#that two days later i sat down at wrote 7 thousand words in one sitting

[casual-eumetazoa]

oops accidentally wrote a super vulnerable 12k words long video essay script about horror and disability! when will it be out? hell if i know, stay tuned

[markandlexies]

The One With Will and JJ’s Wedding - Part 1

Summary: Based off of 7.23 and 7.24 of Friends! Will and JJ’s wedding is approaching and troubles arise when Will starts to panic and doesn't want to go through with it.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (Female) 

Word Count: 5,115k

A/N: This is my first time writing anything like this but I love Friends and Criminal Minds and this is one of my favorite plot lines ever. I could make this a series if anybody is interested, again I’m new to this and barely even know how to use Tumblr lmao so pls be nice!!! There isn't all that much pairing of Spence and reader here but I really loved writing the relationships between the characters and I’ll def go more into detail in later chapters! If you guys have an Friends episode you would wanna see written with the criminal minds characters, feel free to send me a request! Enjoy!

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

“Do you guys realize that this is the last time we’re all going to be here in O��Keefes as all single people?” JJ sighed, fiddling with her thumbs. You smiled at this, leaning on the arm of the couch, JJ sitting to your right. Emily sat on the couch also, squeezed in next to Garcia. Reid nursed a cup of coffee on the love seat to the left, while Hotch, Rossi and Morgan sat around the small table listening intently to their friend. 

“Why, what’s happening to O’Keefes?” Garcia questioned, not understanding what JJ was trying to say. 

Everyone just stared at her, used to this kind of behavior, and waited for the lightbulb. 

“Ohhh! Right!”

“I cant believe in just two days I’ll be Mrs. LaMontagne. God, it’s just- we’ve been waiting for so long and now the day is finally here,” JJ smiled to herself, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. 

“I’m so excited for you, Jaje,” you smiled, resting your hand on her knee and giving it a light squeeze. She placed her hand over yours, “I just can’t help but be nervous, you know?” 

“Of course, that’s normal! But actually, it’s been statistically proven that men are more nervous about marriage than woman. About 60% of men get cold feet-“ 

The sentence was cut short with a yelp as you kicked Spencer in the shin, urging him to stop. 

Morgan cleared his throat as JJ laughed nervously. “But that’s not gonna happen... right?” 

“Hey, don’t look at me...” Rossi chuckled. 

“N-no of course not!” You stammered, trying to calm the bride to be’s nerves. “Spence, what are the statistics of couples that actually end up happy together?” 

“Well actually about 50% to 60% of marriages end in divorce, but that doesn’t count factors such as death-“ he started.

“Well would you look at the time, we gotta go!” Garcia said, putting an end to this conversation before it could get any worse. 

“Where are you guys going?” Hotch asked, taking a sip of his drink. 

“We’re going to pick up the wedding dress and then go have lunch with my Mom,” JJ exclaimed as the girls all stood up to gather their belongings. Morgan got up with them, leaving Spencer, Rossi and Hotch to exchange questioning looks. 

“Derek, you’re having lunch with JJ’s mom?” Rossi asked, furrowing his eyebrows. 

“No... I just heard lunch...”

-

After lunch, the girls sat around the apartment as JJ went over her list of things that still needed to be done in order for her big day. 

“So what else do you have on that list?” Emily asked as she delicately applied a second coat of polish to her right hand. 

“Oh, this is a different list. This is my list of all the things that could go wrong at the wedding,” she said as she wrote a couple more notes on the paper before her. 

As she was met with silence she continued on, “You know, that way I could be prepared.”

“...Well, what do you have so far?” Garcia chimed in.

“So far I have, my bridesmaids dresses won’t get picked up, my veil gets lost or I don’t have my something blue-“

“Hey! Those are all the things I’m responsible for!” You interrupted, putting your coffee mug down. 

“I had to do with the odds, Y/N/N!” 

Before you could interject again, Will waltzed through the door. You all greeted him with a smile as he stood behind JJ’s chair, placing a  kiss on the top of her head. 

“What are you guys up to?” He asked, his hands finding their way to JJ’s shoulders. 

“Just finishing my list of all the things that could go wrong at the wedding. You can never be too sure,” she shrugged, making a couple of more notes. 

Will shook his head laughing, “Oh, relax! Everything will be perfectly fine.” 

“Yeah!” You chimed in. “Stop looking for things to go wrong, you don’t want to jinx it!” 

“Exactly!” He agreed, walking over to the fridge to grab a beer. “So, who’s excited for 7:00 tonight?” 

You all just stared at him as Garcia walked behind JJ, tearing the page off the notepad. “You might want to start a, ‘What Could Go Wrong at the Rehearsal Dinner’ list. One: Will forgets the time.” 

“Will! I told you a thousand times it’s 6:30!” JJ huffed immediately scribbling down on her new paper. You grab the notepad and clutch it to your chest. “Will you stop it? He’s just messing with you! He knows it’s at 6:30!” You turn around at his wide eyed figure. “Right?” 

“Uh- yeah! I knew it was 7:00 I was just kidding-“

“6:30!” You all yelled in unison. 

“That’s what I meant!”

“You’re killing me here, Will!” You whispered before turning back around to your best friend. “Jaje, everything will be perfectly fine! Everything is going to go as planned!” 

“She’s right! You need to stop worrying!” Emily laughed, blowing on her nails. 

JJ nodded, “Yeah, you guys are right...” She stood up walking to her fiancé, “Can you believe that tomorrow we’re gonna be married?!” He smiled at her before giving her a quick peck on the lips. “Yes, and I’m so excited for you to finally be Mrs. LaMontagne.” 

You all smiled at the interaction, none of you could be happier for the pair in front of you. 

“I just cant believe we made it!” She swooned, grabbing his hands in hers. 

“Well, you don’t have to sound so surprised!” Will scoffed. 

“It’s just- never mind.” She started, walking to put some dishes in the sink. 

“What?” Will laughed, following her as she walked. 

“Well... honestly,” she started, “... ever since we’ve gotten engaged I’ve been waiting for something to... you know, flip you out.”

You all giggled, silently agreeing. It was no question that Will loved JJ, but he had a tendency to overthink. 

“Honestly, me too... I keep waiting for something stupid to come up that’ll make me freak out and go all... Will. But nothing has.”

She turned around and smiled at him, caressing his face. “I’m so glad. Thank you so much for staying so calm during all of this.” She placed another kiss to his lips before slipping into the bathroom. 

You all sat in comfortable silence for a moment before the phone started ringing. Before anyone could volunteer to answer it, it had stopped, automatically going to voicemail. 

“Hi! If you’re calling before Saturday, you’ve reached JJ and Will! But if you’re calling after Saturday, you’ve reached Mr and Mrs. LaMontagne! Please leave a message for the LaMontagnes!” 

The girls all giggled, having been there when JJ recorded it, assuming Will had heard it already. You all continued what you were doing and missed the look of panic that was only being discussed not too long ago. Will started to sweat profusely and loosen his tie a bit, feeling he was being choked to death. 

The LaMontagnes.

-

The rehearsal dinner had gone smoothly for the most part, nobody realizing the panic that had been struck into Will just hours before. 

Before they knew it, the night had ended and their big day had begun. The girls had been sitting around like they were the previous day, eating breakfast and chatting, excited for what was ahead. JJ was prancing around the apartment, nervously fluffing pillows and moving magazines in a straight line, she had so much adrenaline and didn’t know what to do with it. 

Little did she know that across the hall, Spencer and Derek were tearing the apartment apart looking for the groom to be. Will had been staying with them the night before, being that JJ wanted the wedding day to be as traditional as possible, which meant they were not to see each other until she was walking down the aisle. 

“Will! Come on, buddy. Time to wake up!” Morgan huffed, knocking on the door. 

After no answer, Spencer called, “Will...”

No answer again. The men exchanged questioning looks as came to agreement their next move was to just walk in. Opening the door, they were met with a neatly tucked bed. They looked at each other confused. Derek walked in going to see if there was an trace of where he went as Spencer walked towards the kitchen. 

He stopped in his tracks as his eyes met with a piece of yellow paper sitting on the counter. “Morgan...” He started, walking over to read what it said. 

“What is it, Pretty Boy?” Derek asked his, standing next to Reid. 

“Oh no.”

The boys ran across the hall, knocking feverishly on the door in front of them. They were met with your smile, “What’s up, you guys?”

Your smile quickly faded as you saw their worried faces. 

“Is JJ in here?” Morgan asked in a hushed tone. 

“She’s steaming her dress, why?” Garcia answered coming behind you. 

The boys walked in the door a little further. Spencer looked up at you, pulling the paper out of his pocket. “I think Will’s gone...”

You reluctantly took the paper out of Spencer’s hands, Garcia looking down to read it with you. 

“Tell JJ I’m sorry.”

You met Spencer’s eyes with disbelief of what was in front of you. The group had soon enough caught Emily’s attention and she walked over. 

“What’s up?” She asked as you placed the note in her hands. 

“Tell JJ I’m sorry,” she read aloud. She looked up at Morgan, shoving the note in his hands, “Tell her yourself!” 

You pinched the bridge of your nose as she attempted to walk away, grabbing her by the forearm and pushing everybody outside the door. 

“Oh my God! Will just left her?” You cried, running your hands through your hair. 

“Okay, yeah! But maybe it’s not what we think! Maybe it’s, ‘Tell JJ I’m sorry... I drank the last of the milk!” Morgan said, desperately trying to convince himself also. 

“Oh!” Garcia nodded excitedly, “Or maybe h- he was writing to tell her that he’s changed his name, you know! Uh- Tell JJ I’m ‘Sorry.’”

You and Spencer looked at each other in annoyance before Spencer whisper shouted, “I think it means he freaked out and left!” 

“Don’t he so negative! God, isn’t it possible ‘Sorry’ is sitting in there right now!” Garcia whisper shouted back at Reid. 

Spencer put his head in his hands and before it could escalate any further you put your hand on Garcia’s shoulder and said, “Okay, I-I think Spencer is right. What are we gonna do?” 

Spencer sighed, “Well, me and Derek are gonna have to go find him and bring him back.” You all nodded in agreement. 

“You guys make sure JJ doesn’t find out, okay?” Morgan added, clearly stressed. 

You all started to go your separate ways as you noticed Garcia following you and Emily back into the apartment. 

“Oh! No you don’t!” Emily started, blocking the door with her arm. 

“W-what-“ Garcia stammered confused. 

You called back to the boys who were walking out of their apartment again, jackets  and phones in hand, “She’s coming with you guys.”

“Good call,” Spencer laughed.

“What are you talking about?!” Garcia huffed looking back and forth between the group. 

“Pen, we need JJ to not find out! You’d blow our cover in seconds!” You said nudging her towards the guys. 

“Oh, come on! That’s not fair-“

“Babygirl, you know you can’t keep secrets-“

“Oh, fine!” She rolled her eyes, walking away with them.

You and Emily walked back into the apartment as JJ excitedly ran out of her room with wet hair and a robe clinging to her body. “I’m getting married today!” The sentence ended with a yelp as she fell to the floor, you and Emily running to her aid but quickly coming to a halt as she picked herself up, not even phased. 

“Think I just cracked a rib...” she started, her smile still intact. “But I don’t care because today’s my wedding day! My day is finally here! I’m gonna start getting ready!” She ran back into the room clapping and squealing. 

“You know... she might not even notice he’s gone,” Emily shrugged, attempting to lighten the mood. 

Tears prickled at your eyes and you put your head in your hands. “She cant start getting ready! This is too awful!” 

“Shh!”

“She’ll be in the gown, and then he won’t show up! And she’s gonna have to take off the gown! It’s gonna be so awful-“ You started, panic running through your veins. 

“Y/N, stop it! You cant do this out here!” Emily rolled her eyes, pulling you into the bathroom. 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! It’s just so sad!” You cried, gripping the sink and shaking your head. 

“You have got to pull yourself together! JJ cant see you like this or else she’ll know something is wrong!” Emily urged rubbing your shoulder in an effort to calm you down. 

“I know, I’m sorry. God, there’s no tissue!” You groaned looking around the sink, “Can you grab me some toilet paper?” 

There was no toilet paper either, Emily looked down into the trash can. “Oh... I found some...” She hesitantly reached into the can, pulling out some crumpled toilet paper and handing it to you. 

“Thank you, Em,” you sniffled, wiping away your tears, “Can I have another one?”

Emily scratched the back of her head, cringing as she looked down at the trash can again. “Sure...”

She pulled the sleeve of her shirt up before reaching in again, pulling out some more. “Need some floss?” She suggested, shaking it in front of you with her hand. 

You ignored her as you continued with your tears, “I just cant imagine what is going to happen if Will doesn’t show up.”

Emily continued to look through the can. 

“I mean, she’s gonna be at the wedding waiting for him! And people are gonna be whispering, ‘Oh, that poor girl!’ You know! And then she’ll have to come back here and live all alone,” you shook your head, turning to face the previously steamed wedding dress hanging up on the shower rod. 

“Oh my God.”

“What?” you asked, eyes never leaving the beautiful dress that you hoped to see your best friend in later that day. 

“There was a pregnancy test in the garbage and it’s positive.”

Your eyes widened as you turned to face Emily and the little stick in her hands.

“JJ’s pregnant.”

Your hand instantly shot up to your mouth. 

Emily sighed, “So I guess she won’t be totally alone.”

“Oh my God,” you whispered. 

“Can you believe it? JJ’s gonna have a baby!” Emily said in disbelief, “Hey, can this count as her something new?”

You were at a loss for words, this was bad. 

“Do you think this is why Will took off?”

You shook your head, biting your nails, “No, she had to of just taken this test. I took out the trash last night.”

Emily looked back down at the little stick, “This is turning into the worst wedding day ever! The bride is pregnant, the groom is missing... and I’m still holding this!” She shuddered as she dropped it back into the trash.

“Em...” you started, meeting her eyes, “we cannot tell anyone about this.”

“Right... yeah. Okay,” she nodded standing up from her spot on the toilet seat, you following her movement to the door. 

“Wait do you know what kind’ve birth control she was using?”

“No, why?” you asked. 

“Just for the future, this is hardly a commercial for it!” You tried to laugh but nothing came out, you were screwed. 

-

“Anything?” You asked as you walked into Spencer and Morgan’s apartment. 

“Nothing! And we looked everywhere!” Garcia groaned from her spot on the couch. 

You all shook your head in disbelief, this was a nightmare. 

“I am going to kick his ass when I see him! I’m starting to think we don’t really even know this guy! I mean think about it, does anybody else ever really understand him when he’s speaking?” Morgan huffed, looking around for an answer. 

You rolled your eyes, “Shut up, Derek! He’s just freaking out! We should’ve known this was gonna happen sooner or later!” 

Reid sighed in a agreement as he met your eyes, “This is bad, you guys. I don’t know where else we should look.” 

You ran your hands through your hair, “We’re gonna have to just tell her that he’s gone!” you said as you turned around to walk towards the door. 

Spencer jumped up from his seat, “Y/N, no! We can’t!”

“Spence, she’s gonna start getting ready soon!”

“Cant you at least stall her a little?” He pleaded, walking over towards you. “We can go back to some of the places we went last night!”

You looked up at him, he was grabbing your forearm lightly. You could never say no to those eyes. 

“Alright,” you sighed, “...how much time do you need?”

“How much time until she absolutely has to start getting ready?” Derek interrupted. 

“One hour.”

“Okay, give us two,” he replied, gathering his things from the counter. 

You rolled your eyes in annoyance, “Then why do you even ask?!”

You all started to walk towards the door. Emily decided to join them, being that they needed all the help they could get. Hotch and Rossi were now in on the plan too and they agreed they should all split up in groups. 

“Y/N! There you are!” JJ giggled as she excitedly walked towards you as you entered the apartment. With her cosmetic bag in hand, she sat down at the kitchen table, already spilling out the contents, “So I thought we’d start with my makeup and then do my hair!”

“Okay... uh...” you stammered, “before we do that... I-I need you to talk to me...”

“About what?”

“Um...” you were already cringing at the words about to come out of your mouth. 

“I’m never going to get married!” You cried, placing a hand over your face. 

JJ rolled her eyes and looked up at you, “Yeah, you will! The right guy is just around the corner... Okay, are we done with that?” she said quickly and continued to look through her makeup bag. 

“JJ, I’m serious! Maybe I should just forget about it! I’ll become a lesbian or something...” you rambled on, faking more tears and sitting down next to her, trying to get her attention again. 

However, it didn’t work. JJ didn’t even look up at you when she scoffed, “Any woman would be lucky to have you.”

You mentally face palmed. This was getting pathetic, and you couldn’t believe what you were about to say next. 

“Maybe it would make me feel better if I just slept with Derek.”

JJ immediately stopped what she was doing and put a hand on your shoulder with wide eyes and a concerned face. “Oh my God, Y/N, are you okay?”

You shook your head quickly and stuffed your face in her shoulder, letting out fake cries. 

-

“What are you doing, man?” Derek huffed as he stood besides Hotch and Penelope in front of Will’s desk at the station. 

“I cant believe you guys found me! I knew I should have hid somewhere more secretive!”

Penelope rolled her eyes, “Will! What the hell are you doing?

Will shakily ran a hand through his hair, “Panicking...” he pointed to laptop opened in front of him, “Also trying to prove on the internet that I’m related to JJ.”

The trio was unamused. 

Will got the hint quickly and asked, “How is she?”

“She’s fine. She doesn’t know you’re gone,” Hotch spoke up, getting closer to the desk, “and she doesn’t have to know, okay?”

Derek nodded in agreement, “Yeah, come on. We’re going back home-“

“I-I can’t! If I go back, we’re gonna become the LaMontagnes!” Will cut him off, shaking his head, “I can’t be the LaMontagnes!”

“What’s wrong with being the LaMontagnes?” Garcia questioned, clearly not following. 

“The LaMontagnes have horrible marriages! All they do is yell and fight, and it never ends up well!”

Hotch, Penelope and Derek looked back at Will, finally understanding. He didn’t talk about it much, but Will and his parents were not close, he was too scarred from what they had put him through growing up to ever reconstruct their relationship. 

“Man...” Derek began in an effort to calm him down, “You are nothing like either of your parents! You and JJ would never put each other through anything like that!”

Will thought about it for a second before saying, “I mean, look at Rossi! It’s just been divorce after divorce-“

“Will! Listen to me!” Penelope interrupted walking over to the side of the desk, “Right now, no one has a lower opinion of you than I do... but I totally believe you can do this!”

Will looked at his hands before saying, “I want to. I love her so much. But I’m afraid... this is... too huge.”

“You’re right, it is huge,” Hotch chimed in. He remembered when he was the one getting married and started to sympathize with the nerves of the man in front of him. “Just take it one step at a time. Forget getting married right now, can you just come home and take a shower?”

Morgan nodded in agreement, “Yeah, that’s not scary, right?”

Will slowly started to stand up in agreement and the trio in front of him couldn’t help but smile. 

-

“The nights are the hardest...” you cried, looking down at your hands. JJ rolled her eyes. “But then the day comes... and that’s every bit as hard as the night. Then the night comes again-“

“I get it, okay? The days and nights are both hard!” JJ snapped in frustration. “Look, Y/N, I’m sorry but I have to start getting ready. I am getting married today,” she emphasized. 

“I know... at dusk. That’s such a hard time for me.”

JJ stood up, not being able to take anymore of your pity party. “Okay. I’m gonna go put my makeup on. We have to be at the hotel in an hour.”

As she started to walk towards the bathroom you jumped up, “W-wait! Let’s go to lunch!”

“I can’t go to lunch!” She shrieked, running into the bathroom. 

You were starting to run out of ideas. Throwing yourself to the floor you yelled, “Oh  good God, I’ve fallen down!”

JJ stormed out of the bathroom, crossing her arms and looked at you sprawled out on the floor. “What the hell is going on?”

“Alright, JJ, listen...” you said standing up, feeling the tears ready to spill. “When I tell you what I’m about to tell you I need you to remember we’re all here for you and we all love you.”

JJ’s gaze softened, “Y/N/N, you’re really starting to freak me out...”

You looked down at your shaking hands as you whispered, “We can’t find Will...”

And just like that the door opened to reveal a smiling Emily Prentiss holding two big thumbs up. 

“...s vest. We cant find Will’s vest-“

“How can that be are you serious?!” JJ cried.

Emily caught on and shut the door walking towards you two, “Found the vest! Well I mean we have to keep an eye on it. You know, to make sure we don’t lose it again!”

JJ instantly relaxed and started laughing, “Oh, thank God! Don’t scare me like that, okay?” 

You both started nervously laughing as she started to walk towards the bathroom to finally do her makeup. 

“For a minute there I was like, ‘Oh my God, the worst has happened!’ Phew!”

You and Emily both looked at each other with a sigh of relief. 

-

Derek stood behind Will in the mirror, smoothing down his tux. “See, that wasn’t so scary was it? You put on a tuxedo!”

Will laughed nervously, looking at his reflection, “No... I guess not.”

Spencer smiled, “See, just a little bit at a time.”

“So what‘s the next little bit?”

Derek and Spencer looked nervously at each other, knowing they had to choose their next words very carefully. 

“Just uh,” Derek stammered, “Getting married-“

Will let out a girl-like shriek, putting his head in his hands. 

“W-woah, relax! You can do it! Just like you’ve done everything else!”

He lifted his head, nodding at Spencer’s words. “You’re right... I can do it. Just excuse me for a minute,” he sighed walking towards the door. 

The men shared a skeptical look before Will added, “I’m not gonna run away again! I just need some fresh air.”

The boys reluctantly let Will out of the door and he paced the halls, trying to let all the nerves out. Hearing familiar voices around the corner, Will walked into one of the empty rooms on his left, trying not to be seen. The last thing he needed was to run into JJ in her dress before they were married and ruin this day even more than he almost already did. He soon recognized the voices as Y/N and Emily. 

“I just cant believe JJ is pregnant! We gotta make sure we don’t say that too loud in here, you know they frown on that,” Emily said, referring to the church.  

Pregnant?! How could it be? They used protection every single time?

All Will could hear was your humorless chuckles and wordless responses to what Emily was saying. 

When your voices were gone, he popped his panicked head out of the door and started pacing the other way. 

-

“Hey...” Derek nervously laughed as he entered the bridal suite. He was met with the eyes of JJ’s family members and gave them all a quick wave. “Have any of you seen Will?”

Penelope was fixing her hair in the mirror and quickly turned around, “I thought he was with you!”

Suddenly everyone’s attention was on Derek. “Well... he was,” he awkwardly looked around. “We’re playing a game of hide and seek.”

Penelope’s shoulders relaxed, “Well you can’t ask us, Chocolate Thunder! That’s cheating!” She turned back around scoffing, to continue pulling at little pieces of hair to frame her face. The rest of the room was clearly uncomfortable.

Derek gritted his teeth, “You’re right. Thanks for keeping me honest, Babygirl...” he smiled at the rest of JJ’s family, trying to make sure they didn’t suspect anything. 

Walking towards Penelope to tell her Will was actually missing, he immediately came to a halt as JJ and Emily walked in the room. 

“JJ, you look beautiful,” he smiled, giving her a hug. 

She hugged him tightly and thanked him before asking, “How’s Will?”

Derek paused. 

“Great. He’s doing great. Don’t you worry about Will!” he nervously chuckled before turning his attention back to the other side of the room. “Penelope, Emily, will you help me with something outside?” 

The girls nodded and followed him out, Penelope closing the door behind them. 

“Will is gone again!”

“Oh my God!” Penelope cried, “Why would you play hide and seek with someone you know is a flight risk!”

Derek rolled his eyes before turning his head and seeing the man of the hour walking with a small gift bag. 

“Hey- There he is!” 

“What-“ 

Without thinking Derek sprinted towards the man, tackling him on the floor. “You’re not getting away this time-“

“What are you talking about- I’m not trying to leave! I-I know about JJ.” He groaned, pushing Morgan off of him and standing up. 

“You know?” Emily asked in disbelief. 

“Know what?” Garcia chimed in, matching Derek’s expression of confusion. 

“I heard you and Y/N talking...” Will answered. 

“Talking about what?” questioned Derek, looking around confusingly. 

“Oh my God... You know.” Emily whispered.

“Can someone tell us what the hell is going on right now-“ Penelope exclaimed. 

“JJ’s pregnant.”

The pair looked at each other in shock, and broke out in smiles as Will pulled out a tiny onesie. 

“Anything this tiny can’t be so scary.”

-

The ceremony had begun and all the guests had taken their seats. Rossi took his rightful spot in the center, being that he would be the one to officiate the wedding. Will was accompanied by his parents down the aisle and one after the other, the bridesmaids and the groomsman met in the middle and followed. It went Emily and Hotch, Derek and Penelope and then it was time for you to meet Spencer. It was the first time you had seen each other dressed up. The day had been so hectic you hadn’t had the chance to run into one another. He looked handsome in his suit, his hair so perfectly messy, and it took everything in you to not sprint over to him and run your hands through it. 

Spencer was speechless, He couldn’t help but smile at the sight of you walking towards him to meet in the aisle. You looked gorgeous in your light blue bridesmaid dress that hugged you perfectly. Your hair was pulled back on the sides, a few pieces hanging and your makeup was elegantly placed, highlighting all the features he loved. 

“You look beautiful,” he whispered as you met up and linked arms. The blush spread through your cheeks like a wildfire and you prayed the camera couldn’t pick it up. 

“Thank you,” you whispered back. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

As it came time to part from him, you slowly unlinked your arms and walked to your respective sides, but not before giving his hand a gentle squeeze. He smiled at that. 

JJ had walked out and tears were brought to not only Will’s eyes, but everyone else’s. She looked gorgeous and you couldn’t help but feel ecstatic for her as you knew she had been waiting for this moment her whole life. 

Rossi had soon announced them husband and wife and everyone had cheered as they kissed one another. It was truly a moment of bliss. 

“I love you,” Will whispered while cupping JJ’s cheek, “and I know about the baby too.”

“What baby?” JJ laughed. 

“Our baby.”

“We have a baby?”

“Emily found your pregnancy test in the bathroom-“

JJ looked at him confused, “I didn’t take a pregnancy test...”

“Then who did?”

You, Emily and Penelope stared at the two in awe. 

“Just look at them, they’re so happy.” Emily gushed. 

“And they’re gonna have a baby!” Penelope smiled. 

You nodded nervously, the wave of nausea hitting you like a ton of bricks. 

“Wait- Penelope knows now too?!”

[saidrolav]

Drunk Aurora

Single dad!Sam Wilson x gn!reader

Summary: Your ex-boyfriend dumped you, and you decide to get drunk in a pub but you bump into a handsome man.

Warnings: drinking, mentions of vomit, a small part of angst, mostly fluff.

a/n: I've been heavily inspired by the marvelous @barnesnroses and their fic "Invisible string" go check out their works cuz it makes my heart warm. 🥰 (I know you said i didn't had to credit you but i did it ANYWAY BECAUSE PEOPLE NEED TO SEE WHATCHU WROTE CUZ ITS WOW 🙌)

not my gif!

You knew it. You knew it was going to happen sooner or later and it didn't fail. It happened. Your boyfriend, well, now ex-boyfriend had left you, and you had felt it, your relationship was close to an end. But even through you knew it was gonna end, you didn't said anything, and even through you knew, it still hurted bad deep down in your heart. He left your appartement the morning. All day you sat on your couch watching him coming in and out of your place, his arms full of boxes, in silence. The only thing you managed to say when he told you it was over was an 'okay.' and since then you've been silent. You didn't even cried. You weren't shocked. You were just thinking, well, what am i going to do now ? All by myself. A part of you was screaming 'You don't need him, you're strong!' and the other part was crying their heart out. The thing that the two parts of you agreed on was, drinking. Drinking.. a lot. So that's what you did.

You entered the nearest pub that was quite crowded and approached the fastest you could the bar. You ordered the first alcohol on the list (which was the strongest), and waited patiently for your drink.

You looked around you and saw a couple of people playing cards and others laughing until they were out of breath, it made you smile slightly and when your eyes came back to the bar, your drink was in front of you. It took you no time to think that you were already drinking it in one shot, the alcohol burning your throat and your cheeks at the same time. You asked for another drink, and another one, and another one.. At your.. You didn't remembered how much drinks you had but you were quite drunk, you decided you should probably go home, and when you got out of the pub, you saw that the moon were already up high in the dark sky.

You stared at it for a couple minutes but when you tried to walk, you saw that your legs weren't following the pace and you almost fell, you putted your arm against the nearest wall and tried to find back your balance, looking at the ground. You really wanted to throw up right here in the middle of the street because the alcohol was burning your stomach and it made you feel sick, you bended your legs and catched your breath. You took a big breath and looked back at the street, okay fine, you were good, not going to throw up on the middle of the steet, you still had some dignity. Yes you were drunk in the middle of the night, outside, but at least you weren't going to vomit.

You standed up and it was with wide eyes filled with terror that you realized that you haven't putted your arm against a wall. You were too drunk to realize but you were holding a piece of t-shirt that were belonging to a chest of a man. A pretty handsome man to say at least. He haven't said a word, didn't make a move, didn't do anything until you were feeling better, his chocolate brown eyes were looking at you with concern and waited any sign to prove that you were okay.

"OH MY GOD !" You screamed and it made him jump a little, that's when he realized you were probably drunk, with the scream and the fact that you haven't realized you had grabbed him with his shirt. "Since when you've b-been here ?" You frowned and it made him laugh.

"I guess since i'm stuck with you ?" He smiled and pointed with his index where you were still holding him.

"I'm SO sorry... I mean i'm sorry for you for being stuck with such an handsome person." You winked miserably and he laughed even more at your attempt to flirt with him when you couldn't even walk.

"That's okay, pumpkin, i'm going to take you home just lead me okay ?" He smiled kindly and before you could answer he took you in his arms and lifted you so your legs weren't touching the ground anymore, you let out a little scream which made him chuckle. Damn that guy was strong has hell! He moved you like you were a feather and it made you feel like all sorts of butterflies were erupting in your stomach. He carried you, princess style and waited quietly for your instructions. And he waited quite some time, he had been more than patient with you but suddenly he heard soft snores coming from you and he smiled, he thought you were adorable. He didn't know if he was happy because he could take you to his home or unhappy because you would think he was some sort of freak taking random people in his house.

He finally took control of the situation and bringed you to his appartment, he wasn't going to leave you here anyway, so he thought it was the best choice.

The both of you arrived to his appartment, he tried to make no noises so he wouldn't woke up his son. He putted you on his couch and took off your shoes, putted those next to you and laid a blanket on your sleeping body. He waited a couple minutes and assured himself that you were in deep sleep and went in his bedroom so he could sleep too.

"Dad, DAD !" He jumped out of his bed only to be met with his son, Aiden, and he took him in his arms with a huge smile on his face, Sam had slept at least a good 7 hours.

"What's going on buddy ?" He ruffled his hair while taking him in the kitchen to make the breakfast for the three of you.

"Dad, there's a princess on the couch..." Sam frowned a bit and took a look on the couch and saw you, still asleep which made him smile, he putted his son back on the ground.

"Yeah that's Sleeping beauty, don't wake them up or they'll eat you alive !" He whisper-shouted at his son and at the end of his sentence he added some tickles under Aiden's arms which made him laugh loudly while running away.

Sam took a pan to make some eggs with bacon and putted on some cartoons and Aiden watched these in silence. The only sounds that we were able to hear were the TV and your soft snores that were coming from the couch.

Sam finished his scrambled eggs and bacon and seperated them in three plates, he putted one in front of you on the table of his living room, and one in front of his son who ate it with enthusiasm. He sat down on the seat next to you and ate his own plate while watching the cartoons with Aiden.

He served three big glasses of orange juice and he got worried when he saw that you were still asleep and it was almost 11am, your food was going to get cold. He drank his orange juice fastly and putted down his plate to kneel down next to you. He shaked you softly, trying to wake you up as gently as possible and it worked, you opened slowly your eyes but they widened quickly as the realisation hitted you. Who was this man ? What is this place ? Where the heck are you ? What happened last night ? Before you or Sam could manage to say something you heard a third person talking.

"Dad you woke them up they're going to eat you alive !" Aiden smiled at his dad and the man in front of you couldn't control his laugh when he saw the confusion creeping on your face. You sat up straight and looked around you while you were putting your hair correctly. You stomach groaned when your eyes landed on a plate filled with food and a homemade orange juice, you gave a questionning look to the man next to you but he only he sat back on his seat to eat his own dish.

"You can eat." He simply said with a charming smile which made your heart melt. "I made those for you." "You really didn't had to.." His smile only growed bigger. "But i wanted to." "Oh, thanks.." And you suddenly felt embarassed for letting your sentence in suspense because you didn't remembered his name, if he told you.

"I'm Sam, and this is Aiden." He gave a look at his son and you smiled before giving an akward wave at the kid which he returned fastly. "I'm y/n."

"Hi princess!" You blushed a deep shade of red and chuckled a bit before eating in silence your plate as you were also watching the cartoons on the TV.

When the three of you finished your portions of food, Sam took them along with the empty drinks and went to do the dishes, while Aiden went to the bathroom he had explained everything that happened last night and you were feeling more comfortable around Sam and his son.

Aiden sitted next to you and stared at you until you gave him the attention he wanted, then out of nowhere he blurted suddenly: "Is my dad your prince since he woke you from your 100 years old sleep ?" You grinned widely before taking a look at Sam, but this one had his back turned to you, however you could clearly see his big smirk.

"I guess so ?.." You chuckled slightly, not knowing what to answer to such a young child. You stayed at Sam's house a couple of minutes more, playing with Aiden, laughing, they had made your day a thousand times better, but you had to tell him that you had to leave and it made your heart broke when you saw the puppy dog eyes that his son was giving you.

"I'm gonna drive you home sleeping beauty." Sam said to you and his eyes lightened up when they met yours which made you blush slightly.

"No that's okay i don't leave that far i can walk." You nodded to yourself before returning his huge smile.

"That's not what was happening last night," He laughed and you joined him. Your cheeks were hurting from how much you smiled and chuckled that morning. "But you sure ?"

"Yeah, don't worry i'll be fine!" You were soon about to tell him goodbye but as soon as the two of you were in front of his appartment he screamed a "wait!" before disappearing again inside. He came back a couple of seconds later with a pen and he wrote his number on the back of your hand, and he added a "for drunk Aurora." while laughing to himself. When you read it, it made you smile brightly before kissing his cheek, making him blush lightly. You turned your back and was ready to leave when you heard him screaming behind you:

"THE PRINCE WILL BE WAITING FOR THE CALL OF HIS MAJESTY !"

You gave him two thumbs up while chuckling and walking backwards so you could see his charming smile still on his lips. The two parts of you really were right, sometimes, getting drunk was the right option when you could run into Sam Wilson.

[farfromtommy]

better than this (dad!chris evans)

summary: a little insight into life as a parent with chris throughout the years 

warnings: talk of preterm labor but nothing graphic or major

word count: 2,250

A/N: okay so like this idea came to me at 2 am and wrote it till about 5 in the morning and im crying at the softness. totally unedited and posted bc im so obsessed with it. i havent written in this kind of format before but i loved loved loved it. i was also thinking while writing this to do this but for steve rogers and i swear i lost my mind. if you guys are interested in something like that id love to write this but for steve <3 

masterlist 

add yourself to my taglist here! 

After meeting through some mutual friends you fell in love with each other. Chris swore he would have married you after your first date. A ring came about a year and a half later, Chris not wanting to call you anything but his wife for any longer. One dream wedding and a month-long honeymoon around the world, you were Mrs. Y/N Evans.

The conversation about kids came fairly early in the relationship. Him coming from a big family, he wanted the same for himself. He wanted a big house in the Massachusetts suburbs, the white picket fence, a couple of dogs, and the kids. He wanted to come home from work being attacked by a couple of kids and seeing you walking towards him barefoot and pregnant.

You were an only child to divorced parents, growing up mostly on your own. You never saw yourself as a mom, but always loved the idea of running after a couple of kids. Never wanting to bring a child into the kind of world you grew up in. The sad and lonely kind of world you endured most of your life. After meeting his family after a couple of months of dating and seeing the way he interacted with his nieces and nephews, you couldn’t help but hope to see yourself raising some kids with him.

He loved the idea of raising a family with you.

Grayson Christopher Evans

You brought your first child into the world not too long after your wedding.

You were in labor for about 16 hours before you were met with the screams of a baby boy.

Your baby boy.

He cried and cried until his skin met yours, calming him down almost instantly. Looking over at Chris who was at an absolute loss for words at the little person calming himself with the sound of your heartbeat. He looked at you for a while before looking back at his baby boy.

Chris couldn’t quite process the feelings he felt that night his son was born. He knew how much he loved you. You knew how much you loved him. But having this little person as a tangible expression of your love and commitment for each other was just beyond him. It was beyond anyone.

Grayson was just like his dad. Almost an exact copy of him if you were being honest. The same big blue eyes. The same soft brown hair. The same everything. Lisa often said how much Grayson was just like Chris was when he was a kid. There was little of you visible in him. Maybe he had the curve of your nose and the shape of your lips. But he was all Chris.

His little personality bubbling since day one. You couldn't have asked for a more perfect baby. He giggled as much as he could and played until he fell asleep with a toy in his hand. You were so lucky to have been gifted this little boy as your first baby. Chris had been struggling to balance work and his responsibility to you and Grayson but never failed to make sure you knew how loved you both were, even from thousands of miles apart.

Eleanor Olivia Evans

After another long labor, you welcomed a little girl into your new family of 4. A tiny little girl who, just like your boy once did, calmed themselves down at the sound of your heart and the warmth from your body. Chris once again sat there just absolutely beside himself at the sight of the love of his life with his little girl on your chest.

Introducing Eleanor, or Ellie, to Grayson was probably one of the greatest moments of your life. Chris walked in with Grayson in his arms telling him that we needed to use our indoor voices when talking to mommy and the baby. Grayson quickly climbed to sit right next to you, not bearing even 1 day away from you. You hugged your little boy and talked to him about meeting his sister. Grayson ran his little hands running along Eleanor’s cheeks as you sat there crying at the moment they were having with each other.

Now with a 3-year-old and a 1-year-old life couldn’t have been sweeter. You had hardly been working while pregnant with Ellie, still having to keep up with a rambunctious toddler. Before kids, you were doing some writing for all sorts of movies and TV shows. After kids, you took fewer jobs that require travel and stayed mostly local.

Chris not wanting to leave you at home with a toddler and a newborn had made sure his work kept him close or allowed you and the kids to go with him. You both wanted to make sure you were there when Grayson and Ellie needed you.

If Grayson was a mama’s boy, Ellie was 1000% a daddy’s girl. She refused to let Chris out of her sight if she could help it. She refused to sleep most nights without hearing the sound of her dad’s voice and would cry and cry if he didn’t sing her to sleep. When Chris was pulled away for a week for work you were losing your mind trying to get her to sleep.

After a mild breakdown, you gave in and called Chris knowing even hearing his voice over the phone would calm the baby down. He sat there on the phone and just talked to her. She fell asleep almost immediately and slept through most of the night. You thanked Chris and ended up asking him for voice recordings of him talking and singing so you could play them in case he was pulled away again.

Charlotte Rose Evans

Charlotte, or Charlie as she's been nicknamed by her siblings, came into the world with a crew waiting so patiently for her arrival. By far the most painful and complicated birth you have had, she had quite dramatically made her entrance into the Evans family.

You had been monitored closely the last couple of months of your pregnancy as Miss Charlie tried to make an appearance early. You had some complications about halfway through and your midwife had been worried about possible preterm labor. You had started to have what you knew were contractions at 30 weeks and were immediately rushed into the hospital to try and halt the contractions and luckily succeeding.

You were placed on strict bed rest for the remainder of your pregnancy, not even allowed to stand at the stove making dinner, only getting up to use the bathroom and move from the bed to the couch.

It didn’t make your life with an overactive 4 and 2-year-old easy at all. Chris stayed home 24/7 to take care of you and his mom and sisters rotating taking the time to stay with you to help with the kids.

When Charlie did make her debut both of you were as healthy as you could be. Once again, bringing Chris to tears as another baby made their way into your family. He didn’t know he was capable of loving this much. He thought he had reached capacity after Ellie but the love he had for you and his kids just kept growing as you kept adding on.

If Grayson was all Chris, Charlie was all you. Except for her blue eye, which you figured would be a pattern with your kids. She was a copy of you and Chris ate it up. Eleanor is a perfect combination of the two of you. You could see the traits of you as well as the traits of Chris throughout her. But Charlie was completely you.

Grayson fit right into his role as big brother and protector of the Evans girls. He made sure every night he said goodnight to his sisters and told them he loved them with a kiss on their foreheads.

Ellie was excited that she no longer had to share her dolls with Grayson and would finally have a girl to play with. Charlie looked up to her big sister, seeing her as the most amazing person she has ever met.

Grayson, however, felt like he needed another sibling, specifically a boy sibling, and constantly asked you for a brother. He said to you over and over again that his friends at school had brothers and he needed one so very bad. You and Chris had agreed to stop at 3 but had given into the idea of having 1 more to try and even out the numbers. With Grayson in 2nd grade, Ellie in kindergarten, and Charlie starting Pre-K soon, having another wouldn’t be impossible.

Declan Robert Evans

The 2nd boy and the 4th and final child Chris and Y/N had brought into their world. Another perfect mix of Chris and Y/N.

His birth being the last time you would be in the hospital having a baby made it just that more emotional. You soaked in the first moments of his life just a little bit more. Chris cried just a couple more tears, seeing that angel on your chest for the first time. You admired the father of your children just a little more seeing him introduce the addition to the family to your other kids. Adoring the look on Grayson’s face when you set Declan on his lap, finally meeting the little brother he’d been wanting. Asking you if he could take him to class to show off to all his friends.

Walking around your house Declan’s first day home was more emotional than you had thought it would be. You brought every single one of your babies right through your front door. You had pictures littered around the house of moments in your life you were lucky to have immortalized forever. Knowing you had started your family here made you love everything just that much more.

Declan now 5 years old, Charlotte 8 years old, Eleanor 10 years old and Grayson at 12 years old you couldn’t imagine life any differently. You and Chris celebrated 13 years of marriage and almost 15 years together surrounded by the physical representations of the love you two shared for each other was unexplainable.

You had slowly started to get back into the work you loved doing so much after Declan started school. You were able to work on projects offered to you with Chris and had become an unstoppable duo professionally and personally.

Even having the amazing opportunities to do something you loved to do, nothing would ever beat sitting around a table listening to your kids talk about everything and anything that came to mind. Listening to them talk about what happened at school or about upcoming events they want to participate in was the highlight of your day.

Grayson had been playing with a football the moment he could pick one up. Chris nearly cried when Grayson had approached you guys about doing little league football at the rec center. Chris had been watching Patriot's games with Grayson since the day he was born. Taking him to games with Scott whenever they had the chance. The love for football ran in his blood and when he found out he could play on a team he took the chance as soon as it presented himself.

Eleanor had found a love for music and performing, just like her dad. She had picked up music and singing at a very young age, which probably came from her dad's love of performing. You encouraged her to pursue her love for music by telling her stories of when her daddy was young and used to stand on stage before he started doing big movies. She loved looking at pictures and watching old videos of Chris performing in high school whenever she'd visit Grandma Lisa.

Charlotte had picked up your love of reading and writing as soon as she could. Her favorite day of the week is when her class gets to spend time at the library finding new things to read and learn about. So far a running theme with her is books about nature and animals. She loves sitting down with you in the afternoon and telling you about what she learned in the science portion of her day. She had learned about how plants and animals interact and how important they are for all humans. She told you that when she's big she wants to make sure no one ever hurts plants and animals since they are so important for us.

Declan hadn't quite developed a love for something like his siblings had. All he cares about right now is the kind of snacks his mom packs for him and superheroes. You and Chris had introduced him to the world of superheroes recently, knowing that being in school someone was bound to mention to him about seeing his dad on a movie they watched. He was obsessed with the fact that his dad was a superhero once upon a time. He loved watching Chris' movies and would always ask to watch them whenever Chris wasn't home.

You looked at Chris from across the table as Grayson talked to him about football tryouts and asking him if they could practice after dinner. He felt your eyes on him and looked at you with a smirk and a wink thrown at you before giving Grayson his attention again.

You sat back a little to look around at this family surrounding you, knowing there was nothing better than this.

[gwoongi]

dancer in the dark (pt. 1)

jeon jeongguk / reader genre: rockstar/pop-punk au, smut, angst & fluff rating: explicit words: 33k warnings: slowburn, explicit sexual themes, alcohol use, recreational rockstar drug use, smoking, adult language, dark themes including negative side-effects of drug use and drinking including intoxication & irrational behaviour, dry humping, mental health struggle, koo has an australian accent, unprotected sex, slight exhibitionism, if things feel good in this fic then wait 4 part two to ruin everything a/n: ok.....hear me out......guk as a lead singer of an alternative-punk-rock band....and he looks like this......and this….. AND THIS………and his band r basically chase atlantic......Ok ur welcome & pls give this fic a chance!!!!!!!!!! i luv it a lot and its probs my fav so far ˭̡̞(◞⁎˃ᆺ˂)◞*✰ def a long one so get ur tea and blankets and buckle up! notes: have it. this has been in my drafts since like july. just take it and smile.

dedicated to @httpjeon, who force fed me pictures of rocker jeongguk and repeatedly kept me sane + motivated. thank u sm 

Money can’t buy you happiness. Jeongguk, for the longest time, thinks he’s happy. Truthfully, Jeongguk doesn’t know what happiness is until you find him.

BIRTH OF DEVILS. (LONDON)

“That was August Blue in the Live Lounge, covering Thanks For The Memories by Fall Out Boy. These guys have some right talent, don’t they? Yeah...well, you can keep up to date with them by watching their interview with us on IPlayer right now, and they’re also going to be on tour in London and various other American venues within the next few months. I’m proper excited for that...”

No matter how many interview schedules and radio plays, Jeongguk doesn’t feel as though he is ever going to get used to this feeling. 

For now, it is an endless series of chaos, radio stations and newspapers wanting to talk to the newest music craze- because that’s what August Blue were, whether Jeongguk liked that or not. 

August Blue were a band who nobody thought could make it. From early fans of the band, when they were barely filling up Korean venues and getting more than a thousand views on original songs, to big-name celebrities like Axel Choi who had waltzed into Jeongguk’s part-time job when he was seventeen. The man, one of Jeongguk’s idols, had looked him in the eye, considered his band and his dream and said he didn’t have the talent to do anything good with his band, and told him, if you want to be big, you have to be American.

It wasn’t quite the same, or what Axel had intended for it to mean, but four years later Jeongguk now sits number one on the Billboard Charts with his ‘band with no potential’, making a name for themselves, bringing pride to their culture, love with their music, and money to Korea’s economy. The amount of fans that August Blue had collected over the four years of Jeongguk’s band being formally considered a band were unimaginable, many flocking to landmarks to photograph lampposts he stood next to on Instagram, others going to his home-country to enjoy the country that had birthed icons. 

If only Jeongguk had the same love and pride for his country; they had turned their backs on them simply because of their popularity overseas. 

Well, fuck them- Jeongguk and his band are going somewhere no other Korean band or artist can even touch, and while we’re on the subject- Axel Choi can eat a dick! Jeongguk’s not doing so bad for a Busan boy working at 7-Eleven, and while Jeongguk’s drinking champagne like a King on the top of the charts, it’s hard to see everybody else at the bottom.

August Blue leave the BBC Broadcasting House, on their way to the hotel for their last two nights in London before heading back to America. It doesn’t quite feel real yet, for Jeongguk to say that his band have sold out two nights at the O2 Academy Brixton. Admittedly, it’s not as big as their shows in America, which similarly happens to be where most of their fans are located, but for a first time in the UK, it’s a dream to see it sold out with his band's name and faces on billboards nearby.

Beside him in the black van, August Blue’s bassist Hoseok sighs deeply and fastens his seatbelt, his hands immediately rummaging into his coat pocket to pull out his phone. Nevertheless, a smile does dance on his lips; a few fans had gathered outside the building to see them off, as well as welcome them when they arrived for their Live Lounge recording and interview. It still feels surreal for Jeongguk to see his face on shirts, and to hear people call his name. As the car begins to pull out of the car park, Jeongguk squints through the darkened glass at the fans, a bright smile on his face as they cheer, right until the car is out of the building vicinity.

“Should arrive at the hotel in thirty.” From the passenger seat, August Blue’s manager twists to face the band in the back seats. Jeongguk barely lifts his face to see him, his eyes glancing over and then moving back out the window, watching London pass by in a blur. “Try and get some shut-eye. Good job today, guys.”

“Thanks, coach,” Seokjin replies. It’s always Seokjin who does the talking, taking the role of Big Bro whenever August Blue’s lead vocal and, let’s face it, the reason why they have fans, Jeongguk, isn’t feeling particularly chatty, which is more often than not. “Let’s keep working hard, yeah?”

The question is directed out to everybody in the van, and Jeongguk finally looks over. He nods, gently and smiles as if it hurts him to be genuine, and then his attention is back out the window, his mind back with the fans who had screamed for him, his heart filled with the warmth of the memory.

It’s good to be loved, to be accepted. It’s good to be successful when people doubted you could do it.

THE DEVILS ARE DANCING. (VENICE)

“It sounds really good, Jeongguk. Want me to run it one more time?”

Jeongguk shrugs the weight of his jacket off his shoulders, twisting the cable attaching to his headphones so they unravel around his body and raises his thumb through the glass to the rest of the studio. On cue, the familiar sound of the opening melody to August Blue’s updated track, Hold Your Breath, floods through the speakers, slightly tinny but nonetheless clear for all to hear. While Sejin, August Blue’s manager, aids the producer by pointing out minor audio flaws, Jeongguk joins the rest of his band in the studio to gather around. The last to join the group is Seokjin, the drummer who rubs at his wrists pathetically, his duet of drumsticks poking out of his back pocket.

Sejin’s right- it does sound good.

The strums from Hoseok, Taehyung and Namjoon’s instruments sounds incredible, and it’s probably their strongest non-punk track of the year. Retrospectively, it sounds nostalgic, reminding Jeongguk of those summer evenings in Busan after a tiring day of school and garage-band practise with the guys. When the chorus moulds together, Jeongguk’s lips lift to a satisfied and exuberant smile, the harmonies from everybody’s vocals blending together before the chorus comes to a finale, and Namjoon’s deeper vocals come for the second round of verses.

As he listens, Jeongguk recalls the moment he sat down and wrote this song, back when he was eighteen and feeling like the world was against him. In that respect, this song means a lot to him and the band, reminiscent of a time where it felt impossible to get out of the garage and into venues. Then, when Friends brought them out of small Korean venues into charts abroad and giving them radio play, Jeongguk had stored Hold Your Breath on a memory stick and his worn out lyric book, until the right moment came for him to present it to a studio. It just so happened that ADORA, a respected and famous Korean producer based in the US-of-A, had loved the track, bringing it back to square one where Jeongguk stands still, unaware that the single has finished playing.

“It’s one of our best,” Namjoon admits bashfully, his hand brushing the back of his neck, a habit. He extends his gaze out to the rest of the band, “am I right?”

“Better than Friends?” Seokjin asks, surprised. He tilts his head as if he disagrees. “Nothing can beat Friends.” After that statement, something about another song comes up in conversation but it dies out over the sound of Hold Your Breath being rolled back and played again.

On the other side of Jeongguk, Hoseok hums and claps the younger on the shoulder, the sound of Jeongguk’s hiss ignored and silenced by the excited discussion over the track by the producers, lunch menus between Seokjin and Namjoon. With a slight wince, Jeongguk looks over at the bassist.

“It’s all thanks to you!” Hoseok says, a tight but honest smile on his face. “Without you, there’d be no songs. I’m telling you, we knew you were special!”

“Thanks, Hobi,” Jeongguk replies quietly. “Let’s hope people like it and it sells.”

“Why wouldn’t it?” Hoseok muses, frowning. “Just because it has a story doesn’t mean it won’t sell. Honestly, Guk, this one’s great. It’s gonna be amazing.”

Like always, Jeongguk finds that difficult to believe, despite records and albums selling luxuriously every time. It’s mandatory to doubt, especially when you’ve got a lot to lose; August Blue are just another band, another group of guys trying to make a name for themselves across the pond. Right now, they’re not huge, not as big as Jeongguk wants them to be- they can sell out a couple arenas, top charts and headline shows, but they’ve still got a long way to go, still got the prejudice of being foreign. If anything, that only motivates them more. Nothing feels better than proving the white man wrong.

“When it’s finished, we’ll have a promising B-side for the album,” starts Adora, the producer looking over her shoulder with satisfaction at the five guys. “I’d like to run through Dancer in the Dark, though? Adjust the drums, maybe add more to the sax?”

Jeongguk nods, taking a quick sip of water from a bottle on top of the small cabinet pushed to the wall of the studio. “Might work better as the A, actually. Guys, what’dya think?”

“Yeah, sure,” Namjoon replies. “It’s a good song- will probably look better with a music video too. Want us back in the booth for it?”

Adora shakes her head, rolling the song back up. “Nah. Just gonna listen for now. Good job, guys.”

With that, and the familiar opening melody of Dancer in the Dark filtering through the speakers, Sejin claps his hands and gives a thumb to the rest of the band, sending them off for an hour or two until they’re needed again. In ADORABLE TRAP Records, singers were more often than not props, voices for her to play with. Jeongguk provides a demo, a rough idea of what the song should sound like and Adora works her magic, changing tones and amplifying the bass, creating something magical and sensational for when August Blue regroup in the studio at a later time. The band trust Adora and her team, considering she’s half the reason why they’re big worldwide in the first place.

THREE AM is August Blue’s anticipated first full length album, after many months of EP’s and mini albums, alongside the handful of covers accumulated over the years. ATR expects it to be completed by the end of the week, with only minor final touches needed on a select few of the tracks, eleven seamless and sensually exciting songs ready to release to the budding and hungry public. Like always, the pressure of perfection hangs over the studio, intoxicating and infuriating, and as soon as he can escape the room, Jeongguk inhales the clean and purified air of the outer studio, where a leather sofa sits beside a flickering vending machine that’s surely seen better days.

Hoseok groans, massaging the cramp out of his shoulder with his leather jacket still in his hand, spinning wildly with the arms extended out, hugging the air. “God, I’m so fucking hungry. Shall we go out?”

“Mm,” Namjoon agrees, “sounds good. Guk, Jin, you in for some food?”

Somewhere behind Jeongguk, Seokjin sighs loudly- a noise that has the nerve to sound like a whine, childish and ungrateful. “I need to find new drumsticks. Look at the state of these things.” Over his shoulder, Jeongguk spies the blunt ends of Seokjin’s sticks, the smooth and rounded ends frayed and close to splintering.

“How did that even happen?” Hoseok asks incredulously, while Seokjin’s distinct laughter rises in volume.

“Don’t ask,” Seokjin shakes his head in reply. “Anyway, won’t take long. Isn’t that one store nearby? The one owned by the Daegu guy?”

Namjoon confirms this. Not too far away from ATR, located in a renovated storage house in Venice, there is a comfortably successful and trustworthy store that August Blue aren’t strangers to; DBOY is one of the best, expensive and well respected amongst musicians who frequent LA. Jeongguk recognises the name, as if on command picturing the small guy who runs it in his head. 

Of course, it’s not owned by him- DBOY is known for being established and owned by Min Dowoon, a retired music producer whose name is legendary amongst artists and most certainly intimidating to the likes of Busan boys like Jeongguk. Regardless, it is his son, Yoongi, who pretty much runs the place. From what Jeongguk can vaguely remember from the last time he met with Yoongi, he recalled the aforementioned to have a fine and grand collection of ostentatious instruments and equipment. As for the seller himself- well, Yoongi can be a little bit of a nouveau-riche, perhaps even unapproachable, but it’s not as if people go to DBOY looking for a conversation.

Jeongguk might be the lead vocalist of the band, but he most certainly does not regard himself the leader. Due to this fact, he stares back at the other members of the band, waiting for a decision to be made for him. While on stage, Jeongguk enjoys playing pretend and acting as if the world was his for the taking, his for his pleasure, off-stage he enjoyed living quietly and comfortably, some might say obediently, shying under the authority of his elder band-members.

“What? Yeah, of course,” Namjoon replies almost immediately. “It’s on the way to that Korean place we went to last time we came here.”

Taehyung sounds zealous at the mentioning of the Korean restaurant, which pretty much means everybody’s mind has been made up. When Seokjin catches up with Jeongguk and wraps his longer arms around him playfully, Jeongguk finally lets himself loosen the tension carved into his skin from the studio, being pulled and pulling Seokjin out of the studio and into the sunny street.

The drive to DBOY is neither long or difficult, considering the traffic has decided to fall on their side of luck today. Hoseok, who enjoys being the designated driver for the band whenever he can help it, turns right and pulls the car into the staff-only car park, uncaring for the signs that turn him away and parks awkwardly near the shrubs behind the store. 

Without being affected in the face of Seokjin’s disbelieving protests against Hoseok’s parking preferences, Jeongguk undoes his seatbelt in a grouchy silence and hops out, feeling the underneath of his knees aching due to the tightness of his jeans. The front face of his knees are torn, the tan skin poking out and slightly red from where, out of unhealthy habit, he scratches his skin, the only source of colour aside from his skin being the mustard of his shoes, comfy and worn out of love.

He always forgets just how warm America is- not that it’s not welcomed, of course. Only, now he half wishes he hadn’t worn an all-black ensemble, the sun hot on his neck and underarms. The rest of August Blue take their gentle time getting out of the hired vehicle, a cacophony on the right side where Seokjin and Hoseok have stepped out, arguing over the angle of the tyres as if it genuinely makes any difference considering the car is out of sight from the public, meaning it’s bothering nobody at all besides Seokjin, who appears to be the only person complaining. 

Jeongguk just rolls his eyes, over it, and brushes his untamed parting out of his eyes carefully, avoiding catching the curled strands on the bar of his eyebrow piercing.

DBOY, like always, is quiet and glorious, rising high against the bungalow-sized stores surrounding the lot. Its architecture is refined, boxy and brown and all-in-all American, a copy of every brown bricked building you’d see in the movies. And yet, it still stands out, with bright yellow accents like the colour of Jeongguk’s shoes, similarly promoted within the interior if Jeongguk remembers correctly. 

The first time Jeongguk had come here it had been with acquiesce, mostly just to shut Seokjin up after he read a few five star reviews online. That was around about the time Taehyung had joined the band, with little rockstar aura and a gift for the keyboard and saxophone, which incredibly added an accent to August Blue’s music that helped them chart worldwide, a Korean The 1975 as a headline which didn’t seem all that bad, given the leader of the latter seemed down to Earth about it. 

Jeongguk now cannot deny that DBOY offers something to a piece of music that quite literally no other can, hence why he sets off first towards the oversized yellow door and pushes it open with all its weight. Like Yoongi and his brusque facade, Jeongguk’s not shocked to find the door is a heavy metal, requiring attention to push it open, but yet it always catches him off guard, as if he’s expecting it to get easier each time.

Once inside, the all too familiar sound of I Want To Break Free greets his ears, the sound echoey and tinny, like you’d expect for a building with a high ceiling decorated with pipes drenched in the signature yellow. It is bright, and chilly as he enters due to the air-conditioning, yet the warmth engulfing him as all of the band enter and the door closes. On a good day, DBOY is virtually empty; majority of their orders are online and dealt with by another customs manager that is not the staff on duty, which coincidentally is how Yoongi likes it, considering he’s a bit of a black sheep, not exactly enthusiastic about talking when he can help it.

While Hoseok and Taehyung make a b-line towards the vinyls and collection of photographs that Yoongi displays in order to show off how many celebrities he’s had the delight of selling to, Jeongguk follows behind Seokjin and Namjoon as they head towards the desk, pushed towards the back of the store behind endless stacks of records, the left side of the store displaying a rare and gorgeous collection of instruments that Jeongguk ogles at as he passes. 

Yoongi is a personal collector of vintages, including exact pieces and similarly replicas, the newer models closer to the desk where the cameras can keep an extra eye on their condition. Jeongguk has half an idea to make a directional change and head right, but the opening to the operative desk appears before him, or over the shoulder of Namjoon as he walks behind him.

DBOY feels abnormally silent today, not even the distinct humming of Yoongi detectable in the stacks. Namjoon purses his lips, looking around half-heartedly before moving towards the desk, raising his hand to drum his fingers upon the varnished dark wood. The dull sound of his fingertips brings Jeongguk’s head away from the instruments, and similarly, a head from a book.

At first, Jeongguk’s only half-looking. In blunt honesty, he’s not too interested in whoever is behind the desk, a sigh leaving between his lips as he buries his hands into the pockets of his jeans with great difficulty due to the tightness, something which attracts the eyes of the little dove behind the desk, her eyes darting to the refined bulge of his biceps and veins crawling on his forearms.

“Oh,” comes a gentle voice that, with reluctance, pulls Jeongguk’s eyes back over. “Sorry. I didn’t even hear you come in! I didn’t even hear the bell…”

Namjoon’s eyebrows pull upwards. “You have a bell?”

“Yeah...I think?” Questionable. “Well, I thought we did...I bet Yoongi took it out again. Fucker, he doesn’t tell me anything.”

Seokjin leans backwards on one foot, taking a peek back towards the doors where, hoorah, there is a bell on the wall above the entrance. “Oh, look at that. Guess you do have a bell.”

“Well,” finishes the voice, and Jeongguk takes the chance to look at the little display on top of the desk, a complementary addition that spells out the cashiers name in a disgustingly ordinary font. Y/N is what it reads today, which Jeongguk makes a note of and looks away from at the same time. “That bell is definitely broken. Huh. Anyway, sorry. Can I help you?”

“Yoongi here?” Namjoon asks, his weight now entirely reliant on the weight of the desk. By this point, Jeongguk has led himself over to the instruments, the only sight of him being his back marked and outlined by the clinginess of his tee.

You nod once, smiling and slamming the book from your lap on the top of the desk. Never did Namjoon expect for the title to read The Encyclopedia of Sharks, and as you spin in your chair to heckle in the back office, Namjoon glances at Seokjin over his shoulder with an amused smile, his eyes gesturing back to the book earning Seokjin a snigger.

“...and you didn’t tell me the bell was broken at the door.”

Your voice enters the store once more from the back office, accompanied by the smaller frame of Yoongi as he discards a tinfoil ball into the trash underneath the desk.

“Sorry. Y/N, the bell at the door is broken,” Yoongi deadpans, and you sneer in reply, tugging away from his childish and playful smile to be seated. When he’s decided he’s finished fondly looking at you, Yoongi addresses the band in the room, a secondary smile lifts the corners of his lips. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah. Yeah, sorry, tour,” Namjoon offers as an explanation.

“Don’t sweat it,” Yoongi shrugs in reply. “You recording?”

“As we speak,” Seokjin pipes in. “And, look- went to some stores in Vancouver for sticks last year and got given this!” His tone is elevated with genuine aghast, holding up his drumsticks and Yoongi pulls a face.

“That’s what you get for going somewhere other than here,” Yoongi frowns. “Come with me. The newest collection actually just came in. You all in here? Keep sticky fingers away from my signed records.”

The remainder of their conversation is muted for you, as you watch the group of guys shuffle away from the desk and towards the display of instruments. Whereas Yoongi holds an extensive knowledge on music and instruments, you can happily and readily admit that it is not within your comfort zone.

Truth be told, the only reason you work at DBOY is for money, and because Yoongi happens to be a relative willing to pay you more than you deserve. Family history is the reasoning for Yoongi’s undying devotion to music, alongside a half-completed degree in sound engineering that he tells people he’s got, because the two years he braved University sure as hell didn’t happen for no reason. 

As for you, you prefer the less audible arts, the ones starting and stopping with paintbrushes and splashes of colour. If someone were to ask, your job at DBOY offers a daily observation of the various album covers dotted around the store, ready to be fingered and thumbed when you’re changing the display shelves, or cleaning the trays.

In simpler terms, Yoongi is the expert. You’re just the person who sits behind the desk and pretends to be a professional.

“Newer Hickory over here,” says Yoongi, as he leads the three ducklings through the store towards the lined stacks of drumsticks. In awe, like a child in a candy store, Seokjin surges forward and gapes at the selection, his eyes glued to a signature collection, signed and overwhelmingly expensive. “Oh, yeah. Queen. Signed by Roger Taylor himself, wanna feel ‘em?”

Seokjin does want; his eyes light up like tiny lamps and they widen in size, followed by the rise and fall of his feet as he hops with literal overflowing excitement. Namjoon laughs at the sight of it, the sound eventually calling Hoseok and Sticky-Fingers-Taehyung away from the pride of Yoongi’s photo collection and towards the rest of the band. Something deep within Jeongguk claws, a smile on his face as he watches Seokjin get visibly excited over the drumsticks formerly belonging to Roger Taylor. Even Jeongguk himself, despite the sudden appearance of his angst, oohs and aahs at the stick set, being directed by Yoongi to the line of new guitars and boxes on show.

“New face?”

By the time Hoseok has settled with the group, Yoongi looks up from the set of Les Paul that Namjoon is admiring for its matte polish and notices Hoseok’s gaze pointed in your direction. Yoongi follows, his chin lifting with satisfactory pride when he sees you’re reading, as always, unfocused on the group and submerged in your own world.

When you wanted, you could be excited about celebrities when they came into DBOY, but there was honestly the high chance that you didn’t even know August Blue. Considering Yoongi knew them through connections and through a year exchange programme in Australia where he had met Jeongguk and gave him advice for the band, he of course felt familiar, close enough to actually consider the members to be friends.

“Sorta,” he admits in reply. “She’s been here a while now. Y/N.”

“She’s pretty,” Namjoon comments, which, to no surprise, irritates Yoongi. He glares in the direction of the guitarist and scowls, his face pulled up with disgust.

That’s when Jeongguk looks over, drinking in the sight of you for the first time ever. Usually, Jeongguk takes great pride in the fact that he fears attachment, therefore closing himself off emotionally to everybody outside of August Blue. Due to this fact, he almost never finds himself interested in anybody, his limitations at sex which, even then, he doesn’t engage in often. 

He spies on you from where he is standing, next to the electric guitar displays, watching carefully at the way you carry yourself, what you choose to show people. What you are doing now is boondoggle, skimming through pages you’ve read before to present the image of you being busy. By luck, you had dressed more nicer than usual for this date- your hair pulled half up and half down, the lilac scrunchy keeping the curls together and a black and white striped dress wrapping around your body to where Jeongguk predicts could be your knee.

Without being modest, there’s really nothing world-stopping about you. Jeongguk knows this as he stares at you; he’s had better, and definitely had worse. God forbid it, but you have the audacity to look normal, mistakenly placed in the store, sticking out like a thumb that is sore.

“She doesn’t look like she should be working here,” Jeongguk throws in, offers almost, and Yoongi regards him with the raise of his brows, an amused smile on his face.

A deep groan rises out of Namjoon’s chest. “Here we go. He always does this- every time there’s a pretty girl, he gets like this.”

“Gets like what?” Jeongguk asks, scoffing.

“Jerky,” Hoseok agrees, laughing and pointing a finger at Jeongguk accusingly. When he silences with small gasps of amusement, he smiles and says, “did you know it’s a turn off for girls?”

“Then tell me why I have more game than you?” Jeongguk quips.

Hoseok just laughs, and both of them know it’s false, considering Hoseok and his unofficial girlfriend have been hooking up for the last five months, whereas Jeongguk has remained single and sexless; which he doesn’t care about, especially when there’s a million other things he could be doing and worrying over. Comfort previously found in pillowcases and sexual endauvers can now be found in white powders and green liquids, either- either warm enough to keep him happy, at least until Seokjin tells him he should stop and put it to rest.

Yoongi quietly twists the key in the display lock after confirming that Seokjin wants the sticks in his hand. “She’s good. She does her job, and in return, I let her do what she wants when nobody’s in the store. Give it a break, yeah?”

Jeongguk scoffs with surrender, raising his shoulders as he lets it drop at Yoongi’s request. Meanwhile Yoongi answers questions about the instruments for sale, lined up for the band to gawk at with ungraciousness, Jeongguk actually turns back around. Another elongated sigh leaves his mouth, the sound of creeping boredom, and finally, his gaze once again settles on yourself. 

You’ve moved since he last looked over; the book on sharks is set on top of the desk again, and now you’re risen. From where he is standing, the desk curves, revealing that his predictions on dress length were fruitless considering the stretch of your dress rises above the knee, bunching around your thigh comfortably. He has to respect it- it’s hot in Venice.

Without particularly wanting to, Jeongguk’s legs wander from his original spot towards the desk, his eyes elsewhere to feign disinterest. The truth of the matter is that he isn’t really interested, unless you counted the dull rise of arousal in the pit of his stomach. That being said, Jeongguk glances up at your face once more and sucks air into his cheeks, hollowing the skin as he knocks on his heels and turns away from you before you can notice. Namjoon was right, to some extent. You were pretty.

“You like The Clash?”

A sweet voice hauls Jeongguk’s attention up and over towards the corner of the desk, where on the other side you stand with both hands flat on the surface, your entire body lifting your weight cutely. Jeongguk’s heart leaps and he glares down at his hands, finding London Calling in his hands, indicating that whilst on his solo mission of pretending to be preoccupied near you, he had just picked up the first thing in front of him.

Jeongguk clears his throat gruffly and shakes his head once. “No.”

For a few seconds, nothing is said. “Oh.” And Jeongguk hopes you’ll leave it there, let him pretend he’s invisible until he’s thought of something to say, but as always, his prayers are ignored. “Do you need help finding something?”

“No,” Jeongguk grits out. He speaks with acrimony, the tone at first catching you off-guard until he looks up, and his eyes tell a quiet story that makes your mouth close tightly. “I’m browsing. Am I not allowed to browse?”

Whether he likes or expects it, the way Jeongguk speaks makes a grin spread across your face, covering your original expression of surprise. He’s not quite sure how to feel about this, or what to make of how his chest feels when it happens.

“Sorry,” you reply, not exactly sounding apologetic. “It’s my job to ask, I guess. Well...enjoy your browsing. If you need me…” Repeatedly, his gaze lifts from the stack of CDs back towards you and it is only when you look away that he allows himself to slip, the smallest of frowns tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Although he knows better, Jeongguk sighs and pushes himself away from his end of the desk. It slides, semi-circular with the front in the store and behind it in its own secluded room, decorated with posters and old lockers that are used for storage. It doesn’t take looking up to register the fact that Jeongguk has moved next to you, parallel; something about Jeongguk feels particularly distinct, heavy and intimidating with the smell of hazelnut that enriches woody elements, a signature male smell that fills your nose.

“So.” Jeongguk starts over, his voice clipped but also clear, as though encouraging a conversation. To you, it feels unpredictable, almost as if talking to him was absurd; to Jeongguk, it is a bravado. “You like sharks.”

Out of surprise, your attention snaps towards him. His expression gives nothing away, and it is only when he raises his eyebrows expectantly that you remember the book, that stupid book you found under the desk when you clocked in this morning after your nine-am seminar. The Encyclopedia of Sharks, smiling razor blades face up at you and an embarrassed heat rises in your body.

“Um, not really?” you confess, avoiding the scrutiny of his stare. Jeongguk’s face is levelled into unamusement, challenging the fact you don’t like sharks in the same way you questioned his interest in The Clash. A bewildered smirk dawns on his face and you smile, tightly and revealing a dimple near your jaw that Jeongguk’s attention is pulled to. “I like Sharknado, though.”

“Right,” Jeongguk replies, finishing with a laugh that is mostly air through his teeth, a snigger of sorts, and he shakes his head downwards, fluffing his hair all within the same movement. It shocks you, genuinely, to hear a laugh come out from his mouth.

While he is busy sniggering to himself, because apparently what you said tickled his remaining sense of humour, you seize the opportunity to dance your eyes across his body. “Your tattoos are pretty.” It leaves your mouth carelessly, but Jeongguk looks up with a smile on his face, a gorgeous set of pearly whites on show.

“Yeah?” he asks, and then he flexes his arms unintentionally, peering at the black ink decorating his skin. Your mouth waters inside, soaking in the sight of him before it’s snatched away, like all the good things in your life. “Thanks.”

“Mhm,” you offer, feeling mortified.

“I saw you’re close with Yoongi,” Jeongguk mentions, after a short pause. “Boyfriend? Best friend? Super close colleagues?”

“What? Ew, no. Yoongi’s my cousin. Well. You know, when someone just becomes a cousin ‘cos you’re close,” you reply, and Jeongguk nods casually, pursing his lips, and it ends there. “Also...none of your business.” He smirks.

On cue, an eruption of laughter simmers from across the store where Yoongi and the rest of Jeongguk’s friends are gathered, and you swallow the lump in your throat and glance at him, finding he hasn’t looked away. “Are you guys, like...in a band, or something?”

Jeongguk doesn’t know what to say. Should he be offended or relieved that you don’t know who he is?

“Something like that,” he nods.

“Can’t be that popular then, if I don’t know you,” you tease, fighting the urge to laugh when Jeongguk’s face falls dramatically. “I’m kidding. What did you say your name was again?”

“We’re called August Blue.”

“No, I meant your name,” you laugh.

Jeongguk splutters, coughing nothing out of his throat. “Oh. Jeongguk.”

There is no reasonable explanation behind why Jeongguk’s stomach feels weird when you smile- it is an unspoken rule that Jeongguk doesn’t do feelings. Jeongguk doesn’t do romance period, only hooks up on the rare occasion that he’s high enough to feel something for someone other than himself. Yet something is unsettling inside, bubbling like the top layer of boiling water in a cauldron, threatening to spill out in waves.

“Well, Jeongguk from August Blue- who I shall be indulging in very soon, as in, when you leave the store and I can do it without you watching me-,” you pause when he laughs again. You wonder if he laughs often, or if you’re one of the lucky ones. “-, it’s a pleasure meeting you.”

“Is it?” he questions disbelievingly.

You tilt your head curiously. “Why wouldn’t it be? I mean, aside from you coming for me doing my job.”

Jeongguk rolls his eyes. “Whatever. And, I’m just saying.”

A playfulness grabs at your shirt. “Why? Are you dangerous, Jeongguk?” Your eyes narrow into slits, challenging, and Jeongguk just smirks, exhaling softly. There is something charismatic about him, that’s for sure.

“All I’m saying, is that guys like me aren’t good for girls like you,” Jeongguk settles, unprepared for the unexpected laughter that bursts from your chest, bouncing around the room until Jeongguk actually feels somewhat uncomfortable. “What?”

But the laughter is uncontrollable, loud enough to bring Yoongi back to the desk questioningly, followed by the rest of August Blue as they shadow Yoongi like lost puppies. Yoongi pushes the small gate open and his eyes widen at you hunched over on the desk, secondly acknowledging Jeongguk as he stares deadpan at you, wondering what it was he said that was so comedic.

“You make it sound so simple,” you tell him, once the laughter has subsided. “It’s cute that you think you know what kind of girl I am.”

Hoseok side-eyes the situation as Seokjin fishes out his credit card, feeling as though they’ve all interrupted something they shouldn’t have. What is more shocking is the fact that Jeongguk accepts the challenge- he’s normally isolative with his voice when around new people, only comfortable at home or on the stage surrounded by people screaming lyrics he died to dream up and write down.

“Aren’t I right though?” Jeongguk asks, smiling like he’s got it figured out. “The pretty innocent girls like you...I’m the kind of guy your family warned you about.” While Namjoon snorts, Taehyung nods, supporting Jeongguk’s statement as you look over his shoulder at him.

Before you can even speak, Yoongi barks out a laugh, shaking his head as he returns Seokjin’s card. “Guk, you have no clue.”

If there’s one thing Jeongguk dislikes, it’s feeling as though he’s missing out on something. Back and forth, he looks at both yourself and Yoongi, waiting for an explanation. Yoongi prolongs it, finding sadistic enjoyment in the gradual irritation solidifying on his face, his tongue prodding his inner cheek with a bored expression to match.

“Dude, her daddy’s Axel Choi,” Yoongi snorts, and he laughs loudly when Jeongguk’s whole face drops to the floor, the butterflies in his stomach replaced with an instant sourness, like the bitter burn of alcohol after one too many glasses.

Bewildered, Jeongguk is rendered speechless, and while Yoongi burps laughter and makes a note of the stock now that Seokjin has purchased something, the respective remaining four members of August Blue share cautious glances, apprehensively watching what Jeongguk does or says. Saying Axel Choi feels stupid and minute, but within Jeongguk’s world, it has the same consequence as saying Lord Voldemort in Harry Potter. Whatever attempts Jeongguk has made to forgive or forget what Axel Choi once said to him in that 7-Eleven in Busan is fruitless, the judging and patronising tone clear in his ears, flooding back like a PTSD.

“Wait, what the fuck?”

“Ooh,” you start, lifting up with excitement, “what did he dooo?”, at the same time that Namjoon warningly mutters Jeongguk’s name.

“You look nothing like him,” Jeongguk says dumbly.

“That’s kinda where the step comes in. Stepdad, no blood relation, thank fuck!”

“Come on, Guk, it’s not like she was even there when he shat on all your hopes and dreams,” Yoongi frowns, raising his hand slightly in an effort to diffuse the tension. Purposefully, he ignores the way you look at Yoongi with question, realising instantly that Jeongguk’s behaviour isn’t a matter of personality but instead pride, a desperation to prove himself. “Lay off.”

“He’s family.”

“Is he fuck,” you snort, the sound and language together making Jeongguk even more confused, his head pounding with a mixture of nausea and relief, the upset of his seventeen year old self something he can’t quite shrug off, like the memory of a bad dream. “And, come on. Isn’t that unfair? Put it this way- your dad kills someone, should we go to jail too just because we’re family?” Jeongguk says nothing. “Besides, he’s been married to my Mom for like, six years? And I still don’t like him or get along with him!”

“We just have...bad experiences with him,” Namjoon admits, not forgetting to throw a glare in Jeongguk’s temperamental direction, and he reacts with a jerk, an annoyed scoff leaving his mouth.

Jeongguk crosses his arms. “He told us we’d never succeed. The fucker basically said we didn’t have the talent to be big.”

“And yet, here you are,” you point out thoughtfully, and Jeongguk pauses, acknowledging you fully. “People always succeed when others are negative. I guess we’ll just have to prove him wrong, hm?”

The funny part is that Jeongguk absolutely knows that you are right. In spite of the jarring fact that Axel Choi’s memory is now back in his life with the news of your connections to him, Jeongguk is fully aware of how none of this is your fault. Jeongguk knows better than anybody that baseless judgements were more often unhelpful and toxic than not, and instantly, an apology is brewing in his mouth, words connected by thin strings in his brain, formulating two simple words that feel impossible to mouth. 

Alas, rockstars and their inflated egos; Jeongguk swallows the words back down, battling the urge to say what’s truly on his mind because he’s afraid of what might come out in its place.

So he walks.

Dejected and confused, Jeongguk spares a look at everybody in the room before shaking his head, as if trying to get something out of his head. The worry that slightly pools in your stomach at the sight of it worsens when he storms back down the length of the stacks, closely followed by Hoseok who is a foot away from calling his name. For the rest of the band, it seems, this is instrinctic of Jeongguk, and they quietly but speedily finish up and follow suit. Before he exits, Namjoon smiles over at you, something hidden in the movement that assures you it’s not your fault, even when your agape mouth and stuttering starts suggest you feel otherwise.

Jeongguk makes it out of DBOY before his lungs cave inwards, the hot smell of air pumping into his body as he steps outside to catch his breath. Hoseok’s hand comfortingly presses between his shoulder blades as he finally catches back up with the younger, and Jeongguk refrains from snatching himself away. The demon in his head cackles and the desperate angel pets his hair, tells him that if he pushes more people away, he’ll have nobody. Jeongguk’s not sure if he’s heard that angel speak before.

Hoseok guides Jeongguk back towards the car, silently accepting that Jeongguk didn’t mean it. He never does. He quietly accepts it, patting his leg when Jeongguk sits down once the car is unlocked. Jeongguk doesn’t say a word, not even when the rest of August Blue pile in the car, animatedly talking about the Korean restaurant they’re planning to eat at next. Clockwork routine, they never bring it up afterwards.

The car pulls away and Jeongguk winds the window down with a frown. He’d like a cigarette.

Not that Jeongguk has been counting, but it has been four days since August Blue had visited DBOY. 

Against his tight schedules consisting of long hauls in Adora’s studio, revising songs and making minor changes to each track in preparation for the album release in a few days time, the mere memory of DBOY has been the last thing and least important thing on his mind. In sooth, he doesn’t think about it until he’s alone, vulnerable in his own personal comforts surrounded by white and red. The memory haunts him, keeps him awake for no reason. Jeongguk wishes he could go back, wipe the slate clean, listen to the angel and not be such a prick. He can do this- he does do this.

On the following day, Jeongguk wakes up with a free schedule, waking in bed with the dark grey sheets belted around his lower waist. Casting a glance to his phone that lights up distractedly with notifications, he sees that the time reads eleven am and he yawns. Knowing the rest of the band, they’ve probably scattered already; Hoseok had mentioned something off-handedly last night about spending the day with Roseanne, and Namjoon would most likely be reading alone or exploring with Taehyung, the final man of the hour, Seokjin, sleeping in until it hurts to sleep.

He could do the same, but he doesn’t. Instead, Jeongguk gets himself up and ready, finding his body lead itself back in the direction of DBOY, only realising that he’s come back when he’s outside the front blinking up at the sign.

Somewhere down the street, the sound of screaming reaches his ears- sometimes it’s hard to escape the fans who long for a glimpse at their idols, and to avoid them catching on as to where he’s fled to, Jeongguk hurls himself through the heavy metal door and into the store. It comes as no surprise that it’s empty inside, cool again and this time bursting the lyrics to a Fleetwood Mac record he can’t quite remember the name of but recognises.

The long walk down the length of the aisle is intimidating, daunting as Jeongguk walks and sees nobody behind the desk. Aside from the echoed sound of Fleetwood Mac, the store is virtually silent- admittedly, there is a small group of teenagers at the other end talking quietly, but they are so muted that Jeongguk at first doesn’t realise they are there. Instead he continues forward, slowing significantly when he reaches the desk and finds absolutely nobody in attendance.

For a second, Jeongguk considers leaving. However, the herd of fans he had stalking him outside are no doubt still outside somewhere, and as soon as he considers it, the sound of your voice makes his head snap up attentively. The door that joins the desk space to the back office rattles slowly and then pulls open, and Jeongguk inhales a breath when you step out, as charming as you were five days prior.

Jeongguk is all you see when you pick your chin up, staring at his face closely as he hovers lumpishly, looking out of place. Before he can speak, you regard his appearance, a flattering mixture of tonal blacks; the tight leather jacket covering a black roll neck and tight skinny jeans, even the trademark face-mask that has been pulled below his face, hanging by his neck.

“Oh,” you breathe softly, stunned. “Jeongguk, right?…”

“Hi,” he replies, and you take pleasure in noticing the dulled volume of his voice. “You’re here.”

He considers it a win when you smile. “Well, I do work here.”

“Yeah, I know, I don’t know why I said that,” Jeongguk mutters. “I just...Are you free?”

You make your way towards the desk, gently kicking an empty storage box with your feet. “Sadly, I am always free. You know, considering Yoongi is so popular, this shop is always empty. What’s up with that?” It’s rhetorical, and Jeongguk laughs gently. “What’s up? Left something here? I didn’t think you’d come back...well, after…”

Jeongguk frowns immediately, the unmissable darkened gaze of regret on his face. “That’s actually why I came back. Look.” He sighs, deeply and loudly. “I know it’s not your fault. With Axel.” As he speaks, your gaze is glued on him, your eyes occasionally scanning various parts of his face. “And it’s so fucking unfair for me to hold you against things he said before you even knew him, or whatever, yknow? I guess it just caught me off guard.”

You nod genuinely. “It happens.”

“And, look, I know I don’t even really know you that well, but I can tell you’re just nothing like him,” Jeongguk continues, his temper rising slowly. “You’re kind, and funny, and he’s just an asshole and-” But he stops. And, what? And, he’s still family.

“You’re right,” you agree, laughter spilling from your tongue. “No, he’s the biggest asshole. And his music sucks, let’s be honest.” Jeongguk’s mouth opens, like he wants to speak. “No wonder it took him fourteen years to make a hit…” And he laughs, loudly and in agreement. 

It must be a rarity to see him smile, to hear him laugh; with your heart in the sky, staring at Jeongguk laugh makes you feel warm, your hands quivering with satisfaction at the way his eyes curve into horizontal brackets, like moons, his teeth free with the comfort of knowing he’s safe being happy.

So, explicitly, he doesn’t say sorry like he wanted to. He tries- the words are right there, it would be easy, it is easy. As always, you are understanding, sympathetic to Jeongguk as he struggles to get his words out coherently. You know what he means. You like that he cared enough to try, anyway.

Realistically, he could have left it there, and maintained that stereotypical air of mystery and unavailability he’s used to showing people. On the contrary, Jeongguk finds more reasons to slink back towards DBOY, until he’s entirely familiar with your work schedule, having accidentally turned up when you were at a lecture, and had to suffer the pressing curiosity of your cousin. Yoongi had been so over Jeongguk pretending he was here out of personal pleasure of being surrounded by music that he had eventually just told him your work times, prompting Jeongguk into working harder in the studio to ensure more free time.

Like always, nobody in the band minded. If it meant Jeongguk was investing his spare time in something other than his own loneliness, they were happy to let it be. As for yourself, the reoccuring showing of Jeongguk in DBOY was at first, something you anticipated until the third showing where he had turned up in what you think might be his best look yet. Finally, he wears splashes of colour, his aura breathing with life as he turns up to the store wearing blue denim jeans, with maroon boots and a red beanie over his hair which has been flattened.

Each visit from the man is memorable in its own way, for either parties; you gradually learn that Jeongguk was the lead singer of August Blue, his accent distinctly Australian no thanks to his mother’s dual citizenship that resulted in many family holidays out there, and the year abroad that had chanced him to meet Yoongi. In return, Jeongguk learns that you haven’t even turned twenty yet, your birthday approaching soon, and that your a dilettante, knowing virtually nothing technical about music and instead comfortable in the field of physical art, a first year studying visual art and media.

Jeongguk learns all of this on the third visit. On the fourth, he finds out that you’ve finally listened to his bands music in time for their album release the following day, now in love with the truth of their lyrics, a direct quote from your mouth that Jeongguk remembers perfectly. And on the day of THREE AM’s release, on one of his final days before tour preparations are due to start, Jeongguk finds himself in DBOY with the sound of his own voice on the speakers, and the breathtaking sight of you dancing while stacking the shelves.

It’s a new track, one off the album that dropped this morning. Dancer In The Dark plays all around him, his mind reeling when he reaches you, your back to him and hips twirling as you work. You don’t even need to turn around for Jeongguk to know that you look gorgeous- that’s something that has changed over the past few weeks of Jeongguk returning to DBOY to see you, and annoy Yoongi, respectively. 

Something inside of Jeongguk now craves you, beyond the simple lust he would have imagined. Perhaps it’s the way you didn’t know who he was, treated him like a human being rather than a God; maybe it was the way you’re so ordinary, a taste of normality Jeongguk misses, or the way you’re a relation to someone he’s been working for the past four years to prove wrong. It could well be all three.

The baby blue teddy coat over your body covers your skirt, a display of smooth and tanned legs for him to leer at, your hair once again twirled into loose curls, half up and half down, a signature style like Ariana’s high pony. 

Evidently, you’re unaware of his entry. Yoongi still hasn’t changed the bell above the door and the speakers playing his record are right above your head; this gives Jeongguk the perfect opportunity to quietly approach you from behind, waiting until the chorus fades to an end for him to carefully press his hands into your waist with a soft “boo” pushing between his lips. 

In turn, you jump, his hands momentarily cupping your waist as you move out of his grasp, turning around defensively to see who in the right mind would dare to put a hand on you, only for the guard to be dropped with reassurance once you see Jeongguk behind you, a grin on his face.

“Hi, you,” you say to him, wincing when you realise how loud the music is. “Congrats on the album release!”

Jeongguk laughs boyishly. “Yeah? You like it?”

“Mhm!” you assure, nodding with emphasis. Jeongguk follows the hint of moving away from the loud music as his voice transitions into the opening chords of a David Bowie track. “Do you even have a bad song? Like, the difference between Vibes, Dancer in the Dark and Keep it Up...gorgeous.” He laughs again, feeling over the moon at your authentic excitement. “I really love your voice.”

If humans could melt, Jeongguk would be gloop. “Thanks, Y/N. I mean it, I’m glad you like it.” His brows quirk playfully, “Clearly.” He means your dancing, circular swirls to his voice, and you conceal a smile and look away quickly.

“I recognise Hold Your Breath, too,” you continue, choosing to deliberately ignore his playful comment. One might even assume it to have been flirting. “Isn’t that one of your earlier songs?”

By this point, you’ve hopped over the desk, slid over the wood as Jeongguk watched your coat and skirt hike up with the lift of your leg. “Mmm. I see you’ve done your homework,” he comments.

“I got...curious,” you defend weakly. “I like that song. I’m so glad you decided to do a studio version, it is what she deserved!”

Today might be a new record broken for How Many Times Can Jeon Jeongguk Laugh In Your Company.

“Well, there you have it. You can listen to all of it in HD to make up for me not being here for a while.” Your smile falters and Jeongguk smiles in an attempt to ease your disappointment. “We start our promotions next weekend, actually. Just a couple shows in the States, nothing huge.”

“Oh,” you nod, your voice oddly lost and spacious. “Ugh, I’d love to see you live. I bet it’s gonna sound amazing.”

A breath hitches in Jeongguk’s throat. Come on, idiot, jeers the demon inside of him. The angel slaps him on the back of the head but his words do not cease. You haven’t got all day to do it.

“Then come,” he blurts.

Mirroring him, your mouth falls round, open. “...O-M-G, I’d love to...but I’m like...broke,” you tell him, jokingly but around the truth you both know is there.

“Y/N, you can come for free, I’m inviting you,” Jeongguk explains slowly, the grin widening on his face. Awestruck, you’re lost in the beauty of it. “I want you to come. See us play, see me. You won’t have to pay for a single thing- everything’s on me.” He breathes, “Please,” added as an afterthought.

Admittedly, he hadn’t anticipated the following silence. “When?” you ask, breathily.

“Next Saturday,” Jeongguk offers, having thought about it since before the album came out. “At the Hollywood Palladium. It’s our opening show, and I’d just really, really like for you to be there.” You think about the date for a moment, smiling when you realise what day the date falls on.

“Hollywood? That’s...amazing, Jeongguk, really,” you tell him, your voice quiet still. “...Can I bring a friend? When I listened to August Blue, they were there and we both got really invested.”

A weight is lifted off Jeongguk’s shoulders knowing that his offer has been considered. He smiles brightly, the moons back out. “Depends. Is your friend male?”

Now it is your turn to grin, your weight held up by your elbows as you lean on top of the desk towards him, slotted between his hands. His familiar hazelnut scent is strong here. “Yes. He’s male, gay, and incredibly in love with my cousin.”

What Jeongguk feels is not relief, or irritation; an elevated feeling of happiness stirs in his chest. You are so unlike anybody he’s met, from the way you see the humour in everything he says, not taking him seriously enough to treat him like he’s better than everything else, and the way you make him feel like there’s something about him worth liking; to the way you’re probably the only person he’s ever met who genuinely likes the Sharknado franchise. It without a doubt goes without saying that good things pop up where you least expect them to, in people you didn’t anticipate meeting. Feeling like his head is in the clouds, Jeongguk’s lips press together into a smile, bashful in appearance and nods, satisfied.

“Okay then,” he nods, taking a second to grasp the situation before he laughs to himself, scratching his ear absentmindedly. “Here’s my number for then, then. You can call me when you arrive, and then I’ll come out and get you, or I’ll have our manager sort some things out, so you can skip the lines and get in before everyone else.”

“Alright,” you agree softly. “Thank you, Jeongguk.”

Although he shakes his head nonchalantly, feigning only a moderate amount of happiness, on the inside, Jeongguk’s body is screaming, his heart vibrating rapidly in his chest. On the other side, even when he bounces into a following conversation about your hair and the new book placed on the desk that you’ll probably read when you’re bored later today, you feel like you can’t breathe, can’t quite comprehend the fact Jeongguk is standing before you, his number in your phone, the sun unmatching his smile.

Some things don’t feel right, but being with Jeongguk isn’t one of them. Maybe luck is on your side for once.

(LOS ANGELES)

“So. You’ve decided to be late.”

Adjacent to where you’re standing, Park Jimin lies like a starfish on your bedsheets, his chin tilted up to the ceiling in agonising boredom as you fuss over your hair for the literal fifth time in the last four minutes.

Meeting Jimin was both the joy and the bane of your life, the boy being an unstable balance of chaotic and neutral, his sole purpose in life being to annoy the shit out of you. It had been a lovely sunny morning the day you first met him- only it had begun to thunderstorm the second he entered the arts classroom, pathetic fallacy. Being the quiet black sheep clearly did not always work in your favour considering the only spare seat left was the one next to you, meaning fate had decided to bring you both together to sketch still-life pears and grapes. Either that or a case of big, bad luck- the opinion differed depending on who you asked.

Regardless, here you both are; by cordial invite from Jeon Jeongguk himself, you have around twenty minutes to get to a venue that is thirty five away, and Jimin huffs for the fifth consecutive time, pointedly glancing over as you finish applying a generous amount of lipstick that no doubt will fade during the show. Your face is an art-piece, your body modestly covered in a silk buttoned shirt patterned with red flowers, tucked into some comfortable black jeans that Jimin turns his nose up at.

“They’re comfortable,” you argue weakly, finally following him to the car and deciding to do your shoes in the backseat. As half promised over text, Jeongguk sent a vehicle, the driver impatient and displeased by your tardiness but he says nothing, because it’s his job to drive, not to speak.

“Skinny jeans are the most impractical outfit for getting dicked down,” Jimin says with a clipped tone. “And isn’t it obvious that Jeongguk wants to do that?”

You shrug, biting the inside of your cheek. “It might not be like that.”

Jimin genuinely laughs. “Oh, come on- it totally is. Why else would he invite you backstage, send a car, and stop by at your work almost daily?”

“Maybe he wants to be friends?” you suggest, but both you and Jimin know that’s so far from the truth that you can’t even see it- you just don’t want to admit it just yet. When Jimin’s tongue darts out of his mouth with a smirk, you roll your eyes and lean down to your feet as the driver cruises down the street on the clock.

[17:39PM] Jeongguk 🎼: hey are you on your way?? [17:39PM] Jeongguk 🎼: havent heard from u [17:40PM] Jeongguk 🎼: u ok?

About ten minutes into the drive, almost peaceful save Jimin’s random questions about Jeongguk, or the venue, neither particularly answerable at this stage, a series of notifications flood your phone. Taking the chance to answer while Jimin finds time to bully the driver into talking to him to cure his driving boredom, you glance down at the messages, your body reacting with a flush when you see Jeongguk’s name light up in bold.

[17:41PM] You: yes !!!! in the car rn

His reply is instantaneous.

[17:41PM] Jeongguk 🎼: ok cool 😋 as long as ur safe [17:42PM] Jeongguk 🎼: got worried lol

“Five minutes,” the driver calls, to nobody in particular as he pulls up to a set of traffic lights. Oblivious to speed limits, he seems to have got you there in the designated twenty, before the gates opened for the crowds outside.

[17:44PM] You: we will be there in five minutes ☺️ [17:44PM] You: : i’ll text you when we’re here [17:45PM] Jeongguk 🎼: ok cutie, see you then 😛

You are grown, and too old to be crushing over a boy like you’re in high school, but the way Jeongguk interacts makes your toes curl with a whole new alien type of fondness, the need to giggle paramount. You refrain from doing so, because if Jimin hears he will never let you live it down. In an effort to ignore the excitement and nervousness coursing through your veins, your leg bounces erratically as the driver, who is apparently named Joe after the chauffeur bodyguard in The Princess Diaries (no thanks to Jimin and his “boredom” which borders insensitivity), pulls up in the barricaded staff car park. The fans outside have no idea: they just see a car and start screaming, their cheers making goosebumps ripple up your arms like romantic kisses.

“That makes me feel really important,” Jimin mutters, perhaps glum about the fact that he hasn’t had this much attention since he was chubby and innocent in third grade. “Ready to go?”

“Yep,” you breathe, unsure as to whether or not you mean it. Nevertheless, Jimin opens the car door and steps out, instantly making a crowd gathered by the barricade scream. They scream for anything, just wanting to be heard, but being Jimin, he soaks it up as you clamber out on the other side.

Jeongguk seems particularly popular, and it probably wouldn’t look good if fans saw an unknown girl get out the car to go backstage. You know how fans are, how it’s easy to jump to conclusions without the facts. While Jimin raises his hand to teasingly wave at the girls who scream in response, you follow Bodyguard Joe to the backstage door guarded by two oversized muscular men, bowing your head as you enter and feel the heat of the backstage rooms hit you in the face.

At some point, Jimin joins you inside, shuffling around your body when he spots Yoongi appear at the end of the opening corridor. Yoongi is always invited to August Blue shows, by personal invitation of the band-members who are mostly Namjoon. Remembering that Jeongguk technically has no idea you’re here, you quickly shoot him a text message before a female staff member touches your shoulder gently, offering a lanyard with VVIP written in black ink, likely a band members handwriting. She smiles, quickly running over the safety regulations because, give her a break, it’s her damn job. You’re nodding, acknowledging her words blindly until she’s done, sending you on your way towards Taehyung who pops his head around the corner and smiles brightly when he sees you.

“Hey, you!”

Quite honestly, you don’t think you’ve ever said a word to Taehyung before. He doesn’t seem particularly awkward to speak to you despite this fact, and beckons you closer with a wave of his hand. As you draw nearer, you smell the faint aroma of vodka crossed with raspberry, clinging to his clothes and mouth as he comes close to speak so you can hear him over the heavy bass filling the speakers.

“What?” you ask him loudly, seeing his mouth move with nothing coming out. All you can hear is the recording of Obsessive on the speakers, pounding, reverberating the floor beneath your Dr Martens.

“I said,” Taehyung shouts, his lips on your ear, “Jeongguk’s waiting for you. I need a wee really badly, but he’s in the artists lounge, that way.” He points vaguely in a direction, but the sight of Jimin stepping in and out of a room indicates the general direction regardless. “Enjoy the show, yeah?”

“Course!” you nod to him, and he wastes zero seconds staring at you and legs it in the opposite direction, towards where you assume the toilets are. Your eyes follow him as he leaves in endearment; he’s cute, constantly looking bewildered and confused. It’s his almond eyes, like puppy dogs’.

But the thought of seeing Jeongguk outweighs watching Taehyung leave; you hurry down the corridor and enter the room you expect to be the artists lounge, and your breath is taken away immediately when Jeongguk is the first thing you see.

As if anticipating your entry, he stands the second you enter, and while he moves, you freeze. Jeongguk looks absolutely breathtaking: his hair is curly, falling over his face with a slight parting not directly centered, hooped earrings hanging from his earlobes, adding a sparkle secondary to the way his eyes are shining in the backstage lights. His skin is gorgeously tanned, shaded and accentuated by the slipping material of his shirt that reveals the expanse of his collarbones, the black complementing the tightness of his jeans. You don’t get to look at his shoes- he stops at your toes and you peer back up at his face, rendered speechless by the smile on his face.

“Hi,” Jeongguk says, laughing as if it’s so crazy that you’re here, actually here. Before you can even think of speaking, Jeongguk inhales a breath and brings it back in with one movement; he reaches for you, encircling his arms around you for a quick hug that you’re not going to let go to waste. As soon as he feels your hands on his back, he pulls you closer, tighter almost, one hand on your lower spine and the other on the back of your head.

The hug is genuinely short, but it feels eternal.

“You made it,” he comments, his voice so bewildered that for a moment, you’re actually confused. Jeongguk speaks insecurely and it makes your heart wrench- you wonder who hurt him before, what made him think that he wasn’t deserving of things as simple as somebody coming to a show when he asked them to.

“Of course. I wouldn’t have missed it for anything,” you tell him truthfully, your arms slipping to his forearms. “I’m excited!”

Jeongguk grins happily. “Me too! Ah, I’m happy you’re here. You look gorgeous.” And without shame, he drags his gaze up and down your body.

“That’s good, then,” comes Jimin’s thrown in comment from across the room, where he occupies one of the leather seats next to Yoongi and across from Hoseok, who fidgets skittishly and fiddles his fingers at a Rubix cube. “Do you know how close we were to being late because she was busy deciding a lip colour? Jimin should I go red or nude? Jimin does this shirt go with my shoes? Jimin should I paint my nails red or black to match?”

A laugh ripples out of Jeongguk’s chest and he looks back at you adoringly.

“That’s not how it happened,” you protest weakly, pouting when Jimin cackles and smirks. “And we made it didn’t we? Shut up before I revoke the plus one card.”

“I’m already here, though,” Jimin reasons.

“I’ll force you outside,” you reply.

Yoongi pulls a face, then, finally joining the conversation. “Y/N, you can’t even open the front door to the shop when you enter, let alone drag Jimin outside. Nice try, though.”

An offended gasp leaves your mouth and Jeongguk turns around, petting the top of your head. “It’s okay. Sometimes, even I can’t open it. Anyway- drink?”

You decline this offer, not really wanting to drink anything heavy in fear of vomiting it up when the show starts. Based on your history, throwing up when you’re overly excited seems to be a dirty habit, something Jimin is very happy sharing when you opt for a glass of water while Jeongguk carefully pours himself a glass of whiskey. He doesn’t tease or poke fun. Jeongguk simply smiles, like the story is a memory he’s fond of remembering, and nods you in the direction of the couch where he wants you to sit. It stays this way right up until the show starts, and then the chaos begins and the nerves settle.

Now, you’ve never been backstage before, never seen how crazy it gets as the show’s about to start. While the rest of the band hurry around collecting outfit pieces, taking a drink or tuning their instruments to perfection, Jeongguk quietly tugs at your arm and brings you to the side, a gentle and reassuring smile on his face, a frequently used expression when it concerns yourself.

“Rachel is our main backstage manager and she’s gonna take you and Jimin down to where I’ve put you for the show, yeah?” he explains, his gaze intent. Rachel is the woman from earlier, smiling patiently near the door. You spare her a glance and then look back at Jeongguk. “I’ve put you down by the stage so I can see you, okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s okay.”

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re not in the crowd, you’re right by the stage in front of the barricade with the staff,” Jeongguk says. “Safe and sound, comfy and cosy. Can you come back after the show? There’s a party. I’ll- I’ll take you?” His tone is expectant, hopeful, and you’d be absolutely insane to let him down.

“I’ll come,” you promise. “Good luck!”

Again with the boyish charms; Jeongguk’s following smile is relaxed and lopsided, his head similarly quirked.

“Thanks, baby,” he calls, his smile widening when he notices the surprise flood your cheeks. “Cheer loud for me?”

“Always,” you tell him, gauging the scrunch of his eyes before Rachel directs both Jimin and yourself out of the backstage vicinity and towards the VVIP standing just next to the barrier. Whether or not Jimin overheard the entire ordeal is unclear; he doesn’t comment even if he did happen to overhear, remaining uncharacteristically silent until you reach your spot and he loosens up, gazing up at the stage in wonder.

When the venue feels packed to the brim and the reverberating bass of guitars literally vibrates the room, Jimin screams something about his excitement over the noise, catching your widened smile in his direction and laughing, throwing his arms around you.

Hollywood Palladium is genuinely packed to the brim, the fans by the barricade stamping excitedly as the VCR rolls to an end, the lights fade to a crimson red and silhouettes of August Blue appear on the stage. They are sensational, eliciting a chorus from the crowd that is deafening. Jimin laughs again, looking back and forth at the crowd and back at the stage, two girls from the barricade recognising him as the guy from outside and taking a photo, likely anticipating that he is of importance.

Like all concerts, the first five minutes are mind-blowing, epic and fantastical and slightly nerve-racking for all parties. At the sound of the opening chords of Meddle About, another wave of screams pierce the crowd and you wince, not expecting it but a smile still wide on your face. The cymbals crash and the lights flash brightly, revealing Jeongguk on the stage at the front, both his hands on the microphone as he speaks the first words of the night, lyrics dripped in smooth vocals that make your body swirl like on drugs. It’s mesmerising, sexy and sounding perfectly like the studio recording.

Hearing them live is a whole different experience- the way that August Blue perform is otherworldly, feeling like you’re in a subspace of slow-motion, every movement on stage emphasised. Not wanting to waste all of the show gawking at the lead vocalist, you glance at all of the other members, in awe of their talents and presence on the stage, even spotting the golden gleam of a saxophone in your peripheral vision. It is only then that you register the fact that Taehyung plays the saxophone live, and excitement and anticipation replaces birthed nerves from the opening song.

When Meddle About fades to a finale, Jeongguk smiles to himself widely as the melody to Obsessive plays almost immediately after, Namjoon’s riff introducing Jeongguk’s welcoming, “Hollywood Palladium, are you ready?” before he dives into the song. Here, Taehyung fiddles for his sax and beams down at both you and Jimin, returning to his spot to play as the song continues.

Like all songs from August Blue, you wish it would never end, your heels grinding the floor as you bop in Jimin’s arms, his chin buried in your neck as he rocks you from side to side affectionately. For the entirety of the song, and even after then, you refuse to take your eyes off Jeongguk; he moves with calculation and care, the world his bitch beneath his feet as he smirks, fucking the crowd, swirling in figure eight motions as he sings. Jeongguk is the eighth wonder of the world.

Obsessive ends, your torso rising and falling after their performance. It was a show of elan, your body buzzing with small vibrations like a bumblebee; Jeongguk’s hair is disheveled, and he exchanges caring looks with the other members, giving them the opportunity to catch their breath as he once again addresses the crowd.

“Hollywood…” he starts, smiling wolfishly when the crowd erupts into piercing screams, the fans at the barrier pounding against the metal bars impatiently and Jimin eyes them cautiously, wrapping his arms tighter around you and considerately shuffling further away. Jeongguk glances down, then, making sure everything is okay, and his eyes fall on you. The first thing he sees is your smile, enamoured and bright and wide, like golden light at the end of a dark tunnel he can’t get out of. You notice now that he speaks how strong the accent is, months and years of Australian visits clearly paying off. It’s nice, new and different, completely unlike how he speaks in Korean. “We feelin’ good tonight?”

The crowd respond gleefully, and Jeongguk chuckles into the microphone.

“Thank you all for coming out here tonight,” Jeongguk begins, swaying slightly on his feet. The movement is endearing. “Being here, on this stage, is something we have dreamed about, and now that we’re here...Wow. We couldn’t be here without you guys. Everyone who’s here- friends, family, lovers-” the crowd scream because they’re used to being mentioned this way, but when Jeongguk’s gaze briefly flickers down to you, you immediately burn up, curling into Jimin as your best friend laughs knowingly, squeezing you tighter when Jeongguk finishes his speech to the crowd, “-you guys are fucking awesome. You like the album?”

Of course, Jeongguk is not alone on the stage. Reminded of this fact, you pay attention to each members introduction, occasionally finding your eyes wandering back to the lead vocalist who seems to always be staring back. In a sea of screaming fans and waving banners, Jeongguk’s eyes land on you each time, as if reminding himself that you are here, you are here for him.

When the band finish their introductions and Jeongguk says his piece, and the opening hum from the guitars around him announce Dancer in the Dark, Jeongguk glances at you one final time and sees the way your body reacts to the song familiar to your ears, a curve extending the corner of his mouth. Jeongguk brings his attention back to the crowd where it will stay for the rest of the concert, his mind wandering between each lyric and break. Maybe- just maybe, things would work out for him in the end.

DEVIL IN THE DARK. (HOLLYWOOD)

There is a constant hum in your ears, your fingertips vibrating as you force yourself out of the car.

Judging by the sky draped in an ebony black, it’s either extremely late or extremely early, the loud music from the large estate already audible and you haven’t even entered the party yet. Even though Jeongguk had expected to take you in his personal vehicle to the party that would celebrate their first American show of the year, things hadn’t exactly gone to plan; his eyes met yours as soon as you hurried backstage to find him, pleading and frantic and your name on the tip of his tongue, unspoken when Rachel ushers the band out of the venue after an already overstayed welcome. Still, the frequent vibration of your phone under your thigh when you settled travelling with Yoongi and Jimin instead kept your thoughts preoccupied, Jeongguk’s contact practically permanent on your lock screen.

[23:40PM] Jeongguk 🎼: shit !!!!! [23:40PM] Jeongguk 🎼: i wanted to wait but they kept pushing me outside [23:41PM] Jeongguk 🎼: did u get out safe? [23:43PM] You: yep don’t worry !!! [23:43PM] You: we’ll be on our way soon [23:44PM] You: im hungry so we’re getting food first oops [23:45PM] Jeongguk 🎼: ok baby see u soon [23:45PM] Jeongguk 🎼 is typing…

The triple dots are constant.

Bodyguard Joe is the driver who drops you off, muttering under his breath when all three of you pile out the back and he’s free to leave. Before Yoongi can even shut the door properly he is speeding away, desperate to get out of there. Yoongi can’t say he blames him- he’s only staying for a little bit, at least until Jeongguk starts being Jeongguk. He deliberately doesn’t mention it to you. He wants you to see it for yourself.

Inside, it’s hard to see through the smoke. There had only been about fourty minutes difference between Jeongguk arriving there and the three of you, and evidently, they waste no time bringing the party into motion. Already, guests either by invite or chance are drunk, intoxicated with dark beer bottles and shot glasses, a wreckage of splintery glass by the door surrounded by a pair of shoes, like a warning. The lights are dimmed, each room dark save a lamp with a dying bulb or LED lights, flashing rainbow colours to the beats of songs, the smell of alcohol and weed lifting in the air. It’s rancid, strong and pungent but typical of parties you’d expect celebrities within the realm of Jeongguk to do, people who held the world at arms length.

Along the wall, the coat pegs are covered in a bundle of mismatched coats and jackets, a single Converse hanging by its laces as some sort of practical joke. In light of this, you decide to just keep your coat thrown over your shoulders, the black suede comfortable and moreover protective as faces you’ve never even seen before regard you with high interest as you pass. Jimin scowls and drags you closer to him, Yoongi leading the way with a gaze that could kill, parting the sea of dancers like Moses. The vibe, however, remains undisturbed, the bodies continuing to dance and drink as they were before Min Yoongi stepped through the mix, with two virtual nobodies behind him. He knows where he’s going- he’s done this before.

This mansion is a maze, with corridors leading everywhere, filled with bodies you didn’t know. You deduce that the main parlour where you’re headed to is the hub of the party, judging by the way the small groups of people outside become multiplied, the sound of laughter and music louder when you enter through a doorway. The room is soaked in an indigo neon light, the long haul of strip lights attached to the moulding by the ceiling by silver pins; almost all of August Blue accommodate one of the recliner sofas, one particular male suspiciously absent.

“Yoongi!” Faintly over the sound of the music, Namjoon’s voice carries its way to your trio, Yoongi’s attention moving to the band and he moves in that direction, with both Jimin and yourself close on his heels. Namjoon already looks affected by the alcohol stirring in a whiskey glass, the colour clear and making no difference when it sloshes over the side onto the bare skin of his forearms. Exchanging a tight lipped smile with Hoseok, who seats a beautiful girl on his lap who sips her drink quietly, you glance around the room for Jeongguk, your heart sinking when you don’t spot him anywhere.

“Great show,” Yoongi says, now that the music has been turned down somewhat, no thanks to Taehyung who has just stepped out of the bathroom and winced at the volume, now sitting back in his original spot beside Seokjin and his widened legs. As an afterthought, he adds, “as always. This is Jimin, by the way- and you know Y/N.”

Seokjin looks up from his glass: “Hi honey. Good night?”

“Yes, it was amazing,” you reply, your eyes wandering again. A few strangers are seated on the couch alongside the members, including three girls you aren’t familiar with. Two look out of this world, mentally vacant and the third watches you carefully, her lips pouted sourly. “Hello,” you call to her, uncomfortable.

“This is one of Rosanne’s friends, Cassandra,” Seokjin introduces, although he doesn’t sound particularly enthusiastic.

“Cassie,” she throws in.

“Oh, like the song,” you judge, looking back at Seokjin and catching the roll of his eyes before he can hide it away. Concealing a smile you look back at Cassandra.

“Yeah. Isn’t that funny?” she asks, giggling sweetly. “I like to tease Guk about it. It gets him shy. Did you see him on the way in, by the way? I’ve been looking for him.”

Oh. So she’s one of them- it’s evident in the way August Blue glance over at her with annoyance, glancing back at you with a blank stare. You know better. “No, actually. I just got here.”

“Well,” Cassandra-Cassie continues, smiling tightly, the look so ingenuine that it looks as though it hurts her to fake politeness, “if you see him, let him know that I’m looking for him.”

“Does he even know who you are?” Jimin asks before he can stop himself. Cassandra narrows her eyes.

“We met in passing.”

A snort exits Jimin’s nose. “If he remembers you, I’ll genuinely be surprised.”

Whatever is or isn’t said by the rest of the couch is unheard by you; once Jimin has finished his slander of Cassandra-Cassie whilst perched on Yoongi’s knees, you decide you’ve heard enough and pick yourself back up off the couch despite having only just sat down.

Whoever remains at the couch pays you no mind, aside from Yoongi who nods gently as you gesture to the connecting hallway, an arch in the cream smooth wall that no doubt leads to either the outside, the kitchen or a bathroom, perhaps all three at once. His eyes do not leave you until you’ve wormed your way out of the room, quietly and meekly weaving through bodies on the walls and declining at least three drinks offered in your direction. After peering into several rooms, including the kitchen that was far too crowded and scorching to even enter, and glanced out through the french doors to the scattered party outside, looking on the patio glowing in blues and pinks, the pool splashing with laughter.

Even the end bathroom that is larger than the kitchen is practically empty save the guy passed out in the bathtub with a glass of sparkling champagne in a slender glass on the sink, and you suddenly feel very dejected, closing the door behind you as you exit back to the long hallway. Maybe everything was too good to be true- maybe girls like Cassandra were girls Jeongguk had invited, like he had you, suddenly ghosting when they all appeared in the same room. It feels rude to assume that, but with no text messages or indication as to where he might be and with whom, disappointment begins to simmer in your stomach.

It nearly settles, confusing dejection with nausea and the thought of Jeongguk having played you is a thought you ruminate, until you’re halfway down the hall and a door to a connecting room that has now opened welcomes a body cloaked in the bedroom darkness, an arm leaning out to grasp your sleeve and pull you inside.

A strange sense of deja-vu hangs over this situation, familiarity striking with the hand that unwraps from around your arm and meets the second around your waist. Before you have even finished twirling to face the body in ownership of said arms, the sound of quiet chuckling makes you relax instantly, a smile growing when you fall with a soft thud against the torso of Jeongguk, his mouth in level with your eyes.

“Hi, stranger,” you laugh softly, looking up at him with wide eyes. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Jeongguk hums, and you catch a whiff of alcohol practically pouring off him. “Been hidin’. You found me, you win.” Jeongguk does a poor job of attempting to be sober, his speech slurred and his smile cheesy and smirkish. “I was tryna ride with you, but Joon shut the car door and we just drove off, you know?” You honestly don’t, but you nod anyway. “Tried to call you but dunno where my phone’s gone. Think Joon’s got it.”

“That explains why you weren’t replying,” you say, mostly to yourself. Jeongguk inhales the air through his nose quickly, one sniff, and relaxes his arms around your middle; his forearms are resting on your hip bones with his fingers gently stroking and drumming against your lower back, and it is here, with him so close, that you notice the glow of sweat on his hairline, the fringes slightly matted down and smudged black under his eye, glitter shines of his eyebrow piercing. “Got worried about you.”

“You were worried about me?” he repeats, that same smile on his face. Jeongguk sounds so amazed by this fact, so bewildered that you’d care.

Anticipation whirls in the pit of your stomach as his voice drops in volume and hardness, and the school-girl crush swims back to bite when Jeongguk’s forehead bends to press against your own, the taste of alcohol on your tongue before he’s even leaning in to kiss you. Jeongguk’s hands immediately fly to cradle your face, accidentally bringing a fistful of hair to your cheek as he holds you, practically picking your face up to warm to his mouth. It is just one kiss, long and deep and soft, leaving behind the taste of a bitter liquor.

Jeongguk’s eyes open through slits when he pulls away, analysing how you still haven’t come back to reality from it, and so he moves in again, in a body roll motion stealing a second kiss, his lips pressed up against you in full. He doesn’t know if it’s the booze in his veins or the electrifying feeling of your hands over him that has him buzzing all over- it could be both, for all he knew.

Beginning to doubt his own self control when you mumble and sigh into his mouth, Jeongguk gently brings himself away, out of the kiss and sending your eyes open in a daze. Cracking his own eyes open, Jeongguk restrains himself from going right back in- the orange glow from the outdoor lights shine on the left side of your face and his heart leaps, drumming in his ears. He frowns loudly, feeling your thumbs rub against his wrists. “Sorry.”

You pause, “Why?”

“For making you worry,” Jeongguk explains, his voice murmured through pouted lips. “I made the baby worry.”

“The baby?” you repeat, chuckling. He grins. “We’re almost the same age, y’know.”

“The baby,” Jeongguk coos, his giggles indicative of his level of soberness, which seems to be unlikely. “Little nineteen year old baby-”

“Twenty,” you add, and Jeongguk stops with a quiet “huh” that sounds like a baby, ironic. Jeongguk remembers you telling him your age, and that you’d be twenty soon. Had he missed your birthday? As if hearing his internal struggle, you smile softly: “Today is my birthday, actually.”

Truly, Jeongguk doesn’t know what to say. His mouth hangs agape, like the information was sacred. “What…? You didn’t say anything- I could have got you something, done something-”

“This whole day has been a gift,” you stress, cutting him short and calming him down. “Truly. My Mom and Asshole are in the Maldives because that’s more important than me, and so I went out for breakfast with Jimin, skipped my yoga session because treat-yourself-vibes only on my birthday, and then I had the best time at your show and now we’re here. So, honestly-” as you talk, you finger his shirt, wrapping the material around your nail, “-everything has been amazing. This is my gift- you are my gift.”

Jeongguk pouts. “You’re way more important than the Maldives...you wanna go to the Maldives? Shall we go?” Based off the state of things, Jeongguk is a playful, chatty and overall excited drunk, his eyes blown wide with what you hope it just alcohol buzz. “I’ll take you.”

You laugh, gently stroking his jaw and very briefly, before he can get too addicted, kiss him. Before Jeongguk can pucker his lips back for you, you’re back on the ground with your feet flat, shyly smiling at the way he still tries anyway- because you can’t blame a man for trying.

“You like the party?” Jeongguk asks, unconcerned. His hands are back on your back, now, his arms wrapped around you tightly.

“Mm, it’s fun,” you agree. “Will you come out and join all of us? We’re all in the lounge-” you smirk up at him and he raises his brows, “Cassandra is there.”

“Who the fuck’s Cassandra?” questions his voice, and you laugh loudly, surprisingly gleeful.

“Someone else who was looking for you like me,” you tell him, frowning. He hums, interested in this fact and your expression. “Think she likes you.”

Outside the door, someone rattles at the handle, the noise falling short as though they’ve been stopped from entering. Jeongguk seizes the last word with a triumphant smile.

“Don’t worry,” he assures, and your gaze drops to his lips as his teeth drag on the bottom, pulling teasingly. “I’ve got my eye on someone special.”

There had been reasoning behind Yoongi’s decision to not mention Jeongguk’s habits.

For one, it’s none of his business to talk about what Jeongguk does and doesn’t do when under the influence. Secondly, he feels as though he’s not supposed to say, like it’s a secret he’s sworn to keep. Truthfully, Yoongi doesn’t want to give the wrong idea- he doesn’t want the truth to be misunderstood or misinterpreted, and so he stays quiet. Like all other members of August Blue when Jeongguk touches alcohol, he’s quiet. At this stage, there’s nothing he can do but wait for Jeongguk to stop, patient and helpful.

It has to be early hours, now, and if Yoongi’s phone wasn’t dead, he’d check. By this point, the party is on its last legs, the volume of people decreasing dramatically as songs become more slow and sultry, all the lights blood red. It’s about time he and Jimin leave, actually; like always, Seokjin and Taehyung have disappeared into one of their bedrooms on the second floor, and Namjoon is asleep on the couch with his mouth ajar, Hoseok and Roseanne planning to remain present in the hub until the party goes to sleep, because someone needs to clean up, and it sure as hell won’t be anybody else.

Yoongi bids his farewells individually, with Jimin needily clinging to the sleeve of his shirt with the vodka oozing out of his body, his head on a whole other planet. By the time Yoongi makes it to the other side of the room where you are with Jeongguk, he’s worried Jimin might actually fall asleep before they get to the car.

Something interesting has happened. Yoongi slowly moves towards the leftover crowd around Jeongguk and sees your face immediately, worry crossed with affection etched into the look on your face as Jeongguk tightly holds you on his lap, his legs twitching and smile on display. It’s around about this time Yoongi begins to overthink it, letting his gaze drop to your hands holding one of his while his other reaches out to the coffee table, littered with bottles and shot glasses, and most importantly, the puddles of white. He gulps, looking back at you. Surprisingly, you don’t look put off, or disgusted- more so you look sad, as if filled with intense guilt as Jeongguk hugs you, his heart in one place and head in another.

When one of the girls next to Jeongguk pats his arm and Jeongguk looks over, you spare the chance to look back in the direction of Jimin, overwhelmed with relief when you see him losing balance over the shoulder of your cousin. Jeongguk struggles for a second to let you free but he does, and you move towards Yoongi, already expecting his departure.

“You should leave too,” Yoongi says seriously. “Before he gets worse.”

He- you look over your shoulder at Jeongguk. Now, he’s on his knees, his chin on the coffee table as he inches towards a fresh line on the surface. Someone’s credit card sits decorated in the powder and Jeongguk, whilst pressing his finger to one nose, snorts the line without question and with a smile. You look away, facing Yoongi with a dark expression.

“You knew?”

“We all knew,” Yoongi sighs. “This...is moderate.”

Processing what he’s saying, you shake your head stubbornly. “If I leave, then it will get worse. I don’t want to leave him on his own. I wanna be here for him, before it gets worse than what it already is.”

“It will get worse, always does.”

“I don’t care, I’m not leaving him here,” you reason. “Before you tell me I’m not special and I can’t change him, I’m not here to change him. I’m here to support him. I’m gonna stay, make sure he’s okay.”

Yoongi really wants to intervene, warn you against it. People before you have tried, he wants to say. But he doesn’t; he smiles weakly, thinking about how you’re too good for the world and people around you and he brings you in for a hug, kissing the crown of your head.

“Alright. Happy birthday, by the way. Twenty...Hag,” Yoongi mutters before he pulls away. Jimin mirrors the movement, drunkenly giggling in your ear as he pulls away and thuds against Yoongi’s side. Yoongi doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t complain; secretly he likes the clinginess.

“Thanks, Yoongs,” you laugh, standing still until he steers himself and Jimin away from the scene and you’re left with no other option but to retreat back towards Jeongguk, who must be on his third line. The distinct and slightly jarring sound of snorting makes you hurry quicker towards him, until you can reach out and pet his hair, making him look up before he’s even finished the line.

The boyish grin that Jeongguk gives you when he looks up and sees your face is beyond beautiful, and he’s so distracted from the lines that he doesn’t notice or care when the girl next to him, displeased with his lack of attention, finishes it off for him. Doing everything in your power to not cry about how Jeongguk looks, fucked and wrecked with white powder under his nose, you shoot him a smile and smooth your hands down the side of his face.

“‘m pretty,” he mutters. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty.”

Laughter tugs at your throat, little puffs of air through your nose as you bend your head to meet his wandering gaze, wiping the powder from his nose before it kills you to keep looking at it. He sniffs, finding that it tickles, and plops his chin in your lap, hands on your thighs.

“Sleepy?” you ask, petting his curly hair.

“Mm.”

“Mm yes, or…?”

“Mm...comfy,” mutters Jeongguk. Through his hair, he looks up at you. “Can we make-out?”

You snort out a laugh, massaging his scalp. “Oh my God, you are so drunk. Come on, big guy.”

“Wanna stay with you,” Jeongguk says. “Don’t leave.”

“I’m not gonna leave you,” you tell him. “I promise. Look, everyone’s getting ready to leave now, too, I think the party’s pretty much over.”

Jeongguk eyes the room with a half-lidded gaze, furrowing his brows like he doesn’t quite know where he is. “Huh. Everyone left.”

“Mhm.” He starts to reach for the cocaine on the table again and your heart beats with panic. “Hey, I think that’s enough now.”

“Lemme finish,” Jeongguk requests.

“You’ve had enough,” you stress, taking hold of his hand. “Let’s leave it there for tonight, okay, baby?”

Jeongguk’s head snaps towards you. “Baby?”

You nod, affirming. “Yes. Look, oh, I’m so tired-” you pretend to yawn, keeping one eye open to observe his expressions as he smiles childishly.

“You’re faking,” he accuses.

“Nope. I’m so tired, let’s go sleep,” you continue.

Jeongguk continues to smile, occasionally laughing when the sound can get out of his throat. You’re half expecting it to be a waste of time, for him to insist on taking more lines and drinking more booze, but he does neither of these things. Jeongguk nods once and runs his hands across your thighs, taking them in his palms and roughly squeezing, getting to his feet when you tug him up.

Across the box shaped recliner pattern, Cassandra-fucking-Cassie glares up from her seat, alongside several others who stare at you as if you’ve grown another head. Truth be told, and unbeknownst to yourself, Jeongguk has never listened to anybody like he does for you. You have no idea how insane it is to see Jeon Jeongguk following the orders of a girl nobody knows, and honestly, you don’t care. Feeling Jeongguk’s hand slide into yours and the other occasionally reaching to fondle the back of your leg as he searches for you in dark is enough, it’s the only thing you care about.

You don’t really know where you’re going; behind you, Jeongguk is mumbling the way to his bedroom, which appears to be up the grand staircase and on the top floor, where he can pretend he’s above the world. Even with his directions, the path seems unpredictable, his torso occasionally bumping into you when you pause at corners. Eventually, Jeongguk notices where he is and conceals a yawn, his face contorted into sleepiness as he gently pulls you in the direction of his room, unsurprisingly at the end of the corridor, a master. Before he can open the door, Jeongguk yawns loudly, slumping against the doorframe and laughing slowly when you curve around him, reaching for the handle and forcing your way into the room.

Inside, it’s cold, the window propped open and a midnight colour hanging on the walls, silence. Jeongguk doesn’t turn on a light, and he doesn’t want you to either. He still holds onto your hand, or rather your fingers, and leads the way inside. His bedroom is like a hotel suite, a small lobby area of sorts when you walk in with three doors North, East and West, all leading to separate rooms including the main bedroom, bathroom and closet, all his for his own liking. He, of course, heads to the East, in the direction of his bed. It’s equally as cold in there but Jeongguk doesn’t care.

Under his breath, Jeongguk hums something unintelligent, waiting until he’s right by the side of his bed to twirl around. His arms find themselves back around you, lifting you off the ground which elicits a squeal of surprise and falls with a soft pat on top of the bed. Your pelvis is on his abdomen, your face on the bed next to his neck and he holds you tighter, engulfing your smell and warmth. Amongst the drugs and the childlike excitement, Jeongguk is an affectionate drunk around those who matter to him. His exhale of breath akin to a sigh tickles a breeze on your ear, and you struggle to pick your head up and look at his face; he meets you with a titter and puckers his lips, kissing you before you can decline. He grins triumphantly.

“Got it.”

“Mm, you did.”

He laughs again, the kind of laugh that sounds gravelly. He’s so drunk. “Got you.”

Humming, you entertain that thought, reaching your head to peck his jawline. Jeongguk sighs contently, about to move his hands from your waist to your thighs when you shuffle up and away, his brows furrowing with perplexion. “You’ve got me.”

Jeongguk’s head tilts. “Where are you going? Don’t leave.”

“I’m going to use the bathroom, and then I’ll be right back,” you promise him. Jeongguk pouts, emotionally clingy which is unusual, but flops back down onto the bed without vocal protect.

In the time it takes for you to rush to the bathroom, pee out of nervousness and nervously pet your hair and make it look absolutely no different, Jeongguk is knocked out asleep when you re-enter the room. His breaths are quiet, and heavy, his legs hanging off the side with his heels on the floor. The urge to sigh is unreal, but you know he must be tired, more tired than you are. Standing just before him on the bed, you’re uncertain of what to do first, but then you move to pull his feet out of his shoes, quietly tossing them to the side and then hauling his legs up onto the mattress. At some point during the night, he might shuffle- he does, slightly, when his body is on one level, and he sleepily worms his way to the side of the bed closest to the window, the right side, his side.

Half of your heart wants to leave. Maybe the way Jeongguk acted tonight was purely because of things he drank, things he lets into his body. But, subconsciously, you know better; the other half of you begs for you to stay. If Jeongguk changed his mind, it would be one walk out of the door and out of his life, easy and simple.

Instead of thinking about that, you gently toss your jacket to the floor and kick off your own shoes, laying flat next to Jeongguk as he falls deeper into sleep. Even if he wakes up with cold feet tomorrow morning, at least he won’t be alone.

The next morning, it is raining. It doesn’t often rain, and so you can’t help but hear the heavy sound of rain outside the window, no thanks to yourself for forgetting to close it before climbing next to Jeongguk. Speaking of the man, he remains asleep, his head twisted on the pillow facing you with his body flat on his back, one leg up and the other spread out. He looks so peaceful, hopefully at peace with his dreams.

Without waking him up, you roll over off the bed and sink your feet to the floor, silently retreating to the bathroom with your phone in your hand. Surprised by the time, it reads eight fifty am, and you scroll down your notifications which seem to have multiplied unusually. Few are from Instagram but majority are texts, from Yoongi and Jimin, one from your Mom that reads a simple “happy bday” and nothing more.

[03:32AM]: Yoongi 👹: hope ur safe and ok [03:41AM] Yoongi 👹: did u go home?

He sent those at three.

[08:50AM] You: shit sorry [08:50AM] You: was sleeping [08:51AM] You: im still with jeongguk, he passed out and i stayed so he wouldn’t wake up on his own

There is a short silence.

[08:53AM] Yoongi 👹: ok, be safe [08:53AM] Yoongi 👹: jimin says good morning lol

Sitting on top of the closed toilet, you hurriedly reply to the flurry of messages and by the time you’ve finished, ten minutes have passed and it is now nine. Checking over yourself in the mirror and deciding that you could ultimately look a lot worse, you move back into the bedroom, overhearing loudness from the remaining people in the house who had an early start to the day.

Jeongguk stirs slightly, showing signs of being awake. Under his breath he groans, reluctant to confirm his consciousness by keeping his eyes closed, and you slowly reach to put your phone back on the bedside table and clamber on all fours onto the bed. With the weight dipped, Jeongguk huffs, peering open one eye and watching you crawl up to him, knees near his body and hands brushing the long hair out of his eyes.

“Morning, sleepy-head,” you coo, voice quiet because nine is still early.

Jeongguk groans, saying nothing. He shifts, ironing out the cramps in his limbs and sitting up, reaching a hand out for you, grabbing air like a child. Your gaze drops to the way his fingers roll expectantly and you slip your hand into his, taken aback when he tugs you over onto him, your legs over his hips as his arms steady around your waist.

Suddenly he’s very awake, moving your hair back and then kissing you, like he’s been starved of it. It begins gentle, timid, with his hands barely touching you as if he’s expecting you to move away and reject it. You don’t, however; when he pulls back you immediately move back in, twisting your arms around his neck, prompting him to follow by tightening his arms around your body, bringing you flush up against him, hips touching, sex throbbing. Jeongguk groans into your mouth, his hands guiding your body as you make shy movements, barely rolling up against him creating friction he wasn’t aware he needed so badly.

Jeongguk isn’t sure if what he’s doing is okay, and you don’t care. All that seems to matter is having you near him, as close as you can possibly be. Under your shirt, Jeongguk slides his hand up your back until it’s at the back of your neck, his left tight on your hip bone as the guider. He welcomes, no, encourages, your hips rocking against his slowly, teasingly, perfect momentum for the morning with the rain. It is both unnerving and exciting in how Jeongguk remains silent, save his occasional groans into your mouth. 

Once Jeongguk has grown bored of kissing your mouth, satisfied with all he’s done, his mouth departs and moves to your jaw, peppering a line of wet kisses from the underside to your neck. His hands spring away and move to hastily unbutton your shirt, unpopping one at a time as you whimper, feeling the hardness buried in Jeongguk’s jeans begging to be free.

Jeongguk breathes heavily, desperately pulling the buttons undone and undressing your shirt from your body. At first, he barely notices the fact that your bra is missing until the shirt is down to your elbows, sexily like a shawl, and his eyes land on your hardened nipples. Jeongguk half laughs, touching his thumbs on the underside of your breasts.

“Just like that,” he mutters, and you pout through a whimper that brings his eyes up to your own.

“Shut up, there was no way I was sleeping with it on,” you reply, and he hums, it makes sense. Jeongguk doesn’t blame you- why would he? He’s a guy, he likes tits; he likes your tits, smallish and round, big enough for him to hold and fit in his mouth, which he does.

Raising his eyebrows, Jeongguk smirks and brings his mouth to your right tit, his mouth around your nipple and you moan sweetly, your hand raking through his messy bed-curls. Like taking a toothless bite out of a whip of ice cream, Jeongguk’s lips pull around it, his eyes flickering up to observe your expressions- one glance and he immediately feels overwhelmed, a pressure on his crotch, discomfort, the need to be free. His hips stutter and he ruts up against you, two clothed crotches rubbing together, stolen gasps in the morning ambience. Finished with his hands on your tits, Jeongguk fully removes your shirt, balling it up and throwing it across the room, where it lands pathetically on one of the knobs of his drawers.

In one movement, Jeongguk secures his arms around you and hikes himself up onto his feet, squatting and turning so you should fall on your back. Following, he pushes you down into the mattress, your head half on the pillow and this time, his legs on your hips, not an overpowering weight but enough to keep you pinned down. You writhe, your back arching up off the mattress as Jeongguk’s mouth trails down from your face, where he leaves a starting kiss on your lips, down your neck and between your breasts, encouraging the roll of your hips with his hands. Muttered incoherence is all he can hear as he shimmies down, his tongue on your skin, teasingly licking a stripe up across your crotch covered by uncomfortable jeans.

Jimin, that fucker, he’d been right. Skinny jeans truly were the least practical outfit.

Jeongguk straddles himself up, planting his body over you like one would during sex. Humming against your lips, Jeongguk’s teeth pull at your bottom lip, his left hand gripping your leg and positioning it around his waist, your legs parted and his crotch directly hitting yours with every grind. Jeongguk gives nothing away- he stares, unwaveringly and deadpan directly into your eyes, grunting at the faces you pull, the whimpers leaving your lips, your rutting underneath him.

He buckles unexpectedly, pounding you deep into the mattress with a high pitched moan, captured by his mouth as he squeezes your flesh around his hand, holding you to him like letting you go would result in him losing you entirely. Jeongguk’s torn between wanting to cry and scream; in his short, sad, twenty one years of living, he’s not sure he’s ever felt as desperate for another person before. Never craved somebody the way he craves you, never needed somebody the way he needs you. Jeongguk stares into your eyes, opia. For fucks sake- he likes you so much, needs you so much-

“Jeongguk, you up?”

Freeze frame. Namjoon steps into the room, his eyes widening with surprise when he comes through the East and spots your shoes and bra by the door, shirt hanging off the cupboard, and Jeongguk on top of you with his lips on your neck, hands on your waist, leg around his middle and crotch up against his. Over Jeongguk’s bicep, you stare at him, your eyes blown open, but Jeongguk doesn’t seem to stop, or even care. Even when you grip on his bicep to let him know you’re not alone, Jeongguk looks up from your neck and spots Namjoon. A soft exhale leaves his lips and he grunts, unbothered.

“Yeah,” he replies bluntly, biting down on your neck and revelling in the tug he receives in his hair when he does so. Still, Namjoon stands by the door in awe, unsure of what to do or say. Jeongguk pulls away, his face still stuffed in your neck, “you need something, Namjoon?”

“I,” Namjoon says, gathering his thoughts. He clears his throat. “Sejin called...He said he’s going to be round at about eleven ish, so I was, um, coming to see if you wanted breakfast, or…” As he speaks, Jeongguk is selfish, still grinding against you like Namjoon’s not even there. He’s listening though, his ear free to hear as he sucks his mouth on your skin, practising sex against your jeans.

Naturally, Namjoon’s gaze wanders to your breasts when Jeongguk picks himself up slightly, grabbing one with his palm and kissing patterns across your sternum. He gulps, uncomfortable.

“Be down in a minute,” Jeongguk says, shrugs, not really a promise. Namjoon nods, flushing as you moan unexpectedly, your traitor pussy having a mind of its own, controlling the way you think. Namjoon about makes out an arch on the grey comforter and catches your gaze, half-lidded, and he turns away, he’s seen enough.

“Take your time,” Namjoon squeaks out, unsure of whether the flush is for his head or his dick but he’s not sticking around to find out, and hurries out the door and back into the house. Jeongguk’s facade doesn’t fall until he knows for certain that Namjoon has left, which means he waits until the sound of laughter resonates downstairs, meaning Namjoon’s said his piece to the rest of the band likely gathered somewhere, waiting for him.

Planting one final kiss to your breast, Jeongguk groans and picks himself up onto his hands, his torso still over the lower half of your body and his gaze on your chest. It doesn’t move for a moment, staring in silence until he suddenly starts laughing to himself. The tangled mess of hair bounces with his shoulders and his head drops for a few moments, and then he peers up at you with a smile and you can’t contain your own bubbling laughter, scandalised.

“I know I’m a day late,” he breathes, “but.” Jeongguk smiles softly, “Happy birthday, gorgeous.”

“Mmm. Thank you,” you preen. “Best birthday ever.”

This causes Jeongguk to guffaw, laughing under his breath. “Joon enjoyed it too.”

“You’re such a prick, you could have stopped,” you laugh to him, slamming his shoulders gently. Jeongguk grins, shuffling until his ass is on your stomach, straddling with his hands intertwined with yours.

“Yeah,” he agrees, because he could have. “Didn’t feel like it though. Plus, he said you were pretty once. ‘Mnot taking any chances with you.”

You gasp, astounded. “And what if I had thought he was pretty, too?”

“Then I’d cry,” Jeongguk replies simply, considering it a successful quip when you laugh sweetly, your cheek on your shoulder looking up at him like he was God’s angel. He blinks, like he’s processing the information, “thank you for staying. Look, if last night I was fucked up, it’s okay if you’re not cool with that. It can be a lot and I-”

“Jeongguk, I’ll always stay. If you need me, I’ll stay,” you tell him seriously. “I’m here for you, even when it’s difficult. I-” you pause, “I care about you.” It won’t be the last time Jeongguk feels like he has nothing to say to you, and honestly, it’s not the first time either.

Jeongguk looks down at you, his face devoid of a smile now that your words have settled in. When he realises what you’re saying, what that means for him.

“I’m sorry. I’m...a fucking shit show,” Jeongguk says quietly, and he barely moves when you instantly sit up, rising with your palms cupping his face, holding him gently and closely.

“Please don’t say sorry. I’m here, if you need me,” you say to him. “If you want me.”

“I do,” replies Jeongguk. He licks his lips, “of course I do.”

Warmth blossoms in your chest, and it would be easy to kick back, let him keep kissing, stay in the warmth of his bed covers. So suddenly, life feels like it can get better. So suddenly, it feels like everything is going to be okay.

(LOS ANGELES)

Things begin to change quite suddenly.

In the moment, you hardly realise how fast paced life is moving for you, too caught up in the moment, in the thrill of what has become of your life after the show at the Hollywood Palladium. For some reason, you didn’t expect to be an addition to Jeongguk’s life after the party, especially considering August Blue still had several other shows and cities to perform in, meaning the likelihood of seeing him decreased.

He had surprised you, though, by making a considerable effort to frequent DBOY whenever he could before he left for Jersey, alongside the rather spontaneous decision to take you for dinner after your shift, ending with a bang and a kiss and your mother peeking from behind a curtain inside the house when Jeongguk pulled up to drop you home instead of your own flat afterwards. 

As far as you knew, nothing with Jeongguk had especially changed; judging off the lingering smell of nicotine and alcohol when he turned up to get you, and pictures of dark lights and white tables on his private accounts, which only made it harder to say goodbye to him.

There had been a change in pace between Jeongguk and yourself, an establishment of feelings discussed over that afternoon dinner looking out at the ocean. It had been unexpected and impulsive, you still dressed in your lackluster University outfit and Jeongguk in attire that he put on when he woke up in the morning, but everything seemed to feel right.

It hadn’t been much, nothing but him setting the record straight that he wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he wanted to do it- if you would have it, he’d like to be in your life. There was the bump in the road that was his status, his tours and his unspoken struggle with white lines and drunken nights that could be troublesome. Could turn you off, could make you not want him. You laughed at that like it was the funniest and simultaneously the stupidest thing he’d ever said, and maybe it was.

Across the room, Jimin kicks his feet up onto the coffee table despite countless efforts to get him to stop. Now that the late birthday weekend spent with your family had come to a happy end, you were once again welcomed in your shared flat with Jimin; it’s a measly apartment close to campus with an expensive empty third room that you both use as art storage. Next to him on the couch is the greasy pizza box, his fingers pulling a slice off the cardboard. You stand behind the couch, looking at the back of his head, and then look back at your phone. As always, there’s nothing, no notifications besides an Icloud storage backup failure. You sigh, having expected it.

Jimin looks up when the couch dips in weight as you sit next to him, moving the pizza box to his lap rather than your spot. He has the nerve to appear offended, still shoving a slice in his mouth.

“I’ve picked the movie,” he starts.

“Swear on God, if you’ve picked Orphan again, I’m going to beat your ass.”

“It’s the best horror movie to date, come on!” Jimin argues, making zero effort to change the movie once it’s already started. People who didn’t know Jimin would take a look at him and anticipate him to be an angel, questioning why you would ever be annoyed by such a cute face. This- this is why. 

Regardless, all you give Jimin is an eye-roll and decide to quietly accept the fact that your movie night has, once again, become an ode to Orphan. It’s not a problem- if a movie could define and represent a friendship, Orphan could summarize your relationship with Jimin.

The movie plays as far as Esther pushing her sister into the road when disturbance arises. Jimin is the first to stir, hearing the front door to your apartment crack open and a sheepish Yoongi steps inside, a bag of takeout in his left hand and keys in the right. He is, of course, late as always, and you expect he won’t hear the end of it by the time he’s wedged himself into the room; rightly so, Jimin interrogates him on being late as the front door closes, and right as the sound of arguing fills the room a blaring ring from your phone picks up.

It’s sad to admit that you pick up your phone in lightning speed, peering in the light as Jeongguk’s contact fills the screen. The way seeing his name light up on the screen feels like an urgent release, like finding treasure after searching for so long- you haul yourself up off the couch and head back towards the kitchen as the couple shuffle in. Glancing at them as they collapse in laughter to the couch, you smile and answer the call from Jeongguk that never stops ringing.

“Jeongguk,” you say, once you’ve picked up and heard nothing but murmured party ambience over the line. Something crackles, like the movement of clothes, and Jeongguk hums like he’s in a trance. “Can you hear me?”

“Hi baby,” his voice calls. He laughs, lucid, “Y/N, baby. Hi baby.”

“Hi,” you coo in reply. “Where are you, I can barely hear you…?”

“Party!” laughs Jeongguk. “Wrap up party. ‘so funny, you should come.”

A smile ignites. “I can’t, I’m not in that state. Are you having fun? What are you doing?”

For a moment, Jeongguk doesn’t reply. From the sounds of it, he seems otherwise occupied, for in the background the quiet sound of party laughter and glass clinking reminds you of where he is, what he’s doing, what he’ll end up doing. You swallow thickly.

“It’s okay,” Jeongguk says after some time. “Kinda fun.” He waits one second and then says, “can’t hear you. I’m gonna go outside, don’t hang up.”

“I won’t. I’m not going anywhere.”

Jeongguk moves outside, the party tucked behind as he leans against the brickwork of the rented bar used for the party. There’s a payphone on the wall, dripped in neon lights and he stands next to it, his body chilled by the night, leather on his skin.

“What are you doing?” Jeongguk asks, sniffing. That’s the indicator. Something inside of you sinks thinking about what he’s done, how sad it is that he does it to himself and nobody bats an eye.

You throw a glance back across the room; Jimin is settled in Yoongi’s lap, bringing soft laughter out of your cousin as the still frame of Orphan burns the television screen. “It’s movie night, so Jimin and Yoongi came over.”

“Mm yeah?” Jeongguk says. “Fun, sounds so fun, Yoongi said you lived with Jimin.”

“I do,” you reply gently. “When do you come home?”

“Saturday, maybe,” Jeongguk estimates. “Then I’m gonna come see you. Wanna take you out again, can we go out somewhere, I wanna go out.”

You laugh, tucking yourself into the kitchen when Yoongi and Jimin start laughing too loudly. “Course. Just let me know when, I’ll make room for you.”

For a while, Jeongguk doesn’t say anything interesting. In fact, it’s mostly a string of incoherent and confusing sentences, his pout audible as he speaks and at least he’s not making bad decisions, half the reason you haven’t told him to go back to the party. Maybe you’re in it too deep, maybe you have no right being worried about him like that. If his band members didn’t seem to be too worried, and they’ve clearly known him longer, then why should you be so concerned?

“Called you for a reason, you know,” Jeongguk says, after a short breath of silence.

You raise your eyebrows and lean against the doorframe, pulling at your bottom lip with your teeth after asking him why.

Jeongguk sniffs and then drops a deep exhale of breath. “Missed you.” Your heart thuds painfully. “Miss you, miss your voice. You should have come.”

“Maybe next time,” you offer. You’re unsure if telling him that you didn’t come because you don’t know what you are to him is wise at this exact moment, and so you decline to offer him a reason. Not that he asks. “I miss you too. I miss you coming to see me at work, made my day.”

Jeongguk laughs to himself. “I miss it. Coming home on Saturday, can I see you then?”

You pause to think. “Ah...it’s Yoojung’s birthday.” Yoojung is Yoongi’s sister, which Jeongguk remarkably remembers. He frowns, questioning. “There’s a party at her house, I’m obviously going because I’m family.”

“Yoo is a fan of the band, I think,” Jeongguk says. “Maybe I’ll ask Yoonie if I can come, surprise her or something. Wanna see you.”

“You can’t wait an extra day? I think I’m free all day on Sunday,” you offer, but Jeongguk declines.

“Nah. Greedy.”

He sniffs once, curtly and quickly, like inhaling sandpaper. You repress a sigh, not wanting to give away anything that might upset him, and you tuck further into the kitchen to escape the noise of the couple on the couch. It rises in volume, Jimin’s tone calling for you which Jeongguk can surely hear, but clearly cares little for.

“Fair enough,” you reply, smiling. “Are you going to go back in and party?”

For a second, Jeongguk says nothing. Unbeknownst to you, Jeongguk leans against the damp bricks with his chin tucked to his collarbones, gaze hazy and a smile on his lips. The air is cool enough to straighten his head, at least clear his vision from speckles to something clean.

“Just like talking to you,” he mumbles. “I don’t know, I don’t know if I wanna party anymore.”

“Then don’t, baby, it’s okay,” you tell him, trying to avoid eavesdroppers in the living room. “Find Seokjin and leave for the night, hm? Have some rest and then we can see each other when you get back for Saturday, m’kay?”

Jeongguk says nothing, listening in the background to Yoongi and Jimin as they heckle you into living room to finish the movie. He wants to say something, more than anything he has words on his mind, sentences on the tip of his tongue; he doesn’t. His head isn’t clear enough for him to trust himself to speak. So, instead, he takes an inhale of the outside air and glances around at his surroundings, observing the moonlight on the lake nearby and the dark green ferns around the car park.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m gonna go to bed,” he decides to say.

“That’s good. Just let me know when you’re home safe, okay?” you tell him, silencing the duo with a finger to your lips and the couple on the couch suppress giggles of amusement. To them it’s funny. “Okay?”

“Yep. I’ll text,” Jeongguk promises. From behind him, the door to the club opens and you can faintly hear a voice calling him. It’s out of your hands but you hope that it’s Seokjin, or another member of the band. “Miss you.”

You smile, “I miss you too. Get some rest, okay? I’ll see you on Saturday.”

Jeongguk hums. His voice is gone in the wind, too small to speak out.

(HIDDEN HILLS)

“And, you know, don’t get me wrong- I love parties as much as the next person, believe me, but if you can’t have an Iron Man balloon just because your parents are too damn lazy to go across town to Party City to get me one, then is it really a good party?”

Min Yoojung takes a sip from her glass and practically shrivels with distaste. For some or known reason, she had assumed that when you turned eighteen, life would dramatically change and you’d suddenly enjoy the taste of alcohol. Or, at least, that’s what UK TV shows had told her- mind you, she now knows that’s entirely inaccurate.

“I mean, think about it,” she continues with a huff. “Yoongi gets his own private club hired out for his birthday with the members of KISS playing on stage, and I can’t even get a balloon?”

Yoongi sits directly across from her on the patio sofas, a cigarette between his two fingers and a glass of red wine on the small table. He hides a smirk, feigning absolute disinterest as his sister speaks, waiting until she’s finished and looking between yourself and Jimin for some sort of explanation before he speaks.

“It’s because you’re adopted,” he replies smoothly, which only sets her off more.  

To some extent, what she is saying is not flawed. For Yoongi’s eighteenth birthday, he had gotten everything he wanted, things he brought up in passing wrapped up and gifted to him on the morn of March 9th. And, Yoojung is walking proof that the myth of the baby sibling being the favourite is simply not true. Granted, Yoongi’s only the favourite because he’s semi-famous, whereas Yoojung still attends public school and dines in three star restaurants with allowance money she may as well not have. That’s not to say that her birthday sucks; it doesn’t, because the Min’s have money and standards and this party in the backyard might make a headline in some Indie magazine online. Who knows.

It’s leisurely and small, with only few celebrities in attendance not including the Min’s and their relatives. You’re not entirely unfamiliar with the life of stardom- unfortunately, being the step-daughter of Axel Choi therefore meant having a camera in your face once or twice. Even though Axel was no relative of yours, and by no means did he ever have the audacity to assume he could fill the role of your Dad: Axel was an okay guy, protective of his family and by extension, protective of you. You didn’t mind, just one less camera to hide from, one less ugly photograph uploaded online for a bit of money. 

That being said, Axel pulled a few strings and got a few A-Listers to show up, including a KPOP group that Yoojung had liked when she felt like an alien in her own country. Amongst those are some of Yoojung’s friends, who fear sitting near Yoongi because he’s the hot older brother type, and fearful of you who they don’t know, which isn’t any less scary from them knowing you.

“You haven’t done the cake yet, right?”

From behind Yoongi, out comes Wheein, one of his old friends from University. She carefully climbs over the seat to sit next to Jimin, mindful of her glass that sloshes and Yoojung sighs, pressing her chin into the heel of her hand.

“Nope. Yoongi says people haven’t turned up yet, so I don’t know what’s up with that,” Yoojung shrugs. “Honestly-” now she rises slightly, her back straight and finger pointed accusingly, “you fucking planned my whole party. Is this the Yoongi and Co show, or what?”

“Yes,” Yoongi replies, as though it were obvious. He drinks. “Stop complaining and wait, it’ll be worth it.”

Yoojung scoffs, “Yeah right. If Tony Stark doesn’t come to this house dressed in his suit making that suity noise, then consider this birthday over.”

Yoongi pauses. “Okay then, I guess I’ll start sending people back home, because you can’t even get an Iron Man balloon, what makes you think he’s gonna pop round in person?”

Yoojung shrugs, “Poetic cinema?”

“Keep dreaming, cabbage patch baby.”

“Cabbage patch baby?” Jimin laughs. That’s when Yoongi ignores Yoojung’s frustrated groans and launches into an explanation behind the name, which involves Yoongi telling Yoojung when she was little that their Mom found her in a cabbage patch. You’ve heard it before, so you’re not listening when it’s explained. Your gaze instead lifts across the patio, awkwardly catching your mother’s as she looks around for you. 

Her eyes light up when she spots you and immediately she waves you over, not taking no for an answer as those round holes turn into slits faster than you can even mouth the syllable “n”. While Yoongi dives deeper into Yoojung’s misery, you pick yourself up with a sigh and head on over towards your mother.

She stands next to Axel, as well as Yoongi’s parents, and two celebrities you vaguely remember for being present at Yoongi’s birthday many moons ago. You fake a smile, wanting to be polite, wanting it to be over. It seems your arrival had been pre-planned and expected, for your aunt turns to you with wide eyes and brings you by the elbow.

“Y/N. We were just talking about you- you know Maxine, don’t you?”

No. You regard the stranger, subtly looking them up and down and smiling tightly. “Of course! It’s so nice to see you.”

“We were just talking about the arts- classical, of course, because we all know how you turn up your nose at the modern artists of today,” your Aunt says.

“Well, I do like modern art, I just find classicals more interesting to study. More composition, colour, texture...more empathy.”

“Whatever,” your Aunt interrupts. “Maxine has a son who works in the Louvre. He’s looking for junior guides, people to talk arty to visitors and make everything sound nice.”

Maxine smiles to intervene. “Actually, he’s not high enough in the business to request people, but I do know that he’s got an eye for women who like the arts. Miyoung told me that you study it at University level.”

You nod, bored. “Yes, I do. I’m not sure I want to move to Paris for a job, though...so…”

“Oh, no,” Maxine laughs. As she does this, one of Yoongi’s other friends, Jaehyung, creeps up behind you and quietly says hello to your mother and to Axel, half listening when Maxine says, “Duke is actually on pursuit for somebody who can match his artistic background.”

This, of course, makes Jaehyung laugh suddenly. He takes a slice of cake off a nearby tray and takes a bite, moving to walk away as he says, “Y/N doesn’t need help in the dating department, I don’t think.”

You glare at him.

“What does that mean?” your mother asks. “Do you have somebody?”

“No, Mom. Nobody.”

“Sure she does,” Jaehyung winks. “Was all over Instagram.”

“That’s a lie,” you gape.

“Is it?” he shrugs. Is it?

Aunt Miyoung gasps like she’s heard an offensive secret, touching her collarbone as she looks between Jaehyung and yourself. Jaehyung grins, saying nothing and running back to Yoongi before you can slander him. You’re in for it now.

“The boy that dropped you home?” your mother presses.

“You knew about this?” Miyoung asks. “Maxine, I am deeply sorry- I feel foolish.”

“I-Yes,” you tell her finally. Jeongguk, the man in question, might not be what everybody now thinks he is, might not even be what you think he is. “It hasn’t been long, so I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

“And he’s famous?” Axel asks.

You look at him. “Yeah. I guess. You wouldn’t believe he was, but he is.”

Axel raises his eyebrows, by now not in the least surprised by the bitterness in your tone that has been there since your mother first introduced him. He’d probably be more surprised if you didn’t talk to him like that. Regardless, Axel takes it with acquiesce, glancing at your mother for some sort of guidance that she can’t and won’t give to him. It is in this moment that the back gate that leads to a leaky trail next to the spacious garage and past Holly’s doghouse opens, like arms inviting a hug.

The gate needs oiling, screeching to gain attention as it opens and in steps pairs of booted feet. The selection of pauses, gasps and an excited murmur from Yoojung’s friendship group out over by the poolside paints the picture for you, and you don’t feel the need to turn around. Noise alone confirms that the person who opened the gate is the same man in topic of conversation, his eyes dancing around the yard until they land on Yoongi’s father, acknowledgingly and then finally onto Yoojung, who he happens to notice quickly than he does the back of your head.

“Speak of the devil,” your mother starts, recognising him.

Axel hesitates visibly and audibly. “That man. That’s him?”

You purse your lips, taking a peek over your shoulder at Jeongguk. He speaks for himself; his muscles cling underneath a white tee and leather jacket that feels overdressed, paired with faded black jeans decorated with gashes and two zips. Axel only frowns because he’s not dressed like a prep, or a future Doctor like he would have liked for you, hypocrisy. Not even dressed ‘normal’ like boys he sees on the covers of magazines belonging to your step-sister, his own blood, his actual daughter. Jeongguk is dressed for attention, his gaze high over his glasses that you’re unaware he owned.

“It might be,” you reply quietly, and it’s telling enough that Axel sighs, folding his arms.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Miyoung says quickly. “You should have just told us it was Jeongguk.”

“You know him?” asks Axel.

Miyoung nods, sipping her wine. “Sure. He’s been friends with Yoongi for a few years now- we actually cleared him to visit for Yoo’s birthday.” Finally she acknowledges you: “Handsome boy, Y/N. How did you find him? Yoongi?”

“More like he found me,” you muse. “I tried to remain professional, but he kept coming back to visit me at work.”

“Romantic,” your mother sighs honestly.

Yoongi’s father laughs. “Jeongguk has a type.”

You stare at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs. “The last time he had a girl on his arm he bed her and got rid of her. Funny, actually, you two had the same hair.”

“Hair isn’t a type,” Miyoung snaps.

“I’m just saying,” he continues, shrugging again. “Don’t get your hopes up, honey.”

“So, he’s a player?” Axel grunts.

“No,” you defend quickly. “No. Well- yes, he was. People change when they’ve found the right person to change for.”

Axel chuckles wryly. “And you think you’re the one to change him?”

“Not change him, but I’ll be there for him whenever he needs me,” you nod. “I trust him.”

“I can feel my ears burning.”

Jeongguk’s voice creeps over your shoulder before you can even notice that he has made his way over towards you; the feeling of his chin rested just above your ear makes your body pause and he wraps one arm around you, observing everybody in the huddle. The Min’s consider Jeongguk secondary family, welcoming him with a smile that Axel doesn’t reciprocate, not that Jeongguk gives a shit. For Jeongguk, this is monumentous, the time for him to prove himself to the guy who didn’t believe in him.

Actually, he’s surprised to find that the feeling of worship he felt for Axel as a teenager is still there, now that he’s standing right in front of him. It’s strange, subdued and numbing, but still there and pressing. Jeongguk tries to look anywhere but at Axel, but he can’t help it. Axel doesn’t even remember him, and has the audacity to stare at Jeongguk like it’s his first time, first impression of the guy dating one of his daughters.

Jeongguk pauses his thoughts and thinks back to you- are you dating? Wouldn’t hurt to lie, just to piss of Axel even more. Jeongguk wasn’t an exceptionally smart guy but he wasn’t stupid; it was evident that Axel didn’t like him, obvious from the ugly grimace on his face. He doesn’t care- Jeongguk relishes in his dislike. That gives him power, now.

“Jeongguk,” says Miyoung, smiling wide.

Beside her, your Uncle sips his drink, silent and occasionally glancing between Jeongguk and Axel. Maybe everybody disliked Axel, Jeongguk thinks to himself, as he stares at the pulled crease between your Uncle’s eyebrows. He knows vaguely that you’re related to the Min’s through your mother, and that they, unlike your mother, never got over the death of your Dad. Maybe they too can’t stand the sight of Axel, bragging and sour-faced, acting like a member of the family when in reality, all he is is an imposter, a wolf in sheeps’ clothing, awkward and looking misplaced.

Jeongguk smiles back at Miyoung. “Hi, it’s good to see you. Thanks for having me.”

“Our pleasure,” Miyoung replies. “You’re a punk, y’know- dating our Y/N. None of us had any clue! Why hide such a beauty?”

Jeongguk grins. His arm wrapped around you tightens gently. “Sorry. We didn’t want to rush into making anything public…” He trails off, looking at you. “Get nervous and tell people?”

“Actually, you have Jaehyung to thank for that,” your mother pipes up with a sigh. For the first time, Jeongguk looks at her entirely. She looks nothing like you, too done up with surgery and makeup for him to see a resemblance. Maybe you looked like her before, maybe you favoured your Dad. “I’m Jennifer, Jenny, by the way. It’s lovely to meet you.”

Jeongguk smiles constantly, accepting her tight hug as she welcomes him. “Jeongguk.”

“Y/N doesn’t talk about you,” she says.

“In fairness, I don’t talk about anything,” you add, but she’s not listening. Jeongguk is, though, and his heart tugs. He’s got the situation kind of figured out.

“I don’t blame her,” Jeongguk replies smoothly. “We weren’t sure it was time to make things official- it’s new.”

“And it’s serious?” Axel asks, speaking for the first time.

Jeongguk watches him. “Yes, sir.”

Axel bristles. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m Axel, I’m Y/N’s father.”

“Step father,” you cut in.

“Father,” he repeats. Axel extends a hand outwards for Jeongguk to shake. Even though he hesitates, Jeongguk accepts, firmly shaking it. It’s a good handshake, Axel ought to be impressed. What doesn’t sit right is Axel calling himself your father- something he’s never been given the right to say.

“We actually have met before,” Jeongguk says, and around his arm he feels you tighten, briefly glancing up at him.

All eyes in the huddle are on Axel, including the long forgotten Maxine who watches quietly. “Did we? I don’t remember you.”

“Well, it was a long time ago,” Jeongguk explains with a flat tone. “We were in Busan. You came into my work and bought some cigarettes, I had your opinion on some of my work.”

While Axel thinks about it, your mother gasps happily, clueless and embracing her hands. “Oh, that’s wonderful. Honey, it’s great that you helped this young man.”

Unknowingly, the Min’s writhe on their spots. They know this story. They know the truth- maybe that’s why they dislike Axel the way everybody else does.

“Did I?”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk continues, with the same flat tone that makes you shudder. “Yeah. You told me our music was shit and that I’d never make it in the business because I was a Korean boy from Busan with dreams I couldn’t reach. You told me we’d never succeed and that we’d be stuck in Busan flipping burgers and working night shifts at 7-11, and that the only way I’d succeed was if I was American. Dunno if you remember that, but I did.”

Nobody says anything. Not even Axel, who stares coldly.

“Well, we made it,” Jeongguk laughs quietly. “I took your advice and it really helped motivate me to prove you wrong. We’re number one on Billboard and we’re making history as the first all Korean band to top the charts and headline The Governors Ball next year. Not bad for a basement boy from Busan, right?”

Your mother gulps. “That’s really wonderful, Jeongguk, you should be really proud.”

Jeongguk pities her. “Thank-you. We worked hard for it. Now we’re here.”

“And I suppose it will do Y/N some good, being with somebody so successful.” For the first time since Jeongguk’s arrival, Maxine speaks up. She cradles her champagne glass tenderly and examines Jeongguk with her slinted fox-like eyes, as if nursing a different agenda.

“Thank you,” repeats Jeongguk. He tightens his arm around you, obviously enough to create a statement. While it’s mostly to prove to everybody- and himself- that you and him are an item, it’s also to rub extra salt into Axel’s wounds, his face like he’s sucking on a lemon. “Y/N helps keep me driven a lot. I owe her so much already, I’ll make her happy and do her proud. Thanks to Y/N, I don’t think I could be here. I’m here because she suggested it, actually, for Yoojungie.”

“And a good job, too,” Miyoung finally says, trying to avert the tensions. “Else Yoojung would be miserable at her own birthday party.” And everyone laughs, apart from Axel, not that anybody cares. “Jeongguk, shall we start the music up?”

Jeongguk nods. “I’d love to. Thanks, Mom.”

She smiles, walking away to prep. Feeling Axel’s stare cold on your skin, you gently push yourself into Jeongguk, until he’s walking backwards towards the selection of trees where you turn in his arms, looking up at him. Jeongguk smiles honestly for the first time, his heart thumping.

“Hi,” he says gently.

“Well, you know how to make an entrance,” you note thoughtfully. Jeongguk’s eyes rake your own, wordless. “Be careful how you act around Axel. He’s strangely protective.”

“I thought he wasn’t family.”

You frown. “He’s not. But he’s still… you know. Part of the family.”

Jeongguk says nothing at first. “I get it. I do,” he assures with a nod. The next moment, he has his hands on your upper-arms, smoothing. “It’s good to see you, by the way. You look beautiful.”

A smile crosses your face. “It’s good to see you, too. Missed you.”

“I missed you too, we just got off the plane this morning,” Jeongguk explains. Took a nap on the way home and then got dressed and we came straight here.” He pauses playfully: “Do I look okay?”

You laugh girlishly, catching his elbows with your fingers. “You look great. Who knew you wore glasses?”

Jeongguk grins. “They’re fake, I’m a fraud.”

“Of course,” you joke. “Like all rockstars.”

“Hey, don’t bring in my fellow rockers!” Jeongguk laughs too, an unusual sound. “As much as I wanna stand around and stare at you, I need to go and say hi to Yoojung and perform and stuff. It’s kinda why I’m here…”

“LOL,” you say. “You don’t have to explain yourself, Guk. Go, I’ll survive.”

“Okay,” he resists. “But I’ll come back later, yeah? Can’t ignore my girlfriend.” Jeongguk raises his eyebrows mischievously and then, rustles in his pocket whilst speaking, “Oh, wait. Happy-” he checks the time and shows his phone screen to you as he steps backwards, “-ten minute anniversary, babe.”

As Jeongguk steps away, dragging his fingertips along your palms as he steps backwards towards the curved pathway around the pool, a warm feeling simmers in your stomach. Maybe it’s the sunlight shining gold across his skin or the way his smile finally reaches his nostrils, extending wide, his eyes folded into moons- but something about the whole ordeal seems safe, seems gorgeous and heavenly, at the same time domestic. He winks, turns and heads towards the rest of August Blue sheltered around Yoojung and Yoongi, and you’re left with the imprinted image of Jeongguk’s smile on the spot of grass he just stood on, burning, refusing to leave.

[23:39PM] Jeongguk❣️: so i don’t think ur family like me…. [23:39PM] Jeongguk❣️: am i out of the picture now?

The sound of your phone fills the room and pulls you out of the bathroom, which connects to your family bedroom back in the house your family live at currently. Yoojung’s party had ended hours earlier, the grand finale with Jeongguk helping bring out her cake, fireworks on the evening, a hand on your waist.

Rubbing at your wet hair, you sit on the bed and reach for your phone, glossing over the messages, smiling.

[23:40PM] You: hey now [23:40PM] You: i don’t think my family like me either [23:41PM] Jeongguk❣️: wanna run away and be my family? [23:42PM] Y/N: where are we running to? [23:42PM] Jeongguk❣️: idk yet [23:42PM] Jeongguk❣️: somewhere nice [23:43PM] Jeongguk❣️: far away [23:43] You: omg yes [23:44PM] You: kinda wanting to go to hawaii...what are your thoughts on hawaii, gukkie? [23:45PM] Jeongguk❣️: hawaii on a first date? imagine that….. [23:45PM] Jeongguk❣️: u DO dream big [23:45PM] You: i tried [23:46PM] Jeongguk❣️: it’s not exactly hawaii [23:47PM] Jeongguk❣️: but how about a late night rendezvous at olive garden

(At the same time…)

[23:47PM] Jeongguk❣️: omg … as if i just spelt that word right [23:47PM] You: autocorrect, u cant fool me [23:47PM] You: and omg sure…..,,,,,, [23:48PM] You: something tells me ur already here and thats why you’re asking

(A honk outside your window.)

[23:49PM] Jeongguk❣️: 🤪 [23:49PM] You: my hairs wet 🥺 [23:50PM] Jeongguk❣️: i’ll roll down the windows?

(A sigh.)

[23:50PM] You: pls give me five minutes

Jeongguk had been parked up outside, his car hidden half in the shadows by a flickering streetlight, inconspicuous and with the inside lights on. It had taken all but three minutes to find his car, and another three for you to warm up to talking to him inside the car. Slipping into the passenger seat with the sound of Magnetic Moon on the AUX and the shining smile from Jeongguk had been nerve-wracking, perhaps nerve-wracking is even an understatement. Nonetheless, the song had rolled to an end and just before Tiffany could transition into the smooth vocals of Lana, Jeongguk said his first few words beyond “hi”.

Olive Garden was a few miles away from your neighbourhood- small and pushed to the side with a selection of palm trees scattered outside, like a postcard for Malibu. Like most, if not all American’s, you’ve been here before, already have a go-to on the menu. Jeongguk drives into a parking bay near the shrubs and opens the doors for you, pulls out chairs, goes the extra mile ordering wine in advance in a private section of the restaurant that you didn’t know existed. You’ve only ever been here with Yoongi and Yoojung, two celebrities who sometimes have the luxury of leaving the house and not getting immediately noticed.

“What do you wanna do after?”

Jeongguk, halfway through cutting his sirloin steak, glances up with an honestly surprised expression. “You still want to hang out after?”

You shrug, taking a sip of the wine. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because our first date since I got back from tour is at fucking Olive Garden,” Jeongguk states.

“I like Olive Garden…” you mumble, which he hears.

After swallowing a large mouthful, he sends it down with a gulp of wine. “Well, I’m not gonna complain. Shall we go for a drive? You ever been to the beach at night?”

“I live in LA, who hasn’t been to the beach at night?”

“Okay, true,” he replies. “I used to do it all the time in Busan, too. Lived right across the road, could see the sands from my front porch.”

Once dinner is over, and once Jeongguk has quite finished coercing you into sharing an ice-cream sundae with him, Jeongguk takes you up on the invitation to drive to the beach, the night sky like looking into the eyeball of a stuffed animal, the stars like specks of dust on an Afterlight edit. The boulevard is lit up by circular bulbs, tiny attractions for moths, bright like close up stars. Jeongguk drives smoothly, the window slightly down and occasionally his eyes glanced over at you; your hair is messed in the wind, the sound of Kim Petra on the AUX sending your body into little bops, something Jeongguk wants to remember for the rest of his life.

“So much for letting my hair dry.”

Jeongguk laughs from the back of the car, closing the boot and bringing out some spare towels to hand over to you. They’re yellow, like fresh little buttercups, and slightly wrinkled, smelling like faint juice and sea-salt. Regardless, you take the towel off him and begin to quickly rub it against your hair, once again trying to even out the wetness, less than the shower back home, enough to still drip on your arms and legs.

“You splashed me first,” Jeongguk replies, standing outside the door whereas you sit with your legs hanging out, sideways on the backseat. Behind him is the beach, dark and the sound of the ocean lapping like television static, the faint sound of the amusement arcade down the prom. His body is wet too, the ankles of his jeans clinging to his skin with ocean water.

You turn your head to him, smiling. “Guilty.” When he laughs, you continue to speak and bring the towel back down to your lap, “Okay, it’s what they all do in the movies. What else are you supposed to do on a beach at like...midnight. Wait, what time is it?”

“I dunno, like, three?” he guesses.

“No way.”

“Feels like three. Check the front.”

You lean over to check. “It’s definitely not three.”

Jeongguk shrugs boyishly, that same grin creating dimples near his chin. “Not far off. It was a guess.”

“Good for a guess,” you assure. Jeongguk wrangles the towel from your hands politely, wringing it out and throwing it back into the boot. Your hair can dry again in the wind when Jeongguk drives away, the same way it did when he picked you up. He has this theory on his mind as he walks back around to the open door, although the words leave him when he returns, having found that he has nothing at all to say now it’s come down to it.

Jeongguk moves back in, his body shoved between your legs slightly as he moves closer. You gaze up at him, the light behind him making his body glow dark, sighs like whispers in the quiet ambience.

“I really had a lot of fun tonight,” Jeongguk says, like it’s a secret. “Even though this morning your family almost had a heart attack discovering that we were, well, whatever we are...I still had fun.”

You hum in agreement, watching his face as it moves into the light. “Yoojung had the best time. I haven’t seen her that happy since she met Paul Rudd at Disneyland, and that’s seriously impressive.”

Jeongguk laughs quietly. “Paul Rudd.” He almost can’t believe that.

“As for us,” you continue, stress on the ‘us’ which brings Jeongguk’s attention full circle and back entirely onto you in the backseat of his ride, “well...what are we?”

For a few moments, Jeongguk doesn’t say anything. “I have the fantasy and the reality.”

You nod, encouraging, and so he continues. “The fantasy is that we give it a go. We try it, really try. Y/N, with every small inch of my delicate, precious body-” (giggles are delivered by you as he speaks)- “I absolutely adore you. And I never knew I could feel like how I feel with you. I only ever wanted the sex, and even then, I didn’t want it that badly, and then you wandered into my life and everything feels so...so...I don’t even know a word. I just know it feels amazing when I’m with you- I feel amazing. And, of course, the reality is that we’re two sad early twenties rich kids who are pining and don’t know what to do about it.”

And it’s true, it’s so true. The sad reality of it all was that unless either one of you stepped up first, this dynamic of uncertainty would continue on as the norm. Where you were too shy to be bold and make a move, Jeongguk felt too insecure to step up.

“Well, then…” you start, chewing the inside of your cheek, thinking. “How about we try making the fantasy our reality?”

Nothing.

Jeongguk blinks and cocks his head in bewilderment. “Really?” You nod. “You want to?”

“If I didn’t want to, why the hell would I leave my house with wet hair to go eat at Olive Garden and lovingly stroll on a beach at midnight?”

Jeongguk’s eyebrows raise in amusement. “Oh, so it was loving?”

“I was definitely feeling some kind of way,” you confirm.

At long last, Jeongguk smiles wide, shuffling closer. His hands wrap around your face gently, like holding a delicate bird in two palms, and his fingers brush against your ears, tickling the skin, nails fingering your hair.

“That’s good to hear,” he replies, “Great, actually.”

“Yeah?”

Now, Jeongguk hums, his trademark reply for when his eyes are too lost for words to be conjured up to describe how he feels about what he sees. He is, what one might recall to be as “lost for words”. His teeth clip at his bottom lip as he questions what he’ll do next, and for a brief moment you catch his tongue darting out in nervousness as he leans closer, smell of mint on his breath as his lips touch yours, and the heavens open.

Metaphorically and literally, so. As Jeongguk brings you closer to him, his lips still pressed on yours, his heart elevates into subspace, his body light and euphoric. At the same time, the sky grumbles, hungry, and it begins to pour, tiny droplets on the roof of the car and on Jeongguk’s back. He winces, doesn’t pull away, and quickly separates himself from you to squint at the sky.

He sees nothing, because it’s way too dark, but he feels it. Sighing briefly, Jeongguk turns back to you and nods his head upwards, miming for you to shuffle backwards into the car. A rush of something hot creeps down the middle of your body as you do so, feeling Jeongguk’s hand on your calf as he climbs in after you, his ankle caught on the door bringing it to a close, but not fully. The red alarm light is bright and begging for attention but Jeongguk pays it no mind.

Instead, he crawls back to you, eager to pick up what he left. It’s welcomed, warm and inviting, as Jeongguk holds you back closer to him and returns the kiss, hot and open mouthed. Something clicks inside of you, a moment of realisation as Jeongguk sets himself over you, his thighs like a cage and his hair tickling your eyebrows. When this feeling simmers, you grin, something Jeongguk is only mildly surprised about. He doesn’t ask questions, he doesn’t really need to.

In fact, Jeongguk doesn’t really say anything at all; he doesn’t need to, and he actually can’t, given the volume of the rain now it comes down heavier. It’s so loud, almost deafening, which you almost thank out loud for. The rain at least covers up your breathy moans as Jeongguk’s hands wander, pulling at the bottom of your dress and fisting it into a ball, the fabric rising higher.

When Jeongguk finally pulls himself away, it is selfish. He pulls back and sits down, in the middle seat so there’s a window view from every angle, his feet in either footwell. Jeongguk shakes his head and hair out of the way, his hands making their way back to you to bring you up and over into his lap. This time, Jeongguk accepts a kiss from you, his cheeks cupped almost by your hands which gives his hands free reign to smooth across your body, swiftly lifting the bottom half of your dress up, wrapping it like a belt across your hips. If the rain were silent, he’d like to have heard you, heard the way you whimper as the bulk in Jeongguk’s jogging bottoms brushes against your pussy, the fabric of your underwear making it hypersensitive and ten times more exciting.

Jeongguk’s lips widen, his mouth open and inviting for you, accepting tongue when you bring your lips back to his after a short break. His eyes flutter and roll backwards, the tickle of your breath through your nose on his skin as he holds you closer, as if you can get any closer than what you already are. Then, when you quite suddenly bite down onto Jeongguk’s tongue and lips, he groans, pleasured, his hands moving beneath your skirt to grab your ass, lifting you up and down on his very attentive boner.

If Jeongguk or yourself ever thought that the first time you’d have sex would be near the public beach in the back of his car in the middle of a very thunderous rainstorm, you might have laughed, or said there would be more to it. In actual fact, it’s just how it is- Jeongguk shimmies himself out of his bottoms soon enough, reaching into the back side of the car to pull out a condom, since he always has some in case of emergencies, like most guys do. He’d like to not use one, but he knows it’s not safe- he doesn’t know if he’s got something, or if you’ve got something. Either way, he rolls it onto his dick in a record speed and sinks you down onto him all within the same ten seconds, and, yeah- it’s not what he expected to happen, it’s not what anybody expects to happen, but it feels right, feels great. When he’s fucking somebody as good and as lovely as you, he’s not allowed to be picky on the location.

He can’t allow himself to be picky- he knows that he’s wanted you ever since he saw you swirling to Dancer in the Dark, he knows that things are meant to be how they play out. Actually, he doesn’t mind it. He likes the risk of someone seeing, likes the way the windows fog up and how the car rocks slightly, obvious to people outside. Jeongguk relishes in that excitement, crossed with the pleasure and arousal coursing through his body when his attention is pulled out of hit thoughts and back onto you. The rain quietens down and he hears you, feels his hands grip tighter around you and his guided pace quicken, all with a breathy high tone in his ear, occasional breaches of rain and roars of thunder, an orchestral accompanying each of you through the sex, until gushing sounds of rain are what he hears when he sees white in his eyes and over his dick, a melting handprint in the condensation on the window.

[02:34AM] You: def just heard something on my balcony so if i die, pls tell yoongi that it was ME who lost his left airpod and it was also me who stole his signed Nirvana album it’s on my shelf im sorry [02:35AM] Jimin 🦶🏽: um  [02:35AM] Jimin 🦶🏽: wtf….. [02:35AM] Jimin 🦶🏽: u really just gonna die and not leave anything for me???? [02:36AM] You: SSKSSKKSKSKSK [02:36AM] You: u can have my bank account details + contents [02:36AM] Jimin 🦶🏽: !!!!!!!! [02:37AM] Jimin 🦶🏽: omg rip y/n <3 u will be missed omg…..omg cant believe ur dead

All jokes aside, you stare for a long time at your balcony doors, going insane at the sight of nothing at all through the glass and your curtains, slightly see-through to allow the sun in the mornings.

The night burns on your eyes, flashing swirls of colour taking over as you stare for too long at seemingly nothing at all. Quite possibly, it is the wind, or an animal that has climbed onto the balcony from out of one of the trees. It’s happened before- one time, a family of raccoons migrated onto your balcony during the September months of last year, and stayed there for so long that you forgot your balcony had doors. Those same doors are locked, like they always are on a nighttime, but the bedroom window remains open, slightly pushed out to allow in a breeze to circulate the room.

Knowing that it’s probably nothing, you settle back down into bed, drifting back into sleep remarkably fast for somebody previously quite concerned with being killed. This fact is startling- not just to you, but also to Jeongguk, who cocks a leg over your balcony rail and then through your window. What also shocks him was how easy it was to do all of this, now that he’s standing in your bedroom with nothing to say given the fact that you’ve fallen back to sleep.

Jeongguk sighs softly. It’s been about a week and a half since the beach, and the car, and the rain and the first time, but it feels like it’s been months. Jeongguk had to leave for a few days, three at the most, to film some puppy interview for Buzzfeed and continue other solo interviews while the rest of the band settled for a break in their LA residence. Every moment away felt like agony, so painful that Jeongguk found himself back outside your house, surprises stored in emails on his phone.

He steps quietly over towards your bed, wincing when his weight on top of the comforter causes a loud rustle and squeak. Still, you don’t wake, not until Jeongguk lays himself over you with his hands near your shoulders, his voice quiet and murmuring your name, hair tickling your face, lips on skin.

“Wha-Jeongguk?” you ask quietly, your voice groggy. “How’d you get in here…?”

“I think you need security, urgently,” Jeongguk replies quietly. When you roll over onto your back, he smiles gently and wraps hair from out of your face around your ear. “And you need to start locking your windows. You make a robbery look very easy.”

You sigh. “Oh. I thought it was okay.”

“Just be glad your intruder is me and not somebody else,” he says caringly. “Sorry I woke you.”

“No,” you say, rubbing your eyes. “I was awake...and then I closed my eyes for a bit. Hey, was that you out on the balcony?”

Jeongguk grins. “Knew you saw me.”

“I didn’t. Well, I did, but I thought I was being overly paranoid,” you tell him. You yawn away from him, “What time is it, babe?”

Jeongguk purposefully ignores the feeling in his chest. “It’s two fourty.”

You groan. “Are you stopping the night? Get in, I’m tired.”

Jeongguk brings himself down to kiss you once. “No. No, no, you can’t sleep right now. I wanna go out.”

“Now?” you ask, aghast.

“Yeah. Let’s go somewhere.”

“At like three-am?”

“Yeah, sorry, it was the only time I could get it. I wanna take you somewhere special.”

Once Jeongguk is finished speaking, you open your eyes wider and observe him. It’s only then that you notice his clothing; over his upper body, he wears a large oversized grey hoodie, slightly worn out and wrinkled with the drawstring missing, and as always, dark jeans that blend in with the night. A frown worms its way onto your face, your expression unreadable to Jeongguk’s eyes.

“Get it? Get what, babe?” you mutter.

Jeongguk hums, like shrugging.

“Where are we going?” you ask, starting to sit up which forces Jeongguk to roll over on the bed, until his feet swing over the side and hit the floor. He wants to stay quiet for the sake of yourself, considering he’s not looking forward to accidentally waking up your family. You’ve been staying at your parents' place for the entire week, abusing reading week for sleeping in, going out for something to eat, and returning home to watch Glee rather than finish your art assignments. Naturally, Jeongguk doesn’t want the whole family to reject him just because he woke them up at three in the morning to collect you from your room.

“Hm,” Jeongguk starts, straining to hear if anything outside your bedroom catches his ear. He faintly hears the sound of claws across the wood, remembering you once mentioning that your family had a dog. “How about we go to Paris?”

You whip around to look at him, making out his silhouette in the dark. “Paris? Are you fucking with me?”

“Why, what’s wrong with Paris?”

“There is nothing wrong with Paris,” you affirm, gasping. “I just...really? Paris?”

“Yeah. Thought we could stop by The Louvre to see that dude Maxine tried to set you up with.”

You snort quietly, moving to turn on a lamp which brightens the room into shades of orange. “How did you even know about that?”

“I hear things,” he says, shrugging. Jeongguk then shakes his head and looks back at you, making his way to the bottom of the bed. “No. I just really wanna take you out somewhere special.”

“The beach was special to me,” you tell him.

Jeongguk smiles, “Me, too. But...Paris.”

Laughter bubbles at the back of your throat. “Okay. Let’s go to Paris. Why not?”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk agrees, laughing also, “why not? Need help packing anything? You won’t need a lot, I can take you out when we get there.”

You pull a face, looking back at Jeongguk. “Wow...our first vacation together and you’re already going to spoil me?”

Jeongguk grins widely, “Well, on our first date I humped you, so I guess we’re pretty unconventional.”

You have nothing to say in reply to that.

(PARIS)

One thing you never thought you’d get the chance to do is take a trip on a private jet, holding up the scheduled flight times of other aircraft at the airport. That changes the second that Jeongguk pulls up outside of LAX, his hand carefully and tightly clamped around your own as he escorts you whilst also being escorted by his own small handful of security right into the large building. Thankfully for him, the airport is empty, occupied by sleeping flyers who wait on hard, metal chairs, the tinny sound of music playing at volume three.

His jet is small, yet luxurious; it’s everything out of a movie set, decorated in mocha creams and whites, clinking glasses of champagne waiting to be swallowed. His pilot knows him by name, and there’s a handpicked air hostess who looks bored and old, her lock screen a picture of her children. Jeongguk smiles at her, even addresses her by name and introduces you with a chirpy tone. The lady looks surprised, covering it up with a tight smile of nervousness. Maybe you’re the only girl Jeongguk’s ever brought on the plane before. Maybe you’re another girl he’s brought on the plane, you don’t know for sure.

After take off, Jeongguk spins in his recliner seat and drums his fingers in his lap. You sit opposite, looking meek, your gaze out the window at the dark clouds and sky. As you continue to fly, the sky opens up, into ombre colours that fascinate. One is looking at the beauty of nature and the other is looking at the beauty of a woman. Neither says a word.

When the plane reaches touch down, the airport is quite bustling and energetic, thankfully again no fans who caught an air of mystery from Jeongguk’s suspicious tweets at one in the morning, when he spontaneously booked tickets without even getting the green flag. Money to waste, risks to take, is what he’d say. Jeongguk helps you carry your small bag to the hired vehicle, an inconspicuous black car with black-out windows. He’s half expecting the vehicle to give him away, but nobody present actually gives a fuck about who is in the car and who isn’t. So, he climbs in without being noticed, his hand in yours, right up until the doors close and you’re hotel bound.

“Fuck, jet-lag.”

Jeongguk dives onto the bed, his back on the duvet and nose tipped up to the ceiling. Presently, you’ve been in Paris for a few hours, staring at the roads below with tired and sleepy eyes, heavy shoulders, a day indoors. Jeongguk’s been to Paris before, quite a few times actually - you haven’t, seeing the city in glimpses outside your balcony. To his right, the bathroom light clicks off and you shuffle out, a towel wrapped around your body as you cross the width of the room.

“Right?” you agree with a small frown. You crouch to pick up a fallen jacket off the back of the chair, tucked underneath the white vanity. “I almost fell asleep in the shower.”

“Yeah? You tired?”

“Exhausted,” you say honestly. “Once I’m dry, I think I might head to bed.”

Jeongguk hums in reply, maybe agreement. He lets you do what you need to do; of course, he takes a peek, because he’s a boy and he can’t help himself. You’re dressing by the window, staring out at the pretty Eiffel Tower who shines, lit up for the evening. The room is dark, dressed in midnight tones, the only light outside and the glow of one of the lamps upon the table top. Jeongguk is so wordlessly in awe that he doesn’t care about not being able to see. He sees your silhouette against the light of the city, curved and beautiful, hidden away by a long button up that you picked out of the wrong suitcase, not that he cares. His cheek is pressed against the pillow and he feels his body lifting up off the bed like he’s levitating. God, his chest is so light, it hurts, he wants to scream, he wants to cry, laugh, smile, leap up and yell. You finish buttoning and turn and he returns to the mattress.

The bed dips as you crawl up onto it, your knees by Jeongguk as you sit next to him on the bed. Instantly, Jeongguk’s hands move to your hair to move it away from your face as you look down at him, one hand on your knee also. On command, the smile on his lips widens softly when you brush away his fringes off his face, humming and then reaching down for a kiss, stealing one from his lips without warning and another off the slope of his chin.

“Paris is pretty,” you tell him. Jeongguk hums. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

He shrugs awkwardly. “Sorry it’s not the Maldives, baby.”

“Whatever. Paris is better,” you say. “Our view is gorgeous.”

You look back at the window. Jeongguk does not. “Yeah, it’s beautiful.”

“Must have been expensive as fuck,” you exhale, turning back to him. His hand that was once on your face drops to your back, wandering until it’s found on your ass. It feels nice, you can’t complain.

“Rich kids of LA come to Paris to make noise and take tourist photos by the Eiffel Tower,” Jeongguk replies, joking but sounding serious, which is a talent of his. You laugh, so he knows it’s something you recognise. He laughs too. “It’s actually in Yoongi’s name. Just asked him if I could use it for a weekend away.”

Your brows curve upwards in amusement. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m a fraud, it’s not my apartment,” he sighs, “but, at least we’re here. Like it enough, and I’ll buy us a house here.”

“Are we really there yet?”

“Might be,” Jeongguk theorises. “Wanna try it for a bit longer?”

Nothing is said. Outside, a car honks and you sigh at the same time, through your nose, playing with your fingers with Jeongguk’s locks of hair that grow longer over his face. His head hasn’t moved, still squashed against the pillows, his earrings tangled and most likely stuck to strands of his hair, a difficulty for when he decides to move. He feels your hand on his face again, comforting, and he inhales your familiar scent and knows you’ve come closer by the time you’re there, pressing your lips to his.

It’s fleeting, fast. You pull away right as Jeongguk comes to terms with what you’re doing, and so he follows you up as you move away. He’s sitting up, his hands on your elbows as he moves to kiss you again, finish what you started.

A bar door outside opens and music spills out, just as Jeongguk’s hands move from your elbows to your ribcage, his heart in his throat when you reach up to tenderly hold his face, fingers near his ears on his neck. This is euphoria; your hands drop, Jeongguk moving once more to prod and palm. As he kisses you, his thumbs gently massage around your breasts, in circular motions, soft and cradling and exploring. Into his mouth you groan, quietly, like a vocal moan that lasts for a few seconds before being captured by his lips again. Jeongguk’s left hand claws at your boob, grabbing, reaching up to your neck. Now he’s holding you, his hair in his eyes tickling as he guides you. On your cheek, you feel his thumb grazing, holding you close to him even when you pull apart for a modicum of a second to capture your breath. Quite possibly, he could be sick out of nerves - your hands fall limply to his wrists, then down as his hands hold the damp back of your head. After a little longer, Jeongguk pulls himself away, his eyes half-lidded and yours closed entirely.

He admires what he’s done and what he sees. Once more, he kisses you, dragging it out until he’s moved away again, simply admiring. You’re far from done, though; you pull him back after catching your breath, your eyes now open and slightly fuzzy. Jeongguk smiles, warmly, gently. You might cry. As his hands drop from your head to the top of your shirt, fiddling with his fingers around the buttons, your lip gets caught between your bottom teeth and Jeongguk’s eyes are drawn to the sight. He might make a comment, might not. He decides not to. Instead, he moves back in and bides his hands time to undo your buttons.

The cool silk of your shirt drops as he undos the buttons, sliding like rainwater down your shoulders and arms, until it pools around your elbows. Thankfully for him, Jeongguk’s only in joggers and a button down, something he can easily slip himself out of. You’re wearing next to nothing, now that the shirt’s out of the question; all that decorates underneath is underwear, which Jeongguk doesn’t care for anyway. His hands paw at the shirt, trying to undo the last button without pulling away but it feels impossible. Frustrated, he huffs and moves away, his gaze locked on the final button above your pantline and he flushes when a laugh leaves your lips, something small and delicate and girly. He twitches.

“You, too,” you say, once the shirt is removed and you’re only in underwear, which is next on Jeongguk’s list of things to remove. He looks up with mild surprise, having the audacity to be confused by what you’re talking about. It is only when your fingers curl around the waist of his joggers that he smiles, like an idiot, and hums charmingly.

“Shuffle back for a minute?” Jeongguk asks, and you do, excited and buzzing when Jeongguk quickly pushes the joggers down his thighs. When they bunch around his ankles he kicks furiously, like a child, grunting - and you’re laughing, giggling like a school-girl, drunk on the residue of his lips. Of course, he smiles too, because happiness is a goddamn drug. He inhales with exasperation, muttering “아이씨” under his breath. He finishes it up with a chuckle, a voiceless laugh out of his throat, and then he kisses you again.

Jeongguk eventually ends up lifting you, one arm flush against your waist and his other hand graciously ripping down your underwear, careless and selfish when he hears the fabric tear. Your eyes widen, having heard it too, but you’re too dazed to mention it. The undies are tossed towards the balcony door and Jeongguk settles you back on his lap, for a brief moment. He kisses you again, pulling himself snug against you and then, he lays you down.

“So pretty,” Jeongguk comments, his hands sliding down your sides.

“You can’t even see me,” you say.

Jeongguk shrugs, shuffling down the bed. His elbows pinch into your thighs, locking his arms over them and his chin is on top of your groin. “Don’t need to. I just know.”

You slightly laugh, finding it endearing. Jeongguk chuckles too, pressing a kiss to your stomach and then his hands push up at your calves. With your legs up into arrow shapes, knees to the sky, Jeongguk kindly peels them apart, planting himself right in between.

“Jeongguk,” you breathe his name. He grins, you can feel his mouth extending against your skin. He doesn’t reply.

Situated between two smooth legs, Jeongguk’s head dips and dives. A groan is rasped out of you, followed by a string of moany exhales as Jeongguk’s tongue lays flat, covering every inch of your pussy further with sucks and nips that make your toes curl. Jeongguk’s not done this to you before. He feels slightly anxious, because he wants it to be good for you. He wraps his arms around your thighs, burrowing his head in.

“Mpmf- Jeongguk,” you gasp, your head hiding in the comforter. Jeongguk’s on his stomach, nonchalant. Jeongguk licks everywhere he can, kitten licks that stretch out into long ones, exploring. Your mouth drops. Jeongguk moves one hand away from your leg, his fingers curling up to your pussy to stretch out your labia, one finger lazily brushing against your clit. Each brush is exciting, teasing, sensitive. He hums. He’s heard you. He wants to hear more.

He doesn’t do more, because Jeongguk doesn’t want you to cum yet. He has his fun, feeling your thighs lock around his head and quiver when his fingers swipe on your nub, his tongue inching into your cunt, driving out sounds from your lips. Jeongguk entertains that for a few more minutes, hard and throbbing by the time you’re begging for him to stop, rather than keep going.

When he pulls away, your legs shake, quivering like being left out in the cold for too long. He lays down flat instead, tapping your body for you to make a move when you’re ready, which doesn’t take long. Soon after, he feels the brush of your wetness against his leg as you haul yourself up and onto him, hovering over his middle, your hands on his chest.

Jeongguk cocks his head thoughtfully. “Want to?”

You bite your lip. “Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Hair falls over your shoulder. “Do you have a condom on you?”

“In my bag, somewhere,” Jeongguk suggests. He glances to the pile of bags near the door, “But it’s so far away. Are you on the pill?”

“No,” you frown. There’s nothing for a minute. “Want to anyway?”

Jeongguk hesitates, “Yeah. Do you?”

“Yeah. I do,” you tell him. Just as you’re about to take his dick in your hand, Jeongguk reaches out to stop you. You look up at him, finding the glimmer in his eyes in the dull light, “what?”

“What if I cum?” Jeongguk asks.

“I’d like you to.”

“What if I cum inside of you?”

A short silence. Jeongguk drums his fingers impatiently against your thigh. “Whatever,” you settle with. His heart trembles when your hand wraps around him. “I’d be a good Mom.”

Jeongguk laughs, then, his other hand joining the other on your waist. “If it happens, I’ll look after both of you. You can be unemployed and pampered if that’s what you want.”

“God, that’s fucking sexy,” you sigh.

He’s kidding, so are you, but the risk is still great. Jeongguk swallows a thick lump down his throat and settles his hands on your hips, embarrassed to be nervous with the build up of you rising up on your knees, planted either side of his waist. A tremor of coldness makes him shudder as your hand touches the base of his dick, hypersensitive without the rubber. For a brief moment, he catches your gaze, slightly hidden away behind fringes of hair that cast over your eyes.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, nervous and rubbing his hands against your skin.

You dip your head. “Yeah. Are you?”

“Mhm. I just - just want it to be good for you,” he confesses. “Don’t want it to hurt you. Don’t want you to regret it.”

“Well, are you clean? I got tested not too long ago, did it before my last pill. I’m clean.”

Jeongguk shifts. “Did it on tour with Hoseok. He was going because of Rosie and I was going because he suggested it for us. I’m good. That sound alright for you?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “It sounds perfect for me.”

And so it’s perfect for him, too. Jeongguk questions whether this is right, whether he should stop, but right now he can’t think properly. Not when he can feel himself growing rigid in your grasp, the bristle in his body when you slowly rub your clit across the head of his cock, vibrations. He grunts under his breath, his fingers shaking against your hips. Looking up at Jeongguk once more between your hair, catching the pull of his bottom lip in the scarce light and feeling his body rising beneath you, you shake your head over your shoulders and position yourself. And then you sink.

Paris is a gorgeous city, bustling with life. Across the narrow road, where another small apartment sits with a bay window and a balcony decorated with plants, the lights flicker in strobe patterns, neons bleeding into dulls seeping into pastels. A party, a parade, an applause when the size of Jeongguk adjusts inside of you. He can’t hear you, not over the noise of the party that has suddenly birthed in the moonlight hours. Perhaps Jeongguk is thankful for this, and the way it covers up his noises also.

Jeongguk groans inwards when you clench around him, familiar with the way it feels, remembering the unaccustomed sting and burn. After some time to adjust, you relax, making your first movements up and down, testing the waters, building a rhythm. Jeongguk can’t breathe, his mind paused, his breathing lodged in his throat, his lungs singing. You keep it up, the momentum, finding a pattern in the beat of the music in the background; the bass is your routine, each bump a drop onto Jeongguk’s hips, the brush of his head against your inner walls, euphoric.

“Oh my - fuck,” Jeongguk hisses, his voice barely heard. You catch it though, like a faint whisper, the sound burning your face with embarrassment. His grip tightens, nails digging into your skin as his palms slide from your hips to your ass. He holds like handles of a motorbike, guidance.

You’re slouching, hunched over with your hands on Jeongguk’s chest. He feels a pressure, not sure if it’s your hands pushing down or if it’s his own body, forcing down an orgasm he doesn’t want to have too soon. He sees purple behind you, your dark silhouette cast over him like an angel. With every slap against his body made by your ass, Jeongguk groans, grunts, borderline moans. When he strains to hear your gasps of air something in the background masks them, a sabotage.

“Feel good?” Jeongguk asks. His hands move to your wrists.

You whimper, thoughtless.

“Babe, does it feel good?”

“Mhm.” Your head falls to the side, cheek on your shoulder: “Mhm, feels good.” Something moany comes out of your lips, something muffled and whined. Imploring, spoiled. “Fuck, Jeongguk, that feels so good - keep….keep it like that.”

Jeongguk thinks it over, familiarising himself with his own movements. His grip squeezes around your wrist.

“Like that?” He follows with his body slowly thrusting up, like he would move if he were grinding the air, like inching his hips up under the covers to feel his dick on the duvet.

“Yeah,” you breathe. Even though he can’t see that well, you glance down at him: “can you - can you hold my hands?”

Jeongguk feels his stomach sink and rise, flipping, the butterflies. “Sure, baby.”

When you feel Jeongguk’s hands in your own, you hum to yourself, rising with your fingers interlocked. Jeongguk lets you do what you want with them, obliging when you slightly part his arms, hands locked on either side in the air. You sink, and rise, and sink, and rise, and Jeongguk is lost in the stars. Red, orange, blue, magenta- the rainbow appears as your wings, Jeongguk’s eyes trying to adjust in the dark on your face, on your tits, on the bits that are grainy in his vision. He imagines instead, based off memory of the beach, and the rain. When he feels your cunt clench around him again and your hands slip away to fall back behind you, Jeongguk curses into the air and lifts himself up, his arms wrapped around your middle.

“You feel so good,” Jeongguk says, his lips ghosted over yours now that he’s sitting upright. “Mhm? Hear me? Fuck, you feel so fucking good right now-”

You whimper. Jeongguk seals it up, steals it, captures it with his mouth as he kisses you. His hands are all twisted and searching, one between your shoulder blades and the other on your ass, his mind reeling when you put your palms on his cheeks, absolute bliss. It’s loud, or it would be if he could hear over the sound of the music in the apartment over, and Jeongguk picks up pieces in between the basslines, vocals and harmonies stripped apart so he can find your voice underneath. He pulls his mouth away, latching it to your neck, where your mouth is near his ear, right where he wants it. A hot flush runs up his body when he feels your breath on his ear, hears your needy moans and groans, feels your hands clawing at his back.

“Ugh- umf, Guk, I’m - I’m close,” you pant, his reply a bite to your neck. He sinks his teeth in, like a vampire with dull teeth, and you cry out into his ear. His cock twitches inside of you, the ridges of his cock smearing against your walls. He hums, not sure if you’ll hear it. You don’t. He pulls away and mouths the bite.

“Cum when you want to,” he says sweetly, moving his mouth to your ear briefly before moving back away. His hair is soft against your neck, his head angled to kiss at your skin, covered in a glow.

“What about you?” you ask.

Jeongguk smiles, his teeth present on your skin. “Don’t worry about me. I’m right behind you.”

He nuzzles his face into your neck, his eyes closed serenely as he holds you tight, holds you as you bounce up and down for the finale. Above him, your body trembles.

“Tired,” you laugh breathlessly, and Jeongguk makes a confused noise, like he hasn’t quite heard you correctly. After no reply, he sniffs, collecting you in his arms to hold you tighter than before, using his energy to move you. You may as well be paralysed, a fucktoy for him as he bounces you up and down, basking in the moans in his ear, pornographic and nasty and lewd and heard over the music that has changed tempo.

“Ah!” Jeongguk grunts into your ear with every slam onto his dick, feeling his body seize up in warning. “Gonna - I might…” He doesn’t finish the sentence. You’re not listening to it. All you can focus on is the feeling in your stomach, pressing your nails into Jeongguk’s skin.

Jeongguk saves his own release for later. He focuses, instead, on you and making you feel good, slowing himself down in the race so that you can come first. His lips press back to yours, tongue hot, and he stops bouncing you. One arm is tight around your waist and the other snakes to the front of your body, between your legs where around your thighs he finds your clit, rubbing with his thumb. He can feel your body tense and dither over him, a tightness clenching around him as you squirm, Jeongguk’s hips tiredly thrusting upwards in a slow and steady rhythm.

“Ah - Jeongguk,” you cry, words sinking into his mouth. “Baby-”

With one final flick upwards, Jeongguk lets out a throat-forced grunt into your mouth right as the pot spills, and down the length of Jeongguk’s dick trickles white. You can’t see, it’s dark and blurry, and everything feels numb. It’s nothing like the beach, which was sweet and tender and a rainy haze. This time, it’s a burning that feels dull until it races up your body, like hot goosebumps, until it washes over your body like the drop from the tallest roller coaster. Jeongguk milks it up, his own hands shaking as he grunts wordlessly, until he stutters, his toes curling.

“Umf- babe,” he pants. He moves his hands, you’re attempting to move for him but you feel stuck. Instead you clench, hard and soft, Jeongguk squirms. “Gonna- I’m-” He’s silent. One moment, you hear the laughter and a cork pop outside, and the next moment, Jeongguk’s moans are in your ear, his hands rubbing up your thighs as he moves twice upwards, as if storing his cum in safe spots inside. And then, as if on cue, he pulls out, stuffing his hand where his dick was to feel the cum drip out, like a melting ice-cream.

On his forehead he feels your lips parted and breathing and he fiddles his fingers around, non-sexually, curious. The cum stains his fingers, dressing them, and he laughs from his chest, lost of breath.

Jeongguk sighs, slotting his fingers into your mouth quite suddenly. He can barely see you, the light is still dim behind you but it’s enough for him to make it out, the grain obtrusive. He feels your lips close around his fingers and your tongue on his fingertips, a dazed smile across his face.

He sighs again. “Shit. You’re incredible.”

With a wet sound, he moves his fingers out. Despite cumming, his dick is still semi-hard, on it’s way out. Jeongguk preens when your arms wrap around his neck, his mouth needily on yours for a brief kiss. “So good.”

“Yeah?” you ask quietly.

“The best,” he confirms. “Where’ve you been all my life, hm?”

You laugh through your nose, quiet. “Wasting money at Uni and working for my cousin.” He laughs too, a small one that makes him sound small. You play with the hair at the back of his head, “Sorry for making you wait so long.”

He shrugs. “Was worth it. You’re worth the wait.”

You hum in reply, too tired to move.

“Sticky,” you say with a frown.

Jeongguk’s arms tighten around you, acknowledging your words. “And you just got clean.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll shower in the morning.”

After a short while of sitting there, you slowly untangle your arms from around him. Jeongguk has the nerve to be confused, a small hum in question as you climb off him.

“Where you going?” he asks.

“I’m going to pee,” you reply. “To be safe.”

“Oh. Okay, pee on.”

“Sorry,” you say. Leaning up to kiss his lips, Jeongguk smiles into it and all the while as you move to hurry towards the bathroom. The sound of the toilet seat being lifted, and a slight squeak from the toilet that Yoongi desperately needs to consider replacing, and then Jeongguk settles down onto the bed with a happy sigh. His chest rises and falls as the party goes on outside, fireworks behind the Eiffel Tower.

He could get used to this.

Something wakes you up with the sunrise, twisting into soft orange colours that stretch across the agriculture of Paris. It barely lights up the city, enough for shadows to still be drawn across the mocha coloured buildings, the stone still cold in the shade. You wriggle inside the sheets slightly, discomfort between your legs and very slowly, your eyes adjust to the slight light brewing in the bedroom.

The patio doors leading out onto the small balcony are drawn open, the see-through curtains swaying like slow hips in the wind. Beside you, the bed is cold, untucked and open where Jeongguk has climbed out. Mentioning Jeongguk, you notice that he sits on the end of the bed, facing the sunrise and the Eiffel Tower with a notebook in his hand. The pages are folded over the spine, bulking it up, and he taps a pen against his ear quietly. The sound is all you can hear alongside the early-rising birds, a car honk outside and the next door neighbours hanging out of their window with chocolate bread and strong coffee.

“Mmm. Guk?”

Your voice is slightly hoarse, bedirdden, and Jeongguk manages to hear it as he turns his head over his shoulder. A smile dawns on his face and he shifts, one hand on the bed and the book closing shut on its own. “Hey, baby. Sorry, did I wake you up?”

You yawn, rubbing your eyes. Some mascara rubs off onto your hand. “No, you’re okay.” He doesn’t say anything at first, there’s no competition for the next word. When your vision finally settles onto a visible image, you see Jeongguk’s face and the book in his lap. “What are you doing…? Wait, what time is it…”

“It’s about five thirty,” Jeongguk estimates, although he’s not sure. He’s actually not far off, it’s five fourty one. “And, um...not much.” For a moment, Jeongguk sounds bashful. He shrugs, hiding the book and smiling at you. “You can go back to sleep if you want. I’ll be quiet.”

“Kinda hungry,” you admit. You inhale the air, “Oh my God, those fuckers next door have coffee.”

“Chocolate bread, too. Caught a glimpse when I opened the doors.”

You groan. “What the fuck…”

Jeongguk laughs, genuinely. His head turns back towards the Eiffel Tower, in awe, and after a few minutes of nothing but morning silence, you sigh and clamber over the sheets. They’re cold, crisp and wrinkled, and Jeongguk looks up at the noise. He frowns, only because you’re wearing barely anything.

“You’re gonna get cold,” Jeongguk points out, his hands reaching for the bed throw that had been kicked onto the floor during the night. “Want me to close the window?”

“No, it’s pretty.”

“It’s cold, though.”

You push your face onto Jeongguk’s shoulder blade. “Whatever.”

He chuckles, resigning from the conversation. You’ll win anyway. A tiny bird lands on the patio rails, and you inhale the morning air, planting a kiss on Jeongguk’s shoulder.

“You sure you’re okay?”

This makes Jeongguk look up. His eyes wear confusion and adoration, round and searching as he looks over his shoulder. “Yeah. Why, why wouldn’t they be?”

“I worry about you, ‘s all,” you reply quietly. “All the time.”

Jeongguk’s heart breaks.

“I’m...I’m good,” he replies honestly. “Really good. I haven’t been doing this great in...well...I don’t know, forever? Call it cringey, or whatever, but having you in my life...Fuck, it’s changed everything.”

You gaze up at him. “You’ve made a pretty big difference in my life, too, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“And I’m here for you. Always.”

Jeongguk doesn’t miss a beat- his hand wraps to stroke your hair, curled from the shower earlier, pressing a little kiss to your nose. He nods, and his hair brushes against your face. “Yeah.” He nods, confident, “Yeah. Actually- LOL,” he laughs, “I. Um, I wrote something.”

“Oh? Yeah, what did you write?”

He reopens the book. The pages are littered with lines of writing, alongside small doodles in the margins, words like arrows shooting across the lines. His hands flip to a page that has the corner marked down, the numbers “23” in bold outline at the top of the page. You inhale, nervous, your eyes lazily looking at the lines.

“Just a song,” Jeongguk explains. “Woke up, looked over at you, just got the idea. I had to write it down as soon as I thought about it. Got the melody and stuff worked out, just need to make a note and tell the guys when I get back.”

You hum, genuinely enthralled. You quickly look at him, “Can I hear some?”

If it were light enough, you might have caught a blush across his face. He clears his throat, shy.

“I’m fadin’ away off some kind of drug, maybe it’s lust, maybe it’s love,” his voice is quiet, almost as if speaking the words is something wrong, “I know I said I’d straighten a week ago, I feelin’ though, bout to reach my peak, you know. This city’s got me fallin, now, I’m fading away, I’m losing my head…” He mutters the lyrics, singing quietly. As he skims over what he’s got scribbled down, you can feel your heart thudding, soaring, feeling numb and soft and warm and everything else.

“It’s about you, called 23,” Jeongguk says. At some point, you’ve missed the rest of the lyrics, intent on gazing at Jeongguk like he is God’s angel sent down from Heaven. He is so beautiful, so kind and pure. “Sound okay?”

You nod, and maybe Jeongguk sees tears pearling in your eyes. “Yeah. Fuck- it sounds beautiful, Guk.”

A smile immediately reaches across Jeongguk’s face. It lights up the room better than the sun, now reaching higher into the sky. “You’re beautiful. I wanna make you so happy.”

“You do make me happy.”

“Yeah?” he asks, laughing, his eyes turned into moons. “Well...Look. I’ve never had to ask anyone, so it’s awkward as fuck right now, but...like…” He laughs, and you do too, because you know it’s coming, “Do you, like...wanna be my girl?”

“Your girl?”

He laughs louder. “Fine - my girlfriend! Y/N L/N, the light of my small and sad life, will you please be my girlfriend?”

Once your laughter has calmed down, and Jeongguk’s hand tiredly slips from your hair down to the bed next to your own, you really, honestly look at Jeongguk. Above everything else, you can’t quite believe that you are here with him; with somebody you never thought you had a chance with, with somebody who you would do absolutely anything for. The way you presently feel about Jeongguk is overwhelming and dangerous, so strong that sometimes you feel afraid by it. You bite your bottom lip, amusing the idea of actually thinking about it, and then you nod.

“Sure. Of course,” you agree, kissing his shoulder. His head follows you, his breath on the bare skin of your shoulders as he ducks his head to kiss the side of yours. “You’ve got me.”

Jeongguk feels like he could quite honestly burst into tears. “I’ve got you.”

(“I’m not 23 though,” you say to him once the love has died down. He cracks a smile and pushes you back onto the bed, returning to look at the Eiffel Tower.)

part two (final)

[criminalhotch]

The Story of Us~Grayson Dolan Imagine

Could you do something about Gray dating a thick girl? As a thick girl and a Gray girl, I find it harder to imagine gray with a thick girl that I do E. ❤️

A/N: This is supposed to be Gray with a thick girl but I feel like everyone is so picky and toxic with that concept so I made it a detail but it isn’t the basis of the story. I am a thick Grayson girl so please don’t @ me. Some people get so butt hurt over it and I already have a thick girl Ethan fic. This kind of just tells the story of Grayson and Y/N along the way.

Warnings: Body Insecurities (it’s not a theme it just is like a couple sentences in the beginning and a scene at the end), bullying(see prior warning), fluff, dad! grayson

Word Count: 3,304

Grayson Dolan is a lover and there is absolutely no denying that. He loves Ethan even when he wants to beat his ass for his pranks. He loves Cameron, she’s his big sister and dealt with all the shenanigans from their childhood. Most importantly, he loves his mama. No one could replace how much Lisa meant to Grayson but only one person could come close. Nonetheless, she would never pass Lisa Dolan and she was perfectly fine with that. Grayson’s girlfriend, Y/N was the only person to ever come close to being the most important woman in Grayson Dolan’s life.

Ethan knew a month after meeting Y/N that Grayson was going to marry her. After a couple years she earns the nickname, sister-in-law which Grayson doesn’t mind. He is extremely thankful that his girlfriend and brother have an incredible relationship. Ethan always joked that Grayson has fallen in love several different times but when Grayson realized he truly loved Y/N, Ethan knew the next girl his brother would fall in love with would be his daughter.

Y/N was beautiful. She had eyes that sent Grayson into another universe. Lips that made Grayson melt like ice cream in the middle of July. Grayson’s favorite part about her though? Her body. Curves that seemed to go on for days, boobs that mesmerized Grayson with every step and bounce, and an ass that looked amazing no matter what she had decided to wear that day. Did she think she was perfect? No, of course not but Grayson thought she was the most beautiful girl to ever exist. Was Y/N insecure like most thick girls? No, she was not which was another thing Grayson adored but she was real enough with herself to know she wasn’t perfect.

Grayson, Ethan, and I were sitting in the living room talking about everything we’ve encountered over the last 20 years of Gray and I’s relationship. The first few months we hid from the fans. Telling the fans was probably the scariest moment of my life. Some fans were excited, others were pissed, and some were just downright mean. Many picked at my weight and my curves. It didn’t get to me at first but after over two weeks of relentless comments I finally broke down to Grayson. I wasn’t typically insecure but when thousands of people are calling you the meanest things imaginable it breaks you down. Grayson said something as did Ethan. They threatened to block fans and to take a break if they thought necessary. That caused many of the fans to back off. Over the course of our relationship, I have met many fans and even gotten pictures with them even if I wasn’t with Grayson. Next came, our engagement and then our beautiful wedding, followed by the birth of each of our children and everything in between. After all that we rewind back to the day, we all met.

We met at a restaurant in LA. Ethan had wanted to try it for a while because he had heard there was a bunch of really good, dairy-free food options. They went for lunch on a Thursday. It surprisingly wasn’t too busy but they sat down and waited for someone to serve them. This restaurant Ethan had been dying to try was my job at the time. Thankfully I was working when they decided to show. I noticed two tall, good looking LA boys walk in. I looked them up and down then quickly put together that they were twins. One with darker hair, a safety pin necklace, smooth face, and an interesting outfit. The other one with scruff, a dangly earring, black t-shirt, and striped black pants. For twins, he was definitely the cuter one. They hadn’t sat in my section which was probably a good thing because I would have probably embarrassed myself. They had sat in my best friends’ section. Lilly walked over and got their drink orders. The one with the dangly earring kept looking up at us as we got their waters. I assumed he was staring at Lilly as she always got hit on at this damn job. “Grayson shut up you’re so loud” the one boy said. Ah so his name was Grayson. “Shut up, Ethan. I’m not loud” Grayson retaliated. Ethan looked around the restaurant and looked at me. “Hey, do you think my twin over here is loud?” he asked. “You’re the only yelling across the restaurant to ask me if he’s the loud one” I sassed and Grayson chuckled. Lilly continued serving them and Grayson kept looking up but I realized a lot of the times his gaze would land on me and that Lilly was never around when he looked over at me. Did I have something on my face? A stain on my shirt? Toilet paper on my shoe? “Hey, will you cover my couple of tables? I have to take my lunch break first because I have been here the longest” Lilly explained. “Yeah, I got it” I sighed. I walked over to the table with the two boys. “I just wanted to say that I’m your waitress now as Lilly is on her lunch break so if you need anything just ask,” I said. “How about a date?” Grayson asked. “Excuse me?” I asked. “You heard me, a date” he replied. “I don’t even know you” I responded. “Isn’t that the point of dating, is to get to know someone?” he asked. “How do I know you aren’t going to kill me?” I asked. “We can make it a double date. You and I, Ethan and our old waitress” Grayson suggested. “Dude” Ethan shouted as Grayson gave him pleading eyes. “Fine, when?” I asked. “Tomorrow night at 7?” he suggested. “Umm, ok,” I said, still a little taken aback by this whole conversation. I decided to just go for it so when I gave them their bill I wrote my number on it with a small note, “You took your shot so I’ll take mine, text me;)”. After they left I went to get their receipt and there was a note at the top. “Each of you get yourselves something nice for our double date tomorrow night -E and Gray” I looked at the bottom of the receipt to see that they left a $200 tip for Lilly and me to split.

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“I still can’t believe you and Lilly dated for three months” I giggled. Lilly and Ethan had very little in common and we’re total opposites in personality. “Shut up” Ethan groaned. “It’s ok, she mainly did it for me to help with getting in your brother’s pants” I joked. “That’s all you wanted? You could have asked that first night and I would’ve let you do whatever you wanted to me” Gray joked. “No, but she really was just helping me to get with Grayson” I admitted. “She was being a good wing woman just like I was for Gray” Ethan explained. “I know and I love you both very much for that,” I said.

“You know I knew a month after knowing you that Grayson wasn’t going to love anyone else,” Ethan said randomly. Grayson looked at his brother confused. “You never told me that,” Gray said. “I thought you knew,” E said. “Knew what?” “That she was the one” Ethan explained. “Not until I told her I loved her for the first time,” Grayson said. “I knew about a month after the restaurant. I remember coming out of my room to see you staring at her napping in your bed. She’d come over after work. You went to go grab her some food because she had worked through her break and she was passed out when you got back. You were standing with whatever food you’d scrounged up for her. You weren’t mad she was asleep. You had a smile on your face followed by a little chuckle. Your eyes said what your heart and your head didn’t know yet. I texted mom that day to tell her not to worry about this one. Later that night, Y/N was eating dinner with us because you wanted to actually cook her something. She walked into the kitchen watching you sing and dance around. She had almost the same look you did when you saw her asleep. I knew then you loved each other but it was so early that you were both scared. Ever since that day I never worried about how Y/N would treat you because I knew she was the best person for you” Ethan explained an I didn’t know I was crying until I felt a tear land on my arm. “Baby, why are you crying?” Gray asked. “Ethan never talks deep like that. He knew Gray before we ever did. We’ve talked about when we realized we loved the other person and when we told each other we loved each other but we’ve never asked anyone else when they knew we loved each other. Others are less blind than we are about it” I sobbed. Gray walked over and wrapped his arms around me. “I don’t know why you’re crying. Ethan’s an idiot most of the time. The one time he isn’t you’re a hot mess” he chuckles. “It just puts things into perspective. Never in a million years did I think I was going to have a man that was so good to me. All of the guys’ I was within the past were so passive aggressive but with you, it’s never happened even after all of these years. Not to mention how amazing the rest of our family is. I just couldn’t have asked for anyone better” I cried. “Me either, baby. Me either” Grayson said kissing my forehead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dating, being engaged to, and marrying a Dolan was a lot, to say the least. Gray and I had 5 kids together. Three girls and then two boys. Addison Rose and Amelia Bailey were our twin girls. We had another set of Dolan Twins, this time they were girls and according to Lisa much easier to deal with compared to their dad and Uncle E. When the girls were a little over two we had another little girl, Paisley Jane or PJ. PJ was typically a boy nickname but she was one of the most tomboy girls you’ll ever meet so it fits pretty well. Addison was the quiet one, Amelia the momma bear, and little PJ was the rough one. Nine times out of 10 when someone was hurt it was Little Miss PJ’s fault. There was a little bit bigger of a  gap between PJ and the first boy we had. Paisley was 3 when we had our first boy. I had always loved the name Grayson, way before I had ever met Gray. Therefore, our first boy was Grayson Hunter but he was Lil’ Gray then he went by Hunter once he was no longer the baby. 11 months after Lil’ Gray was born Lil’ Grant was born. Grant Oliver Dolan was the fifth and final Dolan baby, or so we thought (Ask Ethan about that one).

We got engaged three years after meeting in that restaurant. Whenever we’re in LA we try to go to relive the old memories. Nine months later we got married in New Jersey. It was an outside wedding and it was beautiful. The kids don’t ask much about the wedding because there are pictures all over the house. There’s a picture of Grayson and me with our wedding party in one part of the house. There’s a picture of Ethan and Gray then a picture of Gray and me after the ceremony on my bedside table. The twins especially love hearing about how Grayson proposed to me, no matter how many times they had already heard it. “Daddy?” Lia chimed. “Yes, Lia Bug?” “Will you tell us the story of how you asked mommy to marry you?” Lia asked. “I just told you girls last week” Grayson chuckled. “It’s such a good story. Daddy please” Addy begged. “Alright, alright go get your mother. She loves hearing me tell you guys” he said. “Your mom and I had been together three years when I finally got the nerve to ask her to marry me even though I knew she was the one”, Grayson started.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I have something fun for you to do today,” Grayson said to me. “What’s that?” I asked. “Ethan’s going to go with you on a scavenger hunt for a surprise tonight” he explained. He had Ethan drag me from our favorite picnic spot, to where he told me he loved me for the first time, to where we met, and then finally to the airport where we boarded a plane going to New Jersey. “Ethan, why are we flying to Jersey?” “It’s a surprise” Ethan explained. Finally, we landed and Ethan took me to their New Jersey home where Lisa was with Gizmo. We didn’t go inside though which was odd to me. “E, we should say hi to your mom. She misses you guys” I said. “We will, I promise”. He leads me out to the woods. By now it was dark out. It was a warm August day--well night. There was a full moon then a combination of cricket and frog noises scattered in the background. “Ethan if you came out here to kill me your brother is going to kill you in return” I threatened. “I’m offended that you think I’d kill you especially on my own property” he sassed. “It’s time for the surprise,” Ethan said. “I am still so confused”. “Well prepare to be more confused, as Gray has instructed I have to give you a piggyback ride and you have to be blindfolded for the rest of the walk” Ethan explained. “This better be a damn good surprise or I am kicking both of your asses,” I said as it grew even darker with the blindfold on. “Grab my shoulders and jump, I’ll catch you,” Ethan said. “Ethan, I’m not jumping on your back, I’ll break it” I argued. “No, you won’t. C’ mon Y/N” he said. “Ethan, no” I argued. “Y/N, I’ve been lifting. It’s fine” he said. “Are you calling me fat?” I asked. “Jesus, no. Fuck, Gray is going to kill me” E sighed. “I’m kidding but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” I said as I jumped on his back. We walked for a few minutes before Ethan said “We’re here but don’t take your blindfold off. I’ll put you down slowly”. He put me down and then I heard footsteps. “Ethan?” “E?” “Since when do you like my brother so much?” Grayson asked causing me to jump. “Gray you scared me” I yelled as he chuckled. “Babe where are we? Why am I still blindfolded?” I asked. “We’re in the woods in Jersey,” he said as he took the blindfold off. I looked around to see candles. White and red rose petals surrounding me. I realized the candles took a heart shape. “Grayson, what is all this?” I asked. “Something you’re going to remember for the rest of your life” he admitted. “Gray” I whispered. “I sent you on a wild goose chase today which you’re used to because that’s just how crazy my life is. I am so thankful that I’ve had someone as incredible as you by my side through the ups and downs. You are the best thing to ever happen to me. I want to spend everyday making you happy. I want to wake up next to you every day. I want to make breakfast with you every morning. I want to snuggle you every night before we go to sleep. You’re the only person I want to spend the rest of my life with so” He pauses as he drops down onto one knee.  “Y/N, will you marry me?” Gray asked opening a small black box with a beautiful diamond ring. Tears stream down my face as I nod my head vigorously and he slips the ring over my finger. “Yes, Gray, I’d love to marry you” I cried as hugged his neck. Shortly after all of this excitement Lisa, Ethan, and Cameron emerge out of the distance. “This was beautiful Gray,” I said. “Beautiful proposal for a beautiful girl,” he said. “I love you” “I love you too”.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Daddy, how did you know mommy was going to be your wife?” Lia asked. “She always loved me even when my life was crazy. Your mama is very supportive girls. She supported daddy even when it was the hardest thing she ever had to do and she will support you guys too” Grayson explained. “Mommy, why did you pick daddy?” Addy asked. “He treated me, right girls. He loved me just like he loves you and your sisters then your little brother when he gets here. He was a good boyfriend. He was a good husband once we got married and now he is the most incredible daddy don’t ya think?” I asked. “Oh yeah, he’s probably a better daddy than Uncle Etan is,” Addy said causing us all to laugh. “They’re both really good dad’s” I giggled looking at Gray who was smirking. “Daddy?” Lia asked. “Yes, bug?” he replied. “I’m really glad you’re my daddy. If it would have been anyone else I would have ran away to you so you could be my daddy because you’re the best” Lia said to Grayson and my pregnant heart exploded. Tears immediately started leaking from my eyes. “Mama, why are you crying?” Addy asked. “I’m happy baby, I promise. I just love our family so much” I told her. “I love our family too,” Addy said climbing off of Gray’s lap and crawling into mine. “Be careful, Addy Rose. Mommy has your baby brother in there” Gray warned. Grayson was always on high alert and extremely overprotective when I was pregnant. “Gray?” I asked. “Yes, babe?” he asked. “Where’s PJ?” I asked. “Uhh, I dunno. She was listening to the story” he admitted. “MOMMY! LOOK!” Lia pointed outside. I looked to see a small, three-year-old PJ on the sidewalk. “GRAYSON” I shouted as he leaped out of the house to chase our toddler. “Paisley Jane Dolan” Gray shouted as she looked at her daddy. She quickly realized that it was Grayson and not Uncle Ethan so she did what any other kid on a mission would do. She ran. “PJ DOLAN” Grayson shouted. “Where are you going little miss?” he asked as he ran towards her. She turned sharply in front of Ethan’s house that was a little way down from our own. She couldn’t quite get the door open so that’s where her dad finally caught up to her. “PJ, why were you outside? You know not to go outside when mommy or daddy isn’t with you” Grayson reprimanded. “I wanted Uncle Effin” PJ cried out. Addy was a mommy’s girl. Lia was a daddy’s girl but PJ? She was Uncle Ethan’s girl and none of us are quite sure why. “Baby, if you wanted Uncle Ethan just ask and we all could have gone to visit” Grayson explained. “NO! Just me! My uncle Effin” PJ cried. Grayson walked her home then let her sit in the time out chair for running outside. “Why is she so stuck on Ethan?” I asked. “Maybe because he has all the boys?” Gray suggested. “Who knows but it looks like we’re going to have to extra childproof the house” I sighed. “I’ll head to Home Depot now. You want me to take the twins?” Gray asked. “If you want to” I shrugged. “Yeah that way you can try to relax and just keep an eye on PJ” Gray decided. He kissed me goodbye as he took the older two to Home Depot to get some things to turn our house into a prison-like structure so PJ doesn’t try to escape to Uncle E’s again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ethan, on the other hand, had three boys. Bentley Grant was his first. He was born in between the twins and Paisley. Next was Dawson Michael and he was born a few months after PJ. Dawson and Bentley were about 15 months apart. Their last boy was born when Dawson was 2. Lennox Gray Dolan was the last boy of Ethan’s herd but it wouldn’t be Ethan Dolan without an oopsie baby. When Little Lennox was 4, Ethan’s wife found out she was pregnant with their fourth child. This time, a girl. The baby of the Dolan Clan was Miss Lorelai Penelope and she was wrapped around everyone’s finger. When Lorelai was born Addison and Amelia were 8, Bentley was 7, Paisley was 6, Dawson was 5, Lennox was 4, Hunter was 3, and Grant was 2.

The four oldest Dolan children had all graduated high school. Addison was into Graphic Design and attending a school in Manhattan, New York. Amelia who was always a little more family-based stayed close and is going to a community college to be a teacher. Bentley being the oldest boy always felt responsible for his siblings and cousins. He wanted to go to school but he didn’t want to go across the country. He got many scholarships for lacrosse all across the country. He decided to stay close to home and accepted a full ride in Lacrosse at Rutgers University. Meanwhile, PJ is traveling the country with two friends. She’d always been a free spirit so her parents knew she wasn’t going to school which was entirely her choice. Y/N and Grayson agreed a long time ago that they would support their children in whatever decision they made (to an extent) as long as they graduated high school. That was the deal. Dawson was a senior in high school. Lennox was a junior, Hunter and Grant were sophomores meanwhile Lorelai was an 8th grader.

Hunter and Grant as the youngest children but the only boys on Gray’s side were very protective of their mother. Addy was closer to Y/N as she was quieter and not so loud. Lia, on the other hand, was Gray’s little girl. PJ loved both of her parents but rarely favored one over the other. If anything her go to was her Uncle E. Hunter and Grant though? Complete and utter, mama’s boys. Grant was a lot closer to his dad than Hunter was. Grayson never took offense. The kids need people they could confide in whether it was him or his wife. He was just glad that each child could trust someone. The Dolan boys being in close in age as they are they were practically another set of twins. Now that Bentley was gone, Dawson is the leader which is good because he’s the next most responsible as he takes after his mom. Dawson drove everyone to school except Lorelai. Ethan took his little girl to school every day and no one- I mean NO ONE argued with him about it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s a Wednesday in the middle of March, just a couple weeks before Spring Break. Grant and Hunter are walking to their 10th Grade English class that they conveniently had together. They were about halfway there when Ryan Sawyer, the senior quarterback made a comment under his breath which Hunter quickly reacted to. “What did you just say?” Hunter growls. Grant quickly following behind his brother. “I said I saw your mom last night. Not sure how your dad hasn’t suffocated from how fat she-” before Ryan could even finish his sentence Hunter had socked him straight across the jaw. You do not mess with Y/N Dolan especially in the presence of Grayson Hunter Dolan. Ryan’s little minions quickly followed suit. Grant was throwing punches to the minions while Hunter and Ryan rolled around trying to get dominance over the other. Soon enough Dawson stumbled upon the incident trying to get everyone off of each other before a teacher knew what happened but it was too late. The dean was halfway to the scene. “Let my little cousin go before I kick your ass” Dawson threatened. Ryan’s friend let Grant go in fear of Dawson. Ryan and Hunter still rolling around on the floor. Ryan’s nose bloodied. Hunter’s knuckles cracked open and a tear on his lip. Grant has a cut over his eyebrow. Mr. Scott, the dean had walked up to the scene. His voice boomed as yelled for the boys to stop. Ryan, Hunter, Grant, Dawson, and a couple of Ryan’s friends followed the dean to his office. “Dolan what happened,” Mr. Scott said as they sat in silence. “C’ mon speak,” he said. “Uh sir three of us are Dolan’s” Dawson explained. “What?” “These two are my cousins” Dawson explained. “Well, I was talking to you explain”. “Honestly I don’t know. I walked up to a fist fight and got Grant off of Ryan’s friend then you showed up” Dawson explained. “Someone tell me what happened” Mr. Scott boomed. “The little Dolan wussies got bent out of shape because they couldn’t take a joke,” Ryan said. “Watch it Ryan” Dawson threatened. “Ryan, the rest of you that aren’t Dolan’s can go” Mr. Scott ordered. “Boys, tell me what happened. I know how Mr. Sawyer is so I trust you’ll be honest with me because I’ve never seen either of you in my office”. “Ryan made a comment about my mom and it wasn’t just like a joke. He called her fat and I just got mad so I punched him. Then his minions went after Grant so it was just some big ordeal then Dawson came in to try to stop it before you got there. I’m sorry” Hunter explained. “Don’t apologize, kid. You stuck up for your mom. I would’ve done the same thing. Your dad raised you well” Mr. Scott said. “Thank you, sir,” Hunter said. “You’re still going to have consequences as it was on school grounds, both of you” “What about all of them?!?”  Hunter argued. “I’ll call them down once you leave and they’ll get a longer suspension for starting it. I know Dawson here will keep me to it” “You bet your ass” Dawson said. “You, have three days for taking the first swing. Your brother has two for fighting them. They’ll get suspended for 5 for antagonizing. I’m going to call your dad. You two head to the nurse and get cleaned up. Dawson keep an eye on them” Mr. Scott said as Dawson nodded.

The nurse wiped the blood off the boys. Thankfully all the cuts and scrapes were superficial. Soon enough Grayson showed up to take his two youngest home. “Boys, what the hell was this?” Grayson asked. “I’m sorry dad. He said something about mom and I just lost it” Hunter explained. “He said something about your mom?” Grayson asked his older son. “Yeah, he was like I saw your mom last night. I don’t know how your dad doesn’t suffocate with how fat then I didn’t hear the rest because I was beating the shit out of him” Hunter explained. “Grant why are you suspended?” Gray asked. “I started fighting the kids’ friends and I wasn’t going to sit back while he was talking shit about mom. Dolan boys don’t fuck with that” Grant said. “You’re damn straight, son. I can’t believe this kid has the audacity to make a sexual comment insulting my wife, what nerve. For his information, I would love to be suffocated by- DAAAD ENOUGH” Grant yelled as Grayson chuckled.

Grayson wasn’t sure what to tell his wife. He knew she would be mad at the suspension but should he tell her why the kids were in a fight. All the girls managed to get in little to no trouble in school so where did they go wrong with the boys? Is what was crossing Y/N’s had as she heard Gray’s voicemail from about an hour ago while she was in a meeting. She opened the front door and shut it with a little more force than she anticipated. “Grayson Hunter and Grant Oliver, in here now!” Y/N yelled. Both the boys and their dad walked into the living room. “What the hell happened today? A THREE DAY SUSPENSION?” Y/N yelled. “Grant was just helping me. I started it, ma” Hunter said. “Grayson Hunter, since when do you fight people?” Y/N asked. “He said something mean and I got angry” he explained. “What did he say?” she asked but no one wanted to tell her. They all loved Y/N too much to let a dumb 17-year old make her feel shit about herself. “Tell me or I am canceling Spring Break in a couple of weeks, so help me Grayson Hunter” she threatened. Hunter looked at his brother then at his dad. All of them shaking their head in agreement. No one was telling her. “Fine then go to your room’s. I’m canceling the trip” Y/N said. Grayson knew his wife was upset and that he needed to calm her down. “We’re still going on that trip,” Grayson said. “No, we aren’t. They aren’t getting suspended then turning around and going to Cancun. Grayson have you lost your mind?” she asked. “No, babe but I know what the kid said that upset Hunter” Gray explained. “Why wouldn’t he tell me?” she asked. “He was defending you, baby,” Gray said simply. “What?” she turned looking at her husband. “The kid Hunter punched made a comment about your weight and it was in a sexual sense. He was just protecting his momma” Grayson explained. “What did the little punk say?” she asked. “Something how he saw you out last night and wasn’t sure how I hadn’t suffocated because of how um” Grayson paused. “Fat I am?” Y/N asked. “Yeah” Gray whispered. There was a thick pause filled with silence. “Jokes on him though, I would love to suffocate between your thighs babe” Gray smirked trying to lift the mood. “Why are kids so mean Gray?” she asked her husband. “Babe, don’t let some kid get to you. Not when you have two sons that kicked his ass in your name baby, in your honor” Grayson said wiping the tears from his wife’s face. “Why don’t we bring them down and tell them they're still going on Spring Break, yeah?” Gray asked and Y/N nodded. Hunter came down first looking at his mom. “Ma, why are you crying? Do I have to kick dad’s ass too?” “Good luck with that, son” Gray chuckled. “Your dad told me what really happened at school today,” Y/N said as Grant finally made his way into the kitchen. “He told me what that boy said to you guys” Y/N explained. “You’re not fat, ma. You’re beautiful” Hunter said. “Thank you, baby” Y/N smiled. “Thank you for putting that kid in his place for me, honey. Both of you, actually. Your brother got a couple cuts himself” Y/N observed running her finger over Grant’s cuts. “I’m sorry, I was so angry” Y/N apologized.  “It’s alright, we weren’t mad. I should’ve handled it better” Hunter admitted. “No, you defend your mom just like you should’ve. Just don’t make it a habit, boys” Grayson interjected. “We’re still going to go to Cancun. I can’t take that away from my boys. Thank you for defending me today” she said hugging her two babies that towered a few inches over her. “I’ll do it again any day for you ma,” Hunter said. “Me too. Any day, anyone. No one messes with the Dolans” Grant added. “I love my boys,” Y/N said as Grayson added himself to the group hug. The Dolan family was a little chaotic at times but every one of them defended their name just like their Poppy Sean would want them too.

[eloarei]

Reaper, ch... I dunno, 7?

I was tired of not-writing, so I started what is probably roughly chapter 7 of the Reaper novel I haven’t actually properly started or plotted out yet.  words: 2,169 (T-rated, f/m, gen) chapters: ??? I dunno fandom: original characters: Vanessa Mattock, Theocritus, Mr. Mattock  ship: Vessa&Theo, Vessa/Theo (implied) tags: some supernatural nonsense, the difficulty of just living, adjusting to humanity, alcohol,   notes: hey I wrote this in like 2 hours maybe? That’s the charm of not having to follow any rules I guess. Even though it takes place in the middle of the story (so I guess technically it’s chock full of spoilers?), it probably reads just fine if you have no idea what’s going on.  x So there was a reaper living on her couch. Well, he wasn’t a reaper anymore, she guessed, but what was she supposed to think of him as? Theo. Theo was living on her couch, after he’d outstayed his welcome at Sid’s place. They’d had a nice, self-pitying afternoon together when she’d found him there, borrowing some of Sid’s bottom-shelf whiskey in the hopes of dulling their respective traumas. But in the end, Sid had grouched at them that his place wasn’t a goddam hostel and Vanessa needed to find a new place for her boss to slump in half-drunken misery-- he’d already put up with enough weird shit the past day, what with Camille straight disappearing on them after summoning a horde of demons and zombies to his door. (Theo later explained that that was an exaggeration; it was only one demon and the zombies hadn’t even made it anywhere close to the antique shop. Still, as Sid was mortal and mostly normal, it wasn’t a surprise that that was a bit much for him.) 

Vanessa’s dad wasn’t going to be super pleased that she brought a ‘strange man’ into their house (boy, he didn’t know the half it-- like the fact that that strange man had saved his life), but he definitely wouldn’t stand the two of them getting drunk in the living room with all the shades drawn and the TV set to some trashy reality show, which was what she really sort of wanted to do. So instead of taking Theo back to her place right away, she’d walked them through the outskirts of town, off toward the seaside. 

There was… a lot to say. Primarily she wanted to berate him for not being there for her when she really needed him, but now that she knew he’d been having a rough time of his own her sense of betrayal had mostly faded off. It wasn’t like he’d been ignoring her on purpose (though what was she supposed to think at the time? He always came when she called him, and sometimes when she hadn’t called him and he’d just fucking sensed she was thinking about him or whatever). And yeah, she was still pretty shook about realizing that her mother was probably still alive (and maybe even in the city), but becoming human again after at least a couple hundred years of weird immortality was… possibly even harder, she admitted to herself. So she tried to be supportive of what her boss (or maybe former boss?) was going through. “You, um… doin’ ok?” she’d asked, as they’d strolled down the street, staggering slightly on the occasion. He looked the long way down at her, probably hurting his neck in the process. He was a little bit draped over her, arm slung over her shoulders like an old pal, but even with his current slouch they didn’t even nearly match up in height. Back when he’d been his usual reaper-y self (the last time Vanessa had seen him before Tawney helped her track him down at the antique shop), he’d seemed to absolutely tower over her and everyone else, almost lost in shadow. Now he was just plain tall-- although it was still pretty freaking tall. “I… will probably survive,” he’d replied, sounding all the more pitiful in his proper English accent. “Well I fucking hope so,” Vanessa had said, at a loss for anything more substantial or kind. Be kind of dumb if he just died after all of this, she thought. Especially when there was still so much she was just starting to understand about this shadow world he’d dragged her into. (Well, ‘dragged’ was not totally fair; she did kind of offer, after all.) They hadn’t really talked much after that, until they’d ended up in front of her house, and Theo had cocked his head at her and said, “Why are we here?” Vanessa gave him a deadpan look. “You got kicked out of Camille’s friend’s place, remember? What, were you gonna sleep on the street?” “Sleep…” he’d said softly, like he was testing the word out, or the idea. “I hadn’t thought…” “Yeah, obviously.” And on purpose, too. Why else would the first thing he asked for have been alcohol, other than that he didn’t want to have to think about his new lowly position in life? But he was obviously tired-- eyes shadowed in a way that had nothing to do with the mystical and everything to do with physical and emotional exhaustion. She’d seen herself looking like that on more than one occasion, especially before he’d rescued her from the hellscape universe where her father was dead and there was nothing she could do about it. They’d gone inside, just walking like normal people instead of that vaguely-irritating appearing thing Theo had used to do before. (It was like he just hated doors or something, she sometimes thought.) Her father wasn’t home yet, and wouldn’t be for another few hours at least, Wednesdays being his longest work shifts. She took advantage of his absence by not sneaking around the house, guiding Theo to the living room couch and sitting him down. He sat there in the dusky darkness while she rummaged around in the kitchen for snacks. They didn’t have any alcohol in the house, but junk food could be just as good a balm. Sitting down next to him in the dark, Vanessa handed him a package of Oreos and a cola, while she dug into a fresh bag of cheese puffs and a Sprite. Theo looked down at the junk food in his hands. “What do I do with this?” he asked, apparently perturbed for some reason. She pulled the cola out of his hand with little resistance and popped it open, replacing it in his grip. “Drink,” she said. “You know how to do that.” Diligently, he took a swig of the chilly can, but his face morphed into a vague distaste as he swallowed. (Vague only because he was hardly emoting at all right now, she knew. At his normal rate of emotion, it would definitely be at least a scowl.) “This is far too sweet,” he said, and he set it aside on the end table. “Yeah, well,” Vanessa responded, grabbing the Oreos and ripping the package open. “You’re living now, okay, so you need calories and junk.” She pulled a cookie out and jammed it into his mouth. He seemed a little surprised, but he chewed on it anyway, and the tenseness in his shoulders faded a little. She didn’t know if that was because he liked it, or just because it was something to do. After a minute, she turned on the TV, keeping the volume low and just letting the colors wash over them. Theo was staring in the right direction, but she’d have bet he wasn’t really seeing the reality-TV shenanigans. (Probably a good thing, in this case, because it would have just annoyed him if he realized how stupid it was.) An episode or two passed, and she was starting to feel pretty drained. “Hey,” she started quietly, not wanting to shock Theo out of his trance too badly. “I think I’m gonna go crash. You should sleep too.” She got up to go find a blanket for him, but his gaze followed her, a little lazy, a little lost. “I don’t know how,” he said. “You don’t--” Vanessa blinked, and she blinked again. God, why was it her responsibility to teach him how to be a human? Shouldn’t it be Camille’s job since he was the one that took Theo’s powers? (Not that she thought Camille was great at being human either, but still.) She took a deep breath. “You just… Just close your eyes and don’t do anything. I dunno, pretend you’re dead.” A flicker of emotion crossed his face, probably unrelated to her suggestion. It was something she’d describe as ‘confused and annoyed about it’; maybe consternation. “I don’t know if I can do this, Vessa,” he said, and she knew he wasn’t talking about sleeping. Not exactly, anyway. “I mean, that’s…” She shrugged. “That’s life, right? You just have to take it a day at a time. A minute at a time.” He was zoning out a bit, staring at a spot on the wall, but she managed to catch his eyes and noted that they didn’t glow like they did before, that pale white-gold that always seemed to loom out of the shadows of her room. They were just light brown now, and tired. “Hey look… You know I’ll be here to help, okay? I’ve gotten through like ten thousand days. I’m sure I can help you through a few.” “Seventy-two hundred and sixty-three,” he said. “The days you’ve been through.” She scoffed and turned away to hide her smile. “Ok well that’s still a lot more than you.” She walked off to go find a blanket, wondering for a minute if Theo was going to be hot or cold natured, before she decided on an old course hand-woven thing her mom had picked up from somewhere, ages ago. She didn’t know if it’d be too hot or too cold, but if she was feeling as bad as she thought he was, that was the one she’d pick for herself. Ironically, he was out like a light by the time she got back. “Hey,” she said, draping the blanket over him. “Old man?” There wasn’t even the slightest downward twitch of lips, so she knew he was really finally asleep. Maybe his first sleep in a thousand years. She hoped it was a good one. She couldn’t say what exactly possessed her (maybe it was just that he couldn’t shy away or judge her), but she reached down and smoothed back that little piece of hair that always fell forward onto his forehead, and followed it up by pressing her lips to the empty space it left. She took a deep breath and inhaled his new, living smell. It wasn’t anything really specific. Just… warm. Smelled like hair and body oils and a little bit of lingering whiskey. Compared to the too-clean nothingness she’d whiffed before, when he pulled her close enough to teleport them someplace, it was just… better, more real. Smelled like a man who was living some kind of life, step after step, not… two feet on the wrong side of a grave. “Sleep well,” she said, even though he wouldn’t hear her. Then she tottered up the stairs and fell into bed, with just enough energy and presence of mind to kick off her shoes. Of course she didn’t hear the front door open, or her father cautiously step around the strange man sleeping on the couch and up the stairs in the desperate hope his daughter would have some explanation. “Nessie,” he said softly, settling his hand on his shoulder and just barely rousing her. She turned and glanced over her shoulder at her father, miles too tired to remember anything other than the fact that she was stupid tired, but there wasn’t a moment in her life where she ever thought of brushing off her dad, so of course she shook herself awake. “Dad. What’s up?” “Do you know why there’s someone sleeping on the couch?” Vanessa sighed. “Uhh, yeah. That’s my friend. Theo.” “Theo doesn’t have his own place?” her dad asked, raising an eyebrow just a little bit, just enough to show he was skeptical, but not mad. She tried to get her brain back in order and remember the excuse she came up with earlier. “Uh, well, his place had a f- flood, like a bad one, and they made everybody get out, but he’s kind of new to the area. I mean, he just moved from England, so he doesn’t have any family or friends to stay with.” Mr. Mattock’s face wasn’t hard to begin with (it never was), but it softened to hear his daughter trying to help a friend in his time of need. “That’s nice of you,” he said, and Vanessa knew he was being genuine, though he still seemed just the slightest bit uneasy. “He doesn’t really look your age though. He’s not… your professor, is he?” Vanessa grimaced, and she could tell her face was turning a little red. “No! No, he’s, um, he works at the library on campus.” Her father hummed, but he didn’t seem to be really criticising her story. “Well, alright. I’ll let you get back to sleep and then maybe we can talk more in the morning. G’night, sweetie.” “Night, dad,” she responded, and she managed to hold back her heavy sigh until he was out of the room. And then she fell back to sleep. She wanted to stay up and think about all the stupid little details she was going to have to probably remember for his cover story, but she was too tired to think anything other than ‘screw it’. xXx

[sagara-megumi]

SasuSaku Month 2019 - Day 7: One of These Nights || [Fanfic] Family Ties - Chapter 3

Sorry for the really long delay this time. Beside some real-life circumstances, I was hit by a so much dreaded writer’s block. I had the images clear in my mind but at the moment to put them into words, I was incapable, and the little I wrote didn’t seem to make any sense. I hope that from now on, it’ll go smoothly.

As I said before, the SasuSaku Month ended but I’ll continue writing till I finish the story, since I have already written a good part of it. So, I hope you stick with me on this journey ^^

Title: Family Ties: Chapter 3

Rating: T/PG-13

Words: 4909

Notes: There’s a rollercoaster of feelings in this chapter, as well as a few scenes and different points of view. I hope it’s not confusing and everything fits together.

English isn’t my first language so if you spot any mistakes, please tell me. I hope that you enjoy it, and thank you for the notes and follows :)

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CHAPTER 3

Akihiko sat down on the bed of the hotel room he had booked and looked through the enormous window in front of him that overlooked the city, lit with thousands of lights more than usual with the fast approach of Christmas. Almost three weeks had passed since that fateful night when Mikoto and he had decided to give themselves some time apart from each other so he could sort out his feelings, and finally, he had managed to make a decision.

It had been hard to assimilate everything she had told him, to think about what the best solution for all of them was because it was not just a matter of them as a couple any more, but also, of their children. Her youngest son was also a vampire and he would be living with them, and he had a daughter he had to protect at all costs. He needed to know that she would not be in danger, that she would have a normal life until the moment she decided to spread her wings and become independent. Also, he had many questions about her and her circumstances. He had tried to research about them but all he had found were legends and wild assumptions, overblown facts that made them monsters, and she was anything but that. Her face appeared in his mind, her sweet smiles, her words advising him when he was lost regarding his daughter, telling him the truth about her condition... He could not deny that he still loved her, maybe even more than before. He was just unable to imagine his life without her in it.

A knock took him out of his reverie and, after breathing deeply, he stood up and walked to the door. Upon seeing him, Mikoto smiled lightly, but he could see that behind that gesture, she was as apprehensive as he. She was wearing a thick anorak with a hood, trousers and low heel shoes. Her black hair was up in a neat bun, though some wisps of hair had scaped it, framing her slightly pale face. She had told him on the phone that she would meet him after the closing of the department store and seeing the time, it was clear that she had hurried to get there.

“I apologise for making you wait.”

He shook his head and stepped aside, and she entered the room, looking around as she unzipped her coat.

“How are you? he asked, clenching and relaxing his hands, trying to calm himself.

“I'm fine” she put the garment on a chair and turned, smiling softly at him. “And you?”

“I'm well, busy in the office, as always, especially with the New Year approaching.”

She nodded and laced her fingers in front of her.

“I hope you don't mind we're meeting here” he approached the table in the centre of the room. “At the beginning, I thought we could have dinner at a restaurant but...” he paused for a moment. “... I think what we have to talk about is not a topic to discuss in a public place.”

“I agree.”

He combed his hair with his fingers and looked at her, a wavering smile playing on his lips.

“I-I... There's so much I need to know that-”

Mikoto sat down on the bed, resting her hands on her lap and looked at him in the eyes.

“Ask me everything you must know or you're concerned about.”

He nodded and sat down on a chair.

“Maybe it'll take long...”

“Don't worry” her smile was soft. “We have time.”

.

“Sakura?” Akihiko knocked on the door the following morning, calling his daughter's name. “Can I come in?”

Upon hearing her answer, he opened the door and looked at her, smiling.  She was sitting at her desk, studying, bathed in the dim light of the early morning sun, dressed with comfortable dark grey cotton trousers and a thick beige turtleneck jumper, and he could not help a smile. She was so responsible and mature that sometimes, it seemed that she was the parent in the family instead of him. She should be the one falling in love, having a wonderful partner and enjoying going on dates. He did not even know if there was someone she fancied. In the beginning, he had thought that she would end up with Naruto, being so close and knowing each other so well, but she had closed that door the day she had returned home worried and in tears after he had confessed to her, fearing that she had lost her best friend forever. And except in that case, Sakura had never been too open with him regarding love, and he supposed it was the normal thing. After all, those were things that a girl shared with her mother. She had talked about singers, actors, gushing about them and even taking control of the television when one of them was on it, and even about one or two boys of her school but it had been clear to him that it had not been anything serious. He had never known if there had been someone she had fancied seriously at one point.

“Is something the matter, dad?”

She was looking at him with curiosity and he shook his head, scolding himself for spacing out so easily.

“Sorry...” he approached her and looked over her head. “So, how are you doing?”

“Well” she smiled and swung a bit in her swivel chair. “I finished studying the content of each subject a while ago and I've started reviewing the most difficult parts...” she paused for a moment and put a strand of hair, loose from her short ponytail, behind her ear. “To tell you the truth, I'm a bit restless since the exam date is approaching but I think I'll be fine...”

He nodded, putting his hands in the pockets of his trousers. She had talked about a few universities that she wanted to attend to, but none in particular, but that did not worry him too much. Opposite to other parents whose only aim was for their children to go to a prestigious college, he only wanted her to be happy studying to be a doctor, her wish since she was a child, and he had left the choice of place to her. As her homeroom teacher had assured him in their last meeting, with her academic record, she could aim for any of them.

“Anything else?” she tilted her head as a slow smile started to play on her lips. “Because I think your interest in my studies isn't the only thing that brought you here.”

He lowered his head briefly and tried to suppress a small smile. Nothing scaped his daughter’s intuition. He sat down on the bed and cleared his throat before starting.

“That's true...” he gazed at her. “Mikoto-san and I are going to get married...”

Feeling a slight oppression on the chest as a fleeting image of her mother crossed her mind, Sakura stared at her father for a moment. She swallowed. Finally, it was happening, and though she had been the one to encourage him and had had time to assimilate the idea, it still felt like a blow.

“Both of us had our big ceremonies so we've decided that the wedding will be very simple” he was saying when she recovered a bit. “We'll register our names and give a small party for our closest relatives and acquaintances.”

He was wringing his hands nervously and, as he looked at her, she could see hope and eagerness, and at the same time, a faint glint of insecurity, of fear, and she smiled, knowing that it was for her, because deep down he knew that she had hoped that his devotion for her mother would have lasted forever. And for that, and for putting her above everything else in his life, her affection for him could not be greater.

“I'm really glad for you, dad.”

He extended his hand to her and, looking a bit puzzled, she put hers in his palm.

“I want to assure you that I still love your mother, deeply, like the first day I met her” Sakura felt a knot in her throat and her eyes filled with tears. “Mikoto-san is not going to replace her in my heart or in this house...” he tightened his hold. “I know I'm being selfish, it's a bad time for changes with your exams so near-”

“Dad” she interrupted him softly, rubbing her eyes with her other hand. “Are you happy?

Akihiko gazed at her for a few seconds. She resembled her mother so much, and not only physically, and she was looking at him with so much love that in his mind he felt as if his first wife was paying him one last visit to give him her blessing. He brushed a lone tear which had fallen on his cheek and then, he smiled shyly.

“Yes, I am.”

She squeezed his hand and smiled sincerely.

“Then, that's all that matters.”

“Thank you, Sakura.”

They stayed like that for a while and then, breathing deeply, Akihiko spoke again.

“There's one more thing... We... don't want to wait too much and since Mikoto-san's apartment contract expires at the end of the year...” her heart raced in her chest. “She and her son will move in during the New Year holidays.”

Her mind tried to argue that it was too soon. She had barely had time to assume the situation and now, in two weeks, her tiny family would welcome two more members. However, her heart full of emotions shut its whispering voice. His happiness was above all. Her jaw trembled a bit and she clenched it instinctively, so her father would not realise.

“Th-That's fine” she chuckled briefly. “Though we have lots of things to do before that...”

Akihiko nodded and stood up, a relaxed expression softening his features. Sakura closed her eyes and exhaled, repeating to herself that it was for the best, repressing the urge to cry. There would be time for that later when she was alone. He was about to turn to leave the bedroom when he seemed to remember something. “By the way, do you have plans for the twenty-fourth? I know it's a special date...”

She laughed and shook her head.

“My friends were talking about having a party, but it'll probably be another day so the couples can spend their time together. I'll probably have a very nice rendezvous with my textbooks.”

“Well, then, I think I have a small surprise for you. We decided that it would be a good idea for the two families to have dinner together that day... I convinced Mikoto-san to have it here, at home.”

Sakura opened her eyes widely and turned her head, looking anxiously at the calendar on her wall, next to her desk.

“But that's next Saturday!” confused, he saw her take out a small notebook from one of the drawers. “And, there's so much to organise...”

“Sakura?”

She muttered something as she scribbled furiously on one of the pages and then, she looked at him, her eyes glinting determined.

“I'm sorry, dad, I know tomorrow is your day-off, but we need to clean the house.”

.

Mikoto examined her sons' faces and, deep inside, she sighed tiredly. She had not expected them to be exultant with the news she had just announced to them but at least, they could be tolerant with her decision. Itachi, the oldest, was regarding her calmly, none of his thoughts reflected in his sharp features. He was the one who looked the most like her ex-husband with his facial expression lines and his stern expression. Sasuke, however, resembled her. He had her big eyes and slightly round cheekbones, and his character was similar to hers too. At least, before. During his childhood, he had been cheerful, affectionate and sociable but at that moment, his furrowed brows, his lips pressed in a thin line and his disapproving pupils were the same as Uchiha Fugaku's every time they argued in the last years of their marriage.

“I'm not asking for your consent, just your understanding...” she breathed deeply and tightened her joined hands on her lap. “I know it's something difficult to accept, but...”

“I'm fine with it.”

Mikoto looked at her eldest son a bit perplexed, not really expecting that reply.

“But Itachi!” Sasuke intervened, breaking his silence. “He's a human! Humans are food, we don't marry them. The clan-”

“Sasuke” Mikoto replied calmly. “I don't belong to the clan anymore” her son frowned and looked aside. “I understand your position but you know that this has happened before, and not to outcasted members like me.

She saw him clench his jaw, as even he, being so young, knew that it was true. Despite all of them being brought up to feel superior and prideful of who they were and it was taboo to speak about the topic, there was a considerable number of them who had fallen in love with humans, leaving the clan voluntarily, and rumors about important members who still belonged to it and led a secret life with human partners. She knew that her wedding would cause an uproar, especially because Sasuke was the clan's head youngest son and he still lived with her.

“He's a good man, educated and kind” she smiled lightly. “He made sure I was the one making the decision, he wanted me to talk to you before answering. And he assured me that nothing would change if I refused his proposal” he still had his head low and she sighed. “I'm not asking you to love him or pretend to do it. I'm just asking you not to ignore or look down on him, to get on with him. I know that once you'll turn eighteen, you'll go back to live with your father but until then...”

Sasuke stayed silent a bit more. He was sincerely trying to feel even a bit happy for his mother. It had been a long time since he had seen her eyes spark like that, even though she had become serious the moment he had reacted to the news. However, he could not find it in himself and he was not one to feign his feelings. Since his parents had divorced when he was fourteen, deep inside he had hoped that someday, they could be together again and they both would return to the clan. It was their home, their family, their place. And, even though he had continued bound to it, being the youngest son of its leader, his mother had immersed herself in the human world with her work and her friends. And now, she was taking one more step into it by marrying a common man.

He looked at her. She was gazing at him, serious, determined. He had only seen that expression on her face a few times, the last one when she had decided to leave her old life behind and, as before, it would not matter what he said or complained about, he knew that she was going to do it.

“I understand” he mumbled.

Itachi had watched his brother's struggle with concern and for a moment, he had dreaded that he would say he wanted to live with their father. Since Sasuke had been a child, he had sought his recognition, being always in his older brother's shadow, and he had witnessed how he had strived to meet all expectations and overcome difficulties. He had tried to make his days more bearable spending as much time as possible with him, helping him or playing with him. However, after the divorce, and despite Sasuke still attending the same prestigious school and spending three days a week in the main house, things had become strained, being watched for the slightest mistake on his part. And now, their father was more demanding, sterner, probably for Sasuke's own good. However, he was still a child, his character was more sensitive, and he feared that one day, he would break. He needed to stay with their mother, at least until he finished school. And maybe the experience of living close to a human could do him good.

“Does he know?” he asked, crossing his arms. “I mean, about... us.”

“He does” both brothers looked at each other, disconcerted.

“And he still wants to marry you?” Itachi lifted his brows in a sceptical gesture. “He truly must be amazing. Not many humans are able to accept us so easily.”

“It hasn't been easy for him” Mikoto half-closed her eyes for a moment. “He had many questions and was a bit insecure, but he decided after we talked about it at long length. The only condition he has is to keep it a secret from his daughter.”

Their eyes widened, surprised.

“A daughter?” Sasuke blurted. “He has a daughter?”

“Yes. She's still in high school.”

“So” Itachi smiled to himself as he leant back in his seat. “We're having a sister...”

.

Three times a week, Sakura met her friends at lunchtime on the school rooftop and the coldest months, on the stairs which led to the highest floor. Otherwise, it was difficult that they could see each other during the morning, as she, Tenten and Neji were in a different year, and even more in the afternoon, between their club activities and the entrance exams.

As they all sat on the steps, talking excitedly about Christmas and other events, Sakura was glancing at her food pensively. She had decided that it was time to tell them about her father's wedding. It was just a matter of time that they heard about it and she preferred to be her the one to announce it.

“Sakura-chan, are you listening to me?”

Naruto brought her back to reality and Ino laughed lightly, her eyebrows lifted as if telling her that she was guessing what had her so distracted that day.

“Sorry, I have a lot in my mind today...” she picked up a piece of broccoli from her lunch box. “What were you saying?”

“It was about the football match this Saturday, we play against Morigaoka and we're so going to beat them. Sai promised that if I score seven times, he'll forget that I overslept this morning and missed the meeting we had...”

He laughed sheepishly and some of them sighed loudly. Only Hinata showed him some support by patting his hand softly, her cheeks red as apples.

“So, are you coming to cheer us?”

She swallowed and put her chopsticks down.

“I'm sorry, I can't.”

“Oh, come on!” he pouted. “Studying so much is going to melt your brain.”

“It's not that” she breathed deeply and lifted her head, regarding all her friends. “I have to tell you something.”

The seriousness in her voice made all of them become silent and turn their attention to her.

“I've waited to tell you because... well, it wasn't sure but now, it is... My father is remarrying.”

.

The day had been exhausting, but she had managed to finish organising and cooking before the time. Sakura looked at her reflection on the mirror once again, smoothing out her light blue dress carefully, making sure that the dark ribbon which fastened it at the back just below her chest was well tied. Then, she took a headband with a bow and tried it but she took it off immediately. One thing was to make a good impression and a very different one to look like a doll. She gathered her hair at the nape of her neck with one hand and turned, seeing it from different angles, but that did not convince her either.

“Sakura?” a knock on the door startled her. “It's almost eight. Are you ready?”

“Give me one more minute.”

She brushed her hair quickly and grabbed another headband with three navy blue roses whose seed was a small pearl. She applied some gloss on her lips and put a thin chain with a silver cross pendant around her neck, her father's present for her fifteenth birthday. After a last glance to the mirror, she went out of the room and ran down the stairs.

Before she had gone upstairs, she had set the table and in the middle, she had put a centrepiece she had made with poinsettia and holly and two golden coloured candles. It was Christmas Eve, after all.

As she checked once more that everything was in place and that the meal was almost ready, she found Akihiko fidgeting nervously with his tie as he looked at the clock on the kitchen wall.

“Here, let me” she said with a light laugh, straightening the knot and the neck of his shirt. “Everything will be fine” she said looking at him lovingly, letting her hands rest briefly on the lapels of his jacket.

The moment was broken by the chiming of the bell, and he breathed deeply, giving her daughter a last smile before going to the door. Sakura closed her eyes for a moment, pressing her lips, and then, followed him.

She was even more elegant and refined than she had imagined. Mikoto was wearing a dark grey coat under which Sakura could glimpse a dark red suit. Her features were delicate, enhanced by a light make-up, and her black hair was tied at the back of her nape with a beautiful hairclip.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Uchiha-san” she bowed formally, hoping her smile did not falter her at that moment, when her father introduced her.

“The pleasure is mine, and please, call me Mikoto” she answered her gesture with one of her own. “These are my sons, Itachi and Sasuke.”

As she was ready to bow again to the two men that would become her brothers, her gaze falling on them as Mikoto stepped aside, she felt her smile freeze on her lips.

In front her, next to a tall man with his long hair tied in a low ponytail, who smiled pleasantly at her, it was the person she had least expected to see in her house that night. As the boy of the train glanced at her, a knot suddenly closed her throat and her heart thundered in her chest. However, he showed no signs to recognise her.

“Sakura...?” her father murmured worriedly.

Her eyes widened and she swallowed, bowing a bit hastily.

“Nice to meet you.”

Her voice had trembled slightly and she berated herself for it. While she felt a hot blush burn her cheeks as the only word he uttered reached her ears in a low mumble, she breathed deeply, trying to calm herself. Even though her mind was racing confused, it was not the moment to feel giddy like a little girl but one to show she was a capable hostess and accompany her father in one of the most important moments of his life

'Remember what he thinks about fangirls... Remember how you usually behave on the train...'

Clenching her jaw, and with that thought in mind, Sakura straightened herself and, even though she still could feel flustered, she mustered the courage to smile politely and take Mikoto's coat, as Akihiko did the same with both men.

Her father invited them to step inside and, as Sasuke passed by her, she smelled his perfume, a soft scent which reminded her of the forest. He was very handsome dressed with a while shirt fastened with a zipper up to just below his collarbones and black jeans, a belt with a silver buckle tied around his waist.

“It should be forbidden to look so good in such simple clothes...”

.

“The food is delicious, Sakura-chan.”

“Thank you, Mikoto-san” she smiled over her glass of apple juice. “I'm really glad you're enjoying it.”

The dinner was going well. As they had taken their seats, Mikoto admiring the decoration of the table and the living room, where she had set some lanterns with candles inside on the sill of the big window in front of them, a Christmas tree near the sofa and fairy lights that highlighted certain spots of the room. As she started serving some light appetizers before the main course, the slightly tense atmosphere had started to relax gradually as Itachi broke the ice and asked some questions to Akihiko about his job, and she had admired the engagement ring that the woman wore on her left ring finger. A bit later, once the main course, roasted pork, had been served, their attention had gravitated to her and her school.

“Sakura-chan, Akihiko-san told me that you are taking your entrance exams in a few weeks... I'm sorry that our wedding is going to interfere with your studies.”

“Please, don't worry, Mikoto-san” she smiled. “I'm doing fine and it won't be a problem.”

“Then,” Itachi spoke and Sakura turned her attention to him. “She's older than Sasuke?”

“Really?”

“Yes, he's in second year of high school.”

The four of them looked at the young man briefly, and he moved uncomfortably, eating some vegetables. He had not said much during the meal, only answering when asked or agreeing. Sakura had not been very surprised by his attitude. During their brief encounters in the train, she had deduced he was not a very sociable person, always travelling alone and in his own world, cautious and keeping his distance when someone stood near here. And she supposed that being thrown in the maelstrom of their parents' engagement and marriage was being difficult for him too.

“Sasuke-kun” she called him, trying to hide her nervousness, and he glanced at her, leaving his glass on the table, his eyelids dropping a bit upon hearing the suffix attached to his name. “When were you born?”

He took a moment to reply and she swallowed hard, having the impression that in a way, she had offended him.

“July.”

She chuckled tensely and he turned his attention to his food without looking at anyone else or saying another word.

“I was born in March, so that makes me at least three months older than you.”

There was an awkward pause that Itachi filled immediately.

“It's a really short time but enough to be a year ahead at school” he picked up a small piece of meat with his fork. “A pity, Sasuke, you'll be the youngest child again.”

Sakura noticed him tighten his hold around the knife but no other reaction came from his brother's teasing.

“You'll have to be patient with him, Sakura-chan” Mikoto whispered as a small wistful smile appeared on her lips. “He's a good boy but...” she interrupted herself, doubtful about the words she should use, and then, shook her head. “Just give him a little time.”

She nodded and then, focused her attention on him again. He was talking to his brother about something, and her father was listening to them, a relaxed expression on his face. She supposed that, after so many years having only a daughter to talk to, having men in the house was refreshing for him. And, though Sakura felt a small pang of melancholy and jealousy, she also felt glad for her father. If Sasuke managed to open up to him, maybe he could become something akin to a son to him.

And, if she could forget the feelings that she had which made her heart skip a beat every time their eyes met and butterflies flutter in her stomach when his quiet words reached her ears, he could also become a brother to her.

TO BE CONTINUED

[starringemiliaclarke]

Emilia Clarke on Game of Thrones finale's shock twist: 'I stand by Daenerys'

Emilia Clarke read a paragraph in the final script for Game of Thrones.

She read it again and again. Seven times, she says, she read the words that revealed the devastating fate of Daenerys Targaryen, a character she’s portrayed on the HBO global phenomenon for nearly a decade.

“What, what, what, WHAT!?” the actress recalls thinking. “Because it comes out of f—king nowhere. I’m flabbergasted. Absolutely never saw that coming.”

It was October 2017. The actress had recently completed filming Solo: A Star Wars Story and had just returned to London following a brief vacation. She electronically received the scripts the moment she landed at Heathrow and recalls that she “completely flipped out,” turned to her traveling companion and said, “‘Oh my god! I gotta go! I gotta go!’ And they’re like, ‘You gotta get your bags!’”

Once at home, the actress prepared herself. “I got myself situated,” she says. “I got my cup of tea. I had to physically prepare the space and then begin reading them.”

Clarke swiped through pages: Daenerys arrives at Winterfell and Sansa doesn’t like her. She discovers Jon Snow is the true heir to the Iron Throne and isn’t thrilled. She fights in the battle against the Night King and survives, but loses longtime friend and protector Ser Jorah Mormont. Then her other close friend and advisor Missandei dies too. Varys betrays her. Jon Snow pulls away. Having lost half her army, two dragons, and nearly everybody she cares about, Daenerys goes full Tagaryen to win: She attacks King’s Landing and kills … thousands of civilians? Daenerys’ longtime conquest achieved, she meets with Jon Snow in the Red Keep throne room and … and then … then he …

“I cried,” Clarke says. “And I went for a walk. I walked out of the house and took my keys and phone and walked back with blisters on my feet. I didn’t come back for five hours. I’m like, ‘How am I going to do this?’”

Sitting next to Clarke on the flight, as it so happens, was Kit Harington, who plays Jon Snow. Harington deliberately hadn’t yet read the scripts so he could experience the story for the first time with all his castmates. Clarke, positively bursting with wanting to talk about her storyline, found the flight maddening. “This literally sums up Kit and I’s friendship,” she says, and sputtered: “Boy! Would you? Seriously? You’re just not?…”

At the table read, Clarke sat across from Harington so she could “watch him compute all of this.” When they got to their final scene together, recalls Harington, “I looked at Emilia and there was a moment of me realizing, ‘No, no…’”

And Clarke nodded back, sadly, ‘Yes…’

“He was crying,” Clarke says. “And then it was kind of great him not having read it.”

The main story driver of Game of Thrones’ final season is the evolution of Daenerys Targaryen from one of the show’s most-loved heroes into a destroyer of cities and would-be dictator. Author George R.R. Martin calls his saga “A Song of Ice and Fire.” Jon Snow is the stable, immovable ice of Winterfell; Daenerys the conquering, unpredictable fire of Dragonstone. After years apart, they came together in season 7. The duo fell in love, help saved the realm from a world-annihilating supernatural threat and, in the series finale, their coupling is destroyed — Daenerys perishes, while a devastated Jon Snow is banished to rejoin the Night’s Watch.

Was this ending Martin’s original plan? The author told showrunners David Benioff and Dan Weiss the intended conclusion to his unfinished novels years ago but, since then, the HBO version has made several narrative detours. The showrunners are not giving interviews about episode 6 (and told EW they plan to spend the finale offline — “drunk and far away from the Internet” as Benioff put it).

Regardless of the final season’s narrative’s origin, the Thrones writers have planned Dany’s fate for years and have foreshadowed the dark turn in the storyline. In previous seasons, producers would sometimes ask Clarke to play a scene a bit different than what she expected for a seemingly heroic character. “There’s a number of times I’ve been like: ‘Why are you giving me that note?’” Clarke says. “So yes, this has made me look back at all the notes I’ve ever had.”

After Episode 5, “The Bells,” the reaction to Dany’s “Mad Queen” turn has been explosive and frequently negative. Some critics insist Daenerys doesn’t have the capacity for such monumental evil and the twist is an example of female characters being mishandled on the series. Others say Dany’s unstable sociopathic tendencies were indeed established, but the final season moved too fast and flubbed its execution.

For Clarke, the final season arc required mapping out a series of turning points. Dany’s attack on King’s Landing might have seemed abrupt, but from the beginning of the season Daenerys has reacted with increasing anger, desperation and coldness to one setback after another, shifting the Mother of Dragons into new emotional territory that would ultimately lead to her destruction.

Sitting in her dressing room on the set of Thrones last spring, Clarke broke down Daenerys’ entire season 8 internal journey leading up to the apocalyptic King’s Landing firebombing in a single breathless monologue.

“She genuinely starts with the best intentions and truly hopes there isn’t going to be something scuttling her greatest plans,” she says. “The problem is [the Starks] don’t like her and she sees it. She goes, ‘Okay, one chance.’ She gives them that chance and it doesn’t work and she’s too far to turn around. She’s made her bed, she’s laying in it. It’s done. And that’s the thing. I don’t think she realizes until it happens — the real effect of their reactions on her is: ‘I don’t give a s—t.’ This is my whole existence. Since birth! She literally was brought into this world going, ‘Run!’ These f—kers have f—ked everything up, and now it’s, ‘You’re our only hope.’ There’s so much she’s taken on in her duty in life to rectify, so much she’s seen and witnessed and been through and lost and suffered and hurt. Suddenly these people are turning around and saying, ‘We don’t accept you.’ But she’s too far down the line. She’s killed so many people already. I can’t turn this ship around. It’s too much. One by one, you see all these strings being cut. And there’s just this last thread she’s holding onto: There’s this boy. And she thinks, ‘He loves me, and I think that’s enough.’ But is it enough? Is it? And it’s just that hope and wishing that finally there is someone who accepts her for everything she is and … he f—king doesn’t.”

And losing Missandei? “There’s a number of turning points you see for Daenerys in the season, but that’s the biggest break. There’s nothing I will not do after losing Missandei and seeing the sacrifice she was prepared to make for her. That breaks her completely. There’s nothing left to making a tough choice.”

Executing Varys for treason? “She f—king warned him last season. We love Varys. I love [actor Conleth Hill]. But he changes his colors as many times as he wants. She needs to know the people who are supporting her regardless. That was my only option, essentially, is what I mean.”

Burying Cersei Lannister under the collapse of the Red Keep? “With Cersei, it’s a complete no-brainer. Lady’s a crazy motherf—ker. She’s going down.”

Yet Clarke also had another, more personal reaction to Dany’s meltdown. “I have my own feelings [about the storyline] and it’s peppered with my feelings about myself,” she admits. “It’s gotten to that point now where you read [comments about] the character you [have to remind yourself], ‘They’re not talking about you, Emilia, they’re talking about the character.”

Like many actors who have played the same role for a long time, Clarke identifies with her character and has put much of herself into the role. She believes in Daenerys’ confidence, idealism and past acts of compassion. As the actress wrote in a New Yorkeressay in March, she played the Breaker of Chains through some life-threatening personal hardships, secretly enduring two brain aneurysms during her early years on the show. “You go on set and play a badass and you walk through fire and that became the thing that saved me from considering my own mortality,” she wrote. Clarke has drawn strength from Daenerys and infused Daenerys with her strength.

“I genuinely did this, and it’s embarrassing and I’m going to admit it to you,” Clarke says. “I called my mom and—“ Clarke shifts into a tearful voice to perform the conversation as she reenacts the call: “I read the scripts and I don’t want to tell you what happens but can you just talk me off this ledge? It really messed me up.’ And then I asked my mom and brother really weird questions. They were like: ‘What are you asking us this for? What do you mean do I think Daenerys is a good person? Why are you asking us that question? Why do you care what people think of Daenerys? Are you okay?’”

“And I’m all: ‘I’m fine! … But is there anything Daenerys could do that would make you hate her?’”

During EW’s visit to Northern Ireland last March, I took a walk with co-executive producer Bryan Cogman into the dark woods near the production camp. It was around midnight and bitterly cold. Our boots scrunched on the muddy gravel and the bustling sounds of crew activity from the set slowly receded into the distance.

“Emilia has been threading that needle beautifully this season,” Cogman says. “It’s the hardest job anybody has on this show.”

As we pass crew members our voices cautiously go silent. While Dany’s Mad Queen arc was known by all, her death in the finale was a secret even among many who work on the show. Killing Daenerys was a massive and difficult move. On a show that’s introduced dozens of distinctive breakout characters, Daenerys is arguably the most easily identifiable and iconic. She is T-shirts and coffee mugs and posters and bobbleheads and memes and the name of hundreds of kids around the world with GoTfan parents; a fearless figure of female empowerment.

“I still don’t know how I feel about a lot of what happens this season and I helped write it,” Cogman says. “It’s emotionally very challenging. It’s designed to not feel good. That said, I don’t think that’s a bad thing. The best drama is the type you have to think about. There’s a dangerous tendency right now to make art and popular culture to feel safe for everybody and make everybody feel okay when watching and I don’t believe in that. The show is messy and grey and that’s where it’s always lived — from Jaime pushing a little boy out the window to Ned Stark’s death to the Red Wedding. This is the kind of story that’s meant to unsettle you and challenge you and make you think and question. I think that was George’s intent and what David and Dan wanted to do. However you feel about the final episodes of this show I don’t think anybody will ever accuse us of taking the easy way out.”

I point out Daenerys’ final season arc shifts the entire series, or at least her role in it. Upon rewatch, every Daenerys scene will now be viewed differently; the story of the rise of a villain more than a hero.

“Yes, although I don’t know if she’s a villain,” Cogman says. “This is a tragedy. She’s a tragic figure in a very Shakespearean and Greek sense. When Jon asks Tyrion [in the finale] if they were wrong and Tyrion says, ‘Ask me again in 10 years,’ I think that’s valid.”

Tyrion actor Peter Dinklage says the showrunners on set compared Dany’s dragon-bombing of King’s Landing to the U.S. dropping nuclear bombs on the Japanese cities Hiroshima and Nagasaki to decisively end World War II in 1945. “That’s what war is,” Dinklage says. “Did we make the right choices in war? How much longer would [WWII] have gone on if we didn’t make horrible decisions? We love Daenerys. All the fans love Daenerys, and she’s doing these things for the greater good. ‘The greater good’ has been in the headlines lately… when freeing everyone for the greater good you’re going to hurt some innocents along the way, unfortunately.”

Gwendoline Christie, who plays Brienne of Tarth, adds there’s another political lesson to be learned in the final season as well. “The signs have actually always been there,” Christie says of Daenerys. “And they’ve been there in ways we felt at the time were just mistakes or controversial. At this time, it’s important to question true motives. This show has always been about power and, more than ever, it’s an interesting illustration that people in pursuit of power can come in many different forms and we need to question everything.” 

Killing Daenerys also forever changes Jon Snow, leading to his circular fate: returning to serve the rest of his life at The Wall. Harington spoke about the show’s finale in a production tent on the season 8 set, his voice so cautiously low a recorder could barely pick him up. Harington explained he avoids talking about the death scene on the set, and he and Clarke came up with a secret hand signal to refer to it — touching a fist to their heart.

“I think it’s going to divide,” Harington says of the finale’s fan reaction. “But if you track her story all the way back, she does some terrible things. She crucifies people. She burns people alive. This has been building. So, we have to say to the audience: ‘You’re in denial about this woman as well. You knew something was wrong. You’re culpable, you cheered her on.’”

Harington adds he worries the final two episodes will be accused of being sexist, an ongoing criticism of GoT that has recently resurfaced perhaps more pointedly than ever before. “One of my worries with this is we have Cersei and Dany, two leading women, who fall,” he says. “The justification is: Just because they’re women, why should they be the goodies? They’re the most interesting characters in the show. And that’s what Thrones has always done. You can’t just say the strong women are going to end up the good people. Dany is not a good person. It’s going to open up discussion but there’s nothing done in this show that isn’t truthful to the characters. And when have you ever seen a woman play a dictator?”

There’s plenty of tragedy for Jon as well, he points out. “This is the second woman he’s fallen in love with who dies in his arms and he cradles her in the same way,” Harington notes. “That’s an awful thing. In some ways, Jon did the same thing to [his Wildling lover] Ygritte by training the boy who kills her. This destroys Jon to do this.”

Back in Clarke’s dressing room, the actress is preparing to film one of her final scenes on the series. Understandably, she can’t quite bring herself to feel sorry for Jon Snow.

“Um, he just doesn’t like women does he?” Clarke quips. “He keeps f—king killing them. No. If I were to put myself in his shoes I’m not sure what else he could have done aside from … oh, I dunno, maybe having a discussion with me about it? Ask my opinion? Warn me? It’s like being in the middle of a phone call with your boyfriend and they just hang up and never call you again. ‘Oh, this great thing happened to me at work today —hello?’ And that was 9 years ago…”

Clarke’s phone call metaphor is characteristically witty, and the actress has given some fascinating insight about the season as a whole. But nothing yet quite feels like the bottom, the blunt truth of how she feels about Daenerys’ fate.

“You’re about to ask if me — as Emilia — disagreed with her at any point,” Clarke intuits. “It was a f—king struggle reading the scripts. What I was taught at drama school — and if you print this there will be drama school teachers going ‘that’s bulls—t,’ but here we go: I was told that your character is right. Your character makes a choice and you need to be right with that. An actor should never be afraid to look ugly. We have uglier sides to ourselves. And after 10 years of working on this show, it’s logical. Where else can she go? I tried to think what the ending will be. It’s not like she’s suddenly going to go, ‘Okay, I’m gonna put a kettle on and put cookies in the oven and we’ll just sit down and have a lovely time and pop a few kids out.’ That was never going to happen. She’s a Targaryen.”

“I thought she was going to die,” she continues. “I feel very taken care of as a character in that sense. It’s a very beautiful and touching ending. Hopefully, what you’ll see in that last moment as she’s dying is: There’s the vulnerability — there’s the little girl you met in season 1. See? She’s right there. And now, she’s not there anymore…”

A crew member comes for Clarke and she stands up. It’s time for her to go. Clarke begins to walk away, turns around, breaks away from the staffer, and comes back.

There’s one last thing she wants you to know.

“But having said all of the things I’ve just said…” Clarke says. “I stand by Daenerys. I stand by her! I can’t not.”

Source

Emilia Clarke on Game of Thrones finale’s shock twist: ‘I stand by Daenerys’ was originally published on Enchanting Emilia Clarke | Est 2012

[littleliv1]

I Was Born To Love You- Part Two

Hey guys! I’m getting great feed back from my previous posts and thank you all so much for it! I’m taking requests and prompt ideas so just lmk what you’re looking for!

Summary: Leah and Austin are growing further apart, but she meets the guys today, and becomes their assistant as well.

Warning: slight angst, kissing, but that’s about it

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was weeks later, and Austin started to come home later and later. Always with a different excuse, but backed up by Shelly, and always came home smelling the same. I stared to dread coming home, but I did because I knew I’d get to be with my baby, Lola. Whatever he was going through, I knew it wasn't something I could help with. And it hurt so bad. He stared to get physical. There were marks on my arm from him grabbing me and throwing me against the wall. I started to question who I was truly married to.

I loved work, though. Today was the day that I got to meet the cast. And, from what Mr. Singer has told me, they were excited to meet 'the best assistant that one could have'. It was 5 am. I got up, looking next to me. Austin was passed out. We had a nice night last night, one that was definitely needed. I knew he was getting worse, but I still loved him. I kissed him on the shoulder as I got up to put a shirt on. I grabbed my cloths for the day, my phone, and went to shower.

I wanted to make a good impression on the cast. Being a very hot day in California, I wore navy blue, black, and white shorts, not too short so I didn't look sleazy, but short enough to show off my tan legs. I also wore a low cut, loose fitting tank top with a sports bra, but grabbing a light jacket to cover my arms. I put my hair in a ponytail and let the natural curl do it's thing. I slipped on my tennis shoes and left. It was 7 am. I always left the house at 7 am. I grabbed coffee, the usual, one iced vanilla late for me and one straight black for Mr. Singer. I drank all of mine before I got to the staging area. They hadn't began filming yet, but they were just getting a feel for the vibe of the movie, going over lines, things of that nature. I showed up at 7:45 am. Right on time, like usual. I sped walked into the building, meeting Mr. Singer as he sped walked, handing him his coffee. "What a delight to see you this fine morning, my dearest friend." I smiled at the word friend. Stacy never called me her friend. "You too, Mr. Singer. How was your weekend? You hadn't called or anything on Sunday, I assume you didn't need anything?" I asked him. He laughed a bit. "My darling, why would I have called you on a Sunday?" He asked. "Enough with 'me' talk. Let's talk about the guys." He said, both still speed walking. To where, I weren't sure. I just followed.

"Alright," I said. "I'm asking you this because I trust that you'll be honest with me." He stopped, so I stopped. He turned to face me. "I know you're my assistant. And you're a damn good one, my dear. But there aren't many things I need much help with. So you wouldn't be doing much other than getting food and coffee. How would you feel about also assisting the boys?" He asked. My eyes widened. "As in?" I asked. "As in Gwilym Lee, Ben Hardy, Rami Malek, Joe Mazzelo, as well as Brian May and Roger Taylor. I know it's a lot, they're not high maintenance and they tend to do things for their own, but I'll pay for 6 times the amount we pay you now, one time for each person. I know it sounds like a challenge, but I think you could do it, but only if you want to." He said. I laughed, almost in disbelief. I stuttered at first. "Y-yeah, Yes! Yes! I'd love to! This is amazing, thank you so much, sir!" I said as he pulled you into a hug. "Call me Bryan, love."

I stared walking again. I was staring at the ground, smiling so big. This was amazing. And it was your honor to serve the legends that are Brian May and Roger Taylor. I could only imagine, though, how much of a prick they might be. Wow I'm pretty nervous. He stopped at a door, looking over to me. "Do you need a moment to compose yourself, darling?" He asked, smiling. I kept a straight face, shaking my head. I remembered what Stacy said, that if i didn't remain professional I'd loose everything. "Alrighty, then." He said, opening the door, the six of them stood there.

I had never heard of any of them besides the two. They were all, so, surprisingly handsome. "Good morning once again boys, this is Maleah, your new assistant, also long time queen fan as I've understood." He smirked over, looking at me. My face turned bright red, as I refused to make eye contact. I knew if I did, I'd lose my mind. But there they were. They all shook my hand, introducing themselves. They were all so kind. I noticed a pair of light blue eyes that munched resembled mine. Bryan handed me the clip board, there were a list of things to get done for them, not at the fault of them, of course, but the list was lengthy. I didn't mind, though. "Don't worry about getting everything done today, I want you to spend the next few days getting to know them. You'll find that at the end of the week, you'll have done everything on that list." He said to me, turning to the rest. "As for all of us. Get to know each other. You will all be spending a lot of time together. We start filming next Monday. But, we're flying out to London." That word trailed off in my mind.

'I'm so sorry, Maleah. Your Mum and dad passed in the wreck." I heard the doctor say over the phone. I fell to my knees, crying, as Austin cried with me.

"We are starting at the Live-Aid performance. On your free time, study that performance. Watch it thousands of times. Memorize what your person does, when, and how they do it. Mr. May and Mr. Taylor, please follow me as we will start with our own work" He said to the two older men. I looked up at them smiling slightly. Roger pulled me into a hug. "Welcome, Love. So glad to have you with us." He said, as Brian hugged me as well. "So so glad to have you, dear." He said.

'Holy shit! That just happened!'

I was still in awe until I heard a deep British voice chime in. "Big fan of queen, yeah?" The tall one named Gwilym said. I looked at him, nodding my head, slightly smiling. "Well don't be shy, Maleah, tell us about yourself." The blonde one named Ben said, patting the chair next to him. You sat the clip board on the coffee table, sitting down. "For starters, call me Leah. What do you want to know?" I asked. I wasn't sure of how to respond, it wasn't normal for my bosses to know personal things about me. The one named Joe raised his hand. I giggled slightly as I raised your eyebrows. "Do you have any animals?" He asked. I smiled. "Why yes I do. She's a German Shepherd named Lola." I showed them my lock screen of me, Lola, and Austin. Rami took the phone. "This is too precious. Is this your husband, or brother, or?" He asked. I looked slightly down and slightly shameful. "My, uh, husband." I said. I could feel the tense atmosphere in the room. But Joe broke the tension.

Hours had gone bye and we were cracking up listening to stories of the most embarrassing moments they've had. I started to get slightly hot after laughing for so long, so I decided to take off my jacket, forgetting about the marks on my arm. Ben took notice of it, while the others were laughing at a story Gwilym was telling. Ben and I made eye contact as I slowly pulled my jacket back up. "Well, mates, I'm going to show Leah where all of the important things are, if that's alright with you guys?" He asked, giving a thumbs up for confirmation. I inhaled slowly knowing I'd have to explain to him what happened. They all said it was fine and that they needed a break from laughing so much. Ben and I started walking throughout the studio, walking outside. It was silent for a few minutes.

"So," He started. I looked up at him. "Are you gonna tell me what those are?" He asked, raising an eye brow. I looked down. "I don't know what you're talking about." I said quietly. He stopped me, gently taking off my jacket. "Love, what are these?" He asked, lightly running his fingers over the bruise. It felt nice to be touched in a non-sexual and non-abusive type of way. It made me feel warm inside. Comforted. "I wouldn't suppose you'd believe me if I said birth mark?" I asked, turning my head. "If they were you wouldn't have put your jacket back on. Tell me what happened, if you're in trouble-" "No!" I snapped. He wouldn't  understand that my husband is very ill, that there's something wrong with him, and that I can't leave him. I calmed down. "I'm not in trouble, I just-" I trailed off. "I don't know." I said quieter. He sat me down on a near by bench.

"Talk to me. What's going on?" He asked. I knew he cared, which was nice of him, but it raised slight fury in me; it wasn't any of his business what was going on. "Don't worry about it right now, please. If it because an issue, I'll tell someone, maybe, it's just complicated. Please don't say anything." I begged, gripping his arm. He looked down and smiled at the sight. He nodded, looking back up at me. "I won't. But if I see more after these it's going to become an issue and I'd hope you'd tell someone." He replied. I let go, nodding your head understandably.

After the day was over, I went home, not surprisingly, with no one else there. It was about 8 pm, I was pretty late. I was hungry and didn't want to wait on Austin. So I cooked some Mac and cheese, green beans, and left over spaghetti from the night before. After I finished eating, I watched some TV with Lola. She had her own place next to me with her head in my lap. About 15 after 10, I got tired of waiting for him to come home. I wrote a note to my very late husband saying how I fixed him a plate and put it in the microwave, and how with the new job working for all of the guys now I'll probably get home around 8 or 9 every night now. I signed it 'with love' and went to bed.

I woke up around 4 am to Austin climbing into bed. Unbelievable. I faked being asleep. I could feel his eyes staring at me. Instead of cuddling up to me, he just took more blanket and went to sleep.

Once I got home from work that day, Austin was actually home. I smiled at him. "Hello, darling," I said. He was leaning against the table, something was wrong. I grazed my hand over his back. "Everything alright?" I asked. He gently batted my hand away. He nodded his head. After a moment, he turned to me.

"Can I make dinner tonight?" He asked. "Well, sure, if you want, I really don't mind it," I said. "No, you spend all day everyday working for, men, just to come home to work for another. When only one of those men respects you. I'll make your favorite food." I giggled. "My actual favorite food or my favorite dinner?" I replied, smiling. "Your actual favorite. Popcorn, root-beer, and the newest season of 'say yes to the dress'." He replied, sniffling. I could tell he had been crying. I smiled. "You're so sweet, my love."

I cupped his jaw with my hand, giving him a gentle kiss. "I'm thankful to come home to you." I said. He pulled my hand from his face, kissing your palm. He popped the pop corn as I turned on the tv in the living room. Lola got on the couch to join me, sitting right next to my side, like she had been the last few weeks. I saw Austin coming and I motioned her to get down. The show hadn't started yet, so I decided to take this time to talk to him. "Talk to me, love, anything new going on at work?" I asked, muting the TV.  He shook his head, drinking a beer. "Any new bands about to start their first tour?" I asked. Again, no verbal response, just a shake of the head. "Well, I have some pretty exciting news to tell you," I said. He looked over at you. "I'm going to London next week, and I think we will be gone for 4-6 weeks." I said. I knew it was a shock, but I was hoping he wouldn't be too mad. "That's nice, dear." He said looking at the TV, unmuting it. He finished the beer he had just opened, just to get a new one. I started to feel a pit of shame forming in my belly from the rejection I felt by my husband.

I hope you are enjoying this serious as much as I enjoy writing it. Again, any requests, shoot me an inbox and I’ll get to it! Thank you loves xx

[lololollywrites]

thoughts about being 29 on the internet that i just had in the shower...

...and had to write down. they were all basically just about how f**king - NEW. and surreal. the internet, its capabilities, and its fandoms can still be to me sometimes. i feel like i forget this a lot. but when i think about it, i can easily recall my wonder at discovering that it all existed in waves of smaller finds. and because i know there are others like me, i thought i’d share some of my own experiences. because honestly, i’ve had fewer years on tumblr and sites like it than some people much younger than me. i’m catching up and enjoying it.

firstly, i know i’m old to some of you, but i’m not really old. not really. i’m still a millennial, screwed over by student loans and old white men and viewed as part of the technological generation. i’m a phd student, and because i’m always on a college campus, i’ve been mistaken as a freshman. a few times. but it’s been fascinating to witness actual freshman and other college students and consider just how different things are for them and honestly? i’m sort of jealous. 

because...

i can remember when i first discovered that fanfiction existed. i was in third period tech skills as a junior in high school - 16 years old - and got a little off-topic and searched for spoilers for a new supernatural episode. this was in 2005 and the show had just come out (yes i still watch, i can’t escape).

and what did i find? somehow? fanfiction.net. i was, no exaggeration, shocked. i sat and read a full-length chaptered fic in episodic format. my mouth was hanging open. i saw thousands more fics in hundreds of fandoms and suddenly felt less strange for envisioning full-scale episode re-imaginings in my head as i laid in bed, dissatisfied with what i had just watched. (btw, i watched new supernatural episodes the sunday after they used to originally air on the wb on thursdays, at my mom’s house where i had my own room and own tiny tv, because no one at my dad’s house wanted to watch and streaming episodes wasn’t something i could even imagine. plus i didn’t have internet at my dad’s house. i know.)

not only that, but i was impressed as hell. here was me, not even aware that you could somehow upload your own text to the internet, and people were not simply writing polished stories in private but posting them somewhere that allowed for chapters. that allowed for people all over the world to read their words. that categorized everything into a huge virtual library. and, most incredibly to me, that allowed for reviews from people around the world.

i couldn’t believe that this new world was open to me. that people would be so generous as to offer amazing stories to me to read FOR FREE. that i had a limitless supply of content to read and review. i barely had functioning internet at home, so i had been sheltered. i told the people sitting next to me in class about it and encouraged them to check it out, mostly to blank stares. i may have even told the teacher, but no one cared. i didn’t understand. who wouldn’t be interested? i told my dad and my sister about it when i got home from school. i was mind-blown.

months in and many reads and written reviews later, i wrote my first fic. it was for smallville. 6 chapters, with updates every few days, that received 14 reviews in total. i read them all multiple times. i showed my sister. i checked the story stats every half hour. i cried. i wrote on the family computer secretly in the evening when most of my family had gone upstairs, because i was about half a year away from owning my first laptop. i wrote more stories sporadically for about 6 years, gradually getting better, but also gradually becoming more stressed and aware of negativity, online arguments, and the embarrassment and shame i suddenly felt about having an online presence. i found a supernatural forum at tv.com (the forums sadly no longer exist), learned about fandom, and immersed myself in posting and being part of a community that i thought understood me more than my friends. like a secret life.

during my first year of college, in 2007, i was in a friend’s dorm when he asked everyone if we wanted to watch an episode of scrubs. i laughed. surely he was joking. “how can we just watch an episode? it’s not on now and you don’t have the dvds.” i literally didn’t consider that there may have been a way. he excitedly told us that he had found some website that had episodes just... pre-uploaded. and that you could just click. i didn’t believe him. the stress of having to be at the tv at a certain time each week for fear of missing an episode entirely and forever was just part of being a fan, right? buying the tv guide and checking listings was necessary. but he found the episode. and clicked. it only took a few full minutes to load and there it was. again, i was astounded. this memory is so shockingly clear to me. it changed how i spent much of my free time, for one. just that moment.

sometime during this first year of college, i was home for break and came across a video on youtube, this new website i had started to use. it reminded me of ebaum’s world, which my friend would show me at her house sometimes because her computer was faster than mine. it was called “cat soup”, and by two guys that called themselves smosh. it had more views than i could comprehend - probably not much more than 5 digits, but still. they were just two kids i could have gone to school with who could create a funny video and get famous. again, i was shocked. mind-blown.

i showed my sister, my mom, and all my friends. they appreciated it a bit more than the fanfiction, but no one seemed to grasp how incredible and revolutionary it was. they all liked “shoes”, with the kelly persona by liam kyle sullivan (we still quote it today), probably because its budget and effects made it a bit more familiarly professional and it appeared less homemade (though it definitely was). but i couldn’t forget smosh. i was so impressed by them. i watched more videos and eventually found communitychannel and jenna marbles and eviliguana and shane dawson. i even found fan edits for my faves, buffy (maybe i saw one of phil’s, lol) and supernatural and smallville, and tried making my own. i freaked in 2009 or so when fred reached a million subscribers. a million. i couldn’t wrap my head around that. again, i told my sister and friends, expecting them to see the enormity of something so crazy happening, and they just... didn’t.

back in 2008, after watching “stick it” again, i recalled the name of a gymnast my cousin used to always talk about when we were kids - from the 1996 olympics - and looked her up on youtube. i realized that all gymnastics competitions imaginable had been uploaded. again - not to be repetitive - but i was shocked. there’s no better word. i gave myself a thorough education on the sport, traveling through time. i am still so grateful that i was able to do that.

sometime in 2009, my friends started pestering me to create a facebook account. i was a junior in college. 20 years old already. it sounded weird - pictures of me online? why? but i gave into pressure and made one. my mom had never allowed us to make a myspace; we were a bit young, and she hated the idea (now, she’s on facebook more than i am). around the same time i got my fanciest phone yet - an LG Env3. i figured out that it could access the internet and that i could use songs to create ringtones. again, sufficiently mind-blown. considering my first cell phone had been a flip phone with no camera that i shared with my sister during emergencies when i was 13, i felt that technology was coming along fast. 

smart phones were foreign to me for a long long time, until recently actually. i thought they were unnecessary for quite a while. i don’t even remember what phones i had at the end of college and through grad school, but i’m pretty sure they consisted of a series of cheap pay-as-you-go phones from walmart. in 2013, i went to china for a year to teach. i got a cheap phone there and used it for about 7 months. one day, a friend of mine gave me his old htc smartphone because he was getting a new one. i didn’t know how to use it, but i played one app on repeat before class and snapped some low-quality photos. after that, i almost immediately went to indonesia for another 9 months to teach high school (2014-2015). the htc phone died very quickly, so i used the nokia brick phone given to me by the organization. it was fine. i had never even used my old smartphone to access the internet, aside from wechat, thanks to china’s internet blocks. it wasn’t until i got home, in the summer of 2015, that i finally got an iphone. it was a huge deal and a big learning curve. it was also around this time that i found dan and phil and tumblr. i only got my macbook two years ago and finally think i have some things figured out.

so i may be old in some ways and remember floppy disks and the card catalog and using encyclopedias to write my middle school papers and huge computers with black screens and green text that displayed math problems in elementary school. i may be able to remember the sound of ancient, huge printers that used reams of paper with perforated, tearable strips down each side. i may remember aol red, dial-up, and not being able to connect if someone was on the phone. but i can also remember watching technology evolve in front of me, discovering fandom and the huge world of content and friendship that lay ahead. and when people try to say i’m too old to like dan and phil, i remind them that dan and phil can also remember. we’re the same age. i relate to them and their stories. to phil’s buffy obsession. to dan’s love of smosh. i’ve only had about 10 fully-cognizant years here on the internet, and only a couple in the world of tumblr and iphones and mobile apps. i’m young in those ways. and i look young enough that strangers sometimes think i’m a teenager. 

that’s laughable to me in some ways, because i’ve lived so much since my teen years. so much has happened. but in others, i don’t feel much different. there’s no age where you just feel grown up. that your interests vanish. that things suddenly seem childish and dumb. yes, i cringe about some things i wrote or did back then and i think i’ve matured, but my interests are all still relatively similar and i can finally explore them in ways that i just couldn’t before.

i hope that this has made sense. and i hope that some can relate.

[catalinda04]

Carried Away Chapter 44: School Daze

Masterlist

Henry consulted the recipe on his tablet. The search he had done for a simple Bolognese recipe had turned up literally thousands of recipes. He had chosen one that seemed simple enough. He didn’t know how wrong he was until he was already too far in to turn back.

“What in bloody hell does chiffonade mean?” He asked to the empty kitchen. He found himself looking for videos on YouTube to reference what the recipe meant with each new culinary term. This was the first time, since the disastrous salt incident, that he had attempted cooking anything more difficult than a baked pork chop and a vegetable. He was determined to show Lucy, and himself, that he could, in fact, make a meal without messing something up. He also wanted to treat Lucy. She had been working so hard with the play, we wanted to see that she was taken care of, since taking care of herself was not her priority.

Lucy arrived home and took in the wonderful aroma filling the kitchen. She walked to the stovetop, and lifted the lid on the sauce simmering away. She picked up the spoon laying next to the pot, and dipped it in the sauce for a taste. She let out an involuntary groan when the sauce touched her taste buds.

“I take it you approve?” Henry asked from the doorway. Lucy spun around, the spoon still in her mouth, a startled expression in her eyes.

“Henry, this is delicious! Did you make this?” she asked, emphasizing the word make.

“I did.” He confirmed.

“From scratch?” She asked disbelieving.

“Well, the tomatoes came from a tin, but yes, everything else is from scratch.” He replied proudly. Lucy walked to him, and gave him a celebratory kiss.

“Cariño, this is amazing. But you really don’t need to go to all this trouble. I don’t think I’ve ever made spaghetti sauce from scratch. My recipe, is open jar, pour into pot with browned hamburger. Ta-da!”

“It was something I wanted to attempt, after the Great Salt Disaster of 2015, I wanted to prove that I was capable of making edible food. And I want to pamper you a bit, since you won’t take care of yourself, I’m making it my job to take care of you.” Henry explained walking her back to the stove. He took a wine glass from the counter and filled it from an open bottle sitting next to it. “Here, take this, and go change into your ‘comfies’, as you call them. This will take another 20 minutes, according to the recipe.”

Lucy did as she was told, and took her glass of wine into the bedroom. She quickly traded her professional casual attire, for black leggings, with an oversized long-sleeved t-shirt over the top. She went to the bathroom to wash the grime of the day off her face, and throw her hair in a messy bun. She went back to the kitchen “Can I help with anything?” Lucy asked, watching Henry chop ingredients for a salad.

“No, I have everything well in hand, you go to the living room, and don’t come until you’re called.” He said, kissing her cheek, before turning her back toward the living room and swatting her bottom to send her on her way.

Lucy ambled to the living room, sipping her wine. She sat in her favorite arm chair, with a view of the kitchen, so she could watch Henry work. And idea struck her and she pulled out her phone, and snapped a picture of Henry chopping what, she couldn’t tell. She sent it to the Cavill wives group text. “Came home from work, and was told I’m not allowed to help. Sitting here with my wine, enjoying the view.” It didn’t take long before she got a response. It was from Heather, Charlie’s wife.

“He’s making dinner? Are you going to eat it? Brave girl.”

Lucy laughed before responding, “I’ve been teaching him how to cook, he claims he made Bolognese from scratch, and I believe him, he wouldn’t try that one twice.”

“You’ll have to let us know how it is.” Heather wrote back.

The next reply came from Simon’s wife Eva. “You’ve domesticated him. Never thought we’d see the day. Enjoy sweetie!”

“Gracias!” Was Lucy’s response to Eva.

Finally Lucy was allowed in the kitchen. Henry had plated the pasta and sauce and set the table. He poured them each another glass of wine. “Two glasses of wine on a school night, I’ll be asleep by 7!” she laughed.

“I shall try to keep you from falling asleep in your pasta.” Henry joked.

Lucy lowered her face, close to her plate and inhaled deeply. “This smells amazing.” She inserted her fork and twirled a few strands of the pasta. She brought the bite to her lips; Henry’s eyes followed her every movement, waiting with baited breath. Lucy groaned when the flavors hit her tongue. “This is delicious!” Lucy confirmed, at Henry’s questioning look. A smile spread across his handsome face, and he started on his own plate.

“Why do I feel like I’m being buttered up for something?” Lucy said, after they’d both enjoyed their first few bites.

“I just want to make sure that you’re taken care of.” Henry defended. “Though, now that you mention it. I received a call today,  they’ve scheduled re-shoots for The Man from U.N.C.L.E. I have to leave the 6th.”

“The 6th as in this Friday?” Lucy yelled.

“No, sorry, the 6th of March. It will hopefully not be more than 10 days. I’ll need to fly back to London on the 6th, so I can be ready for shooting on Monday.” Henry explained.

“So, not for another month. Ok. Well Kal will be happy to see you, and you can sleep at home at least, which will be nice I’m sure.”

“Yes, I will be happy to see Kal, but it means leaving you.” Henry insisted.

“Admit it, you’ll be happy to have some personal space again.” Lucy quipped.

“I’ll be happy to not have you kicking me all night.” Henry laughed.

“I’ll be happy to not have a space heater in bed with me. You’re so hot in bed.”

“That’s not something you’ve ever complained about before.” Henry said suggestively. Lucy laughed.

Lucy met Emma for coffee after school later that week. Once they’d both gotten their drinks and treats they retreated to a table to have some girl time.

“Do you have to rush home?” Emma asked.

“No, Henry has curling tonight, so I won’t see him until he gets home.”

“I still can’t believe that Ryan convinced him to be on his curling team.”

“I’m glad. He doesn’t have any friends here, so for him to get to do a guy’s night once a week is good for him. Plus it gets him out of the house once a week.”

“Doesn’t he get out of the house otherwise?”

“Well he goes to a trainer in Duluth 4 days a week, but that’s during the day. Otherwise, he’s just ALWAYS there. I love him, and I want him with me, but I’ve never lived with anyone before. This is totally new territory for me! Sometimes I just need a little bit of alone time. Like a couple weeks ago. I had a horrible day, my 9th graders were being extra 9th grade-y, and every driver I encountered on my way home was driving like an idiot, I was just done dealing with people by the time I got home. And I told Henry that. I said, “I need 10 minutes where I don’t have to deal with anyone right now. I’ll be in the bedroom.” And he followed me to see if he could do anything, I mean it was really sweet, but I snapped at him, then I felt horrible, and I had to apologize for being in a bad mood.”

Throughout Lucy’s tirade, Emma, just smirked. “Welcome to being in a relationship.” she said and laughed. “So other than the constant togetherness, which I understand, it can be overwhelming, how is everything going?”

“Other than that? It’s been great. I mean, we’ve had our little squabbles about wet towels and dirty laundry on the bedroom floor. He’s way neater than I am; my house has never been so tidy. But other than the little stuff, it’s amazing. I taught him how to cook, he gave my number to a strange man, who happened to be Tom Hiddleston. Did I tell you that? Tom Hiddleston has my phone number, I have HIS! We’re learning so much about each other. We definitely needed this time.”

“Well, I’m happy for you. I’ve never seen you so happy.”

“I am happy. I’m not looking forward to next month though. He has to go back to London for re-shoots, so he’ll be gone for almost 2 weeks. You should come over some night while he’s gone and we’ll have a girls night in; pedicures, movies, carbs, it’ll be great!”

“I’d like that. I feel like I haven’t seen you much since he came.”

“It was January, you never see me in January. Between the play and the end of the semester, I don’t have time for anything not school related.”

“I know. I’m glad the play is done, and I’d love to have a girl’s night.”

“Yay!” Lucy clapped her hands in front of her face. “Now, what’s new with you?”

One week after the Bolognese dinner, Lucy came home to an empty house. There was a note from Henry on the counter telling her he’d gone to the grocery store, well actually he said market, but Lucy said grocery store, and that he would be bringing dinner home. Lucy sighed in relief, and went to change her clothes.

Once she was in her favorite leggings and Henry’s flannel shirt, she sat in her favorite chair to catch something on TV. When Henry arrived 30 minutes later that’s exactly where he found her. In her chair, with the TV on, sleeping.

He smiled at the sight of her in his flannel. After he set down his shopping bags and put the food he’d purchased away, he walked over to Lucy. She looked so serene sleeping, he hated to wake her, but he knew if he didn’t she wouldn’t sleep that night. He smiled as a thought came to him, and he lowered himself to kiss her awake, like Sleeping Beauty. Unlike Sleeping Beauty, Lucy startled awake, screamed, and punched him in the collar bone.

Henry jumped back, rubbing his chest where she’d hit him. Lucy’s hands covered her mouth in horror. “Oh, my god, Henry! I’m so sorry. You startled me! I must have really been out!”

Henry rubbed at the spot, not altogether convinced he wouldn't have a bruise, “It’s ok darling. I wasn’t thinking. That’s quite an arm you’ve got on you.” He laughed.

“Well, I used to take martial arts lessons in high school, they must have stuck around,” she said standing. “What time is it?”

“About 5:15. So you can’t have been out long.”

“Long enough.” Lucy yawned. What did you get for dinner?” she asked, sniffing.

“Just a pizza. Nothing we have to cook.” Henry replied.

“Good, I’m too tired for anything complicated.” She said, wrapping her arms around Henry to give him a quick kiss before wandering into the kitchen to get plates and silverware.

Once they were seated and eating, Henry asked, “Darling, can I ask you something, it might sound offensive, but I can’t figure a way to word it, that doesn’t come off offensive.”

Lucy gave him a skeptical look. “Ok…How about you ask, and I’ll try not to be offended. But no promises.”

“I don’t understand how you’re so tired every evening. It’s not as though your job is physically demanding.” Henry said, stumbling over his words.

Lucy stared at him for several long seconds, her brows drawn together.

“Is that a terribly offensive thing to say to a teacher?” Henry asked.

Lucy opened and closed her mouth several times before answering. “I’m going to go with ignorantly offensive. I know you weren’t trying to belittle me, or my career, but when you say something like that, that’s how it comes across. What is it that you think I do all day?”

“Lecture, provide lessons, lead discussions. Nothing really physical.”

“I suppose you’re right, it’s not a physical job, except the whole standing for 6 hours thing. I mean it’s not doing a fight scene over and over and over again, but it’s more mentally exhausting than physically exhausting. Those things you mentioned, that’s about ¼ of my job.”

“What else is entailed? I’m asking because I’m genuinely curious.”

“Well, while I’m presenting lessons, the kids don’t just sit there passively, so there’s classroom management, lesson planning, grading. Then there’s my duties as class advisor that give me migraines just thinking about them.” She said, and after a short pause she smiled. “Why don’t you come observe my class for a day? See what really goes on in a classroom. I saw how you work, it’s only fair you see how I work.”

“I think I’d like that.” he smiled.

“I’ll get the paperwork going tomorrow, and you should be able to come sometime next week.” Lucy grinned.

“I can’t wait.” Henry replied.

The following day, Lucy got approval from her principal to have Henry in the school for a day, then on the way back to her room she was struck by a bolt of inspiration, and made a detour to the elementary wing of the school. She knocked on a door to see a pretty, blonde woman, about 2 years older than herself, sorting papers into mailbox cubbies.

“Hola Señorita! What can I do for you this morning?”

“Hey Lindie. I was wondering if I could ask you for a favor.”

“Why don’t you ask me, then I’ll tell you.” The woman responded smiling.

“So my boyfriend, he doesn’t understand why I’m so tired everyday when I get home, so I’m going to bring him in to shadow me for a day. I have first hour prep, could I possibly bring him in here for the first hour of the day?”

“You want him to see Kindergarteners at the beginning of the day?”

“Yeah. And if you could do like an art project involving glitter or something that would be great. He doesn’t understand, and I want him to have the whole spectrum of experiences.”

“Definitely not the glitter, but I can for sure take him on for first hour.” Lindie said smiling evilly.

“Great! I’ll bring him down just after the bell rings, and come get him just before the end of first hour. He’ll be here for about 50 minutes. I’m thinking it will be next Thursday. Does that work?”

“I’m writing it in my calendar right now.”

The day arrived for Henry to shadow Lucy. They had to do some gymnastics to get them both ready to leave at the same time, but it happened. It was Lucy’s day to drive the carpool. Both Ryan and Mindy were surprised to find the new occupant in the the carpool. Ryan and Henry obviously had a relationship, but Mindy had yet to meet him. It took less than 5 minutes for Mindy to be completely enchanted by Henry.

“Henry, with that voice, you should do audiobooks.” Mindy commented.

“I’ve never been asked to do one, but I think it would be fun. I enjoy reading. I’ll have my manager look into it.”

The four chatted amiably during the drive to the school. When they arrived, Lucy got Henry signed-in and procured him a visitor’s badge, and introduced him to Erik, the principal, before bringing him to her classroom. She kept her door locked, so as to keep Henry’s presence a secret for as long as possible.

When the bell rang signalling the start of first hour, Lucy stood from her desk, “Well, we should be going.” She announced to Henry.

“Go where?” He asked.

“I have prep first hour. I didn’t think you’d want to watch me make copies and correct papers, so I arranged for you to spend first hour with my friend Lindie.” She brought him to a door decorated with brightly colored paper. She knocked twice and entered.

Henry first saw a blonde woman sitting on a small chair. He next noticed the 20 small children sitting in a circle in front of her. The woman’s face split into a large smile, “Señorita! Friends, this is Miss Claussen. She’s the Spanish teacher. Señorita, how do we say good morning in Spanish.”

“Buenos dias.” Lucy pronounced slowly for the group.

“Friends, can we all say buenos dias to Miss Claussen, and her friend?”

The group of children greeted them enthusiastically.

“Chicos and chicas, this is my friend Mr. Henry. Mr. Henry is from England. He’s here to visit today.” All of the children waved, and Lucy turned her attention to the teacher. “I’ll be back at about 9:25.” She turned to Henry, “Have fun.” And with those final words, she left.

Henry stood tentatively by the door, surveying the crowd of small children.

“Mr. Henry, why don’t you come and sit down and tell us about England.” The woman brought out a globe so Henry could show the kids where England was located in relation to MInnesota. Everything was going great, Henry thought, until he asked the question he regretted. “Does anyone have any questions?” Every child’s hand shot into the air. The questions ranged from, What do you do, to are there unicorns in England, to have you met the queen. Henry’s head spun trying to keep track of all the questions.

Lindie was impressed with his calm demeanor. He answered most of the students’ questions calmly, but with a bit of humor. Before he knew it, there was a knock on the door, and Lucy appeared. “I’m sorry chicos and chicas, but I have to take Mr. Henry now. Say adios.” All of the children made a sad groan as Henry stood. They all waved goodbye to him as he and Lucy exited the class.

Once they were in the hallway, Henry sighed. Lucy laughed. “Did you have fun?”

“Did you know a small child can ask approximately 100,000 questions per minute?”

“I did.” She laughed.

“She does that everyday?”

“All day. And this is her 13th year of teaching.” She informed him. He shivered in response. “That is why I teach high school.”

They made their way back to Lucy’s room and Lucy assigned Henry a spot for the day. When the bell rang, Lucy’s entire demeanor changed, his Lucy was replaced by Miss Claussen. This was not the silly woman he had grown to love over the last seven months. This was a professional.

The first few students who entered the room didn’t notice Henry, it wasn’t until one of the drama students entered, that Henry was acknowledged. Once he was noticed, he became the center of attention. Once the bell rang to start class, Lucy raised her voice to be heard above the din of the students. “You have 5 seconds to find your seat or you will be marked tardy. Cinco...cuatro...tres...dos...uno.” The students quickly found their seats and were all quiet by the time she reached uno. “That’s better. Now, who are we missing today?” Lucy asked, consulting her computer screen.

Henry wasn’t able to understand the words Lucy was speaking, but he understood the message by watching what the students did. They all pulled out their folders and took out papers. Lucy began speaking to the students, when a girl in the middle of the class raised her hand.

“Margarita, si?” Lucy asked, calling on the girl.

“Ummm, is that Henry Cavill sitting in the back?”

“Yes it is. Chicos and chicas, this is Mr. Cavill. Mr. Cavill is here to shadow me for the day. Just pretend he isn’t there.”

“Um, Ms. C? Have you seen him? He’s impossible to ignore.” Another girl commented, causing a laugh to ripple through the class.

“Well, Anita, you’ll just have to try.” she said smiling.

Henry watched Lucy’s next three classes. She was in her element. It was obvious to him that her students liked and respected her, and she somehow was funny and professional at the same time. During the second class he was watching, when she gave the students time to work, he stood to run to the loo. Lucy stopped him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Just running to the loo darling.” He answered quietly.

“Nope, you don’t get to go, unless I get to go. So not for another 20 minutes.” She smiled and patted his cheek.

After Lucy��s third class in a row, it was finally time for lunch. Henry hadn’t done anything, but the constant contact with the students for the morning had left him exhausted.

“Is it time for a break yet?” Henry asked.

“Ordinarily, yes, but today it’s a prom planning meeting. So we’ll go get lunch, and then bring it back here.” Lucy led him to the teacher’s lounge, where she took a bag out of the refrigerator before turning him back around to return to her room.

After several minutes a group of 8 girls filed into the room carrying trays filled with some sort of food Henry couldn’t identify.

“Ok, ladies, let’s try not to make this meeting last all lunch period. Venue committee, what’s the news on linens?”

“Linens are included in the cost of renting the ballroom, which they’re giving us for free. But if we want chair covers, those would be $150. They look really nice, and I think we should get them.” A blonde girl commented.

Lucy closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply. “I don’t think you need chair covers. This is a prom, not a wedding.”

“But they really make the room look nice, the girl argued.

Lucy sighed again, and rubbed her temples. “Ok, this isn’t my prom, I’m just here to sign paperwork and crush dreams. You guys have a budget. Now, if the committee wants to spend $150 on chair covers, I can’t stop you, but I’m telling you, I think it’s an unnecessary expense.”

The girls talked it over amongst themselves for several minutes, before Henry interjected.

“Ladies, if I may, I have been to several black tie events, where the men are all in tuxedos, and the ladies are wearing designer gowns, I don’t recall ever seeing a chair cover at any of these events.”

In the end the chair covers were voted down, and the rest of the committee chairs submitted their reports without much fuss, leaving Lucy and Henry alone in her room for the remaining 10 minutes of the lunch period.

Lucy kissed him hard. “Thank you! That one has been driving me to drink all year. She’s essentially a bridezilla, except for prom.”

Henry asked, and Lucy explained what a prom was, a formal dance with a dinner, and explained that as class advisor she had to oversee the planning and chaperone the event.

“It’s not so bad. It’s fun to get dressed up every now and again. I don’t mind it that much.

“Will I be chaperoning as well?” Henry asked conversationally.

“It’s May 2nd, so if you’re here, then yes, I will expect you to chaperone as well. But I wouldn’t expect you to fly back just for prom. Henry pondered her statement.

The last two classes of the day passed similarly to the morning classes. By the time the final bell rang, Henry was exhausted, and his bladder was about to burst. When he returned from the bathroom he asked Lucy, “Is this what you do everyday?”

“All day, everyday. Though the prom meetings are only once every two weeks, until closer to the event, then they’ll be weekly.” She explained, packing her bag to go home.

“I can see now why you’re so tired. The kids are exhausting. But you’re great with them.”

“I love teaching. I love most of my students. I don’t know what I would do if I wasn’t teaching.” Lucy commented absently, as she surveyed the contents of her bag.

Henry’s head swam as he thought about why Lucy might not be teaching. Could he really pull her out of this world that she loved, and move her across the ocean?

Chapter 43                Chapter 45

[takerfoxx]

RD Walpurgis Nights 7: Part 5

“Well,” Ophelia said. “That sounds…problematic. I take it you guys didn’t really talk much after that?”

Homulilly shook her head. “N-No. It was miserable.”

…

Two days ago…

Homulilly woke up.

She was sort of crammed alone one edge of the bed, facing the wall. Furthermore, Gretchen’s arms weren’t wrapped around her waist like they usually were, nor did she feel Gretchen’s warm breath around her ear.

She could hear Gretchen breathing though. Homulilly carefully turned her head to look over her shoulder. Gretchen was lying next to her, but turned away from her and close to the other end of the bed.

Homulilly felt a lump build in her throat. She turned back away from her and stared at the wall.

The alarm went off a few moments later. Neither of them moved.

Then Gretchen sighed and turned it off. She sat up and slipped off the bed.

Normally the two would give each other a good morning kiss and rise together. They would dress together, take turns using the restroom, and touch each other up. They were help each other pack for the school day and go off together to breakfast.

Today Homulilly remained where she was as she listened to the patter of Gretchen’s legs as she moved about the room, changing clothes and getting her school supplies together.

Then all sound of movement stopped. Homulilly was still facing the wall, but she sensed that Gretchen was standing over her.

“Homulilly-chan,” Gretchen said in a small voice. “Can we talk now? Please?”

Homulilly tensed up, but she didn’t turn toward her.

“Homulilly-chan?”

Still no answer.

A long, heavy silence followed, and then Gretchen sighed and left the room, softly closing the door behind her. It was only when Homulilly was certain that she wasn’t coming back that she finally got up.

…

Then…

“Seriously?” Ophelia said. “You wouldn’t even talk to her?”

“I know, I know,” Homulilly said, her voice choking up. “I just couldn’t face her.”

“Who were you actually mad at? Her or yourself?”

Homulilly was silent for a bit. Then she said, “It…changed around a lot.”

…

Then…

Gretchen didn’t come home that night.

Well, of course she didn’t. There was still a couple more meetings left! So of course she would want to spend time with her cool friends!

Homulilly paced back and forth across their dorm, hands wringing as she muttered endlessly under her breath. She hadn’t gotten so much as an invitation to return that night. Of course she would’ve said no, but it would’ve been nice to be given the opportunity to say no! The fact that Gretchen hadn’t invited her meant that she didn’t even want her there, that Homulilly would get in the way off all her cool new friends.

Well, okay, so Homulilly had made a fool of herself the last time. But still, she could at least ask!

Homulilly ought to go over there anyway. Just…show up, and let them deal with her! What were they going to do, kick her out? It’s like Mitty said, they weren’t checking ID’s. It was a free afterlife, she could do what she wanted.

Except…there were several of them, and they were all older and stronger than she was. Plus, Jalaga was there, and Homulilly had already kind of offended her. Jalaga could pick her up and throw her clear over the building if she wanted to. And then word would spread across the school and everyone would be laughing at her and…

Homulilly just went to bed.

…

One day ago…

Again Gretchen had come home late. Again they hadn’t talked when she did. And again neither of them said anything to each other the next morning.

That would be bad enough. Having the one thing that made her second life worth living taken away was more than enough to make everything awful.

But of course, on the last day before the festival, they had an Algebra quiz.

Because of course they did.

Again Homulilly stared down at the equations she was supposed to solve. She tried to think back to the help Ophelia had given her and remember how she had walked her through how to do the formulas. Right, what was the order again? She was pretty sure she was supposed to start with…

…of course she wouldn’t be in this mess if Gretchen hadn’t left her for her new friends. They’d have already worked together to study for the quiz and at least had something of grasp on the material. Instead, Homulilly had spent yesterday evening alone and angry.

Homulilly glanced to her side. Gretchen was staring down at her own paper, looking totally lost. Well, served her right!

Shaking her head, Homulilly tried to concentrate. No, she couldn’t let herself get swept up. She could be angry later. For now she had a quiz to finish.

…which was really stupid, if one thought about it. The festival was tomorrow, and that terrifying field trip had only been a few days ago. How was anyone supposed to concentrate with all that hanging over their heads?

It wasn’t fair. They ought to at least postpone the quiz until the next week, or not have it at all! It wasn’t like Homulilly wanted to become an engineer like Ophelia was, or anything involving more than basic addition and subtraction.

Then again, what did she know? She had no idea what she wanted to be. She had no idea who she really was either! Because apparently she was super boring with no real hobbies and skills. Maybe that was why Gretchen had stopped spending time with her. Homulilly was boring, Mitty wasn’t. And when Homulilly had tried to make herself interesting, she had ended up embarrassing them both!

Right, right, forget it. Later, she had to worry about that later. Power her way through the quiz now, then she could think bad things about people. All right, what she had to do was…

…actually, now that she thought about, it really was the stupid festival’s fault. If it wasn’t happening, then Gretchen wouldn’t have wanted to join the planning committee, and then she wouldn’t have met Mitty, and everything would be normal! No fights, no lonely nights, none of that!

In fact, the field trip was also to blame! That was what got Homulilly so scared and messed up, right? Why did they have to happen the same week? Did they do this on purpose, to weed out the weak?

No, that was dumb. It was just coincidence. Right?

Then Homulilly felt a pair of eyes on her. She glanced over and saw Gretchen eyeing her. As soon as she saw Homulilly look over Gretchen quickly averted her gaze and pretended to focus on her paper.

Homulilly let her eyes linger on her a little long before looking away. What was she looking at? Was she happy that Homulilly was struggling? Well, let her! It wasn’t like everyone else wasn’t-

“Time’s up!” announced Ms. Ishii, the teacher. “Pencils down, and everyone pass your papers to the front!”

Homulilly jerked up straight. Wait, time was up? How could time be up? They had just started, hadn’t they? Surely it couldn’t be over!

But it was. And as Homulilly looked down in despair, she realized that she hadn’t answered a single question.

…

Now…

“It just kept eating at me,” Homulilly said. “Every time I tried to do something else, every time I tried to focus on anything, I just keep going back to it and going back to it and going back to it…”

Ophelia pursed her lips. “Did you try, you know, just going up to Gretchen and finally getting everything out? I mean, it’s clear she wanted to talk to you.”

“I…I almost did,” Homulilly said, her shoulders slumping. “Later that night. When I was in our dorm. Alone.”

“So…”

“I didn’t.”

…

Then…

Homulilly wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take.

She sat on the side of the bed, her phone sitting next to her. Her anger had pretty much exhausted itself out, and now she just felt tired.

She had to end this. She had to stop shutting Gretchen out and talk to her. Another evening alone would be Hell.

Her fingers clenched and unclenched, while the petals of her flower mirrored the motions. Okay. Come on, she could do this.

Homulilly grabbed up her phone and brought up her contacts. She moved her finger over Gretchen’s to make the call.

But she didn’t.

What was she going to say?

That she was angry? That she wanted Gretchen to stop hanging around Mitty? That…that she wasn’t good enough for Gretchen and she should just go with Mitty?

No. No, she couldn’t call. The words would just get caught in her throat.

A message then. She could explain herself better through writing it out.

She started one, but that came off as sounding too pathetic, so she discarded it and started over.

She tried again, but it came off as too angry, so that one was thrown out.

Again, but it was too passive-aggressive.

Again, but it was too groveling.

Again, but it was all over the place.

She kept writing and discarding, rewriting and discarding, rewriting and discarding, but nothing felt right.

Finally she just wrote, I miss you.

But before she could hit send, a message from Gretchen popped up, and her breath caught in her throat.

It read, I’m spending the night in Jada’s room.

That was it. No explanation as to why, nothing about Mitty, nothing about the problems between them. Just that.

A thousand different responses flew through Homulilly’s mind, each one coming from a completely different place, each one almost guaranteed to lead to somewhere incredibly emotional.

But instead, she just erased the message she was going to send and wrote was, Okay.

That was it. Just a simple acknowledgement.

And so, nothing was solved.

Homulilly let her phone drop. She fell back onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling. Funny, she had never really noticed how much room there was on the bed, but now that she was the only one on it, it was hard to ignore. She could roll this was and that way and not wake anyone up.

Her eyes filled with tears.

…

That morning…

The day of the Cultural Exchange Festival had arrived, and Homulilly’s mood couldn’t be fouler.

Things hadn’t gotten better. Gretchen hadn’t contacted her that morning, so Homulilly had gotten up and gotten ready alone.

Unfortunately, the universe was not about to give her a break. The festival was a three-day affair, from Friday to Sunday, and as a result there were no school on Friday. Which, under normal circumstances, would be great, but since Gretchen had to be with the planning committee all day to oversee that stupid dance, Homulilly had to spend the whole day by herself, with not even class to distract herself.

Much like it had been the last few years since her arrival, she spent the day with the rest of her class, led around the city learn about the various cultures, first that of Earth, then of their nonhuman neighbors. Practically all of Freehaven was dressed up for the day, and it seemed like every block was either from a different country or a different planet, with decorations put up to simulate the traditions of each. And to be honest, sometimes the Earth cultures were just as fascinating as those from across the stars.

In previous years, Homulilly had been enthralled. She and Gretchen had stood side-by-side, gaping along with everyone else as they were introduced to fantastical creatures that looked like they had stepped out of the pages of a science fiction novel, watched and listened as those creatures shared their world with them. It had been a truly magical experience.

Not so much anymore. As everyone else oohed and aahed, Homulilly sulked in the back, hands in her jacket pockets and head down. She kept checking her phone, looking to see if Gretchen had sent any kind of message, all the while not sure if she wanted her to or was dreading it.

Finally lunch time rolled around, and Homulilly had had enough. She had gone through three days without Gretchen, and it was just making her miserable. She didn’t care if she got yelled at, they were going to settle things right then and there.

She opened her phone to send Gretchen a message, but then stopped. No. No, this wasn’t something they could do through something so impersonal. It had to be done in person.

As everyone gathered into their little groups in the table area, Homulilly stole away. Gretchen would be in the plaza, where the dance would be held. At least she hoped she was in the plaza. If she got there and it turned out that Gretchen had left, then she would probably scream.

Well, okay, so she could just call then and set up a meeting. But what if Gretchen didn’t answer? What if her phone was off? Or worse, what if she rejected Homulilly’s call? Homulilly had pretty much shut her down every time she tried to talk over the last few days, so it wasn’t like she wouldn’t have good reason to.

As those thoughts churned in her head, changing anger to fear, Homulilly quickened her step, so that by the time she reached the front of the building, she was practically running.

Then she stopped dead in her tracks.

Gretchen was there. Homulilly could see her clear across the plaza.

But Gretchen wasn’t just milling about. Nor did she seem as upset as Homulilly was.

Rather, she was in the dance circle. And not in the dance circle setting up various odds and ends like she was the last time.

Rather, she was in the dance circle using it for its intended purpose. She was dancing, and quite enthusiastically at that.

But she wasn’t doing it alone. Oh no, she had a partner, a partner that had her by the waist and was holding her quite close.

And that partner was Mitty.

…

Now…

Ophelia let out a long, slow whistle. “Wow, okay. That one…that one actually looks pretty bad.”

“That’s what I thought too,” Homulilly said. “I mean, why wouldn’t I? They were dancing together all sexy like!”

“Yeah,” Ophelia said. “Yeah, I guess-”

Right about then several fireworks went off over their heads, startling them both. And given that they had magic to work with, these fireworks resembled less of pretty, colorful bursts of light and sound and more of the coming of Judgement Day, albeit a very colorful Judgement day.

Ophelia waited until everything died down before saying, “So, did you confront them?”

Homulilly shook her head. “No. Not then. I just turned around and walked away.”

“And…it simmered until tonight.”

“Yeah,” Homulilly sighed. “Yeah.”

…

About an hour ago…

Night had come, the day was dead, and Homulilly wanted to kick something.

The guided tour was pretty much over, and the girls were allowed to wander wherever they wished, so long as they stayed within the area that was under surveillance. The caretakers had been very clear about that. Just because there were no more creepy old men in trench coats didn’t mean that there weren’t perverts or worse around. And now that they all were the same gender around the same age, it just made them harder to spot.

Not that that stopped anyone from sneaking out just because they could. Her friends had regaled them with many a tale of their rebellious escapades, and they were far from the only ones. Honestly, Homulilly was tempted to do just that. Who cared if she disappeared? Who cared if she never came back? It wasn’t like anyone really liked her.

Instead Homulilly just wandered aimlessly, head down and hands in her pockets as dark thoughts clouded her mind.

Then she got the first bit of relief she’d had all day.

“Hey, Lilly of the Valley! Over here!”

Homulilly perked up. That had definitely been Charlotte’s voice. She scanned the crowd and saw the tailed witch in question, standing over near the barbecue booths with a cone of cotton candy in her hand. Oktavia was in her four-legged chair next to her, and behind them she could see Ophelia helping herself to sausages and grilled onions, easily identifiable by the size of her hat and the abundance of red she was wearing.

Finally, someone to talk to that she actually liked and wasn’t any kind of a threat. Homulilly hurried over to them.

“Hey there,” Charlotte said as Homulilly approached. “We were wondering when we’d run into-”

Homulilly threw her arms around Charlotte hugged her tight.

“-OKAY! Um, hi? Glad to see you too?”

Homulilly knew that she was making a scene, but she didn’t care. She just closed her eyes and enjoyed the feeling of holding somebody she cared about, even if it wasn’t the person she really needed.

Below, Oktavia crossed her arms over her chest and sulked. “Okay, that’s fine. Don’t mind me. I’ll just be down here, not getting hugs.”

Homulilly let out a small laugh and bent over to hug her too.

“What’s this about getting hugs, and how can I get in on that action?” Ophelia said as she wandered over, an overstuffed German bratwurst in a bun in each hand. Homulilly was more than happy to oblige.

“Well,” Charlotte said. “She hugged me longer.”

With a sigh, Homulilly released Ophelia. God, she had needed that. Of course they would probably ask for an explanation, but that was fine. She really needed someone to vent to.

Then an unfamiliar voice, one considerably deeper than most but with a syrupy edge said, “My, my, my, you are all an affectionate bunch. Don’t mind me though. I’ll just stand here, next to all this love, forever the outsider looking in.”

Confused, Homulilly turned toward the speaker in question, whom she had taken for some bystander who had just so happened to be standing near Charlotte. It was a jott, and a pretty flamboyant one at that, even by the jotts’ already flamboyant standards. She was wearing a shiny one-piece outfit made of some glossy blue-and-gold material with a shiny golden cape draped over one shoulder. Her hair was as thick and bushy as a lion’s mane and was decorated with dozens of tiny red and green jewels that hung from it was Christmas ornaments.

Homulilly had no idea who she was.

Seeing the look on Homulilly’s face, the jott smiled and patted Homulilly on the shoulder. “It’s all right, no need to keep that line going.”

“Um…” was all Homulilly could think of to say.

Charlotte cleared her throat. “Er, Homulilly? This is-”

“Corbit Fausk, at your service,” the jott said, sticking out her hand. “A pleasure to meet you, darling. Now, you must be Gretchen!”

“Homulilly!” Charlotte hissed.

“Homulilly!” Corbit corrected without missing a beat. “Right shape, wrong half. Wonderful to meet Ryoko’s real life inspiration!”

Now Homulilly was totally lost. “Uh…right,” she said as she gingerly shook Corbit’s hand. The jott’s grip was gentle but very strong and careful to keep her blunt claws away from the back of Homulilly’s hand, as if she had some bad experiences with handshakes in the past and had practiced until she got it right. “Nice to…met you?”

“Hmmm, a statement phrased like a question,” Corbit noted. “Indicating uncertainty, being off-put, perhaps feeling a little lost and overwhelmed, but still wishing to be polite. Yes. Yes, you are indeed Ryoko.”

Ryoko? Wait, Homulilly knew that name. “Isn’t…isn’t that the name of one of your characters?” she said to Charlotte.

Charlotte winced. “Er…”

“Indeed it is!” Corbit proclaimed. “But less of a character and more of a transcribing of a near and dear friend to page! After all, reality shapes more enthralling protagonists than fiction ever could!”

Now Homulilly was really lose, and Charlotte was looking increasingly more and more uncomfortable. Ophelia and Oktavia, it should be noted, looked like they were having a grand old time, if their ear-to-ear grins were any indication. “Right,” Ophelia said. “Okay, let’s get you caught up. Corbit Fausk here is Charlotte’s new agent.”

“New agent…” Then Homulilly’s eyes widened when she realized what that meant. “Oh! Oh, you got published!”

Corbit shrugged. “Ah, well, no, not yet. Still a few chapters too early, sweet thing. But ah, with my considerable muscle behind her, this is less of a possibility and more of an eventuality, isn’t it now? Not even a spoiler at this point.”

“Oh, well, congratulations! I knew you could do it!”

Charlotte relaxed a little, even managing a small but proud smile. “Thanks! It’s still a little surprising, to be honest.”

Corbit snorted. “Oh, nonsense. Nonsense! I know talent when I see it. I don’t make stars, after all, but I do have a distinct eye for finding them.”

“And she couldn’t have a found a better astronomer!” Ophelia said, leaning over to throw her arm around Corbit’s shoulder. “Corby here’s practically part of the family now!”

And with that Charlotte was back to looking all sorts of uncomfortable. In fact, she now seemed downright mortified. “Oh, sweet Jesus, no,” she groaned, burying her face in one hand.

Oktavia leaned over to loudly whisper, “She’s been over nearly every day. Turns out that’s she’s just as freaky as we are!”

“Oh, nonsense,” Corbit said with loud laugh. “Nonsense! I am simply a connoisseur of romance, no matter what form it might take!”

“Guys, please,” Charlotte begged.

“Wait, what?” Homulilly said. She looked from one face to the next, hoping that someone would explain things to her.

Ophelia snickered. “Well, let’s just say that with Candeloro out of the house, we’ve been taking advantage of the extra space to host…viewing parties.”

“Stop it,” Charlotte snapped. “Stop it right now.”

“And quite wonderful ones at that,” Corbit added. “It’s nice to run into such kindred spirits while being so far from home.”

“I’m…lost,” Homulilly said.

Now Charlotte was openly gritting her teeth. She thrust an accusing finger at Ophelia and Oktavia. “These two. Have been hosting. Porn parties.”

Homulilly’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“They took over the big HoloVid and have been playing all their weird porn holos at full blast!” Charlotte said as she threw her hands into the air. “Not only that, but they invite all their friends over…and do color commentary! Loudly”

“And here I thought my trip to Freehaven would be a bore before the festival!” Corbit said.

Charlotte shook her head. “Yeah, okay, and right after I sign the contract, my brand new agent decides to drop by our house unannounced right in the middle of…uh…”

“Andalite Morphing Party 3,” Ophelia helpfully provided.

“Right! That one! And of course, I’m mortified! I’m thinking, this is it, my stupid roommates have gone and scared off my one big chance. But did it? No! What happened was worse!”

Oktavia laughed. “Yeah, turns out Corby not only had seen it before, but had brought the sequel along for her trip!”

Ophelia’s eyes glimmered. “It’s supposed to be out of print! I never thought I’d ever see a copy!”

“It’s amazing what having connections in the smut business can get you,” Corbit said.

“And now she’s our new best friend!” Oktavia said.

“To filth!” Corbit said, lifting her paper cup up high.

Ophelia and Oktavia followed suit with their bratwurst and ice-cream. “To filth!”

“You know, Homulilly, I’m a bit surprised I haven’t seen you at any of the parties,” Corbit said as she sipped her lemonade.

Charlotte shot her a look. “Uh, she’s still underage…”

“Oh, poo,” Corbit said with a dismissive snort. “Like she doesn’t already have a collection of her own. All kids do!”

Homulilly swallowed. “Er, actually, I don’t…”

“Really?” Corbit looked honestly surprised. She thought in this for a bit, and then shrugged. “Well, anomalies will continue to appear. But tell me, where is your Gretchen? I was under the impression that you were joined at the hip!”

Homulilly’s face fell. “Oh. Um, she’s part of the planning committee. For, you know, the FIB’s part in the festival? And she has to stick with them.” She paused for a bit, and then added, “And I’m not.”

Corbit raised an eyebrow. “Really now?”

Homulilly got the distinct feeling that the eccentric jott was picking up on a lot more than she felt comfortable with. “It’s not really my thing…”

“Ah.” Corbit gave her an odd look, but then shrugged again. “Well, Charlotte’s honeybun is off pursuing her hopes and dreams, so it happens I suppose. Pity. But you have to bring her by before I leave. I must see Ryoko and Haruhi play out in real life!”

“Come by after the festival tonight, like at ten or something,” Ophelia chimed in. “I promise that there will be nothing inappropriate, save maybe for Cheese.”

“Spoilsport,” Oktavia grumbled.

“Er…sure,” Homulilly said. “That sounds, that sounds great.”

Then Charlotte tilted her head and frowned. “Homulilly? Is something wrong?”

Oh no. Oh, no, no, no. This wasn’t good. “Wrong?” Homulilly said with what she hoped was a disarming smile. “No, no. Nothing’s wrong, why would you think that?” Crap, she was screwing it up. “Hey, listen, I need…to go…so bye!”

With that, Homulilly turned and fled into the crowd. As she left, she heard Corbit say, “Was it something I said?”

Now even more upset than before, Homulilly pushed her way into the crowd. She knew she wasn’t supposed to go off by herself, but to be frank she really didn’t care. The whole area was under surveillance, so why shouldn’t she? Besides, the place she was headed for was still in the FIB grounds.

It didn’t take long for her to reach the dance circle. Sure enough, it was in full swing, with loud music playing and several girls twirling each other around.

Just like Mitty had been twirling Gretchen around that morning.

Homulilly glanced at it briefly before letting her eyes slide off of it to survey those standing around nearby. Sure enough, she saw the planning committee milling about, talking to the rest of the students and keeping an eye on things.

And off by themselves in one corner was Gretchen and Mitty. They were having what looked like a private conversation, with Gretchen sitting on a bench and doing most of the talking while Mitty leaned against a wall with her hands in her pockets. Judging from the expressions on their faces, it didn’t take a great leap in imagination to figure out what the subject of their conversation was.

Homulilly’s mouth straightened into a horizontal slash. She took a deep breath and marched purposefully over to the pair.

Mitty spotted her first. “Oh, hey,” she said in a neutral tone as she straightened up. “Speak of the devil.” Gretchen raised her head and, seeing Homulilly, winced.

“Devil?” Homulilly said as she neared. “I’m the devil then?”

Mitty shot her an annoyed look. “Relax, Boneyard. It was an expression.”

“Um, guys?” Gretchen said, all of her legs squirming. “Could you not-”

“So you were talking about me,” Homulilly said, folding her arms over her chest.

“Coming off kind of aggressive there, aren’t you?” Mitty said. She shrugged. “Okay Homulilly, let’s get this out in the open: you don’t like me. You haven’t liked me since we met. Fine, lots of people don’t like me. But I have way too much on my plate to put up with Passive-Aggressive Theater. So either spit it out or stop wasting my time.”

“Mitty-chan!” Gretchen cried.

Homulilly stomped over to Mitty until she and the taller girl were practically nose-to-nose. “Stay. Away. From my Gretchen.”

Mitty didn’t so much as flinch. “Oh, so she belongs to you now, is that it? Super. Okay, kiddo, we were talking about you. Mainly, we were talking about how you’ve been acting all weird lately, and when you weren’t being weird you were giving your girlfriend here the cold shoulder. She tells me that you haven’t talked to her in days. So, who exactly do you have such a problem with?” Mitty tilted her thumb first to herself and then to Gretchen. “Me or her?”

“You!”

“Then out with it already!” Mitty snapped.

Right then. If Mitty wanted her to get it out, she would do just that. “I saw you dancing with her!”

“Wait, what?” Mitty said, blinking in surprise. "Are you serious? That’s it?” She rolled her eyes. “Jesus, relax. She asked me to show her how to Samba, so I did!” Then she blinked again. “And hey, wait! That was this morning! You’ve been weird all week, you jealous-”

“Stop it!” Gretchen cried as she leapt up. She tried to inset herself between Homulilly and Mitty, pushing them away with arms and wires both. “Stop it, both of you!”

Mitty just brushed her off. “I. Am not. After your girl! I have a girlfriend, remember?”

“Oh, yeah, sure!” Homulilly said with a great big sarcastic roll of her own eyes. “The girlfriend that’s already graduated and is never around! So, where is she?”

“Seriously?” Mitty let out a bark of laughter that grated every nerve Homulilly had. “You think I’m pulling the Imaginary Girlfriend shit? We all live in the same town, genius! I don’t have a Canada to put her in!”

“She’s telling the truth!” Gretchen told Homulilly. “I met her girlfriend! She’s been visiting the committee meetings, Homulilly!”

“Then why wasn’t she there the other night?” Homulilly demanded.

Mitty stared at her. “Uh, because she had work? Yeah, crazy, isn’t it? Turns out, we all have lives and schedules that don’t revolve around your paranoid ass.”

“I am not paranoid!”

“The fuck you’re not. I bet you’ve got a whole bunch of surveillance cameras watching her 24-7 and a big room full of photos on the walls and a whole bunch of red strings connecting them.”

“Enough!” Gretchen said. She pounded the ground with five of her legs, the closest she could come to stomping her feet in frustration. “Both of you, stop already!”

Mitty held up her hands, palms out. “No need to tell me twice,” she said as she walked around Gretchen to saunter off, giving Homulilly a death glare as she passed. “I’m gone. Sorry, Gretch. But I’m not handling your girl for you.”

“Just get out of here,” Homulilly hissed.

Mitty flipped her a raised middle finger and stomped off.

When she was gone, Gretchen turned her full fury onto Homulilly. “What’s wrong with you, you jerk?” she said, giving Homulilly’s shoulder an angry shove. “She never did anything to you!”

“She’s been hanging off you since I met her!” Homulilly shot back, thrusting a bony finger after Mitty. And you let her!”

That actually caused Gretchen to take a couple steps back, her face turning the same color as her eyes. “Wait, you think I’m cheating on you?” she said, those last three words coming out as a squeak. “You really don’t trust me?”

“I don’t trust her!”

“But you don’t trust me.”

Homulilly breathed in deeply and slowly let it out. “I don’t know,” she admitted. It hurt to say, but it was the truth.

“You don’t trust me,” Gretchen repeated, backing up even further. “All this time, and I thought you were just upset that I wasn’t around, and that’s why you weren’t talking to me, and…” Then her eyes popped wide open. “Wait, that’s what the other night was all about? You thought that you had to fight Mitty for me?! That’s…that’s stupid!”

There was a pause, and then Homulilly said, “Is it?”

“It is!” Gretchen said, striking the ground with her legs again. “After everything we’ve been through, after everything that’s happened, you seriously thought…” Her eyes started to tear up. “This whole week I’ve been stressed out of my mind, trying to do everything right, trying to make everything perfect for us tonight, but then you get mad and stop talking to me, and I’m just wondering what I did wrong, why you hated my friends so much, why you kept pushing me away, and now it’s so bad, and I can’t take it!”

“Perfect? Tonight?” Homulilly’s face screwed up in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Gretchen didn’t answer. She just turned and fled.

“Gretchen, wait!” Homulilly called. She started to go after her, but then something told her to maybe check behind her first.

She did, and immediately wished that she hadn’t. As it turned out, their argument had drawn the attention of just about everybody nearby, even drawing the dance to a stop. Even those who weren’t staring at her were obviously trying to make it look like they hadn’t just watched everything go down.

Struck dumb, all Homulilly could do was stare back. Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no. She had done it now. This was every nightmare she had ever had, given life and playing out for everybody to see. The only way it could be worse was-

“Uh…”

-that.

Homulilly cringed. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. She took a deep breath through her clamped teeth and reluctantly looked over to her right.

There they were. Ophelia, Oktavia, Charlotte, and even Corbit Fausk. Apparently they had sensed something was up and had gone after her. And judging by the way they were staring, they had seen the whole thing, or at least enough of it.

For an eternal moment, Homulilly and her friends just stood and stared. Then Oktavia said, “Okay. What the hell was all that?”

“I…” Homulilly said. “I, uh…”

Then she whirled around and ran away.

Homulilly ran and ran and ran. Her eyes were filled with tears, so most of what she saw was a blur, and the crowd made moving through the narrow streets difficult.

She didn’t care.

She had hurt Gretchen. She had hurt Gretchen and made her cry. And she had done it in front of everyone, like some out-of-control jerk.

Wait, no. Not like an out-of-control jerk. As an out-of-control jerk! Because that’s exactly what she was, just a stupid, jealous, selfish jerk with no control at all, and now everyone knew it!

Homulilly found a wall and slumped against it, her face buried in her arm. She didn’t care who saw her crying. She just hoped that they would leave her alone.

On the upside, all the people did. But it seemed that the universe itself was bound and determined to rub it in.

There was, of course, music constantly playing in the background, sometimes culturally specific to whatever display was nearby, while other places just played popular pop songs. The area she was in was one of the latter, though in her state she was in no mood to pay any attention to the soundtrack. It was just some sugary song about nonsense that she had already heard a million times and had never really much cared for.

But then it ended, and a different beat started, one that was near and dear to her heart, one that was more disco-flavored, but with lively string section.

And then the lyrics kicked in.

“The spell you got on me

It’s like magic!”

No. Not that song, not Magic. Magic was their song, hers and Gretchen’s! It was the song that had played during their first dance. It was their ringtones for one another. It was the song that they played whenever they were in the mood.

Homulilly fell back against a wall. She slipped down and huddled into a ball and started crying. This was the worst.

She was wrong, of course.

Homulilly stopped crying, but it wasn’t the threat of a possible audience that made her stop. Rather, it was the sound of voices, coming from right around the corner, one of which was very familiar.

“…yeah, I don’t what’s with that crazy bitch, but she’s had it in for me since we first met.”

Mitty.

Homulilly’s eyes slowly opened. She sniffed, wiped away her tears, and stood up. There were a few people nearby giving her concerned looks, but she ignored them and went over to the corner, hands clenched into fists. Right, enough was enough. She was going take care of this right now.

Homulilly crept around the corner and surveyed the place, searching for her rival. It didn’t take long to find her, but what she saw made her hesitate.

Around the corner was a plaza, lined with booths and other attractions. And standing with her back to Homulilly was Mitty herself. But she wasn’t alone. Another girl was with her, this one about half-a-head shorter with jaw-length hair the color of wheat and skin roughly the same shade as Mitty’s. She was wearing a knee-length fur coat and was also facing away from Homulilly, so Homulilly couldn’t make out much more than that, but she didn’t need to see more to know who it was.

The way her and Mitty’s hands were entwined was enough.

“That’s what I get for being nice,” Mitty was saying. “I mean, Gretchen’s cool, and she wanted someone to show her how to samba, so I figure, why the hell not?”

“Why did she want to know how to samba?” said the other girl.

Mitty shrugged. “Oh, something about seeing the dance we set up last year and wanting her and her crazy girlfriend to join in. She said that their first date was at a dance party or something and wanted to surprise her with another. So sure, I said I’d teach her a thing or two. Why not? Except of course, Homulilly had to see us and go fucking bugnuts. God only knows what Gretchen sees in her.”

The other girl sighed. “Mitty, I told you! You have got to stop flirting with everything that moves! I mean, I know you don’t mean anything by it, but it was only a matter of time before this happened.”

“It’s not my fault, Ally!”

“Mitty…” Alyssa said, a bit of warning in her voice. “Give me a break.”

“It wasn’t!”

“Did you kiss her?”

“Of course not! I just taught her the dance! Besides, even if Gretchen was my type, which she’s not, why would I risk screwing up what I got now? I mean, I’ve already hit the jackpot.”

“Damn right, you did,” Alyssa said as she leaned in close.

Homulilly felt the lump in her throat grow as she watched them kiss. Oh God, Alyssa did exist. Mitty did have a girlfriend! And she hadn’t been going after Gretchen after all! She had just been showing Gretchen how to dance, because…because…

…because Gretchen wanted to dance with Homulilly! That dance she had seen them doing that morning, that was what Gretchen wanted to do with her! She wasn’t going to leave Homulilly, she had been trying to set up a special night for them, and Homulilly had ruined everything by being a big, stupid, jealous idiot!

[liskantope]

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (AU version) -- Chapter 1: McGonagall and the Muggles

This is the first chapter of a Harry Potter fanfic I wrote in college, back in spring and early summer of 2007. It contains 8 chapters and an epilogue which I finished just prior to the release of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows, which was 11 years ago today. I believe I rewrote chapter 8 in the weeks afterwards (and maybe changed the epilogue accordingly?) in response to a (valid) criticism that its dramatic tone didn’t fit with the rest of the chapters, but I tried not to let that rewrite be influenced by my knowledge of what happened in book 7.

I call this Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows (AU version). I don’t mean “AU version” in the sense that this is an AU fic but in the sense that this is the final book in the Harry Potter series that could have come out in an alternate universe where Rowling for some reason abruptly stopped taking her work seriously.

My idea was that in the months preceding the release of book 7, I wanted to write a sort of silly parody version of what could follow from the first six books (I was inspired by such a fanfic that had come out preceding book 6, don’t know where to find this now), one which technically satisfied every bit of information we knew about the upcoming book 7 and which sort of lampooned a lot of the hype over the mysteries that would presumably be resolved in book 7. I was deliberately trying to imitate the narration style of the actual Harry Potter books (turns out I’m pretty decent at imitating other people’s styles, just not as good as I’d like to be at cultivating my own style of fiction prose.) To the best of my memory of pre-July-21st-2007, here were some things on many HP fans’ minds:

The title would be Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows, but what the heck could “deathly hollows” be?!

There would be an epilogue, and the very last word of it (hence of the whole Harry Potter series) would be “scar”. (This turned out not to quite be the case, but I can’t remember if we found out that she had changed this prior to the book actually coming out.)

There was “more to Aunt Petunia than meets the eye” (or JKR said something to that effect in some interview), and we would be finding out what it was.

Of course the biggest question on everyone’s mind was on the true nature of Snape. I remember signs and posters going around that blared, “SEVERUS SNAPE: GOOD OR EVIL?”

Fan theories were rampant that Dumbledore wasn’t really dead at the end of book 6; some of them were pretty wild and didn’t die even after JKR said “Dumbledore is definitely dead.”

We were finally going to be introduced properly to Aberforth Dumbledore.

We were all pretty sure that the initials RAB on the fake locket referred to Sirius’ brother Regulus Black, but who knew, JKR might surprise us.

Many relentless Harry-Hermione shippers were still holding out hopes for the Harry/Ginny and Hermione/Ron pairings that seemed pretty established by the end of book 6 to not work out, still trying to argue that JKR herself dropped hints that Harry and Hermione actually belonged together.

So without further ado, here’s chapter 1 (I’ll post the rest of the chapters one by one over the next few hours).

The menacing form of Lord Voldemort was standing over the thin, bespectacled boy, aiming a long, threatening wand at him. Harry Potter, whose muscles were aching fit to burst, once again pointed his own wand at Voldemort and shouted the only spell he could think of.

“Expelliarmus!”

Voldemort’s wand went flying out of his long, thin hand. Voldemort himself, however, didn’t flinch. He merely reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out another identical wand.

“Bet you didn’t realize how many tail feathers that phoenix gave away, did you?” sneered Voldemort in his high, icy voice. “You shouldn’t have believed what Ollivander said about there being only two, you silly, naïve child.”

Harry, much as his arm muscles were screaming in pain, raised his wand again and shouted, “Expelliarmus!”

Once again – it seemed like for the hundredth time – Voldemort’s wand went flying. And once again, Voldemort calmly pulled a new one out of his pocket.

Harry feebly raised his own wand and croaked, “Expelliarmus!”

A second later, Voldemort’s latest wand was long gone, and Voldemort grabbed his next wand out of his pocket. “You cannot defeat me, Potter!” he shrieked gleefully. “There is not even any need for the Avada Kedavra curse! I have exactly twelve thousand five hundred and nine wands with me here, and long before I get to the last one, you will have died a slow, agonizing death of pure boredom, and I will be able to rule the world!”

Harry raised his wand, struggling to draw the breath to disarm Voldemort again, and woke up screaming. “AAAAAAAAAAAAUGH!”

He tried to calm down, take deep breaths, and let his eyes adjust to the dark. It was just one of the usual nightmares. A few seconds later, his eyes focused on his Uncle Vernon’s nose, which was inches from his own.

“What the ruddy hell are you screaming about?!” whispered Uncle Vernon. Harry could actually feel his bushy moustache bristling with rage. “This had better be something good! You woke me up from my favorite golfing dream again!”

“Just another nightmare,” Harry muttered. “Get out of my personal space, will you?”

“Don’t you dare talk to me that way!” growled Uncle Vernon. “I’m not the one who keeps waking up at night shouting for no reason.”

“I’ve got a lot of pent-up stress at the moment,” Harry said exasperatedly. He knew it was unlikely to do any good, but it seemed that he might as well try once again to reason with his uncle. “You see, I know that one of these days, maybe very soon, I’ll have to meet up with Voldemort again. And seeing as neither of us can live while the other survives, there seems to be a good chance that I’ll die. After all, normally there are four possibilities: that we both live, that he lives and I die, that I die and he lives, or that we both die. As I’ve explained to you before, the possibility that we both live is eliminated. So only one out of the three remaining possibilities involves – “

“DON’T YOU GET SMART WITH ME, BOY!” Uncle Vernon shouted. “You spend all your time sitting around feeling so damn sorry for yourself! Last summer it was that axe-murderer godfather of yours that you were moping over, and this year it’s one of your paranoid ideas about some guy you think is going to kill you! Doesn’t it occur to you that I might be under pressure as well? Last night I dreamt that I didn’t get the pay rise I wanted, and did I wake up the entire household because of it? One more nighttime scream out of you, boy, and you’ll be scrubbing the bathrooms twice a day for the rest of the summer! And I’ll know that you won’t use that… that thing of yours to help you, because you keep getting expelled every time you do use it!”

“I guess my only hope for cleaning the bathrooms will be that you don’t overeat at that drill thingy anniversary buffet again,” said Harry coolly.

“That does it,” said Uncle Vernon silkily, although the veins in his forehead looked ready to burst more violently than a mimbulus mimbultonia. “I’m locking you up again!” He was getting more excited now, breathing more heavily, and talking more and more rapidly. “I’m hiring someone to watch your window this time so that no Weasley loonies can come up with some freakish flying car! And I’m taking your… thing! So that even if you do decide to use you-know-what again and risk getting in trouble with your people’s wretched, incompetent government, at least I won’t have to deal with a peck, I mean a pack of owls nearly flying straight into my eyeballs!” He took a tissue out of his pocket and, holding it in his right hand, gingerly picked up Harry’s wand from his nightstand. Harry saw no way to resist.

Aunt Petunia came in. “What’s going on here?” she snapped.

“Oh, I’m just trying to teach the boy a lesson about getting clever with me,” said Uncle Vernon smugly. “Aren’t you impressed by my assertiveness, Petunia?”

“Actually, I’m not sure that punishing the boy is such a good idea, Vernon,” said Aunt Petunia, her thin, horsy face looking nervous. “Remember those people who threatened us when we picked Harry up last summer? If they come marching into the house, I’ll die of shame, especially if we haven’t had a chance to repaint the porch yet.”

“I’ll hire a guard to watch over the front door, too!” said Uncle Vernon. “I don’t care what it takes! Nobody makes fun of Vernon Dursley!” And with that, he walked out of the room with Harry’s wand, locked Harry in, and proceeded to barricade his room so that there was no way he could get out.

Harry could see no way out of his imprisonment this time without getting in trouble once again with the Ministry of Magic. He knew that members of the Order of the Phoenix would try to come for him sooner or later, but he had no way of knowing when, or how. He didn’t even have his owl Hedwig, as she was out hunting and now could not get back in. He lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, alternating between fantasies of wringing the necks of his aunt and uncle, then of Severus Snape, then of Dolores Umbridge, and occasionally of Voldemort.

Then, halfway through the second day of this confinement, Harry had an idea. There was a way of getting himself out of this situation without resorting to magic or even using a wand. He sat up in bed and whispered, “Kreacher? Dobby?”

There were two simultaneous cracks.

“Harry Potter, sir!” squeaked Dobby, his eyes staring up at Harry in admiration.

“Harry Potter, sir!” croaked Kreacher, his eyes staring up at Harry in revultion.

“I have a job for the two of you,” said Harry.

“Dobby will be glad to do anything for Harry Potter!” cried Dobby enthusiastically.

“Kreacher will also do anything for Harry Potter,” said Kreacher, not so enthusiastically, “but Kreacher really does not know what the world is coming to. Everywhere he goes is still full of mudbloods and half-breeds and other random pieces of filth. What is the point in living any longer?”

“If I don’t get out of here soon and get to work, there really won’t be any point in living any longer,” said Harry briskly, “so I want you two to help me get out of here. I want you to inform the Order of where I am and how impatient I am to destroy the Horcruxes and rid the world of the darkest wizard who ever existed. Well, don’t say anything about Horcruxes. And don’t make too big of a point of how impatient I am, or they won’t trust me. And don’t mention defeating the darkest wizard who ever existed, or they’ll think I’m full of myself. Just tell them that I really need to get out, because I’m slowly starving to death!”

“Right you are, Harry Potter sir!” squeaked Dobby, and he vanished with a loud crack.

Kreacher was not so prompt at disappearing. “Hmm, to whom from the Order shall Kreacher speak first, he wonders… perhaps Severus?”

“Don’t you dare even think about it!” shouted Harry, suddenly angry. “You know perfectly well that Snape isn’t part of the Order anymore, you numbskull! From now on, I forbid you to mention his name without putting a four-letter word in the same sentence! Now clear off!”

“Most unfortunately, Kreacher must do as he is told,” muttered the filthy house-elf, and with another loud crack, he disappeared.

Harry sat fuming. Any mention of Snape nowadays was likely to make his blood pressure rise, even more violently than it had ever done before. He decided to mentally play through his favorite fantasy of cursing Snape so that his greasy, hooked nose swelled exponentially. He was just getting to the part where his entire body was weighed down by the nose, which was scraping along a hot sidewalk baking in the July sun, when his thoughts were interrupted by Minerva McGonogall abruptly appearing in the room.

“Hello, Professor,” he said, grateful to finally see a wizard or witch again.

“Good afternoon, Potter,” said Professor McGonogall curtly, as she peered around the disorganized mess in the room through her square spectacles. “Don’t you ever clean up in here?”

“Could you skip the lecture please, Professor?” said Harry politely.

“Oh, very well,” sighed McGonogall. “Let’s see what I can do about getting you out of here.” She raised her wand and pointed it at the door. It swung open so quickly and easily that it looked like it might fly off its hinges. There was a stifled cry of pain from behind it, and Dudley’s porky face came into view. Dudley rubbed a rapidly swelling bruise on his head and let out a swear word.

“You go and wash your mouth out with soap, young Dursley,” said Professor McGonogall sternly. Dudley took one look at her and ran downstairs, shouting for his parents. A minute later, he came shuffling back upstairs with Aunt Petunia half-carrying him and Uncle Vernon bringing up the rear.

“What did she do to you, Diddy?” crooned Aunt Petunia. “Poor diddy Duddikins! Poor duddy Diddikins! Poor little dinky doddle Dookidins!”

“Have you hurt my son?” roared Uncle Vernon. “I’ll tear you limb from limb! I warn you, I’ve been trained in wrestling, and my son here is a Junior Inter-School Boxing Champion! You don’t want to go around messing with us!”

“I have no time for any funny business, Mr. Dursley,” said McGonogall coldly, over Dudley’s soft sobs as he leaned his head on his mother’s bosom. “The evil wizard He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is at large, wreaking havoc upon both our world and the Muggle world. His especial target is Mr. Potter here, but not even such uber-Muggles as yourselves are safe in these dark times.”

Dudley wailed even more loudly. “I don’t want some evil you-know-what to attack us! I d-don’t want to d-d-die! I h-haven’t even g-gotten to try out my new Nintendo game y-y-yet!”

“Don’t worry, my darling diddle Dudderfus!” cried Aunt Petunia tearfully. “Mummy won’t let him destroy you!”

“I’m not really supposed to use magic on you,” said McGonogall, who was clearly becoming more and more impatient, “and I’m not as good at side-along Apparition as Dumbledore was, and Harry can’t legally Apparate by himself yet. So it would be most considerate of you to cooperate. Kindly step aside and allow myself and Mr. Potter to pass.”

Aunt Petunia and Dudley stepped aside, but Uncle Vernon stood his ground. “I will not let that boy get away so easily!” he barked. “I’m afraid it is time that he paid the consequences for his actions!”

Just then, there was a crack like a whip, and an anxious-looking Mrs. Weasley Apparated into the room, wearing an apron. “What’s keeping you two?” she said. “Supper is getting stone cold, you know.”

“Sorry, Molly,” sighed McGonogall, looking over at her. “It’s just that these Muggles are having trouble with the concept of common courtesy. They’re just as Albus described them. I bet they wouldn’t invite me in or offer me refreshments if I surprised them at eleven in the evening, either.”

“What a sloppy room,” remarked Mrs. Weasley.

“Will you all give it a rest about the room!” cried Harry in exasperation as he started to pack.

“Come on, Vernon,” wheedled Aunt Petunia to Uncle Vernon, who was still standing in the way of McGonogall and Harry, swelled up indignantly. “Wouldn’t it be better to let him go? After all, we’ll never have to see him again. He turns seventeen in a week or two, remember? And think on the bright side. At least these people haven’t wrecked our fireplace or blown up any members of our family this time.”

Harry could see the usual inner conflict within Uncle Vernon, who was clearly fighting between the desire to oppose whatever Harry wanted and the desire to be rid of him forever at last. Finally, Uncle Vernon began to say, in a rather choked voice, “True, they haven’t even so much as exploded a pudding.” Just as he said it, however, there was a huge crunching sound, and the window shattered.

“Uh-oh,” said Harry to himself, although he couldn’t help grinning at the same time.

“What’s takin’ yeh so long?” grunted the voice of Rubeus Hagrid, the half-giant Hogwarts gamekeeper from outside the window. “Come on, let me carry yeh outta here!”

Uncle Vernon muttered, “Mimblewimble!” and ran out of the room. Aunt Petunia and Dudley followed suit. McGonogall and Mrs. Weasley both glared at Hagrid, looked at each other with raised eyebrows, and Disapparated. Harry jumped out of the window and didn’t fall far before landing in Hagrid’s arms. A second later, Harry’s wand went flying out the window, thrown out, no doubt, in disgust by Uncle Vernon, and Harry caught it.

“There, take your thing!” came Uncle Vernon’s voice from out of the broken window. “And don’t ever show your disorderly-looking head at our doorstep again!”

“I’ll miss you too, Uncle Vernon,” said Harry gleefully, waving up at him.

Hagrid started walking briskly down Privet Drive, trampling a few squirrels in the process.

“How’ve yeh bin, Harry?” said Hagrid. “Seriously, yeh should talk to Grawp, yeh wouldn’ believe how smart he’s gettin’ nowadays. He’s studyin’ second-year calculus now, although he still has a little trouble remembering the dif’rence between sines and cosines.”

“Thanks for everything, Hagrid,” said Harry gratefully as Hagrid bore him across the street to where a grouchy-looking Auror stood waiting to escort him back to the Burrow at last.

[dfroza]

do believe the Son is God our Creator in the flesh?

do you trust in the rebirth of the heart & body being offered to us?

this is why i share the Scriptures here daily with Today’s reading beginning with chapter 7 in the book of Luke:

Jesus shared all these sayings with the crowd that day on the plain. When He was finished, He went into the town of Capernaum. There, a Centurion had a slave he loved dearly. The slave was sick—about to die—so when the Centurion heard about Jesus, he contacted some Jewish elders. He sent them to ask Jesus to come and heal his dear slave. With great emotion and respect, the elders presented their request to Jesus.

Jewish Elders: This man is worthy of Your help. It’s true that he’s a Centurion, but he loves our nation. In fact, he paid for our synagogue to be built.

So Jesus accompanied them. When they approached the Centurion’s home, the Centurion sent out some friends to bring a message to Jesus.

Message of the Centurion: Lord, don’t go to the trouble of coming inside. I am not worthy to have You come under my roof. That’s why I sent others with my request. Just say the word, and that will be enough to heal my servant. I understand how authority works, being under authority myself and having soldiers under my authority. I command to one, “Go,” and he goes. I say to another, “Come,” and he comes. I say to my slave, “Do this,” and he obeys me.

Jesus was deeply impressed when He heard this. He turned to the crowd that followed Him.

Jesus: Listen, everyone. This outsider, this Roman, has more faith than I have found even among our own Jewish people.

The friends of the Centurion returned home, and they found the slave was completely healed.

It wasn’t long after this when Jesus entered a city called Nain. Again all of His disciples accompanied Him, along with a huge crowd. He was coming near the gate of the city as a corpse was being carried out. This man was the only child and support of his widowed mother, and she was accompanied by a large funeral crowd.

As soon as the Lord saw her, He felt compassion for her.

Jesus: Don’t weep.

Then He came to the stretcher, and those carrying it stood still.

Jesus: Young man, listen! Get up!

The dead man immediately sat up and began talking. Jesus presented him to his mother, and everyone was both shocked and jubilant. They praised God.

Funeral Crowd: A tremendous prophet has arisen in our midst! God has visited His people!

News of Jesus spread across the whole province of Judea and beyond to the surrounding regions. When these reports reached John’s disciples, they brought news to John himself, who was known for his preaching and ritual cleansing. John sent two of his disciples to ask the Lord, “Are You the Promised One, or shall we keep looking for someone else?”

They came to Jesus and asked their question exactly as directed by John the Baptist.

Before He answered John’s messengers, Jesus cured many from various diseases, health conditions, and evil spirits. He even caused many blind people to regain their sight.

Jesus (to John’s disciples): Go and tell John what you’ve witnessed with your own eyes and ears: the blind are seeing again, the lame are walking again, the lepers are clean again, the deaf hear again, the dead live again, and good news is preached to the poor. Whoever is not offended by Me is blessed indeed.

When John’s messengers left, Jesus talked to the crowds about John.

Jesus: When you went out into the wilderness to see John, what were you expecting? A reed shaking in the wind? What were you looking for? A man in expensive clothing? Look, if you were looking for fancy clothes and luxurious living, you went to the wrong place—you should have gone to the kings’ courts, not to the wilderness! What were you seeking? A prophet? Ah yes, that’s what John is, and even more than a prophet. The prophet Malachi was talking about John when he wrote,

I will send My messenger before You,

to clear Your path in front of You.

Listen, there is no human being greater than this man, John the Baptist. Yet even the least significant person in the coming kingdom of God is greater than John.

The common people and tax collectors heard God’s own wisdom in Jesus’ assessment of John because they had been ritually cleansed through baptism by John. But the Pharisees and religious scholars hardened their hearts and turned their backs on God’s purposes for them because they had refused John’s baptism.

Jesus: The people of this generation—what are they like? To what can they be compared? I’ll tell you: they’re like spoiled kids sitting in the marketplace playing games, calling out,

We played the pipes for you,

but you didn’t dance to our tune!

We cried like mourners,

but you didn’t cry with us!

You can’t win with this generation. John the Baptist comes along, fasting and abstaining from wine, and you say, “This guy is demon-possessed!” The Son of Man comes along, feasting and drinking wine, and you say, “This guy is a glutton and a drunk, a friend of scoundrels and tax collectors!” Well, wisdom’s true children know wisdom when they hear it.

Once a Pharisee named Simon invited Jesus to be a guest for a meal.

Picture this:

Just as Jesus enters the man’s home and takes His place at the table, a woman from the city—notorious as a woman of ill repute—follows Him in. She has heard that Jesus will be at the Pharisee’s home, so she comes in and approaches Him, carrying an alabaster flask of perfumed oil. Then she begins to cry, she kneels down so her tears fall on Jesus’ feet, and she starts wiping His feet with her own hair. Then she actually kisses His feet, and she pours the perfumed oil on them.

Simon (thinking): Now I know this guy is a fraud. If He were a real prophet, He would have known this woman is a sinner and He would never let her get near Him, much less touch Him . . . or kiss Him!

Jesus (knowing what the Pharisee is thinking): Simon, I want to tell you a story.

Simon: Tell me, Teacher.

Jesus: Two men owed a certain lender a lot of money. One owed 100 weeks’ wages, and the other owed 10 weeks’ wages. Both men defaulted on their loans, but the lender forgave them both. Here’s a question for you: which man will love the lender more?

Simon: Well, I guess it would be the one who was forgiven more.

Jesus: Good answer.

Now Jesus turns around so He’s facing the woman, although He’s still speaking to Simon.

Jesus: Do you see this woman here? It’s kind of funny. I entered your home, and you didn’t provide a basin of water so I could wash the road dust from My feet. You didn’t give Me a customary kiss of greeting and welcome. You didn’t offer Me the common courtesy of providing oil to brighten My face. But this woman has wet My feet with her own tears and washed them with her own hair. She hasn’t stopped kissing My feet since I came in. And she has applied perfumed oil to My feet. This woman has been forgiven much, and she is showing much love. But the person who has shown little love shows how little forgiveness he has received.

(to the woman) Your sins are forgiven.

Simon and Friends (muttering among themselves): Who does this guy think He is? He has the audacity to claim the authority to forgive sins?

Jesus (to the woman): Your faith has liberated you. Go in peace.

The Book of Luke, Chapter 7 (The Voice)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 4th chapter in the book of Joshua where they had crossed the Jordan and were told to take 12 stones as a memorial to what happened there, to remember. just as we have these Scriptures conserved of which illuminates the heart with God’s Light.

[Joshua 4]

When the whole nation was finally across, God spoke to Joshua: “Select twelve men from the people, a man from each tribe, and tell them, ‘From right here, the middle of the Jordan where the feet of the priests are standing firm, take twelve stones. Carry them across with you and set them down in the place where you camp tonight.’”

Joshua called out the twelve men whom he selected from the People of Israel, one man from each tribe. Joshua directed them, “Cross to the middle of the Jordan and take your place in front of the Chest of God, your God. Each of you heft a stone to your shoulder, a stone for each of the tribes of the People of Israel, so you’ll have something later to mark the occasion. When your children ask you, ‘What are these stones to you?’ you’ll say, ‘The flow of the Jordan was stopped in front of the Chest of the Covenant of God as it crossed the Jordan—stopped in its tracks. These stones are a permanent memorial for the People of Israel.’”

The People of Israel did exactly as Joshua commanded: They took twelve stones from the middle of the Jordan—a stone for each of the twelve tribes, just as God had instructed Joshua—carried them across with them to the camp, and set them down there. Joshua set up the twelve stones taken from the middle of the Jordan that had marked the place where the priests who carried the Chest of the Covenant had stood. They are still there today.

The priests carrying the Chest continued standing in the middle of the Jordan until everything God had instructed Joshua to tell the people to do was done (confirming what Moses had instructed Joshua). The people crossed; no one dawdled. When the crossing of all the people was complete, they watched as the Chest of the Covenant and the priests crossed over.

The Reubenites, Gadites, and the half-tribe of Manasseh had crossed over in battle formation in front of the People of Israel, obedient to Moses’ instructions. All told, about forty thousand armed soldiers crossed over before God to the plains of Jericho, ready for battle.

God made Joshua great that day in the sight of all Israel. They were in awe of him just as they had been in awe of Moses all his life.

God told Joshua, “Command the priests carrying the Chest of The Testimony to come up from the Jordan.”

Joshua commanded the priests, “Come up out of the Jordan.”

They did it. The priests carrying God’s Chest of the Covenant came up from the middle of the Jordan. As soon as the soles of the priests’ feet touched dry land, the Jordan’s waters resumed their flow within the banks, just as before.

The people came up out of the Jordan on the tenth day of the first month. They set up camp at The Gilgal (The Circle) to the east of Jericho. Joshua erected a monument at The Gilgal, using the twelve stones that they had taken from the Jordan. And then he told the People of Israel, “In the days to come, when your children ask their fathers, ‘What are these stones doing here?’ tell your children this: ‘Israel crossed over this Jordan on dry ground.’

“Yes, God, your God, dried up the Jordan’s waters for you until you had crossed, just as God, your God, did at the Red Sea, which had dried up before us until we had crossed. This was so that everybody on earth would recognize how strong God’s rescuing hand is and so that you would hold God in solemn reverence always.”

The Book of Joshua, Chapter 4 (The Message)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for Wednesday, August 5 of 2020 with a paired chapter from each Testament along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

A set of posts by John Parsons this morning about the nature of faith and Light:

The walk of faith is one of “holy suspense,” trusting that God is on the other side of the next moment, “preparing a place for you” (John 14:3). In the present, then, we live in unknowing dependence, walking by faith, not by sight. For “hope that is seen is not hope; for who hopes for what he sees?” (Rom. 8:24). This is the existential posture of faith - walking in darkness while completely trusting in God’s daily care. Our task at any given moment is always the same - to look to God and to accept His will. This is where time and eternity meet within us, where God’s kingdom is revealed in our hearts. Therefore Yeshua taught us: “Don’t be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow has its own troubles. Live one day at a time” (Matt. 6:34). It makes no sense to worry about the future if the LORD is the Good Shepherd who tenderly watches over your way (Psalm 23:1).

"Yea, even if I walk in the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me" (Psalm 23:4). O God of Light, Light of the world, surely You know my need for light as I look to You, especially when darkness tries to extinguish my hope. Despite my inability to see you now, help me to know that you are with me; let "thy rod and thy staff comfort me" and lead me closer to you. Lord, when I am afraid, quicken the faith you have put within my heart. Be Thou my Shepherd in my darkness, O Lord my God...

"Who among you fears the LORD and hears (שָׁמַע) the voice of his Servant? Let him who walks in darkness and has no light trust in the Name of the LORD and rely on his God... I will lead the blind in a way that they do not know, in paths that they have not known I will guide them. I will turn the darkness before them into light, the rough places into level ground. These are the things I do, and I do not forsake them" (Isa. 50;10; 42:16). Amen. The heart of faith trusts the LORD’s presence, even in the darkness, and hears the Spirit saying, “I am with you...” Love hopes all things and believes even in the midst of troubles. [Hebrew for Christians]

The Torah begins with the the famous words "in the beginning [God] created" (בראשׁית ברא) which some sages say can be read as "it was created for the head" (בראשׁ יתברא), referring first of all to the Messiah who is the head over all (Col. 2:10), but also to the intellect or mind that reflects the image of God. Recall that the first act of creation was that of light: "God said, 'Let there be light, and there was light" (Gen. 1:3). Now light itself is a mysterious thing - a "wave" or a "substance" depending on how you consider it - a connection between the spiritual and the physical realms.

In Hebrew light is called "ohr" (אור), a word formed from three letters Aleph (א), Vav (ו), and Resh (ר). The letter Aleph is the “father” of the Aleph-Bet, whose original pictograph represents an ox, symbolizing strength. It’s numerical value is one and it is a silent letter. Aleph therefore is preeminent in its order and alludes to the ineffable mysteries of the oneness of God. Indeed, the word aluph (derived from the name of this letter) means “Master” or “Lord.” Note that Aleph is formed from the letter Vav with two Yods (י), one ascending and the other descending. The gematria for these parts add up to 26 (Yod+Yod+Vav), the same number as the sacred Name YHVH (יהוה), also indicating a link between the “three-in-one” Aleph and God Himself. The letter Vav (ו) originally looked like a hook or nail, and in Biblical Hebrew it is used as connective prefix meaning "and." Symbolically Vav pictures a conduit or connection between heaven and earth. The letter Resh (ו), as mentioned above, represents the head, and by extension, intelligence, the mind (לֵבָב), comprehension, uncovering (ἀλήθεια), remembering, and revelation.

The Torah is called "light” in Prov. 6:23 (תּוֹרָה אוֹר), and the Word of God brings light to the heart as it says, "Your word is a light to my path” (Psalm 119:105) that “enlightens my eyes” (Psalm 19:8) and “imparts understanding” (Psalm 119:130). YHVH is called our light and our salvation (Psalm 27:1), just as Yeshua is the creative force of reality (John 1:1-3) who embodies the divine light to the world (John 8:12). Light is God's means of connecting with us through the heart, and divine healing comes from connecting with God through revelation - the "sun of righteousness (שֶׁמֶשׁ צְדָקָה) that shines with healing in his wings" (Mal. 3:20). Yeshua is the heart and healing center of existence who came to deliver people from darkness.

Now on the other hand the Hebrew verb chalah (חָלָה) means to be sick, from a root that means emptiness (חלל) and profanity (חֹל). To be sick can symbolically be understood as profane (ח) thinking (ל) regarding the Spirit of God (ה), which suggests that illness and disease result from obstruction of the divine light. Using the same sort of methodology we see that the Hebrew word for healing (רפא) can suggest that when the mind (ר) directs the mouth (פ) to praise God (א), the soul will experience shalom (שׁלום).

Since the words that are the "vessels" of Torah are themselves Torah, the same can be said of the letters that form them. That is why the Hebrew word for "word" (דּברֵ) also can mean "thing" or "matter," and words are regarded as spiritual substances (or molecules) composed from the more basic ideas expressed by the individual letters. Note further that the Hebrew word for letter is 'ot (אות), a word that means “sign” or “wonder” and that reveals Yeshua the Messiah as the Aleph and Tav, the beginning and the end, of all reality. [Hebrew for Christians]

8.5.20 • Facebook

[mamapeach7]

Daeul

Preview / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 / Chapter 13 / Chapter 14 / Chapter 15 / Chapter 16 / Chapter 17 / bonus

Chapter 15

-

Sundresses were her favourite -- most especially the plain white ones with the lace or doily trimming. She had three of them and two floral rompers which she figured would be ideal for the beach as to not get sand in her pants.

“Tahiti?”, she had reaffirmed with Hyuk once he told her where they would be going.

“Uh huh! Daeul loves tropical places -- I took him to Hawaii last year. Although it was kind of lonely with just the two of us.”, the man pulled a sour face, sitting on the desk of his office, it being only the second time he had allowed Hanji to come in.

Minji had declined the offer to tag along, saying she needed to do her share of work at the art gallery she and her friend Joel worked at.

Hanji rolled her eyes at the excuse, knowing perfectly well that her sister often let Joel do all the work with the phone calls to and from other facilities. She had even put on a deceitful pity look when she had said no to her offer, whispering a “enjoy the week with the songwriter, though”.

There’s a lot of sun in Tahiti. And maybe a few bugs, Hanji placed a finger to her chin as she sat on the floor with her luggage in front of her.

Never mind the bugs, idiot girl -- at least you’re going on vacation. As true as that was she still had to take care of Daeul. Regardless of where they were, her position still remained the same and as close as she and Hyuk have gotten, his words of reminder still lingered in her head.

You’re his nanny.

~

“You wanna sit next to Hanji or me? Or you can sit alone over there and she and I can sit together.”

Hyuk held his son in his arms, teasing him about where he would be sitting for the plane ride. Daeul flashed him an unamused look making the two adults bellow out in laughter. His dad had decided to place him next to Hanji who sat next to the window, himself being a chair over the aisle.

It was Hanji’s first time on an airplane, let alone first class. Although she felt it was somewhat unnecessary considering she could handle the eighteen hour flight (with one stop-over). The issue however, was Daeul who became restless within less than two hours of the flight.

“Even in the air, you still give me a hard time.”, she joked as she carefully held him in her arms and brought him up close to the window, pointing to the gray clouds which would soon fade as the sky began to darken.

When the boy had finally fallen asleep, Hanji desperately needed to use the washroom. She struggled as she tried to place him down in his seat which would cause him to fuss about.

“Here, lemme have him.”, Hyuk suggested, seeing her struggle with the child. She gratefully smiled and placed him on his father’s chest and he immediately cosied up to the man, his cheeks pressed against his sweater.

She mentally captured a photo of the two -- one of the first and hopefully not the last times that both of them had fallen asleep at the same time.

~

Upon their arrival in Tahiti, the sun had already begun to set -- a pink and orange hued sky lay above them.

They had decided to settle for a simple dinner at the small bar and resto next to the shore, sitting at a small round table. Mahi Mahi was definitely a first for everyone but it was needless to say that they enjoyed it.

A few meters from them resided a small stage, a band playing soft jazz music to accompany the guests along with dim lights to set the mood.

One of the head waiters had instantly recognized Hyuk as they entered the restaurant, being quick to assist the trio. “Dean”, he had even called him.

Usually he would be open with taking photos but considering he was on vacation with his family, he settled for an autograph on a small piece of memo instead.

“Sir.”, the same waiter approached their table later on in the night.

“If you don’t mind, the crowd would love to hear you perform here tonight. I-It would certainly be an honour.”, he shyly asked, lowering his head in humility.

Although he wanted to keep his vacation lowkey, Hyuk’s main concern was that he hadn’t sung in years -- the last time being months before Daeul was born. But then he turned to his son and the woman next to him who both smiled warmly, almost encouraging him with their eyes to go on.

And before he knew it he was on stage once more. It wasn’t like he didn’t sing at all -- he hummed melodies in the studio each time he wrote a new song. However, singing a full three-minute song in a room full of families was something he hadn’t done in what seemed like forever.

“Please give your warm welcome to our guest!”, the restaurant owner applauded much to which everyone else obliged.

“Alright, gimme a d-minor-nine.”, he pointed to the small band behind him.

He gripped the mic with his right hand, closing his eyes for a few moments as he took in the familiar chords and melodies.

It seemed like someone else in the audience recognized it too as Oh Hanji began to smile widely at the familiar tune of Half Moon.

love, love the stars

love, love the moon  

Oh, he’s still got it. She nodded her head softly to the music, noticing Daeul sway side to side which made her giggle and tap his chin playfully.

A certain giddiness inside her almost made her want to jump out of her chair in excitement that he had chosen to sing one of her favourites.

It was the first time she had heard him sing in real life -- she hated admitting to her sister that she lowkey listened to his songs every now and then but refrained from watching the music videos, most especially Bonnie and Clyde for as much as she loved history, for some reason he heart couldn’t bear seeing him touch another woman.

He opened and shut his eyes over and over again throughout his performance but on one particular opening, his eyes fell on Hanji.

Sitting on a short stool in one of her beloved sundresses, next to Daeul whose sways were offbeat. It was almost a scene out of a movie -- their eyes locked for the remaining five lines of his song, everything else seemed to fade and all he could see was purity.

She was purity.

Her warm look of admiration, the tilted head and rosey cheeks and tight smile.

W-What are my lyrics again?

Snapping out of his daze, he realized he missed a whole line and just sang the last two in hopes of covering up his distracted mistake.

The applause was definitely something he missed but Daeul clapped for him every day for no apparent reason and even if he were applauded in a room full of thousands of people, it couldn’t compare to his son’s open-palmed claps.

Hanji’s own daze was interrupted by a ringing coming from her phone and as much as she hated it, she had to rip her eyes away from Hyuk.

“Hanji! Guess what!”, it was Minji who for some reason managed to call long distance.

Pulling her phone away from her ear as her other hand tried to keep Daeul balanced on his chair, she replied, “Why are you so damn loud?”

“I’m seriously going to owe Joel for this one -- a curator who works in Manchester came in today to discuss a collab and Joel mentioned you. And get this! He wants you to send your best work to him!”

Oh my gosh.

And though this was a moment of celebration, she struggled to feel it within her for all she could focus on was the man still on stage whom she knew she might have to leave behind.

--

Fun Story Fact #15

Both Hanji and Minji studied social science in high school and college.