory, Dianna, and Lea have breakfast this morning (or around this time):

Later that day Taylor posts the infamous tweet:

The Glee Episode “I Do” airs and there is no Taylor song included. However Dianna and Naya’s characters hook up:

After the episode airs Taylor deletes her tweet.

As always I’m not entirely sure what to make of this but to me it boils down to three possibilities:

1. The fandom seems to think this proves that Dianna purposefully tricked Taylor into watching her “hook up” with Naya on screen. It’s completely possible that that’s the case but I think the next two options make a bit more sense.

2. It was a simple misunderstanding or a joke gone wrong. Taylor had a song earlier on that season of glee (Mine sung as a breakup song by Naya) and I have been told another song of Taylor’s was marketed for another glee episode later that spring. Perhaps someone got their wires crossed and misinformed Taylor.

3. Other nefarious parties:

a. It’s possible that Lea was behind this - she publicly had beef with Taylor at one point and she had been with Dianna that morning. Maybe she met up with DIanna, heard about Swiftgron being happy and back together and got a little jealous and decided to prank Taylor.

b. Ryan Murphy also seemed to despise both Dianna and Taylor around this time. He was also famous for stirring up drama with Gleeks on twitter and generally sewing discontent (particularly surrounding wlw ships and fans). Ryan seems to have a problem with women/lesbians in general. He treated Brittana as a couple horribly on Glee as well as their shippers.

He very publicly shaded Taylor in season one of Scream Queens and said in an interview that Dianna ruined Quinn for him because he said she made her sympathetic.

Not only that but in season 3 he destroyed her character - he made her have a mental breakdown - he had her try and steal a baby - he had her get hit by a car - and a huge plotline in season 3 was Quinn begging Rachel (Lea’s character so Dianna’s irl ex) not to marry Finn (played by Cory - literally the guy Lea chose Dianna over - this is like...emotionally abusive if you ask me.) After season 3 Dianna only appeared in 8 episodes of the remaining 55 after being in every episode and the top third billed of the cast in the first three seasons.

Furthermore in a show called The New Normal there was a bitchy actress character named Brynn who he wrote as high maintenance and unpleasant and then killed off.

So yeah...seems fair to at least consider that Ryan or Lea who publicly had problems with both Taylor and Dianna may have been trying to create problems for Swiftgron. One last note about Lea - there was not a single Achele interaction for the entire year of 2013. The most we got was Dianna liking a tweet about Lea’s album in December 2013 and when asked about one another in interviews they would vaguely say they were still friends. No tweets to one another, no birthday messages, no candids, no hang outs. Lea’s book was also written around this time and does not make a single mention of Dianna - her former roommate and “best friend” even though she spends plenty of time talking about others on the Glee cast.

I did a podcast episode on both the proposal rumors and the inside source at Glee tweet if you want more extensive takes on that!

While I’m not entirely sure Dianna had anything to do with this tweet Taylor references this date (2-14-13) by putting it on a dollar bill as a serial number in The Man music video:

At any rate Taylor deletes the tweet and replaces it with one about her dancers:

Dianna tweets 9 hearts that day (I don’t know if that’s significant but if they were together from March 2012 to July 2012 and then October 2012 to this point it would mean 9 months together...)

February 19, 2013 - Sad Charlie Brown Tumblr post from Dianna:

February 27, 2013 - Fitzgerald quote

Taylor listed this as a quote to live by in an interview with Marie Claire a few months later.

I’m not sure if it’s important but Dianna is very quiet this winter and spring in terms of showing up at events, parties, even being papped out on the street compared to other years around this time. She seems to disappear a bit.

February 27, 2013 - Taylor gives a bday shoutout to her Fiddle player Caitlin:

“Happy Birthday to my magical friend, fiddle extraordinaire @/caitlinbird”

March 12, 2013 - Weird tweets from Dianna “One of those days.”

March 13, 2013 - It’s the first day of the Red tour (is that why Dianna had questions?)

About the Red Tour - the last act of the tour seems to be circus themed which may have been inspired by Dianna’s 26th birthday the previous year and really interestingly Taylor has a white rabbit, which is a reference to Alice in Wonderland (Dianna’s favorite piece of media ever) follows Taylor around stage during the WANEGBT performance as she’s dressed up like a circus ringleader:

March 18, 2013 - Dianna goes on a Girls HBO rant (we know who also loved Girls the show and its creator Lena Dunham (Taylor))

End of March - Lena and Ashley show up at the Red Tour backstage

Conclusion - Swiftgron is on but completely underground. Dianna is blogging and tweeting romantic things about missing girls, Taylor’s interests, and secret love, all while watching Taylor perform at the Grammys and encouraging others to tune in. Something weird happened with the inside source at Glee tweet but who knows what. Dianna seems a bit restless and emo while Taylor leaves to go on tour.

Click here to keep reading!

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thevioletjones · 4 years

Note

31, because I can’t see it fitting Ian/Mickey easily and know you’re a good enough writer to prove me wrong ☺️

Thanks! I tried. 🙂

Prompt 6: “I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you.”

Ian’s Box of Crap

Being currently unemployed, Mickey didn’t have much of a leg to stand on when attempting to deflect Ian’s demands that he get chores and household tasks done while his husband was out earning an honest paycheck. He wasn’t even allowed to shake people down anymore, let alone pull robberies, or get back into the drug trade. Ian had made it clear that divorce wasn't off the table if Mickey deliberately did something stupid that got him thrown back in prison for a long stretch.

He didn’t much like being told what to do, but what he liked even less was not having Ian in his life. He’d had to go too many years without him in the past, and nothing good ever came during those times. Unfortunately, Ian Gallagher was it for Mickey Milkovich. That meant that he actually had to stay in line and put in the work if he didn’t want to lose him again. Ian wasn’t as soft as he used to be. Never really had been at his core, but the maturity of age had cemented his backbone rather rigidly, and Mickey was actually loathe to piss him off too badly these days.

So he did the bullshit grunt work requested of him, just to keep the peace. He was tired of fighting every day of his life, and what was the point of marrying Ian if they weren’t going to try and make each other happy?

In the past couple weeks, Mickey had done everything from laundry and dishes, to vacuuming and mopping. He’d patched up a couple of big holes in the wall that Frank had made, and fixed the loose parts of the wooden outdoor steps and banisters, both front and back. He’d even gone so far as to babysit the tiny, helpless Gallagher spawn a few times, which had been interesting and somewhat terrifying. Then Ian had given him this look when he caught the scene one afternoon, eyes shining, smile beaming. It reminded him of that brief time they’d helped take care of Yevgeny, which made Mickey’s head spin. He didn’t need Gallagher getting the whole ‘having kids’ thing back in his head right now. Mickey was in no way ready for all that. Hadn’t been the first time, and they’d all seen how that turned out.

Today, he was supposed to clean out the attic. He told Ian that asking someone outside the family to do it sounded like a bad idea. How was he supposed to know what shit the Gallaghers wanted to keep, and what they wanted to get rid of? What if he made a mistake? If anyone had asked him what to keep from the hoarded piles of shit in the Milkovich house, he would’ve laughed in their face, then set everything on fire. Mickey wasn’t the sentimental type. So did Ian want him to just toss everything?

Ian had rolled his eyes, clarified that Mickey was a Gallagher now, and given him a run-down. Anything that had obviously been made or cherished by a Gallagher kid, any family photos and albums, or small boxes of keepsakes, those stayed. Anything that wasn’t being used by anyone, but could be of use and handed down to the youngest or recently shacked up of them, set them aside to be put in rotation. Anything that worked, but they already had one of or didn’t need, donation box (because apparently they actually sometimes donated shit to the local shelter). And anything that looked completely unnecessary for anyone, throw it in a Best Choice trash bag, but don't take them to the curb yet. Ian would go over everything when he got home to make sure it was sorted correctly.

“So you’re gettin' me to do all this boring-ass grunt work, then you’re gonna have to go through it anyway? What the fuck, man?” he’d asked.

“It'll make the whole thing way easier on me, so can you just shut the fuck up and do me the favor? I’ll blow you later for your trouble.”

“Like you wouldn’t be doin’ that anyway.”

Ian had shrugged. “If you don’t, I won’t.”

“Threatening to withhold sex? That’s a bitch move if I ever heard one.”

“Whatever, deadbeat. You want me to support you, gotta help out when I ask. A blowjob would just be a bonus, because I’m generous of spirit.”

“I’m not gonna forget this hardcore manipulation, Firecrotch. I’ll get my revenge eventually.”

Ian merely kissed him on the nose. “Sounds like a plan. See ya.”

And he was out the door.

“Asshole,” Mickey’d muttered under his breath.

And now, a few hours later, here he was; sitting on the dusty, hard planks of the weird-smelling Gallagher attic, sorting through the memories and forgotten things of the family he’d married into less than six months ago. He’d dawdled as long as he could on the couch, eating junk food and watching his favorite daytime game shows, judge shows, and salacious ‘who’s the baby daddy?’ shows. The only hint of fun left in the remainder of his day was in the bong and the beer he’d brought with him up the rickety ladder. After every box sorted, he’d take a rip or two and chase the smoke with a long swig of cheap alcohol.

The most interesting things he’d found so far were some old pictures of Ian when he was little, his hair a curly mess, and his pale skin covered in dark freckles. His smile was too big for his face, and he looked goofy as all hell. Nothing like the hot hunk of man he was today. It was the Ian Mickey remembered from Little League a million years ago. And maybe he’d set one of the photos aside to keep for himself and taken some pics of others with his phone, so what?

Mostly he’d had to sift through little Debbie’s ridiculous girly shit, and Frank’s completely random assortment of insignificant trinkets with a side of what looked like bondage gear. He’d since moved on to a group of boxes obviously labeled by Carl when he was younger. He recognized the scrawl, occasional backwards lettering, and lack of possessive apostrophes. The words were short enough not to be atrociously misspelled, and consisted of a Gallagher first name in plural, followed by: ‘box of crap.’

Everybody had one, including Fiona, who hadn’t taken it with her when she’d left Chicago, and the kids she’d raised as her own, behind. The most scandalous item in there was a dildo of decent size that Mickey definitely would’ve packed in his suitcase if he’d been the one moving away as a single chick. The thought crossed his mind to pilfer it for his own collection, but he figured that Ian would be weirded out by the association. Sex toys were probably the only thing Gallaghers never shared between them.

Carl had a box of his own, semi-well-hidden compared to the others, and Mickey discovered why when he’d managed to get the copious amount of packing tape off. It was full of straight porn mags with big-tittied women and shaved pussies, underneath an array of dangerous weapons the family had forbidden him to have when he was underaged. He found everything from nunchucks, to throwing stars, to switchblades, to brass knuckles. No guns or attempted homemade bombs, thank fuck. He chucked the porn in the trash pile, cuz nobody needed to see that shit, and set the switchblade aside for himself, deciding to give the rest to Ian to sort out.

He saved Ian’s box for last, opening it up to find a grab bag of old army decorations, tattered paperbacks, comics, a bunch of loose paper covered in scribbles, and a stack of notebooks.

Mickey didn’t realize Ian was such a huge nerd that he’d kept his high school notebooks, but giving a quick flip through the first two revealed they weren’t school-related at all. He remembered Ian going through a phase when he was always writing shit down, ranting about having great ideas he needed to save for posterity. Before he went to the hospital. A manic phase. Probably one of many he’d cycled through, yet Mickey had missed some of those extremes.

Everything had been so chaotic then. He’d pushed Ian away, then gotten the same treatment in return. Their typical messiness pervaded everything back then. And now, he had in his hands Ian’s unfiltered thoughts about what happened back then.

“Fuck,” he said to himself, setting the notebooks down and going for the beer/weed combo again.

There were exactly two ways to go about this: he could put the notebooks back into the Ian box and not invade his privacy, or he could skim through them and hone in on the interesting relevant bits and maybe get a few long-pondered answers. On the one hand, Ian would probably get pissed if Mickey read them. On the other hand, Ian never had to know about it, did he?

It really wasn’t much of a choice… he’d always been curious as to what the hell was going through Ian’s head back in the day. They’d never exactly been great at talking things out, and he didn’t have it in him to try and make Ian relive some of the lowest moments of his life just to give Mickey some peace of mind. Plus, they were always facing some new bullshit obstacle head-on, so the past always just kind of got lost in the shuffle of their present difficulties.

Mickey took a deep breath and opened one of the notebooks again. The pages weren’t dated, and a lot of it didn’t make much sense. There were many lists with lines crossed out, but they didn’t describe things ‘to do,’ more like an endless inventory of concepts and feelings. The thought patterns were totally abstract, and Mickey couldn’t really make heads or tails of them. It hit him sharply in the chest when he realized that when Ian had been out of it, he’d really and truly been fucking out of it. These seemed like the crazed rantings of an unmedicated schizophrenic babbling on public transportation. It pained Mickey to the core, and it scared the shit out of him too.

He flipped through it fairly quickly, then opened the next one. It seemed to be calmer, more legible, and less unintelligible. It was more like a diary with bad poetry sprinkled in, and it only took a few pages for Mickey’s own name to jump out at him among the wall of words. It must have been written during Ian’s lost months, after going AWOL from the Army when he was 17.

He described running away from Chicago, scamming his early enlistment, crashing and burning his way out of bootcamp, shaking and selling his ass as a club boy, snorting, smoking, and swallowing all manner of substances, and crashing anywhere from penthouses to flophouses with sexual favors sprinkled in liberally. It was like the chronicle of a person going mad and coping in all the wrong ways. It surprised Mickey how emotional it made him to read these things in vivid detail. He’d completely forgotten how worried he used to be about Ian. When he was gone, when he went missing again, and when he started doing irrational things that could’ve ended so much worse than they did.

Ian was the one that had to live out all the drama and trauma of his disorder, but Mickey was the one caught on the sidelines, not having a single clue what to do or how to fix it. He’d never felt so useless or helpless in his entire life, even through all the bullshit he’d suffered growing up with Terry as a father. Maybe it was because of his age, or how Ian made him feel a certain way he’d never felt before. He just remembered hating it, and being so fucking sad.

These pages reminded him that through the mania, Ian was a bottomless well of sadness himself.

It was tough text to get through, and more than once, he felt like maybe he shouldn’t be reading it at all. Ian had never intended for other people to see his innermost thoughts, even Mickey. But it was impossible to stop now that he’d opened that floodgate. It was like reliving a part of their shared history through the eyes of his partner in crime. It was too fascinating.

After countless pages of dark tales from the void, Mickey came upon a page that was actually addressed to him. Surely, Ian had never intended to hand it over, but it was his nonetheless.

Mickey— I never had the balls to tell you this, But you’re the only boy I’ve ever loved. I thought you loved me too, But now I’m not so sure. I’m so confused and I go back and forth, Never really knowing what to actually think, Or what the truth is. All I really realize now is that I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you. It took you forever to let me, And now I just do it with anyone, Cuz I don’t fucking care. I just miss you, And I wish you were here. But also, I don’t, Cuz I don’t want you to see me like this. I’m having a great time on my own adventure, But also not. You shouldn’t be a part of it right now. You’re on your own strange journey, I guess. Maybe one day we’ll be on the same road together again, And also for the first time, since we never really were.

Mickey barely had enough time to sniff and wipe away the stray tear that had fallen, when his husband’s voice startled him out of his reverie.

“You’re still up here?”

“Jesus Christ!” he cried out with a visible jolt of his body.

His head snapped toward the attic hatch, where Ian’s dumb red head was surveying the musty space. Mickey let the notebook fall from his grasp, but Ian was already climbing the rest of the way in before it occurred to him that he was about to be caught red-handed with journals that were supposed to be deeply private. He could only flip it closed and grab his beer to polish it off, before Ian was crouching in front of him and taking a seat.

“Can’t believe you actually did this for me, to be honest,” Ian said with a chuckle, glancing at the bong. “Anything left?”

“Baggie’s right there,” Mickey replied nodding his head to the left.

“Nice.”

Ian got distracted with loading a bowl, so Mickey very subtly tried to nudge Ian's notebooks aside with his foot, like maybe if they were slightly farther away, he could claim complete innocence as to knowing what they were.

He watched Ian take a couple hits before passing it to him, and Mickey welcomed the opportunity to temper his suddenly sullen mood.

“How was work?” he asked between hits, before passing back to Ian.

Ian snickered and furrowed his brow. “You never ask me about work.”

Mickey shrugged. “Don’t mean I don’t care.”

“Uh huh.” Ian looked even more skeptical, and finally glanced around at what Mickey had in his vicinity. That sent his brow up high, in a decent imitation of Mickey’s usual expressiveness. “Oh. That my box?”

Mickey gulped and nodded. “Yeah. Just sorting it out. Should’ve just left the whole thing for ya. Sorry.”

Ian’s gaze snapped to his face. “You read stuff.”

It was a statement rather than a question.

“Just a little,” Mickey admitted. “I shouldn’t have. Fuck, I’m an asshole.”

But Ian only shook his head. “Nah, it’s okay.”

“You don’t have to say that. I’d be pissed.”

“I’m not. I promise.”

“Really? You’re not mad?”

Ian shook his head again. “No. Actually, I’m kinda relieved.”

“How the fuck so?”

“It's all stuff I wanted you to know. I mean, part of me used to be really ashamed, maybe still is, but… another part of me always just wanted to be totally honest with you. In a way I haven’t ever been with anyone. Even Lip. But I didn’t have the words to say it, you know? And I know a lot of it is just scary rambling. I don’t even understand what some of it means, but the stuff that’s real… the lucid stuff… it’s depressing as fuck, but it’s the truth. We didn’t always tell each other the truth, but we showed each other. And this was something I couldn’t really show you. So maybe you were meant to find these. Do my dirty work for me.”

“Damn, Gallagher, that’s kinda heavy. These were… kinda heavy. Made me feel shit I’d forgotten about, you know?”

Ian nodded. “Yeah. I haven’t read ‘em in years, but I remember. It’s why I wanted to put ‘em away, I guess. Plus, I didn’t want someone else snooping around and finding out too much. I mean, you never know in this house. It’s possible every fucking Gallagher already read them, but I hope not.”

“Ian…” Mickey started, but didn’t know exactly what he wanted to say. Words of reassurance? It was all in the past, and Ian was doing so well now. He was diligent about his medication, and he hadn’t spun out of control since before prison. Anything Mickey said now would just be cold comfort, since that notebook version of Ian barely existed anymore. Ian was always afraid that it would recur, but Mickey wasn’t. They were truly in it together now, and he’d never let Ian cross the threshold into the uncontrollable. “I wish I coulda been what you needed me to be back then. However impossible it was. Some of it was my fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t even my fault, really. It was some shitty shit that happened to me. I reacted the only way I thought I could. There’s no use in either of us wishing we’d done things differently now. At least we got the right outcome, right? We’re together.” He clasped their left hands so that their wedding rings touched. “Forever.”

Mickey couldn’t help but snort. “Okay, you didn’t have to get that gay about it. I already had to suffer through a buncha your faggy teen poetry. I deserve a break from the high drama of it all.”

Ian laughed, kissed his hand, dropped it, then smacked him on the cheek. “Fuck you.”

“Just say when,” Mickey responded with a smile.

“After we go through all this shit, Romeo. Explain the piles.”

“Well,” said Mickey, pointing to the nearby corner, “Carl has a shitload of contraband in there. Weapons, not drugs. Frank has some shit that might be S&M gear, not sure, then aside from your lunatic journal ramblings, everything else is boring as shit. Oh, and Fiona left a big blue dildo.”

#ian x mickey #fanfic #gallavich #fanfiction #asks #answers

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